Chapter 56
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 56
Chapter Title: Ariete (12)
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The next morning, Richer finally awoke.
Even before opening his eyes, he knew something was wrong.
The sensation against his body, against his head—it all felt off somehow. And as soon as he opened his eyes, a sweet fragrance filled the air, which was odd. Normally, he would wake to the musty scent of a single man's quarters or the smell of damp straw from the tent.
'This isn't my bed. Not my tent, either.'
With his eyes only half-open, Richer groped around both sides of the bed in a panic. Fortunately, no one else was there. That was a small mercy, at least. Letting out a light sigh of relief, he looked around.
It was a familiar place. Ariete's tent, now filled with all sorts of girlish items lately.
But in the center of the tent, Ariete's torn clothes and undergarments lay scattered haphazardly.
Richer’s heart sank.
'Why are Ariete's clothes there? Then where is Ariete?'
Richer bolted upright and scanned the inside of the tent.
And there, he found a shocking sight. Next to a small drawer, Ariete lay curled up naked on her knees, fast asleep in a squat.
She was clearly hiding in a spot hidden from the bed.
Perhaps due to the winter chill, her skin was even paler than usual, her limbs covered in red marks, her hair a tangled mess.
Richer froze in place.
This... this was. This was just.
What? Why? What the hell was going on?
He hadn't been this shocked since becoming a mage. Not even during his first battle as a War Mage, when the pain had been excruciating but not surprising like this.
Richer acted on his first instinct. He grabbed Ariete's pale body and shook her awake. Had she spent the night naked on the cold ground? Her skin was like ice.
"Ariete, Ariete! Wake up! What happened?!"
Only after shaking her for a while did Ariete finally open her eyes with effort.
And when she saw Richer's face, she reacted in a way he never imagined.
"Eek!"
Ariete gasped in fright, trying to shake off Richer's arm with her limp body. Unable to fully pry his hand away, she dragged her frozen limbs across the floor, desperately trying to crawl away.
"Ariete! Ariete!"
As Richer reached for her again, he glanced at the spot where she had been sitting. There, a white fluid had leaked out, forming a sizable puddle.
The evidence of the reality he had hoped wasn't true was right there.
Red marks on her white skin. Torn clothes. The white puddle. What did it mean?
It was obvious. There was only one answer anyway.
He stood still, staring at Ariete.
The sweet disciple who used to fidget with longing at the sight of his face had vanished somewhere.
All that remained were eyes filled with fear.
'What the hell have I done?'
Richer’s mind moved sluggishly, but it kindly provided the answer.
The memory of entering Ariete's tent as if possessed, tearing off all her clothes, and mounting her aggressively. Her tearful cries and voice.
He remembered everything. Maybe it would have been better if he hadn't.
What an excellent mentor he was.
He had picked up a girl from the streets and thrown her into hell.
He hadn't extended a hand to the child writhing in hell, but had given her cold contempt instead.
The girl who had risen steadfastly from that contempt, blooming a small flower bud amid the corpses—he had thrown her into an even deeper hell, as if she didn't deserve to bloom.
Richer collapsed to the floor and stared at the ceiling. But he saw nothing, heard nothing. Only the chill of the ground wrapped sharply around his body.
How much time passed like that? He felt something touch his knee. Looking down, he saw Ariete, who had crawled to the corner to escape, now reaching out a trembling hand toward him.
"M-Master... A-Are you... o-okay?"
Ariete stammered, but her tone was alive.
It wasn't 'I'm okay.' It was 'Are you okay?'
Yes. A question.
In a situation where she should be cursing Richer through tears, Ariete had braved her fear to approach him. How much courage must that have taken?
And she hadn't said she was okay—she had asked about his well-being. That short voice 'Are you okay?' tore at Richer's heart.
"I-I'm... fine."
But Richer couldn't ask Ariete, 'Are you okay?' In this situation, it would be the cruelest question he could pose.
But Ariete spoke first, in a trembling voice.
"I-I'm... o-okay too."
Followed by a whispery 'Don't worry.'
The shortest sentence that could rip out Richer's heart.
*
Richer laid Ariete in bed, then returned to his own tent. He wanted to stay by her side, atone and nurse her, but Ariete couldn't sleep with him there.
No, she startled at the slightest reach of his hand, so it was better if he wasn't there. He only called the medical officer to care for her.
The arriving medical officer asked Richer,
"What happened to Lady Ariete?"
As Richer was about to confess everything, Ariete spoke first.
"I f-fell off... the bed... didn't even n-notice. Slept on the f-floor. C-caught a c-cold... p-please check."
Richer lacked the courage to contradict her and reveal the truth. So he returned to his tent and tormented himself alone.
Ariete, who used to stroll daily through the camp, didn't leave her tent for three days.
Richer occasionally entered her tent, watching her from a distance. Her expression trembled, but she forced an awkward smile and waved at him.
That smile sliced at his heart bit by bit.
*
Four days after the incident, another battle occurred. Fortunately, it wasn't large-scale, so one War Mage—Richer—was enough.
He unleashed a magnificent, powerful bolt of lightning straight into the enemy's center. Other times, it brought only guilt, but this time, a strange satisfaction.
And before his mind flew away, Richer swallowed a painkiller pill in preparation for the coming agony.
His vision went black.
The next day, Richer awoke at Ariete's side.
Her clothes were torn again, her body covered in red marks.
The only difference was that he had fallen asleep holding her tightly, preventing escape.
*
The same situation repeated several more times.
Together on the battlefield, then assaulting Ariete. Or alone, then assaulting her.
Richer couldn't regain his senses amid the guilt. He had to heed his fellow War Mage's advice.
Pride and purity be damned. Before stress shattered his mind, bringing a few prostitutes to the field and relieving urges was the answer.
Ignoring his friend's sincere advice had led to his disciple's heart now in pieces.
Yet even writhing in pain, Ariete couldn't let go of her faint affection for Richer. Like a puppy wagging its tail at its owner despite brutal abuse.
Ariete trembled violently but kept reaching out to him, again and again.
"I-I'm okay. Really."
As she said it, trying to hug him, her hand shook faintly, and fresh red marks stood out on her arm.
On a day without battle, Ariete stood quietly at the tent entrance and called to Richer, who was atoning nearby.
"Master."
"Yes. What is it?"
"H-Hug me... please."
Richer approached silently.
"N-No. Wait... turn around and close your eyes."
Richer did as she asked. He didn't even question why. How could a sinner like him question Ariete?
He had shattered her whenever she tried to heal even a little, thrown her into hell repeatedly.
A rustling sound came, then Ariete's voice again.
"Come to the bed and hug me. Keep your eyes closed."
Richer groped onto the bed carefully. It was stuffed with old straw, but on the battlefield, it was luxury enough.
With eyes shut, he lightly embraced Ariete.
The first thing he felt was her slight trembling.
The second was an oddly soft touch. So soft and warm, yet chilling his heart.
"You..."
"Shh. Undress too, Master. Just hold me."
Richer hesitated but stripped as she asked. He could tell from her trembling voice how hard it was for her to say it.
Richer cast aside all pride. Fine. He'd done it countless times already—what was once more?
But it was strange. Why would Ariete, who feared him, demand this?
As Richer puzzled, Ariete spoke.
"Master. This time... it's my request. You're not hurting me. I respect and love you that much."
"..."
"I-I'm okay. And it's you, so I'm glad. I can endure it. See? I'm fine now, right?"
But the end of Ariete's voice quivered, and so did Richer's heart.
"Master, don't drown in guilt. If it's you... I'm okay. Really."
Richer found it so heartbreaking that tears flowed even with eyes closed. His thin eyelids couldn't hold back the flood.
How could he not cry, when this wounded child worried for his heart without mending her own?
"Yes... yes... kind Ariete. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"No. Don't say sorry."
Ariete took a deep breath, then whispered in her shakiest voice yet.
"Richer. Instead... say one thing to me. That you love me. Just that. With those words, I won't be hurt."
For the first time, she called him by name, not Master.
Richer realized her heart was pounding wildly.
So, sobbing, he answered.
"Yes. Ariete... I love you... I love you, Ariete."
Ariete's lips met his, and the two entwined slowly, for a very long time.
In soaring ecstasy, Ariete realized.
It was better to possess the broken than to merely gaze at the whole.