Dying Embers, Part 7

I can't take this anymore.

...I just hate myself for instantly thinking of killing whatever gets in my way.

This isn't even a battlefield anymore.

I barely survived and came back, only to live on with nothing but my bare life—no honor, no glory... And when I tried to cling to the last remaining trace of my past like a drowning man grasping at straws, it ended up like this.

What on earth did I survive for?

What did I want to see so badly that I dragged myself all the way here?

Always the same thoughts.

Always the same words.

The same phrases repeating in my head over and over again.

What's the point of bringing them up now?

But the thoughts never stop.

Unless I drown myself in alcohol until I can't think at all, the noise in my head never truly fades.

Nobody treats me like a human being.

Not the man who calls himself my father, not my sibling, not the fiancée I've known for so long—none of them.

They don't even show me the bare minimum of respect.

The ones who obsess over status refuse to acknowledge me. I don't know what that pathetic excuse of a patriarch thinks of his own son, but he went around calling me trash even in public.

The ones who value ability only look at the past. Granted, before I returned from the battlefield, I really was a useless, incompetent bastard.

But can people who refuse to believe what they see and hear with their own eyes and ears really claim to value ability?

How do they think I survived and returned from that fucking hell?

How many enemies did I crush with my own hands?

If it weren't for me, that war wouldn't even be over yet.

If they fear the so-called Sword Saint, shouldn't they fear me just as much? Look at them, praising him to high heaven just for slaying a few giant beasts. It's utterly laughable.

While someone else was stuffing dry, shitty rye bread down his throat at the front lines, slaughtering countless high-ranking generals of those fucking elves.

I killed at least hundreds of enemies with my own hands. Feeling their lives extinguish one by one right at my fingertips.

Yet they only look at the version of me painted by rumors and reputation.

They don't see me; they only see the pathetic insect named Lihen.

When everyone looked at him with those eyes, how did he survive? How did the fragile Lihen, who existed before I came here, manage to live?

I already know the answer. I don't even need to ask.

It was because Arin was by his side.

While everyone else was busy strangling him, she was the only one who let him breathe.

And I just called that savior of his a whore? Where in the world could you find a bigger piece of shit than me?

Expecting her to be perfectly fine all on my own, and then getting disappointed all on my own. What a fucking idiot.

I clearly told the Count. I said I didn't care if she was working as a tavern whore, just to bring her to me.

But... but just the fact that Arin was standing next to someone else, and not me, was something I couldn't bear.

What was I expecting? Did I think she would just quietly hunt monsters and run errands here, waiting for me?

I knew ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠better than anyone that Arin, who had left for the capital to make something of herself as a grand adventurer, would never do that.

The words I wanted to say to her all came out twisted.

Are you okay? Was it hard for you? I'll take responsibility for you now, so you can live comfortably. I kept those words bottled up inside, only to get ahead of myself and act like this. What a pathetic worm.

I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have let my emotions take control.

I wanted to be someone others desired, someone they yearned for. Because I wanted to appear before Arin as someone respectable.

Where is a weak person like me supposed to belong?

Wherever I go, everyone is busy pushing me away. Cornering me, driving me to the edge.

Nobody listens to what I have to say; they're all too busy shouting their own opinions. Without a single thought for how the listener might feel.

"...It, it hurts... Lihen, ugh, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠*cough*..."

A choking sound seemed to echo from somewhere far away.

I closed my eyes and opened them again. When I came to my senses, I was pinning Arin against the wall, my hand wrapped tightly around her throat.

She could have used magic or anything else to blow me away, but she just hung there against the wall, weakly clawing at my arm.

"Ugh, *gasp*, *cough*, *cough*!"

I couldn't remember when I had reached out. My body had moved before my brain could process a single thought.

Just like I did at the front lines. Because whatever makes you uncomfortable or causes you trouble must be eliminated.

Could I even call this a habit? Reaching out to strike at the slightest provocation, instantly thinking of killing someone.

As I released my grip, Arin, who had barely been hanging on, collapsed onto the floor. She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes.

In the eyes I had yearned to see again, my own reflection stared back.

I was a mess. There was no light left in my eyes, and my face was so hollowed out that I didn't even look like a living person.

Right. I was a high-and-mighty noble now. The eldest son of the Duke, a Grian, a professor hired through nepotism. I was in a position where Arin could barely even speak to me first. There was no way she could have used magic to blow me away.

"...Get out."

"...Are you kicking me out?"

"Right now, that's... yeah."

I remembered her saying she had made something of herself.

"I suppose that's important to you. Go home for today, and start working tomorrow."

Hearing those words, Arin let out a relieved smile and buried her face, still sitting on the floor. As if she didn't want me to see her expression.

After catching her breath for a long while, she stumbled to her feet and walked out of the office.

The sound of the door closing echoed exceptionally loud. And then, it became unbearably quiet again.

Staring blankly at the empty space, I felt like shit because I realized I had become just like that patriarch.

My hand, which had been trembling so much earlier that I couldn't even light a cigarette, was now steady as a rock.

With that perfectly still hand, I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lit it, and took a deep drag. Even as I forced the smoke deep into my lungs, the chaos in my head refused to settle.

I stared blankly out the window, smoking the burning cigarette.

The exhaled smoke slowly drifted out through the gap in the open window and scattered. I wanted to just scatter like that smoke.

I needed a drink. It wasn't like I had crawled into this position with any intention of actually working anyway. That crazy woman, the Pope or whatever, had just dumped me here out of nowhere.

I stubbed out the half-burnt cigarette and walked out of the office.

Perhaps because it was a place where all kinds of races from across the continent gathered, the streets were bustling despite the late hour. Humans and non-humans mingled, laughing and chatting, while the sounds of vendors calling out and glasses clinking poured in from all directions.

I bought a few bottles of strong liquor from a roadside shop and slowly made my way back to the faculty building. I thought about going to sleep at the villa Adelaide had provided... but I didn't feel like taking a carriage.

As soon as I entered my assigned office, I twisted off a cap and began drinking straight from the bottle, leaning against the window. Even though it burned my throat, it felt refreshing.

The sun sank below the horizon, and lanterns flickered to life one by one. Smearing through my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drunken vision, the lights multiplied into twos and threes.

One bottle, two bottles. Only after emptying about four did the thoughts packing my head finally begin to thin out.

The sensation of my hand around Arin's neck, her tearful eyes, and my own ruined face reflected in them. They slowly dissolved in the strong alcohol, their outlines blurring away.

Someone shook me awake. Rubbing my eyes, I slowly sat up and looked up to see Arin. She leaned in close and whispered in my ear. Her voice was so quiet it tickled.

"Lihen. Wake up."

I must still be dreaming. There was no way we could be like this after the things we said to each other yesterday. I tightly hugged the blurry figure of Arin before me.

She patted my back gently, just like she always did, and murmured softly.

"...I said, wake up."

As if it didn't matter what I was doing, what kind of state I was in, or whether I had run away from the estate, we held each other like that for a long time.

Then, this time, Arin spoke in a rather loud voice.

"Professor Grian. Someone is waiting outside to see you."

I snapped my head up at those words. Arin, whom I thought I was holding in my arms, had already stepped back and was looking down at me with a slightly troubled expression.

Was that just a hallucination conjured by my alcohol-soaked brain? Still, I felt the lingering drunkenness fade slightly.

"...Ah. Right."

The desk I had smashed yesterday was still lying in ruins in the room. Had we decided to act as if nothing had happened?

"Tell them to come in."

Arin went to open the door, bowed, and retreated back to her corner.

A man walked inside. He had a plain face, the kind you might pass by anywhere and completely fail to remember.

He glanced at the wine bottles rolling by the window, then turned his gaze to Arin in the corner.

"I have something rather important to discuss, so I would appreciate it if the sister could step outside."

"Yes."

Arin bowed and left the room. Once the man confirmed the door was closed, he finally turned back to me.

I spoke first.

"Did Her Holiness send you?"

"Rather than sending me, Her Holiness mentioned she had sent you, Brother, which is why I came to find you."

"But seeing me in this state... you must be a bit disappointed?"

"Are you not the one personally chosen by Her Holiness? I believe that whatever you do, Brother, it all holds a deeper meaning."

The man placed a hand over his chest and bowed slightly.

"I have been ordered to serve as your hands and feet. Serving you is, after all, serving Her Holiness. Therefore, is there anything you wish to ask or command of me?"

I stood up, pressing a hand to my throbbing temple. I stumbled for a moment, losing my balance, before barely steadying myself. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, put it in my mouth, and lit it.

"...If there are any suspicious individuals among the students, compile a list and hand it over. I'll look into them myself."

"A wise decision. In fact, anticipating your request, I have already prepared one."

The man nodded as if he had been waiting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for this, pulled a document from his pocket, and handed it to me.

"I'll call for you if I need you, so you may leave now."

The man bowed once more and left the room.

Once his footsteps had completely faded, I carelessly tossed the paper onto the ruins of my shattered desk.

A single sheet of paper, which might decide who lives and who dies, landed askew on the splintered wood.

Rather than that... what I should say when Arin came back in felt far more important.

With what face, and with what heart, was I supposed to look at her?