Chapter 4
Homecoming (4)
Elic had a dream.
It was a dream where he cut down soldiers on a mud-soaked battlefield thick with blood.
The stench of blood and rotting corpses blended together, numbing his sense of smell. The soldiers’ screams rang in his ears until they went dull. His vision was black and white.
As he swung his sword like a madman and barely pushed forward, volleys of fire from mages, archers, and musketeers burst forth all at once, staining his vision pitch black.
It looked as if a massive beast had opened its jaws wide.
Elic stared blankly at the scene, and only at the very end—
“Gasp…!”
—he woke from the dream.
He shot upright in bed and looked around.
A desk, a bed, a set of knight’s armor, and decorative swords hanging on the wall painted a peaceful scene.
It wasn’t a battlefield. It was a quiet room, untouched by the chaos of the western front—his childhood room, exactly as he remembered.
“…Right. I came back home.”
Groping around, Elic reached out his hand.
Even though he knew there were no enemies here, the tension wouldn’t leave him.
His body was drenched in cold sweat. His heart pounded wildly, and his heightened senses picked up even the faint chirping of birds outside the window.
‘My sword… the sword…’
It was an illness of the mind.
Having grown up on the battlefield and soaked in its madness, Elic had developed a condition where he couldn’t bear to be without a weapon even for a moment.
With a clatter, he found a dagger on the bedside cabinet.
Clutching it to his chest, he took a deep breath.
Only then did his heartbeat begin to settle.
At that moment—
“Young master, did you cough?”
Aldio’s voice came from outside the door.
Elic fully returned to reality at the sound.
“…Yes, I just woke up.”
The chirping of birds sounded light and clear.
—
*
—
It felt like undeserved luxury.
Having returned late the night before and gone straight to bed, Elic found the morning in the mansion strangely unfamiliar.
When he asked to wash with cold water, a full basin was brought immediately.
After washing, clothes were prepared for him—so soft that he barely felt like he was wearing anything. On the battlefield, his clothes were always torn and ragged, so the contrast was overwhelming.
Elic buttoned his shirt and tightened his tie.
Looking in the mirror, there was no trace of “Kasha the Sword Demon.”
For some reason, it felt unfamiliar, and he gave a small smile.
‘It doesn’t suit me.’
He used to be told his smile was beautiful when he was young, but now it looked forced. Perhaps because there had been nothing to smile about on the battlefield.
His expression had completely hardened.
Turning away from the mirror, Elic picked up his cane.
When he stepped out, Aldio was waiting.
“Please have your meal first.”
“I’ll leave the way to you.”
Aldio smiled faintly and began walking.
Then came the question.
“But what happened to your leg?”
He had been looking at his knee since yesterday and was only now asking.
Elic brushed it off.
“I rolled down a steep hill and hit a rock. Careless of me.”
How could he say that a bullet had lodged between his knees on the battlefield?
It would heal with time.
He didn’t want to cause unnecessary worry.
“Oh dear… still as troublesome as ever, young master.”
“Please don’t call me troublesome. It makes me feel like a child.”
They exchanged light jokes, and soon they reached the dining room.
Click—the door opened, and Elic stopped.
“Did you cough?”
There was already someone inside.
A woman with golden wheat-like hair, drooping eyes, pale skin, and striking red lips.
Only then did Elic remember that Tiria lived here.
He had even seen her yesterday, yet failed to recall—it showed how scattered his mind was.
“Good morning.”
Elic greeted awkwardly and walked toward the table.
His knee throbbed more than usual after waking. Even trying to compose himself didn’t help.
He barely managed to pull out a chair and sit down.
Then he noticed her gaze fixed on his knee.
“Ah, don’t mind it. It’s not a serious injury.”
Returning as an invalid was already shameful enough—he didn’t want to appear childish too.
He covered his knee with his hand, brushing off her gaze.
“…I see.”
Tiria sat down.
Soon, the meal was served.
Eggs, soft bread, and three slices of bacon.
It was a nostalgic meal—simple and gentle, tailored to his father’s taste.
The irony was that the one who used to prepare such meals was no longer here.
Clink—Elic picked up his fork and knife.
Only then did Tiria do the same.
As he ate, Elic observed her movements.
She was astonishingly quiet. Despite using glass dishes and metal utensils, there was barely a sound. Her motions—cutting, picking up food, bringing it to her lips—were elegant.
She chewed quietly, barely parting her lips, swallowing without a sound.
It was in stark contrast to Elic, who had grown used to shoveling dirt-covered rations into his mouth on the battlefield, forgetting all table manners.
Suddenly, their eyes met.
Startled, Elic lowered his gaze to his plate.
Then he thought, *Why am I the one avoiding eye contact?* He cleared his throat and looked up again.
She was still staring at him.
Elic forced his usual artificial smile.
“Is something the matter?”
“…No. It’s nothing.”
Her gaze dropped again.
It was an unbearably uncomfortable meal.
Still, sitting at the same table in silence felt too cold, so Elic cautiously spoke.
“Are you going to check the wheat fields again today?”
“…Yes.”
“I see.”
Her index finger curled slightly.
Was she annoyed? Elic regretted speaking.
‘You fool.’
He had opened his mouth only to make the same mistake again.
His stomach felt heavy. If he stayed any longer, he might lose his appetite entirely.
Elic quickly speared half a piece of bread, a slice of bacon, and a fried egg, shoved them into his mouth, wiped his lips roughly with a napkin, and stood up.
“I’ll be going. Enjoy your meal.”
It was the most ordinary farewell he could manage.
Whether the meaning got across—he didn’t know.
He didn’t have the composure to think about it.
Leaning on his cane, Elic hurried out.
Click—the door closed.
Only then did Tiria speak.
“…Yes. Have a good day.”
Her voice was very soft.
A faint smile briefly appeared at the corner of her lips—so slight it was almost unnoticeable—before disappearing without a trace.
—
*
—
After finishing his meal, the mansion was bustling.
Guided by Aldio, Elic greeted the servants.
Some were familiar from his memories, while others had been replaced.
Those who remembered him welcomed him warmly.
Elic felt deeply grateful.
They were treating him kindly—a shameless son who had left without a word and hadn’t even attended his father’s funeral.
When they embraced him, every single one of them expressed concern about his knee.
Elic reassured them, saying, “It will heal soon,” but no one seemed convinced.
‘Was I really that unreliable…?’
Reflecting on the past, Elic soon admitted it.
After all, if you asked for the biggest troublemaker in Wibin, everyone would name Elic Portman.
Seeing him unable to answer, the head maid chuckled and asked,
“Oh my… then, young master! You’ve returned for good this time, haven’t you?”
“Haha…”
Elic gave an awkward laugh.
He hadn’t decided yet.
With his injured knee, he would stay for a while—but beyond that… how could he act like the master of this place now?
His return to Wibin had been more like an accident—a coincidence of homesickness and circumstance.
On the very day he left the battlefield due to his injury, he happened to hear of his father’s death at a bar.
Who would believe such a story?
The estate was functioning fine without him. He didn’t want to force his way back in and cause trouble.
Most likely, he would leave again.
“Young master?”
“We’ll talk about that later. There’s somewhere I need to go.”
“Oh, of course. What matters is that you’ve come back. Hoho! We should prepare a grand dinner tonight.”
Leaving behind the head maid’s warm laughter, Elic said to Aldio,
“Let’s get going.”
“Yes, please step into the carriage.”
A carriage sized for a single rider stood before him.
Elic fidgeted with the dagger in his coat—his habitual gesture whenever he felt uneasy.
Then, tapping the ground with his cane, he limped toward the carriage.
His destination—
was his father’s grave.
