Make the Anniversary Certain - 5
I think I bought a cursed ring. It wasn't a magic ring at all—it was a cursed one.
I even started entertaining the reasonable suspicion that I'd bought something strange and made Margeta cry for nothing. If that wasn't the case, I couldn't make sense of this situation where she was suddenly breaking down in sobs.
Help, she says.
And the most incomprehensible part was that word.
Just having Margeta beside me, just having her wait for me, was already more than enough to be grateful for. Yet she wanted to be even more of a help than she already was? How, exactly?
My head was a mess, but I had to say something. Silence could not be golden in a moment like this. It would only make Margeta's condition worse.
"Mar. You're already more help to me than anyone."
"That's a lie."
To the words I had spoken with complete sincerity, Margeta firmly shook her head. She was still on the verge of tears, but her voice did not break.
"Then why—why did you go to the Imperial Capital without a word to me? Why were you alone at the cemetery?"
At the sight of Margeta continuing with trembling eyes, I nearly let out a sigh.
The reason I went to the capital? Simply because the Crown Prince had called me out for a meal. Of course I had gone with a light heart, certain I would be back the same day.
Crawling around on all fours at the cemetery, however, had been an unexpected turn of events. Who could have imagined receiving a confession from the Section 1 Chief?
How am I supposed to say that?
Four years as a civil servant. I had reached the point where I could slap a steel plate over my face whenever shamelessness was required—but even that had its limits.
How was I supposed to tell Margeta, already thrown into confusion because of the Demon Duke, something like My subordinate confessed to me, so I'm just going to clear my head for a bit? Unless I was a complete lunatic, I couldn't bring myself to say it.
On top of that, I had never expected the rumors to spread this fast. I was found out before I could even invent a halfway decent excuse.
"Is it... because I couldn't be someone you could rely on, Karl?"
At the pitiful murmur as she hung her head, I almost sighed again.
It wasn't because she couldn't be relied on. I simply hadn't wanted to burden Margeta; I had thought I could handle it alone, so I kept my mouth shut. The fact that the whole thing was embarrassing to talk about had played a part as well.
I never imagined that choice would turn into poison for her instead.
"I want to be of help to you too, Karl. I want to see your wounds—your pain—completely."
"Mar."
I opened my mouth to comfort the endlessly downcast Margeta, but she only shrank further at the sound of my voice.
"...I'm sorry. Was I being too selfish?"
Margeta carefully lifted her head, forcing a smile onto her face.
"If you don't tell me, there's always a reason, and I was the one who said I would wait, yet now..."
She wiped the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and put on what was meant to be a natural smile. No—could anyone really call that natural?
"I'm sorry for saying unnecessary things. Just... just think of it as nonsense."
I could give no reply to those words.
I thought I finally understood how the situation had come to this. Tiny triggers had piled up one after another until they finally exploded.
Unloading my heart to Margeta during the vacation. Even that was embarrassing to call unloading. The story had been too bleak and heavy to tell as it was, so I had spoken as briefly as possible.
That choice from back then had flowed onward until it reached the present. Because I had not told her everything, I believed I was being considerate of Margeta; because she had not heard everything, she had grown anxious.
"Is it... because I couldn't be someone you could rely on, Karl?"
Damn it.
I had heard those words somewhere before. Multiple times—from myself.
When the person I loved seemed not to trust me. When they tried to bear everything alone without a single word to me.
Hadn't I harbored those exact feelings toward Hecate? Hadn't I resented her for leaving as though she could not rely on me?
An unconscious sigh escaped. On the surface, this incident looked as though it had erupted because of the Section 1 Chief's confession and the night spent at the cemetery. In truth, it was a problem that had exploded because of the subtle gap between Margeta and me.
And because of that sigh, Margeta began to watch my expression. Quietly, I pulled her into my arms.
"Ka—Karl?"
I heard a flustered voice, but without answering I led her to the bed.
The story I was about to tell was heavy and far from entertaining. At the very least our bodies ought to be comfortable.
"Mar."
"Ah, yes—yes."
"To be honest, it does hurt a great deal."
Now then, where should I begin?
Right. I should start slowly from the Great Subjugation War.
If I was going to talk about the orphanage, I would need to begin there.
It felt strangely new. Had I ever spoken so vividly about those days?
I had at least served as a living textbook for Gerhardt, but that had been nothing more than the delivery of information centered on events and people.
This, however, was a lament thick with my own perspective, my own feelings. A lament I had never once offered to anyone.
"It's not a very pleasant story, is it?"
In a way it was an ugly, embarrassing act—a twenty-one-year-old adult complaining to an eighteen-year-old that the world was a miserable place.
Still, now was the time to do it. I had to think of this not as a conversation between twenty-one-year-old Karl and eighteen-year-old Margeta, but as a conversation between two people who would open their hearts and spend their whole lives together.
"Then... that person named Hecate..."
Margeta, whose face had grown paler the longer I spoke, carefully opened her mouth.
A faint laugh escaped me at the honorific. Hecate, the lady is calling you "that person."
"Yes. She was critically wounded in the battle against the Heaven-Reverser. It seemed to be a wound beyond any treatment... so she left my side."
"I—I see."
Margeta hung her head as if she herself were the guilty party. She was too good a person. The only sinners connected to that affair were Kagan, the true culprit, and I, who had failed to protect Hecate.
Kagan was already dead, so in the end only I remained the sinner. It was absolutely nothing Margeta needed to feel sorry for.
"Um, Karl."
"Yes, Mar. Speak freely."
I spoke gently to Margeta, who still kept her head lowered and fidgeted.
However necessary the conversation, however much the shock she needed to absorb, that did not make the impact any lighter. Embracing the confused Margeta was my role now.
Besides, if I took good care of her at this moment, I would not have to feel indebted to her later either.
"Karl... do you still have wounds?"
"Ah."
At those words I could only manage a bitter smile.
That the battle with Kagan had been fierce, that the wounds he inflicted remained permanently—after hearing all that, of course Margeta would worry about my condition as well.
"I do. The bastard was vicious enough that they last a long time."
"Show me."
"Pardon?"
This was a somewhat unexpected request.
"I want to know everything—everything. All of your wounds, Karl."
Even with eyes full of tears she spoke with firm resolve. When she asked like that, refusal became difficult.
I was going to show them eventually anyway...
The hesitation was brief. As long as I was considering marriage with Margeta, these were not wounds I could hide for a lifetime.
Rather, if I kept concealing them only to reveal them on our wedding night, wouldn't I spend the entire night trying to console a sobbing Margeta?
So I nodded once and removed my coat, then my dress shirt. Undressing in front of someone else was a little embarrassing, but I moved my hands as nonchalantly as I could manage.
"Ah..."
When the wounds came into view, a quiet gasp rang out.
"Ugly, aren't they?"
Honestly, even to my own eyes they were ugly. Because the flesh had barely been reattached, the cut marks still showed without any filter. That bastard Kagan—if he was going to die, he could at least have died cleanly.
A sword scar running from the left shoulder all the way down near the right hip. It wasn't as though I particularly regarded a wound on the back as a swordsman's shame, yet the scar was far too grand. Even I sometimes flinched at the sight of it; how much more would Margeta?
"No."
But Margeta carefully stroked the wound.
"Not at all. Not the least bit ugly."
"Is that so?"
Even if they were empty words, they were welcome ones. Of course, how many people in this situation would actually say, "Yes, they're damn ugly"?
Anyway, as she continued to stroke my scar, Margeta began to shed tears once more.
"I didn't realize Mar was such a crybaby."
"S-sorry. I couldn't help it."
At my teasing she hurriedly wiped her eyes, but once tears have started they are not easily stopped.
My heart felt heavy. I had expected Margeta would be shocked. I had spoken knowing that. I could not go on living with secrets forever simply because I was afraid of the pain right now.
Still, expecting something and seeing it with your own eyes are different. How could anyone's heart remain at ease knowing someone was crying because of them?
"...I really was lacking."
When I gently drew her close, Margeta burrowed into my arms. After remaining there for a moment, she spoke in a low voice.
"I was arrogant enough to think I knew you without even knowing this, and even after learning of it I can't bear it alone."
"It isn't something to bear alone. We carry it together."
She seemed to be shouldering the guilt far too one-sidedly. Margeta's only "sin" was simply not having known.
"Then that means we haven't been carrying it together until now, doesn't it?"
No—when you put it that way...
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for only being a burden instead of any help..."
"Mar..."
It was heartbreaking. Margeta's self-esteem had plummeted straight to the bottom.
Did I say too much all at once?
The thought that I should have broken it into smaller pieces quietly raised its head. That was how poor Margeta's state had become.
I had spoken of the shock of losing Hecate. Margeta felt self-reproach for failing to fill that shock and that wound.
I had said I went to the cemetery after receiving a confession from the Section 1 Chief. Margeta felt her own insufficiency for not having been someone I could lean on.
I have to give it now.
Instinct sounded the alarm. Two days later or whatever—if I did not soothe Margeta this very moment, I felt there would be no future.
It only has meaning if given on her birthday? The birthday girl herself was about to vanish—what meaning was left?
"Mar. Excuse me."
I moved faster than I ever had. I took out the ring case, took Margeta's left hand, and slipped the ring straight onto her fourth finger. There was not the slightest hesitation in the entire process.
"Mar is not a burden. You are a precious part of my life."
The ring was on in an instant—so quickly that even Margeta could only blink blankly.
"I'm sorry for giving it at a time like this. Honestly, I wanted to give it on your birthday, when you would be happiest."
I knew full well it was a situation stripped of any romance.
"But when you call yourself a burden, I simply could not endure it."
Still, there was no room left to care about romance right now.
"So Mar. Don't say strange things. Aren't you my companion—the person who will become my first wife?"
Once the New Year's Audience was over I had planned to visit the Iron Blood Duke. I had already promised Margeta I would.
I intended to bow my head to the Iron Blood Duke, receive permission for the marriage, and even become engaged. A resolve that had not wavered even after the Demon Duke's confession.
I spoke to Margeta with that resolve. No matter what anyone said, my first wife would be her.
"...No. This isn't right, Karl."
But Margeta, staring at the ring with tear-filled eyes, quietly slipped it off again.
...What? Is this a dream?