Chapter 20: Commander of the Royal Knights
Prince Lart.
Child of Light.
Commander of the Royal Knights.
The officially recognized first heir of the Alfied Kingdom.
People never spared any words of praise for him. They said Lart was a creation favored by the gods, that his face could even captivate the forest nymphs. They claimed his hair was forged from sunlight, and that his deep blue eyes had drawn the most beautiful colors from sky and sea. Most of all, they lauded Prince Lart’s exemplary character—he was the living embodiment of the code, every word and action adhering to the strictest moral standards. People said his soul was as pure as freshly fallen snow, and his temperament noble and steadfast, like flawless white marble.
The only time Prince Lart had ever deviated from this flawless image was, perhaps, the time he ran away from home a few years ago. To this day, no one knows why he abandoned the luxurious life of the royal city, venturing alone into a chaotic land under a false name, becoming an unremarkable adventurer. Yet this several-year-long wandering eventually came to an end.
The adventurer captain returned to being a prince. Lart returned to where he belonged, and the experiences of his adventures broadened his vision, enriched his experience, and honed his magic and swordsmanship. He became a more capable knight and a more perfect heir to the kingdom.
The only regret was one thing—during those unknown adventures, Prince Lart likely suffered a serious heartbreak.
This was the only certainty.
In the memories of the royal citizens, the once calm and gentle prince became unusually silent after his return.
For reasons no one could understand, he dug up the rose garden beneath his room’s window and planted pumpkins and eggplants instead, personally tending to them (which nearly terrified the royal gardeners). Occasionally, he would stare absentmindedly at the exquisite dishes brought to the table by the chefs. Most importantly, Prince Lart personally refused the marriage proposal with Princess Christina of the elves.
“I think my heart already belongs to someone.” Facing the queen’s fury, Prince Lart spoke softly, with a stunned vulnerability he had never shown before.
“Though I have made mistakes, and caused the one I love to drift away from me, I still love that person.”
…
But Veles had never paid much attention to these trivial anecdotes about Prince Lart.
Nor would anyone bother telling Veles about them—the reason was simple: the relationship between the two was extremely awkward.
Prince Lart was Veles’s younger brother by blood.
And if it weren’t for the tragic curse that plagued Veles, the title of prince, the position of the kingdom’s first heir, and even the love and admiration of the people—all of it should have belonged to him.
“Lart.”
The instant he heard the name, Veles’s eyes darkened unnaturally.
Yet his expression remained flawless—calm, cold, and detached as always. Still, Antara looked down at the unnatural frost nearly freezing his toes, and felt a surge of frustration.
Antara regretted bringing up Prince Lart in front of Veles.
This shouldn’t have happened. According to Antara’s observations, Veles had always treated Prince Lart with indifference. People had simply avoided mentioning one in front of the other because of their delicate, complicated relationship.
But today, the situation had gone especially awry, as could be seen from the frost on the ground and the murderous dragon vines curling around the elf nearby.
“They might just be ordinary friends,” Antara tried to mend the situation.
He spoke stiffly. “I mean… um, you see, that one is a prince after all. He has rarely had true friends before, which is why he treasures the friends he made under a false identity as an ordinary person. It’s just a very ordinary friendship. I’m sure that even if Prince Lart arrives, Mage Alan will still care for you—”
“I don’t care.”
Veles abruptly cut off the elf’s pale attempt at comfort.
He lowered his gaze, hiding his long, beast-like vertical pupils.
“Lart’s matters have nothing to do with me. I will finish clearing the things in the forest within three days, and then…” Veles paused for a moment, “…then I will return to the Mage Tower.”
He spoke each word deliberately.
“I will leave before the Red Moon affects the curse. Just as you expect, I will not cause trouble for ordinary people.”
His tone was icy and calm. By the time he finished the last sentence, he seemed to have regained his usual composure.
Then, in front of Antara, he strode directly into the forest ranger’s dilapidated, desolate cabin and silently closed the door, letting the darkness swallow his tall figure. He appeared exactly as he had said—calm, indifferent, fully resigned to Lart’s arrival and the reality that he would soon be separated from Alan.
He behaved as he always did, as if completely unaffected, making even Antara’s previous concerns seem excessive.
…
“Hmm?”
Meanwhile, not far from the ranger’s cabin, Alan frowned as he looked toward the jewelry box.
“Little Green?”
He walked over anxiously, carefully reaching out to touch the delicate green vine of Little Green.
He didn’t know if it was because Veles had intimidated Little Green earlier, but after Veles left, the vine suddenly grew limp. The once lively tendrils drooped, and the leaves curled inward.
Even the fresh honey water did not revive Little Green as it usually did.
Just moments ago, Little Green’s decline was visibly rapid. If Alan’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, the foolish and fragile (as Veles had described it) dragon vine had even dulled in color.
This left Alan, already flustered and anxious, feeling even more helpless and at a loss.
“Are you all right?”
He gently stroked Little Green’s leaves as he spoke softly.
The small vine weakly stretched a curling tip from the jewelry box, wrapping its flexible tendril around Alan’s fingertip like some tiny reptile.
It trembled its leaves as if a little animal were sobbing in grief.
“Oh, Forest Goddess above, Little Green… what happened?”
Alan felt as if his heart might break.
He didn’t realize that, under his touch, the other occupant of the ranger’s cabin silently shielded his pale face with his arm.
Then, in the next instant, Little Green suddenly let go of Alan, snapping back into its small jewelry box. It extended a single tendril and, with a sharp snap, closed the box.
Alan stared at the jewelry box in disbelief, sinking once more into regret. If he hadn’t been so foolish earlier, acting on that impulsive urge toward Veles, he could have, at the very least, held Little Green openly, approached Veles, and begged the cold-faced but warm-hearted ranger to check on his beloved little pet.
But now…
Alan buried his face in his hands and flopped irritably onto his bed.
He had no idea why he had felt that impulsive urge in the first place. Before transmigrating, Alan had been considered a model student by many—a diligent, obedient, clever boy, the kind everyone called a bookworm. He had never kissed anyone himself; even seeing the short skirt of a favorite idol dancer made him blush and avert his gaze uncontrollably.
After transmigrating, there were indeed countless beautiful people on the magical continent. But after actually encountering them, each one was so fierce that Alan kept his distance—he would never forget how a seemingly cute, gentle half-rabbit person could suddenly turn into a muscle-bound demon right in front of him. Just surviving the claws of monsters was already difficult enough. After finally retreating to a remote mountain village and enduring countless life-or-death situations, Alan realized that he had completely lost all worldly desires.
In short, Alan had no idea why he inexplicably wanted to kiss another man’s lips—
No, not just any other man.
It was Veles.
Only Veles.
Alan was certain of it. He tried to recall all the men he had ever met, both from before and after transmigrating, and imagined what it would be like to kiss each of them.
“Ugh—”
Alan shivered violently, a chill running through his entire body.
No, he found that he had absolutely no interest in men.
The gorgeous, unmatched beauty of a wandering bard? No. The soft, cute, almost girl-like half-rabbit? No. Even the captain he admired most and was closest to? No.
Just imagining kissing any of them made his face scrunch up in discomfort.
Having ruled out the possibility that his sexual orientation had somehow changed after transmigrating, Alan finally breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t prejudiced against same-sex attraction, but on this continent, unions between people of the same sex were widely regarded as profane acts, violations of the gods’ will, unnatural and taboo.
Though most adventurers didn’t care much, in the Alfied Kingdom where he lived, such matters were treated with particular caution.
And as a pure-blooded, low-profile sort of guy, Alan had no intention of bringing unnecessary trouble upon himself.
…In short, it was probably just a moment of impulse, Alan tried to convince himself.
After all, Veles was ridiculously attractive. Feeling a small, improper urge when seeing someone like him wasn’t such a big deal, right?
Alan anxiously tried to reason with himself.
When tomorrow comes, he thought, he could make something delicious for Veles and apologize for tonight’s indiscretion…
Lost in these thoughts, Alan gradually fell asleep without realizing it. He had no idea that, while he slept, the jewelry box by his bedside silently cracked open.
A slender dragon vine slowly extended outward, its consciousness trapped deep within by the overwhelming will of its true self.
The curling tendrils unfurled and hung down from the nightstand.
The “dragon vine” lingered there, gazing at Alan’s sleeping face. It watched for a long, long time.
It wasn’t until the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains that it trembled lightly and cautiously raised a single leaf toward Alan.
It was so close—just a tiny bit more, and it would have touched him.
Veles’s dark breath brushed against the tip of the leaf, deepening the green of the vine.
But the “dragon vine” froze in place. The same vine that could tear monsters apart with ease now showed a hint of timidity and fear. In the end, it withdrew.
It curled up sorrowfully inside that repulsive little jewelry box. A few drops of honey water fell from its leaves, as if it truly knew how to cry.
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Author’s note:
Veles: I don’t care!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Antara (thinking): He’s flustered… he’s flustered… he’s flustered…
