Clues.
There were too many clues to ignore, and every one of them pointed toward the old man's true nature.
His red irises were the first.
They mirrored the eyes of Sophie and Lythian; and though the hue lacked their kind of brilliance, the lineage was unmistakable.
His build was also hard to miss.
The old yet lean muscle beneath his tunic was not the product of a simple life behind a plow or a fishing rod.
'Damn it. This old man's presence is so thin that it's making my skin crawl.'
The old man could also stand in plain sight and still disappear from notice unless he chose to open his mouth. That was not normal.
All that in mind, Seven was now convinced that despite the old man's age, he was probably superior to Eden, if not her equal.
Munch, munch.
He watched as the old man bit into a skewered catfish, and his expression remained a mask of indifference except for that same grin from earlier.
"A commander, you say…?"
The old man paused to chew thoroughly before swallowing.
"Interesting, but unlikely. Titles like that tend to cling to a man; they aren't easily washed off. I'm just a farmer who enjoys his time by the water."
"..."
Seven didn't push.
'If I hadn't found those potatoes back in the cabin, I might have actually believed him.'
More than anything, the potatoes were the biggest giveaway of his true identity.
He recalled the five wooden crates he had seen stored in the cabin back at the camp, on the day of his fated death, and each crate was chockablock with potatoes.
For a man claiming to be a simple potato farmer, the "coincidence" was far too convenient to dismiss.
Seconds of silence passed.
Seven knew that pushing further would only cause the old man to clam up— better to leave the seed where it was and pretend nothing had taken root.
He turned his attention back to the catfish in his hands.
The once slimy skin had been blackened by the coals of the twigs used as firewood. He studied it with caution, weighing its charred appearance against his hunger.
Munch.
He took a bite anyway.
"It looks suspicious, but it tastes fine."
Before he knew it, he was reaching for a second skewer.
The repeated and failed attempts to infuse zi into the rod had seemed to have drained him of energy; his body was now demanding fuel to compensate for the toll.
Munch, munch.
"Easy there, young lad. More people died with a full stomach than that of hunger."
The old man chuckled.
"Is the taste really that of your liking?"
"It's fine. It's a little salty, though."
"Ahaha! I had the same thought when I first tried them. But mark my words: the more you eat, the more you grow accustomed to it."
Seven ignored his words, thinking that much was obvious:
— Give a man a fish and he eats for a day; teach a man how to fish and he eats it every day.
"But effort deserves a reward, does it not, young lad? Even if you haven't caught anything in the past hour, I shall grant you one question in advance."
The old man placed the last skewer from his bucket onto the fire.
"Ask away."
Seven finished his last bite and stood up.
'...It's a trap.'
If he asked now, the answer would become a debt. It was a hook designed to keep him coming back to this riverbank for days, leaving him no room to retreat.
"What is your true identity, and what is your relationship with my oldest sister?"
Then again, he had never intended to back out anyway.
The pieces are already strange in and of themselves, making them too strange to ignore, especially the location.
Truth be told, when Seven had pretended to walk away and head back an hour ago, he was actually scouting the riverbank.
He had gathered enough evidence, that even when the old man claimed to have been fishing for a decade, there were no signs of long-term use, like the worn paths and such.
'He must've been waiting for me in this particular place.'
That means this old man hadn't come here to fish, but to wait for him to fall down the cliff.
"You asked for two answers, young lad. Tell me, which answer do you truly—?"
"What is your relationship with my oldest sister?"
Seven met the old man's gaze, unblinking.
"...Once."
The old man finished the last bite of the catfish and ruffled his hair, giving up the very notion of hiding his true identity— the young lad before him was throwing sharp questions.
"Your sister once walked a few steps behind me."
Seven nodded, his expression remaining a flat mask before he then turned away and walked back toward the riverbank.
Step, step.
"Oh-ooh. You won't even ask if I'm telling the truth?"
"I don't need to."
The old man watched him grip the rod once more.
Facing the river, Seven noticed the currents were growing violent, swirling in a way that would warn any among the sane fishermen to stay away.
His thoughts wandered.
Based on the novel, Eden's platoon had been redistributed among her younger siblings after she had announced her intention to step out of the succession.
'If this old man is telling the truth, then he must be the commander of oldest sister's platoon. That is the only way for Eden to be his student.'
It made sense.
But it also raised a new question: why wasn't he teaching him, Seven Hart? The commander should be responsible for his growth, not the vice commander.
Though he immediately seemed to realize the answer on his own— that is, Seven Hart had locked himself in the manor for his whole life.
The commander likely had not bothered to force a shut-in to train, especially since he was past the retirement age and thus he just started a potato farm instead.
He pushed the speculation aside, recalling his thoughts took roughly about ten minutes on its own.
He guided the essence of zi from his heart to his fingertips, trying once more to infuse it into the rod.
For a brief second, the essence actually moved past his skin, but…
Cracka!
…the connection shattered instantly.
"Agai—"
"Don't push yourself, young lad."
The old man interrupted, calmly stamping out the fire.
"A river that runs too fast will—"
"—soon leave its bed dry. Fudge. I know, I know."
Seven was done with the old man's poetic nonsense. He had heard enough of it.
Then again, stopping now means his progress would be delayed, just when he could somehow grasp the mechanics.
The old man seemed to read his frustration.
"If you are worried about those other two questions, don't be. I'll be here at this time of the day, and you are free to join me whenever you wish."
"...Aight."
Seven sighed, his shoulders slumping.
But to be honest.
'Damn it all. I don't wanna spend the following days fishing with this far too observant old man.'
- – – 7 7 7 – – -
In the village.
Lythian stood before a small cabin, a potato farm beside it.
Knock, knock.
"Grandpa, are you there? Grandpa."
Lythian called out, but there was no response from the inside. Having knocked several times, he then turned to leave, his face wearing a frown.
Step.
Bus as he did, he saw the person he had been waiting for when he turned around.
"Grandpa? Where are you coming from this late? Have you tried to catch that fish of the legends you have always talked about yet again?"
The old man was his grandfather, Aizen, and he was carrying two fishing rods and three catfish inside the bucket.
"I should be the one asking you that. What are you doing here at this hour? Didn't I tell you not to come looking for me unless you—"
"Mom's back from the main dukedom and asked me to fetch you. It's been a long time since we had a small feast together as a family."
Lythian glanced aside, his usual calm composure of being the top cadet was gone and replaced by an awkward look.
Aizen waved him off, lifting the bucket slightly.
"I have enough to dine alone."
"Grandma's there too."
The mention of 'Grandma' gave Aizen pause and it seemed as though he might consider it.
Step, step.
But he just walked past Lythian and stopped before the cabin's door, dropped the bucket and fished out the keys from the pocket of his tunic.
"I won't be coming. Oh, but pass my greetings to your grandmother."
Aizen unlocked the door, but before he could step inside the cabin, one of the fishing rods on his hands vibrated.
Turning his head just enough, he saw a faint thread of blue coming from Lythian's fingertips, who was holding the tip of the fishing rod.
"I can finally do it."
Lythian said, his expression serious.
But the thread shook as a small spark popped against the rod when he tried to shape it into a bait.
"I can now infuse the essence to inanimate objects just as you have told me, grandpa."
"..."
Aizen's eyes narrowed.
The thread of zi was mostly under control. Mostly. But his grandson, Lythian, was indeed finally able to infuse the rod with zi.
Nonetheless, with such imperfect control, it wasn't enough to fully convince him.
Or at least, until—
"Grandpa!"
A soft voice echoed from the distance, a young girl with ruby red eyes brighter than a jewel and jet black hair stepped into view.
Lythian turned around.
"Sophie? What are you—"
"Grandpa! Grandma told me a secret, that is she will give you a kiss if you attend."