Chapter 164: Act 3. That Grave Has No Name
“There is a dreadful monster lurking inside my son's body.”
His father's voice was heavy with sorrow.
Eyes clouded by fear and torment briefly swept across his face before turning back to the elderly priest clad in ceremonial robes.
“You already know of it, do you not? The curse flowing through House Siorcan...”
A sudden note of profound disgust entered his father's voice.
“My grandfather possessed the 'Devil's Eyes.' He could see not only into the hearts of men, but even through their destinies. Everyone revered him and feared him, yet I alone knew the true nature of that power. It was... nothing more than an ominous and wicked authority that stood outside the providence of God.”
His father's gleaming eyes shifted toward the altar of the chapel.
Upon the spotless white marble stood relief carvings depicting the heroes who had helped found the Roem Empire, locked in battle against the heathens who opposed them.
His father stared fixedly at the carvings before continuing, as though making a confession.
“In ages past, our ancestors sought to conquer all nations with that power. Through wicked sorcery they trampled other peoples beneath their feet, spilled their blood, and offered the vitality of countless lives to the spirits of the land. They believed that any soil soaked in such blood would forever become the dominion of our clan.”
His father paused before slowly lifting his gaze.
Light streamed through the stained-glass window, lending his eyes an uncanny brilliance.
He looked like a man possessed.
“But our ancestors' ambition was utterly crushed before the apostles of God. Considering the sins committed by the Khan people, we deserved to be reduced to slavery. Yet the merciful Creator accepted our sinful people as His own. In return, House Siorcan swore eternal loyalty as subjects of the Empire.”
His father's eyes settled upon him once more.
He realized that every word was meant not for the priest, but for him.
After studying him for a long while with eyes filled with anguish, his father continued quietly.
“Since then, we have honored that oath. We have faithfully fulfilled our duty as believers of the Imperial Church and loyal servants of the Imperial Family. Yet the heretical blood flowing through House Siorcan has never been completely extinguished. It appeared in my grandfather... and now it has appeared in my son...”
His father's thin lips trembled faintly.
It looked as though he were desperately suppressing something rising from within.
He wondered what emotion his father had swallowed.
Was it revulsion?
Or grief?
After a long silence, as though organizing the storm within his own heart, his father finally spoke with firm resolve.
“I wish to carve the savage nature out of this child and remake him into the perfect heir. For that, I ask the Church for its assistance.”
The elderly priest, who had listened in silence, answered with hesitation.
“The young master is still far too young. As before, would it not be better to wait until he is older before beginning such instruction...?”
“That will not be enough.”
His father cut him off sharply.
“Many of the eastern people have yet to abandon the beliefs of the past. If my son grows up among them, he will completely lose his identity as an Imperial citizen. He must be taken away from this land as soon as possible.”
The priest looked down at him with puzzled eyes.
He seemed unable to understand what there was about a child who barely reached his waist that could fill the ruler of the East with such fear.
He himself wondered the same thing.
What exactly had his father seen in him to speak with such certainty?
His father's gaze darkened into an abyss.
“I know it. Something that once dwelled within the bodies of my ancestors now dwells within this child as well... If my son grows according to his true nature, this land will be consumed by great chaos.”
With that declaration—one that sounded almost like a prophecy—his father's figure began melting grotesquely like candle wax.
The brilliant light surrounding the chapel instantly faded into gray.
The world overturned amid a deafening ringing in his ears.
Somewhere, a heavy iron door slammed shut.
The next moment, he realized he was imprisoned inside a solitary cell so cold it seeped into his bones.
He had been dragged here countless times.
Because he ignored every rule of the monastery.
Because he questioned the priests' teachings.
Even he did not know why he persisted in such futile defiance.
The only reward for his foolish resistance was merciless punishment.
His mind understood that pretending to submit would have been the wiser course.
Yet something inside his chest refused to yield.
Perhaps the destructive nature his father had spoken of truly was urging him toward endless self-destruction.
Because of it, he was condemned to unending suffering.
An overwhelming fear haunted him—that unless he corrected whatever existed within himself, he would never escape this place.
Amid humiliation, fury, shame, and pain, he made a vow.
If there truly was an evil monster lurking inside him...
Then he would destroy it with his own hands.
One day, that desperate wish unfolded into a bizarre vision before his eyes.
Time itself stood still.
Before him stood an enormous beast.
He knew instinctively.
This monster was the source of all his suffering.
Every time he was locked inside that cramped, lightless room...
Every time he endured another brutal beating...
He had renewed that same resolve.
Now he put it into action.
A pure white blade suddenly rested in his hand.
He drove it straight into the creature's chest.
The massive body, hot and pulsing with life, convulsed violently.
He slashed again and again through the violently writhing flesh.
At last, the giant body covered in black fur collapsed lifelessly.
Yet its six crimson eyes continued staring directly at him.
His trembling hand reached toward the blood-soaked corpse.
Its heart had gone cold.
It no longer beat.
Was he finally free of his suffering?
Something suddenly ran down his cheek.
When he touched his face, it was soaked with tears.
He did not understand why he was crying.
Confused, he lowered his gaze once again.
The six-eyed monster had vanished.
In its place lay a blond-haired boy.
He turned the fallen body over.
His own face stared back at him.
Cold droplets fell upon it one after another.
Yet the tears of mourning dried almost instantly.
The vision scattered like grains of sand.
When he opened his eyes again...
He realized that something inside him had died forever.
The scent of blood drifted through the air.
Varkas awoke from a light sleep and cast a detached gaze toward the entrance of the tent.
The pale morning sun had only just begun to rise, scattering its cold light throughout the encampment.
After glancing up at the sky to judge the hour, he rose to his feet, picked up his sheathed sword, and stepped outside.
Rows of orderly military tents and hastily constructed fortifications filled his vision.
Varkas walked through the bustling soldiers until he reached the defensive line.
Mounted atop the wooden palisade were the severed heads of the traitors he had personally executed several days earlier.
After briefly looking at their empty eye sockets, picked clean by flocks of birds, he climbed the ladder and surveyed the occupied territory.
The fortress of Veldis—one of the North's principal military strongholds—and the vast plain stretching westward lay before him.
Because the land was dominated by rugged mountains and countless ravines, Veldis was one of the few open regions where large armies could assemble and fight a proper pitched battle.
Nearly all large-scale supplies and reinforcements headed toward southeastern Valto had to pass through this region.
By capturing it, they had effectively isolated Valto.
We should be able to initiate peace negotiations before long.
Leaning against the battlement, he uncorked the flask hanging from his belt and took a drink.
Once the northern nobles realized they had been cornered, they would inevitably abandon those who had led the rebellion.
They would attempt to calm the situation by electing a new ruler loyal to the Empire.
If he could then persuade the Imperial Court to conclude a peace treaty...
This long and exhausting war of attrition would finally come to an end.
If things go well, I'll return to Kalmor in two months. Three at the latest.
He exhaled slowly and roughly brushed his disheveled hair back.
More than two years had already passed since the civil war began.
Whenever opportunities arose, he had visited Laedgo Castle, but once full-scale combat commenced, he had been forced to rely solely on dispatches to learn what was happening within his territory.
The last time he had seen her was six months ago.
Even then, all he had done was observe her condition from a distance.
This was the first time he had remained away from the castle for so long.
The unease gnawed at him relentlessly.
The chief maid and his subordinates regularly sent reports concerning her well-being.
Yet words written on paper alone were never enough to put his mind at ease.