Chapter 25
Karthak, who had been reading a book, was startled by Argana’s sudden visit.
At the sound of the door flying open, his hand instinctively reached under his pillow for the dagger he kept there. But when he heard the jingling of her headpiece, he let out a sigh and relaxed.
“Geez, you scared me.”
“Why so jumpy? Were you reading erotic novels or something?”
As the tips of Karthak’s ears flushed red, Argana burst into laughter.
“I was only joking, but is it true? Why’s your face so red then?”
“Stop talking nonsense and sit down.”
Karthak grumbled in feigned annoyance, called for a servant to bring tea, and pushed aside the book he had been reading.
“What were you reading? Show me.”
“You’d find it boring.”
Even as he said so, he obediently handed the book over. It was an old text about Sound Arts.
Argana couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed ridiculous to her that the ever-practical Karthak was studying something that might not even exist.
“What’s this? You don’t actually believe in these old legends, do you?”
When she tried to laugh it off, Karthak pulled the book back with a slightly sulky expression.
“You said yourself you were so exhausted you couldn’t even stay conscious. You didn’t remember anything.”
He was talking about the time she had died.
That he spoke of it as casually as if it had happened only a few days ago could have been unnerving, but Argana simply nodded. She knew this was one of Karthak’s strengths.
“So you were reading this? Because you thought someone attacked me with sound?”
“You never know. Sound Arts may be ancient history, but they’re not lies. If someone muddled your consciousness without your realizing it, this sort of thing is entirely possible.”
Though Karthak’s tone was serious, Argana suddenly laughed out loud.
“Is it that funny?”
“Sorry, I wasn’t mocking you. I was… moved.”
Argana had a habit of laughing loudly whenever she was touched by something.
As a faint blush crept over Karthak’s cheeks, she casually slung an arm over his shoulder and leaned close.
“As expected, you’re my one and only friend.”
“Get off.”
Karthak pushed her away, set the book down, and coughed in feigned irritation.
Cute, Argana thought. She then called a servant and asked them to bring Karthak’s treasured fragrant lute.
“As thanks, I’ll play you a song.”
Karthak pretended not to care, but still straightened his posture and watched her.
Holding the instrument properly, Argana plucked a few strings, then began to play. The melody was sorrowful, wistful, trembling faintly yet filled with strength, resonating through the room.
Song:
Upon the waves of Xiang River, the moon shines full,
The willow sways in autumn winds like a friend’s beckoning hand.
At every step, I recall my friend’s face,
And tears of joy swell the Xiang’s flowing tide.
With her eyes closed, Argana sang, then opened them and smiled at Karthak. She waited until the last notes faded before tilting her head.
“Won’t you reply with a song?”
“You want to hear one?”
“It’s only proper courtesy.”
Karthak let out a soft laugh and loosened the bracelet on his sleeve before calling a servant.
“Bring me my zither.”
Karthak’s ten-stringed zither was an instrument taught only to royalty in his homeland, famed for its rich, intricate melodies.
As Argana watched, she recalled in her past life pestering Karthak’s music teachers, sneaking into his residence just to learn this instrument. She swallowed a bitter smile.
Those innocent days, when her only worry was whether dinner would include a dish she disliked, were gone forever.
“It’s been a while since I’ve played this.”
“I’ll judge whether your skills have rusted.”
Her teasing tone made Karthak smile knowingly.
He gently stroked the strings with his fingertips, then began to play with fluid strength. The melody started slow, then quickened—northern-style music, Argana’s favorite.
Yet woven into it was Karthak’s warm nature, a strange, soothing force that touched the heart and brought peace.
As the tune softened, a clear, pleasant singing voice rose in the quiet chamber.
Song:
Leaving my friend, I stepped into a harsh world,
Everywhere I turned, it was colored by joyful childhood springs.
Unable to hold back my loneliness, I wept in sorrow,
And there—my friend’s noble shadow followed beside me.
The song grew faster as if soaring, then gradually calmed and slowed.
Even after it ended, Argana could only stare at Karthak in silence.
It was a song she had never heard before. She had learned countless verses and melodies, but nothing like this. Surely, he had written it himself.
The lyrics seemed to tie together both their past and present lives in a bittersweet knot, and her chest ached.
“I wrote it.”
Karthak admitted shyly.
“I thought of rewriting the lyrics to make them lighter, but—”
“No. I like it as it is.”
Her tone was sharp, like slicing wind. Karthak looked at her, surprised.
“Really?”
“Yes. I love it. Give it to me.”
“Of course, it’s yours.”
Karthak ordered the servant to return the zither to its place, then told them to have his composition transcribed by a master musician of the palace.
By the time they had finished singing for each other, the tea had gone cold. They replaced it with fresh, warm tea, sipping quietly as the sound of insects drifted in through the window.
Though the weather was cold, some still clung to life.
Argana was lost in thought, then suddenly remembered why she had come.
“Today, Yoshmut was utterly humiliated.”
She told him in detail how Yoshmut had been scolded.
Karthak, who had suffered many times as a child from Yoshmut’s cruel words and pranks, listened with no small amount of satisfaction.
“This time he’s truly fallen from Father’s favor. I can’t waste this opportunity.”
“But it’s not certain Yoshmut was the one who killed you, right?”
His question carried the weight of caution—did they really need to move so rashly?
Argana shook her head.
“It’s not just about that. Yoshmut is like a disease, corrupting the royal family of Dar. His mother is no better.”
“In your past life… before you died, Tirssalan was killed, wasn’t he? You’re not planning to endanger him again this time, are you?”
“Of course not! This time, I’ll force Yoshmut to reveal his true nature right before my eyes.”
Karthak tried to hide his unease.
“How will you do that?”
What if Argana sacrificed herself in Tirssalan’s place again? Even if Yoshmut brought ten or twenty men, her martial skills would keep her safe—but still, he couldn’t help but worry.
Argana, unaware or unconcerned with his worries, smiled proudly.
“To provoke Yoshmut, I must first corner Lady Turegen.”
“Turegen? That cunning woman—would she really fall into a trap so easily?”
“She will. I’ve dangled her son as bait. If it were only her, it would have been troublesome, but since Yoshmut’s been utterly disgraced, she’ll be flailing in blind fury by now.”
