Chapter 167

Chapter 167
Chapter 167
## Chapter 167: The Old Hero (2)

Sieren Aleina Rocheste was a reaper of lives. She possessed the instinct of a wild beast prowling the frozen steppes of the north; the instant her eyes locked onto yours, your fate was sealed, like prey whose throat is mercilessly severed.

Even before reaching maturity, she was already an expert in 3-star magic. She would advance barefoot through the hostile environment of the glaciers, tearing apart any obstacle in her path and becoming soaked in the blood of her enemies. If, while crossing the domains of the Rocheste County, you spot a barefoot young woman dressed lightly in the middle of a gale, do not make the mistake of moving. That figure, which looks like a distant shadow amidst the whiteness, can close the distance in a sigh. She is the very representation of panic. Under no circumstances should you seek to confront her.

— Leopoldo, tracker of the northern tundras

“…”
“…There is one more volume left to review. I have it etched in my memory. He forbade it and took possession of everything.”
“The one who appears in this record… is she truly Sieren, my little one…? Melberot…”
“I have already brought you up to speed on everything. Thanks to your actions, the Great Demon Noir was eradicated, but the trace of his power prevents Sieren from mastering her own faculties.”

The Rocheste residence is lined with thick carpets, burning fireplaces, and heavy fur garments. For a lineage of such scope, the style was rough, but it was the only way to subsist against the harshness of the eternal winter.

— Snap, crack.

In front of the fire consuming the wood sat Melberot and Kalimford, lifelong comrades. Their bond was born in the heat of war, forged between rivalry, disputes, and the path they shared. They knew defeat and glory, gathering allies until they faced the entity that put existence itself in check. Some fell in the process… others survived to tell the tale.

Relating every detail of their time in the world would compose an endless epic, but now they are only echoes. The ancient saviors are simple chronicles, destined to fade with the decades. The world evolves and what happened is left behind. Sometimes, glory is reduced to a statue in the capital or a mention in a book. Retiring in time for history to judge them is, perhaps, the last duty of a hero.

Melberot, submerged in the solitude of this snowy wasteland where Noir left his scars, might have reflected this way. At least until Kalimford returned from the dead to stand before him.

“You have lived long enough to witness miracles.”
“True. I never imagined I would see the passage of time marked on your features.”
“And you remain the same. Layna… it is to that mage that I owe my thanks.”
“You mean Phee, is that not so?”
“I doubt it… Knowing her, she would not accept my thanks willingly.”

The first time Melberot caught sight of Kalimford, he refused to believe his own eyes. Fearing a ruse, he used every tracking spell he knew. Only after hearing the background of his return could he find some peace.

He is a man hardened by experience. Even the return of a fallen comrade could be processed calmly once the origin was clarified; such was the solidity of his spirit. However, Kalimford’s state was deplorable, probably due to the side effects of his recent magical resurrection. His energy was almost imperceptible, his complexion skeletal, and his skin lacked life; he seemed like a specter barely held up by willpower.

“The world has turned, Kalimford. Now I am just a vestige.”
“…I, on the contrary, clung to existence for too long. Even so, my feeling is the same. Our turn has concluded.”

The room filled with shadows cast by the flames as the fire roared. Outside, the weather was relentless. The creaking of the structure under the snow and the whistling of the freezing air were the only companions in the silence.

Both traveled the globe, touched the peak of glory, and starred in unforgettable feats. They had renowned allies and received the acclaim of the masses. After running along a path of laurels, what remained was the warmth of a bonfire, a thick coat, and the comfort of a hot drink.

Kalimford’s fingers trembled as he held the wooden bowl. His fragility was such that he could barely hold it, making even drinking seem like a titanic task.

“Did Sieren leave for the southwest for her magical training…?”
“That is right. It cost me to find someone capable of dealing with such a complex young woman. Recently, a brilliant instructor from that region became available, so I granted him a noble rank and put her under his tutelage.”
“…”
“You would be surprised what that girl has put me through. Raising such a difficult daughter has exhausted me for years… Kalimford, this relationship has me exhausted.”

Although Melberot feigned annoyance, Kalimford smiled softly after tasting his drink. He knew that, despite his complaints, his old friend had gone out of his way for Sieren. The tower erected in the cold, now silent after the young woman’s departure, was proof of his dedication.

“I have already notified her mentor. I ordered him to bring Sieren back home. You will also want to witness your daughter’s reaction, Kalimford.”
“…”
“Your countenance is confused. I know you are excited, but do not look so distressed. Think of the impact of Sieren meeting her father… her origin for the first time.”
“…That is not the point, Melberot.”

Faced with Melberot’s bewilderment, Kalimford uncovered his arm, removing the cloth. His skin was withered and his fingers showed signs of putrefaction. Near his shoulder, a dark maroon stain was spreading.

“…Although the forbidden arts brought me back, I do not belong to the living. I do not know how much time I have left, but when the dark flow that sustains me dissipates… I will vanish.”
“…How much time do you have?”
“Do not worry. I still have time. But… this is not permanent.”

Kalimford covered his arm again and wiped his face before continuing.

“She sees you as her father. She is living her life. That is why… I do not want my unstable condition to disturb her now.”

Making an effort, Kalimford stood up and placed an affectionate hand on his comrade’s shoulder.

“Continue to be her father, Melberot.”
“…”
“I always end up asking you for the most difficult thing… I apologize…”

Kalimford bowed his head with humility. That was the savior of the world. Faced with such a melancholic end for a hero, Melberot was unable to oppose him.

“From the days of the war until today, you always get your way. You only know how to bring me complications…”

Despite the harshness of his words, Melberot looked down in silence. He was the type of man who hid his loyalty behind a mask of coldness.

*

Afterwards, Kalimford dedicated himself to reading the correspondence between Melberot and Sieren. At first, when she left the territory to go to Evelstain, her letters exuded panic and desperation. The fear that Noir’s blood would take control was constant. The fear of becoming a killer and being rejected again tormented her.

Feeling Sieren’s pain through those lines squeezed his chest… but the tone changed soon. While she moved between Evelstain and the Ravenclaw Barony, learning the secrets of magic and the customs of high society, Sieren began to flourish.

That little girl who cried inconsolably among the snowy crags was transforming into a cultured woman, surrounded by knowledge in warmer lands. Her messages to Melberot became hopeful. Anxiety was replaced by descriptions of her surroundings, of the people she met, and of everyday experiences.

— ‘Today, the young woman of the Belmierd lineage visited Ravenclaw. Her name is Elente, and she enjoys almost royal respect among everyone. Her bearing taught me what true nobility means.’
— ‘Baron Ravenclaw deepened my lessons in alteration magic. I understood that my style in the north was purely instinctive. With his guidance, I will be able to improve myself.’
— ‘A woman named Trisha challenged me to a combat; I reacted with violence, but for the first time, I managed to contain the curse of my blood.’
— ‘Today I tried a sweet called Mont Blanc prepared here…’
— ‘I have traveled the plains of Evelstain on several occasions…’

— Paper rustling.

“…”

In Melberot’s office, Kalimford wiped his tears after leaving the letters. As his friend had said, although Sieren suffered because of her cursed inheritance, meeting a good tutor had saved her. Sieren was reserved by nature, but in her writings a new emotional richness could be perceived, a young noble discovering the beauty of the world. For Kalimford, these anecdotes were a balm and, at the same time, an open wound.

Those letters were his redemption. His sacrifice for humanity made sense knowing that his daughter lived in peace, far from the war. Kalimford read the texts over and over again. Beyond social life, the name that resonated most was that of Baron Ravenclaw. Sieren spoke with profound admiration of that man whose teachings had marked her.

‘Derek Raidof of Ravenclaw, Baron…’

That name was etched in his memory. Sieren seemed to trust blindly in the one who was considered the best mentor in Evelstain. While she strengthened herself in the mansion, Kalimford imagined his daughter as a lady of great bearing, with her snow-white hair inherited from her mother, walking with elegance.

— Crash! Boom!
— Shouts and rumbles!

The next day, Sieren made her entrance into the Rocheste mansion. She dragged with her the remains of a colossal magical beast, similar to a polar plantigrade.

— Wind hiss!

The freezing air shook her mane. Although it was as white as frost, that day it was bathed in intense red. The beast, immensely superior in size, lay dead behind her. Before the astonished gaze of the servants, the barefoot young woman wiped the blood away with indifference as she crossed the threshold.

“I found it on the road.”

The trail of the dead beast made the sentinels pale. The deadliest executioner of the north had returned home.

*

“Some beasts ambushed us during the journey. I knew this area was hostile, but the frequency of the attacks is remarkable. Something similar happened last time.”

Derek wore a robe over his winter clothes. As he shook off the snow and the remains of combat, he spoke with a tone of sorrow.

“Even so, we arrived earlier than expected. Lady Sieren had prepared carefully, but the incident forced her to change, which bothered her a little.”

Sieren had retired with the handmaidens to clean up and replace her bloodstained clothes. Melberot, sitting on one side of the room with a thoughtful attitude, observed Derek as he finished settling in.

“It has been a long journey.”
“It has been no problem.”
“You know well that the reunion with Sieren was not the only reason for this meeting.”

Melberot spoke frankly, taking advantage of the privacy. Derek knew it; Melberot would not move anyone across the continent just for a family whim.

“However, before discussing important matters, I must see her. Since you are here, wait a moment.”

Melberot stood up and walked heavily toward the interior. He seemed eager to reunite with the young woman. Derek, accustomed to his temperament, finished fixing his attire calmly.

It had been a long time since he visited the Rocheste property. Looking up, he saw the snow accumulated on the tower. While the south was waking up to spring, here winter was a constant. It was a lonely and vast place. Seeing the landscape of the Duchy was like observing the remains of a great stage after the performance; what was once the epicenter of heroic feats, now was just a shadow of past myths.

Derek entered the mansion, following the guards toward the main hall.

“So you are Derek.”

In the hall, a thin man dressed in a worn red robe remained standing. Despite the escort, no one dared to confront that precarious-looking subject. Under the hood, bright and sharp eyes locked onto him.

“The mentor of Sieren.”

Derek narrowed his gaze cautiously. Despite his mastery of sensory magic, he was unable to evaluate that man’s potential. He was before someone whose power escaped his understanding.