To My Dear Sister (Part Two)
Piel,
I have known one particular truth for quite some time now.
I know whom my little sister harbors affection for.
Unfortunately, the object of that white-haired girl's love is not the young master of the marquisate. Rather, the real problem is that she shows him only the blandest of reactions — treating her own fiancé like some same-sex friend.
I did not realize this from the beginning. I never once doubted that you were a noble being of a fundamentally different nature from your mad older brother.
It was not that I failed to trust you. Still, the thought of leaving Mother's side left me restless, and so I used my close aides to monitor the movements of House Bayorn and everything around it.
It was two years after I had left House Bayorn that I received word: you had sealed the Viscountess's bathroom with soundproofing magic.
I do not know what you did to Mother then. But considering your prior history of spying on Mother and Father's relations, I doubt it was anything wholesome.
At first, I was deeply disappointed in you. And yet even that is a laughable emotion, when I consider what feelings I myself harbor for Mother. Still, I cannot deny that your actions made me impatient.
Even so, when I heard that you had left House Bayorn, I knew you had not crossed that final line. This conviction only grew more certain in the process of making Mother my woman. She faced her son's ugliness with no awareness whatsoever of the taboo of incest.
Little sister, do you know?
The difference between a beast and a human is this alone: the refusal to be ruled by one's nature.
By that measure, you are clearly human. How petty and repulsive of me to have doubted you even slightly. Perhaps the problem is simply that I — a beast who is not even human — am far too greedy.
But what truly astonished me was this: disappointed as I was, I felt no anger.
Whether I identify you with myself, or whether Mother's warning never to treat you carelessly has been branded into me — the reason is unclear. Yet feeling wrath toward you seemed impossible.
Then again, I have never once been angry with you in my entire life. Perhaps this is only natural.
That does not mean I intend to yield Mother to you, nor that I mean to share her freely.
I know full well that a beast who raped his own mother has no right to say such things. Even so, she is not someone the likes of me can treat as an object, and so I will restrain myself as much as possible from wounding her further. And I have no intention of tolerating the same from you, either.
If even this proves too much, and Mother is broken by it — Piel, you may strike your older brother as much as you please. Just as when we were children, I will take my punishment without a word. This sin of incest was not committed without that much resolve.
That I felt no wrath toward you may stem from the reasons I mentioned earlier. But ultimately, it is because the woman called Mandarin could not be called my possession.
Of course, now that we have joined our bodies, she is clearly regarded as my woman. And the more that process is repeated, the deeper the obsession grows. Only now have I begun to understand why Father lost his mind over Mother.
Perhaps the reason you — so full of filial devotion — committed such an irreverent act against Mother is not because you harbored lust, but because a succubus existed among Mother's ancestors. Truth be told, even the succubi I encountered on my journey were nothing compared to her. And there is little else left to speculate about.
Haha, little sister. Looking at myself rambling on like this to someone who is not even here, it seems I have a great deal to talk about with you after three years apart.
So I do wish you would come home soon.
Thinking of you as an irritating little wench is a story more than ten years old. We bickered plenty after that, too — but aren't we siblings who get along rather well in our own way? You will shake your head and deny even that, I am sure. You might even spit curses and slap me across the face.
Now even my little sister's fierce thrashings are something I miss. Every time you struck your older brother's cheek, it snapped me back to my senses. Those blows were also lessons — rebuking a young family head who had lost his original resolve and grown slack.
I am not a capable mage like you. As a result, I can wield no magic at all. As you and the rest of House Bayorn well know, swinging a pair of axes like a fool is my only talent.
Because of this incompetence, I ended up standing by helplessly even as Mother was being kidnapped. Nor could I rescue her immediately afterward.
Before she suffered a great wound, the one who reached out a hand of salvation was not me, but you. And so I have no face to raise my head — not before Mother, and not before you either.
Should I call this a failure and a blunder as a man who loves a woman? Or perhaps grounds to strip me of my qualifications as the young head of House Bayorn?
With you gone, I cannot even discuss this. If my capable little sister urged me to hand over the family, her incompetent older brother would gladly do so.
The place where you vanished was a desolate wasteland. It was also a spectacle — a vast expanse too wide for the eye to hold, evaporated into ash. You are a great hero who harbors such power. Should a person of such caliber simply disappear like this?
Since that day, the words Mother occasionally spoke — that one who becomes an older brother must protect his younger sibling — have rung in my ears.
What a fool of a man.
What a worthless man.
Unable to protect the woman he loves, or even his own flesh and blood.
The true identity of the man others praised as a hero was nothing more than a childish brat who overestimated his own abilities and acted with arrogance.
Perhaps this is why the vermilion-haired woman still sees me as a child.
…Piel.
My fragile little sister.
I do not know if I should call someone as proud as you fragile — but that is how I feel right now. You always revealed your tender true self at critical moments. Like when you would ask your older brother, three years your senior, to go out and play.
I wonder if the rough, tough exterior you show is also something you cultivated in an effort to protect your family. I truly worry about what state of mind you entered battle with when you faced the Hero this time. That man possessed a character more base than imagination itself.
All that remained in the place where the Iron-Blooded Empress had evaporated was a strangely shaped clock and two weapons. The grips of those weapons bore clear traces of having been clenched more times than one could count. Though she must have nearly let go again and again from the fear of death, the conviction of one who fought to protect Mother was unmistakably felt.
Who was it?
Who made my one and only flesh and blood tremble with fear?
My sibling.
Please come back and tell me who that damned man is.
Tell me clearly what humiliation that man inflicted upon you.
Your older brother will make certain to chew that trash alive.
Though not as much as Mother, I too find the quill hard to grasp. Just as you did. Perhaps I, too, am putting on an act of composure.
In any case, Piel.
It is the season when the citrus flowers are in full bloom in the Bayorn Territory. Pure white petals — as pure as you and Mother — welcome me.
You have loved these flowers that bloom in the garden since you were little. Enough to gift them even to your worthless older brother.
Yesterday I walked that garden with Mother. I wanted to soothe the heart of a woman who had lost her daughter. And the result was not entirely bad. Mother, who had always spent her nights in tears, managed at least a faint smile.
But this is only a temporary measure. Somewhere in the heart of a woman for whom her children are everything, a great hole remains gaping open.
I do not even know if what I am doing now is right. Writing a letter to you, whose whereabouts I do not even know, is hardly the conduct of a family head who must maintain his cool-headedness.
Even so, this is proof that you are a precious treasure to House Bayorn. So please — understand even a little of your pathetic older brother's actions.
But I cannot go on like this forever.
I intend to gradually put my surroundings in order.
I must become not merely the provisional family head, but the true master of Bayorn. And I must eliminate every worm-like bastard who eyes Mother. Sir Doston, who was Father's aide. The Northern Grand Duke, our liege lord. And even certain high-ranking nobles in the capital who looked upon my mother with glittering eyes.
Now that I look, the trash I need to clear away is piled up like a mountain.
I have no great ambitions. I desire neither gold and jewels nor power. My only wish is to live quietly in my homeland with the woman I love.
But that process does not look so easy. Setting aside military force, protecting one's territory also requires navigating the administrative domain with competence — not that I intend to hesitate.
Rather than keeping her like a bird in a cage, as some incompetent fool might, I want her to enjoy everything she desires. If Mother wishes it, I am even considering making her the queen of a nation.
And you, my little sister — did you not rescue Mother from the Hero? That must have been a catastrophe far greater than any trial I will face going forward. I am the older brother of a hero who confronted such a trial, so I ought to manage at least this much.
Finally, Piel.
Come home before the citrus flowers you love wither away.
I may have repeated the same words so many times that you are sick of them.
But won't you listen to your older brother's plea, just once?
There is not only a family outing to take, but much more still to be done.
Come back and verify whether your older brother is a man worthy of Mother.
Come back and rebuke the sins your older brother has committed.
Come back and show me that fierce smile once more.
And hold, just once, the vermilion-haired woman submerged in sorrow.
If you would only do that much — this worthless older brother will ask nothing more of you.