{REWORKING!} Saint Of Eternal Rest [Trash Of The Count Family]

smeared Ink, torn Pages

this chapter was so????? difficult !!!!!!! i hate hate it but it's important huhuhu....
this one had so many title changes and its pretty much the summary of this chapter

I cant wait till the time skip..

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Cale clung to the table's edge, shifting his weight onto his shaky legs. It's a little humiliating, he feels like a toddler attempting to walk for the first time, and even more so now that Ron is currently observing him in case of an accident.

It's been a few weeks since he first awoke; he was meant to be bedridden for a while longer, but a few tears always worked in getting him what he wanted.

The red-haired boy carefully let go of the table, legs quivering, allowing himself to sway for a moment. Ron tensed up, fingers twitching at his sides while he braced himself to catch Cale whenever his body decided to fail him.

He stumbled before stilling himself, carefully trying to keep standing. Cale slowly regained his footing, raising his leg shakily and taking little steps before slowly speeding up, confidence growing.

He smiled widely, 'I'm walking!' The red-haired boy confidently strode across the room, the numbness in his legs steadily dissipating.

Although it was nice to laze around in his bed for a while, he had things to do. Curses.

After watching the boy stride across the room, Ron relaxed his posture and simply nodded with a benign smile.

Cale was already on his way from the table to his bed when the man approached him. He fell into the softness of his bed, a huge smile on his face as Ron stood to the side.

"Young master, your father wanted to inform you about some letters," The older man said.

Cale perked up interest, "Letters?"

"Yes, some families have sent their condolences." Ron closed his eyes; the young master's condition was meant to be kept private, but a few pests couldn't help but run their lips. "The Count did not feel comfortable answering them on your behalf."

There was nothing they could do now since it had already reached so many people.

Cale hummed, absentmindedly picking a stray thread from the sheets.

The best course of action would be to answer them immediately, rather than dealing with it later. It wasn't as if he had bad calligraphy as a child, but it would be suspicious to suddenly have a completely different handwriting.

Ron noticed, the man was very sharp after all.

Not to mention, he's been wanting to learn more about the Church of Death, and now is his chance. Cale sat up on the bed and threw his legs to the ground.

"Put them in mom's library, I want to go there." He said.

Ron nodded. "Right away, young master. I will get it cleaned for you."

Cale gently slid out of his bed, careful not to fall as his legs were still weak. He walked past his butler and to the vanity on the opposite side of his room. He drew out the tiny chair and sat on it, resting his hands on the surface.

Cale looked in the mirror at the back of the room and saw that the man had already left.

He returned his attention to his reflection, eyeing his tired eyes and red hair.

A memory passed through, forming a familiar scenery; dark clouds and thunder reign across the kingdom of Rowoon, he stood there, sword in hand as the metallic smell of blood abuses his nostrils, a putrid smell lingering everywhere