Episode 17:
Clang—Clang-clang!
Demius continued his attacks without answering.
In truth, he mostly slept in his office, only briefly visiting his room at dawn to see Melissa before leaving again.
However, Ceres had no way of knowing this. He had strictly ordered the servants who saw him not to report it to his mother.
‘A young man with nothing but vitality…’
Ceres’s eyes swept over Demius’s face.
Even with his pale complexion, he looked fatigued; his long eyelashes shadowed eyes darker than usual.
‘It’s because of her.’
Melissa.
Not only was she depleting her busy son’s energy, but after handling the duchy’s affairs in Demius’s place and tracking Ascelion, he had spent the night with Melissa and still come out to train at dawn.
Ceres clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“Are you sleeping properly?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
For the first time, his son broke his silence. The cold tone made Ceres reconsider whether their relationship was strained, but then he remembered the expression Demius made when looking at the little girl.
Every time he glanced at the garden during work, he stared as if entranced; and even passing her in the hallway, there seemed to be a tail-like twitch from behind—a pitifully obvious infatuation.
‘Not good.’
Ceres frowned, yet he briefly considered that having a child between them wouldn’t be bad.
If Melissa were expelled, the stubborn son might refuse to accept a second wife.
So, securing a successor safely could… involve a child?
‘No.’
Ceres shook his head, parrying Demius’s sudden strike.
That wasn’t it.
There were ethical concerns, and lately, driving Melissa away seemed rather difficult.
Finally, he made a decision.
“From today onward, you will use separate rooms.”
“I refuse.”
Clang!
Demius struck with immense force, replying firmly. Ceres deflected the attack at an angle, smirking slightly.
“I never consented to your marriage.”
Clang!
Demius met his mother’s sharp strike with a crooked grin.
“Do I even need your permission?”
“Remember—you are the heir of Eisenhardt, and I am the Duke.”
“I already told you I have no intention of becoming the heir.”
Clang! Screeching metal rang as their swords collided.
Ceres, holding the heavier blade, spoke coldly:
“Even if you don’t want it, you must fulfill your duty.”
Swish!
Shifting his weight in an instant, Ceres exploited a gap in Demius’s stance.
“As the bloodline of Eisenhardt, it is your duty to yield.”
Clang!
Yet Demius twisted his waist, deflecting and sneering coldly:
“Isn’t that just an excuse?”
“…What?”
Ceres’s eyes widened.
Demius met his gaze directly.
“You say it’s for me, but isn’t it really for your sake?”
“…What do you mean?”
“You were the son of a minor viscount, right? The third son, if I remember correctly.”
“…!”
Ceres clenched his teeth, glaring.
“Are you insulting your father?”
“It’s not an insult—it’s a fact.”
Demius let out a faint smile and pressed his sword forward.
The sheer force made Ceres stumble back a few steps, then strike again. But his disoriented focus allowed Demius to block easily.
Holding the trembling blade, Demius continued coldly:
“It was Mother who was ashamed of Father, wasn’t it?”
“…!”
Ceres’s eyes widened. Demius’s crooked smile widened in response.
“A long time ago, Father’s family visited the castle.”
He must have been five or six years old.
‘Child, come here!’
It was the day he had been playing alone in the garden.
Perhaps his older brother was at the academy enrolling, or receiving lessons from a tutor.
Hiding from his younger sibling, Nathaniel, he was startled when strangers appeared, waving at him.
‘Come, let’s see your face.’
The sight of strangers terrified young Demius.
But as they smiled and beckoned, he stepped forward cautiously. They reached out freely, stroking his cheeks or patting his bottom.
Startled, he shrank back, and they laughed heartily.
‘No need to be afraid. We are your uncles and aunts!’
Uncles? Aunts?
Demius looked up, confused. They smiled and explained:
‘We are your father Isilan’s siblings.’
Father.
The word was strange to Demius.
The hair of these adults, lit from behind, was astonishing—silver-white, gray, or ash-toned.
Unlike his own jet-black hair, as the nanny had told him about his father: silver-haired Isilan. His father had clean, silver hair and silver eyes, and died just before Nathaniel was born.
Perhaps that was why Demius had no memory of his father.
Even among ancestral portraits lining the halls or in the family portraits in his mother’s office, his father was never depicted.
Only vague impressions lingered, like shadows on fogged windows, vanishing quickly.
The nanny had told him he resembled his father the most among the three siblings.
Demius studied the adults’ faces carefully.
Yet…
He tilted his head.
Was he really that ugly?
If these were his father’s siblings, he should resemble his father.
As Demius puzzled over this, the adults continued talking.
‘Doesn’t he look just like Isilan?’
‘Indeed. The hair and eyes are the Duke’s, but the features are clearly Isilan’s.’
Demius’s eyes widened.
Only now did he notice their pale hair and eyes—silver-like.
I see.
His father must have had hair and eyes like that.
The abstract idea of his father became tangible through this blood-connected family.
Silver hair like moonlight.
Eyes like a reflection of the moon on a lake.
Even the features resembling his own.
The missing pieces of the puzzle—his blank memories—felt filled. Young Demius’s heart pounded.
I see. Father must have looked like that.
‘How dare…’
At that moment, a large shadow loomed over him.
A voice from behind made Demius spin around, nearly bursting into tears.
His mother glared at his uncles and aunts with a terrifying, unfamiliar expression.
Hic! He reflexively covered a hiccup with both hands as her lips slowly spoke:
‘I warned you.’
The strangers visibly flinched.
Exchanging rapid glances, they spoke urgently:
‘W-what law is this?’
‘Although deceased, Isilan was your husband, Your Grace. How can you be so harsh toward his blood relatives?’
‘How dare you!’
Ceres’s eyes blazed. For a moment, the temperature seemed to freeze at sub-zero. A chilling voice cracked like ice.
‘Leave.’
‘Y-Your Grace!’
The adults reached out, desperately pleading, but Ceres gave a firm command:
‘Drag them out.’
‘Your Grace, we are innocent…!’
The adults, introducing themselves as his uncles and aunts, were roughly seized by the guards behind Ceres.
They screamed for Mother, but she turned without mercy and exited the garden.
Recalling that moment, Demius crooked his lips.
“Later, when I asked the servants, I found out they were banished from the territory too.”
Ceres, pressing his lips together, said firmly:
“They were worse than useless.”
“What do you mean by that?”
