Chapter 164
Act 3. That Grave Has No Name
“A terrible monster is lurking inside my son’s body.”
His father spoke in a grief-stricken tone.
Eyes stained with fear and anguish glanced over his face, then soon returned to the old priest dressed in vestments.
“You know it well too, do you not? The curse flowing through House Siarkan...”
Suddenly, deep disgust settled into his father’s voice.
“My grandfather possessed the Demon’s Eye. He could see through not only people’s hearts, but even their fate. Everyone revered and feared that grandfather, but I knew the true nature of that power. It was... nothing but an ominous and evil power that strayed from God’s providence.”
His father’s flashing eyes turned toward the altar of the prayer room.
On the pure white marble platform were carved the figures of the heroes who contributed to the founding of the Roem Empire and the pagans fighting against them.
His father stared fixedly at it, then continued speaking as if confessing.
“In the past, our ancestors tried to conquer the many kingdoms using that power. With the power of evil sorcery, they trampled other peoples and scattered their blood, seeking to offer life force to the spirit of the land. They believed the land dyed with blood would become our clan’s territory for eternity.”
His father, who had paused briefly, raised his gaze upward.
The light coming through the window added a strange radiance to his father’s eyes.
His father looked as if possessed by something.
“But the ambitions of our ancestors were brutally broken before the apostles of God. Considering the sins committed by the Khan people, we deserved to become slaves of the victors. However, the merciful Creator God embraced our sinful people as His own. In return for that mercy, House Siarkan swore to devote its loyalty as a member of the Empire.”
His father’s eyes lowered toward him again.
He knew that this entire story was directed not at the priest, but at him.
His father stared at him for a long while with eyes filled with anguish, then continued his lament.
“Until now, we have kept that oath and fulfilled our duty as believers of the Imperial Orthodox Church and loyal subjects of the Imperial Family. But the heretical energy flowing in the blood of House Siarkan has still not been completely severed. In my grandfather, and this time in my son...”
His father’s thin lips trembled faintly.
His face looked as if he were desperately suppressing something rising from within.
He wondered about the true nature of the emotion his father had swallowed.
Was it disgust?
Or was it grief?
After pausing for a while as if gathering the thing flickering in his chest, his father finally brought up the main point with a resolute face.
“I wish to cut out this child’s savage nature and remake him into a perfect heir. For that, I would like the church to help.”
The old priest, who had been listening silently, opened his mouth with a troubled look.
“The young lord is still far too young. As you have done until now, perhaps you should wait until he grows a little more and then have him educated...”
“That will not be enough.”
His father nervously cut off the priest’s words.
“Many easterners still have not completely abandoned the old faith. If I let my son grow among them, he will completely lose his identity as an imperial subject. He must be taken far away from this land as quickly as possible.”
The priest looked down at him with suspicious eyes.
He seemed to wonder what about the child who barely reached his waist had driven the ruler of the East into such anxiety.
He was curious as well.
What on earth had his father seen in him to become so convinced?
As he looked up at him silently, his father’s eyes turned as black as an abyss.
“I can tell. Something that once dwelled inside the bodies of my ancestors also dwells inside this child... If my son grows according to his true nature, this land will be thrown into great chaos.”
With those prophetic words as the end, his father’s form melted grotesquely like candle wax.
The brilliant light surrounding the prayer room also faded to gray in an instant.
With a humming tinnitus, the world overturned.
Somewhere, there was a bang as an iron door shut.
The next moment, he realized he was locked inside a solitary cell cold enough to chill his bones.
He was often dragged to this place.
It was because he ignored every rule of the monastery and questioned the teachings of the priests.
He did not know why he kept repeating such futile resistance.
All he could gain as a result of foolish resistance was harsh corporal punishment.
In his head, he knew it would be wise to at least pretend to obey.
But something inside his chest refused to submit.
Perhaps the ferocious something his father had spoken of was urging him to continue abusing himself.
Because of it, he had to suffer endless pain.
If he did not correct something inside himself, he would never be able to leave this place.
He resisted the self that resisted being broken.
He fought the self that wanted to fight violently.
If a terrible monster was lurking inside him, he vowed to remove it with his own hands.
That intense desire unfolded a strange illusion before his eyes.
One day, in frozen time, he faced a giant beast.
This monster was the source of his pain.
Every time he was locked inside a narrow, dark room, every time he suffered a harsh beating, he approached the beast to carry out the resolve he had repeated again and again.
At some point, a pure white blade was in his hand.
He drove it into the chest of the beast looking down at him.
The massive body, beating hotly, writhed violently.
He swung the blade again and again inside that heavy body, which shook fiercely.
At last, the huge body covered in black fur collapsed helplessly.
However, the six red eyes were still looking at him.
He reached out with trembling hands and touched the blood-soaked body.
The cold, stiff heart no longer beat.
Would this free him from pain?
Suddenly, he felt something flow down his cheek.
When he touched his face, it was soaked with tears.
He did not know why he was crying.
With eyes filled with confusion, he looked down again.
The monster with six eyes was gone, and a blond boy was lying there.
He turned over the collapsed corpse.
He saw his own face, frozen white.
Cold droplets fell onto it.
But the tears of mourning dried up in an instant.
The illusion soon scattered as well.
When he opened his eyes again, he realized that something within him had died forever.
A smell of blood came from somewhere.
Varkas woke from a light sleep and cast a dry gaze beyond the entrance of the tent.
The pale morning sun, which had just begun to rise, was scattering cold light.
Watching it and estimating the time, he rose from his place, picked up his scabbard, and went outside.
Orderly rows of military tents and a makeshift military base filled his vision.
He crossed through the bustling soldiers and approached the defense line.
On top of the wooden palisade the soldiers had installed, the heads of the traitors he had personally executed a few days earlier were displayed.
After staring for a moment at the empty eye sockets that seemed to have been pecked clean by flocks of birds, he climbed a ladder and looked over the occupied territory.
The wall of Beldis, one of the north’s military strongholds, and the plain stretching westward spread before his eyes.
Given the terrain of this land, where the mountains were rugged and gorges were everywhere, Beldis was one of the few open fields where large forces could gather and fight a proper pitched battle.
Most large-scale supplies and troops heading toward Balto’s southeastern region had to pass through this area.
In other words, by occupying this place, Balto could now be effectively isolated.
“We may be able to pursue peace talks soon.”
He leaned against the railing and opened the canteen tied at his waist to wet his mouth.
The nobles of the northern alliance, once they realized they were cornered, would soon turn their backs on the forces that had led the treason.
They would try to cover up the situation by electing a new ruler with pro-imperial leanings.
If he persuaded the Imperial Family then to conclude a peace agreement, this tedious war of attrition could be ended.
“At the earliest, I can return to Kalmor within two months, or at the latest, three.”
He let out a long breath and roughly swept back his disheveled hair.
More than two years had already passed since the civil war broke out.
During that time, he had visited Raedgo Castle whenever the opportunity arose, but after full-scale battle began, he had no choice but to check the situation in the territory through messengers.
The last time he had seen her was half a year ago.
Even then, he had only checked her condition from afar.
This was the first time he had left the castle empty for so long, and he was terribly anxious.
He was receiving regular reports about her condition through the head maid and his subordinates, but sentences written on paper were not enough to reassure him.
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