Chapter 43: Lino
The next day.
A streak of light tore through the twilight of Jade Territory. The radiance plummeted before the city gates, manifesting into two human figures.
The guards leveled their halberds, but lowered them once they saw who had arrived.
"It's Young Master Reinhard!" one guard shouted, recognizing the boy.
The other guard's gaze was fixed intently on the longsword cradled in the youth's arms. Reinhard and Lilia stood there, their eyes hollow and vacant, like two puppets whose strings had been severed.
The guards did not dally. One hoisted Reinhard onto his back while the other supported Lilia, sprinting toward the Count's castle at full speed.
The Castle Study.
Count Barton sat behind a desk piled with documents, the shadows under his eyes deeper than ever. He looked at the two survivors brought before him. His gaze shifted past them, landing on the Holy Sword placed solemnly on the table.
Barton reached out, his fingertips brushing the cold hilt. He understood.
The Hero had fallen.
"Take them to rest. Summon the Priests," Barton said, his voice heavy with a fatigue he could no longer suppress.
The power of the Light flowed through the room, dispelling the shadows clinging to their souls. Reinhard's eyelids flickered. Slowly, he opened his eyes.
In his blurred vision, a familiar silhouette gradually sharpened. It was his mother. Lino sat by the bedside, quietly watching her son.
Reinhard looked at his mother's face—weary, yet still holding onto her noble grace. Tears began to slide silently from the corners of his eyes. He bit his lip hard, refusing to let out a sound.
Lino said nothing. She simply reached out and pulled Reinhard into a fierce embrace, one hand gently stroking the back of his head.
"I couldn't... do anything..." Reinhard's voice was fractured, trembling against his mother's shoulder. "I couldn't do a single thing..."
Lino just listened in silence, her arms tightening around him.
After a long while, Reinhard's emotions stabilized. Lilia had also regained her senses. She stood in the corner of the room, silent and still as a shadow.
"Let us go and report your safety to Count Barton," Lino said softly, preparing to help Reinhard out of bed.
In that exact heartbeat—Lilia moved.
She drew the short sword from her waist. The blade flashed like a silver spark, lunging straight for the unsuspecting Reinhard.
It happened in the space between breaths. Lino's reaction transcended thought. Using every ounce of her strength, she yanked Reinhard backward.
The blade lost its target.
Squelch.
A sickening, wet thud echoed. The blade sank deep into Lino's chest.
Time froze.
Reinhard's mind went blank. He looked on in absolute disbelief as the short sword stood embedded in his mother's heart. He watched as the blood surged from the wound, rapidly staining her plain, pale dress a violent crimson.
Lilia stumbled back two steps. She looked at her hands, slick with blood, and then at Reinhard's face—a mask of distorted shock.
"It wasn't me..." Lilia shook her head, her voice a cocktail of terror and confusion. "It really wasn't me..."
She dropped the knife and turned, bolting from the room. Her figure vanished at the end of the corridor.
"MOTHER!" Reinhard finally found his voice.
With a gutteral roar, he lunged forward, catching the swaying Lino.
"Priests! I need the Priests!" Reinhard scooped his mother into his arms and burst out of the room.
He sprinted through the castle toward the prayer hall. With every step, the body in his arms grew lighter. Life was slipping through his fingers like sand.
"A proper noble... must remain... composed..." Lino reached up, her hand ghosting against Reinhard's cheek. Her voice was as weak as a fading breeze. "Relax... Reinhard..."
Tears blurred Reinhard's vision, but his pace never faltered. He ran with everything he had, the stone corridor blurring into a tunnel of gray.
Lino's vision began to scatter. She felt as though someone was standing beside her. A man in knight's armor, his expression warm and gentle.
Andrew.
Have you come to collect me?
Lino watched as Andrew reached out his hand to her. Their gazes met across the threshold of the void. Her tears finally began to flow.
"I'm sorry, dear. I've truly kept you waiting."
Reinhard felt the body in his arms go completely limp. Her eyes slowly closed, but the corners of her mouth remained turned slightly upward.
Reinhard let out a howl, hating his own weakness.
The doors to the prayer hall burst open. The elderly Priest looked at Lino in Reinhard's arms, stepped forward, and checked her pulse. Finally, the Priest looked at Reinhard and gave a slow, mournful shake of his head.
"Your mother was already exhausted... her body was too frail. She is... gone."
Reinhard watched, dazed, as the Priests performed the purification rites on his mother's body. He watched as they buried her in the cemetery behind the church. When it was all over, he walked back like a hollow shell.
He returned to the room in the guest wing.
Three days later.
Reinhard had locked himself inside, neither eating nor drinking. The curtains were drawn tight, leaving the room in a gloom where dust motes danced in the only sliver of light.
Footsteps approached. Reinhard sat motionless on the floor. The footsteps stopped outside the door.
"Have you given up on magic?"
Valerius's voice drifted through the door, clear and calm. Reinhard didn't respond. He only hugged his knees and buried his head deeper.
"Master..." After a long silence, Reinhard spoke in a voice so raspy it was barely recognizable. "Why did the Hero... protect us?"
There was no immediate answer. A moment later, Valerius spoke again. He seemed to be sitting on the other side of the door, separated from Reinhard by only a thin piece of wood.
"There is no special reason. Long ago, they simply chose to do so. That is all."
Valerius did not correct Reinhard's form of address.
"Is humanity... truly worth protecting?" Reinhard asked, his voice thick with an unshakeable lostness.
"You can only find that answer by understanding both sides of the human heart. Everyone is different," Valerius replied, his tone neutral. "You're young. Don't spend your life with a face full of sorrow. Learning magic is an interesting pursuit."
"An answer that seemed right yesterday might seem inefficient today. So I reconstruct my logic, cycling over and over, forever seeking my own truth."
Reinhard slowly lifted his head. His gaze landed on the cold, indifferent steel of the Holy Sword leaning against the wall.
"Even if you fail," Valerius continued, "you simply start again."
"But Mother is gone! Father is gone! I have nothing left!" Reinhard screamed, his voice echoing through the empty room, slamming against the walls and ringing in his own ears.
Outside the door, Valerius was silent for a long time.
"No. You still have one thing."
An envelope was slid through the gap under the door.
"Though it is not yet finished, your mother entrusted this to my safekeeping."
With that, Valerius stood up. The sound of his footsteps faded as he walked away.
The room returned to a dead silence. Reinhard stared at the envelope on the floor. After a long, long time, he reached out a trembling hand and picked it up.
Inside was no letter. Only a map, meticulously drawn in ink. The destination was a hidden basement within the courtyard outside.
Reinhard stood up. He pushed open the door that had been shut for three days.
Creaaak—
The sunlight stung his eyes. With a dazed expression, he clutched the map and walked out into the world.
Following the map's guidance, he crossed the courtyard filled with flowers. These flowers had been planted by his mother's own hands. He found the entrance to the basement marked on the map, hidden behind a curtain of vines and sealed by a magical barrier.
He reached out and touched the barrier. It did not reject him. Instead, it rippled like water, revealing a set of stone steps descending into the earth.
Reinhard entered. The space below was far larger than he had imagined—clean, orderly, and smelling of old parchment and ink. Rows of towering bookshelves stood in perfect alignment, filled with hundreds of heavy grimoires.
Reinhard stood frozen at the sight. Scanning the shelves, he noticed that more than half the books had an envelope tucked into their spines. Each envelope was marked with a number in ink.
Following the sequence, Reinhard found the very first book. He withdrew the volume and the letter attached to its spine. On the back of the envelope was his mother's familiar handwriting:
To my dearest son, Reinhard.
His fingers traced the words. He felt as though he could still feel the warmth of her hand as she wrote them.
Reinhard tore open the seal.
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