CHAPTER 84

"What are you thinking about?"

Josef, who was momentarily dazed by the pouring sunlight, quickly opened his eyes and raised his head.

As his vision became increasingly clear, he could see Peter looking at him closely.

Peter's expression seemed to momentarily hesitate, contemplating whether he should worry about his frail son as a father or scold him sharply as the head of the family.

"You seem tired."

"I apologize."

In Peter's eyes, a hint of a father's gaze began to emerge subtly.

It would be understandable to be tired.

Starting from Shoara, he had to constantly run up to Sturma and prepare to make Vlad a knight.

If it weren't for Josef, Vlad becoming a knight at such a young age and in such a short time in the history of the Bayezid family would have been impossible.

"I have adjusted the boy's status as you wished."

"Thank you."

To gather his thoughts, Josef quickly looked out the window. Although the outside view was somewhat obscured by Peter's figure, the snow hanging on the window frame sent a chill down Josef's spine.

"Soon, a meeting will be held where all the lords of the North will gather."

"....Is that so?"

But there was no need to look out the window to clear his mind.

The words that eventually reached Josef from Peter's mouth were surprising enough.

"Is this a grand meeting?"

"Yes."

The Northern Conference, which had not been convened for over ten years.

The fact that it would happen soon made Josef's expression involuntarily heavier.

'I didn't even sense a hint of it.'

There must have been signs visible here and there, considering it was a gathering of all the lords of the North.

However, Josef hadn't sensed any of those signs at all.

That could mean the security was kept tight, or the preparations were rushed to the point that no one noticed.

"I want to have the Lord of Deomar seated there."

A single sentence laden with many meanings.

Josef, momentarily taken aback and unable to speak, watched as Peter took hold of the bottle of alcohol beside him and quietly poured himself a drink.

Soon, the room was filled with the scent and sound of the clear brown liquid flowing.

"The Baroness Alicia will know too. That Deomar can no longer freely move between the North and the Central region."

The peaceful days have come to an end.

Now is the time for us to unite for survival.

And that choice will be even harsher for territories like Deomar that have maintained neutrality.

"....Will she choose us?"

"I know everything you've done to make her do so."

Peter looked at his son sitting across from him with deep eyes.

Clever but weak, his second son Josef Bayezid.

But he knows that he has struggled just as fiercely because he wasn't born with sharp fangs.

"Do your best to support her. As far as Deomar is concerned, you are Bayezid."

So he must also repay that struggle.

As both a father and the head of the Bayezid family.

"Thank you, Father."

"Since you've come up after a long time, take a few days off. Enough to satisfy your mother."

Realizing that the conversation was over, Josef left the office with a subtle smile, and Peter picked up the glass of alcohol beside him with a short sigh.

"It's a dilemma..."

Deomar is probably not the only one wondering what to choose.

Peter also stood at the crossroads of choice, and in the next few years, he would have to make the decision.

The blood of nobility should be a cold, serene blue.

Because on their shoulders were an immeasurable amount of duty and responsibility.

Peter raised the glass filled with alcohol and stood up to look out the window.

Winter was coming with the falling snow.

As Advisor Lagmus had said, this winter seemed like it would be even colder than last year's.

※※※※

Shimmering cloak, sparkling armor.

Vlad, clad in the same attire as yesterday, now stood atop the walls of Sturma.

"Quite a sight."

Vlad remarked, gazing at the scenery before him.

The twilight hues stretching beyond the horizon tinted the plains of the North red along with the walls of Sturma.

"It was a sight I wanted to show you."

Larmund spoke, observing Vlad, who was looking ahead with a blank expression.

He had always lived in humble attire, but his current appearance was entirely different from before. Though not in full armor, he wore a surcoat and cape that knights often wear, and he looked like a knight so proud that anyone who saw him would bow his head.

"The walls of Sturma have grown by drinking blood."

Vlad involuntarily turned his head at the solemn voice coming from beside him.

"The blood of enemies, and the blood of the Bayezids."

Larmund, now facing Vlad with a markedly different atmosphere, continued, "And someday, when the time comes, you too will have to shed your blood."

"..."

Vlad, sensing the meaning behind Larmund's words, simply nodded quietly without saying a word.

To protect something, someone's blood is needed. And knights, as beings who had pledged to willingly shed their blood when the time came, understood this truth.

The old knight was now imparting the essence of knighthood to the boy who had just become a knight.

"I understand, old man."

"It's Larmund."

Only now did the wanderer, who had been wandering in the lowest places, speak his name.

"In the future, call me Sir Larmund."

He had wandered around with his old body in search of the honors he had not been able to collect, and now he was holding only the last piece of honor in his hands.

"Take it."

And finally, the old man could step out of the lowest ranks.

By handing over his last coin to the boy.

"What's this?"

"The payment for your armor that I destroyed."

The meals I enjoyed, the lodging fees at the inn I borrowed from you.

And the price for all the potential you showed me.

The single ducat that paid for all those things.

"Is this all?"

"Whether it's enough or not, that's all you get."

Vlad frowned at the rusty coin, but Larmund simply chuckled, looking at the oblivious boy.

"It's enough, take it or leave it."

The old man had accrued much debt to the boy over time, but it was not due to careless attitude; rather, it was the deliberate outcome of his intentions.

Following Larmund's intentions, Vlad, who had naturally become the patron of the lowest ranks, could only feel bewildered by the worn coin he now held, but he couldn't voice any complaints.

Now, the old man in front of the boy was not an unknown old man, but someone who was his long-time senior.

"Come visit my manor sometime."

"Sure. I guess I can get the missing amount there."

Larmund smiled at the quietly grumbling boy.

"Your visits are always welcome, Sir Vlad."

".....yes?"

Vlad looked at Larmund, who referred to him as "Sir," momentarily taken aback. He hadn't learned how to respond in such situations.

"It was a pleasure."

Vlad merely gave a subtle expression while looking at Larmund extending his hand for a handshake.

The unadorned sword had served its purpose, so it parted ways with the boy.

The old knight had fulfilled his duty, thus it was time for him to part ways with the boy.

"..."

As Larmund bid him farewell, Vlad merely felt the coin he was given.

For the boy, parting was still an awkward moment.

As the fading twilight cast its red glow upon the walls of Sturma, it painted both of them in red.

Vlad's hand, which was shaking Larmund's hand, was rising as slowly as the slowly waning sunset.

※※※※

A blue-eyed man was walking through the mansion.

The servants around him urgently lowered their heads as they looked at the shining armor and the flowing blonde hair.

There was no place in the mansion where the man was walking that was not illuminated by light.

Sunlight shines through the windows on all sides, and statues and ornaments sparkle in the light.

The ornaments boasted an old-fashioned charm as they were old, clearly showing how noble the owner's taste was.

"I have just returned, Father."

Mirshea walked confidently into the lobby, kneeling politely and bowing his head towards the figure seated atop the hall.

"...Have you now?"

The twilight, as if taking its last breath, cast its glow upon the seat he occupied. His hand, as dry as a withered tree, was bathed in the reddish light streaming in from outside.

"....Report."

His voice, devoid of moisture, cracked like metal, revealing his age and vigor. 

The man who Mirshea addressed as Father struggled to sit in the chair, burdened by the weight of the passing years.

"I apologize, Father."

At the difficult voice coming from above, Mirshea lowered his head even more as if he was sorry and began to report what happened in the north.

The Lindworm, the White Dragon, a manifestation of his potential, had been subdued by the Bayezid knights, not the Dragon Slayer Knights as expected.

"....Barbarians. Ignorant of their place."

The old man, describing the Northern men as barbarians, could not hide his disappointment, tapping his armrest with a trembling finger. Prejudices against the North, ingrained over time, still lived within his soul.

"I'm sorry."

Mirshea knew his failure would greatly disappoint his father. However, he also knew there were significant variables contributing to his failure, which would surely bring joy to the old man who was currently disappointed.

"But, Father, I have found a promising boy in the North."

".....A promising boy?"

The withered old man blinked in surprise at Mirshea's sudden report.

Despite everything in his body being bleached white by the weight of the years, his blue eyes still sparkled as brightly as ever.

"Have you ever been to the North? I discovered a young dragon there who has yet to open its eyes."

At Mirshea's words, the old man closed his eyes deeply. His eyelids fluttered restlessly, as if rummaging through past memories without respite.

"Have I only been to the North? I have traveled across every corner of this world throughout my lifetime."

A seed is something that has the possibility to become something. Over the years, the old man had traveled across the continent, sowing those possibilities.

It was the old man's belief and wish, and it was something worth risking his life for.

"Did your heart resonate upon seeing the child?"

"Yes."

"What color?"

In response to the old man's question, Mirshea looked up at him. Golden hair and blue eyes. The colors of the Dragulia family were present there.

"It is the same as ours."

"....I see."

With Mirshea's words, the withered old man smiled deeply. With that smile, the twilight that had barely hung on the horizon began to fade.

"Yet, seeing that the pieces of the dragon did not call out, it seems the child has yet to awaken, as you say."

With the moistened voice of the old man, darkness began to seep into various parts of the mansion.

The mansion, once illuminated by sunlight, now took on a different appearance. The elegant statues now appeared ominous under the creeping shadows, and the paintings depicting beautiful landscapes exuded an unmistakable aura of antiquity.

"Sowing seeds is always arduous, and the waiting time is agonizing, yet humans constantly repeat this process."

The lobby was finally filled with darkness.

There, at the highest point, an unknown man stood up.

"I have been like that too."

Lush golden hair.

Clear blue eyes.

And a middle-aged man with a confident demeanor and atmosphere.

A man, who had absorbed the moisture from the darkness, was descending the lobby.

"I'd like to see that child."

The capital of the empire, Brigantes.

Even there, at the center, stands a mansion.

In that place, where the Duke of Dragulia Family, Dragonblood Duke, resides, the oldest pair of blue eyes were shining.