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Reboot Sienna Book 1 Chapter 42

Volume 1 Chapter 42 Live To Sienna Pt.42


"You can't trust anyone. No one. Even the father of yours."

In a soft voice, Isabel told her son a terrible story.

"Don't trust anyone."

She had repeated the same words so many times, as if she was afraid her son would forget these words.

"Don't trust anyone, cough"

His mother, who repeatedly told him not to trust anyone enough to give up counting, shook her chest and coughed violently. Her cough was mixed with dark red blood. She vomited blood and said it over and over again.

"Don't trust anyone."

That was the last thing she said to Carl. Her death was promulgated as a result of pneumonia, but Carl knew it was a lie.

The puppy, who was licking his cheek as if comforting Carl, who was in a motherless grief, died with a wild sigh. His cheeks were covered with blood from her dying breath.

Azrael said nothing when Carl's story was over. He didn't even offer words of consolation. He didn't feel sorry because he didn't say it to comfort him.

"The water has cooled down."

"..."

Azrael did not answer. The water in the bathtub was still warm, but for Carl, it felt as cold as ice. Like a mother's hand that swept away his face that night.

"O Lord, don't forgive me."

Even before Azrael had finished speaking, Carl stood up with a pail beside the bathtub. The sudden movement of him caused the water in the bathtub to splash in all directions.

Chang! The clash of Azrael's sword and a dune held by Carl produced a cold, metallic sound. The two men's eyes were on each other.

While wielding a sharp sword, Azrael's eyes were full of guilt. Carl asked him with a heartbroken face, "Why? I've believed that you are one of my people."

"Never before have I been your man."

"Why. If you're not my man, why did you protect my back in the Battle of Calfion Plains?"

He thought of Azrael, who had to cross life and death, being hit by a blade flying from behind his back in a fierce battle where it was difficult to distinguish between enemies and allies.

"If you weren't my person then, why did you risk your life to protect me?"'

Azrael's feet kicked his chest. Carl of the gods rolled about behind the bathtub. He rolled on the floor and didn't miss a fly.

Azrael's blade flew over Carl's head, which was falling. Carl rolled over, avoided the slash, and kicked Azrael's thigh.

Fifteen years.

Two people who watched each other were also the closest to each other for a time that was never short. Their struggles were fierce because they knew each other's strengths and weaknesses as well as their own.

Carl hit Azrael on the wrist with a piece of dirt he was holding. Azrael's wrist crashed into a heavily-powered iron bar, and there was a dull noise. 'Tuck!' He missed yet another slash as his face twisted in.

Quickly grasping at his waist, Carl gave himself strength to push him over. Azrael's back and head hit the floor.

Carl threw his fist over his head. Every time his fist hit Azrael's face, there was the sound of hitting the torn leather. The joints of his fingers felt Azrael's hard jawbone and hot blood.

The pace of Carl hitting Azrael's face gradually slowed down. He soon stretched his arms helplessly. Only their harsh breathing sound was left in the bathroom.

All of their muscles were trembling. The steam rose like a mist over Carl's nude body.

"Ah! Crack! "

Azrael laughed, twisting his disheveled face. Carl stared at him with a grotesque smile. His blue eyes were as clear as ever.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Don't you laugh when you're all n.a.k.e.d and on top of me?"

"Crazy boy!"

Carl raised himself up. He flopped down on a chair beside the fire. They were not like those who fought for each other's necks until just now. The tension between the two disappeared.

"When did you start?"

"Where should I begin? It was from the beginning."

Carl smiled with a look of despondency.

"You're not going to kill me? I was going to kill you when I was given the orders from Arya."

"False. If you really tried to kill me, you shouldn't have told me not to forgive you."

'If you really wanted to kill Carl, you'd better find another way. You can drug his food, stab his heart while he's sleeping. The way to have a direct armed conflict with Carl was by no means a good choice.'

They learned together under the same sword master. There might be some differences, but they were not so different as to have one-sided dominance. If he had kept his mouth shut and wielded his sword instead of saying sorry, he could have done at least a great deal of damage, if not killed Carl in a single shot.

Azrael struggled to pull himself up and leaned his back against the wall near him.

"I would have lost it if I wielded a sword without saying anything. The king recognizes you as quickly as he can live."

His words made Carl laugh with a hard face.

"Why today? I've been around for fifteen years."

"I don't know. For fifteen years, you've been leaving me alone, and I thought they'd forget about me... I completely forgot the reason why I had to stay with you."

"Crazy bastard."

Carl was now desperate for alcohol.

"Your Majesty the Prince, remember that day. In the Battle of Calfion Plains…"

"You can't forget it."

It was a battle with the Fury Zone tribe. The Fury Zone was only a small tribe, but their men, women, and children were all warriors who could fight with swords regardless of age. War against this kind was terribly difficult.

The battle was fierce every day. Carl wielded his sword, tangled to the point where it was difficult to distinguish between friend and foe. They had to fight with their thin lips in celebration of blood. In the battle, Carl went back and forth beyond count. His guardians also declined in number.

Even waking up in days and nights of fighting was a daunting day. His mind was half blown away when it was mechanically wielding a sword.

"Today will be the last day of this battle."

It was when I felt positive that the battle would end in a victory for our troops.

"The Lord!"

Azrael's voice sounded like a scream. Looking back, Azrael was looking up at himself with a full smile.

"Azrael."

Azrael vomited a mouthful of blood and then crouched down and fell. His back was struck with a hatchet.

"Azrael!"

Carl, screaming his name, slashed the neck of the man wielding a sword at Azrael.

The battle was barely over, but Azrael was unable to come to his senses. The doctor shook his head when he saw the deep wound in his back. Their words of 'preparing for death' filled Carl with grief and anger.

"You useless people. If you don't save Azrael, I'll rip your heads off of your bodies."

Despite Carl's threats, they found no other way. Fortunately, he was able to save his life with the help of a therapist who was miraculously close to him.

"It's the day you saved my life."

Azrael burst out laughing and immediately made an impression as to whether his mouth was torn.

"I often wished I hadn't met the old priest that day."

"Good. If it weren't for that old man, you'd have left for the afterlife that day."

"I wish I had. Then at least he could have died from his own brother," said Carl with a solemn face.

"You're still my close friend. It's the way it's going to be."

He hoped his true heart would be conveyed to him.

"You're too slow. That's what you're saying. Who do you think was the one who wielded a sword against you just now?"

Azrael seized the pillar and raised himself. Maybe he hurt his ankle in the fight with Carl, but he walked by dragging his left leg. He walked toward the sword he had dropped. Carl closed his eyes when he saw him pick up the sword.

"You said the last words of Queen Isabel were 'don't trust anyone'."

"..."

"Cough, cough—you have to listen well to your mother."

He spoke in a voice mixed with grotesque groans, neither laughing nor crying. Carl opened his eyes slowly. Azrael was already standing in front of himself. Tears welled up in the eyes of Carl, who smiled with a muddled face.

"I don't trust anyone."

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