Adopt 167

Episode 167

As with any beast wounded and driven to the edge of a precipice, the creature facing Caesar bristled with an extraordinary wariness.

Yet, the reason it did not flee into the forest just behind may well have been instinct: somewhere, it sensed that the moment it set foot in the woods as a beast, it would never return.

But Caesar, too, had no intention of letting the beast retreat to the woods.

This was an affair that had to be ended by his own hand.

Gazing at an old portrait—almost as if speaking to himself—Caesar finally voiced the words he had never conveyed to Theodore.

“The first day we met, you told me, ‘I will never die by your hand.’”

Did he know how great a comfort those words were to young Caesar?

“So, brother.”

Slowly, Caesar donned the devil’s mask.

His once-blue eyes turned crimson, and the sun, having risen fully, cast his shadow in a grotesquely demonic form.

Srrng.

As Caesar drew his sword, a killer’s chill—colder than the most bitter midwinter gale—fell over the northern lands just as summer was about to arrive.

“I make a promise as well. I will never, brother, die by your hand either.”

A father’s severity, a mother’s tears, a brother’s kindness—these still lived and breathed inside Caesar.

Thanks to this, the boy who had once feared human warmth learned the comfort of affection and grew to be someone who could love others.

Thus, Caesar still cherished his one and only brother.

Theodore was so precious to him that, for the sake of ensuring his brother never again became a killer, Caesar was willing to stain his own hands with their shared blood.

---

“He said he would enter the woods, and ordered us not to follow.”

“His resolve was so firm that we could not stand in his way.”

Hearing the knights’ report, Penadel’s grip tightened around the reins.

‘Fools. Knowing you’re letting His Excellency walk straight to his doom, and not only do you fail to stop him—you clear the path before him?’

He barely restrained himself from berating the knights right then.

Those who knew nothing of the true events of the day of the rebellion saw Caesar as a monstrous tyrant who, consumed by a lust for power, used the beast’s curse as an excuse to kill his parents and sibling.

No knight would have found in himself the courage or loyalty to block the path of such a tyrant.

Even after six years, memories of that night of betrayal remained vivid in people’s minds.

The burning Citadel of Stars, ashes swirling like snow.

The wails of those who had left family and friends inside, each howl warming the freezing air hotter than the flames themselves.

With an impassive face betraying no trace of grief, Caesar had solemnly declared:

“I slew my blood kin and burned the Citadel of Stars to seize the throne for myself.”

Had anyone paused to reflect, they might have realized that something was amiss at the citadel even before Caesar arrived.

Yet, the blood-soaked glare in Caesar’s eyes had given his words an undeniable weight—raising terror so absolute that none dared question him.

‘That day, I should have stopped His Excellency’s intentions.’

Penadel’s urgency only deepened as he spurred his mount toward the enchanted woods.

Every fiber in his body focused only on the road ahead, but his thoughts spiraled further back into the past.

Where, exactly, had it all gone astray?

Was it when he learned that Theodore—believed burned to death with the Citadel—was hiding and recovering in the Harrington mine?

When the late Lord Blanche, who had promised the transfer of the mine, died before he could sign the contract?

Or was it when, having finally inherited the mine, a freak avalanche—like some divine prank—opened a fissure and allowed the trapped Theodore to escape?

Grinding his teeth as he replayed the past, Penadel resolved that he could not let Caesar kill Theodore.

Yet fate seemed determined to thwart his every effort, as though only Caesar’s death would suffice.

It was as if Caesar’s demise were inevitable—

“…Sir!”

—predestined.

“Sir Penadel!”

It was then that Penadel, shaken from his thoughts, caught what sounded like a human voice amid the ripping wind.

A great shadow fell across his path, blocking the way forward.

Startled, his horse reared, hooves lashing the air before abruptly halting.

With practiced ease, Penadel calmed his steed, then paused to catch his breath and looked up at the massive form barring his way.

“Cerberus?”

A gigantic, three-headed beast, like a gatekeeper, stood before him.

Moments later, a rider appeared from behind.

It was not the beast, but her arrival that truly startled Penadel.

“Marquis Blanche, whatever has brought you here, you should know—the woods ahead are under enchantment. It’s dangerous, so please—”

“Lead me to Sir Cheri.”

Penadel thought he must have misheard her.

But when he saw her calm, resolute face, he sensed instantly that she knew everything.

“I know why you’re going. You’re fulfilling your duty as a lieutenant.”

A lieutenant’s duty.

The strongest knight in the north earned that honor, but it also made one an object of ridicule—‘the only one who need never stain their blade with blood.’

For the lieutenant’s sole duty was to sever the head of a master turned beast.

So Penadel had always remained at Caesar’s side, crossing the enchanted forest again and again, but never once had he swung his sword at a beast.

But today, if need be, Penadel was prepared to draw his blade.

To claim the only beast’s head he could take.

“This is not for outsiders to interfere in.”

With an emotionless voice colder than ever, Penadel turned away from Belinda, spurring his mount forward.

But as he brushed past Cerberus, her voice arrested his steps.

“There is a way I can help Sir Cheri.”

Almost unconsciously, Penadel’s gaze shifted to Cerberus standing beside him.

He suspected he understood her meaning.

They said she could command monsters by taming fairy creatures; perhaps she intended to set Cerberus against Caesar.

He could not deny it might help.

But—

“A tamed beast cannot overcome a true beast.”

Certainly, Cerberus was recognized by the temple as a major threat, but in the end, it had already surrendered to human hands.

Once a creature submits to humans, it loses its wildness.

A beast that has lost its wildness—especially a Cerberus yet to regain its full size—would stand no chance against Caesar.

“Who said I intended to stop Sir Cheri with Cerberus?”

Click.

But the metallic clang from behind forced Penadel to turn.

Belinda, astride her jet-black steed, had drawn a pistol.

Wind tossed her red hair into a wild tangle, but her eyes, placid and cool, did not blink as they fixed on Penadel.

“I’ll explain as we ride. So, Sir Penadel—if you wish to save your master, lead the way.”

---

The trees of the enchanted forest brimmed with both magic and holiness.

Ordinary blades could not scratch their bark, but the claws of a beast—honed to razor’s edge with aura—were another matter.

Crack.

A tree went crashing down, its weighty noise turning the dense, root-entwined earth to chaos.

The fight between brothers did not last long.

Caesar’s skill had long surpassed Theodore’s.

No matter that Theodore had become a beast—the weak could not overcome the strong.

At last, Caesar pinned the beast’s limbs to the ground with aura, pressing his sword tip to his brother’s heart.

With a guttural wail, the beast thrashed and struggled as Caesar drove the blade home.

Thud.

He felt, with vivid clarity, the sword’s edge cleaving the heart.

Sweat slid down his cheek like tears.

The beast’s eyes, shaking with hate, locked on Caesar’s, trembling with spasmodic hatred.

Its curse, its murderous intent, its fury, and resentment settled on Caesar like a hex, stifling his heart and staining his soul.

But Caesar did not look away, holding his sword firm in the beast until its eyes closed for the last time.

With the last of its strength, the beast’s clawed hand—razor-sharp—darted toward Caesar.

Aimed for his eyes, it lost its killing intent right at the last moment.

The scarred, fire-burned hand brushed Caesar’s cheek.

“…….”

And then, leaving not even bone behind, the beast crumbled instantly into ash and vanished.

Only then did Caesar, a moment too late, rub his own cheek.

“Brother, please stop touching my face. I have a nephew now—I’m a full-grown adult.”

“Whether you have a nephew or even a great-great-nephew, Cheri, you’ll always be my little brother. Why wouldn’t I dote on you?”

It was a conversation with Theodore from some day in the past, now fluttering away like ashes on the wind.

Even so, Caesar did not break.

He drew his sword from the earth, silently recalling what had been carved into his bones.

Never surrender to emotion.

And so he thought, and thought again.

Why did Theodore have to become a beast and die?

Why must the House of Valuachten bear such a dreadful burden?

Why, though the north’s knights lay down their lives for duty, does the king shun the north?

While northern knights are drenched in their comrades’ blood and weep bitter tears, the capital’s nobles drink and revel in luxury, laughing with joy.

Why is the world so unjust?

Ceaseless, unanswerable questions poured through Caesar’s mind.

As was his habit, he brushed the frost from his blade and sheathed his sword.

With a click as sword locked into scabbard, an answer suddenly dawned.

Perhaps it was because the rest of the world had never known the suffering of the north.

Because they had never felt the blood or resentment staining the woods, they could live so happily.

‘If that is the case, then if I make them experience firsthand the tragedies wrought in the north, the world might at least become a little more fair.’

It would be an opportunity—for them to understand the sacrifices of the northern knights.

‘I’ll have to restrain myself—a little.’

Too much blood on his hands might upset Lady Blanche, after all.

So when Caesar looked up, his eyes were red, and the whites were darkening.