Dynamic Life Story - 1
It was unexpected for the family head—who had kept a low profile in public affairs since the war—to show up at the memorial, but the odds were high that the Imperial Diet had simply ordered him to go as their representative. The title of Imperial Count came with a Diet seat by default, after all.
No matter how glittering the name “assemblyman” sounded, at its core it was still a civil servant’s post. If I was an administrative official, the family head was a legislative one… When they told you to jump, you jumped. What choice was there? Besides, Tailglehen County wasn’t that far from the Imperial Capital to begin with.
“Oh? You’re already here?”
“You’re here.”
I had been sitting blankly in the office until the memorial schedule began when the executives started trickling in. The first to arrive was the 1st Section Chief, chewing on a piece of bread she held in one hand. So she was the type who actually ate breakfast. No wonder she always looked so healthy.
“You’re supposed to be on secondment, right, Chief? How am I seeing you three times during the assignment period?”
“I didn’t expect to see you three times either.”
When I was first sold off to the Academy, I had figured I would only come back once a year for the anniversary. Instead, the 1st Section Chief had shown up at the Academy during the expo as if it were a lie, and during the Magic Lord incident I had been dragged back to the capital. Two unplanned returns already. Two of them…
“Want some?”
“I’m good. You eat it.”
“’Kay.”
She tore the bread in half and offered it, but I declined. Taking food from a subordinate just felt wrong somehow.
“Oh, perfect—I was hungry.”
“Huh?”
And then the 2nd Section Chief, the moment he walked in, snatched the remaining half right out of her hand. Quite the flashy morning greeting. He shoved the bread into his mouth in one go and gave me a polite little nod. He would have been better off running for his life instead of greeting me.
“Spit that out right now!”
The 1st Section Chief’s neck-slice strike cracked across the 2nd Section Chief’s Adam’s apple.
The 5th Section Chief, who had just been about to open the door, took one look at the scene and quietly closed it again. A wise decision.
Unlike last year, quite a few heavyweights were attending the memorial this time. Representing the bureaucracy was the Minister of Palace Affairs; representing the military were the Minister of War and the Duke of Victory; representing the Diet was the Count of Tailglehen; and then there were the veterans—myself and the Minister.
Last year we had all been so thoroughly ground down by work that even I had barely scraped together the time to come, so the others hadn’t been able to attend at all. This year the Emperor had started elevating the Six Swords, which at least gave everyone a decent pretext to show up.
“Without the devotion of these loyal subjects who gave themselves for the Empire, how could the Empire ever have claimed to possess the Mandate of Heaven?”
The voice of the Minister of Palace Affairs, reading the Emperor’s eulogy for the fallen of the Great Subjugation War, rang across the National Cemetery. Your sacrifice preserved the Empire’s Mandate of Heaven—that ranked among the highest compliments an emperor could give. The Mandate was the single unique foundation upon which the Empire ruled as an empire.
“The devotion of heroes who embraced hardship has become the stepping-stone by which the Empire advances into the future; their names shall remain immortal for all eternity.”
Immortal, huh.
Whether they were making up for last year’s quiet observance by piling everything into this year, every single line of the speech carried real weight. Or maybe even the Emperor felt a certain tenderness toward those who had died for the Empire. Then again, the ones who threatened imperial authority were living vassals, not dead heroes.
When the Minister of Palace Affairs finished reading, everyone bowed their heads as one for a moment of silence. The instant they raised them again they began exchanging greetings and scattering almost at once. Compared with last year they had a little more breathing room, but these were still men with far too much work on their plates.
“Karl.”
I exchanged a silent glance with the Duke of Victory—who was already hurrying off, clearly buried under pending duties—and was just about to head toward their graves when a familiar voice called from behind me. I turned and found a black-haired man standing there.
“I pay my respects to the Family Head.”
The Count of Tailglehen, attending as the Diet’s representative. When we had crossed paths earlier in the cemetery we had merely locked eyes and walked on; I had fully expected him to leave without another word after the ceremony. I had not expected him to speak first.
“Yes. It’s been a while.”
“My apologies. I should have paid my respects long before this.”
“I’m not blaming you. Don’t concern yourself.”
In truth I hadn’t been particularly concerned. After years of dealing with the family head I knew his temperament well enough. If anything, forcing myself to carve out time to visit him would only have earned me a lecture about neglecting state affairs.
As if to prove that guess correct, he showed no real dissatisfaction. Instead a faint satisfaction settled over his features. Seeing that expression on a face that looked so much like mine left me with a strange feeling. When I grew older, I would look exactly like that.
“Count Blochen. I trust you have been well?”
“As always. I’m glad to see the Count of Tailglehen also appears to be in good health.”
The family head’s gaze shifted to the Minister standing beside me. The two of them were acquainted well enough to exchange polite inquiries, though not close enough for a long conversation—which was why the talk died almost as soon as it began.
“Is Erich well?”
After a brief silence the family head addressed me again. Wow. Was this man actually the type who asked after his son?
“Yes, he is in good health.”
“I see. Pass this on for me: for a martial artist, going far matters more than going fast.”
“Understood.”
He gave a slight nod at my answer and turned away without lingering. That was… a little surprising.
“I always thought he was just a taciturn man. Unexpected.”
“Indeed.”
Once the family head was out of earshot the Minister muttered to himself. “Going far matters more than going fast.” On the surface it sounded like simple guidance about the path of martial arts, but what he actually meant was If you rush you’ll get hurt, so take it easy. Coming from a man who practiced complete laissez-faire parenting, it was quite something.
“Well, people change as they age.”
My eyes snapped to the Minister before I could stop myself. And yet you, who have aged so thoroughly, remain exactly the same…
“Let’s go before it gets any later.”
“Ah—yes.”
The executives who had been waiting in the rear line came over as well.
We had to pass through the war-dead section of the National Cemetery, then the Great Subjugation War subsection, and finally the Audit Department plot before their headstones came into view.
“I’ll go first and offer mine.”
“Yes, please do.”
When we reached the place where six headstones stood side by side, the Minister stepped forward first, Boyar Wine in hand. Yes—elders should receive the first pour.
He emptied an entire bottle over each stone. Drink your fill. It’s a rare treasure; we can only give it to you once a year.
“Chief.”
“Right.”
After the Minister finished pouring and ran his hand over the stones a few times, he turned and took the box the Deputy Chief had been carrying. I could have held it myself, but the Deputy Chief insisted that if the man in the front row was carrying something it would only draw more eyes. It was his own form of consideration, so I had left it with him until now.
I took the box and walked toward the graves. The Minister clapped me once on the shoulder as he passed. Even this man was a little sentimental today.
Is it all right to give them this much?
Looking at the thoroughly soaked stones, a laugh slipped out of me. Boyar Wine was already strong; two bottles in a row might actually get them drunk. I hesitated for a moment, then decided to pour anyway. It was an annual tradition—what did a little drunkenness matter?
First up, the root of all this chaos, the drunkard bastard himself.
Gerard, Holy Era 1348–1375
You would have died young from the booze alone.
The moment I cracked the first bottle I poured it straight over the letters carved into the stone. Even if you added up the drinking capacity of the other six team leaders, they still couldn’t keep up with this one man alone. And for all that he drank, damn if he hadn’t been good with a spear.
“Oh, not bad. Train another three hundred years and you might reach my level.”
“He’s finally lost it.”
Teaching, though—he had zero talent for that. The fact that I grew this strong after learning from him was the real miracle.
Oliver, Holy Era 1346–1375
This one, by contrast, almost never touched alcohol. Once a month or once every two months was already a lot for him.
“A man who serves the gods should not surrender his body to pleasure.”
And yet look what happened—your church’s next Saint turned out to be the Roulette King. At least you went to Enen’s side without having to see that face, so maybe it counts as a fortunate death?
Drake, Holy Era 1351–1375
He liked to drink but couldn’t hold his liquor. Still, watching his tolerance slowly improve had been entertaining in its own way.
“If I hold a sword in each hand I can cut twice as much, right?”
“I’m the same rank as this idiot?”
“Hey, never tell anyone outside that you’re from the Audit Department.”
The price, of course, was that his intelligence got a little stranger with every year. And then he actually mastered dual-wielding and left us all stunned.
Walter, Holy Era 1350–1375
Compared with the guy whose intelligence had been suspect from the start, Drake was practically normal. This one had been extraordinary in every possible sense of the word.
“…What the hell are you doing?”
“Practicing walking on water. If I step with the other foot before I sink, it should work, right?”
“In that case wouldn’t it be better to just walk on air?”
“Oh.”
“Don’t ‘oh’ me. Get out of there right now.”
And yet in the end he really did walk on water. Granted, it was a cheat that used mana wrapped around his feet, but if he had lived a little longer he probably would have flown through the sky as well. An otherworld version of the Wright brothers, that bastard.
Idrid, Holy Era 1349–1375
When I cracked the fifth bottle and poured it over Idrid’s stone, a strange calm settled over me. Among the team leaders of the 4th Section—where I had often wondered how such a collection of lunatics had been gathered—he had been the sole normal person. In today’s terms, roughly the Deputy Chief or 5th Section Chief position.
“Once this war is over I’m quitting this goddamn Audit Department life.”
Being the normal one also made him the first prophet to dream of escaping the insane Audit Department. Deserting the department had been on his bucket list, and I had planned to fulfill it in his place…
I’m sorry.
I still haven’t managed it. The only real chance—a transfer to the military—had fallen through because of the Crown Prince, and after that the Minister simply refused to accept any resignation. I managed to grant most of the others’ wishes, but yours is going to be difficult for a long time yet.
When I finally reached the last headstone my body froze for a moment.
Hecate, Holy Era 1352–1375
Still, just as I had with the others, I drew out the final bottle and quietly poured it over the stone.
An emotion surged up from deep inside, thick and choking, but I forced it back down. Even so—it really was too much. When I thought about everything I had suffered after you left, I wanted to properly call you out on it at least once.
Why did you do it?
I ran my hand over Hecate’s wine-soaked headstone and let out a small sigh. Burial plots at the National Cemetery were strictly categorized. The fallen in battle rested with the fallen; those who died of illness rested with the sick. Hecate had not fallen in battle—she had taken her own life—so under normal rules she could never have been laid to rest here beside them.
Somehow I had managed to reclassify her death as a battlefield casualty so she could stand shoulder to shoulder with the rest of them.
Why did you do it?
Do you have any idea how it felt to write your cause of death with my own hand? And not even the real one—a falsified, fabricated cause of death. I went to the people who knew the truth, bowed my head again and again, and begged them to look the other way. In the end it was only the Duke of Victory, but still.
It was too much. Really.
I had resented her plenty, too. Losing five of them first was heartbreaking, but the two of us had still been alive. I had wanted us to live on together—fulfilling what the others had wished for, remembering what kind of people they had been.
But then you just left. I was the one who found you. I was the one who cleaned it up.
“I’m sorry, Karl.”
Why do something you had to apologize for? Your choice hurt, but what hurt even more was the thought that I had failed to be the support you needed, and that was why you left.
I stroked the headstone several more times before finally stepping back. Looking at them all like this was a spectacle.
How am I still the youngest?
Of the seven of us, I was the only one still aging, and somehow I was still the baby of the group. Unbelievable. Truly.