Winter in Limbus Pit, Part 6

Leaving Julian's room, the head butler immediately made his way out of the mansion.

“...It's still snowing.”

With the heavy snow season in full swing, the world outside was painted a pristine, solid white.

The butler paused to reflect. How many times had he gazed out at such a world since the young master first arrived at this estate?

'There was a time when he looked upon this snow-white world with bright, sparkling eyes.'

Children were naturally excitable creatures when it came to snow. Even Julian, who had lost his parents at a tender age and never learned how to socialize with children his own age, used to wear a faint, involuntary smile whenever the flakes fell.

But at some point, Julian began to view this white world through a different lens. The corners of his mouth, which once twitched upward in quiet anticipation of a snowball fight, had eventually been replaced by a practiced, artificial smile.

'It was as if he no longer saw the snow itself, but rather the contaminated mana trapped within it.'

Perhaps he had matured too quickly. Unbefitting of his age, Julian had begun to look past the surface and peer deep into the core of things. Yet, even as he did so, he never let that faint smile ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slip from his face when looking at the snow—as if putting on a performance for the adults, pretending he still possessed the innocence of youth. Today had been no different.

“...”

Lost in thought, the butler soon found himself standing before the annex. He shook off his reverie and brushed the accumulated snow from his shoulders. After ensuring that even his shoes were free of slush, the old butler stepped inside. He lingered near the entrance for a moment, letting the indoor warmth thaw his chilled bones, before finally making his way to the drawing room.

Knock, knock.

As the drawing room door swung open, a man came into view, sitting stiffly on the sofa. His back was rod-straight, betraying how deeply uncomfortable he felt in these surroundings. The moment the old butler stepped inside, the man practically bolted to his feet.

Wilhelm offered him a hand.

“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Shen.”

“It is quite alright, elder,” the heavily scarred man replied, accepting the handshake with profound deference. His name was Shen, known to the public as the Department Head of the Ironclad Special Task Force.

“You executed your mission flawlessly.”

Wilhelm sat on the opposite sofa, patting his knees with a characteristically gentle smile. Yet, despite the butler's warm demeanor, Department Head Shen remained wound tight. He sat back down, keeping his spine perfectly straight as he warily tried to read the old man's face.

Amidst the tense silence, the old butler prepared two teacups, placing one in front of himself and the other before Shen.

“I am not well-versed in the tea etiquette of your beastmen tribe, so I hope you do not mind if I prepare it in the manner I am accustomed to.”

“Just being offered tea is more than enough, elder.”

Without waiting for Shen's reply, Wilhelm poured the water. Steaming hot water filled the cups, and only after he gently submerged the tea bags did the head butler speak again.

“...Come to think of it, when was it that we first met?”

“It was around this time last year, elder.”

“Ah, so only a year has gone by. For me to truly trust you... it seems not enough time has passed, wouldn't you agree?”

Shen's shoulders tensed. He gave a stiff, rigid nod.

“Do you remember? Last year, the young master rescued you and your tribe from that vulgar circus. He even invited you, as their representative, to dine with him.”

“...I am eternally grateful for the young master's grace, which is as vast as the ocean.”

“And yet, do you remember how you repaid his goodwill?”

Shen closed his eyes tight. His mind drifted back to that bone-chillingly cold day, when the entire world had been painted a blinding white.

The lives of Shen and his tribe had been closer to those of objects ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠than ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠human beings. Displayed like livestock behind the iron bars of the slave market in Limbus Pit's H-Sector, sold off like merchandise, and returned the moment their owners grew bored—their existence was an endless cycle of this cruel routine.

Whenever they were brought to the upper districts, their sole purpose was to serve as playthings. They were used as live test subjects for novice mages, or as training dummies for swordsmen. At other times, they were merely toys for nobles to vent their stress upon.

Once the nobles grew tired of them, they were cast back down to Limbus Pit. Even for slaves, going through the legal procedures to execute them was deemed too tedious. Unable to endure such a wretched existence, Shen's father, the former tribal chief, eventually closed his eyes forever. The very day after Shen inherited the mantle of leadership, his tribe was 'returned' to Limbus Pit once again.

“Mom, where are we going?”

asked one of the children of the tribe from the middle of the procession descending into Limbus Pit. Beneath the bridge, a long queue stretched into the dark shadows. Around the neck of every person in the line hung a metal tag, resembling labels used to grade livestock: [TRANSFER], [QUARANTINE], [UNREGISTERED]... Shen's tribe was part of this line, shuffling silently downward with tags reading [UNREGISTERED CITIZEN] dangling from their necks.

“M-Mom, where are we going now? Weren't we supposed to live up there?”

the child asked his mother. While the adults had endured unspeakable horrors, this child had been used as a dress-up doll for a young noble lady. He seemed utterly unable to comprehend why they were being sent back down.

“Mom!”

The adults could not bring themselves to answer. They were utterly drained, grieving the loss of their chief, who had been the pillar of their community. Perhaps distressed by the heavy silence of his elders, the child suddenly slipped out of the line. The exhausted adults did not even notice his departure.

—Knock, knock.

The child had approached a sleek black carriage descending into Limbus Pit parallel to their line and tapped on its window. By the time Shen realized what was happening, the deed was already done.

'We're dead.'

That single thought dominated the minds of Shen and his people. A carriage of that caliber was a symbol of high nobility. Ignorant of the danger, the child had dared to knock on its window.

“No!”

The child's mother shrieked in terror. Based on every noble they had ever encountered, it would not be surprising if the window slid down only for a gun barrel to be pressed against the boy's forehead. Shen and his people squeezed their eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of what was to come.

Yet, the expected tragedy never came. The carriage made no response to the child's knock.

“We are sorry! We are terribly sorry!”

The guards escorting the line bowed repeatedly in apology, but the carriage simply glided past them, descending further into Limbus Pit as if nothing had happened. That was the end of it. The child returned to the queue completely unharmed, though a new steel tag had been added to his neck.

“Why on earth did you do that?!”

“But... I made eye contact with the boy inside!”

The mother scolded the boy even as she pulled him into a fierce, trembling embrace. The tribal elders also reprimanded him, warning him never to repeat such madness. At the time, none of them could have dreamed that this brief encounter would shape their destiny.

That very evening, a demi-human healer visited the exhibition hall in H-Sector where Shen and his tribe were being held. Wearing a distinctive crow mask, the healer introduced himself as Director Schnabel of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Merkur Merchant Guild.

“I wished to offer the child some charity, but I was in a rush on my commute and could not stop. Tell me, is the boy here?”

Beside the director, who politely tipped his hat, a young man who appeared to be his bodyguard let out a heavy sigh.

“If you get scolded by the Lord for picking up trash like this, I won't be the one to bail you out.”

“Do not worry, Otto. This is hardly the first time. There were plenty of others before you, after all.”

“Why go to such lengths for these things...”

“Who knows? Even pig manure can be used as medicine. Surely they will prove useful somewhere.”

After purchasing the entire tribe, the director had them moved up to Civitas Square. He converted a guild-owned warehouse into temporary lodgings, providing the tribesmen with warm meals and basic medical treatment.

“Hmm. Even for me, funds are a bit tight, so I cannot completely erase your scars. Instead, I will do my best to graft and reconstruct the skin.”

Director Schnabel performed miracles using nothing but a needle and thread. After working wonders comparable to low-tier healing magic on every single member of the tribe, he provided them with hearty meals and comfortable beds. Finally, he invited Shen, the representative of the tribe, to a luxurious restaurant.

“I hope the food suits your palate. Registration and table manners do not matter tonight. We are the only ones here.”

Accompanied by the guild master, who stood by like a mere attendant, Director Schnabel casually sliced his steak while conversing with Shen. To Shen, the entire situation felt like a dream. No, he was convinced it was a trap.

'What kind of scheme is it this time, noble?'

Ever since his childhood, when he had foolishly believed a noble's promise of friendship only to be brutally betrayed, Shen had never trusted the goodwill of highborns. He had learned back then that to a noble, a 'friend' was nothing more than a favorite toy.

'I have to run. Now.'

And so, on the night of their very first dinner, while Julian was occupied with his night clinic, Shen stole a few silver coins from the doctor's coat and fled. He was driven by a twisted sense of duty, convinced he had to rescue his family from the noble's sinister clutches before it was too late.

But the very next morning, before he could even coordinate an escape with his people, Shen was captured and forced to his knees before the director.

— “Young Master. What shall we do with this man?”

It was the head butler who had apprehended him. As if anticipating the betrayal, the butler had already bought off Shen's closest confidants. Shen hung his head as the old man's icy voice washed over him. This was exactly what he had expected. Now, the noble would show his true colors. He would strip away his mask of kindness and unleash his hidden sadism.

Yet, the crow-masked director merely stared in silence for a long moment before speaking.

“Why did you only take silver coins? I would have gladly given gold to anyone who wished to leave.”

Shen snapped his head up. The eyes peering through the mask held neither anger nor contempt—only genuine confusion.

“It seems there was a misunderstanding. Let me ask you properly this time. Gold, a rope, or a dagger. Which will you choose?”

In that instant, Shen's mind went completely blank.

“...I have never forgotten that day. Not for a single moment,” Shen replied, his voice raspy. Reaching into his coat, he placed an empty scabbard onto the table.

On that day, Shen's tribe had been given the choice of three paths.

To choose the rope, receive an education, and seize a new opportunity.

To choose the gold, leave the nest, and start fresh in a new land.

Or to choose the dagger, swear loyalty, and be promised vengeance.

The Ironclad Special Task Force was comprised entirely of those who had chosen the third path. And Shen was one of them.

“If it were possible, my only wish would be to turn back the clock.”

“I see. At least you have the decency to feel shame.”

Wilhelm's eyes narrowed. Instantly, the air in the room grew ice-cold.

“To be perfectly frank, I still do not trust you.”

“...”

“Given where I come from, I have seen far too much of humanity's ugliness. I am of the mind that broken people cannot be mended.”

“...”

“And I have not forgotten how you trampled upon the young master's goodwill. Do you have any idea how deeply you wounded him?”

“He must have been deeply hurt...”

Wilhelm clicked his tongue, cutting Shen off.

“Since that day, the young master has never once uttered the words 'thank you' to anyone outside this estate. And you dare gloss over that tragedy with a word as trivial as 'hurt'?”

“...”

“Even after you returned from your successful mission, he did not think to offer his gratitude until I explicitly prompted him to do so.”

Wilhelm crossed his legs, staring down into his teacup. Yes, he remembered now. This was the exact reason Julian could no longer smile from the bottom of his heart when looking at the snow.

Shen was not the first to betray Julian's kindness. Every single adult Julian had reached out to in the past had, without fail, trampled on his benevolence. The servants of this very mansion, the other executives of the Merkur Merchant Guild, the patients he had treated in Limbus Pit—filthy, greedy adults had repeatedly spat on a child's pure goodwill.

And whenever it happened, Julian would always react the same way.

— “They are people who have suffered greatly. I must be the one to understand them.”

But Julian, despite his mature words, was only human; the wounds accumulated nonetheless. The precocious boy was far too adept at concealing his pain, which was why it had taken the old butler so long to notice.

By the time Wilhelm finally realized, Julian had already begun rationalizing every ounce of goodwill he received or gave, stripping it of genuine emotion.

— “This? Ah, yes. It was merely out of politeness.”

— “There is no need to thank me. It was only natural.”

From then on, Julian never offered sincere gratitude again. And only the head butler, who had raised Julian since he was a year old, was able to perceive this tragic shift.

The only saving grace was that his condition had begun to improve slightly two years ago. After being fully accepted by the House of Nihilit, he had finally stopped rationalizing his kindness—at least within the walls of this mansion.

And yet, of all people, Shen had driven a final nail into Julian's fragile, healing heart.

Grit.

Recalling that betrayal, the old butler ground his teeth, completely abandoning his usual aristocratic poise. He picked up his teacup, swirling it gently beneath his nose to soothe the rising tide of fury before continuing.

“He was already covered in scars. I thought they were finally beginning to heal... yet you gouged them open once more. I do not believe a word as simple as 'hurt' can ever encapsulate what you did.”

“I know my sin is worthy of death. I am prepared to spend the rest of my life... atoning for it.”

How many times had they repeated this exact conversation? Yet, Shen could never bring himself to complain. A blade leaves only a scar, but a bite on an outstretched hand rots a soul from the inside out. Now that he knew Julian's kindness had never been a facade or a calculated ploy, he could not resent the butler's deep-seated hatred. After all, Shen himself was consumed by a suffocating self-loathing every single day.

“I will say it again: I do not trust you. Betrayal is only difficult the first time.”

“...”

“Thus, your vows of lifelong atonement ring hollow to my ears. Can you not provide a more concrete goal? Frankly, it would bring me greater peace of mind if you simply told me when you plan to leave.”

At the butler's razor-sharp demand, Shen hesitated. Then, he spoke with quiet resolve.

“I will atone until the day I can receive a genuine thank you from him.”

The butler's shoulders flinched. He realized that Shen, too, understood the exact nature of Julian's emotional state.

“...You had better.”

Sip. Wilhelm took a slow sip of his tea and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the razor-sharp edge in his gaze had vanished, replaced once more by his usual gentle warmth.

“Very well. Let us now discuss the compensation for your hard work.”

The old butler began to list the rewards Julian had prepared for the man sitting across from him. Yet, the longer the list grew, the heavier the hearts of the two men in the room became.