Pressure and Resolve
“You were someone the protagonist never needed.”
Come to think of it, he had followed me around even though he knew I wasn't the Child of Prophecy. It felt like I had finally found the source of the lingering discomfort I felt every time I looked at him, but it didn't bring me any sense of relief.
“And here I thought I was pretty kind to you.”
I spoke to the youthful face staring back at me without a shred of guilt.
“Don't be angry. I only made the best choice available to me.”
His shamelessly calm response gave me pause. Was I angry? Because he had gotten in my way? Or because I had been subjected to something akin to betrayal? No, rather than anger, this was...
“I don't understand.”
At my whispered confession, his brow furrowed.
“Have I misjudged you all this time? You don't understand this simple situation? Do you not understand why I'm keeping you here, knowing you could be both a danger and a help to the Child of Prophecy? Or is it me you don't understand?”
He let out a scoff of disbelief as he questioned me.
“I don't understand why your actions don't align with your goals.”
At my reply, the young Imperial shut his mouth.
“Simply keeping me locked up doesn't guarantee I'll help the Child of Prophecy. And if you thought I knew too much, you shouldn't have interfered in such a half-hearted way—you should have killed me. You had plenty of opportunities.”
“……”
“When actions and goals don't align, it means you're lying. And right now, your lies aren't exactly making you look like a better person.”
Even when I pointed out these contradictions, no answer came.
He and I had never had a long conversation before. Circumstances had never allowed it, and even when the opportunity arose, neither of us felt the need. I was someone who would leave eventually anyway, and the person he was looking for was someone else entirely.
I had thought of our relationship as a candle burnt down to its wick, slowly smoldering out. I believed we would naturally drift apart, as long as he didn't pour oil on the embers.
In the end, I had no choice but to ask the question I had forced myself to ignore until now.
“What do you gain by wiping out the Imperial Family? Why do you want to destroy them?”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
It was a flat refusal, but I hadn't expected him to answer easily anyway.
“Fine, let's do it your way.”
“What?”
His eyebrows twitched at my sudden concession.
“I'll play along with your threat. Today, we'll meet the Child of Prophecy together.”
At my unexpected compliance, he stared at me with a complicated expression, a mix of relief and suspicion.
“But this is the first and last time. Today is the first and last time you will ever meet the Child of Prophecy.”
Though it took only a split second for all those mixed emotions to coalesce into pure rage.
“What nonsense are you spouting?”
“Because the moment I meet him, I'm going to tell him to kill you first.”
It wouldn't even be that hard. Simply telling him that this little squirrel was an Imperial in disguise would be more than enough. The current Ratel was highly suspicious, stressed to his limit, and utterly ruthless. Above all, he loathed the Imperial Family. To him, even the slightest seed of doubt was something that must never be allowed to sprout.
“……”
Surprisingly, El seemed to agree with my assessment. The small Imperial didn't refute my words; he merely glared at me silently, yet with a fierce intensity. But I wasn't afraid.
“You're not even threatening to kill me anymore.”
It was clear. For some reason, he was sparing me. But knowing he didn't want me dead didn't make me happy or grateful. It felt no different from someone taking care of a precious tool they were saving for later. Besides, playing along with his schemes while remaining completely in the dark wasn't in my nature.
“Spit it out. What is your true identity, and why are you trying to keep me alive and stick me to Ratel?”
I silently stared at El, who was biting his lip repeatedly as he glared back. Watching his face grow paler by the second kept things from being boring, but I didn't have the luxury of waiting around. There was no telling when Dito would arrive, and if Ratel didn't make it in time, the entire plan would go down the drain.
“If you're planning to drag this out on purpose—”
“I...”
The moment I opened my mouth to urge him, El cut me off. He looked like he was about to die.
His face was deathly pale, as if he were on the verge of a sudden heart attack. It was so bad I genuinely wondered if he might drop dead right then and there. No, wait, something was seriously wrong.
“Hey, wait a second...”
Before I could stop him, his mouth opened.
“I am... the very first... cough!”
Before he could even finish his sentence, he coughed up a dark, thick clot of blood. That wasn't all. With every single syllable El forced out, an alarming amount of blood poured from his mouth. It almost looked as if the blood itself was trying to gag him.
What was happening? Weren't Imperials supposed to be practically immortal?
My hands moved faster than my brain could process the questions. I caught him as he collapsed forward, unable to withstand the blood spraying from his own body. Then, I clamped my hand over his mouth as he desperately tried to keep speaking. Sticky, warm blood seeped through my fingers.
“Gurgle...”
Even in that state, he struggled to pry his mouth open to continue.
“Stop it.”
“Cough...!”
“I said stop!”
As the blood kept gushing without end, my voice rose in spite of myself.
“Don't open your mouth from now on. When you answer my questions, just nod or shake your head.”
His hazy golden eyes focused on me. Soon after, he gave a single nod.
“Are there restrictions on speaking about your identity?”
His head moved again. A nod.
“How far does the penalty go? Can it cost you your life?”
A nod. He shook his head up and down once more.
“...Can you tell the Child of Prophecy?”
A... nod. Slowly but surely, he nodded once more.
Dammit. A curse slipped from my lips.
I could faintly grasp the nature of the lingering discomfort I had always felt around him. Yes, he truly cared about nothing other than the prophecy. Not me, not the lives of others, and not even his own.
Feeling somewhat hollow, I pulled my hand away from his now-unconscious face. His deathly pale face was quite a sight, but it didn't bring me the slightest satisfaction. The reflection of my own face in the pool of blood he had created looked just as miserable.
Flin Feedus dies before the original novel begins—specifically, in the interval before Rasiah coughs up blood and dies.
The child's death before the start of the original story might not have been an accident after all. This was a time before the protagonist had even begun his journey. It meant that, as of now, there was no one in the Abaran Empire who could defy the words of the Imperial Family.
In the original novel, before the protagonist's appearance, was Flin Feedus perhaps the only child upon whom the Imperials' commands had no effect? He might have been killed by Dito's hand once the prince realized this. If so, then he absolutely should not be here.
Having regained some of his composure, El looked around the room and frowned.
“But what are those fellows doing collapsed over there?”
Where he was pointing, men clad in black robes lay sprawled on the floor, unconscious. Beside them, several children, also unconscious, were laid out in an orderly row.
“The trash who help Dito kidnap and murder children.”
El stared blankly at the fallen men.
“It seems they are repeating what they did to Rasiah to other children as well.”
“Yeah. And the protagonist will definitely come to stop it.”
He had been carrying out this experiment for quite a long time. In the novel, he repeated this atrocity both before and after the story began. Stopping this would be the protagonist's first encounter with Dito.
“That's why a commotion big enough to draw Dito here had to happen at the right time today. The protagonist needs to arrive before it's too late. Or, at the very least, the protagonist should have gotten here first.”
I tapped his small head with my finger.
“Do you realize how messed up things are now?”
Since the Young Duke had vanished, Tollin would be scouring every corner of the Capital. Dito, who was keeping a close eye on the Young Duke, would head straight here. If we made one wrong move, the Young Duke, the children, and even I could end up dead.
Shaking his head to dodge my finger, El snatched my hand.
“Then you shouldn't blame me even more. This would have happened anyway, even without the Feedus brat.”
“What? What do you mean by that?”
BOOM! A deafening explosion echoed from outside the door.
BOOM! BOOM! And in rapid succession, no less.
At my demanding glare, El gave an awkward smile.
“The brats locked up here are no ordinary kids.”
BOOM! As the thunderous roar reverberated down the hallway, Gude, the caretaker, cursed under his breath and scurried on his short, stubby legs to fling the door open.
Thick smoke was already creeping across the hallway floor. A burnt stench, mingled with an indescribable, bizarre odor, assailed Gude's nostrils.
What was this? An intrusion?
As the ominous thought crossed his mind, he realized he couldn't afford to waste any more time. He rang the bell installed in his room once and threw himself out into the corridor.
The further he went down the hallway, the thicker the smoke and the stronger the smell became. At first glance, it seemed like a fire, but that failed to explain the explosions that had shaken the corridor. Besides, if it really was a fire, what on earth was this smell?
BOOM! Another blast rang out, as if determined not to give him a moment to think.
Gude covered his ears and ran. His mind was in a complete whirl, but one thing was absolutely clear: this was no accidental fire. Someone had set it intentionally.
The enemy was not alone but in a group, and given that they had prepared multiple such devices, they were highly likely to be formidable foes backed by considerable wealth.
It was a grand delusion, far too generous compared to the trivial truth—that their opponents were merely three wet-behind-the-ears brats.
“You idiots! What are you just standing around for?!”
Sprinting frantically, Gude spotted his subordinates milling about in confusion in the hallway and bellowed at them. Snapping out of their daze at his shout, they rushed toward him.
Useless fools. Because he had specifically sought out disposable pawns whose deaths wouldn't cause any complications, he had ended up with a bunch of brainless idiots.
Clicking his tongue, Gude pointed at six men who looked slightly less brain-dead than the rest.
“You six, follow me. The rest of you, guard this spot. If you spot any intruders, don't ask questions—just kill them.”
Thus, four remained behind while six followed Gude. Gude, of course, was entirely oblivious to the fact that he, too, was just another disposable pawn whose death would trouble no one.