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Chapter : 58
Have Pity on This Child
Please save this child.
I will bear this child’s misfortune myself, so please open a path for this child.
The woman stroked the sleeping child’s head.
The child’s cheeks were plump with baby fat.
“Let me delay, even a little, the misfortune that will befall you. I, your mother, will hold back your suffering. Please, let that misfortune pass you by. Even pain that tears living flesh will be my share—so please, O God, cradle and watch over this child’s path.”
By praying for my own death, I delay this child’s misfortune—
God, please have even a little pity on this child.
The sound of wet rain pattered softly outside.
“It’s raining again.”
“The air is damp. Close the windows.”
The maids shut the windows. Outside, the earthen ground was soaked with rain, giving off the smell of wet soil.
Leaning against the windowsill, Charlophe draped a shawl over her shoulders.
The long shawl brushed her feet. The white fur lining was quite fine. She felt along her shoulders and fastened the seams.
The attendants had already all left. Only a few maids remained by Charl’s side.
“How is your body?”
“I feel refreshed. I slept for four days, didn’t I?”
“Then we’ll remain outside. If you need anything, please call.”
Charlophe stared vacantly at the place where they had left.
“Do you not understand their concern?”
Benjamin approached, drying his wet hair with a towel. Wearing a bathrobe, he tightened the loose waist tie.
“I know the reason.”
“You’ve experienced it often.”
Charlophe placed the sword hilt in her palm.
The strength left her grip. The imperial crest was carved into the hilt, and the blade was sharp. A black scabbard extended straight, giving off an ominous impression, and a red cord knot was woven around the spine of the blade. The embroidered knot was worn.
“Give me that. I forgot I’d set it aside.”
It was Benjamin’s dagger that he usually kept in his outer pocket; an attendant had put it away separately.
“You handle blades rather roughly—couldn’t you be a bit more careful?”
“…Is that why you often took them away from my sight when I was young?”
Charlophe stroked the dagger’s hilt.
“I was always worried when you were little.”
When Charl was young, her world had always been crimson, perhaps because of the sight of her birth mother’s back. The young Charlophe clung to it, chewing on strands of hair in her mouth.
“I never left blade-like objects near you.”
“They weren’t things a child should be near.”
“…They say you often seemed gloomy as a child. You’d sit blankly beside others, lose yourself, and when your mother looked away, you’d always slip off somewhere alone. Even when people searched for you nearby, you’d block your ears—like everything was just noise to you.”
Like those who hide away claiming exhaustion, the young Charlophe didn’t know how to keep people close. Being alone was easier, and the child would wedge her small body beneath drawers or into corners.
“She wasn’t childlike.”
“When you hid, where did you hide?”
“Under drawers, inside closets, leaning alone against railings and falling asleep like an animal hibernating. You avoided adults’ hands, hid outside their field of view, and barely ever cried. Even when your eyes reddened and your cheeks flushed, they say you couldn’t shed tears.”
“Why?”
“Well… I don’t really know. Was the outside unfamiliar? They say you couldn’t blend in with people and refused to form relationships. And that child… apparently there were times when she gripped a sword hilt and stared fixedly at the servants.”
Because the child was quiet and spoke little, it unsettled everyone. No matter how poorly she was treated, a child holding a blade carried a different weight.
“That day, I was cut by a blade, fell into a fever, and cried like other children.”
None of it remains in her memory.
“It was a little strange.”
She thinks she understands what her birth mother had been worried about before she died.
“I’ve wandered only the suppression fronts, so this old soldier finally enters the palace now.”
An old knight, soaked with rain, came to the imperial palace. Rainwater pooled along the eaves, dripping heavily onto the path.
Even with an outer coat draped over his shoulders, his massive build stood out.
One arm had been severed, leaving an empty sleeve hanging.
The coat carried the smell of wet earth. The old man pulled it tighter over his shoulder to cover the missing arm.
“Is His Majesty inside?”
The head chamberlain recognized him at once. The old knight thumped his knee with his thick arm.
“Now even my knees ache—it’s hard to walk.”
“And how is your arm?”
“An old man’s joints always ache.”
The old knight wore formal attire instead of battlefield armor. A thick coat hung from his shoulders, one side sagging limply where the arm was gone.
“I’ve no arms left to lose, yet my arm still aches. Please announce me. I have something to report to His Majesty.”
The old man limped toward the office. A strategist beside him merely bowed his head slightly. There was no clumsy courtesy—that would not be respect for a knight who had fought monsters.
“I greet Your Majesty.”
Fedlin Duncan—also called the Pillar of Duncan—was an old general who led a mercenary band.
Even having lost one arm, his presence was threatening. Such a man had entered the palace at the imperial summons.
“You remain as solid as ever.”
“Though monsters took my arm and my eye, this old man is still the Pillar of Duncan.”
Duncan was one of the great supports of Popyuta.
“They dared violate the forbidden zone, did they not? The forbidden clans—heretical beings whose very existence was denied—have disrupted the order of the human world, causing the boundaries of the forbidden to mix.”
“So it is?”
“The moment that thing sets foot on this land, it means the forbidden zones between boundaries have merged.”
Benjamin set down the documents and asked,
“Have you encountered their graves before?”
“Yes. I have reached their graves.”
Fedlin Duncan had lost his right arm and one eye to monsters.
“Whom must I see?”
“One who has encountered their graves.”
“A mercenary?”
“Not one who should hold a blade.”
What kind of nonsense was that?
“Their graves are places reached by those who grip blades and stake their lives. Even this old soldier reached them only after losing an arm and an eye.”
They were graves in the truest sense—where mercenaries lay buried, dead alongside monsters.
Fedlin dismissed it as such.
“Y-Your Majesty!”
Charlophe whispered softly.
“Be quiet. The sparring is still in full swing.”
The wrist holding the sword twisted inward.
Bang!
Dust flew up in the training yard. Knights, covered in dust, extended their swords, each aiming for the other’s throat.
Sword tips stabbed at vital points; dull friction rang out.
Though they were wooden swords, the sparring had grown overheated.
Bang! Bang!
The blades glanced off each other, and a wooden sword broke.
At that point, they lowered the swords that had been aimed at each other’s throats.
.
.
A presence stirred nearby.
Charlophe glanced sideways toward it.
“Originally, swordsmanship is meant to annihilate the enemy.”
The old knight grasped the scabbard at his waist.
“The Empire’s sword techniques are sharper than those of other nations.”
“Are they?”
“They are wielded by those who grip their hilts until their hands split open.”
The old knight extended his thick arm, reenacting the knights’ sparring.
“Twist the wrist inward to increase power, drive deeper and faster into the enemy’s vital points. Throw dirt to block the enemy’s sight if you must, and load the sword tip with heavy force.”
Throwing dirt was a despicable trick, against chivalry.
But the dead do not regain their heads simply because chivalry was observed.
He had introduced himself as the Pillar of Duncan.
“I am Fedlin Duncan.”
Charlophe smiled faintly and replied,
“So I meet the Pillar of Duncan in person.”
“I’ve only wandered suppression fronts with my mercenary band, so this old man is ignorant of palace etiquette.”
“The renown of Duncan has reached even the imperial family, so do not worry.”
Fedlin studied the Empress with a look that said, She is ambiguous. He had lived a harsh life, wandering outside with a blade in hand. The Duncan mercenary band roamed only battlefields, rarely leaving Popyuta.
“You are not a hand meant to hold a sword.”
Fedlin stated bluntly.
“Ah, please don’t misunderstand. Just a personal remark.”
“Everyone says that.”
“A blade is a rather harsh thing for someone so precious to hold.”
Charlophe looked down blankly at her own hands.
“I once gripped a hilt and tore my skin—so it truly is a harsh thing for me.”
She had only been brought here by circumstance as well.
From outside, explosive sounds continued, reaching even here.
“Your Majesty!”
Bang!
“Are you all right?”
The royal guards panicked, scattering the dust cloud.
A sound like tearing flesh rang out.
It sliced sharply past her ear, as if her eardrum would burst. Several strands of her dark red hair were cut.
“Have you ever held a sword?”
“Hardly ever.”
Fedlin retrieved a wooden sword from the armory by the training yard.
“A wooden sword will be fine, then.”
Katarina, who had been listening nearby, objected at once.
“What exactly are you trying to put into whose hands right now?!”
“It’s only a wooden sword.”
“It’s still a sword! Into the hands of someone who’s never handled one properly—this is—!”
“If the one holding the hilt keeps the tip straight, there will be no injury to my hand.”
Fedlin removed his coat and brought two wooden swords. He kept one for himself and handed the other to the Empress. The crude wooden sword had a blunted tip, the kind commonly used for sparring.
“This old man has only one arm. Then sparring won’t be too difficult, will it?”
Those nearby were aghast—What is he even saying right now?!
“If anything happens to her, what responsibility will you take?! She has only just risen from her sickbed and hasn’t fully recovered her strength!”
“That is true. However, it seems the subordinates have forgotten their roles.”
Fedlin gripped the wooden sword with his left hand and sliced through the air.
The air split with a crack!
“I know well what you are worried about. But right now, you seek not protection, but isolation from the outside. Is blocking the vision of those above truly loyalty?”
“……”
“If you never let a child near the water because the outside is dangerous, you rob that child of even the chance to grow.”
Fedlin clicked his tongue.
“There are many who worry about me, and I have good people at my side.”
“Their concerns are valid, and listening to them is also my responsibility.”
“Wielding a blade is a job for men like me, who stake our lives. We roll in the dirt on suppression fronts, endure night frost until our joints ache. So I understand well what the imperial family fears.”
He understood now why the palace had summoned him.
Those who hold blades meet grim ends.
All the more so if monsters are involved.
“I only wish to confirm something. Please hold the wooden sword and try to stab me.”
The wooden sword’s tip was blunt.
She laid the flat of the blade sideways.
What should she do?
“Stab.”
“…You?”
“Put strength into the tip and extend your arm. Extend it with the intent of aiming the tip at the back of my neck.”
The one who answered was Benjamin.
“She’s never learned swordsmanship, so putting power into the tip will be difficult.”
Benjamin approached, leading the attendants.
“H-His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, has arrived!”
Palace attendants lined up outside the training yard.
“I told you to watch over the Empress, not to teach her the sword.”
