Eternal Funeral (2)
I loved him. Now that there was nothing left to hide, I could finally say it aloud. She had loved him. Every moment he treated her with kindness had been precious. The way his enormous hand would stroke her hair, the magnificent light in his eyes when he looked at her, even his heavy voice as he held her close and told her not to break. Not a single thing about him had escaped her love.
After standing dazed before Gorgo’s portrait for a long while, she had gone looking for Yohan. He was nowhere to be found. She had not been anxious. As always, she told herself he would return when the time was right. But now he would never come back.
Of all their final memories together, the last one had to be that moment on the road home when he had embraced her and gently stroked her hair. ‘Isn’t it warm? I was alive.’
Now every possible thought flooded her mind. Had he spoken those words because he already knew he would die? If so, why had he sent her away like that? No—she should have stepped forward first and whispered her true feelings into his ear. Until now she had hesitated, terrified they would never be accepted. Yet everything in this world has an end.
Even though Karalin had known that truth, she only realized it once it was already too late. If she had known it would end like this, she should have done so much more. When she thought about it, the only person who had remained at her side while seeing only her—not her position, not her bloodline—was Yohan.
Her fate had begun to crumble the moment her stepmother Shagalor arrived in the North, became the official consort, and gave birth to Abel, the heir and her half-brother. After the right of succession passed to them, every single person who had once called themselves her loyal subject turned away. But Yohan never once revealed such a treacherous heart. He had always stayed beside her, caring only for her.
He had always said that whenever things grew difficult, he would be right there. If she wished, she could lean against his back, endure this cruel world, and keep living.
There had been countless times she wanted to die. Times she was despised, ignored, slighted, rejected. When she had driven soldiers to their deaths before the wyvern, the impulse to hurl herself into the flames and end everything had never left her. Yet the sole reason she had kept living until now was the strength she drew from Yohan’s words: live on.
Yohan seemed to have misunderstood her greatly. Or perhaps it was because of that misunderstanding that she had deliberately shown only a strong front, living for the pride of her bloodline. ‘Everything about me living for Vitagarte was a lie.’
Enduring the storms of the world, being worn down again and again, had only been possible because Yohan stood at her side. The reason she had tried to accept every cruel fate was so she could live for tomorrow with the one person she cherished most—her only attendant… no, her one and only love.
She reached for the flowers he had once given her, the ones she had saved inside a box in the corner of the room.
“Ah… aaaaah…”
She could not even bear to look at them. She collapsed onto the floor and wept. They were all meant to be ways to remember their time together, yet her heart surged forward like a gate, refusing to let her see them.
How could the heavens be so heartless? To think that the price of enduring every cruel fate would be such a brutal ending. She had even harmed those around her. It was fortunate that Eclipse seemed unharmed, but to have unleashed so much magic on that small child—
Now there was no longer any meaning or strength left for her to keep living. Karalin simply stared with hollow eyes at the last flowers and gifts he had left her.
“...A letter?”
That was right. She had been so busy organizing her heart that she had not even touched it until now. But there it was. As though possessed, she took out the fragrant letter and clutched it tightly to her chest.
There is someone chasing me, so I am writing this in haste to deliver it to you, my lady. I will entrust this to someone trustworthy. If anything should happen to me, please open it.
First, I must tell you this: even if I die, it is not the end. From now on, your role is what matters most.
— Yohan
“………Yohan.”
“My… role…?”
At that moment her mind spun as though tangled. To be precise, it was closer to an intuition. Yohan left something behind for me.
Before master and servant, they had been childhood friends. No one except her father had spent more years with her. If someone as thoughtful as Yohan had arranged things to this extent, there had to be meaning behind it. Could there be something she had not yet realized?
Driven by that strange intuition, she read through the letter as if in a trance. If he still had a request to make of her, it was because her own death could wait until much later.
Yohan’s funeral was conducted with austere simplicity. The dean and chairman’s determination not to let the news spread far and wide played a small part, but the greatest influence came from Karalin herself—his only superior in life and the sole object of his deepest affection.
Her seclusion had not lasted long. She simply decided that when the time came, he would be placed in the coffin, and when the time came, the funeral procession would begin. At her insistence, Yohan’s funeral followed the traditional Northern Water Soul Rite, held beside a river entirely without flowers.
A funeral with not a single ordinary floral tribute. It was bleak. Anyone who came would inevitably feel the dissonance; this was nothing like a normal ceremony. Yet because Karalin had insisted it was the deceased’s wish, they could only follow her lead.
Under ordinary circumstances, people would have whispered that the rigid Grand Duke’s daughter had chosen a crude farewell, that the North simply did not use flowers at funerals. But not a single person here even considered such dry commentary.
In truth, those who had not distanced themselves from Yohan and Karalin could be counted on one hand. Their own mistakes had driven a dagger into a man’s heart and killed him; every conscience present lay shattered. Many had prepared flowers as tokens of regret and apology, yet even those Yohan would not accept before leaving. That was the prevailing sentiment.
The attendees were the entire faculty of Sigmund except for one, the classmates who had built bonds with him in life, several of those same classmates who wished to express guilty condolences, and most of the Northern faction students.
What stood out most was that every prominent figure who had given a speech at the entrance ceremony had gathered here: Bankait, Gremory, and Karalin.
Gremory at least had connections to both Yohan and Karalin and appeared to have come to mourn an acquaintance’s death as part of her efforts to build relationships within the VIP circle. But Bankait—our Crown Prince—seemed to mourn the fate with unusual depth. He tried to assist with every part of the ceremony at Karalin’s side.
“...Yohan, I have long heard of your virtuous deeds. Karalin, I can only offer my condolences for the fate you have suffered.”
Yet had he truly been close to Yohan? Sigmund was vast, but its internal society was small. Leaving Gremory aside, it was doubtful whether rumors had ever circulated of Bankait keeping company with Yohan. To be exact, a few people had seen the friend-to-all Crown Prince approach Yohan, but each time Yohan had claimed he was busy or needed to attend the next class and deliberately avoided creating such opportunities.
Given that Yohan always stayed only at his lady’s side and showed no hesitation in doing so, many had felt he was intentionally avoiding the prince. Most students therefore assumed their class president was simply performing his duty by offering comfort in this unprecedented tragedy. Those who knew the full story, however, could only wonder why Bankait was behaving this way.
“Karalin, if there is anything I can do to help, tell me. I will stay by your side.”
But Karalin was no fool. Even with her memories erased, unpleasant feelings toward him still filled her heart. No—having lost the only attendant she had ever cherished, perhaps the greater reason was that no one could enter her heart anymore.
“Do not casually address me by name, Your Highness the Crown Prince.”
Crack—. At those words the air around Bankait seemed to waver, though it might have been her imagination. He soon smiled awkwardly, scratching his cheek in embarrassment.
“Ah, ahaha… I meant nothing by it. Must you react so coldly?”
“......”
Yet Karalin merely continued to preside over the funeral in silence, pushing him away and focusing only on arranging Yohan’s final moments with care.
Unable to find any place to insert himself, Bankait wondered why she was treating him with such hostility when she supposedly remembered nothing. But it was only natural. As he had said, even without memories, the impressions remained.
With graceful movements, Karalin finished preparing the rigidly stiffened body to be released into the river. The sight of her evoked less sorrow in the onlookers than a sense of solemn reverence.
“Farewell, my first and my last.”
On a sunlit day she sent the horrific corpse she could barely look at down the river and buried it deep within her chest.
“Remain eternal inside my memory.”
From now on Yohan would follow the current out to the distant ocean and exist forever within the memories of those left behind. No—in Karalin’s memory.
With an expression of utter desolation unlike any other in the world, she clutched his final memento, the flower wreath, to her breast. He drifted away on the water. Everything was ending.
But it was then that a woman with equally hollow, sunken eyes burst into the gathering.
“Wait…! Do not release him!”
It was Casacos, the only member of the faculty who had been absent from a ceremony everyone else had attended. She looked haggard, as though she had not slept for days.
“I’m sorry I’m late. There was something I needed to confirm. So—!”
Despite her desperate plea, Yohan was already swiftly drifting downstream.
“Ah, no…!”
Casacos could only fall to her knees before the river in despair and watch. The pure-white gown she wore became stained with dirt.
“Professor Casacos…?”
Their eyes met.