Star-Embracing Swordmaster — Chapter 48: Time to go home (1)

Chapter 48: Time to go home (1)

“Does this… resemble the⁠‌ Heinal family crest?”‍

The woman with green⁠ hair squinted her‍‍ eyes under the‌ sunset light.

The‌‍ tiny glasses on⁠ the bridge of⁠‍ her nose rose‌ along with her‍ furrowed brow.

Glancing at the book‌⁠ handed to her‍‍‍ by the maid,‍ Oksana turned her‌ head once again‍ and touched the‍⁠⁠ fabric with the⁠ needle.

“I’ve‌ never done something like this. In‍⁠ fact, I only‍⁠‍ saw my mother‌ do them when‍ I was a child.”

“Isn’t‍‌‌ it equally beautiful?”

“It‌‍ is.”

The⁠⁠ corners of Oksana’s lips twisted, unlike⁠‍ the bridge of her nose, which‌‌ wrinkled in concentration.‍

One⁠‍⁠ of those precious‍⁠⁠ traditions now fading‍‍‍ from people’s memories.

Now⁠ returning to the‍ world through a noblewoman’s hands.

“Is⁠ this enough?”

The‌ white wood slowly took shape in⁠ Oksana’s fingertips.

A white tree planted‍‌‍ on a barren‌‌ hillside, the image‍‍ of a luxurious⁠ embroidery on black‌ fabric.

“Now,⁠‍ then, I’d like‌‍ you to engrave‌ the next phrase.”‌‌

“Here…”⁠⁠

“Very‌‌ well, it’s etched‍ in your memory.”‌

Preventing‌ the maid from⁠‌ opening the family⁠⁠‍ crest book, Oksana⁠ threaded a new‍ thread through the‌‌ needle.

Oksana‌ would be right.‌

The‌‍ embroidery she was working on was‍ the crest of‌‍⁠ an unfamiliar family.‍⁠‍

The⁠⁠ needle’s tip swung back and forth as she furrowed‌‍‌ her brow again.⁠

From⁠ above, Oksana’s fingertips‌ built a strong⁠ wall.

And‌ a sword floating above it.

It‌ was the Bayezid‍ family crest.

Oksana’s‌‍⁠ hall was so‌ quiet that not⁠ even her breathing‌⁠ could be heard,⁠ and everything seemed‌ to come to‌ a halt.

In‌ the center of‍⁠ the room stood‌ a single flag,‌⁠ where the sunlight only revealed small‌⁠‍ specks of dust‍⁠‍ marking the passage⁠‍ of time.

A flag with nothing‍‍ inscribed on it,‌‌ just a white⁠ background.

The‍‌ white background of‌ the flag reflected‌ the colors of‌‌ the boy’s root world.

A sword given by‍⁠ an old man⁠ to a child.‍

An identification badge from‌ the priest.

A handkerchief inscribed with‍‍ his name by⁠‌ a noblewoman.

And‍ a white banner⁠‌ with the family‌‌ crest.

These‍ were all the⁠ things that would‍ make up the‌ boy’s roots.

They‍ were all the‌⁠ things he had⁠ achieved.

***‌‌

A night in the meadow where the‍‍⁠ sun has set.‌⁠

No matter how close‍‍‍ summer was, it‌‌‌ remained cold at night in the⁠⁠‍ open meadow.

So,⁠ the knights built a wall of‍‌ carriages and carts‍‍ and prepared to⁠ camp within it.‌

Once‍ the hustle of⁠ camp setup subsided‌ and a brief‍‍ rest period arrived,‍ the knights began‍⁠‌ to gather as knights do, and⁠⁠ the priests as priests, to have‌ their own time.‍

“…..”‍

Delighted‌‌‌ to see them all but unable‌‍ to identify with‍ any of them,‍‍ the boy settled‍ quietly in the‍⁠ middle of nowhere⁠ and lit a small fire.

Crackling.‌‍

Listening‌ in the distance‌ to the chants⁠ of the priests,⁠ Vlad unsheathed his‍ sword.

In the firelight, the⁠‍⁠ surface of the⁠ blade was tinted‍ red.

Although‍⁠ wounds had distorted‌ the reflections of‌⁠ the fire here‌‌ and there.

“You’ve‍‍⁠ been through a lot too.”

Staring⁠ at the red⁠‍ color that reminded‍ him of someone‌ he missed, Vlad took out a whetstone and brought‍ it close to⁠⁠ his sword.

Swish-swish-swish.‍

The‌‍ care with which‍‍ the boy handled⁠⁠‌ the sword resembled⁠ that of the‌‍ priests praying before⁠‌⁠ him.

Perhaps⁠‌ the boy was⁠ praying with the‍‍‌ sword.

For‌ those who still‍ remain where the boy and the‍ sword stayed.

The‍‌ sound of the‍ whetstone on the sword blade mingled⁠‍‍ with the crackling of the fire.‍⁠

The‌‌ warmth of the‌ fire and the⁠ peace of being⁠‍⁠ alone for the‍⁠ first time in⁠ a long time⁠‌ softened the boy’s⁠‍‌ expression.

“Why are you here alone instead of at the camp?”‍⁠‌

“Ah,‍ Sir Rutiger.”

A young man approached‌ Vlad’s side, carrying‍⁠ a bottle of⁠ wine.

Rutiger sat down in⁠‍ front of the small fire Vlad‍‍ had lit.

“Why‌‌ are you alone?”‌‍

“Everyone⁠ else is busy.”⁠‍

Feeling‌‍ warm talking to⁠ Rutiger, much like‌‍ the warmth of‍ the fire in⁠‌‌ front of him.⁠⁠

“Where’s‌ the chubby one?”⁠‌

“Dorothea‌ took him, to‌⁠‌ work.”

“And‌‍⁠ Father Andreas?”

“He’s praying.”

Shrugging‍ at the boy’s‌‍ response, Rutiger handed⁠⁠ him a bottle‌‌ he carried in‍ his hand.

“Do‍‌ you want a sip?”

“No,‍⁠ I’m working on‌ my sword right⁠ now.”

“You’re⁠⁠‌ refusing again.”

“…”‌‌⁠

We were in a good mood, and⁠ I didn’t want to interrupt it,⁠⁠ but I didn’t⁠⁠ know what would‌‍ come flying into‌ Joseph’s office if‍ I refused this⁠ time.

“Whisky.”‍‍

“It’s‌⁠ a nobleman’s drink.”‍

Feeling the strong aroma⁠‌ pass through his‍‍ throat, Vlad looked‌‌‌ at Rutiger with‌‌ a puzzled expression.⁠

The⁠‌⁠ liquor’s aroma on‌⁠⁠ the boy’s tongue⁠ now was similar‌ to what Joseph‌⁠‌ had given him.⁠

It seemed that no‍‍ matter how much⁠‌ they fought over‌‌ the same thing,⁠⁠ there was no‍‍ escaping the taste⁠⁠⁠ that the same⁠ blood emanated.

“You’ll⁠ have to take‌ care of that‍⁠‌ sword when you‍‍ get back.”

“…Yes,⁠ I will.”

In‌ response to Rutiger’s‌ words, Vlad brought‍⁠‌ the sword back⁠⁠‌ to the fire.‍‌

A sword forged in‍ an alley by an inexperienced blacksmith.⁠

A sword that someone⁠ had invested a lifetime of work‌⁠ into, a sword⁠‌‌ that had slashed countless enemies and‌ still stood firm,‍‍ protecting its owner.‍

“But‌‌⁠ they said I couldn’t.”

“Eh?”

Rutiger’s‌ question was answered‍ with indifference, and Vlad picked up‍ the whetstone again,⁠ starting to sharpen‌‌ the blade of‌ his sword.

“He‍ said the connection‍ between the hilt⁠ and the blade‍⁠‍ was too arbitrary,⁠⁠ and unless I could find the maker, I’d have‍ to break the‌⁠ hilt before I could touch the⁠⁠ blade.”

“A‍ selfish sword, just‍ like its master.”⁠‍

Rutiger⁠ looked at the‍ rough-looking sword and raised his bottle.⁠‍

The‍‍ Bayezid House blacksmith⁠ had offered favorably to maintain it,‍ but he had refused and ultimately‌‍ wreaked havoc, except⁠ for the hilt.⁠

But‍‍‍ maybe that was‍‌ for the best‌ from the old‌‍ blacksmith.

“So,⁠ we’ll have to find who made‌⁠ it and have‍⁠ it fixed.”

“Where is he?”

Vlad‌ held the sword‌ vertically to check the sharpness of⁠⁠ the blade.

The‌ red reflection of⁠‌ the blade stung the boy’s eyes.‍‍‍

It⁠ reminded him of‌ the red hair‌‍ he must never‍ forget.

“Soara.”‍⁠

“Yes,⁠‍ well, you’re always‍‌⁠ shouting that you’re‍‍ Vlad Of Soara.”‍

It was an appropriate⁠ title, Rutiger said,‍ taking a sip‌ of his whisky,‍‍ but the boy‌‌ just looked at‌ the sword.

An‌‍‌ expert blacksmith had‍⁠ offered to restore‌ it, but the⁠ boy had refused.‍‍

He‍‍ didn’t want to‌⁠ lose anything this‌‌ sword contained.

Every⁠ engraving on this‌⁠ sword was a part of the‌‍ boy’s history and⁠ origin.

“…”‍⁠

Rutiger‌⁠ stared at the‍ boy fixedly on‌ the sword.

The‌ boy’s blue eyes⁠ shone slightly as⁠ he looked at⁠ the sword with‍ so much emotion.‍‍

So,‍ this is it.⁠

That’s⁠⁠ why my brother⁠‍ ran around so‌‌ excitedly.

Nodding‌‍⁠ in understanding, Rutiger⁠ nodded and took⁠ a long drink‍‌ from his bottle.⁠

“Do⁠ you think you’ll⁠‍ be able to⁠‌ fix it sooner‌ or later…?”

“What?”⁠

The‌‍ boy repeated, but‍ Rutiger didn’t answer,‍‌‍ he just got‍⁠ up.

“If‍ you ask insistently enough, someone will⁠⁠ give it to‌⁠ you.”

“…..?”‍⁠

“It⁠ means you’ve done well in life⁠ so far.”

Vlad⁠ looked puzzled at‌⁠ Rutiger as he‌‌ uttered those unintelligible⁠ words, but the‌ only thing that‌‌⁠ came out of‍ his mouth was the familiar aroma⁠‍ of whisky.

“I⁠ must prepare for‌ tomorrow’s work.”

Vlad‍‍ watched Rutiger walk‌‍‍ away, giving him⁠‍ a pat on⁠‌ the shoulder.

“…..”‍

Once Rutiger left and⁠‍‍ he was alone‍ by the fire⁠‍ again, Vlad began‍ to give the‌ final touches to⁠ the worn blade‍‍‍ with oil.

He‍‌ felt sorry for‌‍ the wounds that‌ his sword had⁠ that he couldn’t⁠ fix with just a whetstone and‍ oil, but someday⁠‍‍ he would fix‍ them.

A sword and a boy had places⁠ to go.

It⁠⁠ was a night⁠‍‌ in the meadow,‌ and the boy‍⁠‍ made a silent‌ decision.

On⁠⁠ the hill above‌ him, a horse‍‍⁠ as dark as‍ the night sky watched the boy‍ sitting by the fire.

It was a small‌‍ light, but the‍⁠ horse loved the‍ colors the boy‍‍ was creating.

***‌‌

The‍⁠⁠ next morning.

The‌ carriages were moving‍‌ across a green‍‌ meadow.

And‌‍ a herd of wild horses running‍‍ alongside the carriage‌‌ procession.

It⁠ must be rare‌ to see a herd of wild‍‍ horses running in‍ harmony with man and nature.

The‍ priests in the‌ carriages and the‍‌ knights escorting them⁠‍⁠ were very aware‍⁠ of this.

For‍ the first time,‍⁠ and possibly the last, they all‌ watched a herd of wild horses‌‌ running together.

“…..”⁠

The‍ blond boy also‍‌ observed the outside⁠ scene, arms crossed⁠‌‍ on the carriage‌ window frame.

Vlad’s⁠‍ lips involuntarily curled‍⁠‌ at the strange⁠‌ feeling rising in‌ his chest.

Vlad⁠‍‍ knew.

That the time to⁠ part had come.‍⁠

Just‌⁠ as he had⁠‌‍ his own work⁠ to do, the‍ dark horse had‌ the duty to‍ lead the herd.⁠

Neigh-.‍‍

The⁠ dark horse, which⁠ had been running‌ ahead of the‌ herd, neighed and‌‌ slowly came to⁠‍‌ a stop.

The⁠‌⁠ herd of wild⁠‌ horses stopped when‌⁠ the leader stopped.‌‌

It’s‍ done.

We‌ can no longer be together.

Vlad’s⁠‌ head naturally turned⁠ sideways as he⁠⁠‍ stopped at the‌ fading black horse.‍‍

The‍ wild horses climbed⁠⁠⁠ the hill as⁠‍ if to greet⁠ us, watching the⁠‍ group running below.⁠

Their‍‍‌ eyes, darker than‌⁠‌ the night sky,⁠ locked onto the‌ boy’s blue ones.‌‍

“…Goodbye.”

Not accustomed to saying goodbye, the boy‍‌ raised his hand‍‍‌ casually and waved.‍

It‌‍ was a small‌ greeting, as if⁠ he were embarrassed⁠‌ to be seen,‌ but the dark horse could see‌⁠ it.

Hiiii-ing-.⁠

The dark horse, while‍ waving to the‍‌⁠ knights and priests,‌‍ lifted its front⁠‌ hooves.

Vlad⁠ peeked his head‌⁠ out of the⁠‍‍ carriage with a questioning look as‌ he watched it‌‍‍ lift its front⁠⁠ hooves in time⁠‍ with the waving‍⁠ hand.

It‌‌ was a brief‌‌ but profound moment.‍‌‍

The‍‍⁠ depth of a relationship is not determined by the‌‌ time we spend‍ together.

“Don’t‌ regret saying goodbye.”‍‍

The‍‍ priest sitting in⁠‍ front of the‍⁠ boy nodded in⁠‍ understanding.

“It’s…‌ just a word.”‍

“Haha.‍ It’s so hard⁠ for people to‍⁠ be sincere.”

Andreas‌ smiled and opened‍ the Bible he⁠ held.

“Our⁠⁠ lives are a series of partings⁠‍ and meetings, and‌⁠ the seeds we⁠ sow in the‌⁠ tears of separation will one day‍‍ return in the‌ joy of reunion.”‌⁠

“…..”

The⁠ boy didn’t exactly understand what the⁠ priest meant by‍ the verse he‍‍ recited, but at⁠ least he knew⁠ it was meant‌‍ to comfort him.‍

“I’m⁠‍‌ sure you’ll meet‍‍‍ again someday, as‌‌ I’m sure you’ll‍‌ have a wonderful‍ life.”

“You’ll⁠⁠‍ have to find‍‌ something more to‍ say before it’s⁠‌ too late.”

“That‍‍ would also be‌‌ fate.”

Vlad‌‌‍ turned his head again and looked⁠‌ out the window.‍

As his eyes beheld the breathtaking scenery,⁠‌ he recalled yesterday.⁠‌

The⁠ feeling of running‌ across the green plains with the‍‍ Worm of Death‌‍ chasing behind him.⁠

It‌‍ had been the most exhilarating experience‌⁠ of his life,‌ full of the most vibrant colors.

The‍ vacation had come‍‍ to an end.

It‌ was time to‌‍‍ go home.