WeTried Translations x Flame Comics
Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 157: Side ep. Shaving the Beard, And. (1)
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Enrika had to work late again today. She had been suddenly saddled with four classes, eighteen credits in total, all in a single week. Today marked the start of her second month of overtime.
This country did not even offer overtime pay, a truly appalling violation of human rights. (Vampires were not guaranteed basic rights. Krasilov also had no such thing as labor rights.)
Covering another person’s classes was easy enough for someone with her experience, but the curriculum was the problem. If someone was going to leave their lectures to another person, shouldn’t they at least leave a syllabus or course materials behind?
“First, I have to turn him into one of my kind.”
This was not something she could give up on. It would solve so many problems at once. If he kept getting out of line, one Elder’s Command would settle it. He would have to stay active only at night for a while, which would also give her a reason to confine him to his residence during the day.
Solving the issue of his lifespan would only be a minor benefit.
“Maybe I should’ve done it when he was younger. Ugh, that beard really was...”
Once someone became a vampire, most bodily functions stopped. Hair growth was one of them. If she had taken care of him while his face was still smooth, he would never have even thought of growing a beard.
She held back because if she forcibly grabbed him and shaved him now, her odds of winning seemed no better than fifty-fifty.
“I can supply the blood packs, and he’ll stay a Nightwalker for about two hundred years, so if I raise him properly from the start... Hup.”
Enrika wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth. Then, restoring her cold, deadly expression, she finished preparing for class with her hands moving much more lightly.
Some time later, Enrika stretched her stiff shoulders and shuddered as they cracked.
“Good. Perfect. Once finals are over, it’ll finally... finally be over...”
“If Saint Yansk University had just one more professor as diligent as me, it would be renowned as the finest institution in the world,” Enrika thought, tears welling in her eyes. (She had skipped two-thirds of her classes last semester.)
-Knock, knock.
“Leave it outside the door.”
“No.”
With that curt reply, the professor’s office door flew open.
“Eek?!”
“Have you been well?”
Enrika spun around at the familiar voice.
Clang!
The teacup in her hand rolled across the floor. Coffee soaked the class materials she had just prepared, but she did not even have time to care.
“Uh... Huh...? Why...?”
“What is it?”
“Why...?”
Enrika’s pupils widened. The sudden shock made her head reel.
Watching her, Ivan briefly reflected that time was lethal even to vampires. It was astonishing that not even the vampire plague could cure dementia.
Shouldn’t long-lived races naturally have strong resistance to aging? Then again, vampires were still based on human brains. Perhaps more than two hundred years was simply too much for them.
“Ivan... You...?”
“Mm.”
“Are you, are you all right...? Huh...? Ah...??”
Clear drool ran down from the corner of Enrika’s mouth. Ivan frowned and took a step back.
“Your beard...?!”
At her words, Ivan instinctively stroked the spot where his beard had been, then lowered his empty hand.
He silently nodded.
“It was a royal command.”
“At last!!!! I believed in you, Elise!!!”
Side ep. Shaving the Beard, And.
This happened while Ivan was lying in the most lavish guest room at the Palais de Royale, receiving dedicated treatment from priests.
Due to terrible exhaustion and a lack of calories, Ivan passed out several times a day. This went beyond a matter of willpower, so even he could not anticipate or prepare for it.
Every time he woke up, he had the strange experience of finding that the nursing staff had changed.
“So, Brother, want to hear what I did back then? Listen. ‘That isn’t a count!!’ Man, the Status Window was insane, right?”
“Mm.”
Eugene would come by, chatter nonstop for a while, then leave.
“You never visited me once when I was hurt, but look at me coming here. Do you finally understand how generous I am?”
“Mm.”
“Even I’m someone who needs visiting! See this? My arm almost got cut off here!”
Then there was Isabelle, who bragged about her injuries like medals before eventually leaving without doing anything.
“Uncle, lift your leg. I’ll change your bandages.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Tch, stay still! Do you know how many of my uncles’ bandages I’ve changed?”
Aesidis removed the splint while trying to change his bandages, tore open the wound instead, then ran away with tears in her eyes. (The Droan Huscarls tended to forgive her no matter what she did.)
“Krasilov is cold, right?”
“Mm.”
“Kallion is warm all year round. Even winter is only a little chilly. That’s by human standards, of course. For elves, it’s just a clear day.”
“...?”
Elves were a race that felt the cold easily. Ivan did not bother questioning her, but he had no choice but to deduct points from Elphihara’s basic knowledge.
Kallion was warm not because of its latitude, but because of magic. Vast ancient spells were scattered across the entire archipelago, making the temperature itself more favorable to elves.
“You know you need to stay warm in winter, right? Especially when you’re injured. Mm-hm. Ah, don’t look this way.”
For some reason, Elphihara kept staring at the floor as she spoke. After saying what she wanted to say, she left. It was quite useless as either nursing or a sick visit.
She would have been better off training or treating the injuries she had sustained in battle.
When the visitors did not stop coming, Ivan finally had to call for a servant. A No Visitors sign was placed outside his room.
The next time he passed out, he closed his eyes with some relief, thinking that at least he would wake in peace.
“...”
He did wake up in peace. The countless people in the room had their backs turned toward him, facing the walls without daring to make even a sound.
“Sniff... Hic...”
The ruler of Krasilov did not show tears to anyone beneath God.
Ivan had to understand why the servants had not stopped this visitor. How could they stop the person who held the greatest power in the country at that moment?
“...Your Highness?”
“Hic... Ngh...”
Elizaveta sat beside his bed, quietly sobbing. At Ivan’s words, she raised her head, caught her breath, and spoke.
“Does it still hurt...? The priest could not determine the cause. If even the slightest thing goes wrong with you, I swear that priest’s life will be forfeit that very day.”
“It is not that. I am fine.”
Ivan knew his condition more clearly than anyone. When injuries passed a certain threshold, the human body shut down unnecessary functions so it could focus on healing.
It was the same kind of technique as disabling certain sensory organs to concentrate during battle.
His body had nearly reached its limit, and he occasionally lost consciousness for reasons beyond his control. Still, this was a symptom he should take as a positive sign. It meant his body still had enough strength left to attempt healing.
“Is that so? Then... yes. I will believe you, Vanka. As I always have.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Fortunately, after hearing Ivan’s explanation, Elizaveta quietly nodded.
“Of course, I always believe you, and I am always betrayed.”
“...Yes, Your Highness.”
“And yet I find myself believing you again. Strange, isn’t it? Like a wife with a gambling husband. He won’t do it tomorrow. He’ll be better the day after. Believing that, being betrayed every single day...”
“...Pardon?”
Fortunately, Elizaveta’s face was hidden in shadow as she lowered her head.
“I called you in because it pained me to see you retire and grow old alone, and then you start returning half-dead every quarter. You take care of tasks nobody asked you to handle, then make that smug face like, ‘I did it for Krasilov.’”
Her quiet whisper gradually grew harsher.
“It was cute, but at least do it safely. I do not dislike it, but you still have to come back in one piece... Now I am even receiving reports that you have died...”
“I personally ordered Pavel confined to quarters.”
The adjutant had mistakenly reported that the commander was dead, so being punished with only confinement was an exceptionally generous measure. Ivan confidently raised his head.
“The one I wish to confine is not that fool, but you!”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Ivan lowered his head somewhat dejectedly.
“You ignore every last one of my very small requests! If nothing else, yes, if nothing else, your beard! Even if it was only a little... I told you to tidy it just a little!”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“See! Even when I say this, you boldly say no! Wait, wait! What...? What did you say?”
“I will obey Your Highness’s command.”
Ivan answered calmly.
His life was not simply about spending his days remembering the heroes of the past. He was not merely imitating and following those who had once stood beside him. The time he had spent with them was itself what made up his life.
After sending Gilles Ver away, Ivan had barely come to understand that. He decided he would no longer be bound by regrets over those who had passed on.
He had to move forward. He had to become better than this. The Hero Party was not ready yet, and the world was not kind to any of us.
Besides, beards were difficult to maintain and bad for hygiene. If not for his respect for the late king, he would never have considered growing one in the first place.
So this was for the best, especially when the late king’s only blood relative was the one demanding it.
“Is anyone there?! Bring me a sharp blade at once!!”
Elizaveta sprang to her feet and shouted, her face full of excitement. When a flustered royal guard officer offered her the sword at their waist, she smacked them and had a razor brought instead.
Ivan watched his beard fall away in swishing clumps and closed his eyes bitterly.
It felt like graduating from long-held memories.
* * *
The journey to Krasilov was peaceful. It could not have been otherwise. Anyone in their right mind would not pick a fight with an army led by the ruler of Krasilov (furious).
Since they were traveling by train, magic bandits should have appeared at least once, as they always did on academy return trains. Yet Ivan was able to enjoy a peaceful train ride with an unfamiliar sense of comfort.
The one thing he found difficult to endure was Elizaveta’s behavior.
“Now, Vanka. Open your mouth.”
“Your Highness. I have hands...”
“Good.”
Where had she even obtained apples in this season? And why was there always someone trying to slice apples for him whenever he was lying around wrapped in bandages?
Lost in those questions, Ivan crunched through the apple that had been placed in his mouth without warning.
Elizaveta nodded vigorously, looking pleased.
“Good. Chew thoroughly. You could choke if you just swallow it.”
“Your Highness, I am not a child.”
“Weren’t you?”
“...?”
Ivan was briefly at a loss for words at the remark from his liege, who was almost eight lifetimes younger than him. Elizaveta’s eyes, though, were utterly serious.
“You do everything you are told not to do. You leave and come back beaten from somewhere. You get injured and collapse at the slightest thing. You would rather die than contact home. How is that different from a child? I have used the Krasilov language for many years, but I know no other word for it.”
“In my dictionary, that is called a soldier.”
“Ha ha, what a joke. If you were only a soldier, you would be court-martialed.”
Elizaveta laughed brightly with no amusement in her eyes.
When Ivan suddenly tried to sit up with a shiver, a pale hand swiftly pressed his forehead down, forcing him to lie back.
“Are you uncomfortable somewhere? You may tell me. Is my lap uncomfortable? For the record, if that is your answer, it will constitute an offense against the crown.”
“No, Your Highness.”
“Ha ha, good. What a good boy.”
Ivan was currently lying down wrapped in bandages and splints all over his body. His ribs, left upper arm, and both legs had been thoroughly smashed.
Ordinarily, it would be difficult to move at all, but Ivan was a superhuman. As long as mana functioned, a superhuman could force their body to move without much difficulty.
With enough training, one could keep moving as long as their neck had not been cut off. Treatment on this level was therefore excessive medical care.
It was enough to worry about inflated insurance premiums. (Krasilov had no insurance services.)
“Now then, would you like more water, or would you like more apples?”
“I am fine.”
Ivan lay with his head on the lap of Krasilov’s Iron-Blooded Ruler, quietly sighing as he looked out the train window.
“What is there that I cannot do for you? Tell me anything.”
Elizaveta smiled warmly as she stroked Ivan’s smooth cheek. Not daring to brush away her hand, Ivan simply squeezed his eyes shut in loyal obedience.
The servant traveling with them turned away, not daring to witness the sovereign making such a spectacle. As a reminder, disrespecting the crown was better than death. Watching that made them feel sick enough to die.
The train arrived safely in Krasilov.
The moment Ivan disembarked, he was dragged away and confined in the royal palace infirmary. Since Elizaveta was his jailer, he could not even attempt an escape.
Every day, he was fed piles of strange salads containing eel, oysters, all kinds of nuts, celery, and garlic.
Only after devoting a full month to treatment was he officially able to return. His official position was not Commander of the Counterintelligence Command, but professor, so he headed to the university the next day.
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Footnotes:
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