Chapter 17 – The Heart of Songs
Adrian looked at Ignes, his eyes searching the boy's face for a glimmer of the childhood friend he once knew.
"So… has he truly lost his memory, or is he just playing with us?"
As they spoke, the group of young heirs moved forward with the easy confidence of soldiers, taking their seats around the grand table. Benedict von Diamond crossed his arms, his sharp gaze lingering on Ignes.
"I think the memories are there, somewhere," Benedict mused. "But he was in a void for two years. While he slept, we were in the trenches. We've grown older, sharper. The demonic miasma from the North has weathered our faces."
He gestured to the group, a grim smile on his lips. "We aren't the soft children he remembers. It isn't strange that he struggles to find us in these masks of war."
Adrian nodded slowly, then turned to his father, his voice turning serious. "Father… did you find it? The Heart of Songs?"
Leopold looked at his son, his expression weary. "…I did."
Frederick's reaction was instantaneous. The Emperor leaned forward, his eyes ignited with a sudden, sharp light.
"You found it? Why was I not informed immediately, Leo?"
Ignes, still feeling a lingering vertigo from William's spinning, blinked slowly.
"…Heart of Songs?"
Frederick turned to him, the excitement in his voice palpable. "Yes. It is a legendary tome—a collection of hymns said to carry the frequency of the heavens. According to the ancient oracles, these songs are the only thing capable of purifying the high-level demonic cores."
Leopold sighed, rubbing his temples. "I have placed the book in the hands of the finest cantors in the Empire. I have summoned the most celebrated bards from the coast. None could make the pages breathe. Not a single note would take flight."
Frederick nodded. "That is to be expected. The gods were clear: only a soul of absolute resonance can unlock the melody. We simply haven't found the right instrument yet."
Then—Frederick's gaze locked onto Ignes.
"Igna… why don't you try? I know that voice. I know what you are capable of—"
"Yes."
Ignes cut him off with a speed that was almost violent. He knew exactly where Frederick was going. In their old world, Frederick's "admiration" had been a tidal wave of messages, flowers, and breathless praise. It wasn't romantic—it was the intense, overwhelming devotion of a fan who saw him as a deity.
At least here, he has the cover of being an 'uncle' or a 'father-in-law', Ignes thought. It makes the obsession manageable.
Frederick cleared his throat, realizing he had slipped back into "Fan Club President" mode. He regained his imperial composure. "Leopold. Give the book to the boy."
Leopold handed over the heavy, leather-bound volume. It hummed with a faint, golden vibration.
William leaned forward, watching his younger brother with curiosity. "Can Igna even sing? I don't believe I've ever heard him do more than hum."
Alexander smiled, a rare, soft expression that reached his eyes. "He used to sing constantly. When he was a small child, he would hum along to the wind, and even mimic the chirping of the birds in the garden."
Alistair laughed softly. "Yes, I remember. He would wake up singing. And at that time, Alex, you used to bribe him with milk just to get him to sit still for breakfast."
Ignes blinked, a flush of phantom embarrassment touching his cheeks. "…Did I truly have such a ridiculous habit?"
Alexander nodded. "You did."
Ignes let out a long, defeated sigh. "…Whatever. Give me the book."
He opened the yellowed pages. His eyes swept over the complex notation and the ancient lyrics. With the practiced ease of "Izar," the man who had commanded stadiums of thousands, he took a breath.
He began to sing.
His voice was a revelation. It was clear as mountain water, smooth as silk, and possessed a haunting, ethereal beauty that seemed to make the very air in the temple stand still.
But—
Nothing happened.
The book did not glow. The air did not shimmer with holy light. The songs remained just words on paper.
Silence filled the room, heavy and awkward.
Frederick frowned, his disappointment evident. "Igna… something is wrong. Your technique is perfect, but the songs have no weight. They aren't… they aren't like the ones you sang before. Why?"
Ignes closed the book with a soft thud.
"I don't know," he said, before pausing. "…No. I think I understand the logic of this world's 'purity'."
He looked around the table at the powerful men watching him.
"These songs require a soul that matches the frequency of the hymn. A 'pure' soul, as you call it, is one that has no discord. Most pure-hearted people in this world can likely sing this and produce a minor effect."
He shook his head slightly, his expression turning cold.
"But it won't work for me. Not this way."
Frederick's brow furrowed. "That makes no sense. These are weapons against demons. Why can't the greatest singer I've ever known wield them?"
Ignes answered calmly, his voice echoing with the wisdom of too many lives.
"A pure soul knows the boundaries of its nature. But there are levels to this. I am… too pure in this vessel."
Silence greeted his words.
"My soul, in its current state, cannot conceive of harm. It cannot bridge the gap between a song and a slaughter. I cannot even kill a shadow, let alone a demon."
Frederick exhaled, frustrated. "…So we are back to square one. We need to find another candidate."
Until now—Xavier had been a silent, freezing shadow at the end of the table.
Then, his voice cut through the air like a blade.
"How 'pure'… is your soul, truly?"
His golden eyes were fixed on Ignes, sharp and suspicious. He had seen the way Ignes looked at the statue of the Sword God. He had seen the "psycho" edge in his gaze.
Ignes met Xavier's stare, completely unaffected by the Prince's killing intent.
"Yes," Ignes said, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a secret. "I know what you're thinking, Xavier. My soul shouldn't be this pure. With what I've seen and what I've done, I should be stained black."
He paused, a flicker of something ancient and tired passing through his red eyes.
"But the 'purity' of a soul isn't about what you've done. It's about what you've become. And right now… this soul refuses to let me kill."