Gron held up his good hand defensively, his eyes widening. "Whoa, whoa, kid! Calm down. I don't need or want an audience with your brother. I'm not trying to use you to climb the military ranks."
Legend frowned, the anger draining away, replaced by confusion. "You're not?"
"No," Gron sighed, leaning forward. "But... it would be a lie if I said I wasn't curious. I mean, I know of your father, Mr. Hinamoto. Everyone does. He is a legendary Swordmaster, right? And he personally trained your brother, Ludver, to be a monster on the battlefield."
Legend crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "I'll be blunt with you, Gron. Knowing Ludver, or even being trained by my father, isn't enough to just 'become strong.' If it was that simple, I would already be a powerhouse. But I'm not. I'm just the disappointment of the Hinamoto family."
Gron winced at the raw pain in the boy's voice. He decided to pivot the conversation to the actual, slightly embarrassing reason he had brought it up.
"Look, I believe you," Gron said, coughing awkwardly. "I just... well, since you are his brother, I wanted to know if the rumors floating around the capital were true. Is Ludver really in a secret relationship with Lady Silva?"
Legend blinked. He stared at the giant, battle-hardened warrior sitting in his room, asking for high-society gossip like an old tavern maid.
"Lady Silva?" Legend repeated, utterly baffled.
"Yeah! The rumors say they're secretly engaged!"
Legend let out a sharp, genuine snort of laughter. It was the first time he had smiled since Prina's death.
"Absolutely not," Legend shook his head, a faint smirk on his face. "Trust me, Gron. My brother is a battle-obsessed maniac who only cares about his sword. I can guarantee you with absolute certainty: my brother doesn't even know who Lady Silva is."
"Ah... I see," Gron muttered, looking slightly disappointed but relieved. "I figured as much. The rumors in the barracks are usually garbage anyway."
Silence settled over the room again, but this time, it wasn't suffocating. It was strangely comfortable. The ice had been broken.
Gron looked at the young swordsman. He knew the pain of losing comrades, and he knew how dangerous it was for a soldier to bottle up that kind of grief.
"Thanks for indulging me, kid," Gron said softly, his voice full of genuine warmth. "And listen... if you ever need to talk. About your brother, about the war... or about Prina. I'm right here. I've got your back."
Legend looked away, staring back out the window at the swirling white fog. His eyes softened, though he stubbornly refused to show any weakness.
"You don't have to act like that, Gron," Legend muttered quietly. "You don't need to force yourself to be the considerate older brother."
"I'm not forcing anything," Gron replied simply, standing up from the chair. "Just remember what I said."
As Gron left the room, closing the door softly behind him, Legend was left alone with his thoughts. The crushing weight on his chest felt just a tiny fraction lighter.
Ludver... Legend thought, looking down at his own calloused hands. I don't just need to surpass Arthur. If I want to survive this war and save her, I have to surpass my brother, too.