The Sin I Committed -3-
In the midst of his daughter's desperate screams—"Dad... Dad... please save me!"—Rowen stood alone.
'...'
His body drenched in blood. His face soaked with tears. His voice hoarse. Even knowing this was a dream he'd seen every night, his legs moved of their own accord as a father, rushing toward her.
'Hanna of Histania...!'
Rowen dropped to his knees before Hanna, but his hand couldn't reach her. As if a sinner were only permitted to watch, his grasp sliced through empty air, powerless and vanishing.
How pathetic it was. The head of a family, reduced to weeping.
Yet as time dragged on, the unrelenting weight of his emotions forced him to repeat the same actions night after night.
He hadn't shed a tear when his own father died, so seeing tears in a mere dream felt utterly pathetic.
'Hanna... please open your eyes...'
Regretting what hadn't even happened.
And at the moment her breath gave out, Rowen jolted awake from the nightmare.
"Huff... huff..."
Rowen wiped the sweat from his face. His cheeks were damp—he must have been crying.
"Pathetic."
Sitting up in bed, Rowen let out a hollow laugh, murmuring softly.
"No matter how much I train my body, I can't train my emotions, huh..."
He'd swung his sword on countless battlefields, led many to victory. Yet here, in this nightmare, he couldn't claim triumph. Hollow laughter escaped him again.
In the dream, he was endlessly weak, powerless—a mere victim. Rowen couldn't lift his head.
He still didn't think his choices had been wrong. They were for his daughter. For the family. For the house of Histania.
Even if it seemed stubborn, he hadn't believed he'd strayed from the path laid by his ancestors, who built Histania as it stood today. If he was wrong, then they had been too.
But.
-Don't ever show your face to me again.
-I won't inherit the Histania household.
The results of what he'd thought was his best shook Rowen in ways he couldn't quite grasp. Faintly, yes.
His daughter had left his side. And his eldest son, whom he'd raised without want, had run off chasing some "dream."
"..."
Was this truly right? The outcomes were devastating.
Was his stubbornness still justified?
Rowen sat on the bed, lost in tangled thoughts. For the first time, he felt like he was grasping where it had all gone wrong.
The cause wasn't far off. All arrows pointed one way—and maybe he'd been denying it because he didn't want to admit it.
So Rowen decided to seek out one man.
-It's because the one you teach has no talent.
The young man who'd started it all. He seemed like the type who'd tell it straight.
"..."
Gazing at the rising sun, Rowen let out a heavy sigh.
The Desmont mansion in Hamel.
-Clink.
Rowen sat in the drawing room, silently staring down at the steaming tea.
"..."
What did he want to say? I gazed steadily at Rowen, who'd requested a private meeting, answering his silence with my own. I had nothing particular to say either.
'Is it about the heretics?'
With a faint smile, I greeted the tight-lipped Rowen.
Come on, don't keep me in suspense—say something.
"Welcome to the Desmont mansion, Lord Histania."
"..."
"It's mandrake root tea—not sure if it'll suit you, but it's good for vitality and health. Give it a try."
Rowen glanced at the rising steam and nodded lightly.
"Thank you."
"No need. It's an honor to host the empire's sword."
I couldn't fathom why Rowen had come to the mansion. Our relationship wasn't friendly, and it wasn't to see the Young Lady either.
I had my guesses, but his silence so far suggested otherwise.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Rowen finally parted his sealed lips.
"...Ricardo, was it?"
"Yes, that's right."
"I heard you did something big in the capital."
"Not at all."
"And in the North too."
"..."
As my expression hardened coldly, Rowen spoke lightly, as if to say not to worry.
"Only a few know. No need to fret about rumors spreading."
I stayed silent. His words might not be praise.
Caution. Suspicion. It was reasonable to doubt someone tangled with heretics to that degree.
"I'm not scolding you. Just praising a young man for great feats."
"Thank you for the praise."
"I want to ask why you're hiding your achievements, but... that'd take too long, so I'll hold back."
"Appreciate the consideration."
"But I have to ask this one thing."
Rowen asked in a heavy voice.
"Were the Apostles strong?"
I answered without hesitation. No point fabricating their strength.
"Yes, incredibly so."
Rowen nodded faintly and pressed on.
"By current standards, how many could face one?"
"My circle's narrow, so it's hard to say, but I'd think just you, Lord Histania, the Tower Master, and the head of Desmont."
"So about four more, then."
Rowen nodded, adding, "Including you, that makes five."
Mercenary King, Azure King, Empress—sure, one could think that, but they weren't empire-friendly, so he didn't voice it.
I shrugged, denying it mildly.
"I'm no such paragon."
"Too modest."
Only now did Rowen lift his head to meet my eyes squarely. Tearing his gaze from the teacup, he scanned me and muttered shortly, "Become a monster, have you?" before nodding.
I clasped my hands, sitting across from him.
"So, what did you want to say to me?"
"I'd like to talk more."
"Trying to recruit me for the knights?"
"Arrogant. The Imperial Knights don't take wild types like you. And strength alone doesn't qualify."
Rowen sipped his tea to wet his dry throat and spoke lightly.
"You said you're Hanna's teacher."
"..."
"That's why I'm here—not as the empire's sword, but as Hanna's father."
"Should've talked longer, then."
"You're probably the only one in the empire who could say that to me. Even the Emperor doesn't speak casually.... Bold, aren't you?"
"Figured it was worth a shot. Meeting the parent and all."
"..."
Rowen exhaled heavily and looked at me, his face saying he didn't know where to start.
Not heretics. Not knight recruitment.
About Hanna... I couldn't guess what he'd say, so I focused on his words.
The Rowen from the novel might offer warm advice, but the one I'd met showed no fatherly love.
Before he could say something odd, I warned him.
"If it's about the last duel, I won't answer."
"...Why would you think I'd bring that up?"
"What else would bring you to me...?"
"Do I look that way to you?"
"To me, and probably anyone else."
"..."
Rowen took another sip. He muttered, "Doesn't yield an inch..." while rubbing his dry forehead.
"Ricardo."
"Yes."
"How do I look to you?"
"Like the empire's strongest."
"Not what I meant. As a father."
I smiled faintly and asked, giving him time to brace himself.
"You sure you want to hear this?"
Rowen gave an awkward smile and nodded. Anything—just answers to his worries.
I offered no tact, straight to the point.
"The worst."
"..."
"To me, an orphan without parents, you seem like a father who shoves his stubbornness above all else—unnecessary, even."
"..."
"As Hanna's teacher and just a person, I view you very negatively. Part of me wants to chase you off."
"..."
Rowen grew grave and asked.
"Then what should I do? To mend this—acknowledge Hanna's sword? Or back her path fully?"
I shrugged at the stiff Rowen.
"No idea."
How would I know? Orphan without parents.
"One thing's sure: Hanna won't take gifts from you."
"..."
"Your perspective's fundamentally off, Lord Histania."
Rowen nodded heavily.
"I see. Yeah..."
He began to admit it.
"It was wrong from the start."
His own fault.
And.
"Eeeeek...!"
Olivia was bored.