Chapter 72

“Why, all of a sudden, are you in the mood to go fishing?” Serin grumbled irritably, his voice laced with frustration. He was perched on a rock with a sour expression, clearly displeased with the entire situation.

Gripping the fishing rod firmly in one hand to keep it from slipping into the river, he tucked the handle under his arm for support. His other hand propped up his chin as he repeatedly flicked his wrist, his gaze fixed intently on the water.

Kennard cast a silent glare in Serin’s direction before turning back to the river. His posture was stiff, his focus seemingly unshaken. He, too, held a fishing rod, and beside him sat a large wooden barrel meant for their catch. Unfortunately, the barrel was still filled only with river water—they hadn’t caught a single fish in hours.

Elena, seated a short distance away on a large picnic blanket spread across the grassy field, watched the two men with quiet amusement. She leaned back slightly, her chin resting on her hand as her eyes moved between them.

“Hunting, I could understand,” Serin muttered again, his tone heavy with disdain. “But fishing? It just doesn’t suit you.”

Kennard’s jaw tightened. He finally frowned and turned toward Serin, his voice clipped and sharp. “Then who asked you to come along and partake in something that doesn’t suit you? If someone overheard, they’d think I dragged you here with a leash around your neck.”

“I wasn’t referring to myself,” Serin shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. He tilted his head mockingly, his eyes narrowing. “I was talking about you, Your Grace.”

Kennard’s lips twitched into a scowl, but he said nothing further, instead returning his gaze to the still water.

Hearing the exchange, Elena’s quiet smile deepened. To her, neither man seemed suited to the tranquil art of fishing. The sight of their slender rods, so utterly foreign compared to the swords they usually wielded, was comical in its absurdity. She shook her head slightly, suppressing a laugh as she watched them bicker like children.

“And for the record, I already have an invisible leash around my neck,” Serin added, mimicking a tug at his throat with his finger as if pulling an imaginary collar. His tone was playfully sarcastic, though it only seemed to test Kennard’s already thin patience.

“What nonsense are you spouting now?” Kennard snapped, his sharp voice cutting through the calm riverside atmosphere.

“Your Grace, I never know when or where you’ll disappear next, and I have to chase after you in constant worry,” Serin retorted, throwing up his hands in mock exasperation. “Isn’t that as good as having a leash?”

Kennard’s glare could have turned stone to dust, but Serin, undeterred, exaggeratedly shrugged his shoulders.

“Thanks to you,” Serin continued, his voice dripping with theatrical complaint, “every day is a thrill. Honestly, these days feel more intense than wartime.”

Kennard, visibly nearing the breaking point, jerked his fishing rod up sharply before slamming it back down into the holder with a heavy sigh. The veins bulging at his temples and along his jawline spoke louder than words, and for a fleeting moment, Serin wisely fell silent.

The reprieve didn’t last long.

“Not a single fish! What happened to this being a river teeming with them? Leto, you didn’t lie to His Grace, did you?” Serin’s nagging tone shifted targets, landing squarely on the old man fishing a short distance away.

Leto, unfazed, stroked his beard thoughtfully before turning to glance at them. His fishing rod was just as still and silent as theirs, almost as if the fish they’d caught last time had been the river’s final remnants.

The attendants setting up tea and snacks nearby exchanged nervous glances, wary of Kennard’s mood. But when he remained silent, staring at the water with grim determination, they relaxed slightly and resumed their tasks.

“That old man, as usual,” Serin muttered under his breath, shaking his head before refocusing on the river.

Meanwhile, Lassino approached Elena with a warm smile, accompanied by Cura, who carried a teacup adorned with intricate patterns and a plate of cookies.

“Are you feeling cold?” Lassino asked, his voice soft with concern.

“I’m fine,” Elena replied, her smile polite as she accepted the teacup from Cura.

As she took a careful sip of the steaming Ervejo tea, the delicate warmth spread through her body, providing a welcome contrast to the brisk air. Cura placed the plate of cookies beside her, the sweet aroma mingling pleasantly with the tea’s fragrance. 

When Elena set the teacup on her lap, Cura gently draped a thick shawl over her shoulders, her movements light and deliberate.

“Thank you, Cura,” Elena said warmly, her smile soft.

Cura returned the gesture with a toothy grin before heading back to the attendants. She balanced a tray of tea and snacks and carried it over to the knights standing guard nearby, her steps brisk but unhurried.

“Isn’t it nerve-wracking?” Lassino asked suddenly, his voice low yet thoughtful.

Elena blinked, lifting her gaze from the teacup. She followed Lassino’s line of sight and found his focus fixed on Kennard and Serin, still fishing.

“Do you mean those two?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Lassino nodded, his lips curving into a faint, wry smile. 

“Every time Sir Serin talks back to His Grace, it makes me anxious,” answered Elena. “I always worry His Grace might finally lose his temper.”

Leaning in slightly, Elena whispered, her tone conspiratorial, “I haven’t seen it often, but the few times I have… it’s unsettling.”

Her voice trailed off, her eyes clouding with memory. Each of those rare instances had left her heart pounding, her gaze fixed on Kennard’s face as though trying to decipher his every flicker of emotion.

Lassino glanced down at her, an amused smile spreading across his lips.

“I disagree.”

“Pardon?” Elena blinked, startled. “Disagree about what…?”

Tilting her head in confusion, she watched as Lassino clasped his impeccably gloved hands behind his back. His demeanor was calm, yet his words carried weight.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” he said, his voice softening. “I find it calming.”

“Calming?” Elena echoed, her brows furrowing. “How is that possible? Is it because you’ve spent so much time by His Grace’s side?”

“That’s part of it,” Lassino admitted, his expression shifting as his gaze turned distant, as though peering into the past. “But there’s more to it than that.”

He paused for a moment, his voice quieter when he continued. “His Grace wasn’t always this way. In fact, he used to be cheerful and full of life.”

Elena froze, struggling to reconcile the image in her mind. Kennard—cheerful? She couldn’t imagine it.

Try as she might, her memories only offered her the stoic and unyielding man she knew. And yet, for a fleeting second, an image flickered in her mind—a vision of Kennard with a bright, genuine smile. She could almost hear the low, resonant sound of his laughter, warm and unguarded.

But the image rippled like water disturbed by a stone, fading just as quickly as it had appeared.

Elena frowned, unsettled. It felt so distant, so unreal, yet inexplicably familiar, like a memory buried deep in her subconscious.

“For reasons unknown, he completely changed a few years ago,” Lassino continued, his voice quiet but steady, drawing Elena from her thoughts.

“He started waging wars, expanding the territory as if driven by a bloodthirsty rage. Even his very nature seemed to shift entirely.”

Elena bit her lower lip, her fingers tightening slightly around the shawl draped over her shoulders. It wasn’t difficult to envision Kennard as he was now—cold, calculating, and relentless. The image of the bright, cheerful man Lassino had described felt so distant, it was almost unimaginable. The contrast was heartbreaking.

“Do you have any idea what might have caused it?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lassino shook his head, his expression thoughtful. “No, none. I doubt even Sir Serin knows. Perhaps that’s why, when I see His Grace and Sir Serin bickering like this, it puts me at ease. It reminds me, faintly, of how His Grace used to be.”

Lassino’s calm, wistful smile warmed Elena’s heart, a comfort that surpassed even the tea she had just sipped. Yet, as warmth settled over her, so too did a tight ache in her chest.

What could have happened to Kennard to change him so drastically? Could he ever smile as he once did? And—her thoughts trembled at the audacity—could she be the one to bring that smile back to his face?

Her gaze lingered on Kennard’s broad back, tense and resolute as he held his fishing rod. Her vision blurred unexpectedly. Elena realized tears were welling in her eyes and quickly brushed them away with the back of her hand.

“Don’t you want to fish, my lady?” Lassino asked gently, his tone lightening, as though trying to lift the heavy atmosphere.

Elena offered a faint smile, her voice tinged with forced cheerfulness. “His Grace said the rock would be too cold for me, so he told me to stay here.”

Before Lassino could reply, a sharp, piercing whinny split the air.

Startled, Elena turned toward the sound. The horses tied to a nearby tree were rearing and stomping, their nervous snorts cutting through the stillness. Their wide, rolling eyes glimmered with panic as they tugged against their restraints.

A chill ran down her spine. Beyond the restless animals, something massive and dark moved within the dense grove of trees.

Then it emerged—a hulking, shadowy figure, its sheer size and heavy gait unmistakable.

“Your Grace, it’s a bear!” Lassino’s voice rang out, urgent and clear.

The knights standing guard didn’t hesitate. Swords were drawn in an instant, the metallic ring of blades slicing through the tense air. They stepped forward, their stances firm, ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation.

Cura and the attendants, frozen mid-motion amidst their tea preparations, stood paralyzed with fear. Not a single one dared to move as the massive bear emerged.

Lassino was the first to act, stepping in front of Elena with practiced precision, his body shielding her from the beast’s view.

Beside him, Serin transformed without hesitation. His human form melted away, replaced by the lithe, powerful frame of a silver-furred wolf. With a low growl rumbling from his throat, he positioned himself protectively at Elena’s side.

Suddenly, something darted past the narrow gap between Lassino and Serin. A blur of motion.

It was Kennard.

Elena gasped, instinctively springing to her feet.

“Kennard!” she cried, her voice trembling.

In her haste, she stumbled on the hem of her dress, nearly losing her balance. Her hands shot out to steady herself, but her eyes remained fixed on him.

Kennard moved swiftly, already several strides ahead, his powerful frame cutting through the clearing like a bolt of dark lightning. Before her eyes, his body began to shift.

The transformation was brutal and visceral. Bones twisted unnaturally, cracking with audible snaps. His spine arched, jutting out grotesquely before his body was cloaked in sleek, jet-black fur. In moments, he was no longer a man but a massive wolf, larger and more fearsome than any natural predator.

With a thunderous leap, Kennard vaulted over the knights and panicked horses, his powerful paws barely grazing the ground before he lunged directly at the bear.

The forest erupted into chaos. Birds burst from the trees in panicked flocks, their startled cries filling the air. The dense woods groaned and splintered as branches snapped under the weight and ferocity of the clashing beasts.

Savage roars and guttural howls echoed in an unrelenting cacophony. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood carried on the wind, sharp and suffocating.

Elena’s heart raced painfully in her chest as she watched the terrifying scene unfold. She was certain—absolutely certain—that Kennard was stronger than the bear. She could feel it in her very bones, an unshakable conviction.

And yet, fear clawed at her, sharp and relentless. What if he got hurt? The mere thought sent a wave of cold dread crashing over her.

“Your Grace…” she murmured, her voice trembling with worry.

She took an unconscious step forward, only to have Serin block her path. His silver eyes, glowing faintly in his wolf form, remained fixed on the forest.

“Don’t move,” he said firmly, his voice low and gruff. “There’s nothing you can do to help. You’d only get in the way.”

Elena’s lips parted as if to argue, but the truth of his words stilled her. Her shoulders sagged, her hands clasping tightly together.

She could only watch, her gaze locked on the forest where the monstrous sounds of the battle continued to rage. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each second dragging unbearably slowly as her heart burned with worry.