Chapter 7
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: 3. Ceres
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Arbelia's gaze was fixed on my hand.
The positioning of my fingers gripping the sword, even the slight bend of my pinky—it felt like her eyes pierced through everything.
Arbelia's eyes slowly rose to my face.
Her pupils narrowed ever so slightly, and her lips trembled as if she wanted to ask something at any moment.
But as if regaining her senses, she averted her gaze and looked at Ceres standing behind me.
Most people followed a similar thought process.
They'd become convinced, only to circle back to doubt, wondering if it might not be the case after all.
"Like this?"
I deliberately twirled the sword awkwardly and asked.
"No, a bit more... like this."
Arbelia approached and directly adjusted my hand. Her touch felt rigid.
At this distance, I could sense her state of mind clearly.
Her breathing was slightly quickened, and I could see her throat bobbing as she swallowed.
"Thank you, Sword Saint. To receive direct instruction like this... it's truly an honor."
"No need for thanks."
Arbelia stepped back. Yet her gaze remained locked on me.
When I innocently tilted my head, Arbelia stiffened slightly and turned away.
"Ceres, back to the basic stance. Today, focus on footwork."
"Yes, Arbelia!"
Ceres eagerly assumed her position. Her movements already carried a stability incomparable to a few weeks prior.
She had talent.
'I only said she had talent as a bluff, but does she actually possess real talent?'
I'd told Ceres she had talent, but honestly, I had no idea if she did or not.
'I'd never let her hold a sword before. On the surface, she seemed lacking...'
No, perhaps necessity had forged her that way.
The terror of death and the ache of loss were the finest fertilizers for rapid growth.
It was a well-known fact that people unleashed strength and talent beyond all reason in dire straits.
I sat on the bench beside the clearing and watched their training.
I could see Arbelia occasionally glancing my way.
In recent weeks, Arbelia had shadowed me relentlessly but uncovered no solid evidence.
Now, she was growing anxious.
A few days passed.
Ceres began relying on me more and more.
At breakfast, she'd recount the dreams she'd had overnight and proudly report her small triumphs in sword training.
Each time, I'd stroke her head and offer praise. For a child in her growth years, praise made excellent fertilizer.
'That aside, why is her favorability shooting up so fast? Affection deprivation?'
Ceres was an orphan. She'd stuck by my side as my childhood friend ever since I became one, steadily building her favorability.
No blood ties, but it amounted to a father-daughter bond.
Affection for one's child?
If mistaking expectation for affection, then I could claim to be a parent who loved their child dearly.
'Certainly. Looks like I'm fulfilling the Helper role admirably.'
If this continued for three years—no, even one—Ceres would fully cast off her sorrow.
By then, slipping back into the childhood friend role might earn a reaction like, "Childhood friend? What's that?"
'Should I dial back her favorability?'
As that thought crossed my mind, Ceres visited my study.
"Uncle, can I borrow a book?"
"Of course. Which one do you want?"
"The Sword Saint recommended one... about combat psychology. The title was something like Combat Psychology... Mind Reading?"
As Ceres fumbled for the title, I pointed to the precise spot on the shelf.
"This book?"
"Wow, that's it! How do you always know everything, Uncle?"
I gave a faint smile and handed her the book. The worn crest embossed on the cover felt familiar beneath my fingers.
'It's the logo I designed myself.'
"It's an old favorite of mine. Should help you too."
I pulled the book from the shelf and offered my usual praise, as always.
As I've said, praise is fertilizer.
"You're working hard. But don't push yourself too far. Rest properly when it's time to rest."
"It's all thanks to you, Uncle."
Ceres clutched the book to her chest as she spoke.
"If you weren't here... I'd still be..."
She trailed off. I rose and patted her shoulder.
"It'll all pass in time. Time doesn't heal every wound... but as you grow stronger, you'll learn to live alongside them. I'll teach you how."
A lie. Wounds never truly heal. People simply grow accustomed to them.
'Tolerance builds to pain as well.'
Heartache builds tolerance. So does guilt.
Commit murder as casually as a meal, and eventually, you can kill without a shred of shame.
"...Thanks. You seem so smart, Uncle. You know so much more than me."
"That's just what comes with age."
After Ceres left the room, I gazed out the window.
'Ludwig's on the move.'
From the lower city near the slums, a sinister aura seeped upward—viscous and utterly malevolent.
'A demon-summoning ritual. Starting in Firendel?'
Fortunately, my concerns proved unfounded. How convenient for him to act at such a perfect moment.
The next day, Arbelia paused the training and approached me. Her expression was grave.
"Walther, do you have a moment?"
"Of course. What's wrong?"
We moved to the mansion's parlor—a distance Ceres couldn't overhear.
"What do you think of Ceres?"
"What do I think? She's a brave girl. Striving to rise above her pain. Remarkable for her age to stand tall after such trauma."
"...Do you know her past? Why she had to leave her hometown?"
I offered a bitter smile.
"I do. A tragic accident—she lost loved ones to monsters. No family left behind, so I brought her here."
Did my words stir some sense of déjà vu?
Arbelia's face grew even more somber. Her inner thoughts eluded me entirely.
'Déjà vu, no doubt. Their scenarios happen to align.'
"While I've been instructing her, I've noticed how deeply she relies on you. That sort of relationship..."
Arbelia fell silent for a moment.
Reliving memories of that day? Her voice sharpened faintly.
"...can protect the weak at times, but it can also render them frailer still. Someone I knew once crumbled completely."
Arbelia's tone dropped low and even.
"Your way of approaching Ceres feels oddly familiar. Feigning to heal her loss, yet fostering dependence on the wound itself."
The air turned to ice. I tilted my head ever so slightly.
"What do you mean—"
"My words are clear."
Arbelia cut me off.
"What do you seek to gain from that girl? The fulfillment of a protector... or..."
She halted abruptly. 'Or a surrogate for your guilt?' lingered unspoken in the air before vanishing.
I let out a slow sigh.
"I... simply wished to atone, even a little, for what I failed to protect—by seeing her smile."
I let a subtle crack enter my voice. Nothing excessive—just enough to reveal a glimpse of humanity.
'This counts as charity work, in a way.'
Raise her, feed her, clothe her, teach her.
All gratis. Even providing fierce motivation for success.
I was certain.
'No saint like me exists.'
"Did you offer to teach Ceres for free solely because you suspected me?"
Arbelia fell silent. She had no comeback if I pressed the point.
Circumstantial suspicion, but no hard evidence.
"...You're right. Perhaps I brought her here for my own sake. She reminds me of my lost daughter... I'm sorry."
I wiped away tears. Crocodile tears.
Arbelia, startled by them, faltered. Her pupils trembled markedly.
At that instant, Ceres came running toward us.
I hastily dabbed the last traces and bowed to Arbelia.
"Uncle! What are you two talking about? Can we start training again?"
Arbelia could press no further.
'My pastime demands no material toll.'
What I craved was mental fulfillment. That left no traces.
She lacked both pretext and proof to continue her inquiry.
I glanced sidelong at Arbelia's face.
'Pitiful, so pitiful. Reliving her past through me and Ceres?'
To spur her on a touch, I smirked—just for her eyes.
"...!!"
The following evening, the sky began to redden.
At first, I dismissed it as the sunset's dying glow.
But the crimson deepened, and black flecks like snowflakes started drifting down from above.
"Uncle, look at the sky. Why is it..."
Ceres's words broke off. Fine black ash began accumulating on the windowsill.
Bang!
The parlor door flew open, and a pallid-faced servant rushed in.
"Master! You must flee at once! Outside, outside...!"