Chapter 235 Part 3: The Past That Drifted Away with the Wind
“…Hah…”
Armand let out a long breath and wiped the blood splattered on his face.
To be honest, until just a moment ago, his mind had been very tense. Because this involved Evelia and Rachel, Armand was much more nervous than he looked.
But as the Commander of the Knights, someone who had questioned countless criminals before, he knew how to look calm even when he wasn’t.
He kept thinking, would he be able to get the information from Viscount Scassia? And what if the man was too weak and died before talking?
Luckily, things went just as he had expected. He got the information, and then killed Viscount Scassia, just as planned.
…Finally, he had done it.
Or rather, it was something that in the end, he had to do.
In truth, Armand never wanted to be involved with the Scassia family again, because he had already placed all his hate and revenge on the Second Prince.
He never wanted to remember his past. Everything weighing on him now was about getting revenge for that old friend. One grudge was enough, because even just that one already felt too heavy.
In a way… he was kind of pitiful.
This seemingly capable Knight Commander didn’t even know the exact cause of his parents’ deaths.
After returning to the capital, he avoided looking into it too much, so he wouldn’t reveal his true identity. And even if he tried, the case was so old that there were no clues left. His attempts to investigate were like tossing a tiny pebble into the ocean, there wasn’t even a ripple.
After he was poisoned, Armand gave up completely. Deep down, he already knew the truth, but he had no solid proof. His parents were just dust on a massive chessboard, not even real game pieces. So he stopped looking, and put all his focus on the power struggle between the two princes.
But now… he kind of regretted it.
He regretted not going to Viscount Scassia for revenge right after returning to the royal city. If he had killed the old man back then, maybe none of this would have happened.
Once again, he had lost someone he wanted to protect.
He had tried twice to take someone out of that hell, and both times, he failed.
“……”
Thinking about that, blood once again started dripping from his nose. Even though he had taken medicine, he needed proper rest and a good night’s sleep to help his body absorb what little effect the medicine could offer.
What he needed now was to find a quiet place to rest for a few days. The return of the poison wasn’t a big deal, it was something he was used to. Nosebleeds like this were a regular warning sign for him.
As long as he could find a peaceful place, take his medicine on time, and sleep for two or three days, his body would suppress the poison on its own. Just like during that winter expedition.
Even though the freezing cold was horrible, as long as he stayed in a warm room, took his medicine, and rested well, he made it through. And even got a big fancy house afterward.
But now… Armand didn’t have the luxury to rest.
He looked up at the painting hanging on the wall.
Without thinking, he reached out and touched the hand of the woman in the picture, but stained it with the blood on his hand.
“I’m sorry…”
He used his clean fingers to try and wipe off the blood, but no matter how much he rubbed it, the red stain only got bigger.
He never wanted to return to this place, because he knew, once he came back, he’d realize he had come too late.
Or maybe, deep down, he had always known. He just kept lying to himself.
He was human too. Even though he carried heavy responsibilities, he still had weak spots. He still had things he longed for.
In the painting, the man smiled gently, his wife smiled kindly, and the child smiled with pure innocence.
“I’m sorry…”
Armand leaned against the painting, his hands touching the people in it, and kept apologizing under his breath.
In that moment, he realized just how much he had lost.
Everything he wanted to have… everything he should’ve had… everything he tried to hold on to… was already gone.
“I… I really tried…”
Just moments ago, Armand had seemed cold and terrifyingly calm. But now, because his mind was unstable, blood kept dripping from his nose as he leaned helplessly against the painting. The poison kept disturbing his brain, like how people suddenly realize many things when they have a fever.
“I’ve always… I’ve always tried so hard to stay alive… I clearly… I clearly did so much, so many things… I became the leader of the Knight Order, I helped so many people, saved so many lives, won so many battles. But still… why can’t I keep the ones I love? Why do I have no power to hold onto what belongs to me…?!”
The Armand who was always calm and smiling as the Knight Commander, now looked like a pitiful clown, kneeling on the floor, fists clenched tightly, letting out his ugly, fragile feelings.
If he had to describe himself, he would say he was a complete failure.
He failed to protect his mother. He couldn’t save his friends. He didn’t kill his enemy in time. He couldn’t hold onto Evelia.
And now… even his own life was hanging by a thread.
He didn’t know how many years he had left. Maybe he wouldn’t even live to see thirty.
He really wanted to run away, but he couldn’t.
He really wanted to rest, but he couldn’t do that either.
Because of the mission he carried, he forced himself to keep standing.
He was a man in his late twenties, nearly thirty. He believed he had to be strong enough to carry everything.
But—
But still…
Sometimes, he just wanted to stop right there.
He was dying anyway.
Just like how children can’t pretend to be strong in front of their mothers, Armand looked at that final painting and couldn’t calm down. In that moment, it felt like all the pressure in his heart was spilling out at once, trying to swallow up his already broken body.
“……”
But in the end, he had to stand up again.
The weight of his duty forced him to pull himself together.
Other people might keep going because they’ve made peace with things.
But Armand… he kept going only because he had to.
He had long lost the right to choose. He had never truly escaped. Again and again, he found himself trapped in different cages.
All he could do now was wait. Wait until everything ended, and maybe then, he could finally get the key to unlock the cage.
Armand clenched his fist tightly. From the corner of his eye, he saw a line of small writing on the painting.
"Adrian Scassia and Etana Ariel, to their beloved Aegmed Scassia."
People don’t like remembering sad memories. Armand was no different. He was supposed to be the strongest Knight Commander, but just reading that one small line made his nose sting with emotion.
He tried to hold back the feelings rising up inside him. He took deep breaths over and over again. But all he could smell was the blood in his nose.
…Everything just felt too rushed.
Everyone’s death… felt too rushed.
He used to think every life and death deserved to be remembered. But now he realized…
Sometimes death is written in stories with just a few words, small and quiet.
Maybe if someone remembers you, or if someone cries a few tears at your grave, that’s already one of the greatest blessings in life.
People come into this world so suddenly, and then leave just as quietly… lost in the river of time.
He stepped back a few steps and stood among the bodies.
He looked up at the oil painting, then slowly scanned the room.
…Ah… it’s still the same. Nothing has changed.
Other than the corpses that shouldn’t be there, everything else was the same. At one corner of the floor, there was still a small dent, left behind when he was little and accidentally broke it while playing.
This might be the only place left that belonged to the person he used to be. Not as "Armand," but as "Aegmed Scassia."
Here was where Aegmed Scassia had spent the most precious 12 years of his life.
But now, he took out a match.
Because he couldn’t let that version of himself stay here. Because Aegmed Scassia could not be Armand Systalia. Those two names, only one of them could continue to exist.
No one was allowed to look into his past. And besides, that name had already been written in some dark record room within the House of Nightingales.
What kind of stamp would be on that record? “Missing”? Or “Dead”?
He had already lost his past.
Lost his identity.
Lost his name.
And now, even these final memories, he had to destroy them himself.
He lit the match. A tiny flame glowed at the tip of the stick.
He once heard a story about a little girl and a matchstick. For just a moment, as the fire lit up, he felt like he was waiting for something magical.
But stories are just stories. What he saw in the flame was only a wisp of black smoke rising into the air.
He reached out his hand and lit the painting from the corner where the name was written. He watched as the name turned to ash, then watched as the fire spread across the smiling faces in the painting.
Armand said nothing. He simply watched until their shadows disappeared completely.
The hot flames climbed up the frame, and the falling embers lit the wooden floor. The smell of burning flesh from the corpses filled the room. Wood cracked and snapped as the fire consumed it all.
Armand turned around, stepped over the bodies, and slowly walked down the stairs.
His footsteps had never felt so heavy, as if they were the deepest, lowest notes in the music created by the cracking fire.
He had personally destroyed the last piece of his past. The paintings, the clothes, the traces of daily life here… and probably that medal too.
He hadn’t wanted to come here.
Because he knew, once he did, this was something that had to be done.
The flames chased behind him, growing hotter and louder as he walked out the front door.
His black horse, loyal and alert, had smelled the burning and was pacing nervously near the entrance. When it saw Armand come out safe from the fire, it rushed over and gently nudged him, pressing its head against the blood still dripping from his nose.
“It’s okay, it’s okay… I’m fine.”
Even with a horse, he could still smile like that.
He was someone who comforted others, telling them everything would be alright. But just like how doctors can't heal themselves, Armand couldn’t always convince himself with those same words.
That version of him, the one who had once been pushed down and silenced for years, who stayed quiet even after he escaped, could finally live like a normal person now… and that was already a miracle.
Maybe he didn’t need comfort anymore.
If there’s something you must do, then go do it. If there’s something you want, then go get it. No matter what happens in between, as long as you keep moving forward with your eyes closed, you’ll reach the end eventually.
So Armand climbed onto the horse. He sat there, watching the house slowly fall apart in the fire.
He tugged the reins and circled in place a few times. Then he turned toward the north and rode away.
Behind him, the sound of the collapsing house echoed. That old, fragile wooden home couldn’t survive such a fire.
Nothing would be left behind, except ashes too mixed to tell what they once were.
He didn’t look back.
He didn’t need to.
He couldn’t look back.
The only thing he could do was keep moving forward.