Chapter 94
To Silbert, Marquis Blanche was a trustworthy companion he could entrust his back to, and the only precious friend to whom he could bare his heart. A relationship where everything was understood without words—that phrase described Silbert and Marquis Blanche perfectly.
Still, there were times when Blanche’s animal-like intuition and sharp perceptiveness felt frightening. Just like now. Silbert, whose long-kept secret had suddenly been exposed, quietly set down the Barikoge mountain wine he had been holding.
“Nothing can be hidden from you.”
“That was supposed to be hidden?”
“It was hidden.”
Marquis Blanche let out a short laugh.
“If you truly intended to hide it, you should have called the physician when Charlotte fell off the garden swing.”
“!”
“I almost thought the goddess of Lebelline had descended. Healing her injury while radiating such tremendous holy power—you practically advertised it. Good thing no one but me was around.”
He had no rebuttal. Silbert let out a quiet sigh. Just as the Marquis said, he was an awakener. If Sonette had manifested the power of prophecy, then Silbert had manifested the power of healing.
Originally, holy power could dispel curses and dark magic, purify corruption—but could not heal physical wounds.
But after his awakening, Silbert became able to heal the wounds of others using holy power. The strength of that healing was extraordinary. As Blanche had seen, injuries from falling off a garden swing were nothing—he could heal them cleanly without leaving a trace.
Silbert folded his fingers one by one as if counting, then murmured quietly:
“It’s been a while since it awakened.”
“When did it awaken?”
“Five years ago.”
“Don’t be vague.”
“…Five years ago—on Albion’s death anniversary.”
Blanche’s expression hardened. The “official” date known to the world differed from the true date Blanche personally witnessed with his own eyes when Albion met his end. So Silbert was referring to the latter. Blanche’s gaze shifted toward Silbert’s hands.
Just because Silbert knew the true date didn’t mean he performed any special ritual. All he ever did was spend a day in the storage chamber.
The temple had a secret passage known only to a tiny handful. Long and winding like an ant tunnel, filled with traps, and at its end lay a room accessible only by the High Priest’s permission—even Klagen needed authorization. That was the storage chamber, where the holy power stones were kept.
Holy stones were precious jewels formed from condensed holy power. They weren’t something just anyone could create. Those with strong holy power, like holy knights, could make several without issue. Especially exceptional ones like Marquis Blanche or Ronan—they could create dozens and still be fine.
On the other hand, priests with weak holy power struggled even to form a single one, often fainting afterward. If a priest exhausted all their holy power during the process, they could die.
Holy stones also formed naturally within the bodies of holy knights who battled dark mages for long periods. This was why autopsies of fallen holy knights often revealed holy stones. Albion had them; Ronan too.
Holy stones attracted dark mages and monsters, but also protected against their magic. Thus, they were considered an essential weapon against dark mages, and Silbert personally managed them.
Every year on Albion’s death anniversary, Silbert stayed in the storage chamber under the pretext of managing the stones. Blanche knew that Silbert simply stood there, staring wordlessly at Albion’s holy stone placed in the center.
And then…
“How did you realize your ability had awakened?”
“…”
“Since neither Klagen nor any of the priests know about it, you must’ve been the only witness.”
As soon as Blanche finished speaking, something dawned on him. He grabbed Silbert’s wrist.
“It healed completely.”
“!”
“Normally, a scar should remain. No wonder you stopped wearing gloves.”
Every year on Albion’s death anniversary, Silbert drowned in guilt. He recalled the final battle with Leopold, tormented by the memory of watching Albion face Leopold alone—while he, frozen with fear, did nothing. He despised himself for dropping his sword in terror in front of Leopold.
His hand had been covered in blood, and the wound had never healed properly, leaving a permanent scar. Even when healed, the anniversary always drove him to reopen it again. Even Blanche’s threats to break both his wrists hadn’t stopped him.
But one year, perhaps worried Blanche really would break his wrists, Silbert had worn white gloves to hide the injury.
“That day, I really wanted to break your wrist, as you said.”
“…”
“I grabbed it and squeezed—and suddenly I felt something like warm sunlight settling onto the wound. Then everything went white. When I came to, the wound was gone. As if it had never existed.”
Blanche examined the now-unscarred back of Silbert’s hand, clicked his tongue, and released him.
“What’s the cost?”
“…”
“They say awakened abilities borrow the power of the gods. If that’s true, there must be a price. Since Lady Sonette awakened prophecy, she’ll likely pay with something related to her eyes. So what about you?”
“Right. Sonette bleeds from her eyes every time she sees the future. But I’ve spent the last five years trying to figure out my cost, and no matter how many times I use the ability—I can’t find it.”
“So you hid it.”
“Of course. I need to know the price first to keep the people around me safe.”
Blanche understood instantly why Silbert had kept it hidden for five long years.
The first awakener, Sir Fuego, gained the ability to create fire powerful enough to incinerate monsters. But the more he used it, the more his fingertips charred black. Eventually he lost control, turned everything to flames, and died.
The second awakener, Sir Izan, whose body became indestructible—like Silbert, he seemed to have no price. Until he lost every sensory organ, went mad, and took his own life.
Fortunately, the third and fourth awakeners learned their price early and used their powers cautiously, avoiding tragic ends.
Sonette also knew hers, so she could use her ability carefully. But Silbert did not know his price—so he could neither use his power freely nor reveal it.
He could have told Klagen and a small number of priests to test him, but he feared another disaster like Sir Fuego, so he hid his status entirely.
Blanche leaned back with a sigh.
“Good decision. Using a power without knowing its cost is dangerous. Until you’re certain—keep hiding it. And tell me if you need help.”
“I trust you’ll keep the secret.”
Blanche merely nodded—a curt gesture, but he would never speak before Silbert did.
“I befriended you because your mouth stays shut.”
“I never wanted to befriend you.”
“This brings back academy memories. They drilled it into us: a holy knight must be tight-lipped. They even ran surprise drills—remember that? The instructor staged a fake dark mage kidnapping, and we were interrogated in some basement. Everyone cried and spilled information, but you kept your mouth shut no matter what torture methods they listed.”
“You didn’t speak either. …Albion as well.”
“If they’d held a heated iron to my face the way they did to you, I would’ve blabbed immediately.”
Silbert laughed and lifted the Barikoge wine. The finest wine tasted just as excellent as he remembered. Though the bottle was as big as his forearm, he drained half in one breath and exhaled deeply.
“We entered the academy, graduated… It feels like yesterday, but so many years have passed.”
“Strange hearing that from a face that doesn’t age.”
“Maybe my price is not aging?”
“That would be a blessing. Besides…”
The truth was, Silbert had stopped aging after becoming High Priest—ever since the day Albion pierced Leopold’s heart. As if Silbert were frozen in that moment.
“And?”
“…Never mind. If that really is the cost, it’s not a blessing—you’ll be stuck with that ugly face forever.”
“What! Ugly? No one has ever called me ugly!”
“You heard it today, so it’s no longer the first time.”
Silbert scoffed.
“You’re ugly too! How someone ugly like you produced a son like Ronan and a granddaughter like Charlotte, I’ll never know!”
“Oh? Is that a roundabout way of challenging me to a duel?”
“And you even have an adorable great-granddaughter that doesn’t suit your ugly face!”
“Draw your sword. Right now.”
Silbert and Blanche bickered fiercely. The two old men quarreled as passionately as they had during tactical meetings in their youth, until they were exhausted and collapsed on the sofa.
“Age makes even arguing tiring.”
“If that wears you out, how do you play with your great-granddaughter?”
“I played with her in the garden for an hour and then collapsed. It’s tougher than holy knight training.”
Silbert, lying on the sofa, gathered his breath and sat upright again.
“Her name is Aria, right?”
“Yes. Aria Blanche.”
“Can I see her?”
Blanche laughed as if the question were absurd, then pulled the cork from another bottle of Barikoge wine and held it out.
“Since when did you ever need permission?”
“I don’t have as much time as before due to various duties. Give me a good excuse.”
Blanche pondered briefly, then spoke with exaggerated solemnity:
“High Priest, please grant your blessing to the new daughter of House Blanche.”
“Haha!”
Silbert burst into laughter and clinked his bottle lightly against the Marquis’s.
“For an old friend’s request, I’ll gladly do so.”
