FSW Chapter 28

The man woke from his dream. He roughly ran his hand through his sweat-drenched hair.

Had it been a nightmare?

His bloodshot eyes fixed on the window across from him. Red eyes glinting in the pitch-black room. He'd woken from a nightmare, yet he was still inside one.

The man calmly got out of bed. The silent room held only him. Though all apprentices shared two-person quarters, on his very first day his roommate had turned deathly pale and requested otherwise—so he alone was the exception.

He washed his face with ice-cold water, dressed, and went outside. Since no one approached him, meals were naturally taken alone as well.

Training that started somewhat early was grueling. But for the man, training time was the most comfortable part of the day. When the body was exhausted, he didn't have to think about anything. If he swung his sword until his arms had no strength left, he could even forget those uncomfortable stares.

He gripped a practice sword, not the blood-reeking real blade he'd brought from the battlefield. Each time the blunt sword struck, chunks of solid wood crumbled away.

He stared at the wooden dummy with lifeless eyes. The way it broke easily, raising dust—it looked just like him. The man thought he might be a human made of compacted sand. Gradually wearing away and crumbling until only a handful of dust remained before disappearing entirely.

That was the extent of the man's worth, his meaning. Even while swinging his sword, such self-deprecating thoughts arose—all because of that dream. How strangely belated.

The man tried to empty his mind. Emotions left uncontained would transfer directly into his sword and slice through thick logs. He didn't want to cause that kind of disturbance.

Thump.

While gathering his emotions, he felt a faint weight against his back. Someone had bumped into him, it seemed. Collisions weren't unusual in an active training space. Though if the other person was him, it might turn into something unusual. That's why he'd stayed in the most secluded corner.

The man's gaze turned back. An unfamiliar face, but from the uniform he could tell this was a fellow apprentice.

As their eyes met, the man turned deathly pale and began trembling.

"I'm sorr—"

"Eek!"

Before the perfunctory apology could finish, the man fled without looking back. Watching the retreating figure, the man closed his mouth. The words he'd swallowed tasted bitter.

A life born from contempt. On the battlefield where he'd only tried to survive, he became terror itself. And even here, having barely made it back alive, his existence was still fear. He couldn't tell which was better—contempt or terror. He'd given up trying to measure them long ago.

The knights' awkward attitudes and his fellow apprentices' rejection weren't even disappointing. So it was fine. Those looks, those attitudes—none of it mattered. Even as he told himself this, the man moved to an even more secluded spot. Buried in shadows like this, at least he wouldn't cause anyone harm.

Having decided this, the man had just gripped his sword again when a sudden commotion arose from the opposite side of the training grounds. Too much for something happening during instruction.

More out of duty than curiosity, the man followed the disturbance. And encountered it. The reason for the commotion. Snow-white skin, hair blacker than ebony, and blue eyes. Yes—in the end, what captured his gaze were those vivid blue eyes.

The moment he met them, the man froze stiff as a rooted tree. He couldn't even think to lower his eyes. Could only stand there stupidly, staring at her for what felt like an eternity.

In myth, sirens took the form of beautiful women and lured sailors with their mysterious songs. Even knowing they would be shipwrecked and die if they approached, the sailors willingly threw themselves toward the sirens' island, Anthemoessa.

The man understood for the first time a myth he'd never taken interest in. Even if those blue eyes would lead him to death, he couldn't avoid them.

If she came straight toward him and drove in a blade, he wouldn't even be able to resist. No—he might leap toward it himself, like a foolish sailor diving into the water of his own accord.

The time that had seemed eternal shattered the moment she parted her lips. Beautiful, she murmured, and only then did he return to reality. Caught by that intense image, he'd unknowingly held her gaze far too long. How unfortunate. Realizing the time had stretched longer than he'd perceived, he hastily dropped his eyes.

Anxiety flooded him quickly.

'What if I upset her?'

His existence would be unpleasant to everyone, but he desperately hoped this noble person wouldn't be put in a bad mood because of something like him.

Forcibly suppressing the desire to capture her in his gaze just once more, he stubbornly stared at the ground.

"Company, at ease!"

Soon the commander shouted. The apprentices who'd been standing in the sun swarmed toward the shade. Yet the space around him remained empty as always. Even isolated and apart, he could still hear them whispering. Everyone was gossiping about the unexpected visitor.

"I'm seeing her in person for the first time—she really doesn't seem like she belongs to this world."

The Imperial Princess was famous enough that even he, who had no interest in worldly affairs, knew of her. To say nothing of her excellent character—if there existed someone sculpted from things as soft and sweet and beautiful as clouds or sugar, everyone praised her as being exactly like the Princess, until their mouths wore out.

Exaggerated rumors had been just words on paper, never reaching his mind. But the moment he saw her, he understood instantly. Anyone who could look at her and not understand must surely be blind.

"Right?! Hey, look! She's smiling!"

A smiling face. He was seized by the impulse to glance and confirm, but he endured. If he placed his own desires and her comfort on a scale, importance naturally lay with the latter.

While the man obsessively focused on staring at his shoe tips as if binding himself, someone came to stand directly before him. He recognized them from the military boots that suddenly appeared in his vision. A senior knight helping with training.

"Here. Her Highness has personally bestowed this, so accept it with gratitude."

The knight didn't care at all about the man's refusal to even make eye contact. Rather, the situation of facing him seemed deeply uncomfortable—after handling only the necessary business, the knight left abruptly.

What had been tossed to him like a throw was a cookie. He stared quietly at the neatly wrapped cookie. A whole peanut was embedded in the center of the well-baked treat.

Carefully, he untied the string. As the opening widened, butter fragrance and the nutty scent of peanuts rushed in. Whoosh. He bit into it, and all the rich aroma lingering in his nose transferred into his mouth. The perfect sweetness captured his tongue. Just like the moment he'd faced the Princess, all his senses were stolen away.

Though he thought it was a shame as they disappeared one by one, he ended up eating all the cookies cleanly. The man neatly folded the wrapper with only crumbs remaining and tucked it into his pocket. There was a trash bin nearby, but he couldn't even think of throwing it away.

"Russell."

The voice calling the man belonged to the commander. At that stiffly hardened tone, the man thought—perhaps meeting her gaze had been unpleasant after all.

The man's heart filled with a genuine desire to apologize if he had caused her even the slightest displeasure. With a contrite heart, approaching carefully so as not to make another mistake—but what the commander offered him wasn't rebuke but a proposal.

"Her Imperial Highness says she wants to learn swordsmanship. Could you help her?"

At the unexpected question, his mind grew complicated. Hadn't he been called to be scolded? Why him, of all people?

Even if he'd been useful on the battlefield, here his swordsmanship was avoided. Something that didn't suit the Princess at all, that could never suit her.

Even the commander making the proposal showed his distaste. The Princess must have made some kind of mistake. It would be right to refuse before making her more displeased.

But...

"I won't take up much of your time!"

At that earnest gaze, he found himself nodding without thinking.

From the moment he accepted, he regretted it. He didn't want to upset the Princess. No—in truth, he didn't want to be despised by the Princess.

Even though that was his daily reality.

Before he could even recognize his inner fear, his hand was suddenly grasped.

"Thank you! I'm looking forward to working with you!"

Over the hand that held his, his past hands soaked in blood overlapped. Those filthy hands that had been rejected even when extended to save allies. If she held on this tightly, that foulness might transfer to the Princess. He knew he should pull away quickly, but—

The unfamiliar warmth spreading from the hand that gripped his so freely was so warm that he could only nod silently.

Beneath the deep blue sky, the man lowered his head out of habit. On sunny days when even the air felt gentle, he sometimes felt as if he'd been reduced to a mere ant. A life spent crawling along the ground with head pressed down forever. A trivial existence that would eventually be trampled beneath someone's foot and disappear.

Sweat running down his forehead fell onto the dirt. Drip. He stared blankly at the irregularly drawn circle, then moved his feet again.

It still didn't feel real, but this was his first day helping train Her Imperial Highness. Yet rather than anticipation, a lethargy resembling resignation weighed heavier. Because he firmly believed today would be both the first and the last.

The commander's explanation that she had requested to learn from the most skilled among the apprentices helped him understand somewhat why someone like him had been chosen. But at the same time, the ending drew itself out like an inevitable progression.

A face crumbling with disappointment, a voice hardened stiff with displeasure, an obvious sigh—things like that.

The commander had repeatedly warned him not to show Her Highness "that kind" of swordsmanship. He nodded at the serious tone while thinking—there's no need to worry so much. He'd be dismissed before there was even a chance for that.

It was a bleak story without even a shred of hope, yet despite this, he quickened his walking pace. The truth was, since the day he first saw her, he had often—no, frequently—recalled it. On that day when his surroundings had been as blood-soaked as his eyes, when everything was dying into colorlessness, he'd met those vivid blue eyes that looked straight at him.

Bluer than the sky he occasionally glanced up at, deeper than the ocean he'd once seen in a book—that color, the exact opposite of his cursed eyes, must have left a powerful impression. Judging by how it still clung stickily to his retinas, refusing to let go.

It was presumptuous to say, but he thought—if only once, just once, he could face her again. Even if contempt filled those eyes. But from when he arrived at the training grounds until he stood before her and they spoke, his gaze remained fixed on the ground.

He didn't want to fulfill his own wish if it meant making the Princess uncomfortable. So like someone who'd dropped something precious in the dirt, he obsessively clung to the act of keeping his eyes lowered.

But his efforts crumbled with humiliating ease. At words he never could have anticipated, his head lifted unintentionally. The statement was so absurd he didn't even realize what he'd done in that instant.