Chapter 134: Kastrowinski
The burning wind swept over the ridge, knocking down wild grasses and shrubs as the sky darkened. In the distance, the vibrant glow of the city lit up the horizon. Three kilometers outside the abandoned town, beside the rugged narrow path, the twilight slanted gently over a row of cold stone monuments.
This was a grand cemetery located on the outskirts of the Royal City—not the resting place for commoners, but for those who once sacrificed everything for the Kingdom of Ethanbel.
Some gravestones were rather luxurious, with names and life stories of the deceased etched in gold on marble pillars, adorned with fresh bouquets at their bases.
Yet, many others were plain, even shabby, some lacking any headstone at all, surrounded by a jungle of wild grass.
Among them stood a particularly peculiar grave marked by a bizarrely shaped black heavy hammer, thrust into the earth at an angle.
At this grave sat an old man, motionless.
His beard was white, his robe did little to conceal his bony elbows, and he looked incredibly frail.
Astel Frankes.
This was not the old man’s name but rather the title of the infamous heavy hammer propped in front of him—a weapon that had once called the shots alongside two generations of the Water Order’s most gifted talents. Together on battlefields and in the purge of the Abyss, they had claimed many a victory, leaving heretics trembling in their boots. It was a moon blade—Astel Frankes.
Buried beneath the grave before this old man lay his second and final master, the Mercury Knight, Olivia.
The night breeze caressed the cemetery, swaying through the shadows toward the gate, ruffling the elderly man’s unkempt hair and attire.
At some point, two figures approached from behind, fighting the wind to stand beside him—a man and a woman, both clad in traveler’s garb. The male swordsman knelt, carefully placing a bouquet he had gathered onto the grave, praying with his eyes closed.
“Save it,” the old man remarked, breaking the silence.
It was as if he had sensed their arrival long before, unfazed, he spoke with a hint of sarcasm, “What’s the point? The person is dead. Who are you putting on a show for?”
The woman beside him frowned at the old man’s words, seemingly ready to argue, but glancing at the silent swordsman who continued his prayer, she thought better of it.
“Let’s go,” the old man continued, “If she were alive, she wouldn’t want to see your faces, especially you, Mr. Carlos. You’ll only serve as a reminder of that nightmare. I’ve told you this before.”
After a moment, Carlos finished his prayers and rose. He didn’t respond to the old man’s comments; instead, he stared at the fearsome hammer for a while.
“Just leaving it here? Aren’t you afraid some discerning thief will snag it?” Carlos asked.
The old man scoffed, “If anyone wants it badly enough, they can take it. It’s just a burden.”
“…Fair enough,” Carlos shrugged.
Normally, he might’ve quipped about how much he liked the hammer, but those words were stuck in his throat.
Not because he was aware of its true weight—two horned horses couldn’t even budge it. Regular folks would struggle just to nudge it an inch, of course, that wasn’t the reason.
It was because he was about to hand over this relic of the old master to its new owner, confronting two of the most important people in his life—the old man before him. It was a stark reminder that his daughter, Olivia, and his partner, the Butterfly of the Abyss, Apheir, had both departed this world in the span of a single year.
Yes.
The once-feared matron of the academy, the “Fat Grandma,” who had terrified students with her presence, had seen her daughter—the brilliant Mercury Knight, Olivia—pass away quietly one splendid morning.
When Carlos learned the news of his courageous friend’s funeral from a senior nun at the Royal Academy’s church, it had already been three months since Olivia Longthorne Frankes was laid to rest.
It was a release, perhaps.
For both Olivia, and for Carlos, who had been tasked with ending her life by Apheir as she lay dying.
But—
How was this honest, wooden old man, who kept his family close to heart, going to carry on now?
Carlos fell silent for a long time, finally placing an item in the old man’s hand.
Apheir’s Knight badge, a golden iris pattern, distorted by the flames that had burned it.
“Ha.”
The old man looked at it for only a moment, recognizing it as a symbol of partnership, before tossing the pure gold badge back at Carlos’s feet.
“What do I want that useless badge for? She’s gone in the Eastern Continent.”
“Just a keepsake, it’ll do,” Carlos replied, picking it up, wiping the dirt off, and offering it back to the old man.
“Forget it.” The old man waved his hand, refusing the gesture. Pointing to the black hammer, he continued, “Like that thing, they both see it as treasure while I’ve been wanting to toss it away, hoping they wouldn’t touch it.”
He paused for a beat and added, “Only brings misfortune.”
“I can’t deny that view,” Carlos said.
He didn’t want to argue; since the man didn’t want it, he tucked the badge back into his pocket, “I’ll leave the badge in the academy church with Sister Miller. She was close to Apheir, and you can retrieve it from her when you change your mind.”
Having said that, he motioned to Lapria, and they turned to leave.
“That Sword Saint…”
Not far off, the old man’s voice rang out, “Has he gone to the Holy City again?”
Carlos halted in his tracks.
“…Yeah.”
Then he heard the old man’s derisive chuckle.
“Really? He’s actually gone? I saw him a few days ago; woah, he lost his entire left arm! And he’s still planning on stirring the pot, huh?”
As he spoke, he shook his head, sounding like he was lamenting, but his words dripped with sarcasm. The hot-tempered Lapria was ready to turn around, but Carlos’s quick reflexes caught her by the shoulders.
“You folks, these so-called heroes…”
The old man continued, “Never knowing what fear is or the need for foresight. Do you think you truly have no attachments? Just because you gallantly go forth for a great cause doesn’t mean you can d*e heroically without a care… Ha, ha…”
He began to chuckle, shaking his head, “I just don’t get it, I really don’t… just what kind of people are you?”
“……”
Carlos fell silent for a moment.
He had planned to explain something, but in the end, he realized those would just be empty words—those not in the midst of it could never understand.
“Just think of us as a bunch of stubborn fools looking to right the wrongs; aside from having a bit of courage, we can’t really do much else.”
…
As night fully descended, Carlos and Lapria returned to the Royal City. At the city gate, a petite silhouette leaned against the towering wall, seemingly waiting for them.
Seeing this figure, Carlos paused, while Lapria pouted, looking thoroughly displeased and turning her head away.
“Yo.”
As the tall and short figures exchanged glances, the figure removed her hood, revealing a cascade of flowing black hair.
“Long time no see, Kastrowinski.”
