Chapter 35

Only after hearing those hushed, conspiratorial whispers did Isaac force his racing heart to slow, offering a vague, “Oh, yes, I believe I have heard rumors to that effect.”

Countless myths surrounded the guildmaster who held the royal contract. He was reputed to be a magician of peerless power, capable of commanding phantom beasts and influencing the very climate itself. Seeing as even the most temperamental, paranoid magicians served him with unquestioning fealty, the rumors certainly held more than a grain of truth.

Moreover, the man rarely appeared in public; unless a monumental national event demanded his presence, the common citizenry stood little chance of catching a glimpse of him.

Even Isaac, who navigated the royal palace daily for his duties, had only secured a fleeting glance from a distance during the thirtieth anniversary of the coronation. In many respects, the Magicians’ Guild’s guildmaster proved more elusive than the majority of the royal family.

Inevitably, the rumors surrounding him ran wild. Some whispered he was a half-blood offspring of a magician and a witch, while others claimed he had forged a clandestine pact with a dark practitioner. There were even those who insisted he was a witch in his own right.

The conjectures were endless.

“They say he is the most formidable magician to emerge in the last several centuries.”

“If he has successfully held the position of guildmaster for over thirty years, navigating a pit of greedy, jealousy-ridden magicians, that alone speaks volumes.”

“Exactly. That is precisely why people have maintained for ages that his unnatural strength must stem from the witch blood coursing through his veins.”

Isaac felt no inclination to join his colleagues’ idle chatter. Instead, he stared toward the distant horizon, muttering to himself, his voice barely a whisper, I am not so certain… I suspect that hardly matters at all…

During Isaac’s childhood, his mother had exercised her craft with extreme scarcity, even when they were tucked away in private. Yet, on rare occasions, she would indulge in the art. Perhaps she was rescuing a stray kitten stranded beyond reach, or demonstrating flickers of light while discussing arcane theory with her fellow witches.

As a boy, Isaac had watched with breathless fascination, his heart thick with envy. He had begged her for the chance to use magic himself.

However, her answer had been cold: You must be born with magical aptitude. You were not, so you cannot. She would then heave a heavy sigh, adding, How can you be my own child and possess less magical potency than even a mundane human magician?

Having accepted early on that some aspirations remained beyond the reach of effort alone, Isaac had fashioned a life as an ordinary human, dedicating his labor solely to what lay within his power.

Regardless, he mused, if even witches could suffer from absurdly weak magic, then it stood to reason that a human might possess astonishing, unrivaled power. Isaac stared blankly at the sky, anchoring his thoughts there.

“Regardless, I have no love for magicians. Do they not strike you as profoundly gloomy? I would hardly be surprised if one of them were secretly slaughtering and burying people somewhere, claiming it was for the sake of magical research, wouldn’t you agree?”

“They would surely not descend to such depths, though their temperaments certainly lean toward the sort that fixates obsessively on a single pursuit.”

Apparently, there was a specific term for such individuals in some distant nation. Something akin to otaku, or whatever the word was.

Beside Isaac, his colleagues remained locked in their gossip. Then, Olsen tapped him on the shoulder. “He nearly perished at the hands of a magician not long ago, too. If Lord Kaiyan had not been present, you would be a corpse.”

“Indeed. It is a fortunate thing that Lord Kaiyan harbors such a loathing for magicians.”

“Lord Kaiyan is, for all intents and purposes, Isaac’s savior.”

No. Lord Kaiyan did not execute that magician out of some vendetta against his kind, and he certainly did not do it to preserve my life…

Isaac burned with the desire to set the record straight, but he ultimately relinquished the effort. At this point, revisiting the incident felt utterly exhausting. Rumors possessed a life of their own, flourishing regardless of the victim’s explanations, so he let them believe whatever they pleased.

“Come to think of it, I heard Lord Kaiyan’s bodyguard has been dismissed.”

Someone threw out the remark with casual indifference. Isaac, who had felt little affection for the discourse on witches, found the change of subject welcome and swiftly interjected. “Truly? While I was under confinement? By bodyguard, you mean that bedwarmer, correct? Dismissed as in… his head?”

He asked the question with a trace of visceral distaste. The prince’s bodyguards—or rather, the bedmates tethered to that title—had cycled through several iterations. Some succumbed when their bodies failed them, others were discarded after weeping and begging for their release, and a few simply perished. Given the tenure of this latest incumbent, a replacement was likely due, but knowing the fellow’s insatiable greed, he would never have volunteered for departure. In that context, dismissal almost certainly implied the severance of his neck.

“No, no. He was literally dismissed. Simply removed from his post.”

Lauder waved his hand in denial. Isaac felt a momentary surge of relief, though he remained baffled. “For what reason?”

“He was caught dallying with a woman.”

Isaac blinked at Lauder, processing the revelation. That bedwarmer had been prostituting his body as Lord Kaiyan’s personal outlet while simultaneously sharing the clouds and rain with a woman on the side. If so, his dismissal followed a logical path.

No, wait. We are speaking of Lord Kaiyan, not some ordinary man. As long as his own physical release remained uninterrupted, why would he care what his bedwarmer pursued elsewhere? He does not view individuals as people; they are mere instruments to him. And he dismissed him over a dalliance? Truly?

Isaac looked at them with eyes that betrayed his profound disbelief that such a man could possess even a sliver of humanity. Lauder, along with the rest of the circle, answered with the knowing expression of men who fully grasped the gravity of the question.

“The woman was pregnant.”

“What? Ah, well, that puts a different slant on it. It would be a bit much to retain him as a bedwarmer if he is to become a father. Still, I assumed Lord Kaiyan would be indifferent even to that. It appears he possesses a surprising scrap of morality, after all…”

Isaac nodded, muttering in astonishment, until Olsen interrupted. “I am not so certain. The greedy bastard reportedly clung to him, pleading to remain his bedwarmer, but Lord Kaiyan silenced him: There are plenty of holes in this world besides yours. There is no necessity to utilize yours in particular. Can we genuinely characterize that as morality?”

An uneasy silence descended upon the group. Yes, that sounded far more like their prince. Isaac asked with a sour grimace, “And the successor?”

“No clue. He was cast out the day before yesterday, so I expect a replacement will surface shortly.”

Someone added that whoever the unlucky bastard turned out to be, they only hoped he possessed the constitution to survive. “I care little either way. I only hope I am not called upon to excavate another grave in the front yard…”

Digging earth was heavy, back-breaking labor. As Isaac grumbled to himself, Brick perked up as if struck by a sudden realization. “Now that I think of it, rumors suggest Lord Kaiyan has been in high spirits of late.”

“What? Really? That man experiences moods?”

“You would never discern it from the outside, but they claim the atmosphere at Blue Shadow Palace has been remarkably tranquil. Apparently, nobody has breathed their last there in quite some time.”

“Truly? To what do we owe this shift?”

“Who can say? Even the staff at Blue Shadow Palace are walking around scratching their heads. Normally, the period around the new moon is a death trap—like treading on cracked ice. Yet they say no one perished during the last new moon, or the one preceding it.”

Speculation erupted at once. Had he discovered a secret technique? Had he entered into a clandestine contract with a master magician? As the chorus of theories rose, Isaac remained shrouded in silence. Now that I consider it, a certain someone’s staggering sacrifice seems to lie buried beneath this peace. He suddenly felt the urge to weep.

“Let us begin our training…”

Fearing that sitting there any longer would only deepen his melancholy, Isaac brushed the dirt from his breeches and rose to his feet. The others grumbled about the oppressive heat and the inconvenience, but one by one, they followed his lead.

They had just retreated from the shade of the trees toward the training ground when a rider approached from the distance, kicking up a light shroud of dust. A second horse trailed closely behind.

The training ground for the royal guards occupied a desolate, forgotten corner of the sprawling palace, ensuring it remained undisturbed by casual onlookers. Simon narrowed his eyes, tracking the approaching figure and wondering what possible business could lead anyone to this remote precinct. Then, his entire body stiffened. While the rider remained a blur at this distance, the mount was unmistakable.

CLACK. CLACK.

The rhythmic percussion of hooves against the stone echoed like a war drum, signaling an imminent arrival.

“Everyone, form ranks!” Simon barked, his voice sharp with sudden authority.

The soldiers recognized the mount simultaneously with their squad leader. Their postures sharpened instantly as they snapped into a rigid line. Isaac, embedded within the formation, followed suit, masking his growing unease. It was the prince’s stallion. There was no misidentifying that powerful white beast, a creature rumored to have survived countless brutal engagements at the frontier. No one but the prince would dare hold the reins of such a mount.

“Why would he descend upon us so suddenly?”

“The rumors that his temper has mellowed must be true, right?”

Even those nervous murmurs vanished as the horse closed the distance, surging forward like a launched arrow despite its fluid, light-footed gait. Once the animal reached the edge of the formation, it pulled to a sharp halt.

“Simon, squad leader of the Third Squad of the royal palace guard, offers his respects to Lord Kaiyan!” Simon shouted, snapping into a crisp, military salute.

The prince dismounted with effortless grace, followed immediately by one of his personal attendants. The prince glanced around with a cold, hollow indifference, as if the soldiers standing before him were little more than unfeeling scenery.

Bewildered and vibrating with internal tension, Simon tracked the prince’s movements with his eyes before signaling the attendant, desperate for context.

The attendant, a man with whom Simon shared a long-standing rapport, wiped a sheen of nervous sweat from his brow and tilted his head in a silent admission of profound confusion.

“He claimed he needed to procure a hunting dog,” the attendant whispered, his voice barely audible.

Simon blinked, his expression vacuous. “A hunting dog? What kind of hunting dog? The Blue Shadow Palace is teeming with them.”

“I am uncertain. Perhaps he plans a large-scale hunt and requires a specific, rare breed…”

“But why here? The kennels are nowhere near this sector.”

“The issue is that he specifically demanded the location of the Third Squad.”

“Our unit does not handle hunting dogs,” Simon countered, his confusion deepening into genuine alarm.

The prince finished his cursory inspection and turned back toward them. Simon and the attendant immediately silenced themselves and assumed a posture of rigid attention. Isaac tugged his cap low, bowing his head in a desperate attempt to vanish. He possessed a wretched feeling—a distinct, cold dread that never failed to bloom whenever his path intersected with the prince’s.

“Were you in the midst of training?” the prince inquired, his voice cool and detached.

Simon pulled his shoulders back, his tone strictly formal. “Yes, Your Highness. We were engaged in standard sparring practice.”

“Hm.”

The prince reached out and claimed a wooden sword from the rack. He flicked his wrist, testing the weight; the weapon sliced through the air with a hiss as lethal as any sharpened steel. The soldiers watched in mounting anxiety, paralyzed by their inability to decipher his intent. The prince’s gaze swept across them, forcing every man to flinch and drop his eyes. Isaac kept his head down, but…

“You.”

The single syllable struck Isaac with the force of a physical blow. His heart plummeted. A sense of profound doom surged through his marrow. It cannot be me. It must not be me. While his comrades desperately maintained their bows, Simon turned toward the prince, his expression pained, as if swallowing a bitter, medicinal draught.

“Isaac.”

As Simon uttered his name and offered a consoling, heavy pat on the shoulder, Isaac felt his legs buckle.

“…Me?”

He forced his gaze upward, his entire frame trembling.

The prince was staring directly at him. With a slight flick of the wooden sword, the prince gestured for Isaac to step into the clearing.