Chapter 49
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Ariete (5)
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The world is made up of gears. It's a clichéd expression, but each individual becomes a small cog in the grand machinery of society.
However, the material of those gears varies from person to person.
And it's always the soft, fragile ones that wear down and become a problem.
Caught between steel gears, those made of soft tuff or sandstone scream as they scatter dust in every direction.
'I've worn down this much already. There's a crack here. I feel like I'm about to shatter. Please, just move a little slower, a little gentler.'
At the bottom of the world, white stone dust piles up. If you listen closely, you can hear the faint screams from those tiny particles.
Amid the heaps of metal shavings and stone dust, you sometimes even find sawdust. There are those who can't even manage to be soft stone, made instead from wood.
Ariete was like a soft ashwood gear wedged between steel and stone ones.
Among the gray, ashen cogs, her warm brown one was far too delicate and tender.
People who are innately fragile wear down faster, even living the same life. If everyday scratches alone do that to them, what must it be like for Ariete, surviving on the front lines?
The gears surrounding her spun mercilessly, without a shred of consideration.
She believed she found solace by Richer's side, but an ashwood cog couldn't mesh directly with his. The greatest piece of his heart went to Mila, after all.
Ariete could draw near to Richer, but she could never truly touch him.
Between their two gears, there was always a small intermediary one.
If they had failed to mesh and snapped instead, her wooden cog might have crumbled and fallen into his arms at least once.
But that tiny gear connected them too perfectly, astonishingly sturdy, neither wearing down nor breaking.
The little gear wedged between them bore too many names.
Taboo. Morality. Faithful husband. Benevolent mentor. Devoted disciple. No one knew which label fit best.
What was certain was its unyielding presence there.
Ariete wore down quickly. It was the fate of those thrown into the fray.
Facing endless resentment and hatred, killing dozens or hundreds day after day only to pass out repeatedly—it was only natural.
But the stresses of the battlefield weren't the only things ensnaring her. Circling Richer's side without ever touching him proved far harder than she'd imagined.
Having grown up around him without romantic feelings, she hadn't anticipated how agonizing it would be to harbor them now while orbiting so close.
It would have been better if he'd been far away. Standing closer than anyone, yet forever unable to reach—that was pure torment.
Yet just as one can't easily abandon faith, or leave a beloved lover's side, Ariete quietly circled Richer's.
And so, as she quietly wore away, Ariete crumbled over something small. A soldier's wife had come to the front lines to see her husband.
It must have been a long, perilous journey for a woman. She'd crossed paths stained with blood and corpses. The caked blood and dust at the tips of her shoes proved it.
But her steps likely hadn't hurt as much as Ariete's.
She had merely walked amid the blood and bodies, while Ariete had made them.
She could finally embrace her husband, but Ariete could not embrace Richer.
Moved, the commander granted the soldier couple a small tent and a day's rest. Ariete watched them blankly.
Ariete wanted something, but she didn't know exactly what.
Aside from that little incident, the day had been peaceful and routine. Ariete had ignited flames that burned dozens alive, then fainted briefly.
The battle had started late, so she woke late as well.
By the time she stepped out of her tent, night had fallen.
A cool autumn breeze carried a brilliant host of stars filling the sky, while something atop the mountain—whether a beacon fire or wildfire—began to puff smoke. The scent of burning cedar wafted from somewhere.
Ariete sat dazed amid the starlight, autumn breeze, and cedar smoke. Until the stars had silently shifted a handspan across the sky unnoticed.
Then, as if struck by a thought, Ariete rose and headed for a tent.
Of the two with yellow cloth at the entrance, she chose the one she never usually approached.
Far off, from the tent the commander had given the young soldier couple, came what sounded like ragged breaths. But it was quite a distance, so probably just her imagination.
Before entering, Ariete slipped off her shoes. To avoid making a sound.
Dirt and tiny pebbles wedged between her pale, dainty toes. Nothing special, but the sensation made Ariete smile with delight.
When she parted the tent flap and slipped inside, the interior was shrouded in deep darkness.
Not even a small lantern was lit. Richer wasn't one to sleep with a light on.
Ariete slowly, very slowly, removed her clothes. The soft robe and undergarments brushing her skin sounded like thunder in her ears, making her heart race.
Suddenly, a childhood memory surfaced. The first time she'd undressed before Richer, and what he'd said: "What are you doing?"
She nearly giggled at the recollection but stifled it. She couldn't ruin things by laughing now.
Richer might give the same response again. But Ariete was confident.
She knew better than anyone how beautifully and prettily she'd grown.
In the pitch blackness, Ariete lifted a hand to cup one breast. The heavy, overflowing sensation that even both hands couldn't fully grasp.
She knew how many soldiers' gazes followed her when she walked slowly in her loose robe. Confidence surged in her heart once more.
She carefully stepped across the dirt-strewn floor and stood beside Richer's bed. With agonizing slowness, she lifted the blanket. In the dimness, she could vaguely make out Richer in light undergarments.
Ariete cautiously straddled one of his thighs. That strange, sticky, tingling sensation felt so good.
As she slowly leaned forward to lie atop him, Richer bolted upright and swung something at her throat.
Danger. She thrust out her hand in a reflex so swift it surprised even her, and agony pierced her palm.
"Kyaa!"
"Ariete? Damn it!"
From that single unfinished scream, Richer recognized her.
He hurriedly lit the bedside lantern, then gasped again at her revealed form.
Her completely naked body gleamed in the flickering light. Her left palm was pierced by a dagger. A strange sensation lingered on Richer's thigh.
"You okay? What the hell is going on?"
Richer didn't even ask why she was undressed. He swiftly rummaged through a drawer for bandages.
Until he found them, wrapped her palm, and applied disinfectant, Ariete gazed at him with a contented expression.
Pain or anxiety didn't touch her face—only pure happiness.
The little gear guarding the space between them remained firm. Richer's gear was slightly worn but intact.
But Ariete's had crumbled and shattered in places, finally reaching him.
Ariete knew well that shattered gears touching couldn't turn properly. But she didn't look to the future. Only the present mattered.
Richer thought differently.
"Put some clothes on quick. Let's go to the medic."
"Not now."
Once the simple treatment was done, Ariete blew out the lantern and climbed back atop him.
"What do you think you're doing?"
When Richer didn't react as she hoped, Ariete slowly slithered under the covers. In a voice brimming with coquetry, she wheedled.
"Hold me. Warmly. Until I forget all about tomorrow."
She spoke as if his embrace were her right.
No, perhaps it was. He'd promised to hold her whenever she wanted to cry.
Even if her tears had been from joy and happiness, not pain. She did want to cry, after all.
But tonight's Richer was resolute.
"No. I can't hold you."
Those few words crumbled something fragile inside Ariete's heart.
"You promised to give me a little of that embrace too! Keep your promise!"
It was a hysterical tone she'd never used before. So sharp it startled even her.
"I can't. Go back to your tent. Now."
Richer replied in his usual calm, firm voice. But Ariete didn't miss the faint tremor at the end.
That tiny quiver touched her reverse scale.
"Is it because you think I'm some filthy slut throwing myself at soldiers? But since I met you, I've never been in anyone else's arms!"
"That's not it. But you're not in your right mind right now. We'll talk tomorrow."
"You said you'd hold me whenever I wanted!"
Ariete wailed, but Richer didn't budge.
"I said I'd hold you when you're exhausted and want to cry. Not on a night like this. You know that."
I'm crying like this right now, so why won't you look at me?
Tears streamed from Ariete's eyes, but Richer's gaze wasn't on them.
Ariete's eyes traced his gaze upward.
His eyes weren't on her tears or her full, luscious breasts, but on the bandage wrapped around her hand.
It had been wrapped just moments ago, yet it was already soaked red with blood.
In that gaze, Ariete found her answer.
She swiftly snatched the dirt-smeared dagger from the floor and plunged it unhesitatingly into the center of her chest.
"Ariete!"
Richer rushed to her with a frantic expression.
Amid his gaze filled with worry, Ariete fainted contentedly.
His embrace was still so warm, so comforting.
It was early autumn.
But Ariete's life skipped summer and fall, plunging from spring back into winter.