Let's Wash Up First

Step. Step.

The sound of footsteps on costly marble echoed down the corridor. An unfamiliar hallway—until memory surfaced, and with it came a sense of familiarity.

The Goddess doesn't do things by halves.

This corridor. The sconces set into the walls. Even the scratches in the stone—all of it rose in Karen's mind. This had been his favorite place in the world.

He tried to move, but this was only himself as the Goddess had rebuilt him inside a memory. All he could do was watch.

Just past here...

At the bend in the corridor he turned right, and a closed door waited for him. He was in the highest reach of the castle. Open that door, and the terrace lay beyond.

Creeeak.

He pushed, and the doors swung wide to either side. His kingdom spread out below him at a glance. But the marketplace that should have been roaring with life, the merchants hawking wares to passing travelers, the sound of children laughing as they raced through the streets—none of it could be seen. None of it could be heard.

Caw. Caw. Caw.

In place of people, crows had claimed the streets. Why had every crow in the world flocked here? Simple enough. Their feast was overflowing.

Karen's mouth clamped shut at the sight. The people had all become cold corpses. No—it would have been better if they had simply died. Those still alive were on their knees, facing the castle where the king lived, facing him, still clinging to hope even as they died, still begging.

If only they would blame him. If only they would say it was all his fault—condemn this incompetent king...

The Karen of memory turned, shut the terrace doors, and with tears streaming down his face hurled the crown from his head. Then, in his anguish, he raked his fingers through his hair. The long silver hair that fell to his waist tangled into a wild, unsightly mess.

Was I really like that...

This was the past he had asked the Goddess to show him. Karen's last day as king. A small kingdom, peaceful in its own way, that had drawn alchemists from across the continent because the world's greatest alchemist had founded it—until an unknown plague began to spread.

Karen returned to his chambers, went through into the laboratory connected to his rooms, and began experimenting like a madman. Herbs gathered from every corner of the land were piled high, and beside him his knights lay on cots, stricken with the plague. One of them, watching Karen's frenzied work, opened his mouth.

"Your Majesty..."

"Don't speak. It'll only make you worse. I will save you. I will. Do you know who I am?"

"We know... We should be the ones protecting Your Majesty. That it's become the opposite... we are ashamed."

These stiff-necked fools. Even as their bodies were dying, this was all they could say.

"Eat this."

Karen held out a finished potion to the knight. Even with hands trembling from pain, the knight received the bottle in both palms, as respectfully as if it were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a sacrament.

"You don't need that kind of ceremony! That's an order! Drink it, now!"

Urgency and raw feeling made the old way of speaking slip from Karen's mouth without him meaning it.

Gulp. Gulp.

The knight swallowed the potion, and silence fell. But none of the improvement Karen had been waiting for appeared. The pustules covering the body, the bloodshot eyes, the coughing that brought up blood—none of it stopped.

"Khack!"

Even now, the knight's cough came up thick with red blood.

"Your Majesty... I'm all right. What knight could ask for a greater honor than this from his own lord? As long as Your Majesty is well, that's..."

As if receiving a potion Karen had made had been the last purpose of his life, the knight's head finally drooped. Karen forced himself to look away and began compounding herbs again.

"Wait. Please..."

But for all Karen's efforts, the potions had no effect at all, and the knights died one by one.

"You irreverent bastards. Weren't you always telling me to act like a monarch? Nagging me not to use language fit for commoners. And yet you're the ones ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with the worst manners of all."

Courtly speech and casual talk tumbled mixed from Karen's mouth. But the people who would have corrected him were leaving, one by one.

These men—whatever they had said among themselves—the pain must have been unbearable, and yet they closed their eyes so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quietly. Even on their last road, they were being considerate, so as not to burden him. And then even the coughing could no longer be heard.

Silence settled. Karen pressed his head against the workbench and let the tears fall. He stayed like that for a long time.

Creeeak.

Someone opened the laboratory door and called to him.

"Your Majesty..."

"Chancellor..."

A middle-aged man whose hair had gone white far too young, who looked as if he might collapse at any moment, propped himself on a cane and called to Karen with difficulty.

"I told you to stay in bed!"

Karen hastily wiped his tears and barked at the chancellor.

"Your Majesty... I'm fine. But Adela wishes to see you."

"Adela? Then let's go together. I'll..."

"I'm fine. I'd like to spend the end with these friends here."

"The end? What are you talking about?"

"No one blames Your Majesty. This is a plague. There is nothing a human being can do. Please go. If you delay any longer, Adela will be angry."

"...I understand."

As Karen opened the door and left, the chancellor's voice drifted faintly from behind.

"Alex, my friend. I made it to chancellor, and you became the knight you always dreamed of. We lived a good life, didn't we?"

They had started as mercenaries and built this kingdom together. They had met in their teens and twenties, all of them friends, all of them comrades. Somewhere along the way they had studied, grown into middle age, and become those insolent bastards who nitpicked every word that came out of his mouth in that unbearably stuffy register.

Karen swallowed the tears that rose again and quickened his pace. He arrived at a room hung with cute dolls and decorations. When he opened the door, a little girl lay on the bed.

"Oppa?"

Blonde hair, white skin, warm brown eyes. Delicate features and no shortage of charm—a little darling beloved not just by the castle but by the entire kingdom.

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Hehe... now nobody will scold me for calling you Oppa."

Ordinarily the knights who followed him like shadows would have said something. Adela, delighted for reasons of her own, smiled up at Karen.

"Anyone who complains, I'll give them a proper scolding."

"Really?"

"I'm the king, you little brat."

"Yay!"

She threw both arms in the air in delight—then clenched her teeth against a sudden pain. One of the plague's symptoms. Without any warning, a pain like needles piercing every inch of the body.

"I... I'm f-fine."

Watching a child endure pain that even a grown man could barely stand, Karen felt his chest tear open. He surged to his feet. He had to develop a cure, quickly...

"Don't go."

But Adela's voice catching at him stopped Karen's feet.

"Stay with me."

"Okay."

Karen sat back down in the chair and took Adela's hand in both of his. When he was alone with this child, his speech naturally reverted to his true way of talking. She had a gift for putting people at ease.

"You'll catch it. It's contagious, isn't it?"

Adela tried to pull her hand away in a hurry, but Karen held on and would not let go.

"I wish I would catch it."

"That's a horrible thing to say! After how happy we've been! That's why I always told everyone my Karen Oppa was different."

Adela scolded him, but Karen meant it. Even after the chancellor's words, guilt was eating him from the inside. This plague felt like a curse for his arrogance—for having lived too happily.

"All right. I won't say that."

"Good boy. That's my Oppa."

Karen stroked Adela's hair. This habit, too, had started with this child. Whenever he found something cute, his hand went to the head of its own accord.

"Your hand... feels nice."

And so Adela closed her eyes, feeling the pleasant touch and warmth of the hand on her head.

Just like that... she closed her eyes.

Karen stayed like that for a long time. He covered his eyes with his hand and sat there.

Step. Step.

Karen stepped out into the corridor. No presence could be felt. With Adela gone, there was no longer a single living retainer left in the castle.

He went out into the streets. Even the few of his people who had still been alive a little while ago were gone now.

A king is made by his retainers and his people. Karen left his country. He simply walked, vacant, with nowhere to go.

And so the past the Goddess had shown him came to an end. The world went dark for a moment, and then he saw his own hand touching the altar.

"Um... Brother Oh Jaemin?"

Hangil's voice came from behind him. From here on, this was reality.

The location of the secret organization, the office of Heresy Inquisitor, and more. Just as the Goddess had said, information poured into Karen's mind without pause.

He organized it quickly around the key points, then opened his eyes, turned around, and spoke.

"How long has it been?"

"Pardon? You just touched it and pulled your hand right back."

"That so?"

A conversation with a god—so almost no time had passed in the real world.

"Um... are you all right?"

Her appearance, even her voice, was identical to Adela's. Karen forcibly steadied his lurching heart and looked at the girl. For an instant Adela's face overlaid hers, but the eyes that were gold instead of brown still brought him back.

Even though he had treated her coldly earlier, he could feel that the girl was genuinely worried about him. She was a good child.

"I'm fine. The conversation with the Goddess is over, and we made a deal. I'm taking you out of here."

But the stiff way of speaking came out of Karen without him meaning it. Even a hundred and sixty years of experience were no help at all against the sudden, painful memories of the past.

"Yes! I'm Ellie. What should I call you?"

"Call me Karen."

"Huh? Brother Oh Jaemin..."

"I'll explain in a bit. For now, shut—no. Just be quiet for a moment."

At Karen's suddenly changed atmosphere, Hangil closed his mouth. It wasn't just the words—an aura was actually beginning to seep from Karen, slow and heavy.

Even so, whether Karen had deliberately spared her, the girl in front of him was untouched. Only Hangil was dripping with cold sweat.

"Then... can I call you Karen Oppa?"

Ellie had meant it as a friendly way to address him, hoping to ease the mood—but Karen's expression only hardened further.

"Um... did I say something wrong..."

Ellie fidgeted, trying to say something, anything, but Karen forced ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his expression to soften.

He hadn't asked to see the past buried deep in his heart for nothing.

This child has nothing to do with it.

He had done it so that he could face it himself—so that he could treat this child as nothing other than Ellie.

Adela is dead.

He repeated it in his mind like a mantra, and Adela gradually faded from the face of the Ellie before him. Then he crouched down in front of her, met her eyes, and spoke.

"I'm sorry. It's not your fault. This comes from my own past. You haven't done a single thing wrong."

"Ah..."

"As for what to call me... Uncle would be best."

"Okay!"

"Let's get out of here."

Ellie still felt a little awkward to Karen, but he trusted that time would take care of it. And after seeing the Goddess and Adela, he wanted nothing more than to get this child washed up right away.