Chapter 21: Bloodline

Chapter 21: Bloodline

“Maybe I’ll go in later…”

Shrugging indifferently, Constantine stepped back a few paces and sat down on a hitching post beside the entrance. He gently massaged his calf muscles, sore from the long journey. Though the passing servants ignored him, the youth was in a fairly good mood.

The faint fatigue and hunger made him disinclined to explain himself. Perhaps Walter or one of those Griffin Knights assigned to assist would appear in a few minutes. Then he could enter.

The feeling of the lactic acid easing from his muscles made him narrow his eyes slightly. But the next moment, a strange, faint rustling sound made him turn his head just in time to see a multicolored shadow descend from overhead.

The youth couldn’t help flinching slightly in surprise, but then a faint smile touched his lips. He noticed the shadow was a brilliantly colored bird, a small parrot.

“Dak dak dak… happy, happy!” The parrot landed on another stone post in front of the boy, flapped its wings twice, tilted its head to look at Constantine, and squawked. Constantine chuckled. He remembered that such birds usually needed a complex training process involving clipping tongues to speak… but perhaps species on this Plane were slightly different. Here, parrots could speak human language if carefully trained. This one had obviously been kept as a pet, evident from the artificially trimmed feathers on its tail and wingtips. The slender, broken gold chain on its foot undeniably proved the little creature had recently escaped.

Mischievously, the youth gently reached out his hand. In an instant, the little bird was firmly clasped in his grasp. The parrot struggled in panic, letting out harsh cries, but it couldn’t escape the hand holding its legs. Constantine’s body, trained since childhood, combined with the speed-enhancing effect of his gloves, left the unlucky bird no room for escape. Before it could counterattack with its hooked beak, its neck and wings were also firmly seized.

“Kak kak, mercy… mercy! Plea… let go! Free!” Unexpectedly, the bird was quite clever. Sensing escape was impossible, it ceased struggling and instead blurted a stream of pleading words… which only piqued the boy’s interest further. He shifted his grip playfully and stroked the yellow-green feathers a couple of times. But before he could properly tease it, a clear, slightly childish voice rang out.

“Delleransk!” Out from the Duke’s Mansion doorway ran a girl. Her slender figure suggested she’d just surpassed four feet in height. Though young, her bearing clearly marked her as an important figure. Constantine noticed she carried a simple bird perch with a broken gold chain, confirming she was the pet’s owner.

After a quick glance around, she spotted the youth holding her bird. Letting out a delighted little cry, she darted past servants who stopped their work to bow to her, heading straight for Constantine. A flustered maid followed her out of the mansion, calling out “Miss! Miss!”, but her formal maid’s attire clearly wasn’t suited for running. With obstacles like carriages, furniture, and servants cluttering the entrance, an adult couldn’t move as swiftly as a child.

“Delleransk! Ah, this…” The little girl, having dashed up to Constantine in just a few steps, reached joyfully for the bird in his hand. But then, as if remembering something, she stopped. She pulled her hand back, composed her expression into a faultlessly elegant demeanor, and then, lifting the hem of her skirt slightly, gave the youth a proper lady’s curtsey. “Thank you, sir, for helping me catch naughty Delleransk. Now, might I please have him back?”

She had a face almost pale alabaster in complexion, paired with eyes the color of lake-green, their slender corners slightly upturned. Together with her finely arched brows, it gave her a delicate appearance. Her pert little nose, pretty mouth, and slightly curly golden hair all radiated an undeniable, aristocratic aura.

The whalebone frame inside her pale yellow gown accentuated her slender waist. Her adolescent figure curve lent her an air of confidence. Diamond necklaces and gold bracelets encrusted with tiny gemstones adorned her delicate wrists – unquestionably among the finest craftsmanship rarely seen even in Hayton City. However, no tailor or jeweler, no matter how skilled, could hide her age. Combined with her barely four-foot height, the impression she gave was overwhelmingly one of adorable cuteness.

What drew Constantine’s attention more, however, was the golden-thread embroidered insignia on a corner of the girl’s tunic… the Sun’s Horn. This girl was a member of the Connarivis Family. And she must be a very close, direct descendant.

“Well… hmm… it’s my trophy now, you see? If you want him back…” The youth scratched his nose, amused by her little-grown-up performance. It stirred a mischievous impulse within him. Lowering his voice a little, he spoke somewhat teasingly, “You’ll have to give something in return…”

“Huh?” The girl clearly hadn’t encountered this before. A wave of obvious surprise washed over her face before she asked hesitantly, “Then… sir, what… what would you like to have? So I can get Delleransk back? I… my allowance isn’t very much…”

“Heh heh… nothing so troublesome. Is this your home?” The unscrupulous Warlock Apprentice flashed a wolfish grin, adopting a slightly coaxing tone. “So… how about inviting me inside as a guest?”

This demand was clearly beyond expectations. The little girl blinked, stunned. Her gaze swept over Constantine’s faded yellow Hunting Attire. Finally, she responded timidly, “Well, yes… although we just arrived today… it should be… but to invite you… that is…”

“Caterina, do you know this person?” A voice abruptly derailed the unscrupulous apprentice’s plan. It didn’t come from the maid struggling with the clutter and servants – she hadn’t yet navigated the maze of obstacles. Constantine’s brow rose as he noted the speaker looked roughly his own age. Behind him stood a man in warrior’s garb covered by gleaming Armor.

This youth wore a well-tailored, simple white outer coat over a splendid formal jacket. His pale skin and large eyes, somewhat resembling the girl’s, gave him a scholarly air… almost excessively so, lending him a faintly melancholy aura. Yet, from the way he walked towards them, Constantine could tell he had undergone systematic training.

His hands resting at his sides were beautiful and long-fingered – just like any swordsman’s hands – though covered by pristine white gloves embroidered on the back with golden thread; unquestionably the work of a master tailor. Constantine noticed he too wore a Sun’s Horn insignia pendent on his chest. This youth, who seemed a dozen times more noble than Constantine, was also a direct blood relative.

How annoying… Constantine scratched his nose, realizing he still didn’t recognize either of them.

“Brother Consens… I don’t know this gentleman. But he helped me catch Delleransk who ran away.” The girl seemed slightly intimidated by her brother’s arrival. She collected herself briefly before explaining, “However, this gentleman proposed that, as a condition for exchanging Delleransk… I should invite him into the house as a guest.”

“Invite him home? Such a bold proposal… Kind Caterina, remember that not everyone deserves polite treatment… Courtesy and kindness are shining Gemstones before those who understand honor. But exposing those Gemstones to a rogue might only invite a viper’s attack…” The white-clad youth frowned, offering a rather bookish lecture. His gaze swept over Constantine’s yellowed Hunting Attire, clearly making him uncertain of this peer’s status. “I cannot determine the gentleman’s provenance, but capturing a pet hardly merits an audience within the Connarivis Mansion.”

“As for you, sir,” he turned fully to Constantine, adopting the noble’s customary restraint (though disdain radiated from his frigid gaze), “while I appreciate your assistance to my sister, I have reasonable cause to suspect your words constituted a threat towards her. If it pleases you… I request… that you offer her an apology!”

Then, the white-clad youth directed his gaze back to Constantine. Nobility relied on good breeding; direct insults were crude. Silence and cold scrutiny perfectly conveyed contempt. But the youth seemed oblivious, merely smiling slightly. He knew his demand was ridiculous; it was just a joke to tease the child. Casually, he handed over the unfortunate bird. The girl hastily took it, the sudden tension between them making her nervous. She even forgot to secure the source of this trouble onto her perch.

“…Damn. Even cursing sounds all posh… Truly standard Noble etiquette. But if even the family head hasn’t objected, what gives you, this piece of trash, any right to stir up trouble?”

Constantine sighed under his breath, feeling a wave of weariness. Was today his accursed day? Some punishment for his earlier blackmail? Compared to the fellows back at the Mage Tower, this brother was actually quite polite. But such veiled sarcasm was still unpleasant.

The white-clad youth raised his head sharply; his gaze locked onto Constantine’s eyes. He balled one hand into a fist, the pristine glove distorted and trembling slightly.

“Brother Consens… perhaps, let it go? This gentleman meant no harm, truly… Please, don’t trouble him any further…” Hesitating, the little girl gave her brother’s sleeve a light tug, trying to soothe the rising tension.

“In that case… you… whom I shall tentatively address as ‘sir’. I find your behavior highly suspicious. Please state your identity… in detail. Otherwise, I have grounds to interpret your earlier words as a deliberate affront to a Noble.”

Constantine’s dismissive attitude clearly angered them. Perhaps his muttered words were too crudely audible, or the principle that an insult to the prince demands vengeance from the servant stirred into action. The young warrior behind the white-clad youth suddenly spoke up.

He seemed to be a family warrior. He wore a dusty yellow half-plate Armor, a standard design offering protection second only to full plate or Paladin Mail. Every piece gleamed, polished to a high sheen. Beneath the Armor was a sky-blue undertunic made from fine flax. Inside the wide, high collar lay a crisply pressed silk shirt. Yet his lips curled now, his expression carrying a nasty malevolence; his gaze sweeping over Constantine’s face flickered like a snake’s tongue.

His voice boomed with martial vigor. As the command rang out, the throng of busy servants halted their tasks, coalescing to encircle the small group.

“Did you encounter something foul on your journey? Why does trouble keep finding you?” The pupil on the Soul Amulet pulsed, relaying the Lich’s callous mockery. The frustrated lad finally found a scapegoat: “The foulest thing right here is you, you spirit parasite!… This is happening because you possessed me!”

“What is happening here?” Lady Luck had no favors left for Constantine today. Amidst the commotion, a voice seemingly heaven-sent, yet aged and stern, cut through the noise.

Walter appeared at last.

The elderly man’s severe glance swept lightly over the scene. The earlier clamor dissolved into an unnerving stillness. Even the young Noble siblings fell silent momentarily. The icy aura emanating from the old man made Constantine’s brow twitch – in memory, Walter was always gentle and courteous, never possessing this formidable presence.

“A minor misunderstanding, Grandfather Walter, all resolved now…”

The young white-clad Noble hurriedly offered the old man a respectful smile. Every soldier in the Western Frontier, indeed every member of the House of Connarivis, held a profound blend of respect and fear for him.

Immediately, the servants scattered back to their duties, keen to display their diligence before the highest authority. But amidst the scurry, a few noticed the troublesome youth seemed to find an opening: while all eyes were on the imposing Steward, he slipped completely unnoticed across the threshold and swaggered unhurriedly towards the interior!

Halt!

The young officer noticed too. He roared, unsheathing the sword at his waist! To every untrained eye, Constantine’s nonchalant act was nothing short of blatant provocation.

“…Wouldn’t it just be easier to let me walk on in? Save everyone this shame… Honestly.” Constantine turned back, innocently touching his nose and muttering to himself. He watched the entire crowd freeze instantly once more into utter silence – the Old Steward was bowing deeply and uttering that address.

…

“My apologies, Young Master Constantine. We received the notice from the Archmage immediately. Clearly, those I sent failed their task in meeting you, leading to this unpleasantness…” Constantine strode directly towards his rooms, leaving the speechless crowd behind. Walter followed closely. Only once inside the mansion did the Old Steward speak, his voice tinged with remorse. “…I did not anticipate your arrival earlier than scheduled…”

“Who were they?” Constantine was more than a little curious. Though aware the Connarivis Family was large, having been kept in protective seclusion… well, ‘protection’, meant he’d never glimpsed another family member before.

“Regarding that matter… Originally, they were expected to arrive in two days. His Grace intended for me to inform you later today…” Walter hesitated briefly before answering. “They are… the children of His Grace’s current consort, Madame Angelina Karn Flor Connarivis. Your… half-brother, Consens Di Flor Connarivis… and half-sister Caterina Rosa Flor Connarivis.”

“So… such close relations. My rudeness earlier feels rather substantial now…”

A bitter smile touched Constantine’s lips. For over a dozen years in this world, he’d known he belonged to a large family. Yet the only relative he’d interacted with was his father, the Western Frontier Governor. Never had he heard his father had remarried and fathered two more children.

“For a long time, His Grace preferred that you not know of their existence. This was partly to…”

“No matter. That explanation can wait…” Constantine waved his hand slightly, cutting off the Steward. Worryingly, the anticipated emotional tremor or anger didn’t appear in his voice. His expression seemed even calmer and more serene than before.

His physical exhaustion decided the matter. Constantine wished to dismiss these unexpected troubles. He craved rest. This single day held too many events. Even that familiar, long-absent headache throbbed with the threat of resurgence.

On the breeze floated an impossibly faint sound: the tiniest, barely audible footsteps. With them came a subtle, elusive fragrance, refreshing the senses. Yet Constantine’s brow instinctively tightened. He turned his head.

Approaching down the corridor, wearing an expression of gentle serenity, moved a Noblewoman.

She could be called elegant… or simply imposing. The dignified cut of her long gown, enhanced by intricate gold-wire embroidery, radiated extraordinary grace. The skirt flared out like the bell of a cathedral, its luxurious fabric layered in complex pleats. Yet, paired with the reserved dignity she carried, it avoided ostentation, feeling entirely appropriate.

“Madame Angelina.” The Old Steward bowed respectfully, deeply and with formality.

…