The Weight of Gold
The orphanage was little more than a small church. After Sunday services, the director nun would let the children rest during their afternoon nap. Reading and meditation were her hobbies and habits alike. Today, it was meditation. The nun sat upright in her chair by the sunlit window, eyes closed. Though she called it meditation, she wasn't pondering anything particularly profound. It was personal and humble rather than pious or religious. Her thoughts were clouded with worries about the orphanage's future. When true winter arrived, they would need more firewood. The nun opened her eyes and glanced at the fireplace beside the classroom. A few dry logs sat stacked to its left. Inside the cold, unlit hearth lay the charred remnants of last night's wood. The poker leaned against the right side, scattering soot and splinters across the floor.
Winter was difficult for everyone—the church, the priests, the nuns, merchants, adventurers, hunters, herbalists. Even the orphans and the irresponsible parents who had abandoned them. The orphanage had reached its limit. There was still space to take in more children, but no money to feed and shelter them through the winter. The church's support alone was barely enough for the children already there. Without realizing it, the director nun had clasped her hands together. Powerless, the only thing she could do was pray. She didn't recite any prayers. She simply lifted her heart toward the heavens.
The door to the orphanage burst open. The nun turned in surprise. A cold wind rushed inside, clawing at the room. Standing in the withered dandelion field outside was a face she hadn't seen in two years.
"Christine...!"
The director nun rose from her chair and hurried toward the girl leaning in the doorway. Without a word, she grasped Christine's ice-cold hands. The eyes that once shone like a verdant meadow had lost their light, as if withered by the winter wind. Regardless of what had happened, the nun pulled Christine inside, determined to shield her from the cold.
Only then did she notice the leather trunk in Christine's hand.
"What is all this...?"
The nun took the heavy trunk from her, set it down, and guided Christine to a chair. Christine's shoulders trembled faintly. She exhaled a cold breath and tried to steady herself. When she lifted her head again, she wore the same smile the nun remembered.
"Please take this."
Christine lifted the trunk from the floor and held it out. The nun's eyes widened at the sight of the gleaming gold bars inside.
"This is the reward I received for completing a request from the Magic Tower. I heard the church's finances had grown difficult... I thought things must be hard here too."
Christine smiled and closed the trunk. The nun looked at her with more concern than joy.
"It's a weekday. Is everything all right at the Magic Tower?"
Christine nodded, still smiling.
"It's fine. And you'll accept the trunk, won't you?"
The nun furrowed her brow and placed a hand on the trunk, then pushed it back toward Christine. Though times were hard, this wasn't something she could accept so easily.
"...How could we take money you earned through your own labor?"
"Think of it as a donation. This place is technically part of the church, after all."
The nun shook her head.
"Christine... I don't know how you came by such a large sum so suddenly, but I know this isn't the kind of money you earn from solving one or two requests."
Christine stopped the nun from pushing the trunk away.
"Please take it."
Her voice trembled with desperation.
"Please, just accept it. Don't ask any questions. Use it for the children, for you, for this orphanage."
Christine spoke as if searching for a way to be forgiven, like someone trapped in a deep cave groping for light and an exit.
"Use this gold to save children freezing to death on the streets, to save those being dragged into back alleys."
Her voice shook. The director nun listened to the end without changing her expression.
"Save them. Give them warm rooms, fill their bellies, wash them clean. Teach them to read and write, teach them about people and love."
Christine tried to justify herself, but with every person she named who could be helped by the gold, her heart ached as if salt were being rubbed into a wound.
"So..."
Christine held out the trunk, her face pale. The nun could say nothing more and accepted it. The already heavy bag seemed even heavier in her hands.
"Please, take this gold."
The nun held the trunk and looked at Christine for a long time. Christine couldn't meet her gaze. The thought that the nun's violet eyes were lightning meant to judge her made her bite her lip.
"I'll take it."
The nun's voice was gentle as she placed her hands on Christine's shoulders.
"I won't ask, but if you ever want to talk, I'm here."
Christine set the trunk down and lifted her head, wearing a sorrowful smile. If she confessed the guilt and burden she carried because of this money, would the nun still accept it with the same grace? She would refuse. As a woman of the cloth, she could never accept tainted money. Or perhaps she would simply pretend not to know and take it anyway. On reflection, the latter seemed more likely. And in doing so, she would forgive Christine, carrying away all the stains and sins clinging to the gold.
But Christine didn't want forgiveness from anyone—not from the faithful, not from the director nun, not even from herself. She was grateful, silently, that the nun had agreed to ask no questions and feign ignorance.
After giving Christine time to calm herself, the nun brought tea. The cup on the tray was the one Christine had always used. For a moment, Christine felt as if she had returned to the girl she was just before being entrusted to the Magic Tower.
"I left the Magic Tower."
The nun showed no surprise. She merely nodded a few times.
"Was it your own will?"
That was her only question.
"Yes."
Christine nodded. She had faced the Tower's lord directly, rejected his pleas to stay, ignored her colleagues' attempts to dissuade her, and turned her back on the mentors who had taught her. She had walked out.
"I left because I wanted to."
She had entered the Tower hoping to be of help, to repay the kindness she owed the orphanage and the director nun. Now, not a trace of foolish attachment or regret for magic remained. The title of genius mage was nothing more than a burdensome weight to her. With only a year left until graduation, the Tower's prodigy had vanished without a trace.
"Where will you go now?"
the nun asked.
"If you haven't decided, you can stay here for a while. There are plenty of empty rooms..."
Christine shook her head.
"It's all right. Please use the space to take in other children instead."
She had to follow it. She had to follow the trail of the curse. She needed to find out who Count Leon's scheme had reached. And if she found them? What could she possibly do? Christine shook her head. There was no point in feeling more despair now. She stood up. The nun's gaze followed her.
"You're leaving already?"
Christine nodded. When she opened the door, the wind outside had grown fiercer, rattling the windows. Standing in the doorway, she glanced back at the nun. Their reunion after two years was ending after only a few dozen minutes of conversation. Christine searched for words, but all she could manage was a vague promise—an excuse.
"I'll come back soon."
The nun gave a faint smile, hoping the lost girl would find her answer, and saw her off. Christine closed the door, watching the nun's face until the very last moment.
==
It had taken far too long. There had been too many obstacles in finding the cursed one. Those who deliberately avoided questions, the mages she had once known—all remained silent. Even with the clue of the Benning family, the number of possible cases where the curse could have been used was overwhelming. Christine's journey, relying on rumors and magic, only bore fruit after a full year.
"I hear the Raven Knight Order got a brand-new vice commander."
"Wonder what kind of trouble that one caused to end up here."
The guards' whispers reached her ears.
"Keep it down, will you?"
A middle-aged knight, looking drunk, picked a fight with them.
"Tch... You lot with nothing but the clothes on your backs, playing guard and running your mouths."
He hiccupped and staggered. The guards openly clicked their tongues at him.
"Look at that. If even regular members are managed like this, how decent could the commander or vice commander be?"
"If he causes a scene, we'll be the ones cleaning it up."
The guards slowly backed away from the drunken knight and pressed themselves against the wall.
"Hey! Where do you think you're going, you bastards! Can't even understand words because you can't read?"
Christine couldn't believe this chaos was taking place at a recruitment site for new members. The location seemed to be an entire tavern rented out for the occasion, and the recruitment officer was so drunk he had knocked over his cup and was causing a disturbance.
"Don't you dare look down on me!"
Christine seriously considered using magic. If a fight broke out, she might have to intervene even if it meant casting spells. The knight spewed a colorful array of curses Christine had never heard before—calling people dogs and cows, threatening to kill or revive their living parents. The guards ignored him at first, but as the insults grew more vicious, their faces flushed red and they began to retort. The curses doubled, then quadrupled with each exchange. Bastard. I want to see your parents' faces. You old relic, at least your teeth haven't fallen out so you can still talk. Voices rose, and the distance between the two groups shrank. Of the three knights who had come after seeing the recruitment notice, two had already fled. Only Christine remained.
"Fine, you bastards. This is perfect. Even if I get fired, I'll take your front teeth with me."
The knight rolled up his sleeves and stood. The guards, already in armor, raised their fists. Christine quietly finished an incantation in her mind, waiting only for the magic to manifest.
Crash.
At that moment, the tavern's main door burst open with a sound like it was breaking. The tension between the two groups evaporated like smoke. More precisely, the guards quickly backed down. The knights continued shouting. Christine turned to see who had entered. Against the cold, dreary winter sunlight stood a young man. A strangely handsome man, she thought. His light brown hair fluttered in the wind. Lifeless golden eyes surveyed the surroundings. He fixed his gaze on the still-cursing knight, his face twisting in displeasure.
"Hey, you...! You son of a—!"
"That's enough."
The young man grabbed the knight's chin and covered his mouth. The man's head snapped back, and he struggled to open his mouth but couldn't overcome the youth's strength.
"Sorry for the commotion."
The young man apologized. The guards replied, "Not at all," and returned to their posts. He struck the back of the rowdy knight's neck.
"You bastard, just because you're the vice commander doesn't mean you can fire people like this!"
The drunken knight muttered something incomprehensible before collapsing. The young man sighed and looked around the tavern. It was a mess. Then his eyes landed on Christine sitting in the corner, and his expression turned surprised. He walked toward her.
"I'm sorry. Our knight caused trouble again..."
Vice commander. Christine stared at him in silence. This was the man. The one who had received the curse. Her eyes trembled.
"...I'll compensate you for any damages..."
"I'm not a customer here..."
The young man looked up, surprised.
"Then why are you..."
"I came to apply."
He frowned, tilting his head as if he hadn't heard correctly.
"Apply?"
Christine took a deep breath.
"I came to apply as a member of the Raven Knight Order."
His eyes widened, frozen. He seemed to be processing whether he had heard correctly.
"Uh... You really want to join the Raven Knight Order?"
"I want to become a new recruit."
He scratched the back of his head and pulled out the chair across from her.
"...Then let's do a brief interview."
Christine nodded, feeling as if her soul had left her body. She had heard the order was ruined, but she had never imagined it was this ruined. And the fact that the man she had probably driven into this fallen order was now sitting across from her left her slightly disoriented.
What do I do? Should I apologize first...?
"My name is Maxim Apparte. I'm the vice commander of the Raven Knight Order."
His words cut through her thoughts.
"And your name is?"
Christine looked up. Maxim's lifeless golden eyes met her green ones.
I found him. But now that I have, I don't know what I should do to atone for everything.
Christine decided to start with her name. Did he know that the person he might hate most was sitting right in front of him?
"Christine... Christine Watson, Vice Commander."
Maxim nodded, satisfied.
"Good. I like your posture."
Christine began the interview with a sensation like needles piercing her chest.
==
"...Are you listening, Senior?"
"Huh...? Yeah..."
Maxim, who had been walking in a daze, snapped back to attention at Christine's voice. The walk back from the orphanage wasn't particularly hot. Christine puffed out her cheeks slightly, looking at him with displeasure.
"When we first met! I was so surprised you started the interview so calmly."
"...I suppose I did."
Maxim answered vaguely and moved on. Christine muttered under her breath beside him. The sky was deep blue—not quite night, but the rich sky of late evening. Their footsteps drew closer to Maxim's house.
"Anyway! Don't be late tomorrow. It's been a while since I returned, so there'll probably be a lot for you to help me with."
"Isn't this different from when I used to boss you around...?"
"I helped you a lot, so now you have to help me."
Maxim laughed and sighed. They had already arrived at his doorstep.
"All right. I got it. You be careful on your way back too. See you at work tomorrow."
"...Good night, Senior."
Christine spoke in a slightly sulky tone and turned away. Maxim watched her retreating figure. Ah. He placed a hand on his chest, which ached as if it were tearing apart. His condition seemed to be worsening. He tried to shake off the premonition creeping toward him like a shadow, but shadows didn't disappear just because you wanted them to. The memory of the day they first met, which Christine had mentioned today, felt hazy, as if shrouded in fog. Change was slowly creeping up on Maxim in a terrifying direction.