Topaz 9

Karjen woke to the sound of clashing steel. Sunlight streamed in through the small, curtainless window.

Having lived under constant threat of assassination since his birth as the Emperor’s third child, Karjen was a light sleeper. He woke easily at the slightest sound and rarely slept deeply.

Lately, however, he’d been sleeping soundly in the unfamiliar, hard bed. It was partly due to his poor health, but not entirely. Karjen had never been in good health, not since his first birthday.

He clenched and unclenched his empty fist, circulating his mana. The mana, which should have filled his vessel, leaked out uncontrollably, like trying to fill a cracked jar with water.

Fortunately, Karjen knew how to fill a cracked jar. Pour in the water faster than it leaks, an overwhelming amount. It was a brute-force method, terribly inefficient, but Karjen was used to it. He suppressed the familiar feeling of constriction in his chest.

Stepping out of the cabin, he saw, as expected, two figures sparring in the yard. Topaz and Merdina. The casual sparring matches, initiated by Merdina a few days ago, had become a daily morning ritual. Haran, having already finished his turn, stood leaning against a tree, arms crossed, a thin cut on his cheek.

“Haran, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you injured,” Karjen remarked with a smirk. Haran, who had been watching the spar with a serious expression, responded with a question instead of an answer.

“If he suddenly decides to turn on us, what are our chances of getting out of this forest alive?”

“None. I wouldn’t be much help.”

“You mean you wouldn’t help, not that you couldn’t. How are you feeling?”

Yesterday afternoon, when Topaz had returned carrying Karjen on his back, Haran and Merdina had hesitated, unsure whether to draw their swords or offer assistance. But Topaz, with an expression of utter annoyance, had simply deposited Karjen on the bed before they could react.

“He carried me back?”

“Like a sack of potatoes.”

“I’m terribly disappointed I missed that.”

“Is that really what’s important right now?”

Karjen stroked his chin.

“It’s strange. I didn’t feel that faint… I don’t understand my own body anymore.”

As they spoke, the sounds of wind whistling and steel clashing filled the air. Merdina’s sword went flying, embedding itself in the ground. He quickly leaned back, dodging the sword aimed at his throat. But having lost his weapon, he was clearly defeated. Merdina, catching his breath, regained his stance.

“One more time, please.”

“The outcome won’t change.”

Topaz’s tone was dry, almost indifferent. There was no hint of arrogance, which made it even more difficult to refute.

Merdina had graduated at the top of his class from the Royal Academy’s swordsmanship department, a prestigious institution that attracted the empire’s most talented individuals. He was an elite swordsman capable of wielding mana and had considerable combat experience. Few young knights could match him.

But after sparring with Topaz, Merdina had realized how limited his experience truly was. It had been a long time since he’d faced an opponent who so ignited his competitive spirit.

“Isn’t anyone hungry? Let’s stop and eat.”

Karjen clapped his hands lightly, breaking the tension. Normally, he would have openly scoffed at their obsession with fighting, but today, he simply suggested a meal in a relaxed tone. However, his patience wouldn’t last forever.

Merdina knew when to pursue a fight and when to retreat. His priority wasn’t his pride or improving his skills, but his lord’s commands. He retrieved his sword, sheathing it, and bowed to Topaz, who returned the gesture with a curt nod.

Lunch was served outdoors. A makeshift table, hastily constructed from logs by the three swordsmen and the mage, was set up in the yard.

Potatoes and carrots, half-frozen and thawed repeatedly from the shed behind the cabin, and the rabbit Merdina had caught that morning, had been transformed into a delicious stew by Haran’s skilled hands.

“More?” Haran offered.

“Yes,” Topaz replied.

He’d become slightly more amenable towards Haran after discovering his culinary talents. Haran, who had been as skittish as a sparrow around Topaz before Karjen woke up, had softened considerably, even offering him a second helping of stew.

As if sensing Topaz’s thoughts, a small bird landed on Merdina’s shoulder, folding its wings. It was a tiny, cute bird with yellow markings on its wings, like a penduline tit. A tuft of yellow feathers adorned its head.

“Even small birds live in a place like this,” Haran said, marveling. He extended his arm, and the bird hopped over. It flitted around his arm as if it were a branch.

A similar bird circled Karjen’s head. Karjen, mimicking Haran, extended his arm, but the bird simply fluttered away with a startled chirp.

“I guess it doesn’t like people with bad personalities,” Haran said.

“That’s mean, Haran.”

Karjen feigned a wounded expression. Topaz said dryly, “Their personalities are probably worse than yours.”

“What? But they’re so cute… Ow!”

Haran yelped, reaching out to pet the bird on his arm. The bird, opening its small beak, playfully nipped his index finger, a surprisingly painful bite.

Topaz clicked his tongue, grabbing the bird and pulling it away from Haran. The bird, so cute and inquisitive just moments ago, now struggled and squawked ferociously.

“Oh dear. Are you alright, Haran? You’re bleeding.”

Karjen’s solicitous tone only deepened the frown between Haran’s eyebrows.

“What kind of bird has teeth?”

There were two distinct puncture wounds on Haran’s finger, not beak marks, but sharp, needle-like punctures, like a snake’s fangs.

“Don’t be fooled by appearances.”

A bird with teeth was nothing in a forest teeming with magical beasts and mutated creatures. Topaz warned them against touching any animal, no matter how small or harmless it appeared. They could lose a finger in the blink of an eye.

Glancing at Karjen, who was now solicitously holding Haran’s finger to stop the bleeding, Topaz added, “It probably avoided you because your mana is too strong. I’m not entirely sure, but…”

Mana was a part of nature, so to a small bird, it might feel like encountering a tidal wave. Karjen’s eyes widened at Topaz’s words, which, despite their casual tone, sounded almost comforting. He lost interest in Haran’s finger and turned to Topaz.

“Do you think so?” he asked, a bright smile replacing his previous disappointment.

Topaz nodded.

Haran, clutching his bleeding finger, thought, You’re the one being fooled by appearances…

 

***

 

“You said you were from the capital,” Topaz said.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Are you from the capital too, Topaz?” Haran asked.

Topaz looked up at him. Haran met his gaze with a casual smile.

“I could hear it in your accent. I’m from the west, so I’m quite attuned to these subtle differences.”

“You’re right.”

Topaz was born in Kashaf, the empire’s capital, where the Imperial Palace stood. Or rather, he might have been born there. He had no memory of his parents, only of growing up in the poorest slums of the capital.

He’d become a mercenary at a young age, wandering from place to place, but he’d been based in the capital until he was eighteen. After his mercenary guild established roots in other cities, he’d had no reason to return.

“How is the capital these days?”

“As always, new trends come and go, and the streets are always bustling. I suppose the commercial district changes the fastest? Recently, Russo Republic cuisine has become quite popular. Stewed nightshade and simple meals of thin flatbread wrapped around vegetables are all the rage in the markets.”

The Russo Republic was a nation on the western edge of the continent. Topaz had never been there, but he’d heard it was a republic with no emperor or king. Its political stability had led to a flourishing culinary scene.

“Last winter, northern cuisine was trending – wheat noodles in a spicy broth. I hear it’s still quite popular, with many new restaurants opening up.”

Topaz’s brow twitched.

“Are you talking about that noodle dish that burns your tongue?”

“Yes. Have you tried it?”

“Once.”

The world was ending if food like that was considered fashionable.

“Some things haven’t changed. The theaters are still thriving, with carriages crowding Carmen Street at all hours, and the bells of the Grand Temple still ring on the hour, every hour.”

“Must be noisy.”

“It is. Very noisy.”

Karjen continued, his voice soft, almost melodic.

“But the bakery district on Olive First still smells of fresh bread. Peruman, the capital’s most renowned blacksmith, is over seventy, but he still works his forge every day. Anything else you’d like to know?”

Despite Topaz’s vague question, Karjen described the capital in vivid detail, as if he had a map in front of him. It brought back memories of walking those streets himself.

It had been years since he’d left the capital, but a pang of homesickness struck him. He was surprised. It had been a long time since he’d felt nostalgic for anything.

“Ah.”

Karjen, letting out a soft sigh, pulled a small, red silk pouch from inside his tunic. The fist-sized pouch was so thin it seemed empty, but Karjen rummaged through it for a moment.

He pulled out a small, round piece of wood, its surface smooth and polished. Several thin metal tines were attached to one side, and the other side had small holes.

“This is a lamellophone. It’s a traditional instrument from the Aspel Islands, but this is a smaller, modern version. It recently became popular among noble children and has since become more widely available. Hold it in both hands.”

Karjen placed the instrument in Topaz’s hands, explaining how different notes could be produced by pressing the tines and covering the holes. Topaz shook his head, offering it back.

“I don’t know how to play instruments.”

“You don’t have to play it. Just pluck the tines. It makes a pleasant sound.”

“…..”

Topaz hesitated, then plucked a tine. A clear, resonant note rang out. It was a remarkable instrument, producing such a beautiful sound from hands that had never held an instrument before.

“Interesting.”

“Isn’t it?”

Seeing Topaz’s fascination, Karjen excitedly rummaged through his pouch again, producing a bizarre assortment of items. A magic pinwheel that spun without wind, diamond-shaped candies coated in cinnamon, wrapped chocolates, even a small whistle and a tin of birdseed.

“Convenient. Is that bag an interdimensional pouch?”

“Yes, but my abilities are limited, so I can’t carry much.”

Topaz stroked his chin.

“Do you have any alcohol, by any chance?”

Karjen’s eyes widened, and he reached into his pouch with a triumphant expression. He pulled out a bottle of wine, clearly expensive and vintage.