Chapter 688
Ian’s silence stretched on endlessly.
From the moment they gathered Philia’s body and carried the unconscious Roel back to the market mansion, not a single sound escaped him. He simply sat upright, his gaze fixed on the sunset outside.
Hale and Tommy exchanged worried looks, but there was nothing they could do.
“…Hale, Tommy.”
When Ian finally spoke after a long pause, his voice was dry and brittle, as if all moisture had been sucked from his body. Not a single tear fell, yet he looked dangerously fragile.
Hale immediately turned toward him.
“Yes, Lord Ian.”
“Let’s return to Kalamath.”
“Just you, sir?”
“No, all of us.”
Hale and Tommy’s mission was over.
Ian had no reason to stay in Carenna either. Reinforcements from the central forces would arrive soon to stabilize Luswena, so it made sense for them to head back to Kalamath and support the main army’s movements. That was the original plan, after all.
“But, Lord Ian—”
Tommy added hesitantly, “You could stay a little longer.”
Despite Ian’s revealed identity as the future emperor, nothing had changed between them. They were still his magic attendants, and Philia had been his mother.
No one could deny the truth: when both mother and father were gone, how could any child’s heart find peace?
“It will be chaotic once we return to Kalamath. It’s better if you take some time here to prepare yourself—”
“When the carriage door opened, you said mother and the doll were tangled together. And Tommy, you were the one who destroyed the doll first, right?”
“Y-yes, that’s right.”
Tommy answered a beat late to the sudden question. Ian muttered to himself in a flat tone.
“Do you understand what this means?”
“No, I don’t.”
“In Toorun, they needed either mother’s corpse or her death. Probably more the corpse. That’s why they first tried kidnapping.”
But when that failed, they chose to eliminate her altogether. This explained why they didn’t move during the gap when Ian and the magic corps were traveling from Luswena to Kalamath.
“They tried to harm mother—or Roel—using the doll. But before they could confirm if they had completely severed the life, the connection was cut.”
“…So they don’t know if Philia is alive or dead.”
Ian nodded slowly.
“So they had to judge based on my movements. If mother was dead, I would have moved back from Kalamath to here. If she wasn’t, I would have acted differently. Toorun stayed still to observe.”
If Ian had gone to see Philia, Kalamath would have been left vulnerable again. Probably the Toorun king’s complications and other factors kept them from acting.
No wonder—it was all tied to his mother. An unfathomable variable.
“So now it’s done. We must inform Kalamath and the central command and await their next orders.”
“Wait, Lord Ian.”
Hale gently grasped Ian’s arm. Forget Kalamath or Toorun—what worried them most was Ian himself.
Though he seemed unaware, Ian looked truly unwell, both outwardly and inwardly.
clang!
“Ahhh!”
Suddenly, a scream echoed from the hallway. Hale and Tommy turned in alarm, but Ian passed them and strode quickly toward the source.
The commotion came from Roel’s room.
Bang!
Ian flung the door open—and froze.
The white bedsheets were soaked in blood.
Roel sat with his hands covering his eyes, shoulders shaking. Broken pots and dishes littered the floor, likely dropped by a trembling servant.
“Roel.”
Ian rushed over to check on the boy. Bloody tears streamed down Roel’s cheeks. No, it couldn’t be… It must not be. Not now, little one.
Ian’s throat tightened. He wanted to tell him it was okay, to stop worrying, but all he could hear was Roel’s sobbing.
“Roel. Look at me. Tommy, summon the healer and the doctor.”
“Y-yes, sir!”
But Roel gripped his hands tighter, refusing to let go. His face was full of anguish, resentment, and sorrow—too painful to show.
“I don’t want to see anything.”
“Oh, Roel.”
“If I didn’t have these eyes, mother wouldn’t have died. I don’t deserve them. Eyes that kill their own parents.”
It all began there.
Just by seeing, he had lost his mother. When he saw his father’s death, he could only cry helplessly. Eyes that brought nothing but pain and things he wished he hadn’t seen…
“They’re the seeds of a curse. The root of all misfortune.”
“That’s not true, Roel.”
Ian sighed deeply and pulled the boy into a tight embrace. His clothes were stained with blood again—first Philia’s, now Roel’s.
He wanted to beg the bitter, fishy scent to leave them alone. To stop the endless departures. If tears must fall, let them be just enough to wash away the pain.
“Your mother made her choice for you and me. It has nothing to do with your eyes. Don’t blame yourself.”
Ian stared blankly into space before clutching Roel as if afraid to let go.
“…Please.”
If he faltered, if he showed even the slightest weakness, everything would shatter.
Tears welled in Ian’s eyes. A silent fury churned deep in his throat, tearing his heart apart.
He was crying.
Just like his mother had—without a sound.
“Brother.”
Roel whispered softly in Ian’s arms.
“I still see it. I keep seeing it. What am I to do? Closing my eyes doesn’t make it stop.”
“Calm down, Roel.”
“Mother’s gone, so why show me this?”
Fragments of dark memories flashed through Ian’s mind. What if Philia hadn’t died? What if Roel had died instead?
“Ahhh!”
The desert warriors would remain buried forever beneath the sands, lost to history. Hielo would never be the same. Names and everything would change. Philia would know Nersarn’s death and drown in grief. The masterless corpse would be torn apart in Toorun’s temple…
“Temple.”
Roel, who had been convulsing, suddenly stopped. The storm of darkness quieted. In the stillness, the boy spoke in a chilling voice, still cradled in Ian’s arms.
“The temple. We must fill it. Otherwise, mother’s death will be meaningless.”
Ian immediately recognized it—the Masantar Temple. The underground stronghold of the god of death, the place holding the key to return.
Their grip on each other tightened.
Tap tap tap!
Bang!
“Over here, doctor!”
“Goodness!”
At that moment, Tommy burst in with the medical team. A child who had injured his own eyes— the doctor was stunned but quickly bent down to Roel.
Ian stepped back, and Roel’s hand finally dropped.
“Please, put up a screen!”
Swish!
At the doctor’s request, servants hurried in with cloth to shield Roel. Despite the urgency, the boy was calm. A faint smirk crossed his lips.
‘Was Lord Winchen like this too?’
Winchen, the blind leader of the desert. Had she ever wished to gouge out her eyes in pain?
Roel spoke quietly to Ian behind the screen.
“Brother, you should return to Kalamath. I’m going to the Great Desert.”
“…”
“I must gather the warriors’ bodies and rebuild Cheonryeo. It’s my duty and fate. Everyone’s waiting for me—I can’t waste a moment.”
Ian suddenly recalled his own childhood—how heavy the burdens had been even then. He wanted to tell Roel not to struggle so much, but knowing it was impossible, he remained silent.
“The bloodline of Hielo’s clan will be restored. I’ll set everything right again. So don’t worry, brother. I can do this.”
He could. He had to. It was what his father had fought to protect, the chance his mother had sacrificed for. He had to succeed.
The doctor hesitated, looking at the boy’s face. The constant flow of bloody tears made treatment difficult. But the doctor only pressed cloth gently against Roel’s chin, too afraid to ask him to stop crying.
“…Haah.”
Hale bit down on his cigarette and sighed.
If only he had arrived a little earlier—maybe he could have saved Philia. The image of what he saw when the carriage door opened haunted him relentlessly.
But more than anything, what troubled him most was—
“Lord Ian?”
“He’s still sitting there.”
Ian looked drained of life.
Roel’s recovery was slow. The boy drifted in and out of consciousness, falling asleep again and again. Each time, Ian sat not far from the window, sinking deeper into silence.
What could he be thinking? No, it’s a relief if he’s even thinking at all. It would be better if he were crying, screaming, or at least showing some kind of reaction—anything but this numb silence…
“Uh, um…”
Hale and Tommy both turned around at the same time. It was Mayor Karenna. Sweat was pouring down his face as he cautiously asked,
“How are Minister Ian and his younger sibling doing?”
“…Not well.”
The mayor rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, wearing a strange expression that was neither a smile nor a frown.
What gripped him now wasn’t just the sorrow of his wife’s death, but fear. Unintentionally, his wife had killed the minister’s mother. It wouldn’t be surprising if his own head rolled next.
“I must apologize once again. This was my failure to properly manage my household affairs. Please, have mercy on this foolishness—”
“Enough. What do you want?”
With a sharp hiss, Hale stubbed out his cigarette on the railing and asked. There was no time for idle chatter.
“Ah, yes, yes. About that painting in question. We receive so many gifts from all over that it took some time to identify it. It turns out it was a gift from a merchant caravan passing through Karenna. Seems to be a few years old.”
“The name of the caravan?”
“No one remembers that far.”
Hale waved his hand dismissively. There were only a handful of caravans that used magical paintings, so it would be easy to narrow down. If he really wanted to know, he could just pressure Mrs. Darsi.
Though Hale motioned for him to leave, the mayor bowed and seized a moment.
“Is there something else?”
“It’s just that…”
He glanced nervously outside. The inside of the mansion had been chaotic, so he hadn’t noticed, but a loud commotion was underway. Sweat poured down his face as he clasped his hands respectfully.
“The vanguard soldiers who came with Lord Roel are turning Karenna upside down. They’re searching for any remaining enemies, any stragglers. But their methods are rather harsh, and there are complaints… Could you please come see for yourself, just this once?”