Chapter 90: Count Eshk's Territory (4)
The mourners’ glances were far from warm. There was an unease in the air—as if one were witnessing a troublemaker or a ticking bomb. It was a telling moment, revealing just how the nobles regarded Count Eloran.
It wasn’t as if he were some pubescent brat; even a Northern Warlord should never be treated this way. I felt suddenly bashful at the sight.
Still, the Count Eloran himself hadn’t particularly stirred up any trouble. Dersian too seemed willing to overlook even the count’s tardiness as if nothing were amiss. And so, the ceremony proceeded without incident.
The Saint of Rest declared,
“Hibras's soul has departed. After a grueling day, surely now is the time to welcome a peaceful night—a time for a comfortable haven.”
No sooner had the ceremony ended than the Count Eloran came seeking us. I knew this was no mere chance encounter, yet I hadn’t expected him to appear in person.
An uncomfortable air permeated the room. We had borrowed one of the Count’s reception rooms, and a teacup was placed on the table.
There were even cookies that Sirien would likely enjoy, though they remained untouched. Sirien not partaking in the refreshments was an unusual sight indeed.
As merely the escort, I stood behind Sirien and faced the opposing guards. Though it might have appeared that we were standing about without purpose, that was hardly the case. Should the situation turn somewhat “rough,” it was the duty of a bodyguard to safeguard our lady’s safety and honor.
“Now, may I ask—how is it that the Northern Warlord has sought me out?”
Sirien said in a cold tone. It wasn’t brash or aggressive but rather carried a strictly business-like air, as if drawing a clear line.
“Northern Warlord, you say? That has quite a nice ring to it,”
Normally so gentle and unassuming before me, she now made no effort to hide this side given who we were facing.
After all, in the original portrayal, Sirien was depicted as no less than a crown princess. Having been deliberately characterized as a femme fatale, Sirien when dealing with strangers revealed a cold, unyielding nature. My lady does not bestow kindness on just anyone.
“Of late, no one speaks in that manner,” he continued, “but hearing it from the Saint of Rest evokes a certain nostalgia.”
“That wasn’t exactly the question I posed,” came the curt reply.
“Very well. But tell me this—could there be another reason, in these trying times, for seeking you two out? I don’t believe we are strangers, after all.”
“Well… I fear I am unworthy, incapable of discerning the true intentions of the Count Eloran.”
“Switch sides, then. I am gracious enough to let everything that has happened so far pass unnoticed. Do not commit any further missteps you might later regret.”
Count Eloran appeared calm, seemingly convinced that, having presented us with an opportunity, we would undoubtedly accept. I couldn’t quite fathom the source of his self-assurance.
“This is perplexing. We’re already active on the Northern front—I had presumed we were already riding in tandem with Count Eloran.”
“I don’t mean it in that sense. I hold your potential in very high regard. Isn’t it time, then, to leave the shallow pond and test the vast waters?”
“…….”
“Our house, under Count Eloran, is one that truly epitomizes nobility among nobles. I assure you, opportunities like these are rare indeed. If not now, when will you grasp such a grand chance?”
Glancing at Sirien, I noticed her cheek remained utterly still—as if she were not even seriously contemplating the matter. I was utterly astonished by her stoicism. How could she remain so unmoved? Here, in front of Grand Duchess Eilencia, Count Eloran is prattling on about “grand opportunities”—isn’t that absurd? I stifled a laugh, desperate not to shatter the fragile atmosphere.
“Of course, I wasn’t simply suggesting you switch sides. I know well how I am perceived by the public—today, for instance, the sideways glances were rather piercing.”
“Are you implying it’s all a misunderstanding?”
“No. To say ‘in my youth…’ would be a misnomer. I am still young, after all, haha. Consider it a mistake of my more inexperienced days. There’s no room for excuses—and no need for them.”
“So you mean you’ve changed.”
“Indeed.”
Sirien lifted her teacup. With a slight tug at her face veil, her lovely lips were revealed.
Pitiful—the exhale she let out before sipping her tea resembled nothing less than a resigned sigh.
“Change is a good thing, but it isn’t always so. I’ve heard that the Count Eloran has been associating with some unsavory friends. I trust it is merely idle chatter, though I do worry that you might be forsaking what you ought to uphold.”
“Oh dear, think more expansively. After all, all potential begins with a spark of imagination.”
“Imagination?”
“Times are ever-changing. There’s no rule that yesterday’s enemy must remain tomorrow’s foe. Isn’t it true that one who sheds age-old grudges will emerge as the master of the next era?”
What a carefree sentiment.
Since the Northern front had taken shape, Count Eloran had never once experienced loss. The last time Elloran faced the ravages of war was during the days when the previous Marquis was young. I even wondered if the current Marquis had ever set foot on a battlefield.
To prattle on about grudges when one has never suffered a loss! That in itself was offensive enough, but the very notion of “age-old grudges” grated on me—and the word “era” itself was equally unsettling. For the person uttering such words—or rather, the one wielding that very logic—was someone I knew would one day change the course of the entire continent.
Saint Elise, chosen of Asirel, God of Light.
The heroine of the original story who ended the long-standing conflict between humans and demons and ushered in an era of peace.
"Break the chain of hatred. An era of peace and harmony will come. Let go of grudges that serve no purpose."
These were the words she would often say.
“Why… why are words that only became famous after Elise reincarnated suddenly coming out of your mouth? That’s way too suspicious to be coincidence.”
It had been one of the central conflicts in the original work.
Are demons human? Can they truly be reconciled with?
Sirien and I had screamed “No” to that question—but the world had chosen Elise's hand instead.
Damn. Too many thoughts were crashing into me all at once—I missed part of the conversation.
By the time I looked back, Sirien had leaned back in her chair.
Sirien never leans back when seated.
She always sits with her back straight, posture immaculate.
If she leans, it means one of two things: she’s either trying to rest, or she needs to calm herself down for some reason.
Whatever was said while I was zoned out—it had clearly pushed her patience to its limit.
“Don’t waste your energy on petty things. Isn’t it far more reasonable to consider what I can bring to the church?”
“Go ahead.”
“I’ll have a church for the Hibras built right within the Elloran domain. Naturally, I won’t hold back support where it’s due. And for the saint herself, I’ll assign multiple knight escorts.”
“…Excuse me? Escorts?”
The count gave a relaxed smile, as if things were going exactly according to plan.
But from where I stood, that couldn’t be further from the truth.
The sudden chill in Sirien's voice—no, it wasn’t my imagination.
I had never seen her speak so coldly before.
“I understand that the guardian of Hibras is quite skilled. But public image matters. Even if the temple is still small, it’s inappropriate for the saint to be accompanied by only one knight. I can provide knights from our house—”
“Enough. That’s quite enough. This conversation no longer holds any value.
How unfortunate… that beneath a tiger, a dog was born.
My heart weeps at how cruel the gods can be.”
“What… did you just say?”
“If it were your father, perhaps I’d reconsider.
But I will have no dealings with the current Count Eloran. As the Saint, it is my duty to uphold the dignity of the church.”
Her voice brimmed with fury.
It seemed everything she had been suppressing had finally erupted.
To Sirien, “knight” meant me.
For him to speak of that role so lightly—he had hit a nerve he should never have touched.
“Count Eloran, your worldview is narrow.
You take only what you see as truth, dressing your own biases up as reason.
It appears you’ve yet to outgrow the mind of a child.”
“You’ll regret saying that.
Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?”
Sirien chuckled.
It was unmistakably a scoff—cold and biting.
“Consequences?
What a ridiculous thing to say.
How do you expect me to handle the fact that the count was born so… lacking?
But don’t despair. Being born lacking is not a sin.
Flaunting that lack, however, is.
And that blame lies with those who taught you.”
“……”
“You’d do well to return to your domain and scold the tutors who raised you.
The House of Eloran is supposed to be one of the empire’s pillars—
and yet they’ve allowed their head to become this.”
“You dare… I was being generous, but your insolence knows no end.
Fine. If this is how you want to behave, don’t complain when things turn ugly.
Alion! What are you waiting for?!”
Ah. Things were turning south—fast.
Now I had no reason to stay still either.
Count Eloran's knight reached for his sword.
So he thinks if he draws first, he can take me down?
Go ahead. I’ll wait for you to draw.
When others come later and investigate, I want it to be you who drew first.
That way, the scene will be oh-so-picture-perfect.
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