Chapter 75
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: Curse (3)
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Childhood, before she even held a sword. The first emotion Artel von Scharhen discarded was altruism.
She herself believed that, of all emotions, altruism was the least necessary.
"Artel. Is that true?"
"...Yes, Grandfather."
"Hah...."
The curse of the meritorious houses, handed down since ancient times, was something that could never be escaped. But there was a way to slow its progression.
For instance, the Scharhen Marquisate could choose which emotion to discard, and the strength and importance of the discarded emotion would further enhance the body's power.
But the greatest benefit was that discarding a strong, important emotion dramatically slowed the depletion of the others.
"Why didn't you consult me before pulling something like that?"
"But...."
"People differ from one another, so the family rule is that you must choose the emotion yourself. Still, I could have at least advised you."
And so, on the day Grandfather raged like fire for the first time in her life, she simply couldn't comprehend why.
"...Discarding that emotion would let me protect the rest for much longer."
"I see. Was that your reason?"
"I don't want to end up a cripple like the other adults."
Even after the situation calmed and she knelt before Grandfather, receiving his heartfelt advice, it was the same.
"What's done is done, but here's one piece of advice."
"......"
"There are things in this world more important than simply growing stronger."
She had grown up witnessing far too many adults who failed to control their curse, lost all emotions, and became cripples. The thought of someday ending up the same terrified her.
Thus, she saw sacrificing mere 'altruism' to preserve the rest as a worthy trade.
"But Grandfather, you've discarded nearly all your emotions too, haven't you?"
"True. At my age, it was unavoidable."
Yet Grandfather, renowned as the Supreme Sword Under Heaven, had long discarded countless emotions. Why couldn't he understand her?
"But a person can still live somewhat humanely with just a few key emotions intact."
"......"
"Altruism is one of them, but you've already discarded it. Protect the rest at all costs."
To the question born of those thoughts, Grandfather answered with unusual kindness that day.
"So remember this well."
"...Yes."
"The four emotions I kept to this advanced age without discarding...."
Time passed, and Artel began discarding powerful emotions she deemed unnecessary. But she held onto those Grandfather named.
'Some make sense, but there are really useless ones mixed in too....'
Aside from a few, though, she struggled to grasp why certain emotions couldn't be discarded.
'My siblings ditched them ages ago.'
What if she alone became a cripple while still so young?
Feeling her emotions fade once more lately, pale with fear, she soon devised a stratagem and quietly curled her lips.
'No need to discard only positive emotions.'
So, what to discard? Distrust? Suspicion? Doubt? No—discarding those could backfire.
After agonizing, she settled on one answer and slept soundly, relieved.
'...Now I'm safe.'
The latest emotion she discarded: hesitation.
She believed that if she was strong, her actions just, and free of shame, it could go.
"...Hm?"
Yet Artel von Scharhen overlooked one thing: she was still just a child in her early teens, Lilien's age.
"A letter...?"
Too young to realize what she deemed right might be a blatant lie.
"Ah...."
Hearing Sigrinne's explanation and staring blankly at Kairen's room, Artel steps forward, cold sweat beading.
"......"
Even having discarded some vital emotions, she retained enough to know this was wrong.
Thus, now she must answer for the curses she'd spat carelessly.
"Hey."
But after mere steps, a cold voice calls, grabbing her arm.
"Who...."
The instant she turns toward the voice.
- Thwack....
A brutal shock embeds in her right cheek.
"Ugh...."
Mind blank white, she topples back. The puncher stands over her, eyes icy.
"What, does it hurt, brat?"
"U-Um...."
"Scram while I'm asking nicely. You look halfway sorry at least."
Lilien Nox Belverk appeared from nowhere, eyes crimson, shoos the startled Sigrinne aside, fixes gaze on Artel.
She radiated unprecedented killing intent, face frozen.
"I, I...."
"Didn't say speak. Shut it."
No fiery rage—instead chill. No habitual swears, just venomous bite.
"Crawl into Belverk spouting that shit, and you didn't expect at least this?"
Belverk servants knew: this was Lilien truly furious.
"You...."
"How'd I hear? These fucking eyes sharpen every sense too damn much."
Yet no one had seen her swear in that state.
"I-I came to apologize...."
"Bullshit."
"...Guh."
As Artel opens her mouth, Lilien's face chills further, snatching her throat one-handed.
"Stupid misunderstanding shreds a ten-year-old's heart, now 'sorry'?"
"...A, aa!"
"Yeah. Guilt fades, heart lightens. Right?"
Gripping her throat, merciless punches rain on Artel's face.
"Kid'd probably take you back. Disgustingly kind fucker."
"......"
"But does that mend his shredded heart?"
Artel's fair face bruises bloody, trembling—but rushing maids couldn't halt Lilien.
"Still...."
"Still wanna apologize? Selfish bitch as ever."
Lilien's sincerity shone, unlike her usual baseless fury.
"I'll relay the apology. Die here."
"Gurk...."
"Should've killed you then. Sparing you fucked the kid...."
Artel's face mangles under limp punches, choking gasps emerge as throat crushes.
- Tremble....
Midst it, her hand rises toward Lilien's choking arm—but.
"......"
Flailing briefly, Artel's hand drops slowly, resigned.
"S-Sor...."
Tears streak, choked sob leaks—Lilien's grip slackens.
"At least some conscience stings."
"...Pfft. Haa."
"Hey, listen."
Releasing fully, Lilien thrusts face close, whispers icily.
"...I fucked up big with the kid recently too. Scarred his heart."
"......"
"But he forgave, friended me anyway. Stick close, he'll forgive you too."
Artel's eyes shadow darkly.
"So don't show in kid's sight till you leave."
"Ah...."
"No sorrys, no mercy—just strangers forever. Cheap life price?"
Artel gapes briefly, then seals lips silent.
"Kid's too pathetic, forgiving you after that. Yeah?"
"......"
"Good. That's it."
As Artel silences utterly, Lilien rises slow, heaving breaths.
"Can't pity others, won't stake life for it."
"......!"
"Won't risk life atoning to the one you gutted—don't call this sorry."
Last curse-like words drop; dazed Artel lowers gaze.
"Got it? Fuck off."
"......"
"Hole up, play dead till back to your house."
Gazing moment, Lilien turns away, mutters low.
"Linger near Kairen, I'll kill you."
Then endless corridor silence.
"Yes...."
In hush, under murmuring maids' stares, Artel whispers, head bowed.
"......"
Days flow.
"...Tomorrow, back home."
Blank in room, head low, Artel mutters windowward.
"But...."
Per Lilien's warning, days holed up, breathless, never venturing out.
'Leave like this... okay?'
Facial wounds untreated, meals untouched.
'...Yes, it is.'
Pitiful sight, yet ignored; inward mutter.
She deemed her sin fitting; haggard face droops, eyes deaden.
"Ugh...."
Sudden heart agony strikes.
"No need to think so harshly."
"......!?"
"That'll accelerate emotion drain."
Clutching chest, quaking, voice startles her upright.
"Wh-Who!?"
"Haha, does it matter?"
Scanning, spots hooded woman in end-room mirror; backs horrified.
"You—what are you?"
"......"
"R-Room was empty...?"
Mirror woman absent physically, despite search.
"Trivial. Your crisis matters more."
Sweating cold, hand to waist sword—glances mirror-pointed spot.
- Sizzle....
Then: blazing black heart seal manifests on chest.
"Ah, aa...."
Frozen sight, she crumbles staggering.
"Failed curse control. Hopeless."
"N-No...."
Dreaded mark of crippled adults—now hers.
"D-Don't wanna die like this...."
Panic surges; tears flow, face quivers.
Early teens: emotion-death equals true death, horrific.
"But lucky you."
"...Huh?"
Shaking floorbound, breath ragged—eyes bulge.
"Why...?"
Black heart sped emotion fade—but surged back.
"I can halt your curse. Even erase it."
"...What?"
"Scharhen clan inescapable—only you freed."
Dazed, leaps at mirror's soft voice.
"Accept one condition."
"Wh-What condition?"
"...Simple."
Frantic plea; hood's lips curl sly.
"Kill Kairen there."
"...What!?"
"Shh. Quiet. Wake everyone."
Sweet whisper; voice rises—hood fingers lips chiding.
"You're like this because of Kairen."
"......"
"Right? No kid, no failure."
Quiets her, whispers gentle.
"Curse caster: First Demon King. Overkill reaction to descendant's apt words?"
"Uh...."
"Kill humiliating Kairen: halt curse, join us."
Senses oddity, tilts head—but swallows, listens.
"Too hard?"
"......"
"No expectations."
Curled lips, tone ices.
"Unlike brute Belverks, I'm kind."
"......"
"...Swear now: injure lightly, skip kill."
Sweet-mocking nudge.
"Finish: flee mansion, Holy Church-sealed carriage. Waiting...."
Escape insured; mirror-tilt whisper.
"Kill Kairen better for future?"
"That's...."
"...Or adults' fate."
Chill gleam ends words.
- Swish....
Silence: Artel draws sword dazed, steps out.
"Haha."
Watching back, stifles laugh.
"Meritorious heirs fun."
Mutter too low to reach.
"Nudge mind: they dance."
Satisfied, strokes bosom seal—recent tribute.
"Opstein same."
Seal mirrors Marchioness Opstein's letter stamp eerily.
"Pitiful: curse origin unknown...."
Thrill at plan's flow, mirror-fade—but.
"...Ugh."
"Hm?"
Oddity dawns; head tilt.
"What doing."
"Ughhh...."
"Never ordered that."
Artel walks per words—yet unbidden act.
- Drip....
Drawn sword to bleeding neck; trembling press slow.
"Strange."
Watches blood swell; cold mutter, tilt.
"Discarded altruism, yet."
Sudden: Artel whimpers.
"Now... get Grandfather's words."
"......?"
"Too late...."
Fear-whitens lips, hand presses unfaltering; irritant snaps.
"Really slitting own throat?"
"......"
"Know your daily dread of emotionless husk."
Indeed: weakness was fated end's terror.
"...Heh."
"Courage source unknown—but slash Kairen, survive?"
Well-probed, tempts saccharine.
"Whoever, how speaking...."
Turns, glares fierce.
"I, Artel von Scharhen, defy you."
Fear-tremble, sword-drop urge—but holds, speaks.
"Discarded altruism, hurt—but pity, guilt intact."
"......"
"Direct sorry sin? This atonement."
Hood hardens; cold yell.
"No bravado."
"Pride."
Tremble-voice matches volume.
"Hero Party heir, meritorious scion pride."
"......"
"Resolve unbroken."
All force: sword bites neck full.
"Emotions gone, obey pre: end myself."
Final glare hood, eyes shut.
"Grandfather knew."
"......"
"Such moment coming."
Sob-mutter, end sensed.
"Ugh...!?"
Heart wrenches anew.
- Tremble....
Hand betrays, sword pulls; horror floods face.
"Tail-risk, restrained—but."
"Ah, aa...."
"Know this?"
Mirror mocks open.
"Hesitation gone: why no self-slash till now?"
"......!"
"Black heart: mine already."
Words end; desperate scream.
"Help—!!! "
Futile: mouth clamps forced.
"Useless resist. Mark unbeatable."
Mouth sealed, force drags to door.
"Kill Kairen. Last chance."
Control lifts, mirror chills; eyes dull.
"Good girl. Cute."
"......"
"Special forgive once...."
Narrowed watch, tragedy savor—but.
"...No."
Panic first; bolts up.
"Ha, haha...."
Door-stand: Artel laughs.
"...Why all crippled."
"......"
"Avoid curse-master puppet."
Late truth: discard all emotions at once.
"Serious?"
Her utmost dread: emotionless cripple.
"You feared worse than death?"
Willful choice baffles hood query.
Artel: not haughty, scared child's quake.
"...Regretting now too."
Sword-hands pitiful-tremble mid-speak.
"But...."
Eyes: ironclad resolve.
"...Rather than reswearing hurt one from ignorance: less regret."
Words done: eyes dead, flops floor.
Family, maids' devoted nursing: curse fully purged days later.
"Hm...?"
Tomorrow playable outdoors diagnosed, joyful sleep—
Sorry to wake you so late.
Never dreamed Big Sister System waking late dawn.
User Kairen. I'm deeply troubled over upcoming scenario arrangements.
Frown brief; grave air hushes breath, messages intent.
This crossroads defies personal judgment alone.
Volume 2 ends: Volume 3 talk?
Quests auto heretofore...
Thus, one question for you.
Musing, head tilts at direct query.
What do you think causes regret?
Ponder.
"Uh.... Well, acknowledging mistakes...."
Voices truest thought.
"...To become better, right?"
Room silence.
"More detail?"
Awkward scratch—
No.
That answer suffices.
Decided crispness.
Artel von Scharhen's Salvation (0/1)
⏰ Accept? (Y/N)
Quest startles.
'...What now?'
Thought brief—choice singular.
Quest accepted.
Simple: just voiced acceptance reason.
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