“Dad?!”
Nigel was completely thrown by Ruder’s sudden attack. But the one who should have been the most surprised—Etna, standing directly in the blade’s path—was utterly calm.
Etna drew a pure white sword from who knew where, deflecting Ruder’s strike with practiced ease. As the blade descended, Etna twisted his wrist, reversing the sword’s path upward and aiming straight for Ruder’s side. Ruder twisted his torso to dodge and countered with an elbow strike instead of his sword, but it narrowly missed. Etna ducked beneath it, his blade scraping the floor before it swept toward Ruder’s legs. Ruder retreated, evading the attack, and readied his stance to thrust forward.
Clang! Their swords collided with a piercing metallic crash. Each clash piled on more danger, but no blow struck home—neither man suffered a scratch.
Nigel might not have been a swordsman, but he understood enough to recognize that what he was witnessing wasn’t a simple duel. It was an art form. Each move was razor-sharp and looked as though it could kill, yet every parry and dodge flowed like water—as if each knew the other’s intent before it happened.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it was over.
Ruder stepped back and lowered his sword. Etna immediately threw his own blade aside.
Ruder’s face, once full of suspicion, was now flooded with shock, certainty, and overwhelming emotion.
“Etna…!”
“Father.”
The man who had just launched a ferocious attack now staggered forward like a feeble old man, wrapping Etna in a desperate embrace.
“Etna! Etna, what… Etna…”
He crushed him in a bear hug, his huge hands clumsily rubbing Etna’s face as if to confirm it was real. Those large hands trembled—betraying the full depth of Ruder’s turmoil.
Etna looked slightly awkward but allowed his father’s touch without resistance.
“You stupid boy.”
“Father.”
“You… you died… I saw you. I laid you to rest in a coffin…”
“I’m sorry, Father.”
“Etna, how… how is this even…”
Ruder’s voice cracked with emotion.
To both Etna and Nigel, Ruder had always been as unshakable as the Pagan Mountains of the northern frontier. Seeing him now, so fragile, was unsettling—but not incomprehensible.
How could anyone not break down when a son they’d buried returned from the dead?
Ruder sobbed quietly into Etna’s shoulder.
Etna, still uncomfortable, looked over his father’s shoulder and reached a hand out toward Nigel.
“Come here too, Nigel.”
Nigel hesitated, shuffling forward. As soon as he was within reach, Etna grabbed him and pulled him into his arms.
He embraced them both—the weeping father and the frozen younger brother—pulling them tightly together.
Nigel, the smallest of the three, ended up sandwiched awkwardly between Etna and Ruder. Unlike the vision at the Temple of Eternity, Etna now felt warm and alive. Sandwiched between their body heat, Nigel’s eyes darted around, unsure.
“We may not be the protagonists… just side characters who guide the main party along the right route,” Inas had once said.
Why did that line come to mind now? These two were his family. Etna wasn’t even Kay, the so-called Protagonist.
And yet Nigel couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a mere supporting role, crammed between two leads.
Amid the flood of emotion, only Nigel remained cold and distant inside.
It wasn’t until much later that Ruder managed to compose himself. He wiped his tear-streaked face with a handkerchief and cleared his throat in embarrassment.
“Forgive me. I was so shocked. I still… I just can’t make sense of any of this…”
“I’ll explain everything,” Etna said calmly, glancing briefly at Nigel.
“But first, I think Nigel should rest.”
“Ah. Yes, you’re right. Nigel, you look terribly pale.”
Both their eyes turned toward Nigel, full of concern. But his paleness wasn’t from sickness, and he shook his head.
“No, I’m fine.”
What, they wanted to send him off to bed at a moment like this? Nigel refused, but Etna was already shaking his head firmly, leaving no room for argument.
“No. You should rest. We can’t have you collapsing.”
“Right. I’ll summon the court physician, Nigel.”
The air left no room for refusal.
And Nigel could see the truth hidden behind their kind words—they wanted to talk seriously, without the kid around.
They were sending him away on purpose.
He almost wished he was too oblivious to notice. But knowing full well what they were doing made it impossible to keep resisting. Nigel gave a reluctant nod.
“Alright… I’ll go rest.”
“Good. I’ll have someone escort you—”
“Wait, Father.”
Etna stepped in before Ruder could act, gently approaching Nigel.
Nigel flinched at the proximity. There was something unreadable in Etna’s expression, like he was carrying a thousand feelings beneath the surface.
“Nigel,” he said softly, extending a hand.
It felt like being pulled into deep water. Nigel didn’t even resist—he just let Etna draw him in.
He was his beloved older brother, after all. So why was Nigel this tense? Even he didn’t know.
“You’re okay, Nigel.”
Etna whispered, and then—effortlessly—lifted him into his arms.
Nigel was too old to be carried, yet Etna held him as if he weighed nothing, patting his back like a crying child.
“Don’t worry.”
“Brother…”
“Before I came here, I heard a few things. About what’s been happening with you.”
What things? Nigel’s eyes wavered anxiously.
Seeing his fear, Etna gently patted him again and again.
“You don’t need to worry about a thing. I’ll handle it all. You just focus on resting.”
“Okay…”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
Nigel almost said, I can handle it myself, but bit it back.
To Etna, Nigel was still his kid brother—nearly ten years younger.
Nigel quietly wriggled out of Etna’s arms.
Ruder took his hand and led him out, stopping a passing knight.
“Take Nigel to his room. Have the court physician examine him.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The knight took Nigel’s hand and led him away. Soon after, the physician came and gave the usual recommendation to rest.
Instead of Danil, older attendants came in—clearly sent under direct orders—to help Nigel undress and bathe.
Left alone afterward, flushed and warm from the hot water, Nigel sat blankly in silence.
So much had happened in such a short time. And yet here he was, abruptly cast out of it all—left behind like a piece of discarded scenery.
“……”
Eventually, Nigel shot up and opened the window.
The frigid winter air stole all the warmth from his body in an instant.
Just like the day he first woke up in this timeline, he gripped the balcony railing.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
A voice—so natural, as if it had always been there—spoke behind him.
Arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him back.
Nigel, small and delicate, was easily lifted into the arms of a much larger boy.
His head was pressed against Inas’s chest. He could hear his heartbeat, faster than usual—like he’d been scared half to death.
The window slammed shut. Cold air vanished, replaced by the room’s cozy warmth.
Nigel glared up at him, sharp-eyed.
“I figured if I did something like this, the stalker who’s always watching me would show up.”
Even with the accusation, Inas just smiled softly. And strangely, that smile brought Nigel an immense sense of relief.
Sensing Nigel’s tension easing, Inas gently pulled him close again.
Held in his arms, Nigel tried to suppress the emotions that had been boiling inside him just moments before.
Even after invoking Glarus’s prophecy, his father had treated everything he said as nonsense—until Etna showed up and proved it with a sword.
That cut deep.
Once his thoughts veered into that dark corner, they wouldn’t stop.
Nigel didn’t know what it meant to bond through swords or battlefield camaraderie. He’d never admired that kind of thing.
But seeing Ruder—a man forged from war—confirm Etna’s identity through combat was something Nigel could never hope to replicate.
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the protagonist in this world. But being pushed aside in his own house—the Magnus Duchy—by a returning supporting character? That was hard to bear.
He was only able to become Duke because Etna had died. Now that he was back, Nigel would be pushed aside again. Not as the lead—just another extra.
The jealousy was there—but what stung more was the shame. This was his beloved brother. And yet, instead of being happy he’d come back, he was seething with petty envy.
“You think I’m pathetic, don’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know it too. I’ll never be more than a half-baked Duke of Magnus.”
“Excuse me?”
Inas was about to brush it off as some ridiculous joke, but Nigel’s serious face made him go quiet.
He’d tossed the words out impulsively, but now he was terrified Inas might agree.
When he turned his head away in fear, Inas pulled him into his lap, cupped his face, and forced him to look straight at him.
“No. I would never think that.” His voice was firm. “You’re not some half-measure, Nigel. Not in any way.”
You say that, but I saw everything.
Nigel smiled faintly, giving nothing away.
“It’s okay. You can be honest.”
“Is this because Etna came back?”
“You were watching?”
Inas scowled and nodded.
“It was impossible not to notice when someone reeked of Glarus’s energy waltzed into this estate.”
“Watch your mouth. That’s my brother.”
“But you were jealous, weren’t you?”
Inas stabbed right where it hurt.
Nigel hadn’t called him here to rub salt in the wound—he wanted comfort, not cruelty.
Then again, they’d been on rocky terms since their last fight. What kind words could he really expect?
Nigel scowled and tried to shove Inas away. But Inas didn’t let go.
