Chapter 138
The 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key Sophocles〉, lifted between Isaac's fingers, made no effort to hide its displeasure at the sound of his voice.
'Who are you? I have no intention of speaking to anyone but Claudia.'
"Have you no intention of acknowledging Cyril as your master?"
'A brat who isn't a direct descendant of the House of Scholars is out of the question.'
Isaac chuckled at the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉's prim, self-important attitude.
He wasn't laughing because he found it amusing. He was laughing down at it, to show how little it concerned him.
"Ancient magical artifacts don't have the power to identify people from a particular bloodline, do they? No such ancient magical artifact exists."
Monica couldn't help exclaiming, "Huh?"
"Is that so?"
"That's right. I've researched it extensively, so I'm certain. That's precisely why the 'Black Grail' you created is so valuable—and why it was a threat to Duke Clockford."
Although an ancient magical artifact's will might favor a particular bloodline, that didn't mean it could identify people belonging to that bloodline.
Anyone could use an ancient magical artifact, as long as its will accepted them.
"Ancient magical artifacts are nothing more than tools anyone can use, no matter who they are. The will attached to one is just a bonus."
'Brat! Do you dare insult me?!'
"I do."
'…………!!'
Isaac laughed scornfully at the speechless 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉.
The chill in the smile on his beautiful face sent a shiver down Monica's spine, too.
Isaac held the ring between the fingers of his left hand and pressed the nail of his right index finger against its gemstone.
"Do you know what we call a useless tool? ...Junk."
'Wh-what?! Wha, wha, whaaaa...'
"For a mere tool, you've said whatever you pleased. Learn your place, 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key Sophocles〉."
Isaac was a prince, and skilled at winning people's hearts. Just a slight change in his tone or the way he smiled was enough to make someone's blood run cold.
Apparently, that held true even when his opponent was an ancient magical artifact.
Isaac's cold demeanor vanished. Resting his chin on his hand, he murmured in a rather amused tone,
"The best way to break someone's pride is to humiliate them. Now, how should I disgrace you? ...I've got it. How about baking you into a pie? Whoever gets the slice with the ring will be king for the day."
The 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 let out a squeak. Monica felt much the same.
Isaac shifted his gaze from the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 to Monica and gave her a mischievous smile.
"Someone like Dudley, who takes huge bites, might accidentally swallow it. Nero might even chew it to pieces."
His apprentice said something alarming with a mischievous smile, and all her master could do was flail in panic.
The 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 must have realized it had picked the wrong person to argue with, because it replied in a somewhat more humble tone.
'You should show some respect for my will, after I have protected the Forbidden Books Chamber for so many years...'
"Cyril tried to respect you."
'Hmph! That scrawny fellow who looks like a woman...'
"It's not very admirable to insult someone over their appearance. Especially when Cyril is already self-conscious about looking just like his father."
At Isaac's words, Monica's eyes widened.
(Cyril-sama is self-conscious about his appearance?)
Monica had never seen Cyril act that way. If anything, he seemed more concerned about his lack of stamina and strength, or his tendency to absorb too much magic.
Monica wasn't very good at judging whether someone was handsome or not, but she couldn't imagine Cyril's looks being considered inferior in high society.
He had an undeniably aristocratic elegance to his features, and his deep blue eyes and beautiful silver hair were colors rarely seen among commoners.
(Is it all right to ask?)
Surely it wasn't something she should ask out of mere curiosity.
Even so, Monica wanted to know. She wanted to know more about Cyril.
"...Does Cyril-sama dislike his appearance?"
"It's not as simple as disliking it. I think it's a much deeper issue than those around him—or even he himself—realize."
Isaac had said it was more than Cyril himself realized.
Did that mean Cyril was troubled by it without even noticing?
Isaac continued, while Monica wondered what he meant.
"When people comment on Cyril's appearance, whether they're praising or insulting him, he looks unsure how to respond—or freezes as if his thoughts have stopped. I don't think he's figured out for himself what the right reaction should be."
Isaac lowered his eyes as he toyed with the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 between his fingers.
He seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
"Monica, how much do you know about Cyril's biological father?"
"Um, just a little... He didn't have a noble title, right?"
Monica had heard that Cyril wasn't born into the nobility, and that this was why he often clashed with Elliot, who believed social rank was everything.
But she hadn't heard anything beyond that.
Isaac's voice dropped slightly.
"Apparently, Cyril's father was proud of having noble blood. They say he sternly disciplined Cyril, telling him to 'act like a noble.'"
Even Monica, who knew little about how the world worked, thought it must have made life difficult for him among ordinary people.
In fact, that seemed to be exactly what had happened. Isaac continued with a wry smile.
"As a result, Cyril's father became isolated in town. 'In the end, he took to drink and hit my mother. He was a terrible man.' That's how Cyril described him. Then his father fell ill and died, and his mother couldn't bear to have a son who looked just like her husband."
"Did Cyril-sama... hate his father?"
"What do you think?"
Monica thought as hard as she could, then shook her head.
It wasn't hard to imagine that the fastidious, serious Cyril couldn't forgive his father's behavior after he'd taken to drink.
But if Cyril had truly hated his father, he would have rejected noble ways and acted like an ordinary child.
"If he'd hated his father for clinging to the ways of a noble... I don't think Cyril-sama would have been adopted into a noble family."
Isaac murmured, "That's right," and gazed into the distance.
"Anger and hatred are similar, but they're not the same. Cyril gets angry often, but he can't hate anyone."
Cyril must have felt anger toward his father, but he probably couldn't bring himself to hate him.
That was why he couldn't let go of his father's teachings.
"If he could have hated his father, it would probably have been easier for him. But even though he was angry with his father, he couldn't let go of his respect for him. That's why, whether people praise or insult him for looking just like his father, Cyril doesn't know whether to be happy or angry, and simply freezes."
Isaac's murmur sounded as though he pitied Cyril—or envied him.
When Monica looked up, Isaac was still holding the ring, smiling with dark eyes.
"I know how easy it is to act out of hatred. If you make hatred your fuel, you can be as cruel as you like and get your hands dirty without a twinge of conscience. That's why Cyril, who didn't take the easy way out, seems dazzling to me."
"Aike."
Monica spoke her apprentice's name in a firm voice.
When he lost Prince Felix, once his master and friend, Isaac had hated himself for being unable to do anything.
And so he hated himself, hated himself, and killed who he was, choosing to live as Felix.
"I can't say what Aike did was right... but... I don't think you took the easy way out, either."
At Monica's words, Isaac's eyes widened and he blinked as if she'd caught him off guard.
Then he ruffled his bangs and gave a rueful smile.
"You shouldn't spoil your apprentice too much. But thank you, My Master."
With that, Isaac flicked the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key Sophocles〉 in his hand.
The jet-black ring spun through the air like a coin.
'Gyaah! Aaahhh?!'
Isaac caught the screaming ring in one hand and asked,
"Well, it's getting late. Have you changed your mind yet, 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key Sophocles〉?"
'Hmph. I will not yield to threats.'
"You already acknowledged Cyril, didn't you? Long ago... when Marquis Hioone adopted him."
A groan that sounded very much like an admission of guilt came from the ring.
Monica's eyes widened as she stared at it.
"I-is that so?"
"You got stubborn and made a fuss, and now you can't back down. This is a lifeline, Sophocles. Think of a compromise by tomorrow morning."
Isaac was about to put the ring back in its box when he paused, as if he'd just remembered something.
"Oh, right. Just one thing before bed..."
Isaac peered into the gemstone of the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 and smiled sweetly.
"Would you take back what you said about my master?"
'Where is your master?'
"Right here."
With that, Isaac held the ring up in front of Monica.
Not knowing how to react, Monica gave it a little bow for the time being.
"Um, h-hello... I'm Aike's master."
'…………'
The 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key Sophocles〉 was left speechless, though it had no mouth to speak of.
Isaac beamed brilliantly at the jet-black ring.
"My master is worth fifteen points? That's out of ten, with five special bonus points added, right? ...Before I feel like tossing you into a pie dish, give me an answer, Sophocles."
'I-I'll give you thirty points! That's the best I can do!'
"Now I'm suddenly hungry for a midnight snack. Monica, would you rather have meat pie or cream pie?"
"A-Aike, Aike, that's enough..."
＊ ＊ ＊
The guest room prepared for Cyril was small, but spotlessly clean. There was no smell of dust or mold, only a fresh, herbal scent.
Once he'd set down his belongings and sat on the bed, Ture and Pike slid down from his shoulders and onto his lap.
He was always telling the two of them to walk on their own four feet, but when they walked around his feet, he was afraid he might step on them. Lately, he'd simply given up.
The two on his lap sat quietly as if to say, Go ahead and pet us. Even so, in case they didn't like being petted without permission, Cyril dutifully asked them first.
"May I pet you?"
"Sure."
"Go ahead."
Stroking their fluffy fur soothed him a little.
He hesitated for a while over whether to light the candle, then decided not to. To avoid spurning His Highness's kindness, he should just go to sleep as he was.
Ture and Pike stayed quiet without chatting. They were probably trying to be considerate in their own way.
(It's quiet, for the first time in a while.)
Cyril looked down at his right hand, now without the ring.
The Ascald Library was currently undergoing renovations, and some of its services were suspended. Access to the Forbidden Books Chamber was suspended as well, which was why Cyril had been able to borrow the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 for about a month.
His adoptive father hadn't told him to persuade the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 within that month. Even if he failed, his adoptive father wouldn't blame him.
Even so, Cyril had stubbornly decided that he'd persuade the 〈Knowledge Keeper's Key〉 within that month. He'd convinced himself that he couldn't be worthy of becoming Marquis Hioone unless he could at least manage that.
The official reason he'd kept the ring on all the way to Southdoll was so Monica could examine the ancient magical artifact's spell formula—but in truth, it was just his own stubbornness.
(His Highness must have seen through that.)
Ever since they were young, whenever Cyril stubbornly dug in his heels and couldn't back down, Isaac had found subtle ways to stop him.
He probably knew that Cyril had a tendency to overdo things.
As Cyril petted Ture and Pike, sleepiness gradually overcame him. He lay down on the bed as if collapsing onto it. Ture, who had been on his lap, came up beside his head and gave his hair tie a little tug.
"Don't you want to undo your hair?"
"...Mmm."
Even reaching for the hair tie felt like too much effort, so he gave an indistinct reply. Pike tugged it loose on his behalf, saying, "There!" The back of Cyril's neck felt a little more comfortable.
"If you sleep with it tied up, your hair'll be a mess in the morning."
"...Mmm."
Cyril gave Pike's words a vague little hum and wriggled under the covers.
Pike placed the hair tie beside the pillow.
"Why do humans grow their hair long? It's just a nuisance."
"Come to think of it, the human I was modeled after had long hair, too. Do you have a reason, Cyril?"
"...Father told me to grow it out..."
When Cyril was young, his father had told him,
that his hair color was proof of his noble blood.
So when his father told him to grow it long, Cyril had obediently replied, "Yes, Father," and grown his hair just like his father's.
His father was always saying, as if it were a catchphrase,
that he was descended from noble blood, and that Cyril was his son, so he should behave with the dignity befitting his station.
So Cyril had imitated his father's dignified way of speaking and acting.
When Cyril watched the other children playing the latest games with longing, his father would frown and say,
that as his son, Cyril mustn't play such low-class games.
So Cyril had looked away from the happy children and devoted himself to his studies.
Later, when his father became a drunk and started hitting his mother, Cyril felt repulsed by his father for the first time and rebelled against him—yet he still couldn't change who he was.
Was it because some part of him still respected his father, or because he was afraid to change who he was after all that time? Perhaps it was both.
He'd sensed that his father's values were out of step with society, that they caused friction with those around him, and that they were prejudiced and distorted.
He knew his mother was troubled because she saw his father's mannerisms and appearance in him.
He knew he could cut his hair and act like an ordinary, carefree child. Even so, he couldn't let go of what his father had taught him.
When his father died, Cyril couldn't tell whether he felt liberated, relieved, or sad. He only knew that his mother was crying, and that he had to be strong.
It was far easier to think about what came next than to face his own feelings toward his father.
(I should have cut my hair back then.)
In the end, the fact that he couldn't bring himself to cut it short felt like an answer in itself.
He resented being told he looked like his father, yet kept growing his hair, making excuses that short hair just didn't feel right.
Something soft and fluffy brushed his cheek. It was Ture's tail.
"Cyril, you love your father very much, don't you?"
(I hate that man. He hit Mother, shouted like a fool, and caused trouble for everyone around him. I hate him so much.)
Every time he told himself that, his chest tightened. He wanted to cry and ask why he had to hate him.
So just this once, using his sleepiness as an excuse, Cyril answered honestly.
"...Yes."