HEO 123

“I’m a Stohl person now.”

Silver swallowed the bread. A faint sourness lingered on the tip of his tongue.

“That bastard took advantage of the moment my biological father was empty-handed and struck first. He sliced my father’s throat in one go, right in front of me.”

“Was it perhaps during the war…?”

“What kind of bullshit is that? Do I look like the kind of guy who would grit his teeth for three years over something that happened in a war?”

“Then?”

“It happened during a drinking session. If my father had been holding an axe instead of a wine glass in his hand, he wouldn’t have been so helpless.”

This was what infuriated Silver the most. Not the death of Black Weasel, but the process of his death. The strongest assassin in Stohl, a man known as Thunder, had simply croaked while drinking. No fight, no resistance—nothing. His head just flew off. It was a truly ridiculous and pathetic death.

That son of a bitch. He should have at least challenged the Ice Armor Warrior to a duel.

What if Wolf had killed Black Weasel in a fair fight? Silver would have accepted it, conceded, and swallowed the bitterness. Even if his stomach twisted as if he had forced down a whole grilled sturgeon with the bones still in, he would have clenched his teeth and endured it until he eventually digested it. Then, when he reunited with Wolf later, he might have given him a light pat on the shoulder and asked, ‘How’ve you been?’ That was the way of the Stoll Person. One does not hold grudges over deaths that occur on the battlefield or in the arena.

“My father was strong. He was the strongest warrior in Stohl.”

Silver spoke while glaring at the breadcrumbs scattered on the cutting board.

“It’s true. Whether you believe it or not, he was a man as strong as the legendary Thunder. But fuck, to a green brat like him…”

He picked up the ale glass and then set it back down. The image of his father’s head flying into the darkness kept flashing before his eyes. Suppressing his rage, Silver pressed down hard on the innocent breadcrumbs with his thumb. The man gazed at him silently.

“What. Why. Is it funny?”

Silver flicked a breadcrumb toward the man with his fingertip. The crumb hit the man’s cheek.

“Yeah, it must be funny. Starting from the part where I said my father was as strong as Thunder, it must have been hilarious. Go ahead and laugh, I won’t get mad.”

“Calm down. You’re agitated.”

The man waved both hands.

“Finish your meal first. Then take your medicine. That’s what’s important right now.”

Silver steadied his breathing. He picked up the ale glass again and drained it. He swallowed the remaining bread topped with cheese and stuffed the salted meat into his mouth.

The man pushed a cup containing medicine toward him. The black liquid, filling half the cup, emitted a stench no worse than the contraceptives Starry eyes used to make.

“It’ll taste bitter. But you have to drink it all without leaving any.”

“Chemistry is the worst bastard in the world.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“It’s just a thing.”

Silver held his breath and emptied the cup. The bitterness lashed across his tongue like a whip.

“Blegh! I drank it all!”

Silver slammed the cup down. The man stood up abruptly.

“Let’s go rest. They said drowsiness hits after taking this medicine.”

“Right. I’ll be going then.”

Silver pushed back his chair and stood up. The man paused and stared intently at Silver.

“You’re not planning to go back to the rookie quarters, are you?”

“This is your house, not mine. The rookie quarters are where I’m assigned.”

At those words, the corners of the man’s mouth stiffened slightly. His large hand gripped the ale glass and then let go. His gaze slid from Silver’s face down to the workbench.

“Sleep here.”

With his eyes cast down, the man swept the breadcrumbs together with the side of his hand.

“The rookie quarters are quite far. I’ll sleep on the floor, so you use the bed.”

“Why go through the trouble…”

Silver started to refuse but stopped. Drowsiness was already washing over him. The thought of walking to the rookie quarters suddenly became incredibly tedious.

It should be fine, right? Since I had to drink that astringent medicine because of him, at least a bed…

“Alright…”

Even to Silver’s own ears, his voice sounded dazed.

“I’ll borrow your bed. I’m sleepy…”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

The bedroom was right next to the kitchen. The man turned back to Silver at the door.

“Wait a moment.”

Leaving only those words, he closed the bedroom door and went inside. Soon, the sound of something being stripped away drifted outside the door. Even amidst the pouring sleep, Silver suddenly realized. The man was changing the sheets. He was personally cleaning up the traces of the two of them tangled together from the previous night.

The sound of sheets fluttering and the sensation of crisp new fabric being pulled tight followed. Silver looked down and clenched and unclenched his hands. As the acts he had shared with the man last night flashed before his eyes in succession, his face grew hot.

Eventually, the man opened the door and beckoned with his hand.

“Come in.”

Silver entered the bedroom, intentionally keeping his eyes on the floor. New sheets and a blanket were spread across the bed. On the floor beside it, a sheet, blanket, and pillow were neatly arranged. The fire in the brazier was strong, as if charcoal had been added. His home repair skills were extraordinary, but it seemed his general living skills, including housekeeping, were also excellent. It was no wonder the man’s resentment toward his parents reached the heavens. While honing his skills to this extent, he must have been beaten like a dog by his father and mother every three hours.

“Get some sleep.”

“Yeah.”

Without even taking off his robe, Silver flopped face-down onto the bed. The pillow he buried his face in smelled of dried lavender. Just as he was about to close his eyes, the man slid his hand beneath Silver’s body. The movement of untying the robe’s knot was so natural that Silver missed the timing to push him away. He was glad he had his face buried in the pillow. Otherwise, the man would have seen his eyes widen in surprise.

The man removed the robe from Silver and pulled the blanket up to his shoulders. Silver found the gesture—as if putting a small child to sleep—absurd. He found it even more absurd that he remained docile instead of snapping, ‘Why are you being so cringey, you bastard?’ Why am I really like this?

Is it because we slept together once?

It was a convenient explanation, but somehow it felt unsatisfying. If someone with a threatening physique like this man touched his body, he should have reacted instinctively. Whether by twisting the man’s wrist or pulling his body away, he should have done something. However, a moment ago, Silver’s body had made no defensive move. He had left himself exposed to the man’s touch without a shred of tension.

His mind was too hazy to connect any further thoughts. Silver shifted rustlingly and turned onto his side. In the meantime, the man was lying on the floor with his arm as a pillow. In his blurring vision, the man’s expression looked somewhat complex. He looked like someone holding a crochet hook in front of a tangled ball of yarn.

Silver closed his eyes. Dreamland approached in great strides.

“You know, Silver.”

The man suddenly spoke. It sounded like a distant echo.

“That friend who killed your father. Were you very close?”

“Yeah…”

Even in his half-asleep state, Silver’s lips parted.

“Atania idiot… face looks like yours… but his cock wasn’t as weird as yours… couldn’t speak Stohl language…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Silver’s consciousness plunged deep into dreamland.

Silver’s breathing deepened. It was the kind of breath that only came when one was fast asleep.

Wolf stared at the ceiling without moving. The shadow cast by the brazier’s light flickered slowly on the beam. The diagonal crack in the black beam grew dark, like a brushstroke.

— The name of the one who killed my biological father was Wolf. In the Atanian style, Wolf.

Silver’s voice would not leave his ears.

— Atania idiot… face looks like yours… but his cock wasn’t unauthorized unauthorized copystyle="position:absolute;left:-9999px;font-size:0;">[stolen content]copyas weird as yours… couldn’t speak Stohl language…

Those words were constantly disassembled and reassembled in Wolf’s head. Someone who had been Silver’s friend. In the past, an Atanian. Currently, a Stoll Person.

Wolf took a deep breath. A bleak chill spread through a corner of his chest.

What on earth is this?

It felt like some kind of ghost story. The kind of story boys would tell while huddling together in a friend’s attic late at night—about a farmer who encountered a man who looked exactly like him at the market, and a week later, his wife and children were murdered, and all the neighbors pointed to the farmer as the culprit. With a single candle lit, playing a game of courage to see who would get scared first.

Silver spoke as if he had been quite close with me three years ago.

But that makes no sense!

Wolf had no memory of Silver. He had no memory of slicing someone’s throat during a drinking session.

If Silver had a common appearance, Wolf might have thought about it differently, giving him a hundred or a thousand concessions. He might have thought they were acquaintances who saw each other occasionally three years ago when he didn’t know the Stohl language, and he had simply forgotten over time. That while he had no memory of it, perhaps he had sliced Silver’s father’s throat in a drunken stupor.