Chapter 12: [11 – eccentric; the prince and the saint]

“Celine’s coming, by the way.” said Soren casually after barging into the barracks, making himself at home in the corner.

Vincent, who had gone to the barracks on his day off to relieve his stress, felt another headache coming.

He had expected nothing good when Soren had suddenly entered, but this was...

...a little more than unexpected.

The First Prince slashed at the training doll with practiced ease as he asked, “Celine?”

“There is only one Celine you and I would both know.” replied Soren matter-of-factly.

In fact, he wasn’t wrong, but there was no sane person who would think of the Death Saint when told in a such casual fashion, ‘Oh, they’re coming over.’ as if inviting a friend to their house. Nor would they refer to such a person by their first name alone.

Vincent was sane, very sane.

Though he was fairly sure this trouble-seeing youngest brother of his would destroy that sanity.

“We cannot afford to offend the saint.” warned Vincent coldly, believing that Soren had done something to invite her over.

The crazy Death Saint, Celine Isda.

A person who rejected even the emperor.

Soren frowned. “I invited her to heal Deimos.”

“With what means?”

“I prayed, so she must’ve respected my devotion to her religion.”

Vincent’s sword missed the strike.

What sort of nonsense was this? It was the Death Saint he was talking about, not some random priest.

To begin with, what sort of reason was that?

Vincent slashed again. “It would do you well not to lie to me.”

Soren glanced at him. “And it would do you well to believe me.”

“With what proof? I haven’t spoken to you directly and allowed you to live as you pleased,” Vincent turned around. “But with what experience, should I believe in you?”

Well, Soren couldn’t deny that.

“A fool will remain a fool, and if you wish to prove otherwise, then show it through your actions.” continued Vincent, wiping the sweat off his face as he hung up with sword. “Behave like a prince, and I shall treat you like one.”

“And my recent actions aren’t enough?”

“For eighteen years of mischief, it is not enough.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “Then did you treat me with respect, when I was a child who knew nothing?”

“You say eighteen years, but at the very start, did you want me to be an obedient doll?”

Ah, this simmering anger in the depths of his chest as the words escaped his lips. Once again, the original’s emotions trickled into his mind.

The real Soren had respected his eldest brother deeply, greatly admiring him as a child. Vincent was the person he wanted attention from the most and received attention from the least.

At least Erlen would respond in his usual prickly manner, but Vincent treated Soren as if he didn’t exist. Thus, the admiration turned into desperation, and his misdeeds had become a sorry attempt for attention. 

But Vincent never gave it to him.

Only cold, indifferent replies and the occasional warning.

There was a part of the original that hated Vincent, and Soren could feel it. But there was another part that still craved his attention, his words.

Soren hated these voile feelings that weren’t his own, but also respected them.

Because for a long time, he could never feel such intense emotions, wandering through his life and then the apocalypse like a zombie.

That is why he allowed the emotions to flow.

Even in death, even if he committed dozens of foolish deeds, the original still deserved his feelings. The emotions he could never show, and the emotions Soren never felt.

Who said a villain felt nothing?

The real Soren clearly felt everything.

Vincent’s hand stopped on the handle of the sword. 

Soren watched him quietly.

And Damien had left, who knows when, slipping out at the perfect time. Although most likely, he was listening in somewhere — knowing that curious fox.

But any of that didn’t matter at the moment.

“It is a lifestyle expected of royalty.” said Vincent after some time, releasing the sword and looking at Soren with those same cold eyes. “If you can’t find your way on your own, then you are weak. You should have expected nothing from me, not before and certainly not now.”

There was a sense of disappointment in Soren’s chest. “Thought so. Don’t worry, Prince Vincent, I don’t expect anything from you anymore.”

He stood up, his tied-up snowy hair unraveling as they brushed by his cheeks, grazing his icy eyes.

“I only came to tell you that Celine will come tomorrow.”

With that sentence, he walked out, not bothering to give Vincent a second glance.

The First Prince watched the disappearing back of his youngest sibling, then turned.

The person who knew Soren the best could only be the one who had been bothered by him all this time. But even then, Vincent felt like he could not understand.

A person could not change overnight.

He did not believe it.

‘Soren... what are you planning to do?’

On the other side of the door, Soren found Damien leaning against a tree a short distance away from the room he had been in.

Damien lifted his eyes and asked, “Did you have a pleasant conversation, master?”

“I received an answer to something ‘I’ had been wondering about for a while.”

“A satisfactory answer?”

For the current Soren, who wished to keep a distance from the princes, it was the most satisfactory. But in his chest, the slivers of disappointment remained, and he knew,

The original was anything but satisfied.

The duty-driven Vincent. What other answer did the original want? Soren didn’t know, and even if he did, he didn’t think he’d understand.

He sighed.

Soon, after the matters of the fox children and the Fourth Prince’s life were settled, he would leave this place.

"Depends who you're asking." replied Soren, while Damien said nothing in response.

Soren, too, was quiet after speaking. He didn't like to run away from problems, and it hurt his pride a little to avoid the matters with the original's family, but it couldn't be helped. Even if he hadn't considered fixing anything to begin with, from the attitude of the brothers, it was clear that they disliked him.

With the exception of Deimos, who Soren couldn't comprehend.

But it bothered him. The feelings that would rise at random, feelings that Soren knew weren't his own. And yet, it almost felt like they were his feelings, as if the emotions were merging and Ren Suzuki was actually Soren Rosenbaum.

The Prince frowned deeply as he walked forward. 

Would his soul merge with the original?

Or was it an aftereffect of the body transfer? 

Was there some unique goal in which he had to achieve the original's goals? Well, Soren already intended to save that idiot's beloved brothers, which he thought would suffice as a payment.

From the beginning, the entire ordeal had been full of mystery and complications that Soren had chosen not to think about. But even if he wanted to ignore the circumstances, he had a feeling he'd be forced to face it in the future. 

'I want peace.'

Nothing more, nothing less. 

Even if it meant he had to ignore those instincts lingering at the back of his mind, even if he had to pretend for a while longer. 

He felt the original's feelings finally stabilize as he walked, pushed back to the depths of his mind. Of course, it still existed, slumbering until the next encounter. 

With that unsettling discomfort, he eventually fell asleep.

That evening, Soren recalled a few more memories of the original, seeming to gradually stream into his consciousness over time. When he woke up, he cursed under his breath.

More memories were not what he wanted. 

This time, it was a memory that had been blurry, ever so faint, and almost non-existent. A memory from the very start, before Soren was taken to the palace.

A memory of Soren's mother.

Everything was unclear, as expected of a memory from so long ago, but Soren felt it was familiar. The woman who cradled the child in her arms gently, humming a lyrical song as she walked around, was the type to be loved. The sort one couldn't help falling in love with.

In a story, she would be a heroine.

In a tragedy, she would be the protagonist's long-lost lover who had died before the story begun, driving him to commit unspeakable deeds for her sake.

When Soren blinked, he could still hear remanents of the tune in his head.

'...bothersome.'

He stretched his arms out on the bed lazily and stood up, getting ready for the morning. Anyway, it was a useless memory that he didn't need, a memory he would eventually forget.

 When he was ready, he set off for Deimos’ room. No doubt, Celine could still cause trouble even if she agreed on a deal. It would be better to keep an eye out, just in case.

Who would’ve thought that his brother would have the same idea?

Not only that, but he brought somebody Soren both wanted and didn’t want to see.

The man waved, giving a lopsided grin.

“Hey, what a coincidence.”

Soren frowned. “I live here.”

“Even so.” replied Raphael cooly, hands in his pockets as he leaned against a wall. 

“Where’s Vincent?”

“He’s picking Celine up from the entrance.”

“Then, it’s a good time to ask.”

“Ask wha—“

“Soren, you’re aquatinted with Vincent’s friend?” interrupted the ignored Deimos, who had been watching from the start.

Soren glanced at him. “No.”

At the same time, Raphael said, “Yes.”

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“...please don’t pretend that we are.”

“But we are?”

“No.”

Raphael spread his hands out in silent surrender.

Deimos watched their bickering thoughtfully, but when he moved to say something, he burst into a fit of coughing that did not subside for several minutes.

Immediately, Soren’s attention turned back to Deimos. His condition was noticeably worse, considering his pale, cracking lips and blueish skin.

To even talk was an incredible feat.

Deimos smiled apologetically and said weakly, “Thank you, little brother, for bringing in the Death Saint.”

Soren looked at me and said honestly, “It wasn’t for you.”

“...?” 

“...doesn’t matter.” How could he explain something like, ‘your dead brother whose body I now posses asked me to do that for you’? “Anyway, stop talking until Celine gets here.”

Deimos immediately shut up.

It already surprised him in how Soren casually referred to the Death Saint, not to mention bringing her in to begin with.

Surprisingly, the Light Saint also had healing abilities and an easier personality, but the Death Saint was best for saving those close to death. Even if she had an... interesting personality.

However, he didn’t question why she came.

Although he was curious, seeing Raphael and Soren’s dislike, despite Soren asking to speak to him, Deimos could guess what happened.

Soren didn’t intend to hide anything, and turned to Raphael. “Do something for me.”

Raphael paused. “Aren’t you the one who owes me a favour?”

“That was repayment for your life.”

“Oh, but, didn’t you think it was too expensive for my life? A favour from the prince should level the balance.”

“You didn’t say it before, so it’s void.”

“...ah.” Raphael stared at him and then asked, “Then what do you want from me, little Prince?”

“Don’t call me that.” scowled Soren. “And if you ask if that’s the favour, I’ll end you now.”

Raphael, who had just opened his mouth, closed it again and smiled helplessly. “So what is it?”

“Fight Celine.”

“...say that one more time?”

“Are you losing your hearing already, old man?” replied Soren rudely, as Raphael was rendered speechless.

“Hey, excuse me, I’m like four years older than you?”

Soren ignored him. “I want you to fight Celine.”

Of course, there was the option of telling Celine where Raphael was, and having them fight, but in the case where Celine accidentally mentions Soren, that stupid protagonist might forfeit the battle.

After all, Soren’s relationship with that man wasn’t good.

And for Celine, who blabbered whatever she wanted, it was very possible.

Raphael leaned back and sighed. “You’re asking me to fight the Death Saint? Seriously?”

“Do I have to repeat it again, louder for you?”

“...no, I heard you just fine.” replied Raphael, not wanting to be called old again. He was only twenty-two, and he hadn’t aged since his first life, okay?

Time was a complicated thing.

Anyway, Raphael had no reason nor any intention to help the Prince.

“I’ll have to pass.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I just don’t want you, you know.”

Soren already expected the answer.

“Then, I’ll owe you a favour.”

“I don’t think I’m interested in a favour anymore.”

“Then?”

“I don’t need anything, sorry.” shrugged Raphael, much to Soren’s annoyance.

Deimos wanted to interject, but after remaining quiet, talking became painful as he tried to breathe. 

Instead, Damien interrupted once again.

“A favour from a prince is a useless thing, don’t you think?” said Damien politely, bowing to Raphael. “It may be useful in the future, and it won’t cause you much, right?”

The teenager had a way of saying most things in a questioning tone, leading the listener to believe it was their choice to answer when instead, he was luring them in.

Of course, Raphael knew that tactic.

He was as proficient as the fox in understanding hidden emotions and thoughts.

However, the pale-faced teenager wasn’t wrong.

Raphael raised a brow. “Well, I can’t disagree with that. But...” He smiled, crossing his arms. “I just want to piss him off?”

He said the same words Soren did at the auction, hearing it coincidentally from above with his excellent hearing. As expected, Soren scowled.

Raphael’s cooperation was necessary, since Soren had told Celine that the protagonist would only listen to him. It was his bargaining chip, but he hadn’t taught it through.

Raphael’s personality was more annoying that he thought.

The Prince silently noted that down in his heart.

Suddenly, Damien said, “Pull your hood up, Sir Raphael.”

Raphael raised a brow but obeyed, understanding that this teenager was not to be underestimated.

At that moment, Vincent walked in with Celine, who casually strolled inside with a lazy grin on her face.

“So? Where’s the patient?”

All heads turned to Deimos, who smiled weakly.

Celine saw Soren, and her eyes twinkled. “When will you keep your end of the bargain, Prince?”

Soren looked at Raphael. “He’s right there, and has already agreed to fight you.” lied the Fifth Prince, without a change in expression. “As agreed, you will heal Deimos only if he fights you.”

Raphael, who planned to expose Soren’s lies, fell quiet.

Even blackened as he was, he may have given up on saving the world, but that didn’t mean it was simple for him to watch somebody die in front of him — especially not when he could prevent him.

Raphael had a considerably good opinion of Deimos, as well as Vincent, who both seemed calm and justice-seeking, although Deimos was more low key.

And of course,

Soren knew that.

Which is why he specifically repeated the terms of the deal out loud, talking more than he intended to. The Fifth Prince could not understand people. But,

He understood Raphael.

If only slightly.

Raphael scanned the crowd and then said without hesitation, "Alright then. Only after you heal the Second Prince."

Celine grinned, looking him up and down. From the moment she entered the room, she felt the radiating strength from this man. It wasn't like the mysterious and ominous power of the Fifth Prince, nor the raw brute strength of the First, but a strength honed over decades, engraved into the bone.

This man was a natural fighter.

"Hahaha! Of course!" She moved past everyone and loomed over Deimos, a little surprised. "Hey... how the hell are you even awake right now?" 

Her rough fingers floated over his body as she frowned. "Wow, pretty impressive, Second Prince. Most people would be unconscious right now, your resilience is awesome."

Vincent's eyes narrowed, and Raphael seemed to look at Deimos with a newfound respect. 

Deimos smiled awkwardly but said nothing. He couldn’t really, not with the biting pain in his lungs that only worsened by the minute.

Celine closed her eyes as her hands hovered over the man.

In almost a silent prayer.

Then, Deimos’ eyes flung wide open, and his body lurched as a low grumble escaped his lips, as if he were holding back a painful scream.

The Saint’s eyes has turned a dark yellow, seeming to glow as dark wisps trailed from her fingers.

Vincent stepped forward, but Soren stopped him.

The First narrowed his eyes, but Soren didn’t even spare him a glance. “If you cause it to fail, there won’t be another solution.”

“.....” Vincent stepped back, clenching his fist.

Finally, Deimos could no longer hold back his screams.

“Arghhhhh!”

His shallow breathing and piercing screams echoed all around. They had placed a sound barrier in advance, but it was unbearable to hear up close for the regular person.

Finally, a black, swirling ball gathered in Celine’s hands, and she leaned back and...

Ate it?

Wait, excuse me?

The room had become silent in a moment, all eyes watching the woman swallow the suspicious ball with a loud gulp, wiping her lips after with a grin.

Damien, being the curious fox that he was, asked the question they all wondered: “Why did you swallow it?”

Celine tilted her head, blazing eyes bright. “Because I can, of course. If the mana is of similar aptitude to your own, you can consume it to regain strength.”

“A mage attacked Deimos.” stated Vincent, having grasped the point.

“Oh, whoops, didn’t you know? Well, yeah, his injuries were caused by a mage so I healed it, and absorbed the lingering traces that caused his illness.”

“Everybody’s mana is a little different, but the traces were very compatible with mine.” continued Celine, licking her lips.

Nobody bothered to question this crazy saintess.