“I don’t know what brought you here, but there’s nothing for you to gain in this place! Of all the rotten luck!”
The man spat in the direction of the manor once more and left without a second glance.
It was as if a storm had passed through. The entire group stood in stunned silence while the Faerie alone was thrilled to pieces.
— How can things be this riveting right from the start?
The Faerie declared it all tremendously entertaining and pulled out a white confection from who knows where, stuffing it into its mouth with relish.
“Ahem.”
Dain, who had been at a loss for words for a moment, cleared his throat belatedly to break the tension, then raised his voice toward the manor.
“Duke Mordian, I am Dain, sent here under the orders of the Crown Prince.”
The manor, which had remained silent even as the man who’d stormed out screamed his lungs off, gave Dain’s words no response — as if that were only natural.
“Don’t they usually have a butler…… or someone? For a ducal household, no less.”
Zak muttered at Ranok’s side. Ranok replied with indifference.
“It looks like that man just now was the last servant.”
“Ugh.”
Zak recoiled at the situation being worse than expected — but whether he did or didn’t, Dain calmly announced their visit several more times.
Still no response from inside. After repeating the Crown Prince’s orders again and again, Dain was the first to run out of patience.
“Ahem, let’s just go in for now.”
Thanks to the man who had just made such a noisy exit, the front gate of the manor was left wide open — so Dain cleared his throat and led the group inside.
Not just the front gate; every single door of the manor was thrown wide open. That too was the work of the man who had just left.
Thanks to that, the three people and one Faerie were able to enter the manor with ease.
“What — is the garden a jungle or something……”
Zak muttered. It was true. The wide, completely untended garden had plants growing in such wild abundance it nearly resembled a jungle.
Fortunately, unlike the jungle of a garden, the interior of the manor was quite splendid and far larger.
The second floor, viewed from the first, was high enough that one couldn’t hope to reach it by hand — and standing at the railing up there, one would surely have a sweeping view of everything below.
The staircase split left and right, curving lazily upward and naturally drawing the eye toward the upper floor.
The manor — which was said to have been personally bestowed by the Emperor at the time the Mordian name and title were granted to him — was a flawless manor, as if drawn from a painting.
If only it had been maintained.
“Ugh, the smell of alcohol.”
Even Zak, a notorious heavy drinker, recoiled the moment he stepped inside.
Dain’s nose twitched as well — it seemed he too had caught the appalling stench of alcohol, though he was clearly trying not to show it.
The elegant antique carpet was caked with dust and footprints, impossible to say when it had last been washed — scattered across it were stains that were likely spilled liquor, and most damning of all, empty bottles littered the floor by the dozen.
The Empire’s greatest drunkard. The interior was certainly fitting of that title.
And that drunkard was not far away at all.
Perched carelessly on the railing of the magnificent split staircase was a man — staring openly at the group as they passed through the doors.
Whoever laid eyes on him for the first time would arrive at the same first impression: big.
A massive frame. Eyes as black and dead as burnt-out coals. A menacing air that made it difficult to meet his gaze directly. And a bottle of liquor in his hand.
The man’s blue eyes narrowed as he confirmed the identities of those entering through the open doors.
The Empire’s Hero. A once-in-a-generation genius.
But now — a fallen, tragic swordsman and noble, broken beyond all recognition.
The man whose happiness Ranok had genuinely wished for — who, no matter how you looked at him, did not appear happy.
The man the Faerie had phrased as someone Ranok had “abandoned.”
It was Casioth. Casioth Mordian. A fallen noble who wore the mask of an aristocrat yet was recognized as one by no one — the very face of ruin.
The young human man Ranok had cherished.
But in the ten years that had passed, the only fragment of the past Ranok could find in the man now standing before him again was——
The bright golden hair he had regretted not touching one last time.
“……”
Ranok stared blankly at the man sitting on the railing.
No matter how people cursed him — drunkard, lowborn — there was one thing even the harshest of them couldn’t bring themselves to tear apart: his face. And it was, just as someone had once put it, stunning. There was no other word for it.
Sharp, defined features with an expression so strangely subdued it verged on nihilistic — and yet the face that Ranok had once marveled at in those days, thinking just a little more time and he’d surely be the most handsome among humans, had bloomed into its full potential without question.
But in Ranok’s imagination, the grown-up Casioth had never worn eyes this dead.
Even in those days, when he’d still been an unripe, green boy not yet a man, the untamed quality that had always been distinctly his had taken firm root in his face — a quiet authority that made even those who didn’t know who he was think twice before dismissing him.
You might not feel it right away — but the muscles visible through his open shirt were beyond stunning. They were threatening.
With a tall frame and broad build apparent even from the way he sat — who could possibly look down on a man like that.
“Strange. This place isn’t exactly a delight to visit.”
After a long moment spent watching the intruders, a heavy voice flowed from the man’s mouth.
“Two entertaining events in one day. How unusual.”
Despite calling it entertaining, the man wore not a trace of a smile — and even with guests present, showed no sign of getting up.
Even that sardonic tone was something entirely foreign to Ranok. Because the Casioth he knew was someone who could roll through the gutter and bare his fangs at everyone else — but in front of Ranok, he’d always been like a tame lamb.
But the Casioth before him now was, how to put it.
Even more unguarded than he’d been back then — and not in a good way.
“Ahem.”
Snapping back to himself at the sound of that voice, Dain stepped forward with a late clearing of his throat.
“Ahem — a royal decree should have arrived a few days ago.”
“Ah.”
The man’s expression shifted, as though the memory hadn’t entirely escaped him — but he simply shrugged, unbothered.
“There was something like that. Made good use of it as kindling.”
Dain’s jaw dropped at the revelation that an imperial decree — of all things — had been burned without even being read.
It was the height of summer, no less. Not a time when one needed firewood — and failing to review an imperial decree was tantamount to outright defiance.
“Duke!”
Dain snapped in fury — but the moment Casioth swung himself off the railing and rose to his feet, Dain shut his mouth immediately.
That alone was enough. The sheer presence of that body was threatening.
“Is that a — a threat, are you——”
Dain stammered, flustered, but Casioth merely let out a short, quiet scoff.
“Come now, a threat? What a hurtful thing to say.”
The man descended the stairs slowly. He did nothing else — and yet with every step closer, the air grew harder to breathe.
“So what did that decree say?”
“Th — there is a……”
Fully overwhelmed, Dain kept stumbling over his words — then, catching himself in the act, drew in a sharp breath.
“Hoo — the decree states that Prince Milano Mortiel, who is present here, is to be accommodated in this manor for the duration of his stay in the Empire.”
True to being the Crown Prince’s attendant, he’d collected himself quickly and recited the message with crisp clarity.
At that, Casioth’s gaze shifted — to the man who had been standing behind Dain all this time, watching him steadily.
At last, their eyes met.
Both gazes were without warmth.
For Casioth, the man before him was simply an unfamiliar and unwelcome stranger. For Ranok — it was only unfamiliarity.
Because the Casioth Ranok knew had been a big kid in nothing but size. Someone who had never once touched liquor, who would flush red and fall apart the moment he laid eyes on Ranok. A boy.
‘When are you planning on growing up, little one?’
When was that — it must have been during the time they spent in that slash-and-burn village.
Casioth had been growing taller and broader by the day, as though cramming all his remaining growth into a single stretch — and for a while, he hadn’t realized that little one referred to him. Then, the moment it clicked, his face had gone scarlet with indignation.
‘Ranok! Little one? Have you ever seen a little one this big?’
‘Mm, I’m looking at one right now.’
‘Ranok!’
He’d flash with anger and embarrassment the moment Ranok called him little one or anything like it — yet couldn’t hide the flustered shyness beneath it either.
And now the man before him.
A taller frame than before, broader build, the reek of liquor, a nihilistic expression and sunken eyes.
This broken man — so far removed from the Casioth Ranok had known, the one who had once lived with a vague and hopeful vision of the future — was the sore spot he carried across ten years of time.
He may have been disbelieving, to some degree.
That I hadn’t hurt him.
That it wasn’t my fault.
That no matter how grim the rumors sounded, he couldn’t have fallen apart this badly. That the Faerie had been exaggerating for some other reason.
Whether he was a hopeless drunk or a sodomite or whatever else the rumors said — none of that mattered in the slightest. As long as Casioth was alright. As long as you were happy.
But no matter how he looked, Casioth did not appear happy.
Even having become the continent’s Hero. Even having become a noble. Even having secured the honor he’d once longed for.
It was clear even in that brief moment of eye contact. He was, more than anyone, an unhappy man.
Ranok’s expression twisted. It was because something inside him was rotting away — but to outside eyes, it would have looked like nothing more than two tall, well-built men glaring at each other.
