The Authority of Foresight
The boy's night had been long.
He had assumed the hands of the clock would run swift and relentless, just as starlight traversed the boundless cosmos to touch the earth. He believed he would greet an ordinary morning like any other, enduring the slow, agonizing crawl of growing up. Yet even as the moon waned, the darkness refused to yield. The entire world remained drowning in shadow.
Even when he dared to imagine the future, his path lay shrouded in black. Whenever he squeezed his eyes shut to escape reality, only pitch-black void greeted him. It had been the very same when, drowsy and half-asleep, he had been shoved into a coarse cloth sack like a piece of merchandise.
The will to defy the world was on the verge of snapping.
Having tumbled along the gutter for a time, he had learned the hard way that clinging to clumsy malice only bred deeper wounds. A single glare earned him a beating; every strike forced a subservient smile onto his lips. Only then did his value as a product rise, putting his prospective masters at ease.
Beyond the door of the lightless solitary cell, voices murmured.
They whispered that he would fetch a handsome price, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the fallen royalty of a ruined kingdom. They boasted of how they had snatched him the moment their eyes caught him.
Sharp eyes indeed.
Little did they know that he did not merely resemble them—he was the prince himself.
From royalty to a vagrant. From a vagrant to a slave.
Falling from such heights was agonizing. It felt as though it would have hurt far less if, just as they said, he had merely been an unfortunate stray who happened to share the royal bloodline's features.
The road ahead would surely remain night.
No matter how many years passed, dawn would never break.
In a pit so wretched, there would not even be a strand of spider's silk to grasp.
Just as he resigned himself to that despair and cast all hope aside—
"...I send forth a sword."
The darkness recoiled.
A brilliant golden radiance tore through the gloom, flooding the world with blinding illumination. The miracle uncoiled in the very next breath.
Flash!
Sight vanished in an instant.
The incandescent holy light strobed across his vision, and then the heavens split wide open. All the boy witnessed was a young man thrusting a blade of pure light skyward. With that singular stroke, the stone ceiling vanished without a trace, and the starlight poured down like rain.
Faced with an event that defied all human reason, the crowd scrambled and scurried like frantic ants.
"In the name of the Lord God and the Holy Spirit, chains of light."
Once more, an awe-inspiring brilliance flared—a luminous grace plucked straight from ancient myth.
Clatter, clank!
Subjugation was swift and absolute.
Particles of radiance coalesced into solid form, wrapping around the ankles of the fleeing captives like the shackles of condemned men. A few drew blades and bludgeons in a desperate bid to sever them, but their frantic hacking yielded nothing but exhaustion.
Until now, the boy had believed these men were the absolute rulers of the world. The mere thought of them bound in chains like slaves, dragged down like cornered beasts, had seemed an unthinkable sacrilege. They had been branded into his mind as divine tyrants who held him captive in an endless night.
"Seize them!"
"How dare you conduct such an abominable auction within the Count's domain?!"
"Take every last one of them into custody—wait, what on earth...?"
The private troops garrisoning the territory stormed inside. Yet their thunderous momentum ground to a halt, leaving them rubbing their eyes in utter disbelief.
"What in the heavens happened here...?"
Even while beholding a spectacle that defied reality, the soldiers remembered their duty. They apprehended every associate of the auction, dragging away those who resisted by force. Each time a soldier firmly restrained a criminal, the golden fetters dissolved into drifting motes of light.
Tap. Tap.
Through the heart of the devastated hall, a figure approached.
He had snow-white hair and violet eyes, clad in garments neither extravagant nor threadbare. Having dispersed his sword of light, the young man appeared, at first glance, remarkably ordinary.
He took hold of the iron bars, bending them with bare hands as easily as dried twigs until the metal surpassed its threshold and tore free.
Clang!
Without a word, he reached out and gently laid a hand upon the battered boy.
"...Huh?"
A miracle unfolded.
Festering gashes closed in seconds, dried blood melted away to reveal clean skin, and the dull ache in his fractured shin vanished without a trace.
"You held out well. How does your body feel?"
The young man inquired after his well-being, but the words that slipped past the boy's lips took a completely unexpected direction.
"Are you... an angel?"
"No, I'm an orphanage director."
"Pardon?"
Stunned by an answer he had never conceived, the boy wore a blank expression. Yet before he could process the notion of an orphanage director, the man nonchalantly added more.
"Well, I do have angels at home. One of them isn't particularly charming, so let's pass on him, but the other is very, very cute."
"Ah... I see..."
"Though teasing the uncharming one is far more entertaining. Looking at it that way, things balance out nicely. But since there are only two of them, their playtime gets a bit dull."
"Right..."
"So I was thinking it'd be wonderful to add one more friend to the mix."
"..."
The boy could not fathom why this stranger was telling him such things. As his confusion deepened, the young man who had bestowed a miracle upon him extended an open hand.
"Do you want to come with me?"
"Me...?"
"Who else? From the look of it, you don't have anywhere to go anyway. Come be friends with my kids. You're all about the same age."
What was this person?
Was he truly human, and not an angel?
How could an ordinary man weave such miracles, and speak words that sounded like miracles themselves?
Could he really... be human?
"Try staying for a day and see how you like it. If you don't, we can figure things out then."
The outstretched hand remained steady, and the boy reached out to take it.
Warmth seeped from that broad palm—a soothing, sheltering warmth he knew he would never forget for the rest of his days.
"...I'll go."
Stepping out from behind the shattered iron bars, the boy walked closely behind his savior.
Because he had been hauled in trapped inside a sack, he had no idea what the estate looked like. Escaping on his own two feet had seemed so impossible that reality still felt distant and dreamlike.
Only when they completely cleared the mansion and he looked up at the vast, open night sky did the boy finally let his tears fall.
Standing right outside the mansion's entrance, Court Count Arwell and his private soldiers stood assembled in disciplined formation.
Amidst the stillness where only night crickets chirped, the savior broke the silence.
"Is there anyone here who intends to speak of what happened tonight?"
As if rehearsed, a thunderous reply echoed in unison.
"Absolutely not!"
"Aha."
A light chuckle slipped from him, followed by an easy wave of his hand.
"Then that's settled."
He flashed a bright grin, as if a verbal promise that could be broken at any moment were destined to endure forever.
The moon sank low.
Along the distant mountain ridge, the sky took on a deep indigo hue, heralding the break of dawn. Thus, the endless night reached its conclusion.
"Hungry, aren't you?"
The boy nodded.
Lacking the audacity to answer aloud, he swallowed his voice, but the young man paid his hesitation no mind.
"I'll whip up a late-night snack for you. Even if it's past midnight, food eaten at this hour has a charm all its own."
And so, a dawn that defied all comprehension quietly retreated into morning.
"I am so screwed...!"
I let out a heavy sigh while tossing chicken and egg fried rice over the stove.
"I'm going to get caught, aren't I? I'm definitely going to get caught! Why the hell did I have to blow my lid like that...?"
No, who was I kidding? Even if I turned back the clock, I knew I would have done the exact same thing. How could anyone witness such an inhumane spectacle and not lose their temper?
Despite appearances, I had spent well over a decade living in the Temple. Regaining the memories of my past life didn't mean the Temple's teachings and doctrines had vanished into thin air. Frankly speaking, an autocratic monarchy felt far more familiar to me than modern democracy; modern concepts were, after all, merely fragmented recollections from another lifetime.
When all was said and done, I was still the Holy Knight I had grown up to be.
"Even if the Count's house keeps quiet... those scoundrels will blab whatever they want..."
I had known it all along. I knew, and yet I let it slide with just a verbal promise.
Why? Because a kid was watching.
In other words, I wanted to look cool! Even if I look like this, I'm still at an age where pride matters! And above all else, saving face is a matter of life and death!
"Haaah... I feel like I've just been handed a terminal diagnosis."
Would they drag me back to the Temple? Or treat me like a criminal and sentence me to hard labor?
I had gone a bit too far. Setting aside the holy chains, blasting a hole clean through the mansion's roof practically screamed that I was begging for attention. But I had felt that making a scene of that scale was the only way the Count's private troops would catch on and charge in.
Ugh... I don't know anymore. Seriously.
Just then, the kitchen door rattled open, and the freshly cleaned boy stepped inside.
"Um... is there anything I can help with?"
"Nope, not a thing. Just focus on growing up healthy and kind."
"Yes..."
He answered meekly enough, but one could never be too sure. After all, this kid was fundamentally a villain.
Glen Baskhill.
That was the name of the fallen kingdom's last surviving prince, and the puppet wielded by the original novel's villainess. In the original story, he often clashed with Yurian on equal footing, and he was the one who exposed Tina's true identity, driving her into a political corner.
He had a backstory about once being a slave, and it seemed I had shattered that plot point today. That part had been a pure, unadulterated accident.
No, meeting Tina around this time was an accident, and taking in Yurian was an accident too...
I had resolved to take three children into the orphanage, and to think those three exact slots had been filled like this. It felt so absurdly contrived that one might wonder if the Lord God Himself had scripted this destiny.
While I was drowning in worry and second thoughts—
Creak...
The kitchen door swung open once more. The intruders greeting the morning far too early were quite small.
"Have you returned, Director? I smelled something delicious, so I came down to see."
"Ah...! It's true! Just like Yurian said, you're back after sleeping for only one night! Hehe..."
"Good grief, you little rascals... What uninvited guests. Now I have to make two more portions, don't I?"
Well, what choice did I have? I was the orphanage director, after all.
"You three say hello to each other. If anyone leaves someone out, you won't even get a spoonful of gruel, understand?"
"Three?"
"Ah... Yurian, over here."
Tina signaled with her eyes, and Yurian turned to look at the far corner of the dining table.
There sat Glen, cheeks puffed with half-chewed fried rice, frozen entirely stiff like a stone statue.
And so, an auspicious gathering had taken place, bringing the main figures of an entire generation under one roof. Regardless of their future roles, right now they were merely young children idly waiting for an early morning meal. What direction their fates would take from this momentous occasion was something no one could possibly foresee.
At this rate, could the villainess come knocking on my door soon too?
I truly was overthinking things.
There was no way that would ever happen. It wasn't as though she possessed the authority to foresee the future, so what reason could she possibly have to seek me out?
"Hahaha..."
The sheer foolishness of the thought made me chuckle into the empty air.