SIWALL Ch 49

“Save me, save me…”

Elliot’s body was revealing his terror with unmistakable trembling and cold sweat, and the focus in both eyes was out of focus.

“Elliot Brown. What kind of dream did you have?”

Elliot readjusted his grip on Elliot’s shoulders gently. Elliot replied with dazed, docile eyes.

“Lord Generwin’s older brother… Theseus came toward me holding a sword, but the moment he swung it, he turned into Your Grace. Your Grace was… Your Grace was trying to stab my heart…”

“I will not stab your heart. Never.”

First, Elliot reassured Elliot. His large hand stroked Elliot’s back over and over again.

It seemed it was Elliot’s own miscalculation to think he had grown better. Elliot hadn’t grown stronger; he had simply wrapped a single mask around himself as thoroughly as a turtle shell.

“Elliot Brown, you may not know this… but I care for you quite a bit.”

“…”

“…Because you’re an excellent valet for my sleep.”

Elliot added, stammering. However, the sleep-addled Elliot was far more resolute than usual.

“I don’t believe it. Your Grace is going to stab my heart, cut off Lord Loran’s hands, feet, and tongue…”

“What?”

Elliot let out a soft, dry huff of laughter.

“You truly had a horrible nightmare, Elliot Brown.”

With those words, he laid Elliot back down on the bed. Then he used his hand to create a shade over Elliot’s eyes. Elliot’s eyes fluttered shut reflexively.

“I promise you on my heart and honor. My sword will never cause you harm. Nor will I do anything to frighten you. If you cannot trust me, trust the name and title of the Grand Duke of Teron. Though mostly in name only, I am still a member of this empire’s royal family, after all.”

“Even if… Even if I am not Your Grace’s sleep valet?”

It was a question that sounded like contextless nonsense. Elliot spoke in a faint voice, as though he were slipping back into sleep.

Yet Elliot matched his tone and replied in a soft whisper.

“Whoever you are, whatever you may be.”

Elliot showed no further reaction, as though he were now completely asleep. However, the expression Elliot saw when he withdrew his hand was more at ease than before.

Elliot looked down at Elliot for a moment.

Elliot had witnessed a person dying with his own eyes for the very first time on a battlefield when he was thirteen years old.

He had known from a very young age that his father and mother had passed away, and thus he was a precocious child who had pondered life and death far more than other children his age.

Yet the moment he actually saw someone die right before his eyes, Elliot realized that up until then, he had only understood death in his head.

No, could that even be called understanding?

Death was utterly stark. The eyes of the dead rolling back, flesh tearing into rags, and intestines spilling out. Blood and saliva gushing like a waterfall, tears and filth, the pungent stench. He would only later learn that this scent was called the reek of corpses.

Yet what was even more horrifying was that even after seeing such people one, two, three… and eventually numbering in the hundreds until he stopped counting altogether, the feeling never entirely grew dull.

Every time Elliot severed an enemy’s neck, he suffered. It was agonizing. People said you grow used to it and numb, but every single time, he was reminded of that thirteen-year-old moment when he first witnessed death.

And so, he could understand Elliot. Elliot was currently enduring the sheer horror of that exact moment.

“Sleep without dreaming, Elliot Brown.”

Because that dream will leave scars upon you.

Elliot scooped up the sleeping Elliot into his arms. He figured letting Elliot sleep in his own bedroom would be better for his mental and physical stability. He shifted his steps, trying not to smell Elliot’s distinctive body scent wafting from beneath his chin too closely.

∞ ∞ ∞

“Meow-ow!”

Elliot woke up from his slumber due to a desperate cat cry and small, soft paws smacking him right across the cheek. His memory had cut off right at reciting poetry yesterday.

“Did I make it back on my own…? Ugh, my memory…”

Elliot shook his messy, disheveled head in an unsightly manner. Camembert, who was currently stepping right on Elliot’s solar plexus, threw a tantrum every time he moved.

“Meow-a-rk!”

“You want food, fatty? Alright.”

As soon as Elliot finished speaking, Camembert miraculously hopped right down off the bed. Elliot got up from bed and served Camembert his morning meal along with a small portion of Birken jerky.

“It’s a menu featuring steamed fish topped with jerky, customer. Enjoy your meal~”

“Meow…”

Watching Camembert bury his nose and devour his breakfast in a frantic rush, Elliot smiled warmly.

He flopped back lazily onto the bed. He didn’t remember clearly what the very end had been like, but considering he had made it all the way here, he must have put Elliot to sleep and walked back on his own.

“Have I really grown that weak… Must’ve crashed hard.”

Elliot muttered to himself. Just as he was contemplating whether he should seriously carry out Elliot’s physical conditioning, someone knocked on the door.

“Ghostwriter!”

Generwin’s voice rang out from the distant other side of the door.

When Elliot opened the door, Generwin eagerly dashed forward with excitement.

“Ghostwriter! Do you have any idea how anxious I was? I missed you.”

“Yes, yes, customer. Thank you for your concern~”

“I even missed that weird tone of yours. Teron’s Grand Duke was hovering over you so obsessively, you know—I was only able to come see you once the whole week.”

“Pardon? What do you mean by—?”

“Didn’t the Grand Duke tell you? The Grand Duke himself stayed by your side and nursed you every single day.”

He hadn’t told him. Not just Elliot, but no one else had mentioned such a thing. Blinking in bewilderment, Elliot imagined Elliot nursing him back to health.

Elliot placing a wet towel on his forehead, Elliot wiping away his sweat, Elliot holding his lying-self’s hands and praying with tears, Elliot as an angel in white radiating divine brilliance from his entire body…

No, wait, I was just sleeping normally, so why on earth would he nurse me like that?

Elliot scolded himself as he spun endless, unbridled webs of imagination. Generwin might have exaggerated, and whether Elliot had actually watched the deeply sleeping Elliot and nursed him or cursed him was something no one could possibly know.

However…

Elliot smiled faintly behind Generwin’s back. It hadn’t felt entirely unpleasant to know that Elliot had stayed right by his side the entire time.

Right, it’s not unpleasant. Not good, just… right around the level of not unpleasant…

Elliot told himself. Yet he couldn’t deny that his mood felt slightly buoyant and a faint sense of happiness lingered within him.

Humming a little tune, he gently stroked the fur of Camembert, who was busy eating. He completely ignored Generwin, who was making a fuss nearby, going, “Ghostwriter? Ghostwriter, are you listening to me? Ghostwriter!”

∞ ∞ ∞

[To Grand Duke Elliot Teron,

Your Grace, it truly is the height of midsummer. You must take care not to suffer from the heat.

Not long ago, my horse seemed to feel dizzy from the sweltering heat, and there was an incident where it stumbled and almost got hurt. Of course, I am fine. The horse is fine, too.

However, I heard news that an incident had occurred at Your Grace’s estate as well. Namely, the fact that my ardent follower Elliot Brown had been bedridden for over a week. I don’t know how things came to that, but I sincerely hope it wasn’t a serious illness.

A long time ago, my grandaunt fell severely ill as well. She spent nearly half a year bedridden. She cracked a bone in her lower back and couldn’t move an inch, and at that time, I stayed at my grandaunt’s home and nursed her. Perhaps thanks to the blessings of the god Lante, ever since she got back on her feet then, she has remained quite hale and hearty.

If Elliot Brown receives someone’s nursing care, he will likely recover much faster.

If you need it, shall I let you know of some health-restoring foods and medicines? Well, what happens to that commoner doesn’t matter much to me, though.

Yours truly, Loran Pedet of broad mind]

Elliot let out a long sigh as he placed the final period. While writing this letter, he had found himself holding his breath repeatedly.

It was his first time mentioning himself in a letter. Up until now, even while thinking Elliot would never suspect anything, as his anxiety kept welling up, he had tried his utmost to write about matters as far removed from ‘Elliot Brown’ as possible.

He would craft letters by properly blending personal information that Loran occasionally threw out when they met at Cafe Siren, fabricating trivial everyday gossip. In doing so, a letter of appropriate length would take shape. Not too burdensome, nor appearing too perfunctory. He had always maintained that sweet spot.

However, upon hearing that Elliot had nursed Elliot for a full week, Elliot became curious.

What on earth would Elliot say about him to someone else? Would he treat him as a person of no consequence, or would he speak of him as someone somewhat important, much like he did to his face?

And so, he decided to take a gamble. Even if this gamble led him astray, he would have no regrets.

Perhaps it was because he felt as though Elliot had said something like this in his dream.

My sword will never cause you harm. Nor will I do anything to frighten you.

He sealed the letter and headed toward Cafe Siren.

And two days later, he received a swift reply from Elliot.

{To Loran Pedet,

Let us meet.

Elliot Teron}