Whether it was intentional or not, Ressas’s soft-spoken provocation had the desired effect. Aster released Cecilia’s hand and turned his body away. With a sideways glance, he swept Ressas with a look full of disdain.
“Flaunting a half-baked ability as if it’s worth something… How pathetic. A fool who doesn’t even have the power to heal his own Tither dares to act above his station—blinded by arrogance.”
As if to prove that no power is perfect, Ressas lacked the healing abilities typically deemed essential for a guide. Among Aster’s supporters, this deficiency was the main point of criticism they constantly raised against him.
“Listening to you, it sounds as though you’re assuming someone will get hurt. But I believe we’ll finish this subjugation without a single injury, as long as our abilities work in sync. You don’t need to worry yourself over that, Brother.”
“I’m not sure if I should call it naive or just plain foolish, this belief that the world will bend to your will.”
The air crackled with tension as their verbal sparring escalated. Even the Tithers and the knights, who had been listening, kept silent. No one dared intervene in a dispute between royals.
“Whenever you run out of arguments, you always wrap things up with a biting remark, don’t you, Brother? I’ve seen it so many times it’s almost endearing now.”
…Could he really talk like that?
Everyone knew Ressas was stubborn, but it still felt strange to see him speaking out so firmly. He’d always endured quietly, smiling even when insulted. Even after gaining power in his previous life, Ressas had never openly pushed back against insults from Seiyad or Aster like this.
Though he had awakened his powers a little earlier this time, the difference in timing wasn’t significant. It would make sense if his confidence had grown—but Ressas now looked less like someone who had just grown braver and more like someone accustomed to handling situations like this. It was a level of composure that didn’t fit his age.
Something about it felt off, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sight to watch. Beneath his cool expression, Seiyad quietly anticipated the moment Aster’s composure would shatter. But instead, Aster simply listened to Ressas and then offered a gentle smile.
“Then let’s wait and see. I, too, will hope this subjugation of yours turns out to be as ‘injury-free’ as you claim.”
With a cryptic remark, Aster returned to his usual composed posture as if the earlier exchange had never happened. He drew the ceremonial sword, Holy Death, from his hip. A treasured relic of the royal family used to bestow blessings before great undertakings, it was also a symbol held only by the heir to the throne. Whether Ressas was consciously aware of that or not, his gaze darkened slightly as he looked at the blade.
The gleaming white blade, immune to rust, turned to point at Seiyad.
“Will the Duke take responsibility and lead the Tithers?”
Before Aster could finish his sentence, Zion Shildras stepped forward.
“Forgive my interruption, Your Highness, but it seems you’ve forgotten—the command of the Tithers has already been transferred to House Shildras. And since this land is under my jurisdiction, it is only right that I take responsibility.”
Aster’s blue eyes curved slightly as he turned to meet Seiyad’s gaze. The look he gave was unmistakably meant to probe how Seiyad felt about Shildras.
Zion’s reason for stepping in was clear—to prevent Aster and Seiyad from gaining more authority or justification. In Zion’s eyes, Seiyad was still nothing more than Aster’s pawn.
Seiyad deliberately avoided looking toward Shildras. It wasn’t easy to stay silent when Zion treated the rights of his mother’s bloodline and the duties of his house—passed down through generations—as though they were mere privileges to be granted or revoked at will.
If their eyes met, something dangerous might erupt. So, erasing every trace of emotion, Seiyad responded calmly.
“…He’s right. The responsibility belongs to House Shildras.”
As soon as Seiyad voiced his agreement, Aster turned the tip of his sword toward Zion. Following Aster’s gesture, Zion stepped forward and bowed his head slightly. The sword lightly touched his head, then lowered.
“From this moment on, the lives of the Tithers are your responsibility. Do not forget it.”
As the sword withdrew, Zion raised his head. On his youthful face—barely past adulthood—confidence had begun to bloom. Unable to bear watching the sight any longer, Seiyad looked away.
***
The troops assigned to enter the forest were few in number. It was spring—when Nir’a slumbered—and unlike the northern woods, the southern forest could be scouted in just two days on horseback. That likely contributed to the smaller deployment.
As a result, all the knights accompanying them were volunteers. Coincidentally—or perhaps not—most of those volunteers belonged either to Ressas or the Duchy of Shildras.
“The forest is quieter than I expected. Nova thought Nir’a’s lair would be terrifying.”
Positioned intentionally at the rear of the formation were Seiyad and Cecilia, with Nova walking just ahead of them. Up front, Zion led the group deeper into the forest with practiced ease. He’d claimed to have protected this forest last winter, and it looked like he’d memorized the terrain.
Having no choice but to stare at the back of someone he despised was nauseating. Enduring had become second nature to Seiyad, like breathing—but knowing that the world now supporting that proud figure had fed off his mother’s death made it unbearable.
“Silence, Lady Bridehit.”
Cecilia, stiff from tension, snapped at Nova. But despite the sharp tone, Nova continued to chatter cheerfully as she admired the forest.
“Cecilia, just call me Nova. We’re going to be protecting the nation together till we die, right?”
“I don’t want to be with foolish and treacherous Tithers.”
“Tithers—plural?”
Nova tilted her twin braids to one side. For the first time, her innocent white face showed a flicker of confusion. Cecilia responded with a voice laced with icy scorn.
“I have no intention of associating with puppet families working for Shildras.”
“What’s so wrong with Shildras?”
“They’re the ones who, blinded by a bit of power, drove their own comrades to death.”
Though her voice was soft, it was crystal clear—and for a Tither with heightened senses, impossible to miss. Up ahead, Zion stopped walking for a moment and turned to face them. His face, the spitting image of his father Sirkan, wore a look of disbelief as he stared in their direction.
“What is this commotion during a mission for subjugation?”
The steady flow was abruptly broken as Zion turned on his heel. Stella, who was positioned near the center, reached out to grab his arm to stop him.
“Zion, like you said—we’re in the middle of a subjugation. Save it for later.”
“We haven’t even passed the forest’s outer rim, so we’re not in any immediate danger. There aren’t any Nir’a nearby either, are there? More importantly, isn’t the real problem here Brosius, stirring up discord right before a battle?”
Zion gently removed Stella’s hand and began walking toward them. Nova, who was usually all smiles, was now glaring sharply at Cecilia, openly showing her irritation. Her silver hair, unlike Cecilia’s, rippled in the breeze with a dangerous shimmer, though she held herself back—perhaps out of solidarity as a fellow Tither.
“Shildras. Return to your position. Stella is right—this isn’t the time.”
If rank hadn’t mattered, Seiyad would have already struck Zion across the face and begun the subjugation himself. The only reason he hadn’t started a fight that could end with someone dead was because he understood the consequences.
“It was the Duke’s sister—who doesn’t even have the qualifications to bear this duty—who started it. She spent all that time hiding, neglecting the affairs of Axid, and now she appears just to cause trouble? What’s her angle?”
His words struck a nerve in Cecilia. The air around her trembled violently, and her eyes gleamed with rage. The emotions she had barely managed to restrain came pouring out of her mouth.
“And what’s with that smug tone coming from the son of a murderer? Do you even know what your dead father did?”
Seiyad grabbed her as she lunged forward. The veins stood out on her trembling pale wrist.
“Not yet, Cecil.”
He whispered to her. They still had no evidence in hand. Until Aster made a move himself, they had no blade to wield in this fight—it was too soon.
Seeing Cecilia’s fury flare more fiercely than his own caused Seiyad’s anger to abruptly cool. If an ambush came now, it would be dangerous. True, Nir’a was known to sleep in spring, and that was the very reason this subjugation force had been assembled—but…
Seiyad scanned the area. He’d explored the forest extensively during this season. No matter how deep the slumber, Nir’a always left behind some sign—but the surroundings now were far too pristine. In the field of battle, it was precisely in such stillness that one had to be most wary of ambushes. That was the fundamental duty of a knight.
“That was too much!”
As Seiyad focused his senses to scan the surroundings, the younger Tithers had already descended into division. Nova flushed bright red and stepped forward in anger, speaking up in Zion’s defense. Zion, now just a few steps away, listened to Cecilia’s outburst with an incredulous expression—and then scoffed.
“Ha. Unbelievable.”
Zion looked her over with a face full of genuine contempt, then turned his gaze to Seiyad. Staring at the siblings with an expression that almost seemed pitying, he opened his mouth.
“To think that those who would’ve died long ago without my father’s mercy have grown up into beasts who don’t even know the meaning of gratitude… It’s honestly tragic.”
