House of Mercy (3)
A girl who lost her parents in the war had a young brother. He was a beautiful boy with a kind heart. To her, he was family, lover, and child all in one. She would do anything for him. Truly. No matter how grueling the task, how filthy the job, how humiliating the act….
And one day, she discovered she had a talent for mental magic. The girl began her life as a mercenary mage with that power. She extorted money from passersby and carried out assassinations using her spells. She grew more and more depraved, but thanks to it, her brother grew up without want.
All she desired was one thing: for her brother to live a happy life free of envy. To meet a lovely woman, fall in love, have children, build a family. To carve out a gentle life untouched by theft or trampling.
But she overlooked one crucial fact. Her brother was a boy. A boy becomes a man. And that was the tragedy.
Her brother turned to thievery and murder. He joined wars and plundered. He raped and killed women taken as spoils of war. That wretched life was passed down, just as it had been until their father died.
As time passed, the brother grew taller, older, uglier. He became a hairy, wrinkled, stinking man. The beautiful boy was gone. Only the hideous man remained.
And that hideous man joined a territorial skirmish as a mercenary, only to die pierced by an arrow. At the blare of a horn, an arrow struck dead between his eyes. A futile, ugly death.
"That's when I resolved. To ensure that tragedy never repeated. I saved beautiful boys from the fate of becoming ugly. There is no holier act. This is salvation."
Though under mental domination, the abbess poured out impressions Isaac hadn't even asked for. Her voice grew increasingly fervent.
"The tragedy of life is realizing it too late. I grieve. It breaks my heart to see pretty boys turn into monsters in this cruel world."
Though under mental domination, the abbess poured out impressions Isaac hadn't even asked for. Behind the iron door stood countless glass orbs on display. The severed heads of boys—her handiwork.
With a sense of mission, she abducted boys, drugged them, bound them to her workbench, and sliced off their heads. She sincerely prayed for their salvation, processed the remains, and sealed them in preservative-filled glass orbs.
"Here exists only a world brimming with untarnished potential. This is beauty! This is art, child!"
In that instant, the abbess's eyes flashed blue. Elevated by her "works," she broke free of Isaac's mental domination on her own. From her perspective, it must have felt like spotting a lighthouse in pitch-black ocean depths. Her convictions and sense of mission had guided her out.
But to Isaac, it was absurd. How potent must that twisted resolve be to shatter even mental domination?
"Then what of ugly boys, the unattractive ones?"
"Who cares what becomes of them? The ugly turning uglier isn't tragedy."
"Honest, aren't you."
"Don't worry. You're exceptionally beautiful, so I'll craft you into a flawless masterpiece."
"Forgot how you tried messing with me earlier and got owned?"
"I was careless then. Didn't know your mental strength was that formidable."
Whoosh!
"But now it'll be different."
Flames erupted from the abbess's fingertips, her eyes now refocused.
"Fire magic's a bit basic, huh."
Isaac shook his head pityingly. The abbess had formed two circles, yet her mana sensitivity was pathetic. She thought Isaac's resistance to mental magic was mere mental fortitude. Enet, who had sensed mana instantly and succeeded in condensing it on the first try, shone all the brighter as talent in Isaac's eyes once more.
"But you sure you're okay with this? Your precious art pieces are all around."
Isaac deliberately picked up one of the displayed glass orbs.
"Don't touch that!"
"Let's see. How long does one of these take to make?"
The abbess screamed, but the orb slipped from Isaac's palm to the floor.
Crash!
The glass shattered. The head rolled out amid the special solution.
"Sorry. Hand slipped from the shock."
"You beast worse than an animal…!"
"This one's got a unique look."
Isaac picked up another orb. The abbess's face flushed purple with rage. Yet she couldn't move rashly—her cherished work teetered on destruction.
"And decorating severed heads with gold leaf and jewels? Doesn't seem like plain art."
"Put it down, child, or I'll tear you apart."
"Got some solid backing, huh?"
Isaac's reasoning was straightforward. Per the abbess's confession under domination, she was a mage mercenary. Building this structure, clothing and feeding dozens of boys, procuring that much narcotics, performing these "works" and adorning them with precious metals—such sums were impossible for a mere 2nd Class mage mercenary.
Dozens of orbs lined the space inside the iron door alone. Without patrons or sponsors, inconceivable.
"Dietrich Marquis?"
"I'll tell you, so put that down and let's talk."
The abbess resumed her gentle smile. But her trembling cheeks betrayed her.
"You'd burn me the second I do."
At Isaac's words, the abbess extinguished her fireball.
"There, happy? Now put it down. I won't harm you."
"Yeah. Here, catch. One, two…."
Isaac shook the orb gripped in both hands up and down. The abbess's head bobbed in sync.
"Three—"
Isaac hurled the orb. As the abbess reached to catch it, darkness engulfed her vision—Isaac's fist smashed her squarely.
Crash— The orb shattered predictably. Enraged, the abbess gathered mana at her fingertips for a spell. But no time was given. A flying kick sent her tumbling across the floor.
"Tragedy? Beauty? Salvation? What a joke."
The abbess had already slammed her head into the wall and passed out.
"What do you know of what these kids might've become?"
Isaac's voice quivered faintly. He gazed at the severed heads of the quietly sleeping corpses. In the frigid basement, only heads remained—a eerie, grotesque scene.
But Isaac's feelings were entirely different. Seeing them no longer boys but still lifes, his chest ached. No, perhaps it was anger more than sorrow, he thought. The futile regrets of an old man.
Shabby elders who lost their boyhood and youth in this underground vault. A hazy rage like that old man's.
He had returned to a past that seemed irrecoverable. Yet this past, where he already knew all futures, differed from that ignorant past. The Isaac of his previous life—the boy, youth, and man—was dead. They withered in the possibility of other lives.
But having gone to the end, he could strive anew from the starting point. He could struggle to reconcile with himself, to forgive himself.
In a world where the strong naturally plundered even the weak's chances, what the abbess had done was still unforgivable to Isaac.
However ugly or wretched, some things you learn only by going to the end. Choosing them is one's own burden. Defining oneself by those choices is one's own burden.
Isaac drew the dagger taken from the mercenary. Taking the abbess's life would be trivially easy.
"…."
But he sheathed it again. Dealing with her wasn't his place.
"Hey, hey. Wake up."
Isaac roused the unconscious abbess.
The massive wolf and young swordsman left a deep impression on the mercenaries.
"Fuck…."
Eleven men down. Comrades felled without properly crossing blades. Half dead, half incapacitated. Over twenty mercenaries remained, but none dared step forward.
The swordsman's back was guarded by the giant wolf, and he alone matched ten. No hesitation, no falter.
Veteran mercenaries sensed it instinctively. Why they avoided profitable battles. Why they guarded this orphanage instead. It wasn't so different from facing that swordsman.
They were up against a true knight now. Aura or no aura. It didn't matter. He was already a monster.
"If you're not charging, get out of the way."
The swordsman spoke—youthful in appearance, masterful in swordsmanship.
"…."
The mercenaries eyed each other warily. Charging risked death. Retreating risked the marquis's wrath—he'd slap bounties on their entire band to make them pay.
"What's that?"
In the pointless standoff, one mercenary muttered. Not toward the swordsman and wolf at the main gate. Toward the building interior.
"Shit."
The mercenary captain could only curse. Dozens of presences. Through the corridor windows, naked children swarmed out—clearly escaped from below.
"Grab those brats!"
"Gah—"
The captain barked reflexively, then realized too late it was the wrong move. In that split-second distraction, another mercenary fell.
"Touch a single finger to those kids, and you're all dead."
The captain's throat now hovered under the blade. The swordsman had closed in unseen.
"Everyone stop! Leave the kids alone!"
"What? The marquis…."
"Obey if you don't wanna die!"
The captain bellowed. Meanwhile, the children surged past the mercenaries and out the main gate. Some staggered weakly, some wept, some sprinted desperate to flee.
Amid them, Carlson spotted two boys—one with reddish-brown hair and green eyes. Terrified, they hadn't noticed him and stumbled blindly toward the gate.
That was enough. No need to acknowledge the Randolf brothers and give mercenaries leverage.
"You came."
Among the fleeing children appeared a familiar boy to Carlson. Isaac, dragging the bloodied abbess out.
"Hindina…?"
The captain gaped, glancing between Isaac and the abbess.
"Wanna keep going?"
Carlson asked the captain, blade to his throat. Few mercenaries would show fight with death imminent. Life trumped all.
The captain shook his head.
"Then scram."
Carlson withdrew his sword.
"The marquis won't let this slide."
"Keep going?"
"…We'll withdraw."
The captain averted his eyes.
"Move!"
"Just like this?"
"We're leaving the city today."
The mercenaries scowled at the captain's retreat order. Guarding this shady orphanage paid well. Now the job vanished overnight.
"We're twenty-three, they're three…."
Smack—
The captain backhanded the clueless mercenary.
"Do it alone if you want, idiot. We're twenty-three, they're three monsters. Eyes for show? No, your head's the decoration."
With the mercenaries gone, only children still trapped in mental magic remained at the orphanage. The servants tending them had fled when Carlson and the hell wolf arrived.
"You got here quick."
Carlson grumbled, but his expression wasn't bad.
"Learned some things. Saw the Randolf brothers?"
"Yes."
"You did good too."
Isaac stroked the hell wolf's snout as it nuzzled him. Sensing the end, it leaped the stone wall and vanished.
"What's with her?"
"The director here."
"Then this…."
In the chaos, Carlson noticed what he'd missed: a glass orb in a golden cage. A boy's head floating within, amid drifting petals.
"Not magic or sculpture. A real human head."
"…I see."
Even Carlson, unmoved by most things, needed a moment to process. But no time for backstory.
"Someone's coming."
Isaac nodded at Carlson's murmur. Two presences. Unlike the ragtag mercenaries. Their mana poured out blatantly—like a warning. Flee if you know what's good for you.
"One's an Aura User, but the other… dunno."
Isaac muttered. One was clearly a skilled Aura User—sharpness emanated from the distant mana. The other? Indecipherable. Vast mana, yet not like a person's vessel—more like ambient natural mana. Like the haze in the Demon Realm?
"We should be careful."
Carlson gripped his sword hilt. Footsteps neared audibly now. Two figures emerged on the birch-lined path.
But they hailed first.
"Huh? Young master?"
Pallichi, with the mysterious young woman, tilted his head.