Remnants (2)
The battle yesterday dragged on far longer than usual. It must have been around thirty-four times. Only after dying thirty-four times did the fighting finally end. The next day, the heterogeneous races, having witnessed the main army being ground to pieces, surrendered. The war was over.
When the news of victory spread, everyone cheered like madmen. Meanwhile, I just sat there in a daze. Even though people outside were treating me like a hero who had brought the heterogeneous races to their knees, I felt nothing. The cheering humans were probably the same. They were rejoicing because they could finally leave this place—not because they were genuinely happy about winning. There probably weren’t that many people who felt that way.
I just wanted to rest. Somewhere away from the academy, away from instructors, somewhere no human voices could reach me. A place where I wouldn’t have to think about anything. A place without the voice of that childhood friend I had never even met.
“So… you’re saying you’re not going to do anything?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose that makes sense for a while.”
The commander handed me a slip of paper as I left the tent. An address was written on it.
“If you run into any trouble, contact me anytime.”
“To Duke Grayan?”
When I asked with a laugh, the commander shrugged.
“He said he has no son like you.”
I smiled without answering and left the tent. Just like when I had first been dragged here, I spent a long time in a carriage. All the way to the village near the Grayan Estate.
As soon as I reached the village, I stopped by a general store and bought a few bottles of decent liquor. The owner glanced at the sword at my waist, but when I pushed the money forward, he kept his mouth shut. After that, I headed toward a familiar waterside. Even though it was my first time here.
It was the spot where Richen would crawl out of the mansion and always sit. And beside him, that girl was always there. I had never met her even once, yet her voice clung thickly to my ears. Her laughter, her chatter, the words about someday leaving this tiresome village. The words saying there was no way she could believe in and wait for someone like me.
I sat down by the water and opened a bottle. Then I simply sat there for a long time. How much time had passed? The sound of footsteps came rushing in.
“Hey, you! I don’t know where you crawled out from, but we don’t want vagrants here.”
Four guards approached with spears leveled at me. Someone must have reported a suspicious vagrant with a sword drinking by the water.
“......So?”
“You need to leave the village.”
It was annoying. When they thrust their spear shafts at me, I stood up and drew my sword. With a single flick of my wrist, the spears aimed at me shattered into pieces. I stepped toward the guards and raised my sword… but their terrified faces caught my eye. That familiar look—pale as death, stumbling backward.
This wasn’t a battlefield.
I sheathed the sword at my waist again. Then I left the spot without a word. Someone shouted after me, but I didn’t care. Anyway, I staggered along, reeking of booze, and arrived at the Grayan Estate.
In front of the massive iron gate. The gatekeepers saw my appearance and, thinking I was a vagrant, waved me away, trying to chase me off.
“This is not a place where just anyone can—”
One of them stopped mid-sentence, looked at my face, and froze.
“……Y-Young master?”
The gate opened in a hurry. As I entered the mansion, a few maids tried to block my path but, upon recognizing my face, fell silent. The butler, who had been standing at the end of the corridor, started to approach, but after hearing the maids, he stiffened up, his face showing he had no idea what to say.
It was understandable. The trash they had driven out to die had come back walking just fine.
Without saying a word to anyone, I headed straight to my room. A full-length mirror in the corner caught my eye. A shabby vagrant in tattered clothes stood there. The room looked no different from the day I had first hanged myself. Naturally, the noose that had been tied to the ceiling was gone.
Richen—no, I—had stayed cooped up in this room until the moment of death, soaked in alcohol and cigarettes all day long. It was one of the stupidest ways to escape thought. The smarter method was to hang myself, die, and dump everything on the next person. Just like Richen had done.
The problem was that even that didn’t let me die. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to choose but the stupid method.
I opened the cabinet, took out a bottle of liquor, and drank it straight. Then I remembered that the same shelf was stacked with cigars. I pulled one out, lit it, and stuck it in my mouth. Smoke rose slowly toward the ceiling.
After emptying about two bottles, my body went limp. I leaned back against the sofa as if lying down.
I am not a loser. I am not a worthless human being. Richen is even less so.
I was getting fatter day by day, not making any effort, staying shut in my room all day, and yet I could still survive by doing part-time jobs. Why would I be trash? No matter what, I earned my own food and lived on my own.
Even if I called myself a knight but my muscles were wasting away, even if I wasn’t making any effort, even if I was draining the family fortune and living in luxury every day, I was not trash. The very act of labeling me a loser or trash is the problem.
It’s not that I became trash because I didn’t make an effort. I stopped making an effort because I was branded as trash. You people simply gave birth to a defective product and then blamed me for it.
I lived just like everyone else. So why do I have to live like this just because I was a little short on talent? Was there really any difference? Was there?
If you’re the eldest son of the Grayan family, is it only natural to accept humiliation just because you’re a bit lacking? It’s not like Duke Grayan doesn’t have any sons. At least it wouldn’t be your seed. There’s no way a pathetic worm like this could have come from your seed.
I wish you weren’t my father, too. At least Mother was kind to me. It’s only Mother who’s pitiful, having a bastard like that for a husband.
Every day, while waiting only for the day I would die, I vaguely thought about wanting to die. Strangely, that made me a little happy. Like how a person who commutes from eight in the morning to nine at night feels happy thinking about a trip still half a year away.
But I couldn’t die. Richen’s memories stabbed unpleasantly into my head.
Who cares. I’ve died thousands of times, so I’m probably half Richen by now. Childhood friends exist to be stolen by others anyway. Why am I getting depressed and throwing a tantrum alone? The Grayan family’s worm exists to be thrown in the trash. So why am I whining?
“How could a human who couldn’t even swing a sword properly become a hero?”
A voice rang out.
“War hero? That’s ridiculous. He probably didn’t do anything there, right?”
Did I die again? My hand reflexively grabbed the sword and tried to draw it. I had picked up a stupid habit from the battlefield.
“...What, you want to cross swords with me?”
When I slowly lifted my head, Lione was standing inside the room without even knocking. I slowly released the strength in the hand holding the sword. I let out a sigh and flopped back down on the sofa.
“Why…hic…did you come?”
“Does family need a reason to visit family?”
“......If someone heard that, they’d think you actually treat me like family.”
“Don’t get cocky just because you luckily came back alive. Brother.”
“Was it lucky?”
“Are you proud of crawling out of the place we sent you to die? You’ve been talking back since earlier.”
Instead of answering, I tried to bring the bottle to my mouth, but Lione approached and grabbed my wrist. I hadn’t expected her to rush at me over just a few words. Come to think of it, there had been a time when I couldn’t even make eye contact with this child. Probably inferiority complex. Who cares.
“Did you think anything would change if you came back?”
Without answering, I shook off her hand and drank the liquor. Lione let out a hollow laugh.
“Look at you, putting on airs after killing a few people without even knowing your place. It’s ridiculous.”
“What do you want to say?”
“Instead of drinking the moment you get back, you should at least say you’ve returned, you worthless bastard.”
“I’m back.”
“......Are you joking with me?”
Lione snatched the bottle from my hand and hurled it at the wall. The only sound effect that comes to mind is the crash. Anyway, liquor spilled all over the floor, and shards of glass flew everywhere.
“Even if you’ve gone off the rails now. Why don’t you at least try acting like a model student like you did when you were young, huh?”
The room became a mess in an instant. The smell of cigarette smoke mixed with liquor made the air feel thick and heavy.
“Father might look at you again. Even if you don’t pick up a sword, you’re still a Grayan. You could just live off the name like the second son, couldn’t you?”
“......That damn Grayan.”
“If it weren’t for that damn Grayan name, who would even want to stay by your side? The engagement was broken off because the family tried to dig you out, and that commoner girl who used to hang around you followed some guy all the way to the capital when he gave her a little attention, didn’t she?”
I started to snap back but stopped. I let out a sigh and took a long drag on the cigar. Then I exhaled the smoke again.
“If Mother were still alive, what would she say if she saw someone like you? You must remember.”
I was tired. Since I didn’t answer, the girl glanced around nervously and continued.
“......A human who wanted to die so badly—what face did you use to come back alive?”
She had been yapping annoyingly since earlier. That fucking bitch.
“......What?”
The girl suddenly hardened her expression. Then she slapped my cheek. It seemed I had accidentally spoken my inner thoughts out loud. While rubbing my face, I decided to just keep going since I had already said it.
“If Mother were alive, she would have said to throw someone like you out immediately. Mother loved me. She never even wanted a second child in the first place.”
Thanks to the alcohol, the words flowed out without hesitation. At this level, it must have been what Richen—no, what I—had always thought.
“You’re just… that. Since you’ve never once received parental love in your life. The only thing you can spit out is… what do you call it……”
Parents are beings who give love. If you can’t receive love, then it’s no different from not having parents…….
“Orphan girl. That’s right. You were an orphan.”