You Are Not Disposable
A moment later, Evelyn leaned back against the creaky old wooden chair in the Inspection Room.
Propping her chin in her hand, she silently stared at the stubbornly shut bathroom door.
It was sealed as tightly as Arvin von Drak's closed-off heart.
Arvin von Drak.
In the original story, he wasn't just some side character fated to fade into the background.
He was the device who willingly played the villain to make the protagonist shine, thoroughly expended to complete the tale's tragic arc.
Callion, the Second Imperial Prince who had taken him in.
A man who had learned no way of life beyond wielding the sword for him alone.
His loyalty to Callion bordered on blind fanaticism.
Yet Callion valued that devotion only as the utility of a tool.
Convenient to use, sharp and effective, and not worth a second thought when dulled and discarded.
That bastard really was trash.
As she read through the pages, Evelyn had pitied him, felt sorry for him over and over.
From the moment he pledged his loyalty to Callion, to the wretched instant he was abandoned.
And right up to that final line, where he vanished like morning dew on the cold execution scaffold.
And now he's right in front of me.
No matter her feelings, no matter how tragic she found his story, her sympathy ended there.
What mattered now was restoring his shattered mind.
What good was a Swordmaster whose spirit was broken, in this monster-infested North?
Screeech—
The rusty hinges screamed like scraping metal as the bathroom door swung open.
A rush of hot, humid steam billowed out, and first to emerge was his ash-gray hair, heavy with water.
Once the grime and crusted blood were scrubbed away, the true colors he'd hidden came into sharp focus.
Ash-gray hair, a bloodless pallor with a noble jawline exuding refined dignity.
And those amethyst-purple eyes, still gleaming with wariness like chips of cool crystal.
The loose tunic Ally had provided draped over his frame, but it couldn't hide the taut tension of the muscles beneath.
Like a wolf ready to tear out a throat at any moment.
"…Have you finished washing?"
Evelyn pretended not to notice his killing intent, asking indifferently.
Arvin bit his lip instead of answering.
His brow furrowed deeply, as if the very situation was a humiliation.
"Then sit. Before it gets cold."
She nodded toward the table.
Steam rose invitingly from a hot stew, alongside rough bread and a few strips of smoked meat.
He hesitated, then slowly lowered himself onto the chair without relaxing his guard.
But he didn't touch the spoon—instead, he just glared straight through her.
"No poison."
"…Why are you doing this?"
His voice came out rough and cracked.
"Why keep me alive? Why let me wash and feed me?"
"Because you're filthy."
"…What?"
"I let you wash because you stank, and I gave you food because you're probably starving."
Evelyn chuckled softly as she rose from her seat and approached him.
Arvin's shoulders twitched upward.
He instinctively tried to pull back, but her hand shot out faster, snatching at him.
A stubborn smudge lingered under his eye, on his cheek—char, probably missed in his hasty wash.
How much hell did he go through?
Evelyn gently rubbed it away with her thumb, careful not to press against his skin.
"……!"
Arvin's purple eyes shook like they were caught in an earthquake. She heard him sharply inhale.
Ignoring his reaction, she casually wiped the black streak from her fingertip.
"Even the finest sword rusts without care."
She met his gaze.
She recalled the day Callion first took him in.
The vile whisper as he wiped blood from the battlefield orphan's face.
[You are a gem. One that never loses its shine, even covered in dirt.]
For some reason, Evelyn twisted that memorized line in her mind and spat it out her way.
"You are you. No matter how deep the scars… you mustn't lose your light."
"……."
"Wouldn't that be a waste? When you're alive like this."
"…."
"When you're such a splendid knight."
His eyes quivered uncontrollably.
The way he looked at her held confusion, overlaid with the phantom of someone else.
A touch both cold and kind. Eyes that acknowledged his worth beyond mere ability.
It eerily mirrored the old lord he'd craved so desperately—and been brutally betrayed by.
Evelyn continued as evenly as she could.
"Eat."
"…Do you."
He worked his parched lips.
"Do you think I'll draw my sword for you?"
"And if not?"
"I'd rather die."
His eyes blazed with venom.
But beneath lurked a vicious fear.
Of being used again, discarded again.
His trauma ran deeper than she'd thought.
Evelyn let out a short sigh and leaned deeply back into her chair.
She looked at him, all dejected and cowed.
Pity welled up.
She knew he'd always been sincere.
That's why she knew how deeply he'd been hurt.
That foolish stubbornness was both his strength and his weakness.
She tore off a chunk of bread, dipped it in the stew, and said,
"Don't misunderstand, Arvin. I don't want your loyalty."
"…Lies."
"Lies?"
"You're all the same. Your eyes are all the same!"
Bam!
Arvin slammed the table, sending dishes rattling and jumping.
He shot to his feet, bloodshot eyes glaring at Evelyn.
That gaze was a raw, desperate scream.
"Sweet words to lure me in, praise when you need me! But when my blade dulls and wears out? When something better comes along to replace me?"
His voice trembled like aspen leaves.
"Then… you'll toss me aside like trash again! Just like His Highness Callion! You think you're any different?!"
He was seeing Callion in her.
Projecting him onto her.
Her similar actions and words had only ripped open his wounds.
To one who realized a gentle touch was false, the same touch was torture, not comfort.
"You're the same greedy scum. All you nobles think alike down to your bones… So drop the innocent act, you disgusting hypocrite!"
At the end of his furious shout, a single hot tear finally escaped Arvin's eye and fell to the floor.
…Poor guy.
He was a swordsman without a sword, a knight without a lord.
Distrust for the world wrapped around him like thorny vines.
She'd use him and discard him, just like before.
That's how he saw her, how he'd judged her.
Evelyn swallowed her mouthful of bread.
Then slowly lifted her head to meet his eyes head-on.
Yeah, he was half right.
I need his strength. I might have planned to use him.
But.
"Wrong."
She clicked her tongue and shook her head.
"So wrong from one to ten, I don't even know where to start."
She stood and strode right up to his face.
Arvin didn't back away, just glared.
Evelyn stared straight into his eyes and thumped her chest with her fist.
"Arvin."
"……."
"Do you know where this is?"
The sudden question furrowed his brow.
"…The North."
"Yes, the North. Varmark Territory, the empire's trash dump. Ten months of winter a year, where your lungs freeze just breathing."
She pointed to the window.
Blade-sharp winds howled through the cracks like a beast's wail.
"Here, noble decorum? Imperial etiquette? Useless. You worry if tomorrow's Monster Wave will sever your head from your body."
Evelyn took a deep breath and looked at him again.
Then she squared her shoulders as proudly as possible.
"And I!"
Her booming voice echoed through the Inspection Room.
Arvin flinched, shoulders jerking.
"I am incompetent!"
"…What?"
Arvin's mouth hung open in daze.
He looked like he couldn't process what he'd heard.
But she didn't stop.
To open his heart, she had to bare her own truth.
"I can't wield a sword. Magic? No clue. All I can do is count money, balance ledgers, and think a little."
She jabbed a finger for emphasis, unleashing her tirade.
"But outside? Orcs, trolls, insane monsters crawling everywhere. Arrows could fly into my bedroom any second, or monsters could smash through the walls."
She stepped closer.
Overwhelmed by her momentum, Arvin involuntarily stepped back.
"And you think I'd throw away the empire's strongest sword?"
"Th-that's…."
"Do I look crazy enough to discard you? I need you until you die of old age—hell, even after you're dead."
She pounded her chest indignantly, pouring out her sincerity.
"Useless then toss? I decide your usefulness. As long as I'm here, you're useful. Why? Because I'm weak as hell."
"……."
"I need you to survive. To live, I need you. You have to be my shield, my sword. Without you, I couldn't sleep soundly one day in this North!"
In that moment, as her excitement faded, a heavy silence blanketed the Inspection Room.
Only the crackle of the torch flames remained.
Arvin stared at her, dumbfounded.
What the hell is this person?
What the actual—
What kind of lunatic is this?
She was nothing like any noble he'd ever known.
Usually, they flaunted their dignity or crushed with force.
Or begged for loyalty with sweet lies.
But this noble was shouting to the rooftops, I'm incompetent, I'm weak.
And so damn proudly, confidently.
"So don't worry about me discarding you. That's a luxury."
Evelyn drove the point home into his wavering eyes.
"I could never discard you. Even if I don't want to die, I'll cling to you till the end."
"……."
"If you try to run, I'll chain myself to you."
The venom had drained from Arvin's eyes.
In its place: bafflement, and some indescribable, bizarre emotion.
People who wanted him, coveted him? A dime a dozen.
But….
"…You're insane."
After a long pause, that's all that escaped his lips.
"Yeah. So."
Evelyn pushed the cooling stew bowl toward him.
"Eat. You're too valuable to die like this."
Arvin glanced between the humble stew and her face.
A deflating sigh slipped from his lips.
"…Ha."
It was the first time since he'd been dragged here.
The first emotion that wasn't rage or hatred.
With trembling hands, he slowly picked up the spoon, scooped some stew, and brought it to his parched mouth.
"…It's warm."
"Of course. I just made it."
"No."
He glanced at her through reddened eyes, then muttered so softly it was barely audible.
"…You are."
"Pardon?"
"…Nothing."
He bowed his head and began devouring the stew ravenously.
His shoulders trembled faintly.
Whether from tears or laughter, she couldn't tell.
But at least it wasn't the death-wishing gaze from before.