Turning-Chapter 813

“Duke of Peleta, General Gino. You’ve arrived.”

The one who greeted them the moment they stepped into the sanctuary was, unsurprisingly, the First Princess, Mayra.

Wearing a black hat adorned with a mourning veil that covered half her face, Mayra looked noticeably healthier than she had a few days ago. It seemed Inon’s medicine had worked well.

General Gino offered his condolences with proper decorum. It was well-known that he was on terrible terms with the Lord of Sharloin who served House Hern, but his relationship with Mayra didn’t seem particularly strained.

Kishiar stepped forward next, handing Mayra a flower prepared in honor of the deceased and his family, and spoke.

“Saying farewell to a beloved family member is always painful and difficult. I sincerely pray the gods embrace his soul.”

“Thank you. I’m sure Ashlav’s soul would be pleased to hear those words.”

After Meghna Curlieva and Yuder also exchanged brief greetings with the princess, they entered the large chamber where the casket had been placed. There were far fewer people inside than outside, and the atmosphere was far more solemn.

“I feel a bit sorry to say this... but it looks like the funeral ceremony itself will be delayed. ...My father hasn’t arrived yet.”

She said it so quietly that only Kishiar and Yuder could hear. Her lips barely moved, yet her voice was perfectly clear—it was an impressive skill.

“Oh, dear. Did something happen?”

“I wouldn’t know. All I’ve been told is that he was up late praying for his son’s soul.”

“Ah. Perhaps his grief was so deep he ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) couldn’t sleep.”

“Yes. Likely spending the night in prayer with some unfamiliar young ladies.”

“But thanks to that, those gathered here today will get a clearer look at the sharp mind of House Hern’s future leader. I’d say that’s a fortunate development.”

At Kishiar’s smooth remark, a faint, genuinely human smile finally appeared on Mayra’s cold face.

“You certainly know how to deliver comforting words.”

“The key is to always speak sincerely.”

While listening silently beside them, Yuder suddenly felt a sharp, intense gaze shoot toward him from somewhere.

‘Hm?’

When he turned his head, he saw Kiole di Diarca glaring at him with a piercing stare.

‘So he really did show up here as a guest of House Hern.’

Though it felt like it had been a while, Kiole was the same as ever—in other words, still an idiot.

‘But what’s with that expression?’

Yuder had expected him to either glare like he’d seen something disgusting or act all full of himself and look away, but while it was close to that, something was off.

Outwardly, he still looked unpleasant as usual—but his mouth was moving, urgently, almost desperately, like he was trying to say something...

‘Looks like he’s mouthing something, but I have no idea what. Only thing I do know is he looks even dumber than usual.’

Even without that awkward display, Yuder had planned to speak with him eventually. Still as idiotic as ever. Yuder ignored the fish-mouthing Kiole and turned his head away.

At that point, Mayra and Kishiar were wrapping up their conversation.

“Ah. Other guests I must greet have arrived. Let’s continue our conversation briefly before you depart.”

“Of course.”

“You’re free to sit until the ceremony begins, or speak with anyone you recognize. Now then, please excuse me...”

Following behind Kishiar, Yuder quietly asked,

“Did you speak to her about Hosanra?”

“I brought it up. We agreed to talk in more detail later.”

“I see. Then, if it’s alright, I’ll go speak to that idiot over there before things begin.”

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Seeing where Yuder was looking, Kishiar’s lips curled into a smile.

“My, my. You two are so close I’m starting to feel jealous.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t make jokes like that, sir.”

“I just mean don’t take too long—I might get lonely.”

Yuder wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Kishiar blinked his long lashes and gently touched one cheek, making a forlorn expression so convincing it gave Yuder chills—despite both of them knowing full well it was an act. Yuder sighed and brushed a hand across his brow.

“...I’ll try to come back quickly.”

Kishiar let out a soft laugh. Yuder thought the way he looked at him reminded him of how the members looked at cute little creatures like Nipolen, the cat.

“There’s a rumor going around that the notorious youngest son of a certain ducal house has finally straightened out. Heard anything about that?”

“Please tell me you’re not referring to the idiot I’m about to talk to.”

“That’s the one.”

“Maybe he’s toned it down a bit because he doesn’t want to die young, but is that really enough for people to start spreading that kind of rumor?”

Stories that Kiole had changed were starting to spread from within House Diarca and the Imperial Guard.

Because of his arrogant and foolish behavior, no one believed it at first. But after the recent incident at the lake where he protected his father, Duke Diarca, attitudes began to shift. More and more people were watching him differently now.

“Some speculate all his past behavior was a calculated act to lull competitors into underestimating him. Since Duke Diarca sent his youngest son to the South, those voices have grown louder.”

“Horrifying. What is wrong with everyone’s heads?”

Even if Kiole had mellowed a bit, how could anyone evaluate him so favorably? Have they forgotten what kind of person he’s been?

Sure, there are people like Kishiar la Orr, who truly hide snakes behind their smiles and act flawlessly. But Kiole di Diarca doesn’t belong in that category.

Rather than say aloud that even if Kiole experienced death and reincarnation like Yuder had, he still wouldn’t earn that kind of evaluation—Yuder chose to change the subject.

“Anyway, I’ll be back shortly.”

‘That damn demon! He looked right at me and still ignored me!’

At the same time, Kiole di Diarca sat with barely controlled expressions. He struggled to keep his legs from trembling and forced himself to respond casually to anyone who spoke to him—it was agony.

Being at the funeral of a prince he’d never even met was ridiculous enough. Worse, the person who’d come with him was none other than Prince Kachien—who should absolutely not be here.

It sounded absurd, but the reason was simple:

Prince Kachien had run away like a child, forced his way into Kiole’s carriage, concealed his identity, and ordered Kiole to bring him here.

Kiole, who’d been barely managing to keep the prince hidden in the Hern residence, had refused at first—but in the end, he gave in. The best he could manage was preventing the prince from entering the sanctuary itself.

Kachien had been extremely annoyed but eventually agreed, after a desperate plea, to wait outside.

‘I’ll put up with it one more time. But after the funeral, you must obey my command and track down the healers and a way to help them.’

The prince was insane. He’d definitely been brainwashed by that healer and lost his mind.

“Oh, the Duke of Peleta has arrived. I see he’s speaking with Lady Mayra—must’ve been invited by her.”

“I wonder if the Duke of Hern even knows. The Cavalry’s done a lot in the South lately, but this is a bit much...”

“What do you think about the rumors that the Duke of Peleta is the Empire’s third Swordmaster, Sir Diarca?”

To the Southern nobles’ questions, Kiole replied without even understanding what he was saying.

“Who cares either way. What really matters is outside.”

Half out of his mind, fixated on the mess he was in and the prince waiting outside, his answer came out strange and muddled.

But the nobles interpreted it differently—and were actually impressed.

‘Ah... so House Diarca doesn’t care whether he’s a Swordmaster or not. Saying “what matters is outside” must mean they don’t intend to meddle in internal Imperial affairs.’

‘They say he’s arrogant and stupid, but maybe he’s just bold and politically savvy. Perhaps Duke Diarca sent him here with good reason.’

‘Hmm. I heard the Duke of Hern took a liking to him immediately—maybe he plans to marry him to Lady Mayra. He’s the youngest son, sure, but still a Diarca. Not a bad match for a son-in-law.’

All thoughts that would’ve made Kiole scream in denial had he heard them.

‘There’s been no contact from outside... which must mean the prince is safe, but I still can’t relax!’

Kiole glanced around and cautiously stood up.

“This atmosphere is giving me a headache. I’ll go get some fresh air. The ceremony doesn’t seem to be starting anytime soon anyway. I trust no one here finds that improper.”

“Ah... of course. Go ahead. We understand.”

The others assumed he was expressing noble discontent—targeted at the Duke of Peleta, his Imperial faction allies, and the delay caused by the Duke of Hern. Kiole’s reputation rose again.

From an arrogant swordsman brat of House Diarca... to a man carrying hidden blades.

Not long after Kiole left, the black-haired aide who had been standing behind the Duke of Peleta also quietly disappeared. But he moved so naturally that no one even noticed.