Chapter 58

The soldiers taunted Serin, their voices laced with discontent. With hands on hips, Heath leaned into Serin, his tongue clicking between missing teeth. “Sir Serin, do you truly despise our brief exchanges, even though you are always at His Grace’s side? In moments like this, your actions seem petty, contrary to your outward appearance.”

Serin snapped, his response sharp, “What?” as he lunged towards Heath. Kennard extended an arm to block Serin’s advance. “He’s not incorrect,” Kennard stated, “so why are you so agitated?”

Serin stared at Kennard, disbelief etched on his face. Then, baring his teeth, he growled at Heath over Kennard’s shoulder, “Let us fight. Let us determine who is superior.”

A collective “Whoa!” erupted from the soldiers as they urged the two men on. The crowd’s enthusiasm grew, their rhythmic clapping intensifying the atmosphere. Anticipating a potential escalation, the knights, who had maintained a distance, stepped forward to restrain the soldiers.

As Heath wiped his mouth with his thumb, his tongue flicking through the gaps in his teeth, Serin’s breathing intensified. “Do you have a death wish?” he growled.

Kennard sighed, observing Serin assume a fighting stance as if to draw his sword. “Enough!” Kennard commanded, his smile fading completely.

The forest was filled with jeers, whistles, and claps, which abruptly ceased. Both knights and soldiers observed Kennard’s expression, cautiously retreating a few paces. They were all acutely aware that while he was generally kind, his demeanor could undergo a drastic transformation when angered. Serin returned his half-drawn sword to its sheath, while Heath shrugged and grinned.

Kennard slowly scanned the soldiers, his gaze commanding attention. Every person held their breath, their eyes fixed upon Kennard. 

“You all are well aware of how we acquired Terra Demorte. It was conquered through your blood and that of your fallen comrades,” Kennard declared. Not a single eyelid flickered as they listened intently to his words. “If we allow the White Fox Tribe to reclaim this land, how could we possibly face our departed comrades in the afterlife?”

As Kennard spoke, the expressions of the soldiers and knights hardened into resolute determination. Eyes that had previously held mischief now burned with a warrior’s spirit. 

“Do not allow a single hair of the White Fox Tribe to cross the border. Eliminate any who dare to appear. Terra Demorte is the territory of Kennard den Devil, and it is yours as well.”

Upon concluding his speech, Kennard raised his sword-bearing arm high. A sudden gust of wind billowed his long, thick coat, amplifying Kennard’s imposing stature. “For honor!” he declared. In unison, the soldiers and knights raised their swords towards the sky, pledging their allegiance to Kennard.

Observing the soldiers return to their positions, Kennard and Serin mounted their horses. Kennard rode a towering black steed that matched his height, while Serin was accompanied by a similarly imposing brown horse. Grasping the reins,Kennard looked down at Heath, who had come to bid them farewell. “We shall reconvene soon,” Kennard stated.

Heath grinned, removing his hat and placing it over his heart. With a gentle tug on the reins and a soft touch to the horse’s side, they swiftly departed.

Following the winding path through the dense trees, they journeyed to the next post. Serin trailed closely behind. After an extended ride, they halted beside a stream to quench their horses’ thirst. Handing the reins to Serin, Kennard collapsed onto a nearby rock, the sounds of wind and birdsong a soothing balm. Though patches of snow still clung to the ground, he noted the emergence of tiny buds on once barren branches. 

A mere few months had ushered in a new season in this land. As the weather warmed, a carpet of grasses would unfurl, and wildflowers would paint the landscape in vibrant hues. It was a beauty distinct from the cultivated splendor Serin tended with such care—like Elena in her simple gown compared to the noblewomen adorned in lavish attire. Beautiful and noble in their unadorned existence. When the flowers bloomed, he yearned to share their splendor with Elena.

“Must we engage in this charade at every post?” Serin inquired, having released the horses to drink from the stream. He joined Kennard on a nearby rock and produced a leather canteen, offering it to his companion. Kennard accepted, taking a long, deep draught. As he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed prominently, accompanied by a audible gulp.

“You suggested we bolster the soldiers’ morale,” Kennard replied, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He returned the canteen to Serin, who tilted his head back and drank without touching the spout.

“But was it necessary to make it appear as though I were instigating a brawl? I am the captain of the knights, after all.How could I possibly stoop to fighting with the lowest ranking soldiers?” Serin grumbled, securing the canteen.

“Could I have done it?” Kennard asked, tossing a small stone into the water and watching the ripples disperse.

“Certainly not. If His Grace were to become enraged, who would dare to challenge him? They would either seek refuge in a foxhole or perish from fright,” Serin responded, mimicking Kennard’s action by casting a stone into the water as a display of his displeasure.

“If this displeases you so greatly, perhaps I should assign someone else,” Kennard suggested.

“Well… perhaps Irish could…” Serin began, a glimmer of hope appearing on his face.

Kennard chuckled at Serin’s evident delight. “Does Irish even possess such a temperament? Besides, he is not even present. Have you received any word from him?”

There had been no substantial discoveries since Irish’s visit to the location known as the ‘Witch’s House’ beyond the border. He had been dispatched to uncover the origin of Duke Blade’s funds for his private army.

“It appears he is investigating the territory where Duke Blade formerly held the title of baron. The only correspondence we have received indicates a lack of significant findings thus far,” Serin explained.

“He is concealing it effectively,” Kennard replied.

“Indeed. But do you truly intend for me to continue engaging in this behavior?” Serin questioned.

“It would not carry the same weight if it were anyone else,” Kennard responded.

“What?” Serin exclaimed, his eyes widening in response to Kennard’s statement.

“Why?” Serin pressed.

“You heard Heath’s words earlier, did you not? Who is always at my side? It is you. It demonstrates my trust and reliance upon you. Is it easy to witness your right-hand man casually interacting with the lowest ranking soldiers? The fact that I permit this while being present is essential,” Kennard elaborated.

Serin listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration, before a faint smile graced his lips. “Is it to uplift their spirits and provide them with a sense of relief?” he inquired.

Kennard watched as Serin slowly rose from the rock. “Let us depart. The sun is already beginning to set,” he suggested.

“Yes,” Serin agreed, brushing dirt from Kennard’s coat as he stood up. “We are spending the night at this post, correct?”

“Yes,” Kennard confirmed. Ideally, he desired to return to the castle and proceed to the next post in the morning.However, that would necessitate a significantly longer journey and a waste of time.

His thoughts drifted to Elena, whom he had seen that morning. Unable to return her to her quarters the previous night, she had fainted several times from the intensity of their intimacy and was unable to move afterward, seemingly stricken with a fever.

Cura had brought a stew of venison and bread to Elena’s room in the evening. Startled speechless when Kennard personally accepted the tray from her at the door, Cura departed after his dismissal. Carrying the tray to the bed, Kennard found Elena struggling even to sit up. Using thick cushions to prop her into a near-reclining position, he fed her spoonful after spoonful of stew, cooling each bite with his breath. Driven by hunger, she ate without complaint.

Watching her eat with half-closed eyes, Kennard breathed a silent sigh of relief. Once her appetite was satiated, sleep claimed her again. Quickly finishing the remaining food, Kennard lay beside her, removing the cushions and cradling her head against his chest and arm. He spent the night awake, holding the limp Elena in his arms, only drifting into sleep briefly before dawn.

When Kennard left the room to inspect the posts with Serin, Elena was still in a deathlike slumber.

“Did I push her too far?” he muttered to himself as they rode toward the next post, his mind consumed by thoughts of Elena.

“Perhaps we should camp at the next post instead of this one,” Kennard suggested as the path narrowed and the trees thickened.