Chapter 30
Chapter 030. People Whose War Has Not Ended (3)
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Apologies. I got lost in thought for a moment.”
“Tsk.”
Sionne Feitan had a habit of being inappropriate like this now and then. Perhaps that was why she kept getting swept up by the man’s words and actions.
“We’ll start sword training once the Feitan blade arrives.”
Rosalyn said again as she stepped into her newly arranged room.
“You acquired a Feitan blade?”
Sionne asked as Rosalyn dismissed the attendants.
“Yes. If I’m going to learn, I should do it properly.”
The swords of Feitan were different from those of Hernia. They were large, heavy, and only one edge was used for striking.
They also required a great deal of strength.
Because if you couldn’t knock the opponent’s sword away in one blow, it became dangerous.
“But I do wonder, why would Your Grace want to learn Feitan swordsmanship?”
Sionne’s eyes moved across Rosalyn’s forearms and waist as he spoke.
“Your Grace’s build and strength are much better suited to Hernian techniques.”
That was part of the reason there were fewer female knights in Feitan compared to Hernia.
Even among Feitan’s women warriors, few adhered strictly to Feitan’s traditional swordsmanship. They often used modified forms.
“What do you mean by that?”
Rosalyn raised a brow, clearly displeased.
“Are you saying I’m not strong enough?”
Sionne shook his head.
“That’s not what I meant. I only said it because the swordsmanship I saw from you before was already flawless.”
He recalled Rosalyn’s swordplay from before.
Her technique had been swift and graceful. Especially when she deflected Feitan’s heavy strikes with fluid motion—it was among the best even within Hernia.
That was why Feitan’s knights had been powerless against her.
“That’s true. In Hernia, my skill was beyond reproach.”
Rosalyn agreed as she took a seat on the prepared sofa.
Indeed, her swordplay had once been perfect. She had no intention of denying that.
But what Sionne failed to grasp was that this was the skill of the twenty-eight-year-old Rosalyn.
“I’m not sure I can say the same when facing Feitan techniques now.”
The seven years of lost memories had created a gap larger than expected.
Even just seeing Feitan’s swordplay again felt unfamiliar, though she should have been sick of seeing it in battle.
“Actually… I’m not confident about how I’ll perform in real combat either.”
Suddenly, that memory gap made her uneasy.
There was no more Rosalyn de Anata, the war hero who had led them to victory. What remained now was the twenty-one-year-old novice who had never stepped onto a battlefield.
‘I couldn’t even shoot a crossbow properly and nearly got killed.’
In the end, what she had learned from books had its limits. Compared to what she’d acquired through experience, the weight was too light.
That was why she needed someone to teach her the real thing. Someone to train her with practical experience—especially for the next phase of her plans.
“Teach me everything you’ve learned from war, Sionne Feitan.”
Whether it was truly right to ask that of a former enemy, she couldn’t say for sure.
But she couldn’t afford to face that same fear again.
“Then…”
As always, the shameless consort asked with boldness.
“What will Your Grace give me in return if I teach you?”
“Hah.”
Rosalyn laughed, clearly exasperated.
To her, it wasn’t even a loss for Sionne. Her proposal gave him an excuse to stay by her side longer.
“Surely, this isn’t a bad deal for you either?”
She said it as if she couldn’t care less.
“Still, a trade should benefit both parties, don’t you think?”
Sionne said as he sat at her feet.
“It’s only natural that I stay by Your Grace’s side to teach swordsmanship. But are you trying to make it sound like you’re giving me something in return?”
Rosalyn sighed. The dethroned prince was infuriatingly logical and clever.
And somehow, that both annoyed her and amused her.
“So.”
She looked down at Sionne.
“What is it you want?”
“……”
Sionne paused, thinking.
His eyes scanned her room—over the desk stacked with papers, the neatly arranged bed—and then returned to her.
* * *
Sionne, having been sent out of Rosalyn’s room, went for a walk. Normally, he would have returned to his own room, but today, he had something to do.
The corridors were busier than usual with the occasional servant passing by.
It was a stark contrast from the cold and lifeless Princess’ Palace.
“…”
The servants looked uncertain when they crossed paths with him, unsure of how to greet him. Their expressions made that clear.
When he spotted a maid looking nervous from a distance, Sionne bowed his head first.
“Ah!”
Only then did the approaching maid quickly bow in return.
And the same situation repeated several times.
“Hoo…”
Sionne let out a small sigh. It was because of this awkwardness that he rarely stepped out unless it was to train with Rosalyn.
At least when he was with her, such uncomfortable encounters didn’t happen.
‘Of course, part of it was me being cautious to earn her trust.’
But today was different.
Rosalyn de Anata had clearly told him to “go take a walk.” That woman, who usually disliked him wandering the castle alone, had surprised him.
‘So spending time with her wasn’t meaningless after all.’
It must be that, with time, her wariness had lessened.
Which meant now was his chance.
Sionne quickened his pace toward the watchtower.
Suddenly, he felt a tight urgency rising to his throat.
Quite some time had passed since they arrived at Anata Castle, but no real progress had been made.
He had started to read and assist with documents written in Hernian as his literacy improved. But even after browsing through her personal files, he had found no trace of Merilyn or Anna.
‘No, Sionne Feitan. You can’t let yourself panic.’
Merilyn and Anna had to be safe. They had to be.
Sionne shook off the nightmarish possibilities that kept clawing at him.
‘She doesn’t seem to know anything about Merilyn and Anna since losing her memory.’
Which meant she likely hadn’t harmed them yet.
‘Even so, there’s far too little information…’
Sionne climbed the stairs of the watchtower, noting that they had recently been repaired after previously being in ruins.
‘Strange.’
He began to doubt whether Rosalyn had truly taken his family as hostages. Maybe it had all been a lie.
But no—before losing her memory, Rosalyn had ordered that no reports about them be brought unless absolutely necessary.
That seemingly minor command was what had led to the current situation.
Sionne, now stuck in Anata, had no way to learn about his family. And Rosalyn, unaware of their existence, had no reason to doubt his intentions.
‘I need a way to hear from the outside.’
Just as he reached the top of the watchtower, it happened.
“Why are you following me?”
He finally turned around and asked.
He had sensed someone trailing him. He’d even paused and changed pace several times—and the footsteps had always adjusted to match his.
The top of the watchtower was visible to everyone in the castle.
‘If I’m attacked, this is the safest place.’
It was precisely why he’d come all the way here before addressing the suspicious presence.
“…”
Whoever was following him, they remained hidden, refusing to step into view.
“I asked why you’re following me.”
Sionne narrowed his eyes and examined the person. At a glance, they looked like one of the vagabonds that had recently arrived.
But their tanned skin was unusual for someone from the north.
The suspicious man tossed Sionne a slip of paper. He’d been receiving far too many of these lately.
“Start by telling me where this is from.”
Sionne said after glancing at the paper.
“Ah, ah.”
The man covered his mouth with his own hand. The sounds he made weren’t Hernian or even Feitanian.
‘!’
Realizing something, Sionne quickly unfolded the paper and began to read.
[We send this from Feitan, Your Highness.]
There was no need to read it slowly or piece the words together. The message was written in his homeland’s script.
“You’re from Feitan?”
At Sionne’s question, the man nodded.
“Were you born mute?”
Sionne frowned as he asked.
“…”
The man remained silent, neither nodding nor shaking his head. But somehow, Sionne felt he understood.
His southern accent must’ve been impossible to hide up north.
That was probably why he had chosen to act mute.
