Chapter 557
Whoosh—
Ian lightly shook his head as the mages poured water over him.
As he wiped the dirt and dust from his face, the grime quickly disappeared, revealing a clean visage beneath. The mages gathered around, carefully checking for any wounds or injuries, but thankfully, he seemed unharmed. They looked at Ian with a mix of curiosity and admiration.
“But Ian, how on earth do you handle a sword so well?”
“Maybe it’s because you’re young? You move incredibly fast.”
“Come on. How many years apart are you two, anyway?”
“About twelve years, thanks to the Abyss.”
“Oh, right. Ian, have you ever formally trained in swordsmanship? I heard you had some noble lessons before.”
“You mean those lessons for the illegitimate son in Bratz?”
“Yeah, but for something so formal, it’s surprisingly serious training. It’s unfair. Ian, you should take it easy. Handsome guys aren’t supposed to work out that hard—it’s kind of a social contract.”
“Bullshit.”
Despite the mages’ noisy chatter, Ian calmly wiped the back of his neck.
“I did learn. A long time ago.”
A very long time ago.
Back when he was too young to understand just how sharp a sword could be, how heavy it felt, or how hot human blood really was—no matter how much it was explained, it was beyond his grasp.
Ian vividly remembered Crony, the one who had taught him swordsmanship.
“Well done. You have talent.”
“Really?”
“Of course. When your magic leaks out unexpectedly, suppress it with your sword. That way, your uncle lives, and so do I.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”
“That’s okay. Now, let’s try again.”
Ian wrung out his wet sleeve tightly.
Not a pleasant memory. He was too young, living in Crony’s world, and didn’t yet know how to pray to the gods.
As the mages helped straighten Ian’s clothes, they added with admiration.
“You’re truly amazing. You have no idea what the soldiers’ morale was like earlier. It wasn’t just sky-high—it was through the roof. As long as the mages are here, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“Well, mages are mages, you know. It’s hard to explain properly. Anyway, good work.”
“Iaaan!”
Bang!
At that moment, Beric tumbled off the golem’s shoulder with a loud crash. He rolled once, then stopped right in front of Ian, giving a thumbs-up. Hardly the behavior of someone with a hole in their stomach.
“You crazy bastard, you’re gonna make that wound worse!”
“If it opens up, I’ll just stitch it back up!”
“What do you think this is, some kind of cloth patch? And we’re mages, not doctors! Wound care isn’t our job!”
“Don’t care! Anyway, Ian, you’re looking good!”
Beric poked Ian’s waist playfully, causing the mages to narrow their eyes. Who does this guy think he is, touching Ian like that? They looked ready to tear him apart.
The mages lined up to face Beric.
“Exactly, Beric. Even after training all day, your swordsmanship can’t compare to Ian’s, who’s been holding a pen all this time.”
“What? Are you crazy? Who are you comparing to whom?”
“Consider it an honor. Now, Ian, stop showing off and get back to the palace guard. When is Captain Jaret going to wake up, anyway? Sigh.”
“Wait a minute, that’s ridiculous! Hey! If you’re pouring magic into the sword’s tip like that, shouldn’t you be able to keep up? I’d win any duel with just swordsmanship.”
“Yes, yes, we get it. You’re saying you’d win if there were no handicaps. Loud and clear.”
“Ugh! Come here! I’m gonna take you down first!”
“Oh, now that sounds doable. Bring it on.”
With a flick of his fingers, a mage taunted, and Beric charged forward with a shout. But just then, Minister Maxim Tweller appeared, holding out his hand to stop him.
Tweller nodded, signaling for restraint. The emperor himself had arrived.
“Sir Ian!”
“Your Majesty.”
Jin hurried in, pulling back the tent flap. At first, his face was full of concern, but seeing Ian safe and seated, his expression softened.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m fine. All the blood is from the enemy.”
Impressive. Truly impressive.
Jin didn’t say much, but his eyes spoke volumes.
In those shining eyes, Ian saw the child Jin once was—about ten years old—looking at him with awe. It was a reminder that some things never change, no matter how much time passes.
Ian smiled and buttoned his coat neatly.
“My apologies, Your Majesty. I should have handled this without causing you any worry.”
“Don’t say that. It’s only natural for me to be concerned. I hold everyone who stands for Bariel close to my heart.”
“I’m grateful for your kind words.”
“The other tribes supporting us from the rear have stopped moving. They must have sensed something amiss when they saw the flames. It’s likely they’ll retreat.”
“If they want to survive, that’s expected. We’ll resume the attack before noon as planned. Minister Tweller, is that acceptable?”
“Of course, Minister Ian.”
Ian had everything organized; there was no reason to delay. He even had the troops lined up, ready to move out at a moment’s notice.
“But, Minister Ian.”
“Yes, Minister Tweller?”
“You’ve trained in swordsmanship, haven’t you?”
“A little, when I was very young. Though it’s embarrassing to say I really learned much.”
“A little, huh? From a palace instructor?”
Tweller’s question was sharp. Crony had been the Deputy Minister of Imperial Defense, and his teachings were based on palace swordsmanship.
Jin looked at Ian with interest. It was surprising that a palace-trained swordsman existed in the Bratz territory, and that Ian had learned from him and was now affiliated with the palace.
Ian hesitated briefly, then nodded casually.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Oh, your teacher must be very proud. To have such a talented student shining so brightly.”
“Well…”
Ian muttered softly. The more he shone, the more he wondered how Crony felt.
Tweller noticed the shadow in Ian’s expression but found no further reaction—just a faint, white smile.
“You’re too kind.”
“…Such humility.”
“Well then, I’ll leave you to finish preparations. Your Majesty, I’ll take my leave. Be sure to eat well. The closer we get to Burgos, the more unexpected things will happen.”
“Indeed. You as well, Sir Ian.”
Ian gave a light bow and turned away. The mages followed in a line behind him, with Beric bringing up the rear.
“Minister Tweller, let’s go.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Tweller bowed in response to Jin’s urging, but his gaze lingered on the tent where Ian had disappeared. For someone who learned swordsmanship as an illegitimate son, his skill seemed unusually deep…
‘Curious,’ he thought.
Not suspicious, just curious. Knowing how heavy the mage department’s workload was, it seemed nearly impossible for Ian to train separately. Even with magic to support him, that was…
‘A battle seasoned by real combat.’
Tweller glanced at the blood-soaked towel, then shook his head. Once the war was over and he had some free time, he resolved to ask Ian about it properly.
“Cough!”
Romandro, who had been dozing in his chair, suddenly jolted upright. A clear drool stain marked the corner of his mouth, but the soldiers ignored it, staring straight ahead. It looked like he might topple over, but somehow he managed to stay awake.
Romandro immediately peeked toward King Damon’s bedroom to check on the situation.
‘Nothing unusual.’
Damon was still standing close to the window, his face pressed against the glass.
Watching him quietly, Romandro felt something was off and signaled to the soldiers.
“Block the windows.”
“The windows?”
The windows were already secured with iron bars, and they were only about the size of a palm—no chance of escape or intrusion. So why bother?
“Do I have to explain why?”
“No, sir. I’ll get some wooden boards right away.”
“Send the attendants! And no soldier is to leave their post!”
The soldiers grumbled silently, wondering what this was all about after just waking up.
But Romandro was firm. If an assassin used a ranged weapon, even a small gap could be dangerous. Since Damon pressed his face so close to the window, any sudden attack could be disastrous.
Well, even if this tower was the tallest building around, dragons flew in this world.
Crash! Boom!
“Excuse me.”
“We’re coming in.”
Soldiers carrying wooden boards, nails, and hammers entered Damon’s bedroom.
With shackles on his wrists and ankles, Damon couldn’t move much, only turning his body slightly. In truth, he seemed reluctant to move away from the window.
“We’re going to block the window now.”
Thud.
Damon pushed the soldier away with his bound hands, voicing his displeasure. For someone who’d had his tongue cut out and had been as silent as the dead until now, it was a surprisingly fierce protest. They were already completely imprisoned—was it really necessary to keep him from even seeing outside?
The soldiers agreed silently, but with Romandro standing firm, there was nothing they could do.
“My apologies.”
“Step this way, please.”
Just as Damon lashed out, roughly shoving a soldier aside—
Crash!
Suddenly, the iron bars shattered into pieces. Had someone struck them wrong? Everyone turned their heads in confusion, then froze.
“…!”
“…!”
Blood was trickling down the forehead of the soldier standing near the window, holding a wooden plank. He collapsed without even realizing he was dying. Something small and sharp had flown through the air, pierced the iron bars, and struck him down.
“Ahhh!”
“Hey! Hey! Are you okay?”
“Get away from the window! Damn it!”
The soldiers crouched low, shouting, while Romandro rushed to the fallen man.
What on earth was going on?
“King Damon!”
Romandro called out instinctively, and the soldiers who had regained their senses turned to look at Damon.
Meanwhile, Damon was reaching toward the shattered iron bars, clutching a large chunk of metal in his hand. Should he swallow it? Burn it? Or maybe stab with it? His expression was wild with excitement—this was the end, and yet a new beginning.
“No!”
“You can’t! He mustn’t die!”
“Please, don’t do this!”
Bang! Clang!
Where was this strength coming from? Damon struggled fiercely with two soldiers, their bodies twisting and turning, the sound of his shackles clanging nonstop.
While the soldiers held Damon down, Romandro gathered the broken shards and cleared them away—including the piece of metal Damon had missed in the scuffle.
“That’s enough! Outside! Get a doctor here!”
“What’s going on? Huff!”
“Hurry! Hurry! And send the duty mage from the Magic Department!”
“Yes, sir!”
The soldiers waiting outside looked bewildered by the sudden chaos. Just as they were about to head down the stairs—
Tap, tap, tap.
Another sound approached. An intruder.
Even if the palace was empty, how on earth had someone gotten in? The protective barrier was still intact! Romandro drew his sword from the fallen soldier’s waist.
“Y-You! Do you know where you are…?”
His hands trembled, his voice barely a whisper, but Romandro stepped forward, one foot at a time, unaware of the tears welling in his eyes.