The Wind Calms the Fire - Chapter 62

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 62
“The window is closed now, and there’s no breeze anywhere. I created the wind with a spirit’s help. Don’t you find such power appealing?”
Carrion puzzled over what use such strength could possibly have, then understanding flashed across his face. “The forest fire. You stopped it?”
“Was that your doing, Your Highness?”
Rhea merely smiled without speaking.
“…How extraordinary.”
Everything she had accomplished came back to him in sequence.
She could slip into the garrison commander’s residence unnoticed by anyone, venture into the forest at midnight to find him.
Even when tracking someone from a distance, she left no trace and made not a sound.
Perhaps this woman was far stronger than he’d imagined.
He had meant to boast of the results he’d obtained through days of Spirit Communication, but his courage wavered.
Compared to her, his own abilities seemed painfully meager.
He would have to keep silent until he’d achieved something of real substance.
“Because it’s a Wind Spirit, there are many things I can do, but there are limits too. Fire can accomplish what wind cannot. I hope you’ll discover that power within yourself and draw it out.”
He felt the sincerity in her words.
Who else in all the world could wish so desperately for his growth?
No one had before, and no one would again.
“And don’t think you can behave like a prince with a spirit. Remember always that you are merely human.”
Carrion burst out laughing.
He seemed broken somehow, to crave more of her unfettered candor.
He extended his hand to Rhea.
She gazed at it for a moment, then slowly offered her own.
The instant their fingertips met, his hand closed around hers with eager intensity.
“Had you not been here, I would be dead or mad. You are my savior, and I shall never forget it so long as I draw breath.”
Rhea felt awkward accepting his gratitude, knowing that she herself had created the circumstances that nearly cost him his life.
He bowed his head and brought his lips to the back of her hand.
When the lingering kiss ended and he lifted his gaze, their eyes met—and Rhea’s heart plummeted into her chest.
Impossible as it was, he seemed to be seducing her.
“I have an immodest request.”
“Yes…”
“If I can bear it no longer, might I scale the wall and knock at your door in the dead of night?”
Of course he meant the Spirit Rampage, but the way he’d phrased it—omitting that detail—made it sound laden with suggestion.
Rhea wanted to laugh carelessly and answer, “Of course.”
Instead, feeling the strange tension that hovered between them, she whispered, “Yes,” almost as though confessing something.
That evening, after Rhea and the people of Zephyros had all departed, in his study.
Carrion covered the documents that refused to hold his attention.
The sprawling manor could have accommodated a dozen people coming and going without any sign, yet it felt oddly hollow.
He drew a small Silver Box from a drawer.
When he opened it and wound the mechanism, the flint inside interlocked to produce sparks—Premium Flint, refined and true.
After his first communion with the spirit, he’d mulled over how to draw out its power, and the thought of this flint had come to him.
A simple notion: since the spirit’s nature was fire, he ought to work with objects that produced flame.
And that simple notion proved surprisingly correct.
He turned the mechanism while muttering.
“Pyres.”
The spark needs kindling held ready to catch it, or the flame vanishes at once.
But now, the spark that should have disappeared became a bean-sized ember, burning steady at his fingertip.
When he waved his fingers and the small flame clung to them, moving smoothly, Carrion grinned to himself.
‘Has it grown larger?’
At first it had been no bigger than a millet seed.
Seeing such clear progress delighted him, and he couldn’t abandon the practice.
Though the nightmares that plagued him daily were torment.
“Pyres.”
Heat writhed within his belly.
‘Speak truly. Answer honestly.’
The spirit’s energy stirred again.
The greatest gain from the flint training was how much smoother his communion with the spirit had become.
He’d learned to sense roughly what the spirit was saying through the Spirit Energy moving within him.
It wasn’t exceptional yet—more like conversing with a child.
‘Is it you who’s tormenting me with these dreams every night?’
The spirit denied it.
‘Then this has nothing to do with you at all?’
The Spirit’s response was ambiguous. It could be true, or it could be false, or—it felt like deliberate evasion.
‘The more I train like this, communicating with you and drawing out the power of fire, does it relate to what I dream of?’
The Spirit affirmed.
‘The more I communicate with you and work to channel fire’s strength, the more familiar with it I become, and the stronger I grow?’
The Spirit affirmed emphatically. It almost sounded like it was crying out with joy: ‘Exactly that!’
‘Is that dream a kind of rite of passage? Or is it an unavoidable side effect that comes with pursuing the goal?’
The Spirit affirmed lukewarmly—as if saying it wasn’t the exact answer, but close enough.
‘If I stop doing this, the dreams will stop too?’
The Spirit fell silent.
‘Formes. You promised to be honest.’
The Spirit affirmed reluctantly.
Carrion exhaled deeply.
‘So I have to endure these dreams my whole life if I want to cultivate Spirit Energy…….’
The Spirit urgently denied it.
‘Not my whole life?’
The Spirit’s warm energy swirled and spiraled as if speaking at length, though no words reached him.
He could sense the Spirit’s desire to explain, even if its meaning remained beyond his grasp.
‘Is it possible that once I reach a certain level, the dreams stop? Like a stage I have to overcome?’
The Spirit affirmed.
‘Hmm.’
Then there’s nothing for it.
It was shameful to cast her in these lustful dreams unbidden, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault, was it?
His heart felt a little lighter.
* * *
Wolgye Garden—the secondary palace of the Southwest Commander-in-Chief, the Second Prince.
The moment the Second Prince Reyburn received the Assembly Edict from the Emperor’s Council, he came rushing to the Capital, yet he failed to arrive on time.
Days after the fact, he learned of the incident that had transpired, and he sighed.
“It’s unfortunate I wasn’t there when something finally happened in the Imperial Palace.”
Reyburn spent half the year in the Capital during the social season, and the other half in the Southwest.
Unlike Carrion, he did not diligently make the rounds through every corner of the Southwest.
He spent most of his time in Jarkan, the tributary state that was his mother’s birthplace, and merely received reports from officers he stationed in each garrison.
“Continental Unification, no less. How glorious a prize Father has seized. I wager he feels as though he might fly off the ground itself.”
Reyburn spoke with a snickering smile, but beneath the surface his insides churned.
Among the Emperor’s five sons, only two had distinguished themselves in martial prowess: the Second Prince and the Fourth Prince.
And the two of them had taken on the Commander-in-Chief positions of the Northeast and Southwest respectively.
Save for their comparable height and build, the Second and Fourth Princes differed in many ways.
Reyburn, with his rust-colored hair verging on red, was bold and impulsive.
He needed to play the role of leader in any gathering to satisfy his nature, and his competitive spirit burned fierce.
Carrion was his opposite in most respects.
That the two understood neither each other nor how to get along was inevitable.
The rivalry of childhood had transformed into a hunger for power as they aged.
Reyburn believed himself ahead of Carrion in the race.
‘So much for that pretense of nobility—and here he shows his true colors.’
“That Zephyros princess—is she really as beautiful as they say?”
The secretary glanced cautiously before answering.
“I did not see her myself, Your Highness.”
Reyburn smiled crookedly.
“Well, of course. If I want to know what happened that day, I’ll have to run around myself—all the men I left here are complete fools.”
The secretary’s already-bowed head sank lower still.
“The Zephyros princess and the Fourth Prince are both absent from the Capital?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And the First Prince?”
“He is currently hosting a small gathering, Your Highness.”
Reyburn rose as he spoke.
“Since I’m back in the Capital after so long, I may as well go pay my respects.”
Enoch had invited some twenty nobles to a modest reception.
“It’s pure nonsense, surely. There’s no reason the First Prince should take interest in the princess of such a minor state.”
One of Enoch’s retainers—a nobleman in his inner circle—earnestly protested the rumors spreading through court.
Enoch, though the subject of the conversation, laughed it off with perfect ease.
Getting defensive now would only deepen suspicion.
Yet the truth was, he was unsettled.
Ever since the day the Fourth Prince had taken Princess Zephyros away, something had lodged itself in his chest—a lingering, inexplicable unease that wouldn’t lift.
‘Insolent thing.’
Humiliated by a princess of some minor kingdom.
That arrogant woman had clearly known exactly who he was when she spoke such disrespect.
Had the plan succeeded and the desert kingdom fallen, her pride would have shattered completely.
Yet something troubled him still.
That woman’s face—the way she’d held his gaze and spoken her reckless words—kept surfacing unbidden in his mind.
The image of her being led away docilely in the Fourth Prince’s grip only kindled his irritation further.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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