The Weight of a Name
“My name?”
For a moment, I couldn’t understand what Aegina was asking. What did it matter if other people used my name?
“Why?”
“Other people are using your name. Have you never considered that might cause problems?”
Problems? What kind of problems could possibly arise? I glanced at Rowell, but he looked just as confused as I felt.
“What problems?”
“They’re pretending to be you. Completely different people.”
“I suppose so.”
“And you don’t think that’s a problem?”
Her expression was far more serious than the situation seemed to warrant, leaving me oddly unsettled. What exactly was supposed to be the issue?
“They’re not doing anything bad.”
Rowell nodded in agreement with me.
“From everything we’ve seen, Lady Elena wouldn’t lie about this. And if they had any intention of causing harm, they wouldn’t have stopped just because Anak told them to.”
As we’d already experienced, even if someone was using my name somewhere, no one could actually recognize them as me. In other words, if someone decided to act under my name—whether for good or ill—there was nothing I could do to stop them. All I could manage was damage control afterward.
If someone wanted to commit evil, I couldn’t prevent it anyway. So why go out of my way to stop people who were trying to do good—especially when those people were summoners reputed to be the strongest on the continent?
“People will think they are you. Many of them will probably believe that for the rest of their lives.”
“So what?”
Most people didn’t even know I existed. Even if they did, almost none of them knew what I looked like. So the majority of them would go on living with their own fantasies, imagining some hero who had nothing to do with the real Anak, the Summoner of Deception. The chances of me ever meeting them were practically zero.
Even if I did meet them, I had no desire to shatter their illusions unless it was absolutely necessary.
So what harm could it do if they believed some remarkable person who had helped them was me? What harm could it do to them? Nothing would change either way.
If they ever learned the truth, the only thing that would appear in their eyes would be the same disappointment as always.
“They’ll never know the real you. Countless people will judge you for things you never did.”
“It doesn’t matter. They’re already doing that now.”
They didn’t know me. And they probably never wanted to. I didn’t need their gratitude, nor did I need their disappointment.
“Besides, it’s deception. They’re lying to people.”
“Not everyone needs to know the truth. Especially if the lie benefits them.”
No one gained any direct benefit from this lie.
The summoners traveling from village to village performing good deeds under my name were essentially volunteering for free. Even if the public perception of summoners improved, how much of an impact could it really have? Changing people’s views took an incredibly long time.
You could see that clearly enough from the fact that even hundreds of years after the title of Dark Priest had disappeared, people still hadn’t escaped its shadow.
Still, the fact that they were trying to raise my reputation meant they had no other options. And judging from Elena’s attitude, there was probably also an element of gratitude toward me—the only summoner who had fought on the front lines during the last great war.
But truthfully, even if my fame and recognition grew, it wouldn’t bring me any direct benefits. Maybe a few visitors to the Hero’s Village would come see me while they were already there to meet Rowell and Aegina, but that would be the extent of it.
So if I had to name anyone who actually benefited, it would be the villagers who received help from the summoners acting under my name.
“What if they find out? What if they learn the truth, like Lady Jane? What will you do then?”
“We can just say that because summoners have such a poor reputation, some of them occasionally use my name instead of their own. Since the villagers only received help and never suffered any harm, they have no reason or right to be angry. And they can’t criticize me for building fame and recognition from things I didn’t do. Not many people know this, but I did fight against the Demon King, Tiamat, and Nyx.”
Even if the truth eventually came out, the only people who would learn it would be the villagers who had actually met the individual summoners. By then, the rumors and stories about the summoner Anak would have already spread far and wide. And everyone knew how difficult it was to correct a rumor once it had taken hold.
“……”
She fell silent, simply staring at me. She wasn’t particularly angry, but her expression made it clear she didn’t agree with what I’d said.
Yeah. I could understand. She had been taught the duties of royalty from a very young age by the current king of the Ayman Kingdom, who was called a sage ruler. Don’t deceive the people. Respect them. Protect them. That education was why she had stepped forward as our companion instead of hiding in the castle, and why her brothers had always fought on the front lines, evacuating citizens until they fell in battle.
So my words must have been unpleasant to her. They were the same logic used by the rulers she and her father had spent their lives opposing.
She and her father, the King of Ayman Kingdom, believed that the people and themselves were no different. That was why they always thought that as long as they enjoyed their privileges, they had to fulfill their duties. But I didn’t see it that way.
It wasn’t simply a matter of social status. It wasn’t just about who your parents were.
The exceptional were fundamentally different from the ordinary. The great were different from the mediocre. The noble were different from the base.
The all-too-common geniuses—those pathetic fireflies who could only illuminate themselves—understood this perfectly well. Only the suns, shining brightly enough to light up everything around them without even realizing how brilliant they were, failed to notice. Only the foolish and presumptuous tried to deny it.
Those who willingly sacrifice themselves and those who always choose themselves could never be the same. Each had their own way of being, and each required their own method of handling.
“Alright, that’s enough from both of you. Aegina, you already know there’s no other way right now. Anak, you didn’t have to be so cold about it either.”
At Rowell’s words, I finally realized my expression and tone had grown unnecessarily stiff. I offered an awkward smile, and she lifted the teacup in front of her to her lips.
“We can ask Lady Elena for more details when she arrives tomorrow. If there’s anything we can help with, we’ll do what we can. That’s fine, right?”
Aegina and I nodded silently. These kinds of disagreements or minor clashes had happened occasionally ever since the last great war, but they still never felt comfortable. There was sometimes too vast a gap between her righteousness and my correctness.
But reality was, more often than not, quite far removed from righteousness.
“Well then, Anak. You must be tired. Go get some rest. Here, the key. Our room is right below yours.”
I took the key from Rowell. After exchanging brief greetings, I headed up the stairs first. There was no need to worry about her. By tomorrow morning, Aegina would be smiling as she always did. She knew me well, and something like this would never weigh on her mind.
The only real problem was Lady Jane.
The solution itself was simple. Elena would probably arrive tomorrow, and if she told Lady Jane exactly what I’d said, the matter would end there. The real issue was that the subsequent confusion and heartbreak would be something she alone would have to bear.
“Well, Rowell and Aegina will comfort her well enough.”
It was a rather irresponsible thing to say, but as always, I had no choice but to trust them.
* * *
“Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Birette. Have you found Anak?”
The next day, I greeted Lady Jane again. She was calm, but she couldn’t hide her anticipation for the fiancé she would soon meet. As someone who knew what was coming, facing those eyes filled with expectation and innocent love was deeply uncomfortable.
“Yes. He should arrive by dinnertime at the latest.”
I reflexively looked at Rowell and Aegina. Even though my plan was to have her hear it directly from the person involved, it would be better to give her some preparation. Or perhaps Rowell and Aegina had already been subtly preparing her for the possibility of rejection while they were traveling together.
“Mr. Birette? Is there something you’d like to say?”
At my unnatural silence, she asked carefully. I thought it would be better if she were sharp enough to catch some fragment of truth in that silence, but that was an impossible wish.
“No, it’s nothing.”
I answered with an awkward smile and sat down at the table. After that, Lady Jane did nothing else until Elena arrived. She simply sat quietly at the table near the entrance, waiting. Occasionally she would go up to her room with the mirror, seemingly to fix her appearance, or order tea—that was all.
Watching her like that, I wondered if bringing her here had been a mistake, but I shook my head. Misunderstandings had to be resolved by the person directly involved, and she needed to hear it while Rowell and Aegina were present. Their comfort would certainly help, and while their unconditional kindness would provide stability, the kindness of strangers—with its slight tension—might be more effective at helping her hold herself together.
Of course, I didn’t think the composed and well-educated Lady Jane would lose control or react in any extreme way, but seeing her so full of hope made me feel unnecessarily tense.
And it seemed Rowell and Aegina felt the same. We sat beside her, making occasional conversation and drinking tea together, while Aegina would sometimes take her hand and offer a gentle smile.
“Lord Anak!”
After some time had passed, just after lunchtime, Elena entered the inn. Lady Jane reflexively stood up but didn’t run toward her. Whether she was maintaining her composure or simply couldn’t move because her legs had gone weak from excitement, she remained standing in place.
Since there were no other guests in the dining area besides us, Elena quickly spotted us and walked over.
“Good afternoon, Lady Jane.”
She gave Rowell and the rest of us an awkward smile and a slight bow before approaching Lady Jane. Yes, that was right. Right now, prioritizing her over us was the correct thing to do. We already knew the truth; she was the one who would soon have to face it.
“I hope my visit isn’t causing any inconvenience. It’s just that the Hero and his companions were looking for Lord Anak, so I……”
She continued speaking calmly, but her joy and excitement were clearly visible in her expression and voice. Yes. A young girl’s love was something that couldn’t be hidden. But Elena offered her a wistful smile. It was filled with guilt and regret.
“Not at all, Lady Jane. It’s no trouble whatsoever.”
At those words, Lady Jane looked as though she possessed the entire world. In her joy and excitement, she seemed not to notice the emotion hidden behind Elena’s smile. Elena fell silent for a moment. It was to give Lady Jane time to realize that something about the situation was strange.
And finally, when her excitement and joy had slightly subsided in that silence, Elena knelt on one knee before her.
“I’m sorry, Lady Jane. The truth is, I deceived you.”
“…Pardon?”
She looked as though she couldn’t comprehend the sudden statement. At that, Rowell and Aegina slowly approached her side.
“I’m not actually Lord Anak. Because summoners have such a poor reputation, I merely borrowed his name. I am not him. The real Lord Anak is that gentleman over there.”
Following Elena’s pointing finger, she reflexively looked toward me. But it was only a reflexive glance—there was no particular emotion in her eyes. Only confusion.
I avoided her gaze. I wanted to deny it for her sake, and perhaps she wanted that too, but I couldn’t.
Elena explained the situation in a gentle tone. She offered sincere apologies throughout, while Rowell and Aegina silently held Jane’s hands and comforted her.
I couldn’t tell how much time had actually passed, but it must have been very short. Yet for her, and for us watching, that time felt unbearably long.
“…Yes. I understand. Please stand up.”
In the end, she collapsed into her seat as though her legs had given out, and in a trembling voice, told Elena to rise.
“You don’t need to apologize like that. Even if you’re not Lord Anak, you helped our village and treated my illness.”
Her voice was calm, and I could see her wavering eyes gradually finding stability. But I couldn’t feel relieved. The reason she was calming down was because what truly mattered to her wasn’t whether he was Anak or not.
The real shock was only beginning.
“Besides, I don’t care. Even if you’re not Lord Anak, my feelings remain the same.”
Yes. That was it.
“…No, Lady Jane. I still owe you an apology.”
Lady Jane’s expression hardened. She seemed to have caught the meaning behind those words as well.
“The phrase I gave you—that you could consider it after the time of the god Miltos—has long been an idiomatic expression in my clan. I forgot that others wouldn’t understand it and unintentionally caused this misunderstanding.”
After that, her expression was painful to watch. She was desperately trying to maintain her composure on the surface, but the phrase “falling apart” fit her perfectly. She listened to Elena’s explanation in silence, then slowly nodded.
“…Yes. Then there’s nothing to be done.”
Never losing her dignity as a noblewoman. Back at the academy, countless female students had tossed that phrase around as a joke. Of course, given their age, they were merely parroting words they’d heard from their parents without understanding their weight, and almost none of them actually lived by it.
That was why, whenever I heard those words, they had always sounded light to me, and I had never felt their weight. But watching her now, those were the only words that came to mind, and their weight felt unbearably heavy.
Whether it was because of her duty as a noble or her inherent nature, I couldn’t be sure, but she was desperately trying to hold onto her emotions.
“Could I know your real name?”
At her trembling voice asking that single question, my heart lurched. Elena was clearly a woman’s name. But facing that expression and that voice, could Elena really lie? In the face of that solemn question, a wave of anxiety crossed my mind—would she tell the truth?
Of course, lying to her now would be disrespectful, but revealing that Elena was a woman would be too great a shock.
“Eledia Nadens.”
But the name that came from her lips was an ambiguous one. Come to think of it, the name Elena was what people knew the half-elf by, not her real name. Whether this was actually her real name or something she had just come up with in the moment, I didn’t know, but either way, my worry had been unnecessary.
“Yes. Lady Eledia. Thank you once again. For helping our village, for treating my illness, and for telling me the truth.”
She offered a somewhat wistful smile and rose from her seat. Then she bowed politely to Rowell, Aegina, Bagloros, and me, who were standing beside her.
“Thank you for your concern, everyone. So you were all being considerate of me this whole time. Especially you, Lord Anak.”
At that sincere expression of gratitude—offered while hiding her own sorrow—my face grew hot. Yes, it had been consideration. But as Aegina had said, it hadn’t been consideration solely for her sake. Even so, she had thanked me, and that made me feel strangely ashamed.
“…Then I’ll head up to my room now.”
She seemed unable to remain here any longer—or more precisely, unable to maintain her dignity any longer—and with trembling legs, she turned and fled toward the stairs.
“…Aegina.”
At my call, Aegina nodded and followed after her. I couldn’t presume to know for certain, but she would probably cry. She would let her sorrow burst forth. And the only one among us who could comfort her in that state was Aegina, another woman.
“Haa……”
I raised my hand and ordered beer and liquor from the innkeeper. Rowell and Elena both had things they needed to say, but without washing away this bitter aftertaste, none of us could do anything.