Chapter 53

Episode 53

Unlike Lydia, who still seemed somewhat lost and unsure of what to do as she quietly sat on the bed tucked away in the corner under his guidance, Ilian looked like someone who knew exactly what needed to be done.

“Are you cold?”

“Ah, yes. A little.”

Even though summer was approaching, the rain had brought a chill to the air.

Perhaps because of her thin clothing, Lydia unconsciously rubbed her arms with both hands, and upon seeing that, Ilian immediately opened a cupboard and began rummaging through it.

He took out a mug and placed it on the table, then walked over to the fireplace with a look that suggested he’d forgotten something and peered inside.

“Stay like that for a moment.”

Before she could even respond, he stood up and stepped outside.

He soon returned, carrying several pieces of firewood that had somehow avoided getting wet.

The rain seemed heavier than before, as water dripped from his hair in the brief moment he’d been out.

He swept his wet hair back with one hand and, without much concern, shook off the moisture.

After confirming that the firewood hadn’t gotten wet, he stacked it into the fireplace.

“Where did you get that?”

Unable to hold back her curiosity any longer, Lydia finally asked as she quietly observed the whole process.

Ilian, focusing on starting the fire, didn’t respond.

Since it wasn’t a particularly important question anyway, Lydia herself had almost forgotten she’d asked by the time a spark flickered to life and the flame began to grow.

Then, as if gauging the warmth, Ilian placed his hand near the stove and finally answered.

“If you go around back, there’s a pile of firewood. A few are still covered to keep them from getting damaged.”

“Did you chop the wood yourself?”

“In the past.”

Had he not fallen uncharacteristically quiet with a strangely calm expression ever since they came here, Lydia would’ve kept asking him question after question to satisfy her overflowing curiosity.

But she didn’t want to disturb the serenity that seemed to come from being lost in memory.

So instead of prying into his past with more questions, Lydia decided to simply observe what he was doing.

The sound of the rain pouring down outside provided a soothing background, and just watching him go about his tasks brought her a sense of peace.

Ilian quickly got up from his seat again, stepped outside, and brought back a kettle filled with water.

He placed it on the stove and began boiling it.

Apparently, he still had more to do, as he then climbed the narrow staircase tucked into one corner.

“You’d better cover yourself with this.”

He came down holding a blanket, which had probably been stored in a drawer, neatly folded.

Lydia, glancing down at the bedspread she’d been sitting on — which, though she’d dusted it off, didn’t look fit to be used — reached out her hand.

“Thank you.”

But before her hand could even matter, he carefully wrapped the blanket around her shoulders himself, almost excessively thorough in doing so.

She’d only intended to lay it across her lap, but with the strange chill growing cold enough to sting her fingertips, she decided to leave the blanket as it was.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one to notice the odd temperature.

Ilian opened the door briefly to glance outside and, upon returning, made a brief remark.

“The weather’s unusually cold.”

“Maybe because this isn’t real rain.”

After all, this was artificially summoned rain caused by a spirit returning to nature.

It made her wonder if rain would fall like this when sorrow as cold and deep as that spirit’s became emotion turned to water.

Or perhaps this chill was a perfect recreation of the sensation of being submerged beneath that pond alone for so many years.

“Honestly, even at the end, it causes trouble.”

Unlike Lydia, who was drifting into sentimental thoughts, Ilian seemed to have plenty of complaints about the spirit.

Lydia accepted the steaming cup he handed her with both hands and said,

“…Still, I think this turned out okay in the end.”

“Yeah. Compared to last time.”

He was clearly referring to the previous incident that had ended with Lydia catching a cold.

Only then did she understand why he had so attentively wrapped her in a blanket and even boiled water for her. When Lydia let out a small laugh, Illian remained serious as he pointed something out.

“Sometimes I think you’re surprisingly fragile, Lydia.”

It was a rather absurd remark.

Sure, she got motion sickness easily and had caught a cold once, but overall, she was confident that she was fairly healthy.

“I’m pretty healthy, actually. I didn’t really get sick growing up. And I recovered from that cold pretty quickly.”

“Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Lydia was about to protest his indifferent reply, but she stopped when she saw him examining the floor after finding that one of the chair legs was wobbly, only to then sit down right on the cold floor with a thud. Her shock made her forget what she was going to say.

It was hard to believe that this was the same Illian Esteban who’d chosen to sit on that cold floor without hesitation.

Then again, maybe he wasn’t so particular about things like this after all.

“Don’t sit there. Come sit over here. There’s plenty of room — why sit there?”

“It’s more comfortable facing you like this.”

He pulled his feet in, sat with his knees up, and rested his arms on them, shrugging his shoulders — like someone for whom sitting on the floor was totally normal.

Unlike the perfectly restrained figure she was used to seeing in the capital, there was a certain freedom in the way he rested his sword on the chair and placed his gloves by the fireplace.

Lydia found it difficult to get used to this side of him.

However, the exhaustion and pressure that used to weigh down the image of the ‘Marquis of Esteban’ had faded noticeably — and this version of him somehow felt far more fitting.

“When did you start learning the sword?”

So she finally asked the question that had intrigued her most.

What kind of person had he been before shaping himself so perfectly to fit the title of Marquis of Esteban?

“Since the moment I can remember, I was holding a sword and training. I wanted to become a knight.”

He rested his arms on his knees and stared into the fire as a bitter smile formed.

Then, as if knowing Lydia had been watching him with overflowing curiosity, he continued.

“To become a knight, you have to be able to take care of yourself and be ready to act at any time. So I learned all sorts of things.”

Ilian murmured as he dug out the dreams of his distant past.

He had simply liked the solid feel of holding a sword, the sense of completely immersing himself in his own world, testing the limits of his skills over and over.

“This too was part of that. I figured a knight should be used to solving meals on his own and living on the road. Of course, back then, I didn’t realize that a house with a roof like this still had everything one could possibly need and wasn’t all that rough at all.”

Though he seemed like someone who had grown up as a refined young noble, perhaps he had experienced more than she thought.

He must have noticed Lydia’s questioning look.

“Would you believe me if I said I once ran away from home in rebellion?”

“No. You seem like the type who would follow every rule to the letter.”

“If my sister heard that, she’d go on for a whole week telling you about how I was the most stubborn little brother who never listened to a word anyone said.”

In Ethan’s diary, Ilian had always been the reliable, admirable older brother — so hearing this from his perspective came as a surprise.

It seemed he’d been a much more spirited and adventurous boy than she had imagined.

“No way.”

“Don’t trust appearances too much, Lydia.”

His words, spoken slowly as he blinked, were hard to answer. And so, silence settled between them.

It was a silence Lydia had grown used to and now found comfortable, but inside Ilian’s heart, there was no such peace.

On the contrary, it was full of noise — the chaotic remains of emotions the spirit had stirred up, emotions he was struggling to sort out.

“…What did that spirit even say to you?”

So when Lydia suddenly asked the question, it felt as if she had read his thoughts, and he visibly flinched.

If she had heard what was said, she wouldn’t be sitting there so calmly.

“Are you curious?”

“I remember reading in a book that forming a contract with a spirit is like having your deepest thoughts exposed. I wondered if that’s really true.”

The book Lydia had read was accurate.

Especially since the spirit had forced him to face head-on the powerful, undeniable emotion that he hadn’t even acknowledged himself.