Chapter 64: The House of Severans

Maeve was still trying to make sense of the coat. Marcellus had been the one who died, he was the one who had been stabbed through the heart, left bleeding on the runway, and yet, after everything that had happened...he chose drape his coat over her as if she were the one who needed to be looked after.

’...’ A lot had transpired within past hours for her to act surprised at a gesture like this. Her fingers curled around the lapels. The coat was certainly warm for someone who had been standing in the rain.

Marcellus stood beside her in a blood stained shirt. His shirt had a sharp streak of hole in the front, and at the back.

He was looking elsewhere. The enormous walls of swirling wind around the airfield of Tatsumisaki began unravelling.

Air thinned and scattered into gusts that swept across what was left of the runway before fading entirely.

The rain had stopped moments ago, but thunder still rolled over the island. They illuminated the clouds in brief flashes of bluish white.

The airfield lamps shone once again against the damp floor. Their reflections stretched far, revealing the wreckage of vehicles, obliterated aircraft, or what was left of it from the sheer pressure of shadow blank.

People had been waiting as the walls of tornado dispersed.

Figures moved through the distant access road in organized columns. Medical personnel followed a team carrying their particular equipment. While the armed security spread out to secure the runway and the facilities of the airfield.

Their pace quickened when they saw what remained of the airfield.

Martin Cannel Severan. A man wearing a dark suit that stretched across his massive muscular frame. His shoulders were broad enough to make the men walking behind him look smaller by comparison, and his build gave the impression of tank in formal clothing.

He was completely bald, his fair skin of head reflected the clear light of the lamps. And a horizontal scar was casted on his neck.

His black eyes moved across the wreckage.

Behind him walked a man in a perfectly fitter three-piece suit. James Nesterov Severan.

He carried himself with a different vibe. His blue suit followed a regal, silhouette. Almost like a royal spectacle, with a monocle attached to a fine chain sat before one eye rather than hanging unused at his neck.

He was the one who broke the barrier of wind, while keeping the nails driven in the ridges intact as they could act as evidential material.

Finally, a third figure approached alongside the two senior officials.

Roan Rain Severan. Who looked comparatively ordinary. He wore a dark outfit without the sort of extravagant detailing. There was nothing particularly imposing about his face or build either.

A black peregrine falcon accompanied him. And the bird was more difficult to overlook. It had stayed close to him throughout the approach, occasionally sweeping above the others before circling back.

Now it descended through the thinning clouds and settled on his right shoulder with ease.

Roan Rain Severan was the heir of Rain branch family of Severans. But despite having a middle name, he had only ever used Roan Severan as his name.

It was an unofficial yet politically impeccable statement that despite being from a branch family, he’d been considered a prospective heir of the Severan’s main family.

Before anything, his eyes landed on Rafferty that laid unconscious on the ground alongside an unknown man.

"Young Master," Martin, meanwhile, had crossed the last stretch of the runway.

Marcellus looked at him. The man was humongous. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second was that he had arrived with enough personnel to make his evening considerably irritating.

"Are you injured?" Martin asked.

Marcellus glanced down at his shirt. The holes at the front and back were difficult to miss.

"Not anymore," Marcellus replied. "Apparently."

"You were stabbed...?" Martin’s black eyes settled on the torn fabric.

"Through the heart, yes." Marcellus replied.

There was a brief silence between them.

"I mean that man just stabbed me in the gut, I helped him push it to my heart," he added.

"..."

’That explanation does not help at all,’ Maeve thought

"Let the medical team examine you before anything else, Young Master," Martin pressed further.

"Hm," Marcellus considered the request.

"There’s no need," he then gestured at Maeve. "Besides I don’t think there’s anyone who excels in medics more than her."

’Huh?’ Maeve looked at him.

She knew about as much medicine as the average person would know what to take for fever. Perhaps even less. Considering she had never been particularly interested in the subject.

But she understood the intention well.

"I wouldn’t know how to treat him, Marshal." She told Martin. "But if he needs an examination could we arrange it at the Oroshi Yama instead? One of your medical officers can accompany us if necessary."

{a/n: The Oroshi Yama, is a mountain Shrine, turned into a resort, a private residence of the heir of Severan’s main family.}

Martin appeared to consider the proposal. His gaze lingered on the holes in Marcellus’s shirt before moving to the medical team.

"If you’re comfortable, I’ll send one of my best medical teams at your residence Young Master. But just in case, I’ll have one officer accompany you for now."

He then moved to his medical team.

"Have one officer accompany them. I want a preliminary scan complete during the journey, and full examination as soon as they reach the Main House."

"Yes, Marshal."

"And inform all authorities, branches, and sectors of Tatsumisaki. From here on, the land of Tatsumisaki in under a lockdown."

"Thank you, Marshal." Maeve bowed a little, clutching her overcoat.

Martin gave a short nod, and she stepped forward, guiding Marcellus around him before another official could keep them there.

But they had barely taken a few steps when someone entered their path.

A young man stood at a short distance ahead. He had a black falcon perched on his right shoulder, and its feathers were slightly damp.

"Been a while, hasn’t it, brot---"

Marcellus took in a deep breath as he stopped in front of the man. Roan furrowed his brows, that wasn’t a reaction he was expecting.

"As you can see, I’ve had a rather long evening. If this isn’t urgent, could we do this another time?" Marcellus said.

"Oh..." Roan raised his brows, and nodded. "Alright," he then gestured, stepping aside with a smile.

"Appreciate it."

Marcellus walked past him. They had barely gone a few steps when Roan spoke again.

"You there. A moment." He said, looking at Maeve.

"Is...something wrong, Young Master Roan?" She asked.

"Nothing serious." Roan’s gaze briefly travelled over her. "But I do have a small concern regarding your appearance."

Maeve blinked.

"You’re not off the lands of Tatsumisaki now. You’re accompanying the heir of the Main House. Your attire reflects on him, whether you intend it to or not.

"...I see," She replied cautiously.

"One you’re back at your residence, you should change into something more appropriate. There are standards expected of the people who serve the Main House---"

"Are you the heir to the Main House?" Marcellus asked, stopping Roan.

For a moment, he seemed to wonder whether he’d heard correctly, and then he turned to Marcellus.

"No," he answered.

"Then if I don’t mind what my people wear, I don’t see why anyone else should have a say in it."

Maeve went still. Roan Rain Severan was next in line to Marcellus for Candidacy.

Despite being the youngest awakener to fall under world’s top hundred rankings, the only thing that stops Roan from being heir of main house is his background. And it’s known throughout the branches and council of elders that Roan had stopped using his middle name Rain a long time ago.

Indirectly indicating that he’ll be the heir, considering Marcellus’s position has always been at risk due to his non combatant aspect.

For Marcellus, the question might have been driven towards authority, but for Roan, it was like questioning his all life and efforts.

Roan’s smile remained, though it had become a little harder to maintain.

"I was merely pointing out the standards expected of those who represent the Main House. It isn’t a matter of personal preference."

"I hate when the environment around me is strictly controlled to the point that those around me cannot even wear clothes of their preferences. And I don’t see a problem here, we’re all doing wonderfully here, right?" Marcellus replied.

"Besides, if clothes were all it took to represent a person. I’d say..." Then he pointed at Niccolo, who was being questioned by James, regarding the incident.

"He could very well be a world ranker pretending to be a mere Union Agent, who knows?"

"..." Niccolo pointed at himself mid conversation. ’I am...though?’ he thought.

"..." Roan looked at Marcellus for a second.

"I meant no offence." He said.

"None taken."