Chapter 31: The Weight of an Unwanted Honor

Don’t think about anything. Just like you’ve always done.

I opened my eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling. I felt particularly dazed today. Last night… how exactly did I fall asleep?

I remained passive as the attendants approached to wipe my hands and face with warm, damp towels and helped me sit up to rinse my mouth. I was still swaying, drunk on lingering sleep.

Since my lessons were canceled, I wondered who would come in place of Anne. Felix had called off all my classes, insisting I needed to be careful for the time being. My highly anticipated studies hadn’t even lasted a week before they were tossed overboard. Though I tried not to show it, my resentment toward the Goddess and my heartbreak over the canceled lessons must have been obvious; poor Mitchel, who had done nothing wrong, had been walking on eggshells around me all morning.

After a light breakfast, I curled up in bed. Thanks to the curtains being pulled wide, the pouring sunlight felt warm and cozy. I buried myself happily in the rustling duvet and fiddled with a mana stone Zeimer had left behind. Mana stones could record sound, making them perfect for killing time. Zeimer’s low voice resonated from the stone; he had personally recorded a book of short stories for me.

The duvet in my room was made of a crisp, rustling fabric. It wasn’t exactly high-quality compared to silk, but I far preferred this slightly textured feel to something slippery and smooth. Perhaps it was because even with warming magic applied, the sensation against my skin remained cool and clear rather than stifling.

I was just starting to drift off again, lulled by the sunlight, when a knock sounded at the door. The attendant waiting outside announced, “Grand Knight Commander Silentium is here to visit,” and opened the door. Claire, dressed in his full formal uniform, strode inside.

“Good morning, Ian.”

I straightened my posture and reached out. Claire naturally helped me into a sitting position.

“Ah, you’re listening to a book. I remember Zeimer shouting in the drawing room a few days ago, telling everyone to be quiet because he was recording something.”

“Hello, Claire.”

This was news to me, so I blinked in surprise even as I greeted him.

“You must be very disappointed that your lessons were canceled.”

The golden tassels of the ceremonial epaulettes on Claire’s shoulders glittered in the sunlight. It had been a while since I’d seen him in his full uniform rather than training gear or casual clothes. As a swordsman, Claire usually commuted in plain clothes and changed immediately into training attire, so seeing him in full regalia was a rare sight.

“It’s alright. It’s no big deal.”

“High Priest Mitchel is coming by later, so don’t be too discouraged.”

“Mitchel?”

I had heard rumors that Mitchel might stay at the palace for a while, but I hadn’t expected it to actually happen. For someone of a High Priest’s status, leaving the Temple for an extended period was quite difficult. To think he was staying here just for me… it would have been less complicated if I had just gone to the Temple instead.

“Yes, it seems it’s been decided that he’ll stay for the time being.”

“Is it because of me?”

“Not entirely, but… yes, that’s correct.”

Claire hesitated for a moment before telling the truth. He had promised, after all—that he would only ever tell me the truth. Even as we exchanged small talk, I couldn’t take my eyes off his clothes. The medals pinned to his chest were magnificent. Most of them were likely earned during this recent war. Noticing my gaze, Claire gave an awkward laugh.

“Haha, I have some official business to attend to today, so…”

“The medals… I’m curious about them.”

I reached out and lightly lifted the tassels on his epaulette. As Claire sat hunched over with his elbows on his thighs, the medals that had been obscured by the forward-hanging tassels were revealed more clearly. Befitting a Grand Knight Commander who had achieved great feats in the war, Claire’s left breast was crowded with decorations. Scanning them, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

“What is your current rank, Claire?”

I knew he had entered the war as the eldest son of the Duke of Silentium, but some of those medals could only be awarded to those holding a formal title.

“I am a Duke now. My surname remains the same, but I have become independent from my family and gained a new title.”

I hadn’t bothered to ask until now, but hearing it made the reality sink in. The war really had ended.

The Imperial Knight uniform was a deep navy, made of a sturdy yet flexible material. It featured gold tassels on the ceremonial epaulettes, with gold buttons and cuffs. The sash crossing his torso and the lining of his cape were a muted red, giving the outfit an overall look that was both disciplined and opulent. The sash was intricately embroidered with gold thread—a depiction of a dragon.

With his bold, masculine features, Claire suited the uniform perfectly. “Suited” was an understatement, really. With his broad back, wide shoulders, and well-developed chest, I had never seen anyone carry a uniform as well as he did.

I moved my hand down slightly to touch the medals. It might have been considered rude, but we were close enough for this, right? While I was feeling a bit timid and checking his reaction, Claire suddenly caught my hand.

He gently lowered my hand, and with his other, he began to unpin the medals one by one. Each time his hand moved, the number of medals in my palm increased.

“Claire, what is this…?”

“These are all things you should have received, Ian. To be honest, I just haven’t told you yet, but there is a mountain of medals scheduled to be awarded to you.”

“What?”

I was horrified. I didn’t need medals! My goal was to retire to a place where no one knew me and live out my days in peace and comfort. A pension would be nice, but medals were nothing more than scraps of metal with ribbons that served no purpose to me.

“The Order of Draconis was not awarded to anyone in this war except His Majesty. But there is one scheduled award.”

“Is it… me?”

Trembling at the possibility, I asked the question. If I received the Order of Draconis—the highest authority of decoration—my portrait would be hung in every public and educational institution in the Empire. I had to stop that at all costs. I wanted to be forgotten by everyone.

“It seems His Majesty knew you would return like this. He postponed the ceremony, saying he would award it personally rather than immediately after the war.”

I felt suffocated by Claire’s warm gaze and the physical weight of the medals in my hand.

“Once you’ve recovered your health a bit more, I expect the ceremony will take place… and your title will likely be granted then as well. His Majesty wanted to bestow it upon you himself.”

I was in real trouble. Trying to keep my lightheadedness at bay, I slipped my hand away.

“I think… you should put these back on.”

As I watched Claire pin the medals back onto his chest one by one, my mind raced. Zeimer. Zeimer was my only hope. I planned to wait for the right moment and ask him to get me out of here using some plausible excuse.

“Is there an event today?”

“Ah, the induction ceremony for the new knights is today. His Majesty will be attending as well. He is likely preparing for it now.”

I realized the quarterly induction ceremony had already come around again. Feeling a bit sheepish about how I’d spent all my time eating and sleeping, I spoke up.

“You must be busy.”

At that, Claire grinned and gave my hand a firm squeeze before letting go.

“Protecting the world that Ian saved… that is our job, after all.”

Zeimer woke up on his sofa, clutching a head that felt like it was about to split open. The thick mana that had saturated the air had long since dispersed. He swung his bare feet onto the floor without thinking, only to wince at a sharp sting. The floor around the sofa was carpeted in shards of broken whiskey bottles.

“S**t…”

Holding his head with one hand, he waved the other, clearing the floor instantly. Seeing other ruined items scattered around the room, he disposed of those as well and downed a full glass of water.

Now that he was sober, he felt utterly pathetic.

He had a vague memory of someone visiting last night, but he couldn’t quite place who. Was it Felix? Claire? He remembered someone large.

Stopping his racing thoughts as his head throbbed, Zeimer changed his clothes. He intended to find Mitchel and get a proper explanation regarding Ian’s condition.

He didn’t dare think of Ian as “pitiful.” That would be an insult. He often thought the boy was born under a cruel and tragic fate, but that was fundamentally different from pity. When he thought of the boy—not as the Hero carrying a massive destiny, but as a fragile, kind-hearted youth—his heart ached.

Zeimer conjured a flicker of blue mana in his hand for a moment before clenching his fist so tight his nails bit into his palm. The blue flame sputtered out with a hissing sound. The Dragon… was continuously calling for Ian. He wanted nothing more than to let the boy rest, yet even in a peaceful world, the Hero was not allowed to let go.

Zeimer ran a hand through his hair to tidy it and set out to find Mitchel. Since he had woken up quite early despite drinking late into the night, he expected to run into Mitchel returning from dawn prayers. Sure enough, Mitchel, dressed in his clean white priest’s robes, was just entering the palace.

“Mitchel.”

“Ah, Lord Zeimer.”

Mitchel’s platinum-blond hair shimmered, damp with holy water. Even Zeimer, who couldn’t see divine power, could distinguish that much. Since it was his first dawn prayer at the palace, it seemed he had observed the rites with even more solemnity than usual.

“On your way back from prayers?”

“Yes. And you, Zeimer?”

“I was waiting for the Priest.”

Zeimer slung an arm around Mitchel’s shoulders. It looked like a friendly gesture, but Zeimer’s eyes were cold as ice.

“I have something I want to ask.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

Mitchel noticed the shift in Zeimer’s demeanor but maintained his steadfast, smiling composure.

“It’s about Ian.”

“Yes.”

“How much time does he have left?”

Hearing the question, Mitchel paused for a split second before continuing his walk as if nothing had happened. Zeimer’s arm remained draped over his shoulders.

“Only the Goddess knows that.”

Mitchel’s face was devoid of expression.

“And you don’t know?”

“I am merely a servant of the Goddess. My knowledge is extremely limited.”

“I can’t see magical power clearly. The only ones who can are that bastard Felix and you. Surely you know more than I do.”

At that, Mitchel stopped completely and turned to look at Zeimer. He sighed, removed the arm from his shoulder, and spoke.

“It’s not that I know something specific. I was simply telling you what I felt when I briefly channeled the Goddess’s aura. I am curious too.”

Zeimer fell into a silent reverie, muttering to himself. He felt a hollow sense of powerlessness.

“Then only the Dragon… and perhaps Felix… would know.”

As Zeimer stood lost in thought, a clear, priest-like voice brought him back to reality.

“I’m going to see Ian now. Would you like to come along?”

The smile had returned to Mitchel’s face. Zeimer looked down at him for a moment and then shook his head.

“No, I’m good.”

Zeimer turned and strode away. Mitchel stood there for a long time, watching Zeimer’s back until he disappeared from sight. Zeimer’s usual swaggering gait seemed unusually heavy.