Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: The Little Hero's Story
Wealth does not come to everyone.
But death comes to all.
The flames of war spared not even the village's wealthiest man.
The grand mansion, imposing even from afar,
turned in an instant into a charred ruin.
The garden was engulfed in fire.
The fountain, intricately carved from marble,
could no longer be recognized in its beautiful form.
All that remained was the noble statue's head, shattered and rolling on the ground.
The interior, adorned with gold and jewels,
meant nothing before the raging inferno.
Rare collectibles shattered,
and luxurious paintings hanging on the walls scattered into handfuls of ash.
The mansion's symbol,
the grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling that boasted of its wealth and glory—
finally crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.
At the deafening crash that hurt the ears,
the woman evacuating while clutching her young child flinched.
"Kyaa—!"
The heat from the flames scorched her lungs,
and the thick smoke choked her breath, making it impossible to even open her eyes.
She did not let go of the child in her arms.
She gripped tightly with her arms,
clamped her mouth shut,
and struggled to get outside with the child.
Until the ceiling collapsed—
The woman hurled the child from her arms with all her strength.
Immediately after, what had been the ceiling obliterated her form beyond recognition.
The name "mother,"
and the warmth of her embrace,
vanished completely in that moment.
Someone appeared too late.
It was a soldier from the kingdom's fire brigade.
The soldier spotted something amid the thick smoke.
Amid the rubble,
a being who had miraculously survived.
Tiny hands and feet.
Bleeding head and legs.
Pink hair covered in ash and soot.
A child staring blankly at where her mother had been.
"Little one!"
The soldier rushed into the flames and shouted urgently.
But—
the child showed no reaction.
She merely gazed at the formless being who had protected her until the very end.
"It's okay. You're okay now. Let's get outside."
Even as she was carried in the soldier's arms,
the child shed tears with empty eyes.
The soldier held the child close and hurried outside.
The burning garden.
The mansion, already half-collapsed.
And,
the people watching the tragedy with glee.
The precious life he had barely rescued.
The soldier set the child down in a safe place and shouted urgently.
"We're not enough on our own! Please help put out the fire!"
"……."
The fire still blazed fiercely.
But,
no one stepped forward.
No one even felt the need to help.
To the child,
her irreplaceable parents—
to them,
were greedy and arrogant trash who deserved to burn.
No one mourned them.
No one extended a hand.
Thus, the unwelcome glory of the wealthy sank forever with the mansion.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The child who lost her parents in an instant.
The one who took in such a child was the child's sole aunt.
She had a completely different reputation from her brother, the child's father.
People praised her unanimously.
Saying she was different from her brother.
She was kind and gentle to everyone.
She helped poor orphans,
and founded charities to reach out to the marginalized.
She enjoyed deep trust from the people.
So when she said she would take the child—
as expected, no one opposed it.
The only remaining relative.
A trusted figure.
And—
the child of the greedy tycoon they never wanted near.
Everyone believed she was the only one who could take responsibility for the child.
"It must have been so scary and tough, right? Let's go with Aunt."
"……."
And so, the aunt brought the child to her own home.
"This is our house."
"……."
"It's pretty shabby compared to your house, huh? It's because your grandfather didn't give me much."
The aunt smiled brightly at the child.
That smile—
was slightly different from the one she showed to others.
She,
was very different from her brother.
She had a good reputation.
She gave kindly to people.
She worked for society, even founding charities.
For such a woman,
there was only one thing in common with her brother.
'Being extremely greedy.'
The moment she was alone with the child—
she completely shed her mask of hypocrisy.
"They finally died."
"……."
"There has to be plenty of inheritance left for it to be worth taking you in."
The aunt muttered as if to herself.
Her lips curved up,
but her eyes, gleaming with greed, weren't smiling at all.
"I wonder if anything's salvageable from the mansion. There has to be something worth saving."
"……."
"Don't look at me like that. I'll take good care of you."
Even as she gently stroked the child's hair,
she didn't hide her ugly true nature.
Because the child could never tattle on her.
"You can't keep all that wealth to yourself."
"……."
"So, Aunt will manage it very well for you."
"……."
"It's really fortunate you're mute."
The mouth that had spoken pityingly
no longer held any sympathy.
The hand stroking the child was filled not with affection, but possessiveness.
"Don't worry. In front of others, I'll dress you up pretty."
"……."
"Then donations will pour in for the aunt who lovingly raises her poor niece, right? You're a real boon in every way, my niece."
She said, lightly pinching the child's cheek.
The child's last remaining blood relative.
To the aunt, the child
was merely a bundle of cash that had luckily rolled in.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The aunt merely pretended to be virtuous, using her brother as a foil.
Deep down, she was just as ugly as he was.
With a smile on her lips,
she coldly cut off those who didn't benefit her from behind.
Even as she extended a hand to orphans with kind words,
she used their misfortune as staging for her image.
"It's so hard with more and more poor children."
"We're short on supplies."
"Thank goodness for those who help. But…."
The charity group praised by all
was in reality just a tool for laundering money.
The donations were a bonus from her well-packaged reputation.
And at the center of it all was the child.
'A cripple who can't walk.'
'A child who can't speak or do anything.'
'An aunt who lovingly raises such a niece.'
The world called her that,
and the aunt weaponized that pity.
Shedding tears,
smiling,
inducing sympathy.
The child's vast inheritance.
The donations gained by selling the child out.
Thus,
the steadily accumulated wealth—
was devoured entirely by the aunt's gambling addiction.
Quietly, without anyone knowing,
but ceaselessly.
In the end—
the aunt,
demolished the tower of wealth she had painstakingly built…
with her own hands.
Continuous losses,
mounting debts.
Donations dwindled,
and her image began to crack.
"That's all investment. You can lose it."
"Why does that damned brother's kid have so much debt?"
"I'm sacrificing this much for one niece; shouldn't I get that much at least?"
"…It's because of you! Don't look at me like that with your unlucky face!"
The wealth dwindled away.
Days of taking it out on the child increased.
And so,
all masks fell away.
When everyone learned of her ugliness—
the aunt vanished completely.
Abandoning the child.
The greedy siblings who had stirred up the village disappeared.
All that remained for the angry villagers
was a small, frail child trembling in the ruins.
'The child isn't at fault, right?'
Some thought that.
But none voiced it.
Too many had been harmed by the siblings.
Everyone was exhausted from the war's damages, with no spare energy to save anyone.
People shut their mouths.
No one took responsibility, no one looked back.
All eyes quietly turned away from the child.
Thus,
the child was left alone in the ruins.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The child was quiet.
The reason for her silence
was not just because she couldn't speak.
Her heart was so empty she had no words for the world.
The child was hungry.
Yet she didn't move.
She had no strength left to live.
Above all,
the child knew.
No matter how much she struggled,
no one would come to save her.
She didn't even wait.
She knew too well no one would come here.
Even without speaking,
she had seen and heard everything.
She closed her eyes.
Sounds, smells, time—all felt distant.
But—
in that moment, an unfamiliar voice rang out.
"Oh? Blinking."
The child's ear tilted slightly toward it.
Something approached the child.
Slowly, cautiously.
He
spoke to the child.
The child didn't respond.
She couldn't, of course,
but she felt no will to either.
Even that handful of warmth was too much for her.
The child thought,
that person would ignore her and leave too.
But—
he didn't leave; he quietly sat beside her.
The child's frail body trembled faintly.
He
didn't speak to her.
Didn't fuss over her.
He simply
shared the silence by her side—
until the sun set.
Darkness thickened over the ruins.
The cold late-autumn wind chilled the child's body.
The man's voice, silent until then, spoke again.
The child tried not to care.
Tried not to hold even the slightest expectation.
Until she heard…
"If I pick you up now, will it count as kidnapping again?"