Lingering Dream (4)
Richen Grayan has no right to bear the name Grayan. He's a talentless piece of trash, a useless human being with no abilities to speak of. Still, I thought of him as family. I never planned to call him "brother," but I was going to say at least one thing—that I was glad he came back alive. Even if he was a pathetic, disgraceful excuse for a man, I never wished for his death. But you shouldn't offer kind words to someone who doesn't deserve them. At least, not in this house.
No matter how handsome his face might be, no matter what talents he possesses, if he can't properly wield a sword, he's disqualified as a Grayan. …My brother from childhood wasn't this kind of trash. That was back when his lack of talent for the sword hadn't yet been exposed. He was the kind of person who could casually say things like, "I'm happy you're my little sister." He was the one who would bring snacks our mother supposedly loved and songs she supposedly enjoyed, even though we'd never met her. He never seemed suited to the sword at all. It was hard to believe someone like him had been born into the Grayan family. He must have taken after Mother. Everyone said there was no one as kind as her in this world. To me, that was what my brother was.
So if he'd had even a shred of talent—just a fingernail's worth—he wouldn't have fallen this far. I wouldn't have had to treat him this way either.
Around the time I was ten, we crossed swords in a light sparring match. I beat him far too easily. He couldn't even properly exchange blows before dropping the sword he was holding and falling backward. I still can't forget the way he sat on the floor, looking up at me with trembling eyes. After the match ended, Father said it. That thing wasn't a Grayan. The Grayan family had produced Sword Saints for generations, and those without ability would receive no recognition. If only… if only he'd had just a little more talent…
Still, he was family. I didn't want others pointing fingers at him, so I never suggested to Father that we cast him out. Even when he snuck out of the estate to mingle with commoners instead of training, even when he dragged the family name through the mud by forcing his way into the academy with his pathetic skills—I let it slide because he was family. When Father first mentioned sending him to the front lines, I was the one who opposed it. After everything I've done for him, after all this consideration… how could he say something like that to me? How could he call me an orphan? If I'm an orphan, then so is he. He's the one who's never received a single ounce of Father's love. He's never earned Father's recognition. Because he's trash!
I'm different. I'm not like him. Father has always been pleased with me. My talent is on a completely different level. How would a failure who's never accomplished a single thing in his life know anything about a mother he's never even met? My brother shouldn't say things like that to me. I can hurt him, but he can't hurt me. He's nothing but a worthless insect. The only reason I haven't gotten rid of him is because he's my brother. He should be grateful to me instead. Even if I become the head of the family someday, I won't throw him away. I'm the only person in this world who would bother to seek him out and speak to him. That commoner girl threw him away long ago, and the moment Roselyn heard he was being sent to the front lines, she broke off the engagement without even considering that he might return alive. So why… why is he holed up in his room, drowning himself in alcohol without so much as a greeting the moment he returns? Why won't he pick up a sword? Why isn't he curious about anything? He looks like he's about to die any second. Why does he have to hurt me like this? Damn it, why do I have to suffer this much over a single word from someone like him? The person who said that to me isn't my brother. He can't be my brother. If that's how it's going to be, he should have just died and never come back. No, he should just die. If he just dropped dead, he wouldn't be able to say those painful things ever again. I wanted to rip out that mouth, that filthy mouth, so I raised my sword. Then, right before my eyes, some scene began to emerge hazily, like a dream.
The first thing I saw was a mass of red flesh and blood with no trace of a human being left. I knew instinctively. It was my brother. I gathered the scattered chunks of meat scattered across the room with both hands and pressed them together desperately. But no matter how much I tried to mold them, they never became my brother again. As that vision of me kneading the red mass for a long time began to fade, my vision brightened, and the tip of a wooden sword dug into my solar plexus. I couldn't breathe. Curled up on the floor, I stayed like that for a long time. I didn't want to recall what I'd just seen, so I squeezed my eyes shut without even catching my breath. There's no way I would kill my brother. There's no way I would have a dream like that.
****
Richen Grayan had never truly been alive. It had always been that way. He had only ever breathed to match someone else's mood. He always hunched over in front of people, making himself an easy target for mockery. The only place Richen could exist as Richen was in front of that whore who spread her legs for any man who looked slightly better than the last. She was the perfect woman for a pathetic idiot like him.
Adventurer, my ass. It's just grunt work and errands—no different from what a man would do at the bottom. It's not something a woman should be doing either. That man who offered to take her to the capital wouldn't have done it out of pure kindness. He talked about getting her into the guild or whatever, but she wasn't naive enough not to understand what that implied. By now, she'd probably be underneath him, moaning and earning her keep. Or maybe she'd already moved on to someone more promising.
Even after thinking all that, the face laughing by the water's edge refused to leave my mind. The one who held out chocolate and said her mother told her to look after pitiful kids like me. The one who always called me Richen, not by the Grayan name. Why… why would a woman like that spread her legs for the first halfway decent man who appeared…
After a long while, I found myself wondering if I should go find her. If I went and made her love me… maybe I could escape this place too. I realized I was no different from that idiot. The moment I heard the words "academy" and "capital," the first thing that came to mind was that girl's face. There were supposed to be other heroines, after all.
At some point, I started thinking like Richen and acting like Richen. And the only place someone who wasn't a Grayan could go was one spot—the riverbank where Arin used to sit beside me with snacks. Only the girl who brought those snacks had long since disappeared.
Suddenly curious whether that bakery was still around, I made my way to the village. A few guards who recognized me tried to approach, but a man who looked like their captain gestured for them to stop. He muttered something about not causing trouble and let me pass.
When I pushed open the bakery door, the auntie flinched when she saw me. "Oh my… you're that boy, aren't you…?"
The auntie knew I was the son of some high-ranking noble. She just didn't know I was a Grayan. After all, it was unlikely that a child of the Grayan family would come all the way down to a commoner village to hang around with some girl, and I'd never told her either.
"Did you come looking for Arin?"
I tried to answer, but no sound came out of my throat.
"Arin… she left for the capital half a year ago. She hasn't been sending letters much lately… Do you happen to know anything?"
I shook my head silently. My mouth felt completely dry, probably from drinking nothing but alcohol for days on end.
"…Well, I don't know what happened to you either, but come inside and at least take something to eat."
When I tried to refuse with a wave of my hand, the auntie packed several large loaves of bread and a bottle of milk into a bag and handed it to me. I couldn't remember the last time someone had given me something without expecting anything in return. I accepted the bag, rummaged through my pockets, and pulled out whatever bills I could grab. When she refused to take them, I left them on the counter and walked out.
I sat by the riverbank and stared blankly at the flowing water. I wet my mouth with the milk and stuffed the bread into my mouth. How long had I been sitting there? The sound of hooves approached slowly from behind and came to a stop.
"…What difference does it make, waiting here for someone who isn't coming?"
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. The sound of someone dismounting. Footsteps crunching across the dirt.
"I'm not waiting."
"…Then what?"
"I just… have nowhere else to be."
"……Father is calling for you. Get up. If you don't follow me, I'll drag you there by force."
She must have been angry about getting hit in the solar plexus earlier. Her voice trembled slightly at the end.
"Don't think I'll go down that easily again like last time."
When I glanced back, Lione was standing there. Her eyes were slightly red, with faint shadows beneath them. She'd been crying for a while. I was used to being dragged around by now. I'd been dragged off to the battlefield from day one—what was being dragged back to the estate compared to that? I stood up without a word. Lione turned her horse without saying anything more, and I followed behind her. The sound of hooves crushing dirt, the occasional bird call from somewhere. Not a single word passed between us. We walked like that until we reached the estate.
When we arrived at the study door, the butler standing guard knocked lightly. "I've brought the young master. Shall I let him in?"
A short reply came from inside. Permission to enter. The moment I pushed the door open, the head of the family narrowed his eyes from behind the desk.
"You look like a mess. And you're supposed to be a Grayan…"
"Didn't you say I wasn't your son?"
"……"
The head of the family was silent for a long time. Light slanted through the window and stretched across the desk. Dust drifted slowly along the beam of light. Eventually, the head of the family opened his mouth.
"Things have gotten strange. Now that you actually have some use, that is."