Farewell (1)
It was warm.
When he came to his senses, a gentle heat enveloped him, as if they had all fallen asleep together in peace. The shoulder Count Loren had cut so deeply no longer hurt. Neither did the forehead he had gashed open again and again.
Maybe it had only been a dream.
Just a truly foul nightmare.
“You’re awake.”
He stirred, and someone spoke. The voice was familiar.
“…Cronian?”
He turned toward the sound. Cronian sat in a chair beside an old-fashioned window, staring out. White snow drifted beyond the glass, and shadows filled his face.
Looking at him, Riel understood at once that this was no nightmare. There was only one reason an unrelated man like Cronian would be at his side right now: Rhea must have gone to the guild for help, and the guild had accepted.
“…Did you help me?”
The thought that the entire guild might have risen for his sake alone stirred guilt far sooner than gratitude.
“No need to apologize. The guild never helped you.”
Cronian offered the brief comfort as if he already knew Riel’s heart. Whether it was meant as comfort or not, it felt like one. After a short silence he spoke again.
“…Baron Rueshatia helped you. You avoided the death sentence.”
Riel did not know who Baron Rueshatia was. He should have asked about the man who had saved him, yet he could not. “Avoided the death sentence” meant something else still waited.
He would still have to pay the price for killing a noble. What truly fretted him was not the future that would come, but everyone he had left behind.
Only worry remained.
His wounds had healed. How much time had passed? How were Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia?
Rhea had been badly hurt. Ceria and Claudia had stayed at the church.
He wanted to go back. He was worried. That was all.
“How many days has it been?”
At the question, Cronian’s expression twisted sharply. His eyes wavered as if he were looking at someone who had gone mad.
“…What?”
“…The church… no, I have to go home. Rhea was hurt badly—did you see her? She came to the guild, right? Cronian, please help me. I have to get back as soon as I can… I have to ease their worry even a little… Ceria and Claudia too… th-they must be crying…”
Cronian did not answer. He turned his gaze back to the window and hesitated several times. His back looked heavy; the once-reliable shoulders had hunched, filled with pity and sorrow. An ominous chill crawled up Riel’s spine.
“…You can’t go.”
“…What?”
“…You can’t go home.”
His heart plummeted.
Avoiding the death sentence meant they would let him live. What did “you can’t go home” mean?
No—even if he could not return for good, it would be enough just to tell them he was alive, that he was fine, that they need not worry.
“…I-I don’t need treatment. I-I can go back to prison, I don’t care. P-please. Just for a moment, I… I only want to see their faces. Tell Rhea… tell Ceria and Claudia that I’m okay… that they don’t have to worry…”
He knew full well that Baron Rueshatia had saved him, not Cronian. Even so, he could not stay still. He could not begin to measure how Rhea was, how much pain Ceria and Claudia must be in. The person he was begging was the wrong one, yet he clung to Cronian, babbling.
“…No.”
Cronian would not look at him. His reflection floated in the windowpane, grief plain upon it. He seemed to stare outside, yet he was looking at nothing at all.
Their eyes met in the glass. For all his pretense of indifference, Cronian was watching him—worrying for him, grieving for him.
“…Riel. The pretext for pulling out the man who killed Count Loren was ‘conscription.’ You have to go to war.”
War.
War?
Ah. War.
His head spun as if he had turned in place a dozen times. A throbbing ache settled behind his eyes. Even in the guild he had sometimes heard that tension over war was rising in the kingdom. A few seniors had left for the front in search of honor; he had known war was not so distant.
He had never once imagined it would become his story. He had never even thought of war. He had only pictured a future of going to the Academy with Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia. And now he was to march to war?
“…The crime of killing Count Loren has not disappeared. You’ve only been granted a stay of sentence—to pay for it on the battlefield. Riel. You will go to the front as a mercenary of House Rueshatia.”
“…Right now?”
Cronian nodded without a word. Riel’s breath caught in his throat. He no longer had the strength to speak.
“…Could you still leave after seeing them?”
So Cronian said. The man who always spoke in a flat voice now sounded wet. Realizing it, he cleared his throat and continued in a grave tone once more.
“…If your childhood friends—your family—grab hold of you and cry and beg you not to go, do you think you could tear yourself free and return to the front? If you ran, bounty hunters would come after you. We know you best. We would be the ones sent to kill you. And House Rueshatia, who helped you, would be held responsible. Maybe even the children who left with a criminal would be punished.”
“…”
“…So it’s better just to leave. They’ll think you’re already dead. That’s what you wanted in the first place, isn’t it?”
Cronian was right. If he saw Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia’s faces, he would never go to the battlefield. He might even drag everyone into danger by begging them to run away together. Just as Cronian said, he might end up killing and being killed by guildmates, and everyone would be in greater peril.
Yet even though his head understood, his heart refused to accept it. The moment he killed Loren he had known he would die. He knew this was only a change of place to die. Still, his feet would not move.
Tick. Tock.
The hollow sound of a clock’s second hand filled the room. After a stretch of time he could not measure, the door opened. A middle-aged man of solid bearing stood there with a girl of roughly Riel’s age who, for some reason, looked faintly familiar.
“Have you finished speaking?”
“…Yes. Thank you for the consideration.”
Cronian stepped outside as if to give them the room. The respectful speech told Riel that the middle-aged man must be Baron Rueshatia.
The baron looked at him with pity. The girl beside him went further—she came close and tightly clasped Riel’s hand.
He truly did not understand. Why they looked at him that way, why they felt such compassion.
“…Do you remember my daughter?”
The baron asked. Remember his daughter? Was this some kind of joke?
“…Lediche. I-I’m the girl you saved in the slums. Riel.”
At the name Lediche, memory returned. The girl he had rescued on the day he first met Loren—because he had felt he had to do something—stood before him now. Yet rather than gladness or joy, disappointment and anger settled in his chest.
“…I saved your daughter. I killed the bastard who sold her. And now I’m just supposed to die somewhere else?”
They had done nothing wrong. He knew that, yet the words spilled out of their own accord.
He felt he had to blame someone. If he said enough times that he had saved their daughter, perhaps they would let him go free.
“…Lediche almost became a prostitute at that age. I saved her from that bastard Loren. And I have to go bleed and die on a battlefield?!”
But Baron Rueshatia did not flinch at the rage-filled words. He only looked at Riel with a complicated gaze, as if he understood.
“I’m sorry. This was the only way.”
He was a noble, yet he seemed a man who knew duty more than authority. He bowed his head.
“I’m sorry… Riel saved me…”
Lediche was the same. Whatever weighed so heavily on her, she sniffled while still holding his hand.
“…Loren—that is, House Luter has many heirs. More than ten bastards alone, and over five legitimate direct-line candidates. Even if we forced the issue and somehow kept you here, the next problem would remain. The heirs of House Luter would hunt you down and kill you just to secure the succession.”
“…Then you protect me.”
“…I am going to war to fulfill my duty. Lediche may leave with me. If that happens, I cannot help you. My retainers would send letters seeking my permission, and by the time those letters returned, House Luter would already have attacked you. Above all, we are only a baronial house. We are weaker than a count’s house… weaker than those bastards.”
Cronian had said it, and now Baron Rueshatia said it: if he stayed, everyone would be in danger. Stripped of emotion, Riel knew they were right.
They claimed he could remain if he forced the matter, yet that very act could wound everyone deeply. A count’s house would come hunting them; whether a handful of fifteen- and fourteen-year-old children could even escape was doubtful.
It was hard, but he settled his heart. He bit his lip. Crushed it. After working his mouth for a long moment, he finally managed to speak.
“…I have a request.”
“…I will grant whatever it is.”
“…Please look after Rhea, Ceria, and Claudia. They’re… my family.”
Lediche turned to look at her father. He could not see clearly, but tears seemed to be sliding down her cheeks. Baron Rueshatia nodded and answered.
“…While you are at the front, I will send support funds. Even if we cannot adopt them into House Rueshatia, I will arrange for them to be adopted into a connected family so they may live happily.”
Then he added,
“…Three days.”
“…Pardon?”
“…That you are Rueshatia’s benefactor does not change. I know you are not a man who would break faith. When I handed Lediche over to Loren, the feeling of that moment is still a dagger driven into my heart. Don’t you need time to say goodbye?”
Three days.
“If you wish it, I will give you three days. Time for farewell.”
As if entranced, Riel nodded. He still feared that meeting them again might bring harm to everyone, yet he nodded all the same. Sensing how desperately he wanted to leave at once, the baron prepared everything so he could depart immediately.
“…Please change your clothes before you go. E-everyone will worry.”
Lediche caught him as he tried to rush out and insisted he at least return looking presentable. His clothes were a ruin and he had not washed in so long that they would only worry more. Only after scrubbing himself clean as quickly as he could and changing did he leave the Rueshatia territory. Cronian had warned that spending three days would only make parting harder.
“…Still, I’m glad. That Baron Rueshatia at least gave me time to say goodbye.”
Inwardly he rejoiced that he had been granted even this much time to prepare for farewell.
Clop, clop.
The horse moved on, and the familiar village came into view. At the path leading to the church, Cronian set him down and said he would be waiting in that same spot at the same hour every day. Since the guild itself had been unable to help, he and Laika would see him off privately.
Riel nodded, and Cronian rode away. He walked through the softly piled snow, the powder crunching underfoot—no, he ran.
He wanted to see them even a little sooner. The image of everyone fretting over him was so vivid that even when he fell he scrambled up and ran again.
Claudia would be crying, and Ceria would be little different. Whether Rhea’s wounds had healed properly, whether they had found a doctor—that was what worried him most.
“…Kids!”
He flung the church door open. A sharp, acrid smell stabbed his nose. Blood-stained bandages lay scattered across the floor. Moldy porridge and broken bowls rolled about.
There was no light. Sensing something wrong, he pushed deeper inside. Only from Sister Flora’s room did a faint glow leak out.
Creeeak.
Rhea lay asleep on the bed, bandages wrapped around her entire body. Claudia, exhausted from nursing her, had buried her face against one side of the mattress. Ceria was on her knees, praying for the two of them.
“…Riel?”
Except for Rhea, who did not stir—whether unconscious or simply collapsed—the other two looked at him. Claudia’s tail was so matted and tangled it would need to be cut. Ceria’s palm was covered in scabs from how tightly she had gripped the cross while praying.
And for some reason, in Claudia’s and Ceria’s eyes there was resentment. Hatred. Rage, and raw, desperate sorrow.