Translator: Nox

Chapter 41

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The garments provided by the Duke were met with a look of apprehension from Adi. Roy stood alongside, observing the same pile of fabric, though his features lacked any trace of her hesitation.

Joel had arrived at the warriors’ barracks earlier that morning, arms laden with the attire. A groggy Bert, barely shaking off the remnants of sleep, had inquired about the nature of the delivery and whether he was due for a new set himself. Joel had simply informed the guard that such things wouldn’t be necessary for him, and the reason became clear immediately.

“This is the official regalia for the knights of House Woodpecker.”

“Are we truly permitted to wear these?”

“Indeed. It is the Duke’s wish that you don these until the festivities conclude. With the influx of various aristocratic houses at Pallesa, relying on the standard 2nd Knight Order attire would cause too much confusion.”

“They only utilized the Pallesa uniforms during the previous year’s event.”

The South was defined by these specific colors: deep black fabrics paired with a vibrant crimson cloak. That chilling shade of red, a perfect match for the plumage of the Southern Woodpecker, often evoked images of fresh slaughter. It was a fitting association, given how many times those very capes had served to wipe away the gore of battle. However, Roy’s previous glimpses of the order had featured silver plating beneath the red, rather than this all-black foundation.

“Do you find it to your liking, Roy?”

“Absolutely. Tell me, do the Night Watchmen utilize this same design?”

“The insignia varies, but the base clothing is identical.”

Following Bert’s explanation, Roy began to toy with the metallic emblem pinned to his chest. The crest—a heart cradled by avian wings—was a mark reserved exclusively for those in the Duke’s inner circle of protectors.

“Is your ambition to join the Night Watchmen, then?”

“They were the ones at the forefront of the old conflicts. I personally owe them a debt for the assistance they provided.”

“A tragic chapter for the Gallardo name.”

“I will simply have to restore its glory through my own efforts.”

As Roy offered his casual response, Bert gave him a supportive clap on the shoulder.

“And what of you, Adi? Is something wrong?”

“Not at all. I have always admired how sharp Bert looks in his.”

Dark fabric. The last time she had stood in such a hue was the day Adrian was lowered into the earth. In the thick, suffocating greenery of the Northern woods, these clothes acted as a shadow, rendering the wearer invisible. Yet, knights were supposed to be symbols of pride, not shadows in the night.

Perhaps against the backdrop of the South, this black stood out more. She recalled hearing that beyond the Oak Forest lay nothing but vast, open plains. Her fingers brushed the dark material, a color synonymous with the end of life, yet it felt surprisingly delicate to the touch.

“My father is expected to be present,” Adi remarked quietly.

“Ah. You find it awkward to wear Woodpecker’s colors while representing the Grimaldi line?”

“The clothes themselves aren’t the issue. It’s the potential underlying message…”

She trailed off, though the truth was obvious to everyone in the room. This was a calculated performance.

“I imagine a lecture from my father is in my future.”

The Duke’s true motives remained a mystery to her.

“A ‘lecture’? That’s a charming way to describe it,” Bert chuckled.

“If you find yourself disowned, just head South. There will always be a place for you in Woodpecker.”

“I shall hold you to that.”

*

A brief respite was granted to them for the afternoon. Roy, who had spent the morning complaining about the suffocating security measures around Pallesa Palace, proposed a match of chess for later that night. As soon as they returned to their quarters, he immediately swapped his gear for the Woodpecker uniform.

Declaring that he intended to live in the outfit starting tomorrow, Roy began spinning tales of the legendary Woodpecker knights from his youth.

These were stories of a past generation, legends that felt like ancient history to them. While two decades might feel like a heartbeat to some, to others, it was an era long buried.

“During those days, I was convinced the world was collapsing. The South of Dalkatir had never seen such devastation. You couldn’t escape the stench of charred flesh, and the blood ran so thick in the streets we couldn’t even scrub it away. Water was so scarce that we’d stand in the rain with our mouths open just to survive.”

Adi couldn’t relate to the bloody history of the South. Her experience with such carnage was rooted firmly in the North.

“The look suits you,” she noted.

The Grimaldi bloodline had been the catalyst.

“It would look just as good on you.”

Because of that, the weight of the curse was earned.

“Your hair is the right shade for it.”

The cloak, which seemed more like dried blood than mere crimson, dragged her back into her own history.

Spencer Grimaldi never seemed to return to a home that wasn’t stained. The air always carried that sharp, iron tang. She had only identified it as the smell of blood because of the bouts Adrian suffered. She hadn’t even reached her tenth year back then.

“This will certainly draw eyes.”

“You think? It feels like it would disappear into the background.”

“It’s black. Unless it’s midnight, you’ll be the focal point.”

“In the North, the heavy evergreen cover makes black the perfect camouflage. You can vanish in those woods.”

“The forests I’ve seen are nothing but vibrant greens.”

“So I’ve been told. I hear the fig trees create massive canopies.”

The specific appearance of an oak tree was a mystery to her. She held a lingering, idealized vision that they were far more colorful than the bleak, jagged mountains of her home.

“Woodpecker possesses a beauty that puts Pallesa to shame.”

“Joel.”

“My apologies. I noticed the entrance was unlatched.”

Neither Adi nor Roy seemed bothered by the intrusion; after all, they were in a communal lounge rather than private quarters. Joel offered a compliment on how well the new gear fit Roy.

“I came to update you on the itinerary. The midday meal for tomorrow is set. The Crown Prince isn’t much of an early riser, so the luncheon is scheduled for 2 p.m. If the shift in schedule leaves you feeling drained, you are welcome to visit me…”

He was prepared to offer his services as a healer, but Adi cut him off before he could finish.

“I am quite alright. I’ve rested enough for now and will sleep soundly tonight.”

“I see…”

Joel got the impression that this person was far from ordinary. Then again, sanity was a rare trait among those who pushed their bodies to the absolute limits of knighthood. His experience was mostly with the Woodpecker guard, and while these newcomers were different, they certainly weren’t typical.

“Please be at the drawing room by noon tomorrow.”

With that, Joel made a quick exit. He had a certain charm to him, standing at a height that reminded her of Adrian before his passing.

Given his Northern heritage, Adrian likely wouldn’t have shared Joel’s gentle disposition as an adult, but his physical stature stirred a sisterly instinct in her. Roy must have noticed the softening in her expression.

“Why are you staring at him like that?”

“Staring?”

“Yes. You looked at him with quite a bit of warmth.”

“Did I?”

As she brushed off the question, Roy moved to the table, dismissing the topic.

“Well then, are we playing or not?”

“There isn’t much thrill in beating you.”

Despite her jab, she took a seat and began helping him set the board.

“It’s not about entertainment; it’s about tactical development. You realize how vital positioning is in a real conflict?”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I find your moves quite predictable.”

“Is that so? A dare?”

“Your intentions are written on your face. To win a war, you must strike from an angle your foe never considered. Shall I start?”

“Go ahead.”

“Ideally, you engage when your opponent is most vulnerable.”

“Which is why night raids are so effective.”

“True. But the most critical factor is something else entirely.”

“And that is?”

“The opening blow.”

Adi focused on the piece she was sliding across the board. It occurred to her that she was always the one to initiate. She was the one who cleared the path, using diversions to mask her true objective until she could seize it.

“…Is that a Grimaldi family secret? The importance of the first strike?”

“Not particularly. It’s a lesson I picked up on my own.”

“…”

“Or perhaps not. It’s possible the great thinkers of the past already wrote it down, and I simply internalized it so deeply I forgot where it came from.”

Roy felt a strange prickle of confusion as he watched her.

His own upbringing had been a patchwork of noble tutoring followed by years of drifting between distant kin before finally being taken in by his mother’s side. Even then, his education had been neglected; they merely kept him fed until he was old enough to leave. He had carved out his own survival.

Because of this, he felt distinct from the polished heirs of the great houses.

Yet, he sensed that same self-made edge in Adrian Grimaldi. The man should have been a pampered aristocrat, regardless of any family friction.

“Besides, my father was rarely home. He preferred Ionad. Before that, he was always at the front. My mother was the one who actually managed the Grimaldi lands. At least, she did until my… brother passed away.”

“Grief is a heavy burden,” Roy said softly.

She knew he had his own ghosts. But it was a human flaw to believe one’s own scars were the deepest.

“Especially when it involves a child they cherished.”

She had been a witness to that.

“The suffering must have been immense for her.”

“It was.”

The love her mother had for him was undeniable. It was so intense it had been suffocating for the one receiving it. Adi felt that if she had been the one to die, her mother might have simply moved on. A parent’s love isn’t always distributed in equal measure.

Sometimes, she thought…

“I suppose so.”

…I find myself envious of you, resting in the dirt.

And the moment that envy surfaced, she was drowned in a wave of self-disgust and remorse.