I Became a Childhood Friend With the Villainous Saintess
Chapter 94: Pursuit (3)

Chapter 94: Pursuit (3)

I had an old sword.

A very old one.

The blade was treated to prevent it from reflecting light, dull gray in color. The guard and pommel bore no decoration—nothing ornate, nothing eye-catching.

Even now, with a much more mature eye, it still looked plain to me.

Whoever forged this sword, I couldn’t say, but one thing was certain—they must have been someone entirely devoid of romanticism.

If it had any redeeming quality, it was its near-indestructible sturdiness.

Still, I never felt particularly inclined to use it.

That antique of a sword once belonged to my father—Argen Berthus.

Looking back, he was like a desert—dry, vast, and difficult to read.

Even calling him “bad at expressing emotions” would’ve been too generous.

“Razen, have you eaten?”

“No, I just woke up.”

“Then it’s a bit late. Let’s eat first.”

Conversations with my father always went like that. He never spoke at length.

It was as if he selected only the most necessary words, filtered them again and again, and only then allowed himself to speak.

Not that I had any right to criticize—

I wasn’t exactly a warm or affectionate child either. People often called me “mature for my age.”

Back then, I didn’t even have the knowledge from my reincarnated memories. I was simply... my father’s son, through and through.

Still, I was more sociable than him, so maybe that was from my mother?

I never saw her in person, but I could imagine the hardships she endured.

“Razen, do you want to become a knight when you grow up?”

“Yes. That’s why I ran myself into the ground training today.”

“Is it because your father is a knight?”

“That’s part of it, I suppose.”

“I see.”

Even so, I never found his way of speaking to be unpleasant.

Because no matter how brief, his words were always sincere.

He genuinely pondered my future, and tried to pave the way for me.

I still remember it, faintly.

My father didn’t raise the corners of his lips much when he smiled.

Just a little. Subtle enough that only I would notice.

“That’s a good answer. I never wanted you trapped in my shadow. I believe you’ll become a fine knight in your own right.”

In other words, my father wasn’t entirely devoid of smiles.

Every time my skills improved, he’d offer that faint smile.

He especially liked it when I landed a surprising strike.

The training ground was more familiar to me than my own room.

We’d clash swords, gulp down water, and then he’d sit beside me.

Sitting comfortably, he’d either watch me quietly or share whatever thoughts came to mind.

Usually about swords. If not swords, then how to strengthen the body.

But sometimes, he’d say things like this:

“Razen, a knight never knows when they’ll die. Are you aware of that?”

“I know. I’m not an exception.”

“Hmm... You’re right. But it seems I raised you too quickly. I wanted to tell you—not to be too saddened if the day comes when I die.”

“Why all of a sudden? Are you being sent on another expedition? The senior knights didn’t say anything.”

“No, it’s not that. Recently, a knight under my command died honorably. And it occurred to me—that I, too, will meet such an end someday. If I don’t come back, know that I died in a way I wouldn’t be ashamed of, even in front of you.”

That was the kind of man my father was—he could speak of his own death so calmly.

And knowing him, I’m sure he kept his word.

“Remember this, Razen. Life or death isn’t what matters. For a knight, it’s how you face the end that counts. If I die honorably, then you must move forward not in sorrow, but with strength and pride.”

“But I…”

“No. You, live on—no matter how ungracefully. I’ll carry your share of honor in advance. What I mean is, don’t let my death ever be the reason you stop moving forward.”

Count Roxen once described my father’s last moments.

He said my father died holding the rear alone, fighting off the enemy.

A model of what a knight should be. Even if Count Roxen turned traitor, at least those words weren’t a lie.

That kind of end—it suited my father.

I don’t know the full context behind his death, but the father I knew would’ve fought to his last breath.

He would never have let go of his sword—not even in death.

Maybe not even after.

And yet, despite spending so much time together, I didn’t have many vivid memories of him.

He was a stoic man.

Even swordmasters are just human in the end.

When Duke Eilencia stayed at the castle, my father lived much like the idle knights.

He’d start the morning with light training, eat, spar with me, or attend the knights’ drills.

I didn’t mind those repetitive days.

And I doubt he did, either.

There was only one day in the year when he acted differently.

The anniversary of my mother’s death.

No matter how important the matter, he always took leave that day.

Even Duke Eilencia respected him for it.

Mother’s body had been cremated, as per Eilencian custom. Her keepsakes were buried near the ducal family’s private tomb.

That was what a grave meant to us—

A place for the living to remember the dead, even if they were no longer there.

“Ranya, our child has grown so much. Children really do grow overnight. Give it a little more time, and I’m sure he’ll be taller than you. You longed for that day so much… It’s a shame you can’t be here to see it.”

He always visited at night, when the moonlight was soft.

I remember following him once as a child, pure and curious.

Terrified of being caught, I crept behind him.

Thankfully, he was too lost in thought to notice me.

And there, I heard his voice—

A low, steady tone that reverberated gently through the quiet graveyard.

“Just recently, he held his own against one of the family’s knights. Do you know how incredible that is? Back when I was his age, something like that would’ve been unthinkable. It’s not just because he’s our son. Razen will leave his mark on history. You and I… we brought such a child into this world.”

My mother’s death anniversary fell in late summer.

A season of thick, vibrant greenery and the steady hum of grasshoppers.

As the Duchess once put it—she arrived like summer, and left with it.

When my father Argen Berthus,visited her grave, he mostly talked about me.

As if she were still there beside him, listening.

He described everything she hadn’t been able to witness in person.

“My lady, Razen gets along well with the young lord, you know. He’s much too mature for his age—likely because of me. I was afraid I’d misguide him, so I held my words too often. But watching him play and laugh with the young lady puts me at ease.

You used to worry he’d fall every time he ran, but my thoughts haven’t changed. Children should know how to fall. So long as they can get back up again, isn’t that enough?”

It always seemed like a deeply painful and sorrowful day for my father.

Even when he spoke cheerfully, it wouldn’t last—he’d soon fall into silence and raise a drink.

This, from a man who never drank anything but water.

But on that one day, he always drank alone.

“My first promise was to become a great knight and ask for your hand in marriage. I kept that promise.”

As a child, I didn’t know any better, but it must’ve been a powerful drink.

You couldn’t make a Swordmaster drunk with just any kind of alcohol.

He must’ve kept pouring, glass after glass—

So much so that even someone like me, just a small boy, could sneak by unnoticed.

“The second promise was yours. You asked me to raise our child to be strong and healthy—a true knight. And I swore I would. I’m still keeping that promise, even now.”

Maybe it was because he was thinking of my mother.

Or maybe the alcohol had taken hold.

Whatever the reason, sorrow quickly overtook him.

And for the first time in my life—

I saw my father cry.

“Are you watching me? Just one word… Please, just let me hear your voice. It’s been far too long.

Every time I look in the mirror, I see myself aging. But you… you haven’t changed at all.

I want to hear the song you sang to me the night before our wedding.”

I always thought my father only cared for the sword.

That his emotions were vague and distant.

But the way he sobbed that night shattered that belief.

It struck me like lightning—raw, honest, overwhelming.

“I miss you. I miss you so painfully.

Years have passed, yet your absence is still so cold.

Time keeps moving forward, but I’ve never grown used to it.

Lately, I even find myself resenting you.

Why did you leave me behind…?”

I couldn’t believe the tears I was seeing.

Should I go and comfort him? Or quietly return to my room?

In the end, I chose the latter—and in hindsight, I’m glad I did.

My father endured grief for a whole year—

So he could pour it all out in one night.

He had been a devoted husband.

And he still loved my mother with everything he had.

He must have needed that one day to release the love and longing before it could eat away at him.

The next day…

My father returned to normal, as if nothing had happened.

He trained me with the sword, just like always.

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