The pain of losing someone was more bitter than he had imagined.
‘This was something I was prepared for, wasn’t it? I knew that Mother didn’t have much time left. I knew that it couldn’t be avoided.’
He had vowed neither to grieve nor to regret, and during the mother-and-son conversation he shared with Leticia Volkanov, Ian had released every knot of resentment that had been lodged in his heart.
‘Even if it wasn’t a complete reconciliation. I thought we’d resolved most of the issues between us. Then why…?’
Why did this stifling emptiness threaten to make him writhe in anguish?
Why did he feel as if his mouth wouldn’t open and his mind had come to a halt?
‘I told myself I wouldn’t be surprised. That I wouldn’t be sad, that I’d send her off with a sense of relief.’
Faced with this inexplicable phenomenon, Ian bit down hard on his lower lip.
He turned his gaze to the scenery flowing silently past the window, trying desperately to hide eyes that seemed on the verge of tearing up.
Swoosh.
“…”
“…”
Lia Hurst said nothing. She simply took Ian’s faintly trembling hand in hers.
From Ashlan, where the Blue Moon Pavilion was located, all the way to Trishura, where the Volkanov mansion stood, the journey took quite some time.
Yet Lia remained holding his hand until the end.
***
Upon arriving at the estate, Ian Volkanov immediately sought out Shulkin.
There were no celebrations to mark his succession to the dukedom, no honorary formations of knights to welcome his return.
The Volkanov household was in no state for such pomp.
Everyone wore black clothing and maintained silence, their steps muted as if trying to stifle even the sound of their footsteps.
In a mansion where sound had all but vanished, only two people could bring themselves to speak.
“My lord. May I ask how you wish to arrange the funeral?”
“The funeral, you say.”
At Shulkin’s question, Ian Volkanov exhaled a long breath before continuing his thoughts.
How should they conduct the funeral? One might wonder why he was hesitating.
The mother of the head of a ducal house had died. By all rights, they should hold a service that befit the family’s status.
According to long-standing tradition, it would be natural to have not only the local subjects but also noble guests from afar rush here to pay their respects.
However, considering the relationship between Leticia Volkanov and Ian, Shulkin couldn’t help but hesitate.
‘He must be weighing the discord that existed between me and Mother. It can’t be helped.’
Even if it wasn’t widely known outside, everyone within knew how Leticia had harassed and mistreated Ian Volkanov.
Although the severity of it had lessened over time, and some measure of reconciliation was reached at the end, that had been a private matter between the two of them.
From Shulkin’s standpoint, knowing very little, simply following tradition might risk offending Ian, the new head of the family.
‘The vassals must think I have only two choices: One, hold a small, modest family funeral; or two, conduct it traditionally and grandly.’
No matter which he chose, the retainers would not complain. Even if Ian wanted to do nothing but place a single glass of water in memoriam, they would nod in silent agreement.
Perhaps Shulkin believed Ian would opt for something minimal for Leticia’s funeral, given their past discord.
That was why Ian’s order came as such a shock.
“Honor tradition. Arrange it so that as many people as possible can pay their respects.”
“As large as possible, my lord?”
Shulkin’s eyes went wide at Ian’s completely unexpected command.
Ian cared nothing for the past discord.
Yes, he had undeniably suffered because of her. Only at the end did they begin to untangle their strained bond.
But that didn’t mean he wished to mar her one and only funeral.
“Exactly. It would hardly be fitting to hold a modest funeral for a family that could be called the pillar of the Empire.”
“…Understood. I will make the arrangements.”
It was a private resolution, disregarding the opinions of others, but Ian did not bother to explain his reasoning to Shulkin.
Shulkin, as if understanding, nodded once and withdrew.
At the same time, the retainers began to move in earnest. Whether Shulkin had signaled them somehow was uncertain, but they busied themselves with funeral preparations right away.
Ian, watching them blankly, slowly began to walk along the corridor.
Before long, he arrived at a certain spot.
‘Here…’
In the middle of the corridor, beneath the dignified portrait of Alex Volkanov, many framed pictures were arranged.
Starting from a photograph of Killain and Leticia during their student days at the academy, there were several that could be considered family photos.
Among the small frames placed there,
Ian Volkanov picked up Leticia’s portrait, brushed off the dust from the frame, and continued on toward his room.
‘Losing someone still doesn’t feel any easier to bear.’
Sending off a blood relative was something terribly hard to endure.
***
Entering his room, Ian lay down on the bed without a thought, staring up at the ceiling.
He wasn’t doing it for any special reason. He just wanted to lie there and do nothing, with his weary heart unburdened for a moment.
After all, hadn’t two monumental events occurred simultaneously?
The Emperor—who had been resting and delegating duties to his children due to his battle against illness—had suddenly held the investiture ceremony himself.
No sooner had his nerves begun to unwind than he received the news that his mother had passed away, and he felt his heart sink heavily.
In a situation like this, not feeling exhausted was simply impossible.
He needed at least a little rest. With that thought in mind, Ian stared blankly at the ceiling and slowly closed his eyes.
“…Did I fall asleep?”
Waking as if from a fainting spell, he stared blankly at the clock.
1:40. Not in the afternoon, but in the early morning—dawn, essentially.
(TLN: Author wth, avg Korean schedule.)
“The other retainers are probably all busy preparing for the funeral, and I’ve just holed up in my room and dozed off?”
He felt like he might go mad.
Of course, considering he’d just received his title and then lost his mother, no one could blame him for feeling unsettled.
Still, wouldn’t it look strange for him to be sleeping soundly?
Most people in his situation would refuse to eat, cry their hearts out until they passed out, or something along those lines.
‘What if they think, “Our lord slept comfortably even though his mother died!”?’
No one would dare say it openly if they had any sense of self-preservation.
But human nature being what it is, rumors might swirl behind his back.
‘Ha. Well, what can I do? I’ve already slept anyway.’
After pondering how to navigate this predicament, Ian concluded that there was no special way to fix things now.
If it couldn’t be helped, he might as well put the situation to good use.
‘If it’s discovered that I was sleeping, they might think I’m a cold-hearted ruler who can sleep soundly even after his mother’s death. But if it’s not discovered, I might appear as a calm, composed leader who, deep inside, is warm and caring.’
If he handled it that way, no major problem would arise.
Slowly getting up from the bed, Ian opened the door and stepped into the corridor.
In the dimly lit hallway, aside from a few guards, no one else was around.
‘Since I’m up, I should at least get some water.’
There was water on the side table, and calling for a maid would make them come running.
But since he was already awake, and to help clear his head, Ian decided to go to the dining area himself.
After casually greeting the guards, he moved slowly toward the dining room.
He turned on the light, opened the mana-cooled refrigerator, and saw it.
“The water’s here…and what’s this?”
Amidst the neatly packed ingredients, there was a single pot occupying its own space.
Looking closely, it wasn’t just a bowl.
It was a cooking pot, something used for boiling or stewing.
‘Why a pot in here…?’
Had someone placed it here temporarily while cooking?
If that were the case, it wouldn’t be shoved in so deeply.
‘It’s neither a finished dish being stored, nor something unfinished placed conveniently at the front.’
What on earth was this pot doing here, taking up this space?
Intrigued, Ian carefully pulled out the pot, making sure not to topple any ingredients.
As he drew it out, it happened in an instant.
Rustle.
“Huh? Paper?”
A piece of paper fluttered down, snagging on his shoe.
It must have fallen off when he took out the pot. Perhaps it had originally been tucked inside, only to be nudged loose as the fridge got more packed over time.
So it must have slipped out just now.
‘Does that mean it’s been here a long time? Just what is this?’
Seeing the warm steam rising, it was clear a preservation spell had been cast on the contents.
So there really was some kind of dish inside. Wondering if it might be something important, Ian kept one hand on the pot and used mana with the other to lift the fallen piece of paper up to him.
Fwoosh!
Catching the paper in midair, Ian tilted his head and checked what was written on the other side.
And he saw it.
[To my son….]
“…This…?”
The moment he recognized Leticia Volkanov’s handwriting, he knew.
With trembling hands, Ian removed the lid from the pot.
[As I came to realize that my time left was short, many thoughts and regrets began to surface. I recalled the cruel words I said to you, and how I never once told you that I loved you… But what I regret most is never having cooked a proper meal for you. In my heart, I wished I could feed you while looking into your eyes. But knowing that as your mother I have fallen short in so many ways, I ask your forgiveness for leaving this behind in such a manner. I love you, my son.]
‘It’s…stew….’
The warm aroma wafting upward from the dish made him feel strangely blank.
The steam was like a hallucinatory haze, stirring something deep within him.
For reasons he couldn’t fathom, as he read the letter, his body seemed to move on its own.
By the time he regained his senses, he had placed the pot on the large dining table and was standing there, staring vacantly at the stew.
He bit down on his lower lip and picked up a spoon.
As he forced a spoonful into his mouth, he tasted a flavor so damned familiar it made him clench his fist involuntarily.
“… It’s really… delicious …”
He let out a bitter laugh of disbelief, but he carefully folded the letter and tucked it away. Then he raised his spoon again.
