The Wind Calms the Fire - Chapter 66

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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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Episode 66
4th Prince’s Residence in District 3.
In the open ground behind the estate, two bare-chested men were engaged in an intense bout of Martial Arts.
One of them had a distinctly larger frame, yet his opponent was hardly inferior in strength or technique.
With heavy, labored breathing, their bodies collided head-on.
As Luke pressed forward with the advantage of his bulk, Carrion lowered his center of gravity and absorbed the impact.
Luke seized the base of Carrion’s neck and applied crushing force; his arm swelled with tremendous power, veins rising like cords beneath the skin.
Just before his neck could snap, Carrion shifted his weight and drove himself up through Luke’s armpit.
Dust erupted in all directions.
With each footfall, the ground buckled beneath them.
Their muscular torsos, slick with sweat and glistening in the light, were like carved stone.
A loose circle of onlookers had gathered round, watching their lord and commander trade blows.
Some stood on one leg; others sat.
“His Highness lacks the commander’s raw strength, but his technique is remarkable.”
“It’s his flexibility, really.”
“True enough—the commander’s a bit rigid, wouldn’t you say?”
Their murmured conversation carried an easy, relaxed tone.
They bore no resemblance to knights of the Northeast Commander’s Direct Guard Unit, an order renowned for ironclad discipline.
Cedric appeared from behind.
The knights straightened their posture without a word.
In the moment Carrion caught sight of him and glanced away, Luke seized his chance.
“Uaaaaaaah!”
Luke wrapped one arm around Carrion’s neck and clamped his other hand on his ribs, then twisted hard.
Thud!
Carrion’s back slammed into the earth with a thunderous crack.
“Much obliged,” Luke said with a grin, extending his hand.
Carrion took it and pulled himself up.
His eyes turned toward the approaching Cedric.
“Your Highness. The Empress sent a messenger.”
Carrion unfolded the document Cedric handed him and kept walking.
It was a notification: the engagement date and venue had been set.
“Nothing from the Barrel Residence?”
“Nothing, Your Highness.”
He posed the same question daily and received the same answer.
‘I suppose I won’t see her until the ceremony. Still two weeks away.’
Was she well?
Her image flickered before his eyes constantly. This was undoubtedly a Withdrawal Symptom.
Lately, he would bolt upright in bed, pacing the bedside and deliberating whether he should actually scale the wall.
The only thing stopping him was the certainty that, in his current state, slipping into her bedchamber at night would cause real trouble.
He had to endure it for her sake.
For all the Empire’s high society prided itself on liberal customs, it harbored equally strict, contradictory standards.
No matter how frequently unmarried men and women met in secret, if such affairs became public knowledge, it amounted to social annihilation.
According to Veronica Velua, she was actively invested in her social standing. Her reputation needed guarding.
Carrion entered the bathing chamber to wash.
He turned the handle and stood beneath cold water, instinctively glancing downward.
Even after exerting himself so thoroughly, his condition had not subsided.
These days he endured nightmares nightly, and their effect showed no sign of waning.
The immediate desire for release was absent, but he remained in a state of perpetual readiness, as it were.
Hardly dignified—like a beast in rut.
At least he had grown accustomed enough that it no longer hindered his movement. Small mercy.
How had his body come to this? He sighed.
When the attending servant mentioned needing to let out the waistband of his trousers, he felt a flicker of shame.
He did know the solution, in truth.
If he abandoned his nightly Spirit Training, the body’s excitement would calm.
Yet he could not abandon it—and not merely from interest in the practice itself.
He could not deny that under the guise of Spirit Training, he was indulging in the chaos of his dreams.
Without warning, the thought occurred: ‘Perhaps once more?’ But the sound of knights entering the bathing chamber startled him.
‘Madness,’ he muttered.
He lifted his face to the cascade of water and scrubbed roughly with both hands.

‘Have I lost all sense of shame?’
In the past, he would never have entertained such a thought—pleasuring himself in a place where anyone might walk in at any moment.
He sensed, dimly, that he was different from before, yet he couldn’t quite put his finger on what had changed.
He washed quickly and entered his study, scanning the day’s invitations.
Ever since receiving the Emperor’s gift, invitations had poured in relentlessly.
Before the Official Social Season began in earnest, small gatherings were being held throughout the Capital.
In the past, he would have tossed them straight into the fireplace without a second glance.
Now he examined each invitation carefully and made it a point to attend at least one gathering a day.
‘I promised Veronica I would change.’
Even setting that promise aside, attending these gatherings proved unexpectedly worthwhile.
Casual conversation with people was far less pointless than he’d imagined.
There was a certain entertainment in watching them respond to his every quip as if he’d just delivered the wittiest joke in all the world.
He had developed certain criteria for selecting which invitations to accept.
First, no late-night gatherings with obvious entertainment purposes.
Second, no private dinner invitations to private residences.
And third, he made a point of attending any gathering where Titus Barrel, the head of the Imperial Ceremony Hall, was likely to appear.
Carrion held two invitations for today, lost in thought.
Both were hosted by one of the Capital’s most prestigious social clubs.
Such formal gatherings of noble men alone were rare enough that one of the two would almost certainly include Titus Barrel.
‘Which one, I wonder.’
He laid both invitations side by side on his desk, then flicked his fingers.
Flames erupted between his fingers.
A ball of fire the size of a finger joint wavered at his fingertips.
He regarded the fire he’d conjured without flint with quiet satisfaction.
He had paid the price of his body in heat to obtain this flame.
Though he didn’t yet know its practical applications, what mattered was that it grew stronger each day.
Someday, he would wield Fire Spirit Magic as freely as she did.
‘Pomes. You choose.’
The fireball launched from his hand hovered above the invitations.
Left? Or right?
As if deliberating, the flame wavered back and forth between the two before dropping onto one of the invitations.
“This has to be the one. Otherwise, there’s no training tonight.”
The spirit bounced indignantly inside his belly.
He chuckled. Teasing the spirit was oddly entertaining.
Carrion quickly tossed the expanding-hole invitation into the fireplace.
The invitation blazed up rapidly, transforming into black ash.
He picked up the intact invitation and stood.
Fifty-fifty odds.
He hoped that at the gathering he attended, the master of the Barrel Residence would certainly be present.
This time, he would secure an invitation to the estate no matter what.
* * *
As he watched the carriage depart, Cedric tilted his head in puzzlement.
‘This is strange.’
Luke was consistently accompanying his lord to these social gatherings.
Had Cedric, being of common birth, attended such a closed gathering, he would have endured subtle contempt.
It was fortunate that Luke had volunteered as his lord’s attendant, sparing Cedric from having to go.
Yet Cedric felt puzzled rather than grateful.
‘Since when does he tolerate social gatherings?’
As he entered the residence, he passed Orbin coming out.
“I’m heading out for a bit.”
“Where to?”
“The Gold Vault Club.”
Cedric watched Orbin’s retreating back and murmured to himself.
‘He’s been frequenting the Gold Vault Club lately—has he been forgiven by his mother?’
He knew the story: Orbin had left a letter and run away to the Northeast.
As Cedric moved toward the office, the butler approached him.
“Master Cedric. The tailor has arrived. But His Highness is away. What shall we do?”
“It doesn’t matter that His Highness is absent. We can meet with them now.”
“Very well.”
The Empress had bestowed an Engagement Ceremony Dress upon Rhea, but Carrion had been informed only of the date and location.
His formal attire would need to be prepared specially.
Cedric knew the measurements required for its tailoring.
When Cedric handed over the measurement chart and commissioned the work, the tailor spoke with visible reluctance.
“The timeline is far too tight. If the ceremony is in a fortnight, the garment must be finished at least ten days from now…….”
“Deliver it to me the day before the ceremony.”
“Pardon? But then I cannot perform any interim alterations.”
“I won’t be fussy about precision. As long as it’s wearable, that will suffice. Only—use the finest fabric available.”
When the tailor heard the generous commission Cedric offered, he nodded without hesitation.
Returning to his office, he set about organizing the flood of invitations that had already arrived for the 4th Prince.
He felt an odd stirring in his chest.
In the past, invitations of this volume would never have accumulated, and even the few that did arrive, Carrion had never bothered to unfold.

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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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