I Love You. (3)
"Congratulations, Lord Rueld!"
"A toast! Another toast to you!"
"Ah, th-that is... thank you, everyone. But the sun's long down—no need to make such a fuss of it out here..."
"What do you mean, no need! Lord Rueld and Lady Ermina have borne a son! How could we possibly fail to raise a cup in celebration?!"
"His Majesty has even proclaimed a day of feasting for tomorrow!"
...What on earth has gotten into them all.
Rueld fought down the flush creeping across his face and pushed his way through the crowd. Even in the dead of night, his stark white hair caught every torch and lantern, gleaming all too conspicuously—which was precisely why it took him so long to arrive, waylaid at every turn by one round of congratulations and greetings after another.
"Whew!"
Count's manor was far too modest a word for it, though within the Imperial Capital, a residence of this scale could only be called exceedingly lavish.
Ermina had complained at first that it was all far too much for them.
"..."
And yet now, without warning, a tension like a stone settling deep in his chest began to bloom. Anxiety smoldered, low and slow. As his gaze took in the silence that hung over his own home, his spirits sank in spite of himself. Only moments ago, he had felt as though he'd gained the whole world.
...The human heart, as ever, is an exhausting thing.
"And still..."
He ought, at the very least, to show Cariel what his new sibling looked like.
....
..
Back when Ermina was in the throes of her labor, someone came looking for Rueld, who was pacing restlessly in a waiting room of the Great Cathedral.
"Kwahahat! Good heavens! A child after a dozen-odd years! You've done well for yourself, man! What a fine, harmonious household!"
Whack! Whack! Whack!
A bear of a man shoved his scarred face in uncomfortably close, pounding Rueld on the back in rough, familiar greeting. Like having your feet licked by a bear—was this what that felt like? Beside this man, Rueld's own frame looked almost slight.
Rueld, clad in the black formal uniform unique to the Golden Dragon Knights, spoke with an expression of pure bewilderment.
"Bariel? When did you return?"
"Just now!"
"And yet you're looking remarkably put together for it."
"I was midway through a grand tour with my wives! And then word came from this direction, didn't it? The timing was too perfect, so I washed up and came straight away! Kwahahaha!"
"...Aren't you the one with the harmonious household?"
"I'm a lecher, that's all I am!"
...He lays out his shameful confessions with remarkable ease.
"By the way—where's Cariel?"
"...At home."
"Hm? Why? His mother is here, his sibling's about to be born—don't tell me you intend to deny the boy a single look at his little brother?!"
"It's not that, but..."
"I heard the news, you know. Made mincemeat of the prince, they say?"
"..."
Word had already spread that far?
"Come on, man! Boys all squabble as they grow! What's the harm in a bit of that? We certainly did!"
"Even so... this case went far too far."
"Oh? So it's fine when they keep provoking Cariel, is it? How furious must that gentle child have been to beat him to a pulp like that? And you, man—how long has it been since you actually sat down and talked with your son?"
"A few... days? Perhaps."
"On what subject? For how long? How many minutes?"
"Well, that is..."
The most recent conversation he could call to mind was...
"Thank you for the meal."
"Cariel! Your father is telling you—what kind of manners are—?!"
"Ah! Dear, it's quite all right! He's at that age when they grow sensitive. We ought to be understanding."
...Something along those lines, he supposed.
And in the carriage today, too, the boy had not let a single word past his lips.
Back then as well, all Rueld had done was agonize over what he ought to say.
Once we're home, I'll speak with him more carefully, more gently...
"Why should I?"
"...What?"
"Did I do something wrong?"
"You call that speaking to me right now?"
"And what excuse did Patina offer?"
"..."
"Judging by that face of yours, you've never once had a proper talk with him, have you? The boy hit adolescence, you chalked it up to rebelliousness, and gave him the bare minimum of attention. Hard to be affectionate when you've scarcely seen his face anyway. Am I wrong?"
"That's not exactly..."
"You're forever darting across the Empire on business—you've hardly ever truly been there for Cariel, have you?"
"..."
"Mind you, they respect you. Compared to a man like me—who shoulders less duty and less responsibility and lives soft—you're far finer, and the whole Empire knows it."
If Rueld himself were to rest for even a single day, lives would be extinguished somewhere. Someone would be orphaned; someone would lose a child. Blood ran freely in countless conflicts, and while property damage and ruined crops could somehow be managed, lives lost meaninglessly, carelessly—those were as unbearable now as they had ever been.
The Empire appeared utterly stable from the outside, yet within, it still festered and rotted. At times a drastic remedy was required, and the putrid flesh had to be cut away.
"It's all so everyone can live well, be happy—so why are you and Ermina so desperately set on saving everyone but yourselves?"
"We..."
Because we must.
Because if we do not, no one will.
The moment we spare even a fraction of our attention—
Somewhere, tragedy is born, as naturally as breathing.
When a delay of mere seconds, mere minutes, forced him to witness a horrific tragedy unfold before his own eyes—
that moment truly felt as though it would drive him mad. Seeing parents clutch the mutilated body of their child, wailing in anguish, drenched in blood. Seeing a little one shake a parent who would never move again, tugging and crying for them to get up, unable to grasp what had happened.
"That's exactly why I'm telling you—you can't save them all."
"..."
"I'm not even asking you to take it easy now and then. But look at you. You don't drink. You don't know how to play. Your idea of blowing off steam is swinging your sword some more. And Cariel hears it every time—'you don't work half as hard as your father.' Do you imagine the whole world is full of supermen like you? And asceticism has its limits, man. Since the old days, whenever Cariel did anything the slightest bit wrong, you had him confess, called it punishment—fasting, prayer vigils, sometimes not letting the boy sleep for days. A child in the thick of growing, juggling his whole daily life on top of it—doesn't that strike you as far too harsh?"
"What? No—we never went that fa—"
"Hm? What's this? You didn't know? Ermina is hypersensitive to sin and fires off at everything in sight. She did it to us, too—imagine what it must have been like for Cariel. Since when was Ermina ever flexible enough to make exceptions? Gentle to others—but to you, to me, to all of us—merciless to herself, that woman."
"..."
"I told you before. Ermina doesn't know the meaning of shortcuts. If you don't hold her up, she'll simply shoulder every wound and suffer in silence."
And here I thought they were such a happy couple.
"How about setting your work down for a while and resting with your family? No—this isn't a matter of choice. Just do it!"
At that very moment, the cry of an infant rang out from somewhere far off—but the hearing of both men caught it as though it were nothing at all.
A hurried patter of footsteps came racing toward them, the runner stumbling as though he might fall at any moment, and it reached them together with that cry.
"Sir Rueld! My congratulations! It is a son! A son!"
Bariel clapped his hands with a delighted oh!, then gave Rueld a smooth look and spoke as though issuing an order.
"First, go take one look at the child's face. Then hurry and fetch Cariel. If he misses this moving scene, he'll regret it for the rest of his days."
"Uh, yes... understood."
His Imperial Majesty, no less!
Checking on Ermina's condition. Holding the newborn in his arms. Receiving congratulations, answering each well-wisher in turn—Rueld scarcely knew which way was up.
But.
The instant he held his second child for the very first time, the memory of holding his first—Cariel—rose unbidden to his mind.
The previous Pope, wasting away from illness, had risen from his very sickbed and made the journey to the Imperial Capital. And declaring it to be his final mission, he had anointed the infant's head with oil with his own hands, hailing him as the blessing the world had bestowed—the Child of Revelation.
And beyond that... beyond that, as well...
And yet—why, then?
"Cariel? No—it isn't too late even now. Send someone at once—"
"No, no. I'll go myself."
Shaking his head at the Emperor, Rueld made his intention plain.
"If it's urgent, shall I come with you?"
Empress Melineos shot him a glance that said she would cast her teleportation magic on the spot.
"No—I'll walk. On the way... I'd like to gather my thoughts a little."
"Bring him back quickly. The baby is one thing, but Ermina looks utterly worn out."
Bariel urged him on, cradling Rueld's second child, wrapped snugly in swaddling cloth.
"I'll be right back."
....
..
The interior of the house lay wrapped in silence. It was the hour when most of the hired staff had gone home for the night. Someone would remain on night watch—but save for those posted outside for the estate's surveillance and protection, the interior of the house was as still as if the mice had all died.
A strange unease took hold of Rueld. At once he spread his mana outward, searching for signs of life.
"Sylvia?"
"Oh! You've returned, Lord Rueld."
The maid's night-watch room. Having just discovered Sylvia waiting there, Rueld asked with a puzzled look.
"You're still awake? What have you been doing?"
"Well... you see..."
"Wait—was tonight even your night on duty? I know there are people posted outside, but to leave a young child alone inside the house—what were we thinking—"
"...Lord Rueld."
"Hm? What is it? Did you have something to say?"
Sylvia drew a letter from the pouch at her waist. Her eyes glistened with moisture, as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
"The young master... asked me to give you this."
"..."
Strangely enough, a chill ran through him.
He had the feeling he had experienced something like this once before. What was it, back then—what had happened?
Caught in the grip of déjà vu for a brief moment, Rueld took the letter with trembling hands...