Irreversible Choice
Julia looked up at him silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her jaw and lips twitched. Her fists trembled violently.
"Dad... he's dead, isn't he? Right?"
Her voice quivered as she asked, but Julia already knew the answer. She just didn't want to accept it. Please say no. Please say he's actually alive.
"...."
Gert held his silence for a long while, watching the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Truth be told, he'd known this moment would come someday. He just hadn't expected it so soon.
Gert remained silent, gazing at Julia with sad, wistful eyes.
"Sob, hic, sob."
Silence was the most definitive answer. Hearing it confirmed, Julia swallowed her sobs. Her heart pounded with immense grief, her lungs aching. Memories of a week ago flashed in her mind—the people in black heading to a funeral. Now it all made sense. They had been mourning her father's death, offering condolences to a foreign emperor. And she, his daughter, had been laughing and chatting away, oblivious.
That realization tore at her chest. She wept for a long time. Her sobs wouldn't stop. She heaved, vomiting out her sorrow in gasps. Losing the person she loved most in the world stabbed deeper and more cruelly than any blade.
Gert stood awkwardly by her side before cautiously reaching out to stroke her hair. His touch was rough, but to Julia, it felt gentle.
Julia buried her face in Gert's stomach with a wail. Her muffled cries leaked out. Gert said nothing until they fully subsided.
A hollow few weeks passed. I didn't comfort Julia. People often say the greatest pain in life is the death of family—the ones who birthed you, raised you. Honestly, I don't know. My parents are still alive, and even if they died, I doubt I'd grieve. So I can't understand Julia's sorrow. How do you comfort a grief you can't comprehend?
Julia huddled in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, her face weary from sorrow, like someone who'd lost something irreplaceable. The sparkle in her eyes had vanished into unbelievable emptiness.
...This is bad.
I've witnessed plenty of deaths in my life. I'm numb to it. I've killed many, seen many killed. Just... Oh, dead. Killed 'em. Done. But suicides always left a heaviness in my soul, a lingering weight. Their deaths stuck with me forever, inexplicably.
Life's purpose is to live. Suicide defies that. I had a comrade who took his own life. Always the guild drunk, boisterous guy. Then suddenly, he avoided everyone, holed up in his room. No visitors, not even his beloved booze. Word was, he'd accidentally killed a kid.
I went to recruit him for a job—his skills were top-notch, personality be damned. The moment I saw his face, I sensed a fundamental change. I still remember every detail: fish-dead eyes, sallow skin, slack jaw. Not human eyes. Like a prisoner awaiting execution, or a bug trapped in a web.
He refused the job, as expected. And died the next day.
Why think of him now? Because Julia was exactly like that. Weeks in that state already. If it continued, she'd die. Her soul would.
"...Can I see Dad one last time?"
A few days ago, she'd asked about attending Marcus's funeral. I said no. She didn't rage or cry—just nodded with a broken expression.
If only she'd bawl like a normal kid... I wished she'd vent her grief with tears. But no expression at all? It drove me mad with anxiety.
Some might call it odd. Why care? You're not even related. Fair point. Marcus was dead. No one would blame me for breaking a promise—especially one announced unilaterally without my consent. Coldly speaking, whether I sold her to the new emperor or abandoned her here, I'd done nothing wrong.
But how do you ignore a kid that fragile? Seeing her like this was making me lose it. A veteran mercenary couldn't endure; a 10-year-old greenhouse flower like her? No chance. Leave her, and she'd die. I hated that. Hated someone I'd even talked to dying like this.
I devoted time to her recovery. Two weeks of gentle coaxing, drawing her gaze. But she just glared with dead-fish eyes. Comfort, jokes, empathy—nothing worked. Day by day, she thinned. The life in her eyes faded.
Panicking, I scanned her with mana. The diagnosis was dire. Her body was breaking down. Extreme stress spiked her blood pressure, burdening her heart. She was summoning her own death.
Dad's dead. Can't go home. Nearly suffered horrors. And she, oblivious, enjoyed the funeral procession. Too much for a 10-year-old. Plus, raised on imperial chefs' healthiest meals, now crude food amid stress? Her body crumbled rapidly.
This wouldn't end well. Only one way...
After agonizing, one solution emerged. I'm a mage. A high-rank 6th Circle wizard. Unlike with that mercenary, I wouldn't just watch.
"There was a power demons once used. A divine authority to distort, create, erase, manipulate memories."
"This spell was born from studying that power. Not as potent, but it can warp memories to a degree."
"Sounds fun. Mind teaching me?"
"Eh, I'm bored anyway. Might as well."
I could cast memory manipulation magic. A forbidden 6th Circle high mental spell, effective only on immature children under 10. Banned by the palace and global magic associations for brainwashing and abuse risks. But Schvalier, a high-ranking association official, knew it—and taught me.
"You know this spell is taboo. Remember: use it only when absolutely necessary. I teach you because I trust you."
Necessity has arrived, I thought.
Memory manipulation alters memories as named. Turns mom into dad, dad into mom. Foe into friend, friend into foe. Not omnipotent—no creating nonexistent memories. Can't give a motherless child a mom.
Julia has no mom. Can't make one. But she has a dad. Marcus Hesenia Stella. The person she loves most.
Someone had to take his role.
"Fuck it, no other way."
After endless thought, this was it. I rubbed my dry face. How'd things spiral like this? One certainty: no action, and Julia dies.
I acted. Crunch! Bit my thumb for blood. Kicked aside the inn floor debris, crouched, drew a magic circle. Arms moved; blood circle formed. Ran low? Bit harder.
Demon-power based, the ritual was complex. Grotesque, aberrant runes composed it. After deliberations, I completed it. Crunch, crunch. Thumb dry, bit index. Then middle. Blood tasted metallic.
Julia stared blankly, clutching her bear doll.
Thud. She suddenly collapsed sideways. Pale, breathing ragged. Still gripped the bear.
My gestures hastened. Minutes later, circle done. I lifted her to the center, stepped back, caught my breath.
"Your Majesty. I'm doing my best. Don't resent me. You know this is unreasonable. It's the only way."
Sincere, I deployed mana. Vast mana poured into the circle. It drank like a sponge. At 70% gone, cold sweat. 80%, dizzy, gasping. 90%, vision spun.
Circle blazed. Blood dripped from nose and mouth. Wouldn't stop. Defiant, I emptied all mana.
Then—Scraaaape! Eerie sound. Circle erupted in light. Julia lay still. Light faded; my blood vanished without trace.
"Hoo...."
Thud. Overwhelming fatigue; one knee buckled. Panting, eyed Julia. Success? Failure?
Life returned to her eyes. Breathing normalized. Color bloomed. She sat up, looked at me.
"...."
"...."
Her blue eyes shone with excessive purity. Brief confusion cleared. Then, tears welled.
"...Dad."
"...."
Indescribable emotion surged. Guilt.
"Dad, Dad...."
Manipulation complete, Julia crawled, hugged tight, wept. Locked in my arms, vowing never to let go.
"...What's wrong?"
"Dunno, don't know. Just... had such a scary dream...."
She trembled like a frail sparrow. Magic imperfect? First cast; deleted memories lingered as nightmare.
And "Dad"? Never dreamed I'd hear that. Awkwardly, I stroked her. She rubbed her cheek against my hand like a cat.
The girl now saw me fully as Dad—from her birth to now, I'd watched over her. Manipulated so.
At least until college graduation. Continental law: adult at 18. But I'd aim for her degree. Then, hand her money, independence—reclaim my life.
Far future talk. Now, no foundation.
Sniff, sniff. Julia slept on my thigh. Sleepless weeks; out like a light. Gazing at her peaceful face, I pondered.
To live here, need foundation: citizenship.
Citizenship first.
I recalled info. Aihenvalt, one of continent's three powers. Not imperial citizenship, but mighty perks. Thus, hard for foreigners.
Options: reside 3 years; marry citizen, reside 1 year; or specialist—teacher, scholar, mage, lawyer, doctor.
I'm 6th Circle mage. Ask, get it instantly.
But... Empire finds out.
Mages rarer than specialists. Nations compete fiercely. Heavily monitored. Even as imperial guard, comrades surveilled a naturalized 5th Circle for half-year.
6th? Worse. Julia's info leaks; Empire notices instantly. Hey guards, I'm here.
Alternative: swordsmanship.
Swordmaster: coat blade in mana aura. I'm mage and swordmaster. Aihenvalt Swordsmanship Academy recognition = citizenship.
Not swordsmanship either. Same issue. Swordmasters rarer, arguably more valuable. Empire hunting full-force; even sans records, they'd spot Julia link. Flashy jobs no-go.
What then? Citizenship? Job? Worries lingered till dawn. Bleak future weighed heavy. Mana-drained, stress sleepless.
"Daddy. Hehe."
Early dawn, Julia stirred, beaming recovered. Touched my jaw happily.
"...Sleep well?"
"Daddy tired?"
"Huh? Nah, fine."
"You look tired. Face full of worry? Want a squish?"
Julia reached, clenched-unclenched fists cutely. Simple act melted fatigue.
"Ah... Daddy's okay. Sleep more."
"Sleep together."
"Daddy soon."
"No! Daddy sleep with me."
Stern scold from Julia. Absurd; I chuckled.
"Fine. Sleep."
Lifted her to bed, lay together. She pulled my face, kissed, burrowed under covers. Soon, snooore...
Whatever. It'll work out. Worries remained. But watching her, shoulders felt light—not heavy, comfortably weighted. Heart warmed.
I sought sleep. Julia snuggled deeper asleep. Drifted into deep slumber.
Four years passed.