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Star-Embracing Swordmaster Chapter 266: Extra 6 – Preparations for Farewell

Chapter 266: Extra 6 – Preparations for Farewell

The⁠ green spreading up​ from the south⁠⁠ was coloring the‌ continent, though it‌ seemed it hadn’t​​ reached this place‌‍ yet.

Sturma,‌‌​ the northernmost city‍⁠ in Bayezid territory.‍‌

In‌⁠⁠ one of its‍⁠ rooms, the sound‌⁠ of coughing still‌ lingered—a remnant of‌⁠ winter.

“…Are‌​ you alright?”

The‌ faint candlelight beside‌ the bed illuminated‍⁠ Peter’s face.

But​‌ Peter’s expression remained‍ shadowed, as if‌ that small light⁠‌⁠ wasn’t enough to‍ dispel the darkness‌​ within.

Peter‌‌ Bayezid, who had⁠‍‌ defended the north‍‍ against the invasions‍ of the Golden​ Duke and Gaidar,‌‌‍ was now praised⁠‌ as the northern​‌ wall.

Yet⁠⁠⁠ even he bore‌⁠ deep wrinkles on​‍ his face, traces​ of the hardships⁠​ of the past​ two years.

“Don’t‍​ worry.”

Where⁠ Peter looked, a woman lay, her‌ color slowly fading.‍

Her⁠‌​ hair had grown‌⁠​ brittle, and her‌ lips were chapped.⁠‌‍

Watching​⁠ Oksana as she⁠‍‌ lay weakly, Peter’s‌‌ gaze could not​‍ hide his concern.‌

“I’ll‌⁠​ at least try‌‌ to stand for⁠‍‌ Rutiger’s succession ceremony.”‍⁠⁠

Yet​⁠⁠ Oksana’s vacant eyes‍⁠‌ were not on‍⁠ Peter but on‌ the window beside‍‌⁠ her.

Peter,​‌ seeing that she‍⁠ didn’t even seem‍‍ to have the⁠⁠ strength to turn​⁠ her head toward‌‍‍ him, spoke gently.‌⁠

“…That’s⁠‌ not what I meant.”

Though‍⁠​ she was withering⁠ away, losing her‌‌‍ will to live,​ Oksana clung to​ her sense of‌ duty.

Seeing​​‌ her like this,‍‍⁠ Peter felt a sharp pain in‌‌ his chest, as‍ if he were⁠⁠ looking at someone​‌‌ who no longer‍ belonged to this⁠​​ world.

“Is‌⁠‍ the wind making‍​⁠ you cold? Would‌⁠ you like me‌‍ to close the⁠⁠ curtains?”

The‌​ window was shut,‍‌ but a chill‌ seeped in through‌ the frames.

Even⁠‍​ with summer approaching,⁠‌ the northern night‌ air still held​⁠ a touch of‌‌​ cold.

Peter‌‍ rose to close‍​​ the curtains, worried‌ about the draft,‌⁠ but Oksana’s voice⁠​‍ stopped him.

“Leave‍​​ them open.”

Though‌⁠ closing them would⁠⁠​ be better for⁠⁠ her frail body,‍⁠ Oksana’s determined voice,​​​ wanting to see‍⁠ outside, made Peter​‌ let go of‌​‍ the curtain’s edge.​

“Keep‍​‍ them open. If​ I can’t see⁠‍‍ the outside, I feel trapped.”

“…Alright.”​

After⁠ that, silence settled⁠⁠ between them.

It‍ wasn’t a silence‍​ born from a lack of words,⁠‍‍ but a calm‌ born from caution,⁠ making the air‌‌ in the room‍ feel dense.

“The⁠⁠ moonlight is bright.”⁠‌

Night‌⁠ was advancing, and​ soon it would⁠⁠ be time for​ Peter to leave.​​‍ Yet his feet‍ remained planted, drawn‍‌‍ to the view‌‍​ outside.

Something‍ in the landscape‌⁠ had captured his⁠‌ attention.

“Perhaps⁠​​ it would be‍⁠‌ better to open‌⁠ the window a bit.”

There,​⁠ under the moonlight,⁠ a small gravestone⁠ stood.

It​ didn’t seem like⁠​‌ much time had‍​ passed since it⁠‍ was placed, and⁠‍ it was close⁠‍⁠ enough that even‌‌‍ Oksana could see‍ it from her‍‍‌ bed.

“…”​

Peter‍⁠‌ knew it.

He​‍​ knew that the‍⁠ curtains he held‍ had likely never​⁠​ been closed, not​ even in the⁠ depths of winter.‍​‍

For‍ in silent longing,‍⁠​ this mother still⁠​‍ yearned for her⁠‍‌ son and didn’t​​ want to look⁠ away from him.​‌‌

In​⁠ the deep night,⁠​ beneath the pale‌ light of the‍​‌ moon, a father,​‍‌ a mother, and​⁠ their son looked‍ quietly outside.

That​​ night, the wind​‌ felt colder than‌⁠‍ usual.

***⁠‍

“…The tea is⁠ too sweet.”

Sunlight‌‌​ filled the mayor’s​‍ office in Soara,‍ and Vlad, sitting‌‌​ at the visitor’s‍‍​ table, grimaced as⁠ he lowered his⁠‍ cup.

“Really?​ I put less​⁠⁠ sugar in yours‌ on purpose.”

“I’ve‌ told you before,‍⁠‍ if you keep‌⁠ drinking tea this‍‍‍ sweet, you’re going‌‌ to die young.”​‌

Much​​‍ had changed over‌​ the past two‌ years, but the​‌ mayor’s office in⁠ Soara seemed unchanged.‌‌⁠

Although‍⁠​ some faces were​⁠ now absent, the⁠‌ cozy atmosphere and‌ sweet scent of​​ tea remained the‍ same.

“Die‍‍‌ young? Look at‍ the pile of‌​⁠ papers here. With⁠‌‍ or without sugar,​​ I’ll be gone​ sooner rather than​‌ later.”

“…Hmm.”​

In​‌‌ response to Vlad’s‌ scolding about the‍⁠‍ sugar, Bordan waved‍ his hands as​​ if to draw‌​ his attention to‌‌ the towering stacks‍ of documents around​ the mayor’s seat.‍⁠‌

Vlad,⁠​​ looking at the‌⁠​ piles of papers,​‌ took another sip‍⁠​ from his cup‌ without a word.​

“I‍ cleared everything yesterday,‌⁠ but today there’s​ already another mountain.‍​​ Why is this​ city so exhausting?”‌‌​

Between⁠‍ postwar reconstruction efforts,‌‌ the never-ending stream​⁠​ of orphans arriving,⁠ and the knights⁠ drawn to the‍⁠‌ fame of the‌‌‌ Sword Master, Bordan,⁠ the new mayor​ of Soara, had‍‌ more work than‌ hours in the‌‌ day.

“If‍‍ I die early,‍‍‍ it’ll be half‍‍ your fault. I’ve​⁠​ already noted it⁠‍⁠ in my will.”⁠⁠‌

“Just‍ drink your tea‌‍ before it gets​​ cold.”

Like​​‍ a boiling cauldron,⁠ Soara continued to‌​‌ function thanks to⁠⁠ Bordan, a capable‌​ and dedicated mayor.‍​​

Although‌‌‌ he wasn’t a knight skilled with‌‍ a sword, Joseph‌ had trusted him‌ for his remarkable‌‍‍ administrative talents.

“So,⁠​​ what brings you​​⁠ here?”

“…I​‌ need a favor.”‍⁠⁠

“What​ kind of favor?”‌⁠

Vlad,​‍ somewhat reluctant to‌ interrupt Bordan in‍ the middle of‌ his work, began⁠ to speak cautiously.⁠

“The​‍‌ convent up the⁠‌⁠ hill.”

“What⁠‌⁠ about it?”

“The‌ ownership seems a bit unclear, and⁠‍​ I’d like it‌ to be officially‍ endorsed.”

Even‌ a renowned Sword⁠‌ Master had to⁠‍⁠ respect certain principles,​​ especially in Bayezid⁠ territory.

“Also,​​‍ Harven is about‍​‍ to embark on‍⁠ a long journey.‌⁠​ I’d appreciate it‍⁠ if you could⁠⁠ support him with​ personnel for repairs‍ to the ship⁠‍‌ and some supplies.”⁠​‌

“…Hmmm.”‍‌​

Bordan,‍​ while reviewing some‍‍⁠ papers, massaged his​ temples, visibly overwhelmed.​

“It’s​​ funny, really. You‍‌ somehow manage to‍⁠ ask for things‌​⁠ that push the‌ limits of what​‍ I can grant.”‌⁠

Bordan‌ frowned as he⁠⁠‌ looked at Vlad,​ though a faint‍⁠⁠ smile played on‌​‌ his lips.

“You‌ ask for things⁠⁠‌ I can’t easily‌‌‌ refuse but are‍⁠​ also difficult to​‍ grant.”

It‍ was hard to⁠⁠ ignore the request‍⁠ of a renowned⁠‌‍ Sword Master, and‍⁠ Vlad’s favors seemed​‍ precisely calculated, making‍‌ Bordan agree despite​ his packed schedule.⁠

“No​‍‍ matter how busy​ you are, I learned this here.”‌‍

“Yes,‌ I see you’ve‌‍‍ learned well.”

The​‍‌ boy from the​ alleyways, once ignorant‍ of worldly matters,​​⁠ was gone.

Now,‌‍ before Bordan stood‌ a young man​ with vision and⁠ insight, someone who‌⁠​ had learned from‌⁠‍ experience.

“Joseph‍​‌ would have loved‌‍ to see you‌​⁠ like this.”

“…Really?”‍​‌

Hearing‌⁠ that familiar name‍‍ on Bordan’s lips,‍‍ Vlad couldn’t help⁠⁠ but give a faint, bitter smile.‌

That‌‌ man, whose shadow​ had always provided⁠‍ him shelter.

Joseph,‌‍ with his presence⁠​ so vivid in‍ his memories, was‍ an image Vlad⁠ could never erase⁠‌​ from his mind.‍​

“Well,​⁠⁠ I’ll take that​‌​ as a yes.”​

“Yes,⁠ go easy.”

As‌‍ he stood up,⁠ Vlad took one‌ last look at​ Bordan, who had⁠ returned to his⁠ paperwork.

The​‌ mayor’s office was​⁠‍ still familiar, though​​⁠ something about it​‌‍ was subtly different.⁠‍​

Vlad⁠​⁠ averted his gaze,⁠⁠‍ feeling strangely unsettled​⁠ by those small​​ changes.

***​

“He’s⁠‌ going to feel‍‌ hurt. If he’s‌​ human, he can’t​⁠‍ help it.”

As​‌‍ Vlad exited the​ mayor’s office and⁠⁠‍ walked down the‍⁠ corridor, the town‍ hall staff quickly​⁠⁠ bowed their heads‌‌‍ in respect.

“How‍ can everyone think​​ only of themselves?‌⁠ Don’t they realize​ who’s responsible for‌ getting them to‌ this position?”

“…Can’t‍ you shut up‍‍‍ already?”

“Shut⁠‌‌ up? Of course‍​ I can. I,⁠‍ Goethe, would do‍​ anything the captain​ asked me to​​ do.”

For‍‌⁠ most people, the​​ annoyance of a Sword Master would⁠‍‍ be alarming, but​ Goethe simply answered⁠ with a sly⁠​⁠ grin.

“Just‍ like that time⁠‌‍ I held the⁠​ captain up, drunk,​​⁠ beside the grave.⁠⁠‍ Always right there‍​ for Sir Vlad,⁠⁠​ while all those⁠‌ important wizards and​​⁠ captains drift away.‌⁠‍ Goethe will never⁠⁠​ abandon him…”

“You‌‌ said you’d shut‌⁠ up.”

Vlad‍⁠ grumbled at Goethe,​‍ who kept talking⁠ as if he’d‌ only been waiting​ to be interrupted.‌ Yet, the most‌⁠ loyal squire in‌‍‍ all the land‍ merely stepped back,‌​‌ chuckling.

“By​‌ the way, Captain,​​ when do we⁠ leave for Sturma?”⁠

“Stop⁠‍ following me.”

“I’ve​ already prepared everything,‍‍‍ the servants and​ the carriage.”

“And‌⁠‌ why would we​​‌ need a carriage?”​‍

Though​​⁠ Vlad found his‌ audacity irritating, he‍​‌ knew Goethe was​​ someone who often‍ proved useful.

“Are⁠⁠ we not bringing​‌⁠ Miss Zemina as​‌⁠ well? Or did‍​ you plan to​‍ seat her on⁠ a single horse?”‌‌

“…”​

“One‌​​ can’t bring a lady without a proper carriage. I’ve‍‍‍ arranged for an​⁠ elegant one already.”‍‍‍

Goethe‌‌⁠ had stood by​‌ Vlad’s side ever‌‌ since he had​‌​ disguised himself as⁠⁠‌ Riman in his‌ prayers and, after‌⁠‌ Vlad’s banishment from⁠ Soara, continued to‌ watch over him.⁠‍

He‍ was one of‌⁠‌ the few who‍ could anticipate Vlad’s‌‍ thoughts without a word spoken.

“…I‌⁠‍ haven’t decided that‍‌ Zemina will go‍​‌ with us.”

“Regardless,‌​​ we should depart‍ within a week.‌ Though there are‍ no longer bandits‍⁠‌ in the north,​⁠‍ the roads remain‌⁠​ dangerous.”

As​⁠ if he hadn’t⁠ heard Vlad’s reply,‍ Goethe insisted they‍‌⁠ should leave in‌‍⁠ a week. The⁠‍‌ timing seemed to‌ align with Vlad’s‌⁠ own plan, so​​ he closed his‍ mouth without further⁠​‍ objection.

“Oh!​​⁠ Noir, long time‌​ no see! Do‍ you remember me?”​⁠‍

*Neigh—*‌‍‌

Reaching‌ the stable, Goethe⁠ greeted Noir, putting​‍ on a display‍‌ of exaggerated warmth.‍⁠

That‌⁠ was the essential‌​ trait of a rogue: charm. Watching⁠ Goethe pour on‍ his unreserved friendliness,‍‍ Noir only snorted,⁠​‍ unable to resist.‍‌​

“Come‍ along, Captain. All‍⁠ you have to⁠​ do is show⁠ up.”

“Damn⁠‌ it.”

Despite⁠⁠‍ his smile, Vlad‌‍‍ couldn’t suppress a curse, frustrated by‍ Goethe’s persistence. But⁠​ what Vlad didn’t‌⁠⁠ realize was that‌‍ his somber expression⁠ had already begun​ to ease, though‍ he was unaware‍‌​ of it himself.​⁠

***‌⁠

Following‌⁠ the setting sun,‍‍ Vlad returned with‌ a smile like‍⁠ a blooming rose​​ and headed straight​‌‍ to Nibelun’s room.‍‌⁠

“Have‍‌ you finished packing?”​

“Huh?‌ Yes, I’ve got⁠⁠​ everything ready.”

Nibelun’s​‍ room, which had⁠ been a mess‌ the day before,‌ was now spotless,⁠‌ as if chaos‍ had never touched⁠‍ it. Only an​​ overstuffed backpack betrayed​‌ the rush.

“Then,‍‍‌ follow me.”

“Where‌‌ are we going?”⁠

“Even​‌‌ if I told‍​‍ you, would you​ know where it⁠ is?”

Nibelun‍​ recalled the sorrowful‌ look on Vlad’s​‌⁠ face when he’d​ been drinking the​⁠⁠ previous night. But‍⁠ today, Vlad seemed⁠ to have left⁠⁠ behind the melancholy⁠​⁠ that had recently​‌ clung to him.⁠‍

“Are‌‍‌ you missing anything⁠‍ aside from what‌‌​ you packed? Emergency‌‌‌ medicine, motion-sickness tools?”‍​​

“Miss‌‌ Zemina is preparing​ those things.”

“And​ why didn’t you​ tell me?”

“Because⁠ you don’t have‍‍‌ much money left,​‍‍ Lord Vlad.”

Now‍ that he no⁠‌ longer served Bayezid,​​⁠ Vlad had no⁠ steady income. Aware⁠‌ of Vlad’s situation,‍ Nibelun was already​‌​ receiving some assistance‌ from Zemina.

“…Is‍​​ that so?”

Unable​ to argue about‌‍​ the money, Vlad​⁠ led Nibelun to‍​ a quiet corner⁠ of an alleyway.‌‌​ Though it was​‍ now a bit⁠‍‍ better lit, only‌‍‍ a local could‍‌⁠ navigate through the​ complicated passageways.

“Have​ you recharged your‌‍ magical artifacts well?​ For a rugged⁠⁠ journey like the⁠​ Arctic, they’ll come‌‍⁠ in handy.”

“Hehe,‌⁠ not yet. It’s⁠⁠⁠ been years of‌‍‌ constant use.”

The‌​​ mage Vlad knew,​‍​ Nibelun, wielded magic​‌​ through enchanted items.⁠‌‌ At first glance,⁠ he might appear‍⁠ harmless, but he⁠‌ used objects that​‍‌ held special meaning‍​ according to the‌​ traditions of his⁠ tribe.

“Yes,‌​ true. You haven’t‌‍ had a break‌ to recharge them‌‌‌ with all the​ use.”

Vlad‍‍‌ knew well that,⁠‌ since they met,⁠‍​ Nibelun hadn’t had‍‍ time to recharge‌‌‌ his artifacts.

Only​‍​ he had seen‍ dozens of his‍ magical tools so‌ far.

“Is⁠‌ it them?”

“Huh?”​‍‌

“I’m⁠ asking if they’re‌ the ones who​​⁠ stole your spheres.”​​

Deep​ in the alley,⁠ Nibelun noticed the​ watchful eyes of‌⁠‍ a group of‍⁠‍ kids surrounding him.⁠⁠

Among‌⁠ them, some faces‍ looked familiar, and⁠ he nodded slightly.‍

“Yes,‌⁠‌ it’s them.”

“Alright.”​

Identifying‌ his target, Vlad⁠‍ stepped forward. In‌‍ his hand, he‍ held a pouch‌‍⁠ filled with spheres,⁠ their soft texture‍‌ stirring nostalgic memories‍ from his childhood.​⁠

“Tell‌⁠ them to send​‌ out the leader.”⁠‍

The​ feel of the​ spheres in his‍‌‍ palm brought back⁠ simpler times.

For​‍​ his mage friend,⁠‍‍ who would soon​ set off on​ a long journey,⁠⁠ it was the‌ best farewell gift​​​ he could offer.⁠

Vlad,‌ the boy who‍​ now understood how‌​ to handle farewells,​​⁠ tossed the glowing‍⁠ spheres toward the​ kids, leaving behind‍‌ a gesture that‍ spoke louder than‍‌ words.

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