Who Do You Think You Are?! (2)
"I have come to pay my respects, Mother."
"Yes, Alesius. Come here, quickly."
At a subtle glance of the Empress's black eyes, the maids withdrew from the bedchamber without a sound.
After a moment, the Empress Melineos asked, "Are you feeling well?"
"Yes. There is nothing amiss."
"Did it hurt a great deal?"
"……"
"And what did His Majesty have to say?"
Unable to find his words at her questions, Alesius chose silence.
"He lacks tact, it is true. But his heart, the way he thinks of you and El — that much is sincere."
"Of course, I know that well."
"He is anxious."
Anxious?
"We are, I mean. There was a time we wandered the continent in search of the Holy Sword, crossing the land back and forth for the sake of the Alliance, was there not?"
"Yes. I know that well."
"Then do you know what our greatest obstacle was, in those days?"
"…I do not know."
"Those who became heads of their houses, masters of their families, with nothing to prepare them."
……?
"Inferior descendants squandering great lineages built by illustrious forebears — history has never lacked for such tales."
But.
"The more chaotic the times, the firmer those positions had to be — whether ruler or leader — yet in our era, that was not to be."
And so, a great many nations perished, and countless noble houses fell.
"The Empire was no exception."
"Is that… so?"
"And most of those who did walked the path of traitors."
Trapping us in snares.
Seeking profit by turning us to their use.
"…Because of that, we faced crisis upon crisis, more times than I can count."
Had it not been for her Precognitive Dream, they might have died screaming in some nameless ditch — the Holy Sword would have been the least of their worries.
Had Ermina not been there, he might have lost his life dozens of times — hundreds, at the worst.
"He wants, for whenever he himself might vanish, for you two to carry on well after him. And more than that, he wants you not to be crushed beneath the weight of his achievements."
And so.
"Even when you offered yourself, of your own accord, to unite with the Esdina family's second daughter, he did not chide you greatly."
Quite the opposite — he had found it remarkable.
"That his child was finding his own way through life, on his own."
"…Mother did?"
"Even his stinginess with praise comes from worry that you might grow arrogant over some trifling matter. When we are out in the world, he praises you and El equally, you know."
"……"
Mother?
"I heard that Cariel treated you very harshly."
"That was… my own failing…"
"Were you not afraid?"
"……"
Afraid?
For a moment, perhaps.
But.
"I was not afraid."
"Why not?"
"……Compared to the discipline you gave me, Mother, that much was nothing."
Grow accustomed to pain.
If you do not conquer pain, pain will eventually break you.
"……"
It had not been torture, exactly — but an experience closer to torture disguised as training still dwelled within Alesius as trauma to this day.
…And yet.
Thanks to it, he had become bolder, more assured than any of his peers.
The results showed most clearly whenever he mingled with others his age.
'See? It was nothing at all, was it?'
As though the Empress herself had once been through the very same.
That hand of hers, patting his head as she said so, remained etched vividly within him still.
"Cariel is an extraordinary child, but he has disliked fighting since long ago, and loved making friends and getting along with people. He read the hearts of others well, and strove to ease their troubles."
"……"
"I know well that you resented him because of El."
"Mother…"
"But that was wrong. If he had not held me back, I would have… long, long ago… told you not to do such a thing."
Children's problems must be settled by the children themselves.
If adults stepped in to control it, those feelings would never be washed away.
"He said grudges remain forever, did he not? That is likely because that is how he himself has felt, all his life."
Standing against his brothers, overcoming absurd trials, winning even contests fought against odds —
because of that, he was able to become the Hero Emperor he is now.
"More than anything, unlike your father back in those days, you had no fear of being poisoned, no risk of being cast aside over politics — so what made you so impatient?"
Could it be.
"Do you covet the throne?"
"Th-that cannot be. I… I have never entertained such a thought, not even in my dreams!"
"That is a lie."
The Empress said, smiling gently.
"El, you see. She may never have wished to become Emperor at all."
"…Sister, you mean?"
Impossible.
Impossible…?
"That child simply wanted to protect."
Because she was a kind child.
"…But she, being clever, knew better than anyone that no one could do it in her stead."
In childhood.
Though the memory was faint now, Elhermina had resolved before them all that she would save Cariel, and raise the Empire into a strong nation so that they would never again have to bend to their whims.
So she had sworn.
After that, as though it were a lie, she threw herself into her studies, took up the sword and learned magic alike —
and began giving her all to everything within her power.
"And then, that little child… Cariel, that child, achieved the peace we had always longed for — temporary though it may have been. Even now, I give thanks for the miracle he wrought more than anyone. His Majesty must feel the same on this count. Perhaps he holds even deeper gratitude toward Cariel than I do."
Unbelievable.
How, in the world?
And yet.
It was an indisputable fact.
"……"
Cariel.
Yes.
At the very least.
Back when he had returned to the Empire.
I.
We.
…We had been ready to welcome you as a hero.
Even though you were the Hero's son, even though you could not bring yourself to take up the sword.
Even though you showed a peculiar frailty in duels.
You treated all equally, highborn and lowborn alike —
and even then, we had regarded that as magnanimous and righteous.
…And yet.
Why did you betray us?
Why…
……Why did you turn your back on Sister, and give your heart to that woman?
Why…
…While refusing to shoulder the slightest responsibility.
Why did you try to leave the Empire?
Why, in the world.
Because of what?
"……"
Alesius could not bring himself to bare what lay in his heart.
After all, even this would only expose his own narrowness.
That he was ashamed now, or that he had been foolish then —
none of it meant a thing.
In a world where results are everything.
In the end, we…
…had crossed a river from which there was no turning back.
Just as he had told me earlier.
And so this side, too, had poured out its resentment.
Not in words, but in action.
As results.
Father favored you above all — he never told me to follow your example, but.
Whenever he sighed, he would murmur your name.
Sister was glad of it.
But I could not be.
…If this is my flaw, my weakness.
Then there is nothing to be done.
Because I.
From the moment you betrayed Sister.
Resolved, absolutely, never to forgive you.
"I suppose it is my failing, as it always is."
"Al…"
Perhaps, at some point, he too had come to take it for granted — just as Mother had pointed out.
Perhaps he had grown so intoxicated with the wielding of power that, knowing full well it would break him,
he pressed.
He pushed.
"The joining of two houses. If that is truly Sister's will, then I will gladly follow it."
If he resented him beyond endurance and sought to cast him out —
…then he would have to bear it, as he said.
He had no intention of being taken down lying helpless, but.
Still, if one thing snagged at him —
'Because our fates forbid us to live under the same sky.'
Those words of his kept flickering at his ears.
And that was the very moment —
"H-His Majesty! Urgent news of grave import!"
…when a breathless voice came from beyond the door.
The sun was dead.
The moon, too, had hidden away beyond the clouds.
In this place where darkness and silence had settled, I returned to my room and came to stand at the window, lifting listless eyes to gaze down at the front garden of my home.
Nothing.
Nothing reached me.
Once, had someone not laughed and played with me there?
Once, had I not —
raised a tree branch aloft as though it were the Holy Sword,
and shouted that I would become a hero?
There was nothing.
"Is that reason enough to stop training?"
I asked the empty air, in a voice that sounded as though it came from somewhere far away.
"Because there is no meaning beyond this. Your body and mind are out of alignment right now. If you don't raise your body to match, it'll become a hindrance instead."
"……"
When even more effort felt insufficient just to grow —
and I was told to do nothing?
Then what would be left to me?
"Whew."
Worse than expected.
The state he was in was more serious than I had anticipated.
Curious how long he would hold out, I had left him be —
and the fool endured a full eight years.
Even that ended only because she had forcibly severed it; had it not been for that intervention, there was no guessing when he might have given up.
Eight years.
The time he had tirelessly burrowed into the sword.
A single day in real time — but the time he had been trapped within the dream was a full eight years.
And.
Before the contract was properly concluded and the sword taught in earnest —
he had.
Died well over a hundred times.
And that span had been no small trial either.
'His aptitude surpasses imagination — but alas, it is twisted.'
Like a plant growing lush and green that, finding no proper place to take root, sends its stem crawling off in every direction —
human adaptability, yes, one might call it merely part of the process.
But growing stronger through sheer madness — how, in the end, is that any different from an invalid riddled with sickness?
To truly grow stronger, madness is essential — but neither in mind nor in body does that mean one must become a broken thing.
Because it inevitably, without exception, magnifies into a fatal flaw at the decisive moment — a tragedy.
Besides.
That which was named the Fool's Sword was indeed a product of madness.
But it was no crude swordplay that some gibbering invalid could cradle, hone, and carry to its ultimate height.
'I made him suffer by choosing only what ran contrary to his nature, and it took effect in the worst possible way.'
In a word.
Completely!
'He's gone and broken himself.'
Even with the sweet wine of revenge poured down his throat,
there was no rapture — not even the barest satisfaction to be felt.
Even when he had crossed blades with that human called Patina, or whatever her name was.
Even when he had driven his own body like a disposable tool and run it through,
madness had been visible in him, yes —
but his humanity had never evaporated as thoroughly as this.
"Whether you break or not is none of my business, but if you do, forget completing your goal — you'll be dead before long."
"……"
"You thought it didn't matter, didn't you? That since you're already wretched, even if the contract collapses, nothing could make you more miserable and unhappy than you are now. That's what you were thinking just now, wasn't it?"
"……"
Correct.
Truly.
…Everything had come to feel meaningless.
Otherwise.
He could never have beaten that prince to a pulp without a care for who was watching.
By his very nature, his temperament, this was something close to impossible.
And he had carried out that impossibility without the slightest burden.
Had I, perhaps.
Broken?
"That's what you'd like to think, isn't it?"
Not wrong — but not right either.
But where there is will,
so long as one lives, one can accomplish anything.
And that sometimes summons even miracles.
"More importantly — it's time now, isn't it?"
"……I suppose so."
Even the situation itself — shut away in his own room, keeping quiet — brimmed over with absurdity.
This should never have been the way of it.
Today.
Beyond the shocking news he himself had unleashed,
another piece of news had spread through the Imperial Capital.
Namely —
"Little brother? Little sister? Which way do you think it'll go?"
"It doesn't matter."
Cariel's own mother.
Was on the verge of childbirth.
The Church must be in an absolute uproar by now.
Had any sign been felt at the house, the whole neighborhood would surely have been in chaos.
Even now, they said, countless commoners kept vigil before the Great Cathedral, praying for a safe delivery.
Cariel, led here by his father, had also heard the news concerning the prince.
[Prince Alesius said it was his own negligence — that I was not to blame you.]
Alesius.
You're still quick-witted in that particular way, aren't you.
[Truly, I cannot believe it. My own son, my child… how could you have… committed such an unspeakable, monstrous act…]
Hah.
A lament laced with a sigh.
The two of them, forced face to face inside that carriage.
Rueld above all — though he ought to have scolded him, he could not bring himself to.
Lips pressed shut tight, yet torn between asking what had happened, offering comfort, or launching into a scolding regardless of order —
unable to judge, he simply fidgeted in anguish.
At the very least, he had surely resolved: go home, speak honestly, or even beat the truth half out of him if need be — sort right from wrong, one way or another.
He must do something, anything — of that he was certain.
But.
Then word of Ermina arrived.
Had it not been for that, Cariel would still be facing Rueld now, in one form or another.
"Did you say — a guitar?"
"Hm?"
"An instrument. A guitar. You said a magic guitar, didn't you? It'd be hard for me, but… it doesn't have to run on magic, right?"
"Well, if the folks who settled here ever made guitars, maybe you could make do with one? Until then, why not strum a lute? I'll teach you to play that well enough, while I'm at it."
The Demon King snickered under his breath.
Yes — this was a good solution.
Had the boy not, without even realizing it, buried himself in playing instruments as his one consolation?
Instinctively ferreting out his own means of survival.
"And I told you before, didn't I? That there's something you need in order to face the Holy Sword."
"You mean the Magic Armor."
"That's the one."
And a perfectly suited candidate had turned up, hadn't it.
"Grandeus's Magic Armor. Let's go retrieve it. You're leaving anyway — better to have a destination, no?"
"……"
"You do intend to leave?"
"Of course."
It had to be now.
There was no reason to hesitate.
Only one thing stung.
"If I leave like this, it'll feel like fleeing with guilt on my back — so I'm not exactly in a good mood."
Absurdly.
That was what grated most.
He hadn't even vented his spite to the full yet.
"The Academy's about due for its recess anyway, and to head off any pursuit just in case… I'm thinking of setting some pieces in motion."
"And the assassins who'll come to cut you down for private revenge — you're not afraid of them, over some mere pursuit?"
"If there's a lesson to be learned there too, then I'll bear it."
Only at the point of death had he come to understand.
That in this world there was nothing free, nothing given.
The more valuable a thing, the greater it was —
not a single thing came cheap, or easily.
There is no salvation for those who wait.
Hesitation and endurance were never the same.
Wavering and waiting had never been equal, either.
For a long time, I had done nothing but waver and sit frozen.
And so I had always had to curl my body up inside a cold and bottomless pit.
"You'll be quite worn out, you know? From now on, there'll be no one watching over you or anything of the sort."
"I'll bear it."
He had wished for salvation many times.
But in the end.
All of it was nothing but a dream within a dream.
It must be sought by one's own hands.
I realized this — far, far too late.