The nights of the Month of Passion — June — were not yet sweltering. A cool breeze drifted in, bringing with it a refreshing chill.
Yet inside the great hall of John's home, that coolness had turned desolate, carrying a bone-deep cold that conveyed a heavy sense of grief.
On the sofa crafted from rosewood, the four members of the family sat in silence, none of them in any mood for conversation, as though lost in memories of the past.
Elisa periodically dabbed at the tears she could not hold back with a handkerchief. Evan's youthful face was clouded with gloom, and whenever his thoughts turned to the source of his hatred, his fists clenched tight. Joel gripped a glass of strong liquor in his uninjured right hand, taking a sip from time to time — but even his greatest passion besides music could not smooth the furrow between his brows in the slightest. John's expression was composed, betraying neither joy nor anguish, and the fine wine in his left hand showed no sign of diminishing, as though he were a stone statue.
"Sigh. When you get old, you go soft — you can't bear to accept the passing of a life. Back in Adrang District, I personally saw off so many good friends and neighbors, but I always bounced back after a few days, full of life's passion again. Like when old Evans died of illness — ah." Joel sighed, mocking himself a bit.
Adrang District was a slum, home to countless ordinary folk who lived hand to mouth, and many men who sustained their families solely through labor. Sudden illnesses that left a person bedridden — never to rise again — were common, and the mortality rate there was the highest in all of Altor. Having emerged from that district, Joel's family was long accustomed to death and separation.
Elisa shot Joel a glare, her voice choked with tears. "How can they possibly compare to young Evans? He was so young — not even twenty-one — so brilliant, noble in character, and hardworking beyond measure. The finest, most extraordinary musician there ever was. And he still hadn't taken a wife, hadn't had children. The Evans bloodline has just… ended like that."
Years of noble life had refined her manner of speaking considerably.
"Sigh. If not for this tragedy, we probably would have been attending young Evans's wedding within half a year." Joel sighed again. Natasha's behavior at the concert and the funeral, as well as the secret late-night rendezvous between the two, had convinced him that — so long as the Grand Duke did not object — those two young people, clearly caught up in a passionate love, would have rushed to the altar without a moment's hesitation. And would the Grand Duke object to a perfectly normal marriage for the Princess? Obviously not!
This regret sank over the hall once more, and then John rose to his feet. His tone was calm as he offered comfort. "Father, Mother, you should get some rest. Lucian certainly wouldn't want you falling ill on his account, not up on Heavenly Mountain."
"Very well. Since young John says so, then let's go upstairs to bed." Joel stood and patted John's shoulder, sighing once more.
Now a knight, John was the pillar of the entire family, and his words carried real weight. Elisa dried her tears and added a gentle admonition: "Young John, you get some rest too. Don't squander your knight's body. When you're patrolling near the Dark Mountains fortress, a stronger body means greater safety — there are so many evil dark creatures and mages out there."
These were the very worries that other noble ladies had planted in her mind — worries she had once paid little heed to. But the murder of Lucian Evans by the evil mage known as "Professor" had made her take them truly seriously. She worried for her eldest son now. The area near the Dark Mountains fortress was far more dangerous than Altor.
The moment John heard the word "mage," his hands trembled almost imperceptibly. Then he embraced Elisa. "Mother, don't worry. I'll take care of myself. Only by holding myself to strict discipline — never indulging, never growing slack — can I become a Second-level Knight and hope to advance to Great Knight within ten years. Only then can I better strike down evil, strike down those damned devils, demons, and mages."
By the last words, John could not help but curse under his breath.
At that moment, the cool breeze drifting through the open windows suddenly intensified, howling as though countless ghosts were wailing and crying out. The sky outside turned dark in an instant, the moonlight vanishing. Had it not been for the swaying, sickly-yellow glow of a few copper candelabras inside the hall, everything would have been pitch black — not even one's hand visible before one's eyes.
"Who goes there?" John caught a faint trace of arcane fluctuation on the wind, and at the same time sensed someone slowly descending the stairs. He stepped forward, drew the extraordinary longsword resting on the side table, and planted himself firmly before Joel, Elisa, and Evan, ready to defend without retreat.
Since he did not sense any intent to attack from the other party, and he feared that if he moved forward to engage, another enemy might strike from a different angle — leaving his parents undefended — he chose to hold his ground and wait for reinforcements, using his loud challenge to alert the knight-attendants and soldiers stationed outside.
Compared to his battle-hardened, capable older brother, Evan — who had only been training as a knight for a few years — appeared green and disoriented. He did not snap back to his senses until John's shout, and then wasted precious moments fumbling for his own sword before finally, sweat beading on his forehead, managing to take up a defensive position at John's side.
The hall fell eerily quiet. John's challenge drew no response from the darkness — only the crisp, sharp sound of footsteps descending the stairs. *Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack, clack* — as though each footfall were treading directly upon one's heart.
Elisa clung tightly to Joel's sleeve, her face pale with fear. Joel gazed worriedly at John and Evan. He and his wife were already in their forties, and after several years of comfortable noble life, even death held no great regrets for them. But the boys were still so young — they should have had far better futures ahead of them.
"Who is it? Who?!" John repeated his challenge, his powerful will forcing his nerves into calm. This was a respectable stretch of the Nobility District; numerous knights, even Great Knights, patrolled nearby, and certain grand noble households boasted Sky Knights among their ranks. On top of that, there were the Night Watch on patrol. The longer this dragged on, the better it would be for his family.
A dim yellow candlelight appeared at the turn of the stairwell landing. John fixed his gaze upon it — and blurted out in shock:
"Lucian?!"
The figure in a black tailcoat, bow tie neatly fastened, holding a silver candelabra as he descended the stairs at an unhurried pace — it was none other than Lucian Evans, who was supposed to be dead.
"Young Evans?!"
"Young Evans?!"
"Brother Lucian?!"
Joel, Elisa, and Evan all recognized the newcomer's face. Bathed in candlelight, that familiar, handsome countenance was composed yet somber, the complexion fair without being pallid — brimming with the radiance of life.
"It's me. Uncle Joel, Aunt Elisa, John, Evan." Lucian tried to smile, hoping to ease the atmosphere, but no smile would come.
Elisa gasped. "Young Evans — have you received the Lord's permission, and come for one final visit before ascending to Heavenly Mountain?" Having grown up in the Vorlite Principality, she naturally attributed everything she could not understand or explain to divine will.
In her excitement, she seemed about to throw herself forward.
"Mother, careful! That is not Lucian! It's an evil mage who has taken Lucian's appearance to toy with us!" John stopped Elisa's impulse.
Under the weight of Lucian's unrestrained spiritual pressure, he could barely maintain his guard.
"John, you're half right and half wrong. I am indeed Lucian Evans — but I am also a mage. I did not die. I used that opportunity to shed my identity as a musician." Lucian halted on the last step of the staircase, because Joel, Elisa, and Evan — upon hearing John's words — had recoiled in alarm and revulsion, instinctively stepping back to put distance between themselves. Meanwhile, John remained on high alert, sword poised as though he might strike at any moment. Maintaining a reasonable distance, therefore, was best for everyone.
This realization soured Lucian's mood considerably.
"Lucian is a mage? Faked his own death to disappear?" John repeated the words, anger blazing across his face. "Bastard — you damned bastard! You damned mages murdered Lucian, and now you come to defile his name! He was questioned by the Tribunal! He devoted his entire being to music! He was a faithful, steadfast, indomitable, cheerful, optimistic, and pure-hearted man — how could he possibly be a mage?!"
A string of adjectives cemented the image of Lucian as he lived in John's heart.
Joel and the others, who had been hesitating and bewildered, were once again swayed by John's fierce conviction, and glared at Lucian with loathing.
John pressed on. "I am a knight. Do you think I wouldn't know that mages possess transformation spells? You've taken Lucian's appearance — what exactly is your purpose in slandering him?"
"John, do you remember our discussion about the knight's spirit and creed before we struck back against the Allen Gang? Do you remember what we said in that alley in Adrang District after we defeated them? About traveling across the continent? About whether kobolds and gnolls are edible?" Lucian had anticipated this sort of reaction, and spoke without haste. No one would believe, straight away, that a friend who had just been buried had come back to life and was telling them that everything had been a lie — especially not in a world where magic existed.
John's gaze sharpened with surprise, but he quickly spoke in a low, hard voice. "What good does mentioning any of that do? There are plenty of arcane means by which you could have learned these things from Lucian's own mouth!"