Chapter 327
Chapter: 327
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>Translator: penny
>Chapter: 327
>Chapter Title: No. 21's Days (3)
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>Long ago, No. 21 too had a time when he deeply cherished someone not much older than him as his protector in his heart.
Back when he was still called by his childhood name Cicero, not Enrique yet. At that time, with the help of the Astros Mercenary Corps, he was hastily fleeing south of the continent from the fierce battlefield of the civil war.
The journey rapidly crossing the wasteland was never easy even for the accompanying mercenaries. Naturally, the young Cike had to endure each and every day with all his might.
But to make matters worse, there was someone who made that life even more grueling: his father, Prince Benicio.
"Now even my own son looks at me with those eyes! Yes, I envied my brother's throne and in the end split this country in two! So you find my pathetic state amusing too?"
Thwack! Hit by a liquor bottle that suddenly flew at him, Cike toppled to the floor and couldn't regain his senses for a while.
"You ungrateful wretch! I can't even stand the sight of you! Get out of my sight!"
Benicio drowned himself in alcohol every day and lashed out at the innocent Cike.
He had been forced to throw his most trusted friend into the jaws of death and in the end heard news of his comrade's passing. From that moment, Benicio—the spiritual pillar of the republicans—collapsed utterly, never to recover his former sharpness.
"Ah, Father...!"
"No, no. Let's just end it here. So you don't have to see any more of my misery, we'll die together right now! Well, what do you say?"
Though he was drunk, the clear glint of murderous intent in his father's eyes at that instant. Terrified, Cike clutched his dizzying head and stumbled out in panic.
"Come this way, Enrique."
The only comfort for Cike amid all this was the Holy Emperor, who was then known as a boy called 'Bart.'
"Brother! Bart! Listen! Just now, Father tried to kill me!"
"He's just drunk. It's not his real feelings at all. Here, let me treat your wounds. From today on, sleep by the mercenary corps' campfire."
Bart was a mercenary he had met on the front lines, a peculiar boy fluent in Ortonan and gifted with healing powers.
Moreover, he never found Cike, who trailed persistently after him, to be a nuisance—instead, he cared for him tenderly in place of his father.
He was the only one who consistently called him 'Enrique' instead of his childhood name.
'If only Bart were my real father, or even my brother...'
Every night, wrapped in a blanket beside that steadfast protector, Cike often drifted off to such absurd fantasies.
It was one day during their travels. While the Astros Mercenary Corps paused for a brief rest, one of the members witnessed something curious.
"Oh, look at that fox! It's half-dead, but somehow it crawled all the way back to its den."
"Those wounds... mauled by a weasel?"
Drawn by the mercenaries' murmurs, Cike peered curiously at the small burrow.
Sure enough, a fox bleeding from deep wounds was staggering slowly into the den.
'Poor thing. It just wanted to close its eyes in its own home...'
As Cike sank into such pitying thoughts,
Kyeng! Kyiiing! King!
Suddenly, frail cries began emanating from inside the burrow. The death throes of little fox kits.
"Huh? Wait! Is that... is it killing all its pups?"
"Tch. Taking out its anger from the weasel attack on its own young. That's animals for you!"
...What?
Cike's eyes widened in shock at the unbelievable truth.
'It came back injured from somewhere and now it's killing its own unrelated pups?'
A surge of fury welled up in his chest. He grabbed the largest rock nearby, gritted his teeth, and hurled it at the burrow with all his strength.
Perhaps the dying fox mauling its young reminded him of his father Benicio, who not long ago had spitefully flung a liquor bottle at him.
"You filthy beast! Just bury yourself in the dirt and die!"
Thud! Crumble—
The soil at the burrow's entrance collapsed from the impact.
Still seething, as Cike panted and reached for a second rock,
"Enrique."
Tap.
Bart's hand lightly touched his shoulder.
"Don't do anything you'll regret later. Even without you doing that, that mother fox is going to die soon anyway."
"So what? What does that change?"
Just because it was about to die, just because it was pitiful—did that excuse such behavior? Did being on the brink of death make it okay to take out its rage on innocent pups?
"Bart! That wicked beast deserves to die! It's not fit to be a mother! I won't let it go peacefully!"
Cike shouted indignantly.
But Bart, looking down at him, simply offered a faint smile without reply. The same smile he always gave when Cike gave a wrong answer, as if pitying him.
In that moment, Cike instinctively realized.
Ah, I've gotten it wrong again.
"Think about it. Judging by the timing, those fox pups have only just opened their eyes. They couldn't possibly have been weaned yet. What do you think will happen to them if they lose their mother in this situation?"
"......!"
"Yes. They'll have to wail beside their mother's corpse until they starve to death. Or else predators drawn by the noise will tear them apart cruelly. Maybe even the weasel that attacked the mother will come sniffing around."
His voice continued softly and steadily.
The strength drained from Cike's hand gripping the rock.
"So, what do you think is the last thing a dying mother can do for her pups?"
"Uh......"
"Isn't the mother fox's situation truly heartbreaking, forced into that choice?"
"Such......"
'I never thought of it that way...!'
Drip, drip.
Perhaps from emotions piling up intensely, tears suddenly poured from Cike's eyes without warning.
Looking back now, No. 21 couldn't quite recall exactly what he had felt then.
He just remembered pitying the mother fox in the burrow, and by extension, his father Benicio's plight was unbearable.
Perhaps it was mingled with resentment toward a father so immersed in his own pain that he couldn't spare a thought for his son's suffering.
Amid the endless tears,
Tap, tap. Only the calm touch gently patting his head to soothe him remained vivid in his memory.
"But the world doesn't always work that way. So you don't need to grieve so much."
* * *
"Hey! Cike! We keep running into each other lately, huh?"
As he stepped out of the branch office, a familiar face waved cheerfully in front of him. His burly build clashed with his endlessly frivolous demeanor, light as if he might flutter away.
"...It's No. 21, not Cike, Branch Chief Justin."
"Yeah, yeah, Cike."
Justin Astros.
Former captain of the Astros Mercenary Corps, now serving as the head of the Assassin Branch after it transformed into a guild.
Like the Holy Emperor, he was someone with a fairly long connection to No. 21. Though over those many years, he still wasn't someone No. 21 particularly liked.
If the Holy Emperor had stubbornly called him Enrique back then, this man stubbornly stuck to his childhood name even with the grown No. 21.
It felt subtly like being treated as a novice, so No. 21 always felt inwardly displeased whenever they met.
"'We keep running into each other'? I have no idea what you mean. It feels like the first time I've seen you in months. I hear you hardly even show up at the branch these days."
"What? That's just people talking nonsense because they don't know! I've been stuck to the branch the whole time!"
"But Aslan said the same thing. That it's been a while since he last saw you."
"Haha, that's just that kid not knowing. I come and go from here every day, keeping a proper eye on Aslan. He just doesn't notice me, or doesn't even remember meeting me."
"......?"
Doesn't remember meeting? What on earth was this man saying?
No. 21 subtly furrowed his brow.
Just when he seemed serious, he'd spout nonsense; just when it seemed like a joke, he'd turn dead serious. He'd thought so since childhood, but Justin Astros was a man whose true intentions were impossible to pin down.
"Anyway, how's it going? I hear everyone's busy because of that troublemaker son of Bart's lately. How do they seem? Getting along okay?"
"If that were the case, why would I be going through all this trouble?"
No. 21 let out a quiet sigh.
"He causes such a ruckus almost every day that the mansion hasn't had a peaceful moment. Several of the guild members assigned to him have already been replaced."
"If it's tough, just hand it off to the Assassin Branch. Do you really need to guard him so tightly yourself? Bart didn't ask you to, so why do you volunteer to go back and forth to the imperial capital every time, putting yourself through the hassle?"
"Would you entrust him to just anyone? If I'm not watching him personally, I get even more anxious and can't rest easy."
"Hmm......"
At that, Justin narrowed his eyes and stared piercingly at No. 21.
"You know, I've thought this before, but it seems like you really like that guy becoming 'Bart.'"
"Pardon?"
"Every time you escort his homunculus, your face lights up unusually. Don't you notice it yourself?"
"...Not at all!"
No. 21 replied firmly.
Moving the homunculus even once required so much attention—how could anyone like that ordeal? What nonsense!
'Of course, the mental burden of needing to assassinate him as soon as possible does ease a bit.'
After all, the homunculus wasn't the Holy Emperor's real body, so targeting its life was pointless anyway.
So he just had to fulfill his duty as an exclusive intelligence agent by his side. That was all.
"You know well how fragile the homunculus's body is, Branch Chief. And His Majesty doesn't particularly mind that either. Thanks to that, there've been more than a few heart-stopping moments just watching what he does from nearby."
"What?"
"I've told him countless times already to stop using the doll because it's dangerous, but he never even pretends to listen."
Justin's face lost its mirth, and he asked in an intensely serious tone.
"Hey, Cike."
"It's No. 21, Branch Chief."
"Yeah, Cike. Aren't you under some big misunderstanding?"
"...Pardon?"
"Do you really think Bart is weak? Just because he's in a homunculus body that breaks easily and can't properly use aura?"
"......"
"There's no shortage of people worth worrying about in this world. Come on, just because he looks all frail on the outside, do you think you need to help him out this time? Do you see yourself as Bart's protector or something?!"
No. 21 couldn't reply right away.
'Protector... Yeah, if only that could really be the case, how wonderful it would be.'
No. 21 smiled bitterly.
It was the deepest sense of powerlessness he had felt since stepping onto the path of an assassin.