industrial lord

Chapter 805 Tell Me
In the living room, Polina stood by the window, her back to the door, looking out at the snow-white courtyard.

The morning light outlined her slender figure. Her light golden hair was loosely tied behind her head, with a few strands falling around her neck. Her dark blue winter dress had white fringed edges on the cuffs and collar, simple yet dignified. She tilted her head slightly, her eyelashes casting fine shadows in the morning light, and the tip of her nose was flushed with the unique red of winter.

She stood still, as if she had become one with the silence of the winter.

Pavel's heart suddenly clenched, as if he were seeing a stranger, not the little girl who had pestered everyone to be her model for his paintings since she was a child.

Hearing footsteps, Polina turned around.

At that moment, Pavel saw worry.

Polina's eyes were sky blue, like the summer sky over Boyheim.

At this moment, those eyes no longer held their usual composure, but only worry.

Polina strode forward, stopping two steps away from Pavel, and carefully examined his face.

“You really are sick.” Her voice was soft, but it sounded very confident.

“I just didn’t sleep well.” Pavel tried to sound more relaxed, but his voice was so hoarse that even he was surprised.

Polina didn't reply, but continued to look at him, her gaze moving from his eyes to his tightly closed lips, and then to his unconsciously clenched fist.

That gaze wasn't sharp, but it had a strange penetrating power, as if it could see through all the disguises and see the soul inside that was collapsing.

“I noticed it at the banquet last night,” she said, walking over to a chair by the fireplace and sitting down as naturally as if she were at home. “You barely ate anything, you were distracted when you spoke to Baron Boch, and your body was stiff when Olga danced with you.”

Pavel sat down in the chair opposite her, the firelight from the fireplace flickering between them.

“You’ve observed very carefully,” Pavel said.

“Painters are used to observing details,” Polina said casually, taking a small glass bottle about the size of a thumb from her bag. “I brought some menthol cigarettes with me; smoking them is good for headaches.”

"Just try it."

Pavel recognized the glass bottle; the contents were said to be a secret recipe from an ancient magician family. Inhaling it and exhaling it could relieve headaches and anxiety, and temporarily relax the mind.

He used to carry this menthol cigarette on the battlefield to relieve the tension brought on by killing and death.

"Thank you." Pavel took the bottle, opened the cap, took out a handkerchief, placed it between the bottle opening and his nostrils, and then took a deep breath.

A cool sensation instantly rushed into my mind, like ice water poured on a hot iron, and my headache subsided slightly.

Pavel closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, exhaling a puff of white smoke, feeling somewhat more refreshed.

Polina didn't rush to speak, but quietly watched him until the layer of smoke slowly dissipated between them.

“So,” she finally spoke, her voice calm, “what has turned you, a knight who felled three hussars on your first battle, into this state?”

Pavel gave a wry smile and put the glass bottle away.

My first time on the battlefield was several years ago.

At that time, the people of Bohemia who did not leave only had two options: to be killed by the Osmács Empire for helping the Kingdom of Piast, or to be killed by the Kingdom of Piast for helping the Osmács Empire.

From nobles to commoners, everyone struggles to survive in the cracks.

That year, his father fell seriously ill, and he had just reached the age to join the army of the Kingdom of Piast with the only dozen or so cavalrymen in his territory.

At that time, the Kingdom of Piast had shifted its strategic focus and left the land that had been destroyed by war, so it needed cannon fodder to hold off the Osmarca Empire's advance.

During a patrol mission, Pavel led his cavalry in a surprise attack on three hussars who were feeding their horses by the river. It was the first time he had personally commanded a battle.

The battle was portrayed by his subordinates as him taking on three opponents single-handedly, and after hearing it so many times, he himself began to believe it.

In any case, it was a small-scale battle that was included in the tactics textbooks of the Wesson Military Academy.

But now, the battlefield is different.

“Just some trivial matters,” Pavel heard himself say, his voice dry. “Territory affairs, family relationships… you know.”

Polina looked at him for a while.

That gaze reminded Pavel of Mr. Thomas—not scrutiny, but a deeper attempt at understanding.

The difference is that Thomas's eyes always held calculation and assessment, while Polina's eyes only held pure concern.

“Pavel,” she said, her voice even softer, “the last time you told me it was ‘just a trivial matter’ was when your mother was seriously ill.”

“You stayed by her bedside all night, and during the day you had to deal with relatives who came to ‘visit’ but were actually trying to find out about the inheritance.”

"Finally, you stood at the bedroom door with your sword in hand and told everyone that anyone who dared to disturb you again would be killed."

Pavel froze.

Memories of when I was thirteen years old came flooding back.

My mother's pale face, the strong smell of medicine in the room, and the relatives gathering and dispersing like crows outside the window.

And then there was Polina—she was only ten years old then, and she delivered special medicine to her family every day, even when it was raining so hard that you couldn't see more than two meters away.

“That’s different,” Pavel said with difficulty.

“Is that so?” Polina tilted her head slightly. “Then tell me, what is tormenting you now? If it’s not physical pain, then it must be mental pain.”

Her tone remained gentle, but every word was like a fine needle, trying to pierce the facade he was trying to maintain.

Pavel opened his mouth, as if to say something, but all the words got stuck in his throat.

What could he say?
He couldn't say anything. "Thank you for your concern, Polina," he said, his voice more steady than before, "but I'm really just tired."

Military academy courses are very demanding, and after returning, there are a ton of social obligations…

“Okay,” Polina interrupted him, not pressing the matter further.

But Pavel could sense that she didn't believe it.

For the next half hour, they talked about trivial things, mainly Polina asking about the popular painting styles in Wesenberg.

After thinking for a moment, Pavel said, "Before I came back, I visited an art exhibition with my friends, which was organized by painters from the Low Countries."

"These painters belong to two schools: one is the traditional marine painting school, and the other is said to be the increasingly mature glass painting school."

"The Glass School?" Polina was somewhat unfamiliar with it.

Pavel nodded and said, "Yes, their characteristic is the use of simple white, which allows people to see the lenses, glass bottles, and glass windows."

"The glasses worn on the face, when people get up close and look closely, will be found to be just two or three strokes of white paint."

Polina's mouth dropped open in astonishment. She had heard of similar things in the salon before, but had never seen such skill in person. She thought it was just boasting, but it turned out to be true.

Pavel suddenly remembered that Polina was supposed to be a magician.

She comes from a family of mages; her father is one of the few mages in Boyheim who maintains a deterrent effect on the surrounding area.

Everyone thought she would inherit the family tradition, but she fell in love with painting instead.

“How is your father… lately?” Pavel asked, changing the subject.

He was also pondering whether he should discuss the matter of grain smuggling with the wise man he had admired since childhood.

“It’s the same as always.” Polina just smiled, seemingly unwilling to talk about her father any further.

She seemed worried that Pavel would talk about her father, so she stood up and said, "I'm going back now. I'll come see you again tomorrow and bring you your favorite lemon cake."

Pavel felt it wasn't the time for him to speak, so he got up to see him off.

The surroundings quieted down, and he sat quietly in his study for the rest of the day until it gradually got dark.

He was somewhat dazed because many people had seen him "sick" last night, but only Polina had come to visit him.

Polina came again the next morning, as expected.

This time she was carrying a small wicker basket covered with a snow-white linen cloth.

Pavel opened the door himself and saw her standing on the steps, her nose slightly red from the cold, but her eyes bright.

"Can you smell the fragrance?" she asked, holding up her basket in a lighthearted tone.

“I could smell it all the way through Wessenburg.” Pavel stepped aside to let her in.

He feels a little better today; at least he slept well last night and his headache is gone.

But the inner turmoil did not lessen at all; it was merely temporarily suppressed beneath a calm exterior.

They sat down by the fireplace in the living room.

Polina lifted the cloth covering the basket and took out a sealed insulated box.

When opened, the aroma instantly fills the room. The lemon cake's golden crust is drizzled with glistening honey and sprinkled with finely chopped nuts.

Steaming hot, it was clearly fresh out of the oven.

“I started preparing before dawn.” Polina cut off a piece, placed it on a small porcelain plate, and handed it to him. “Try it.”

"If it doesn't taste good, at least pretend it does for the sake of my frozen fingers."

Pavel took the plate; the cake was still warm, and the heat traveled through the porcelain plate to his palm.

He picked up his fork, took a small piece, and put it in his mouth—it was soft and moist, with just the right amount of honey sweetness, and the nuts provided a crunchy texture, perfectly complementing the lemon flavor of the cake itself.

“You have about 80% of your mother’s level,” Pavel said confidently.

Polina smiled and looked down, appearing quite pleased.

She thought to herself that she had already surpassed her mother in making cakes, but her skill in preparing medicine was still lacking.

Pavel ate slowly, while Polina watched quietly.

After finishing one piece, Pavel put down the plate and picked up his teacup.

The tea was another blend of herbal teas brought by Polina, with a citrus aroma.

Pavel took a big gulp, then let out a deep, long sigh.

That sigh contained so much: exhaustion, pressure, confusion, and a hint of resignation.

When a dam collapses under floodwaters, it often begins with a small crack that gradually widens.

"If a person knows what is right, but is too afraid to do it, can that person still be considered a knight?"

Pavel suddenly felt an urge to speak out.

(End of this chapter)