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Chapter : 57
The Weary Ones
“Somewhere along the way, they were exhausted. That’s how we understood it then.”
Because that was how those words sounded.
“Everyone was simply clumsy with words. Their hearts lacked nothing.”
Katari quietly swallowed her breath.
The Emperor had taken upon himself everything within the reach of his own arms.
For four days, he had blocked disturbances both inside and outside the imperial palace, fought a prolonged battle with monsters, tended to the wounded hurt by beasts and earthquakes alike.
She knew how much heart he had poured into it all.
Charlophe, steadying his breathing, asked,
“…Where is he?”
“At this hour, he should be at the training grounds. I’ll send someone to notify him.”
A short while later, an attendant returned with word that the Imperial Guard’s scouting had just concluded. The inside of the training grounds was thick with the stench of dust, so instead they guided Charlophe to the Emperor’s office.
“Please, go inside.”
Roskella stepped aside to clear the way.
“We’ll give you privacy.”
Charlophe gave a shallow nod.
As the battle with monsters dragged on, the imperial household had reorganized its interior to support the hunts. If that inner structure were crude, it would be the ordinary soldiers who died first.
Staff officers hurried past the office corridor, arms laden with stacks of documents piled so high they obscured their view. Charlophe guessed it was because they had been overwhelmed with matters concerning the Poputa region these past few days.
The office door opened.
“Ah.”
Benjamin was in the middle of removing his sweat-soaked shirt. His hand froze as he undid the buttons.
“Close the door and come in. Have the others bring tea and leave us.”
“…Should I step outside?”
“Just stay. My shirt’s soaked from sparring—I only need to change. I’m covered in dirt; it’s uncomfortable.”
He turned his back and pulled the shirt off. There were more burn scars etched into his skin than before.
Long arms, broad shoulders balanced his frame.
His spine stood straight, back muscles splitting cleanly to either side.
“Take a shirt from over there. It’s hanging on the rack.”
Charlophe retrieved one and handed it to him.
“You were hurt again?”
“Wouldn’t it be stranger if a knight had no scars at all? A body that grows accustomed to rest begins to deteriorate. Muscles tear and heal repeatedly, and in that process the skin hardens. And hiding behind others has never suited my nature.”
He extended an arm.
“You look uncomfortable. Are you all right?”
With a rigid expression, he examined Charlophe.
“Call the imperial physician—!”
“Several have already come and gone.”
Charlophe traced the contours of his scarred body, as though retracing old wounds. His frame was well-balanced, without an ounce of excess.
When she brushed his neck and tilted it slightly, blue veins stood out.
His pulse throbbed as if scraping along the vessel, ripples forming at his throat.
His Adam’s apple protruded, veins swelling.
Then Benjamin stopped his arm, reacting to the warmth touching his back.
“I’m a mess, covered in dirt.”
“Your body temperature is low.”
“Because the sweat cooled?”
“Even though the weather’s warmed, it’s still like this.”
Benjamin turned his body along the path of her touch, straightening his posture.
“That day… I wanted to share more of what happened with you.”
“I thought you were avoiding me.”
“I was thinking through what to say.”
Charlophe recounted the events of the past days.
She steadied her breathing and recalled what happened four days earlier.
The monster trap had activated, immobilizing them, followed by a desperate struggle.
“So I put you through that.”
“The Imperial Guard worked hard.”
“I heard about it from them as well.”
“What I remember most is the sense of dissonance.”
The hand holding the sword severed the monsters’ traps.
“They always get entangled like that.”
“Were you afraid?”
“No. It wasn’t fear. My body felt drained. As if the ground beneath me were sinking, my ankles felt heavy. It’s always like that when I’m tangled with them. Even when I gripped the sword, my body felt like it was saying it wished this weren’t its path.”
“The former Pope once said—”
Benjamin took Charlophe’s hand. His rough, calloused palm brushed against the tender skin inside.
“That lethargy is one form of rejection—a reaction against the reality before your eyes. When there’s no room left to fully bear what’s happening, one shaves away their emotions. Shaves them down until they grow numb to it all. Just like you are now.”
“……”
“You were the one who wished most for your own path to be peaceful.”
Benjamin took hold of her wrist.
“But unlike you, I’m afraid.”
He narrowed his eyes, complex emotions surfacing between his furrowed brows.
“Those who wield blades meet harsh ends. I’m afraid I’ll lose you. Afraid I’ll let you shoulder such an ending alone.”
“……”
“I’m afraid now.”
“The Imperial Guard is always by my side.”
“Even so, you prepare yourself to be alone. You keep your distance as if you expect to stand alone once it’s over.”
As if she knew what lay at the end.
“Did you sleep well these past four days?”
“My back’s stiff instead.”
“That’s probably because the muscles that were rigid are finally loosening. The carriage tilted and the wheels sank, didn’t they? You gripped a blade with hands that had never held one before—it’s no wonder your body tensed.”
Benjamin slid an arm around her waist to support her, his fingertips pressing into the muscles of her back. When he traced her spine and pressed to one side, a sharp sensation sent a shiver rippling across her back.
“There’s a bruise on your lower back.”
“Ah, I must’ve hit it.”
“It’s lucky it ended at this. Be more careful for now. This bruise will last a while. I had medicine prepared to reduce the swelling—apply it regularly.”
Benjamin drew her wrist closer and clasped her hand. His nails lightly scraped the inside of her grip.
“Your inner palm almost split open.”
“…I didn’t realize my hands were this delicate.”
“You’d never held a sword before. Twisting the blade as you thrust is a technique—it was right to twist your wrist and alter the blade’s trajectory. But you nearly tore your hand apart.”
“I didn’t feel it tearing. Even the pain was dull.”
“Do you think knights are born with calluses? They tear, split, heal—over and over. Those men rolled in dirt with the subjugation corps for decades.”
Your hands are fragile. Just once twisting the blade nearly split the inner flesh.
“They said you twisted your grip around the hilt. The skin was bitten by the handle, scraped raw against the leather. You should be careful for a few more days.”
As he traced her wrist, he wrapped his hand around the inner side protectively.
“If you keep holding a sword, calluses will form.”
“……”
“Blisters will rise, the skin will tear again and again, heal again and again, scars layered atop scars.”
Benjamin released her hand.
“And you will be hurt.”
A sinner who treads the forbidden ground is bound by the taboo.
The old man’s severed body slowly recovered. At first, it was fragmented like shards, barely recognizable as a human form. Then new flesh grew, and the new body was stitched together with monsters.
The monster-bound body bent crookedly. His sclera were empty, his transparent eyes blinking. The old man spat out the staff clenched in his mouth.
Even without sight, the pain of flesh being torn was vivid.
The executor’s covenant tightened the taboo curse. The old man tore off his own arm.
“Aaargh!”
Damn it! Damn it!
“Focus on recovery.”
“My apologies.”
“You’re in a sorry state.”
A middle-aged man leaning on a cane removed his fedora. Fine wrinkles lined his eyes.
Adolf Weber. When he frowned, his pupils turned red. The old man scrambled, dragging himself into order.
“The executor’s taboo has tightened. Somewhere, shackles are constricting—”
“His shadow lies thick. Even if the soul is torn apart and the executor forgotten, the shadow remains this deep.”
The executor’s shackles gradually expended their force. The covenant’s forbidden domains began to intermingle. Those driven underground trampled the forbidden ground, eroding boundaries. Gaps opened in the taboo, and monsters planted their feet outside, tearing them open.
“I’ll step on the executor’s grave and open the forbidden ground. Begin preparations to tread it.”
He would scatter mongrel blood upon the forbidden land and raise the clan’s altar.
The clock tower bell rang. As it tolled, a sound like tearing air erupted. Temple windows shattered, iron bars twisted, and shards rained down. The fragments tore into living flesh, pain crashing in.
Haneli clutched her eyes and collapsed. The Pope flung the door open.
“What is this! That wretch—what has he dared to do again!”
“…Close the door. The other disciples are coming in.”
Haneli wrapped bandages around her eyes.
Divine power wandered, lost. Capillaries burst beneath her skin, veins standing out along her neck. The Pope hurriedly shut the door, crushing glass shards underfoot until they crumbled.
“You—your eyes! What have you done to your eyes!”
“Please, keep your voice down.”
“What did you see that the taboo tore out your eyes like this? It ripped living flesh away! You fool! Don’t you know what the taboo warns of? It means you trespassed into a domain you must not enter!”
The Pope’s arms trembled. Oh God. What are you trying to do? What more will you take? What trial drives them to the brink?
“I can’t see.”
“You’ve lost your eyes!”
“Even without eyes, I could see. Now the path itself has been blocked.”
With her sight gone, the future sank into darkness. Eyes torn by taboo healed slowly.
“What—what did you look upon? What forbidden thing could justify taking your eyes? What taboo steals—steals one’s eyes!”
The Pope scolded his disciple. Haneli touched her ruined eyes. The taboo had torn them out like flesh. There was only one reason to take eyes: she had peered where she must not.
“What did you want to see?”
Haneli traced the empty sockets.
The taboo took her eyes, and even after recovery, she would need half a year of rest.
“Interfering with the timeline is forbidden! How can you, a seer of the future, not know this? Your power devours you! I warned you time and again not to use it on outside affairs—and now you tear out your own flesh as an offering to weave prophecy!”
The clock tower bell rang. As the taboo took her eyes, it whispered: Do not窥窥 carelessly. You are not worthy to look. It is a soul of a different order. Gaze into its depths again, and next time, your life will be taken.
“Its order has deepened.”
“……”
“What has it contained, what has it woven within, to bear such eyes… and yet walk the same path again!”
Haneli closed her mouth.
Do not speak of order.
It must not exist, nor be remembered. Everything was bound by covenant.
This was of a different order.
When she met its gaze, the order beyond met hers.
And it sent her away.
This is not a place for you to look.
