Broken
Pitora, paying her second visit to my quarters in such a short span of time, let out an exasperated sigh and glared straight at me.
Having already anticipated this, I merely offered a sly smirk and shrugged.
"Why look at me like that, Mother? Anyone watching would think I'd committed some terrible crime."
"Aljen. Be honest with me. What else are you hiding?"
The problem is that I'm hiding far too much.
A momentary flinch threatened to betray me, but knowing her question wasn't digging that deep, I kept my face blank and let the corner of my mouth curl upward into an easy, indolent grin.
"Who knows? Maybe there's something, maybe there isn't."
"Honestly, you..."
Pitora shot me a sharp, droll scowl before sighing in defeat. Turning away from me, her gaze settled on Rebecca, who sat quietly at my side.
"Regardless... congratulations on attaining the rank of Sword Master, Dame Rebecca."
"Ah. Yes. Thank you, Your Grace."
I watched in amusement as Rebecca answered with stiff, awkward courtesy.
"A Gold Rank Adventurer and mercenary... isn't that right?"
"Yes, Your Grace. That is correct."
"In that case, might the Duke's Castle retain your services? Ideally under a long-term contract."
"Ah, I must apologize, but I cannot."
Rebecca bowed with clumsy etiquette, bending politely at the waist before stealing a quick, sideways glance toward me.
"I currently serve Lord Stanashila Aljen."
"Serve him? Does that mean you have formally become Aljen's knight?"
"No, not quite. Not yet, at least."
Her hedge drew a snicker from me.
"'Not yet'? Don't tell me you're actually planning to swear yourself to me? What, pledging absolute obedience and lifelong loyalty? Are you going to bring me Leona's head on a platter if I ask?"
"Ghk...!"
At the mention of her most humiliating past blunder, Rebecca ground her teeth and flushed crimson to her ears.
"Lord Aljen, the circumstances now are entirely different from back then...! A-And besides, it isn't as though you push me away anymore...!"
"Hmm? Is that so? Well, I suppose you have a point, my ever-loyal knight."
"Lord Aljen...!"
Unable to endure the teasing any longer, Rebecca poked me hard in the ribs.
"Guh-cough...!"
To her, it was likely just playful roughhousing, but to my squishy mortal frame, it was a concussive strike that rattled my internal organs.
"Good grief... that is quite enough fooling around, Aljen."
"Does this look like fooling around to you...?! Your darling son is literally dying here...!"
I collapsed melodramatically across the sofa. Pitora looked down at me with utter pity.
"In any case, Dame Rebecca, do you truly intend to remain at Aljen's side like this?"
"Yes, Your Grace. I do."
"......"
"Um... is something amiss?"
Seeing the strange, contemplative expression settle over Pitora's face, Rebecca shifted anxiously under her gaze.
"Ahem, well... then which of you is to be the primary wife?"
"Pardon? Primary... wife...?"
"Mother. I already told you I have zero intention of thinking about marriage right now."
"That may be true for you, but the young ladies appear to feel quite differently, which is why I am asking. Have you and Muriel discussed this between yourselves, Dame Rebecca? Has a primary wife already been decided?"
"...No. Nothing of the sort has been settled, but..."
Muriel and Rebecca's gazes locked across the space.
A sudden, bone-chilling frost filled the room, sending a prickle of cold sweat down my spine.
"Is that so? Hmm. Aljen, it seems you will need to establish clear boundaries. Who will take the position?"
"Mother. If this is all you came to talk about, you can see yourself out."
"How cruel. Can a mother not even discuss such matters with her own son?"
"I've told you repeatedly that marriage isn't on my radar, yet you keep bringing it up."
"Fufu, very well, wipe that scowl off your face."
Chuckling as if it had all been in jest, Pitora wore a slightly mischievous smile.
"Though I must say, I can already envision the arduous road lying ahead of you."
"What...?"
"Well, that will be for you to navigate. Regardless, Dame Rebecca, allow me to offer my formal gratitude. Please continue to look after my son."
"Ah, yes, Your Grace..."
"Still, with matters standing as they do, we cannot simply sit on our hands. It seems we ought to arrange a new banquet in honor of our two new Sword Masters..."
"There's no need for that, Mother."
"My goodness, why ever not? Muriel and Dame Rebecca have both achieved the pinnacle of swordsmanship, which means noble titles will be conferred upon them. Shouldn't they establish social connections?"
"Titles are one thing, but connections? I doubt it. The only thing an event like that will attract is a bunch of useless parasites."
"Do not dismiss it so readily. You never know what connections might prove useful down the line."
"Ah, I'll take care of my own business, so just leave it alone."
Pitora's brow furrowed in mild vexation at my stubbornness.
"Honestly... are the two of you truly content with that?"
"Yes. It is unnecessary. If Lord Aljen wills it so, that is enough," Muriel replied calmly.
"I feel the same," Rebecca added. "And frankly speaking, I am not of a sociable disposition. Gatherings of that nature make me rather uncomfortable."
"Mmh..."
After a brief moment of deliberation, Pitora nodded reluctantly.
"Very well. If that is your wish, we shall dismiss the idea of a banquet. However, the conferment of titles will proceed. It would put our ducal house in an awkward position if two genuine Sword Masters remained entirely unlanded and untitled."
"Understood."
"I accept with gratitude."
"My husband will oversee the decree. As for the formal investiture ceremony—"
"Skip it."
"Aljen! You really are impossible...!"
"Come on, what's the point? Empty formalities like that are just a colossal waste of everyone's time."
"Haah... and the two of you agree to this as well?"
"Yes, Your Grace. That suits me fine. I have never cared for pomp and circumstance."
"Likewise."
"...Birds of a feather, truly. Good heavens..."
Pitora massaged her temples, exasperated, before glancing between the three of us as another thought struck her.
"Oh, but separate from all this, be aware that the Emperor may summon you. Aljen, you know you cannot dodge an imperial audience, yes?"
"...What a massive pain in the ass."
"Aljen!"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I hear you. If the Emperor calls, I'll go. Happy?"
"Phew... fine. I shall take my leave now."
"Right. Thanks for dropping by."
I gave her a lazy wave of my hand, and Pitora smiled softly as she rose from her seat.
"Guh-heck?!"
At that exact moment, without the slightest warning, Cacciola dropped out of thin air and slammed dead onto my chest.
"Aljen?! What is the meaning of—?!"
"An assassin?!"
"Protect Her Grace!"
The retainers who had been standing like decorative statues by the doorway finally found their voices, drawing steel in a chaotic panic. I grimaced through the impact and waved them off frantically.
"Ah, Mother, it's fine! She's an acquaintance of mine!"
"Wait... how did this happen? That woman... her name is Cacciola, isn't it?"
"Yeah. That's her."
"Did she not just manifest from empty air? Teleportation? Is she a high-circle mage?"
"Nothing like that. It's... complicated to explain. Uh... actually, I really can't share the details. Please just let it slide."
Explaining how she had fallen out of empty space would require explaining the artifact, Invitation of the Forgotten, and pulling on that thread risked unraveling secrets about the Goddess herself.
As I kept waving dismissively, Pitora's expression turned complicated.
"...You truly are full of secrets, aren't you?"
"Sorry about that, Mother."
"No, I understand. Especially for you, it must be unavoidable. Even I harbor a few secrets I cannot share with anyone. Haaah... setting that aside, is Cacciola all right?"
Prompted by her words, I finally turned my attention down to the woman sprawled over me.
"Ah, ahh..."
Her vacant, unfocused eyes spilled endless tears down her cheeks, and sporadic, broken whimpers rattled in her throat. Her condition looked infinitely worse than after her first attempt.
"...She'll be fine. It's not a physical wound. We'll take care of her."
"Will you? Hmm... could she perhaps be a candidate for your third—"
"Mother, stop talking nonsense and please just go."
"Must you be so cold? Honestly, there's no gratitude in raising children..."
Though she grumbled, Pitora lingered for a beat, her deep eyes shifting thoughtfully between me and Cacciola before she finally offered a slow nod.
"Very well. I shall take my leave."
"Yeah. Safe travels back to your quarters."
With a flippant wave, I saw Pitora out the door. Once the room was cleared, I waved a hand in front of Cacciola's half-conscious face.
"Cacciola. Can you hear me? Are you alright?"
"Ah, ahh... I, I..."
"Yeah. I'm listening."
"I failed... again..."
"Don't worry about it. You can challenge it as many times as you need."
"Hic...!"
As she burst into ragged, gut-wrenching sobs, I gathered her trembling body close and let out a quiet sigh.
She cried for hours on end, until she finally drank the liquor I pressed into her hands and collapsed into an unconscious, dead-weight slumber.
The following day.
Today marked the final day of the grand banquet celebrating Stanasila Berick's return to the fold.
"I want to challenge the trial again."
"...No."
The moment she opened her eyes, those were the first words out of her mouth, and I met them with an unyielding shake of my head.
"Why? Why not? Why won't you let me?! I-I can do it. This time, I swear I can clear it...! Don't throw me away. Please...!"
Her voice was so steeped in sheer, frantic desperation that she looked ready to grab the cuffs of my trousers and beg on her knees.
"Calm down. Nobody is throwing you away. I'll let you challenge the trial again eventually. But not right now. Get your head straight first, let your body recover, and only then will we talk about another attempt."
"I'm fine!"
"No, you're not."
Her skin was ghastly pale, her lips tinged with faint blue. Her pupils jittered erratically, unable to find focus, while her hands and feet twitched in subtle spasms. Her breathing was shallow, jagged, and hitched.
Even to an untrained eye, Cacciola's physical state was alarming.
"...I'm begging you. Please. Just let me enter the trial right now."
"I said no."
"W-What do I have to do for you to allow it? Huh? My body? Is that what you want? You want to sleep with me?"
"...Cacciola."
Panting raggedly, her deranged eyes quivering as she clung to me like a drowning sailor to flotsam, she laid bare just how fractured her psyche had become. It set my own heart racing with uneasy dread.
"I'll do anything. Whatever you tell me to do, I'll do it! So please... the trial... just let me challenge the trial again..."
"Wait... you...?"
Looking deep into those wavering, bloodshot pupils, an icy sense of dissonance struck me.
What burned behind her gaze was not a hunger for greater power.
Nor was it the courage or fiery resolve of a warrior striving to overcome the impossible.
It was something far stickier, darker, and more viscous... a festering, unyielding rot that clung to her soul, refusing to let go—the kind of ugly yearning that forced your eyes shut in dread.
Lingering regret.
"Cacciola. You're completely broken."
A dreadful premonition struck the back of my skull like a sledgehammer, and with a muted groan, I shoved her back.
"Uh, ah...? Why, why... ah... you want me to take it off? Okay, I understand..."
Having entirely lost the capacity for rational thought, she peeled off her clothes without a fraction of hesitation, baring her naked body to the cold air.
"......"
I genuinely had no idea why every single woman in this place seemed compelled to strip in front of me.
Was this some kind of bizarre local trend?
"Haah..."
Yet, unlike when Muriel or Wendy had done it, I had neither the leisure nor the inclination to admire the view.
"Hey. If you two are just going to stand there watching, maybe help stop her."
"...My apologies."
"Ugh, Cacciola..."
I clicked my tongue, looking between Muriel, who offered a quiet, deadpan apology, and Rebecca, who stared at Cacciola in utter disbelief and heartbreak.
"First, put your clothes back on... and then you're going to rest, Cacciola."
"N-No! The trial! Give me the trial! Let me taste that happiness again! Please! Don't take it away! Don't tear it away from me!"
"...Dammit."
A bitter pang of regret washed over me.
I should have put my foot down and stopped her after the very first failure.
"Cacciola. The trial is something meant to be overcome. It isn't a toy designed to feed you sweet dreams."
"I know! I know that! I know all of it! But... but still...!"
Watching her dissolve into tears all over again, looking so utterly shattered that a single touch might reduce her to dust, my arms moved on instinct and pulled her tightly against my chest.
"Aaaaaaaah! AAAAAAAAAAAHHH...!"
A horrific, ragged scream wrenched itself from the deepest, darkest abyss of her chest, echoing endlessly through the room—halting only when her frayed mind finally shattered into unconsciousness, leaving behind nothing but silence.