Episode 54 — A Knight Hates a Dysfunctional Family (4)

In all the history of House Offen, a sword house whose name rang far and wide, the greatest swordsman was, without question, Felicia.

She had piled up merit across battlefields beyond counting, received the title of Sword Duke from the Military God, and carried Pendragon's pride even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into foreign lands. And when one considered how rarely history remembered a lady knight at all, Felicia was plainly the most extraordinary woman knight on the entire continent. She had shown with her own body that a woman could become a splendid knight, and proved that a woman could become truly great.

Historians were already certain her name would be spoken for thousands of years to come — perhaps for tens of thousands — as a legendary woman knight. The first female Aura User in history, and a great swordswoman besides.

…Great as that swordswoman was.

"Do you know? There was a time they called me the shame of House Offen, and the most talentless, dim-witted swordswoman alive."

"I know. I read the fairy tale."

"Heh. And how did they put me, in there?"

"…A foolish lady knight. Wasn't it?"

"Foolish, was it… Heh. They softened that a great deal. I had another name, you know — a moronic bitch, worse than a goblin."

"Which son of a bitch—"

"Ah, calm yourself. It is all old talk. And in those days, the name was not entirely wrong."

Because she truly had been a swordswoman of less use than a goblin. The last of it was self-mockery, and Lee Han held his tongue rather than answer for nothing. Experience had taught him that careless comfort, or a show of understanding, was not the answer now. What she needed was someone who would simply listen.

Sure enough—

"Heh. Thank you, for hearing out an old woman's grumbling. Hard on the ears, I know."

Grateful that he listened, Felicia laughed low, and Lee Han shrugged as if it were nothing at all.

"All I did was listen. What's there to thank me for? And as a fan of the fairy tale, hearing your old stories is interesting enough."

"…Could you not keep bringing up the fairy tale?"

"Talk more, instead. We've started, so let's hear it through to the end."

"…Goodness. I cannot tell whether you are diligent, or simply a child too full of mischief."

Felicia shook her head, utterly at a loss before him.

Even so…

"Very well. Stay with this old woman's grumbling to the end, today. Heh."

She let a little joy show through, glad to have found someone who would listen in earnest.

…Eighty years ago, Felicia de Offen had been more than an afterthought in House Offen. She had been a swordswoman they despised. Volume one of the Lady Knight series spoke lightly of hardship and loneliness, but that was past softening — it was beautification. What she had endured was truly bitter.

"In those days, House Offen was in crisis. War after war had ruined the economy, the trading company the house ran collapsed, and the disciples turned their backs. Misfortune piled upon misfortune until the house stood at the very edge of ruin. And in the middle of all that, of all things, a direct heir was born with no talent for the sword."

House Offen was one of the rare families in the South that did not care whether its heir was a man or a woman. Born an only daughter, Felicia was all but certain to become head of the house, and the family hoped she would at least be fine material for an outstanding swordswoman — even if her temperament came out a little crooked.

They had no cause to worry. Among those who carried Offen's blood, there had never been a talentless sword.

And yet…

"She's still at that level?"

"Wh-what? Five years with a sword in her hand, and she still swings the basic forms like that…? Ha! I have no words."

"…She isn't even his real daughter, is she?"

It went past disappointment into betrayal, past bewilderment into suspicion and doubt, past emptiness into rage. The senior men of House Offen said every word that should have been said and every word that should not, so abysmal was Felicia's talent. At last they even claimed she was not of Offen's blood, and suspicion arose that the lady of the house had been unfaithful.

…Fortunately, the head of the house in those days was neither paranoid nor foolish enough to believe such talk, and he handed down severe punishment to the ones who had spread it.

"Felicia."

"Yes, Father."

"…Do nothing."

"…"

"I am letting go of every expectation I had of you. How is it that you are fifteen, and your sword is still that wretched…? Hah! I shall have to try for another child, or look among the branch families for someone fit to lead the house."

"…"

"…Tsk!"

Even her own father, his disappointment too great, held no good feeling toward her. From her side, it was nothing if not unfair. She had not chosen to be without talent, and yet the house and its people abused her and loathed her for nothing more than a slight lack of gift with the sword.

…Even so, it was something the age itself had made inevitable.

"In those days, talent was everything. The late king treasured the talented no matter their station, and even the child of a great house was never employed if they had none. So every family prayed its children would be gifted, and if they proved incompetent, the disappointment was shown without restraint."

"People actually did that?"

"That was the age. Our house was mild, if anything. At least they did not starve me, or kill me, for having no talent."

"Th-there were places that went that far?"

"Only the more extreme ones. Those extremists, as it happened, were caught dead to rights by the late king, and became the spark that set a storm of blood blowing through the kingdom."

"…"

"I have no particular cause to curse His late Majesty. He could never have dreamed that nobles, who called themselves civilized, would commit such barbarity."

"…Ha."

And so Felicia's childhood fell in an age when being scorned for incompetence was taken as natural — and for a child of a martial house, a lack of martial talent was something that deserved rebuke. Because of it, many young noble sons and daughters lost faith in themselves and took their own lives.

The laughable part was that the nobles, watching, often praised it as aristocratic, as knowing honor. Utter bullshit. Better to simply die, they said, than tarnish the house's honor; that was the aristocratic thing, the honorable thing. It was the talk of morons — no, of absolute idiots — and yet…

"Among the house's seniors, there was one who earnestly advised me to kill myself."

"…What happened to that bastard?"

"Later, when I became an Aura User, he killed himself of his own accord. I heard his will was a sordid little confession that he had been wrong… Well. I had already forgotten his name, so I lived on without much interest."

"He got off easy."

"Ho ho! Thank you, for being angry in my place."

"No, I mean he really got off easy. If he'd been standing in front of me, I'd have kept torturing him without letting him die."

"…Child. I must be very careful never to make an enemy of you."

Malice beyond counting had come at Felicia, and it was no exaggeration to say she had lived from childhood in an environment harsher than harsh — a hell. Anyone else ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would not have lasted a moment in such a household, and would have done exactly as those people had: died, and called it protecting a noble house's honor.

"…And yet, being cursed at did not trouble me much."

"…"

"D-do not look at me like that. I am not saying I have a taste for being cursed at!"

"…I didn't say anything."

"Your eyes did! Honestly…"

She did not give up on living, not under countless insults, not in a hellish house.

The reason? Nothing grand.

"I simply loved the sword. Loved it, almost."

Felicia de Offen. An incompetent, judged to have been abandoned by the sword. The most talentless swordswoman in history, and a fool besides. And yet, as if to make a mockery of that judgment, she loved the sword.

It was ironic. If a lack of talent for the sword had made her family and everyone around her ignore her, hating the sword would have been the natural thing. When effort brings no result, anyone comes to hate the work. Felicia ignored that common sense, loved the sword anyway, and chased it. Every day. She never once stopped the act of swinging, and swinging again.

And so she reached twenty-three. An age when any proper noble daughter was expected to be married — and she had not so much as courted anyone. She left for the battlefield without a word, to complete a sword art that had been her dream all her life. Everyone was certain she would be the first to die out there. How could someone with talent like that survive?

And then—

"F-Felicia!!"

"Run! It's the demon of the battlefield…!"

…It did not even take two years for their prediction to flip on its head.

Felicia truly had no talent for the sword, but she was a person who did not know how to quit. This was a woman who had been neglected and despised by her family for decades and more, and remained perfectly sound so long as the sword was with her. Her will, in other words, was stronger than anyone's, and she had a courage that would not bend in any situation.

War, of course, was not something one survived on courage alone. But she had a talent even she did not know she possessed.

"You are Lady Felicia, I hear? I have seen your courage. I should like to have someone like you for a comrade."

"At least you don't seem a coward."

"Ah, do you know a greenhorn called Baltar? Word is he'll be folded into our unit this time. They say the Military God himself acknowledged his talent, so he may be worth watching."

Great Luck. She was a person blessed with fortune. She grew close to young heroes who had not yet made their names — the great names of later days — and they became steadfast comrades who backed her recklessness. Thanks to those comrades she survived crossroads of life and death not dozens of times, but tens of thousands, and at some point she grew strong. Even the talentless, if they cross the line of death more than ten thousand times while training the sword, have no choice but to grow strong whether they wish it or not.

By roughly her forties, she stood tall in the South as a knight of high renown, and as one of the strong. By then she had achievements and fame enough for a triumphant return to her house, but she did not go back.

What she chose instead—

"I judged that going home would bring no growth. What could make someone without talent, like me, grow stronger was harsh trial and pain in the end — a ferocious battlefield, or the hardships of great nature. I knew it was reckless. Even so, I was certain those trials would hone my sword sharper still."

So she went beyond the South, out onto the continent. The East, the West, and the North — everywhere but the Central Continent.

She went through a great deal. She nearly died at sea. Nearly died in the mountains. Nearly died in forests and on volcanoes. Nearly died to monsters, to the cold, to natural disaster. And still she lived.

It was then that her partner in adventure — the man who would later be her husband — looked at Felicia and judged her thus.

"Your luck at surviving is insanely good."

"Sometimes I surprise myself, too."

Felicia, the woman who would not die even if you killed her. From then on the continent went so far as to call her the Undying Felicia.

Had she wandered the continent only a little longer, she would have raised still more legends. Against her will, she had to return home.

The reason?

"A child had been born."

With the fruit of her love for her husband, her adventure came to an end. But even after she returned, people would not leave her be. She had made legends across the whole continent, and was already a great lady knight whom even the royal house could not treat lightly.

And so.

Acknowledged by the great holy king whom men praised as a god in human flesh, she enjoyed a second prime in the body of a woman in her fifties. At the time she even considered discarding the Offen name and asking the Military God to found a new house for her…

"……I am sorry."

"…"

"I know a single sentence cannot repay everything. I know it does not erase the years you spent in pain. …Even so, I will beg, and I will kneel. I can give you all I have. So please — save the house."

"…Father."

A father knelt to his daughter, apologized, and addressed her with respect. Watching her own father choose submission — not to a daughter, but to someone far greater than himself — Felicia had to feel a great many things. If she said there was no resentment, it would be a lie. If she said there was no hatred for the vassals, that would be a lie as well. The sword had let her endure, but these were the people who had made her childhood a hell.

"…Our names will be struck from the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Noble Register."

"!!?"

…And after words like those, she returned to the house at last.

"Were you a sucker?"

"Hm?"

"I mean, why go back? You could've gone independent and lived just fine."

"…Do you not know what it means for a noble's name to be struck from the Noble Register?"

"What does it mean?"

"It means losing every honor and every authority. It means being erased from history itself. They were laying a punishment on themselves harsher than death. If I had only gone on resenting them, I would have been the one who came out small."

"Goddamn it, so what if you come out small? This is why nobles— tsk."

"N-no, it truly is a harsh thing. Why must you rebuke me so…"

…Well, anyway. Felicia, having returned at last, inherited the house as it stood and enjoyed absolute power. Who would dare stand against a hero who had made her name across the continent with no one's help?

And in that situation, her Great Luck — the sort that should only have shown itself on battlefields and in adventures — shone once more.

"A genius. A genius…!"

Her son, Iliad, was a tremendous genius. So great a talent that one wondered whether House Offen had ever seen such a prodigy: when the five-year-old boy mastered every basic sword form in three months, the house went into an uproar. They said he was material to surpass Felicia. She, too, could not hide her admiration, and she accepted it. This child, she was certain, would become the very best.

"My son will become greater than I am. I'm sure of it!"

A child this loved by the sword. He would surely become a remarkable swordsman. He overflowed with the talent she did not have. As if in answer to that hope, Iliad made his name in his teens as a swordsman who could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠scarcely find a rival. And Felicia…

"You will lead the house more splendidly than I ever could."

"Mother?"

"You are a greater child than I am. So you will be fine."

…announced her retirement.

"Hold on. You handed the headship to a kid who was how old?"

"…"

"His teens? No — exactly how old was he?"

"…Fif…teen."

"What?"

"…Fifteen."

"…"

"…D-do not look at me like that."

"…"

A sharp pang shot through the back of Lee Han's head.