Chapter 46
The movement of utensils in the banquet hall came to a halt. Everyone was watching and listening to the confrontation between Juppe and me.
Anyone could see that Juppe was the one cornered. He must have been tormented by his inferiority complex over his lack of military achievements. It was all too obvious. He never would have expected me to point out that weakness upon our first meeting.
"I may not have learned etiquette, but I do know how to fight quite well. I was taught by an excellent Commander of the Imperial Guard. If you're curious, you're welcome to test it out."
I twirled a dining knife around my fingers. The knife spun fiercely, dancing atop my hand.
'In the Custoria family, a noble's worth as a soldier takes precedence.'
Not everyone thought that way, but quite a few certainly did.
Hemillas was observing our dispute with an impassive expression. Inwardly, he was probably smiling in satisfaction. After all, this was the role he had expected me to play.
"Luka, stop teasing Juppe. Juppe, you should stop as well. Raising your voices on a joyous day when we've gained a new family member—have you no shame?"
Taking advantage of the pause, the eldest son, Nikolaos, stepped in. With impeccable timing, he simultaneously rebuked Juppe while showcasing his magnanimity.
"As the elder sibling, I was merely trying to teach my younger brother proper manners…"
Juppe protested, as if deeply wronged.
"Our new brother is already well-versed in dining etiquette. He was only pretending not to know, as a joke. Isn't that right, Luka?"
I placed my utensils down properly, then used the correct knife and fork to cut a piece of meat and put it into my mouth. The taste was phenomenal.
"I had studied beforehand, but I just forgot for a moment. It's my first time in a setting like this, so I was nervous."
Even the servants standing behind us could tell that my claim of being nervous was a lie. Juppe had walked straight into my trap and become the object of ridicule.
Juppe shut his mouth and sat down. He glared at me while moving his utensils mechanically.
Seizing control of the conversation, Nikolaos continued speaking.
"I heard you received the 7th-Class Cross Blade Medal of Military Merit? I'm not a soldier myself, but I understand it's a difficult medal for a cadet to earn."
Well, somewhere out there, there are people who served for ten years and still never received it.
I swallowed those words down. If I provoked Juppe one more time, he might actually flip the table and hurl his utensils. Hmm, come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind witnessing that mess firsthand.
"It's a common medal among the Imperial Guard. And I'm practically a junior guardsman myself. It's nothing much to boast about."
Juppe was probably boiling inside.
"I am the eldest son, but I was born with a weak constitution. That is why I could not become a soldier. I have always felt nothing but guilt for disappointing Father. But knowing that you are an exceptional soldier puts my heart at ease."
He certainly had a way with words. There was a reason he had risen through the ranks as a bureaucrat so quickly. If this weren’t a military family, he would have been an undisputed successor.
"Brother, are you saying that I am not outstanding as a soldier?"
Juppe couldn't hold back. He was digging his own grave.
"You must have misunderstood, Juppe. As your elder brother, I know your abilities better than anyone. I have no doubt that you will achieve great merit in the future."
"I feel just as frustrated. Because Father is the Commander of the Imperial Guard, my superiors hesitate to send me into actual combat. Honestly, I wish we would go to full-scale war with Corite or Bellato. Then I would finally be deployed to the battlefield."
Juppe spoke while clinging to the last shred of his pride. To some extent, it was probably true. Given Hemillas’s personality, he wouldn’t punish a superior officer even if his son died. But it was entirely possible that lesser men were tiptoeing around him of their own accord.
Hemillas neither affirmed nor denied Juppe’s words. People would believe whatever they wanted to believe.
Thanks to Nikolaos’s mediation, the tense atmosphere subsided. After that, the meal and banquet proceeded uneventfully.
When the meal ended, relatives whose names I couldn’t even be bothered to remember approached me to offer greetings.
The conflict with Juppe had made my presence known. Now, everyone understood what kind of person I was—and that I wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.
"Well done."
Giselle whispered as she passed by me.
"Nikolaos isn’t an easy opponent."
I muttered in response.
"He takes after Father a lot."
And with that, the introductions were over.
That was my first day at the main house. I still had two more days to stay.
* * *
Soldiers who use high-performance, high-output prosthetics are specially trained in the "proper way to sleep." It even has a grand name—sleep regulation techniques.
But in reality, sleep quality is critically important. No amount of emphasis is too much.
We operate under several times the neural load of an ordinary person. While we have a higher threshold for enduring extreme stress, we are not invincible. That is why we go to great lengths to ensure our nervous systems get adequate rest—using everything from sleep regulation techniques to meditation, even methods that seem completely incompatible with military life.
I was the same. No matter where I slept, I could fall into a deep sleep quickly.
Anyway, even now, I had been sound asleep in an unfamiliar bed. That is, until three seconds ago.
‘Who is it?’
Someone was entering my room. The lock disengaged smoothly and silently.
It felt as if a syringe filled with stimulants had been injected straight into my brain. My mind snapped awake in an instant, rising from the depths of unconsciousness like a diver breaking through the ocean’s surface. The abrupt shift from rest to combat readiness threw my breathing off. My body struggled to keep up with my forcibly awakened consciousness.
My heart began working in overdrive, pumping blood at a faster rate. One by one, the senses I had suppressed for deep sleep flickered back to life. My prosthetic limbs prickled, as if someone had pinched them.
Waking up like this left my condition in shambles. I glared at the door, feeling a wave of irritation.
Kiing.
As I sat up, I grabbed the defensive knife I had left by my bedside in a reverse grip. My body and mind had already completed their combat preparations.
‘Still early morning…’
I glanced at the clock. It was 3 AM. Not a time for any normal visit.
"Quick reaction, Luka."
"Commander?"
I lowered my knife-wielding arm. The man standing in the dim light was Hemillas.
"Apologies for the late-night visit. I have to maintain the appearance of being in a neutral position."
Hemillas shook a liquor bottle as he sat down in a chair.
"You drink as well, Commander?"
It was unexpected. Technically, alcohol and cigarettes were prohibited for the Imperial Guard. Of course, as long as they weren’t blatant about it, no one really made an issue of it. The Imperial Guard wasn’t that inflexible.
But I never imagined Hemillas would drink.
"Doctors and scientists say that substances like alcohol and tobacco negatively affect a nervous system and hormonal balance optimized for combat. Want a drink?"
It wasn’t just Imperial Guardsmen who deteriorated. Alcohol and cigarettes slowly killed people. Logically speaking, there was absolutely no reason to partake.
"I don’t want to add unnecessary risk factors. Learning Akies Combat Techniques is more than enough for me."
I refused Hemillas’s offer.
He chuckled, as if he had expected my answer. Taking a sip of his drink, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
"Then let me offer you some advice—not as the Commander of the Imperial Guard, but as a senior in the Guard. You need some irrational, inefficient impurities inside you if you want to last. That’s the key to unlocking what we call humanity."
I questioned him.
"…Do we need humanity?"
"The ones who spoke like you were always the first to be devoured by the Legion."
My eyes must have wavered for a brief moment. Lowering my gaze cautiously, I spoke.
"You seem to be drunk, Commander."
Of course, I knew he wasn’t.
"Find yourself at least one hobby or habit that has nothing to do with combat—something that might even hinder it."
"Is that an order?"
"No. Like I said, it’s advice. Consider it a gift for becoming part of the family."
I felt a roughness in my throat. There was nothing physically stuck there. It was purely psychological.
"I’ll keep it in mind."
My answer was closer to a rejection. Hemillas surely knew that.
I was already struggling just to sharpen and refine myself. I had no room to take on additional impurities. Or perhaps, I already had too many inside me. And now I was supposed to add more? I had no intention of becoming someone like Ilay or Kinuan.
Drrk.
Hemillas rose from his seat.
Tonight, he had shown me the most "human" side of himself I had ever seen.
‘He gave me advice that held no benefit for himself.’
Just like a father would to his son.
* * *
The second day at the main house was just as unpleasant as the first, filled with tasks I had no interest in. The only enjoyable part was visiting the family's armory.
‘Armory.’
It was hard to believe this belonged to a single noble family. The collection of weaponry was massive, ranging from relics that were centuries old to cutting-edge modern arms, all displayed along the walls.
The Custoria family dedicated an entire building solely to storing weapons. The further inside we went, the older and heavier the weaponry became. Eventually, we arrived in front of the display of power armor and prosthetic suits. There were models of Legion and Myrmidon from different generations, including some that no longer existed.
"Is guiding me through the armory part of your job?"
I asked, looking at Giselle, who was walking beside me.
"Why do you think I’m studying mechanical engineering at the academy? In the Custoria family, women are responsible for managing and maintaining the armory. There are weapons here that can’t be entrusted to outsiders. It’s a pretty important role. Right now, Mother is in charge of the armory, but eventually, I’ll take over."
"You don’t seem like the type to be covered in grease stains…"
I remarked, thinking of my stepmother, Eva. She was the very image of a noblewoman in my mind.
"Her skills are exceptional. Even now, she’s the one who maintains Father’s prosthetics and weaponry."
"Don’t nobles usually have a lot of arranged marriages? What if they don’t get along…?"
I trailed off and glanced at Giselle. She nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"That’s right. That’s why the maintenance is entrusted to Mother. It’s a long-standing family tradition—it’s a way to show how strong our trust and faith in each other are."
As I listened to Giselle, my steps came to a halt. I lifted my head, almost mesmerized, and stared at an old prosthetic armor suit.
Faint traces of Legion technology were visible, but the design was cruder. It had undergone extensive modifications over time—its parts were mismatched in color, with varying degrees of discoloration. The most distinct features were its single horned head and asymmetrical arms. The right arm was larger and longer than the left, likely adapted for handling a specialized weapon.
This was probably an ancient predecessor of the Legion models. The Custoria family had a long history with the Imperial Guard, after all.
I found myself unable to look away from the old prosthetic armor. My gaze remained locked onto it.
"Luka?"
Giselle tilted her head slightly, looking up at me.
"I was just thinking."
"You have to see this before we leave, no matter how tired you are. It’s a piece of our family’s history. This is the prosthetic armor Scylla."
She stood in front of the one-horned armor as she spoke.
"Scylla?"
"It’s not a model name, just a name. There are no other suits like this one. This was the personal armor of Agatha Custoria, the founder of our family. It has never been taken outside. Nowadays, it’s nothing more than an antique, weaker than a Myrmidon, but it’s still a family heirloom."
Prosthetic armor Scylla, and the founder, Agatha Custoria.
I lifted my head and committed the image of Scylla to memory, as if taking a photograph in my mind.