Chapter 383: Blithe Request [II]

I followed my father outside, ambling out of his throne room and onto the wide footpath winding through the magnificent garden.

The garden itself was breathtaking with perfectly trimmed hedges and lavish marble fountains, exotic flowers of impossible colors and towering trees that filtered the sunlight through their canopies in golden shafts, casting beautiful latticed patterns on the interlocking stones below.

The air was filled with various floral scents, some sweet and some fruity, creating an atmosphere that was as serene as any place could possibly be.

...Yet, I was on edge.

I hadn’t had a one-on-one talk with this man since... forever?

Wait, that couldn’t be right...

Narrowing my eyes, I tried my best to recall the last time I’d had a proper conversation with him.

The memories came in bits and pieces.

I remembered some childhood lessons on war strategy that felt more like lectures from a stern instructor than a father.

Then there were the training sessions where he pushed me to my absolute limits without so much as a kind word.

He had given me occasional nods of approval when I did something exceptional. I used to cherish those.

But words?

Real, human words?

Like, father-son bonding?

I couldn’t remember even a single instance.

...Well, of course I couldn’t. That was the root of my jealousy and resentment toward Thalia, after all.

Argh!

I shook my head, refusing to dwell on those unpleasant thoughts.

Instead, I began glaring daggers at the back of my father’s head. "Unless you’re taking me to see my companions, I’d like to stop this sightseeing—"

"That boy," my father interrupted smoothly. "The one with the sharp face and chestnut eyes. Ray Warner, I believe he told us his name was. You do know his real identity, don’t you?"

...Ah, fuck.

Ray was the bastard son of Arminius Kurtz Absberg, one of the two Eastern Dukes. On any other day, that shouldn’t have been a problem.

But now that a war was drawing near, my father knew Duke Arminius was more likely to side with the South than the West.

Basically, Ray’s father was a potential enemy.

"Holding him hostage won’t get you anywhere," I still tried to reason, keeping my voice steady and confident. "He’s a bastard. His father doesn’t care about him. You should know what that feels like, right? Not caring about your child."

My father ignored the jab and continued walking with his hands clasped behind his back.

The thin rays of afternoon sunlight caught the edges of his hair, lighting up the strands into a soft shade of molten gold and creating a halo-like effect around his head.

"And what of the Zynx girl?" he mused after a pause. "She is certainly not someone I can let go easily. Her father is desperate to recover her after she ran away from home to join Apex."

My frown deepened into a grimace.

What angle was he playing here? Clearly he was setting up a negotiation, but what was he even negotiating?

"That’s fair. But what exactly could Duke Zynx offer you that you don’t already have?" I asked rhetorically.

As was his habit when confronted with queries he didn’t want to answer, my father simply evaded the question and pressed his own point like he had already been doing.

"That seer broke up with you, didn’t she? She and her father went back on the agreement our family had made," he said. "That wasn’t a particularly nice thing to do. I was prepared to let her die. And then there’s the boy she left you

for

. The commoner who beat you. I looked into his background, and his sudden transformation was... suspicious."

I was clenching my jaw hard by this point. "Father—"

"Finally, we should discuss your

Shadow

. She’s clever, and she knows it," he huffed. "What she

doesn’t

know is when to stop pushing her limits. After I specifically banished you from the family, she redirected your assets before they were frozen. That is larceny in all but name."

"Father!" I raised my voice to the extent that even I was surprised by its sudden intensity.

Sure, I never liked my father. But he was truly starting to grate on me now.

"Just get to the point!" I said. "There’s obviously something you want. Do you think I don’t know you could’ve killed them all if you really wanted to? But since you’re beating around the bush, you

clearly

haven’t. So just tell me... what is it that you want from me?"

My father was quiet for an uncomfortably long amount of time after that. For a second, I thought he was going to ignore me again.

...But he didn’t.

Instead, he stopped right in his tracks and turned to fully face me... leaving me utterly speechless in response.

Because there was a solemnity in his expression that made him look serious in a way he rarely ever was.

"Do you know where the

Iron Height

is?" he asked.

Huh?

What did that have to do with anything?

"Uh... sure," I replied tentatively. "I mean, not

exactly

. But they’re somewhere in the Eastern Ocean, right?"

"Yes," Father nodded. Then, he said something that completely baffled me. "I need you to go to

Iron Height

next month. Your brother Ezra is already there."

...I was floored.

Was he... asking me to go chill on a vacation after my recently long and depressing journey?

Okay, that was strangely paternal of him.

Though why would I want to spend my time off with

Ezra

of all people? And wait, did they even have a decent resort on

Iron Height

?

From what I knew, the entire island was just the calcified carcass of the largest

Unholy

Spirit Beast humanity had ever slain on Earth.

"Well, I appreciate the gesture, Father," I sighed, "but I’d rather take a vacation somewhere exotic, not on the back of a giant dead monster."

My father was

visibly

stupefied. "What?"

"...W-What?" I staggered back, mirroring his confusion.

He kept staring at me through squinted eyes. Then, after a judgmental pause, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I am not sending you there on a vacation," he said slowly.

"Well, when you tell me to

go to a scenic island with my dear brother

, I’m going to assume there are cocktails involved," I muttered.

He completely ignored me and went on. "There was a relic recently being smuggled through

Iron Height

. The smugglers were killed by beasts, but we were able to confirm that the item in question was something that belonged to our family three generations ago."

I frowned, ready to interject with a quip I can’t quite remember now.

I can’t remember because I stopped upon seeing a flash of sad desperation on my father’s face.

In all my years, I had

never

seen him look sad... except on one specific day every single year — the anniversary of my mother’s death.

It was

exactly

the same expression he would wear during her memorials that he was wearing now.

But before I could process the sight, the mask of detachment slid back into place on his face as usual.

"I need that relic. At

any

cost," he emphasized. "The problem is that

Iron Height

technically

falls under the territorial jurisdiction of the Ducal House of Wayforge. They covet that relic just as much as we do."

...Oh, come on!

I resisted the urge to drag a hand down my face.

Uncaring, my father continued speaking. "They are mobilizing their forces to secure the site. They claim they are conducting a containment operation, but I know they intend to seize the relic. Your brother is already there with an army, and small-scale skirmishes are already breaking out. We expect them to launch a full-on assault within the next few weeks, all while depicting us as the aggressors."

Yeah, well, no shit!

We

were

the ones aggressing on their territory!

"So, let me get this straight," I said, letting out a weary breath. "We are going to fight on two fronts — one war against a rival Ducal house and another against a Southern Prince? And you want me to go help my brother steal a relic in enemy territory? Is that what you’re saying?"

"Yes."

If I had two arms... and if I was stronger than him... I would’ve strangled the man right there, consequences be damned.

But I managed to steady myself. "Why do you want me to go help Ezra, anyway? He’s the strongest among us siblings. You must’ve also given him your best generals, your exalted knights, and every resource at your disposal that he would’ve required. Then why does he even need me?"

The

Golden Duke

gave a slight, dismissive tilt of his broad shoulders. It was a gesture that could’ve translated to a shrug, like that was all the answer he deemed necessary to give me.

For some reason, the casualness of it irked me more than a verbal insult would have.

"Fine," I snapped. "Then why

me

specifically? Why send your

’failure’

of a son to an important war when Calliope and Tristan are right here? Send them."

He simply shook his head. "Tristan’s marriage is a political necessity. I’ll also need him in the South. Calliope is strong, but I don’t trust her to make the decisions required to win at

all

costs. Besides, she will be invaluable to me when the Coalition eventually moves."

I waited a few seconds before pulling my lips into a thin line. "And your precious little perfect heiress? What about Thalia?"

The

great

Duke Arthur didn’t look so great in that moment.

He didn’t look like some out-of-comprehension, larger-than-life legendary figure that the stories centred around him had painted him out to be.

He just looked human.

A deeply

distressed

human.

"I cannot send her," he said finally.

"Yeah, I guessed that much," I scoffed, leaning in to press the point. "But why?"

His gaze didn’t waver, though I could clearly see the cracks in his mask now.

The space between us seemed to grow heavy, as if the weight of the words alone was enough to crush the surrounding flowers.

"I can’t send her there. If I do..." he whispered, "she is prophesied to die."