Episode 19: Empire (7)
Irena held a viscounty in Renan, a self-governing district on the northern outskirts of the capital.
This special zone, granted in recognition of her merits, was nominally a viscounty but administratively under the emperor’s direct control as part of the capital’s periphery.
Since Freya and I had no home in the capital, we stayed at Irena’s mansion—both her kindness and insistence.
The mansion’s owner was often absent due to knights’ order duties.
When Freya was away handling northern trade routes, only the head butler and staff remained.
The errand-runner the emperor promised regarding the Red Star hadn’t arrived yet.
She’d said a few days, so a day or two remained. In the meantime, I spent my time gathering and organizing information.
With no other plans, I decided to visit Irena at the knights’ headquarters today.
She was working on paperwork in her office and lit up upon seeing me.
“Commander, I came to see you.”
“Ian, it’s been a while.”
“Has it? It’s barely been two days.”
“Two days is long enough.”
I placed a dessert I’d bought on her desk—jerky pie, which she seemed to love, judging by the shop owner’s boasts about her being a regular.
“It’s lunchtime, so I thought you might be hungry.”
“Oh! Jerky pie! I was just about to get some. Thanks, I’ll enjoy it.”
Irena led me out of the office to a small garden behind the headquarters.
She pulled a blanket from under a bench, spread it on the grass, and set out the food and tea. The aroma wafted on the gentle breeze.
“Eating in a garden like this is a first,” I said.
Irena shrugged.
“I don’t like being cooped up, even during lunch. The breeze is nice here.”
She took a big bite of the pie, the crisp crust releasing a rich jerky scent.
If she wanted jerky, why not just eat jerky? Why pie? I kept the question to myself—I had some tact, after all.
Still, after chewing, stewing, and slurping jerky endlessly in the north, I couldn’t shake the fundamental question of why pie.
We ate pie and shared tea, but my focus was on Irena’s arm.
She used only her left hand to hold the cup and eat, even when using her right would’ve been easier.
“Hm?” she noticed.
“How’s your right arm lately?”
Since I first noticed something off, she’d favored her left arm, even wielding a sword she didn’t normally use—a key reason I suspected beast transformation. Back then, she used both hands, but now she relied solely on her left.
Naturally, this raised doubts. Was her condition worsening? I asked while inwardly praying it wasn’t true.
Killing a comrade with my own hands was a painful thought.
The urge to kill her when I first met her in the north was long gone.
How could I still harbor such thoughts after six years of hesitation?
It was impossible, personal feelings aside.
“What about my right arm?” she asked.
“I’ve been watching for a while. For the past five years, you’ve mostly used your left arm, even though you’re right-handed. Recently, it seems to have gotten worse.”
Her expression was a mix of joy and sorrow, tangled with guilt, indescribable. Then, masking it with a playful tone, she asked,
“So, you wanted to check if I’m okay?”
Surprisingly, her face showed caution rather than relief. Had she misinterpreted my question?
“I’m fine. But I’ve got a question too. Were you… interested in me back then?”
“Of course I was.”
“In what way—never mind, forget that.”
Irena stopped mid-sentence, shaking her head.
“You probably don’t realize, but you have a habit of leaking faint killing intent. It might’ve been fine in the north, but in the capital, you should work on that. It can affect ordinary people.”
“…!”
Her words instantly brought Sylvia Baltazar to mind—my sister, who vomited for no apparent reason. Was that because of my habit?
‘Wait, if Irena knows about my habit—'
Sitting on the blanket, we gazed at the knights’ building.
Sweat-drenched trainees emerged from the training grounds, joking until they spotted us and hurriedly bowed.
“Commander Irena, greetings!”
“Greetings!”
Irena returned their salutes casually and turned to me, her ice-blue eyes fixed on mine.
She seemed ready to unearth long-suppressed emotions, perhaps something she’d wanted to ask someone for a long time.
“…Do you resent me?”
The sudden question caught me off guard.
Through it, I glimpsed the anguish and torment she’d carried.
She’d suffered immensely because of it.
She was asking if I resented her for sending the special forces to their deaths as distractions for great demonic beasts, for driving countless comrades to their doom.
If my feelings toward her were not affection but hatred—hatred so intense I’d resolved to kill her.
‘Did my killing intent cause her to misunderstand?’
My unconscious hostility had apparently misled her.
Even if I tried to explain it wasn’t true, it wouldn’t be that simple.
If Irena had sensed my killing intent early on and kept it to herself, how much must her heart have festered? It wouldn’t be surprising if it had long since rotted.
Imagine a close comrade secretly resenting you, even wanting to kill you.
It’s a painful thought, but there was undeniable similarity to the situation Irena had faced. I couldn’t deny it.
Her question stung. Her words lodged strangely in my chest. To say I’d never resented her would be a lie.
I was always watching the dead.
When I closed my eyes, they appeared, making it impossible to set down my sword.
Yet, to her question of whether I resented her, I shook my head.
“No. I don’t.”
It was true that she’d formed the special forces and led others into it.
It was also true that she’d directed campaigns to minimize knight casualties. But did I still resent her for it? No.
“I don’t resent you, Commander.”
She sent all her salary to the families of the fallen, ensuring they could live safely in her domain.
Rather than shirking responsibility, she embraced it, honoring their deaths by remembering them.
That’s the kind of person she was, and that’s why I chose to let go of any resentment.
How did my words affect her?
Humans can’t read each other’s minds, no matter how much they interact.
That inability to fully know one another breeds trust, giving meaning to conversation.
Mind-reading or telepathy didn’t exist in my world, at least. Irena bit her lip.
“…Even though your comrades died because I was too late?”
I knew Irena now. She didn’t delay on purpose. She wasn’t that kind of person. I looked into her doubtful eyes.
“At least I don’t resent you.”
Irena fell silent. The jerky pie lay fallen on the ground. After a moment’s hesitation, her resolve seemed to firm, and she stood, turning to me.
“There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask and tell you. But words aren’t enough, are they? So I’ll show you directly.”
Her way was that a sword spoke more honestly than words. I had no intention of backing down.
***
The training ground buzzed with its usual energy.
Trainee knights swung swords in rhythm, while regular knights paired off to hone their skills in the afternoon sun.
But when Irena stepped through the gate, the air shifted, as If doused with cold water.
“…Commander?”
A trainee knight stammered, instinctively kneeling.
Others followed, hastily correcting their postures. Hands holding swords froze, sweat droplets stilled.
“Stand easy,”
Irena said firmly yet gently.
“I’m just borrowing the training ground.”
Her title as knight commander carried weight that didn’t fade easily.
Then, a man in a sturdy gray coat entered—well-groomed black hair, military elegance in his black leather boots. Recognizing him, the knights stirred.
“That’s… the duke?”
“One of the strongest from the northern front, said to rival the commander.”
“It’s true. I saw him pierce the sky with a single sword.”
Trainees whispered, and even regular knights cautiously set down their wooden swords, their attention fixed.
The empire’s greatest knight commander and the superhuman who pierced the heavens with a blade faced each other at the center of the training ground.
“Here,”
Irena said, pointing to the wide-open central area.
“Spacious enough, no interruptions.”
“Fine by me,” I replied.
We each picked up our sword and spear, as if on cue.
The surrounding knights gasped in awe.
“Are they… really doing this?”
“A real spar? Who’s gonna win?”
“Honestly, my bet’s on the duke. They say he was a monster in the north.”
“The commander’s no slouch either.”
Irena ignored the murmurs, as did I. Our focus was solely on each other.
“I knew this day would come,” I said.
The deputy commander, overseeing the training, chuckled.
“Everyone, clear out! Trainees, step back! You can’t handle a stray blade!”
Trainees and regular knights hurriedly vacated the training ground, but they soon formed a small crowd around the perimeter, silent but fixated on one spot.
The air seemed to tremble. These weren’t practice swords—both were sharply honed.
“Uh… are those real blades?” the instructor asked nervously.
Irena smiled.
“I’m fine with it. Ian too, right?”
I nodded. “It’s an agreed-upon spar.”
“…If you say so.”
The instructor swallowed a sigh and stepped back.
The hushed crowd came into view. Irena spoke briefly.
“Let’s begin.”
The moment the words left her mouth, our feet moved in unison.
****
Access 11 additional chapters on my Kofi page.
Link: https://ko-fi.com/astrascans
****