Chapter 113
Chapter 113
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 113
Chapter Title: Unconscious (2)
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So, from the moment I was born until I turned six, I lived every single instant with death by my side.
During the stone age of rapid bodily growth, they say I would collapse and faint every other day, and there were even times when my breathing actually stopped.
Because of that, the name they gave me grew stronger—Arma, meaning to fight death and win.
My mother, who could never completely rule out my death, apparently never took her eyes off my cradle out of constant fear.
That spring when I turned ten, after a doctor's diagnosis that I could no longer live in the polluted city environment, I was admitted to a sanatorium built in isolation amid layered mountains.
The treacherous mountain I ascended on the back of a sturdy hired hand, since even a carriage couldn't make the climb.
The garden of St. Martin's Sanatorium, where I spent my childhood, sat right in the heart of those harsh peaks.
-Snip... snip.
-Young master's breathing sounds off.
-His immunity dropped, and now he's got chest inflammation...
-Even if he gets short of breath right away, make him walk. As long as he has muscle left, he'll hold out longer.
Almost always, for every routine, I held the hand of someone in white medical garb.
From such constant repetition in childhood, I became a child who wasn't ticklish.
-If the fever rises more, it'll be dangerous. He's a child, so his temperature is already high...
-Wet cloth!
-Young master. Pull yourself together.
When fever struck, someone would apply a wet cloth, and on days I grew dizzy enough to vomit, I was immediately changed into clean clothes.
A frail lifeform utterly incapable of surviving alone.
That was me in my early years.
-Fever's down.
-He hasn't eaten, but should we try putting him to sleep anyway?
-Even water makes him throw up—better not stir things up and cause trouble...
Thinking of that all-white marble mansion built solely for convalescence even now sends chills down my spine.
The sanatorium was a world without greetings. Farewells came without the luxury of formality. That's why we kept our distance from one another, turning it into a stark, silent space.
Patients and staff alike would suddenly vanish one moment, only for someone new to appear out of nowhere the next.
Life's unannounced finales or encores crossed paths in dizzying chaos.
-Mother... where is she?
-Oh, Mother will be back soon. She said if you sleep bravely for ten nights, she'll come.
-Ten nights...
I must have tried every exercise, breathing technique, and meditation deemed good for the body there.
Every day was grueling.
Death lurked everywhere, and time—that bastard—never let up.
After three months like that.
When the seasons had turned once, Mother returned with a boy I'd never seen tucked under her arm.
-Hello? I'm Logan.
-Mother? Who on earth is that beside you...
-He's the boy who'll help with your convalescence from now on. Say hello?
-I'm Arma Cruise...
Mother watched us two with an ambiguous expression—not quite frowning, not quite smiling.
A healthy boy with brown hair, green eyes, and freckle-covered skin.
For his age, Logan was tall and gangly, his protruding joints bearing the sturdy vigor unique to mountain kids raised climbing peaks.
-Young master. You know? We share the same birthday—and the exact time we were born. Dusk turning to night, April 3rd.
It was only after living together that I coincidentally learned Logan and I resembled each other strikingly, aside from our builds.
-Time for prayer!
-No...
-Don't be like that. Pray. It'll ease your mind.
The arrival of a peer boy with fervent faith was a shock strong enough to upend the foundations of my soul, back when I was sickly and lonely.
Even in a family lacking religious devotion due to Mother's globe-trotting influence, I could mimic clasping hands in prayer because of him.
-He comes in light.
-...
-Lord Aegis, we thank you for our daily bread and the peace of our souls today.
It was around then that Mother, who visited once per season, began coming once a month.
By the one-year mark of us together, my condition had improved enough that, while I couldn't run like Logan, I could walk alone and roam the sanatorium.
Afterward, as strength built in my legs, the curve of my health shot up in steps.
The complex, subtle emotions on Mother's face gradually brightened.
By the time we could speak of cure rather than mere remission, Logan and I had naturally become inseparable as the only two boys our age amid those layered mountains.
-Young master, even being able to come to the well together like this is fate.
-You say fate at the drop of a hat.
-It is fate. Meeting Count Cruise was fate. Meeting you, Young Master Arma Cruise, was fate.
-Stepping in mud here must be fate too, then.
-Ugh.
To be honest, those memories were pure joy.
A brief peace earned after crossing death's threshold countless times.
But had I known Logan's raison d'être was the blasphemous, insidious intent of sharing his life flame with me—"I swear by Lord Aegis"—I never would have let things unfold that way.
.
.
.
"...So what happened?"
"Hmm."
Just recalling those events quickened my pulse.
Did I truly have no inkling back then?
One can't expect adult cunning from a child, but a kid who's danced with death repeatedly is a bit special.
At least when it comes to survival.
-'Same birthday, similar builds, Mother's suspiciously uneasy expression, and Logan's devoted, obedient demeanor at just over ten years old...'
It all felt beautifully artificial, staged for some theatrical climax.
My past—as joyful as it was sorrowful and deceptive.
I'll never forget it.
"Sorry. That's the whole story. There was an accident, and Logan died because of me. Anyway, I made one promise with Logan back then."
"What promise?"
"That I'd never die easily."
In a way, survival became the theme of my life from that day on.
I hate the Aegis Faith that conditioned the precociously mature Logan into such obedience.
But what I hate most is none other than myself.
I knew. I sensed it, yet pretended ignorance, clinging desperately to the status quo.
The human heart is this cowardly.
I clamped my mouth shut after spilling the secret.
"I don't quite get it."
Theodore, who had listened silently, spoke in a small voice.
"What?"
"That Arma Cruise—probably the one at Aegis Academy farthest from faith—is blaming himself and feeling guilty over past events."
"What's that got to do with faith?"
"It's fatalistic."
I wasn't sure how devout Theodore was, but I knew his religion was Aegis. Was it okay for him to say that?
I appreciated his efforts to think well of me, but with Logan, there was no room for that.
Plus, I hated the word "fate."
"It really happened because of me. No coincidence or anything. Hate to say it myself, but."
-...
In any case, diverting Theodore's attention worked; he followed my lead without resistance.
The emotional turbulence that had seemed ready to boil over moments ago had calmed somewhat.
Theodore's occasional self-deprecating side still surprises me sometimes.
Theodore, hailed as a genius and elite prodigy within Aegis Academy, treated like a pariah demon in Whitega.
Was that why the Theodore of Zaan wanted to help me somehow?
'No— the deeper I dig, the more my trash past surfaces.'
It had clearly probed the fragile part of Theodore's heart.
Just like I did to Logan.
Where did it all go wrong for exploiting others to become habit?
Maybe my instincts developed that way.
"Just telling you not to get anxious. No need to push yourself for my sake."
Theodore didn't fully agree, sealing his lips soon after.
Refusing to lie by not answering?
Not the best way to navigate, but his stubborn honesty was as impressive as ever.
'So that's why he calls me by my full name? Wants to stop me but feels he should keep distance?'
Sherry had pointed it out multiple times, but Theodore never broke the habit of using my full name.
It felt like compliance mixed with distance, leaving his feelings ambiguous—until now, when it started making sense.
"Not exactly pleasant talk, but I sure dragged it out."
"If you only said it because of me—"
"Don't worry, it's not that. Shall we get back to the original topic?"
Having organized his thoughts while listening to my long tale, Theodore had returned to his composed demeanor.
He then sped through the few unread books left.
"Still, no interpretation possible. Looks like it was a spell made of heavy regional dialects from ancient tongues."
"Why do that? Reciting spells with this body of mine, I can't do a thing."
The mana in my body is infinitely close to zero.
Living in this world, I naturally carry some 'aura,' but that's it.
I have no mana to channel into a magic circle... nothing like it.
"Maybe they figured there's a slim chance it'd stick. If it works, great; if not, oh well."
"I'd need pretty convincing evidence to agree..."
No point sowing seeds in empty air and expecting fruit—reciting spells through my body yields pathetically nothing.
The most plausible hypothesis remained that a large part of my unconscious had been invaded by the guardian angel.
"No, I hate that even more."
I muttered involuntarily, shuddering, and Theodore perked up, thinking he'd caught a hint in my words.
"Ah, sorry. Talking to myself. If my unconscious is compromised by the guardian angel, how would I even tell?"
Even these words I'm saying now might be the guardian angel's deliberate ploy.
Theodore shook his head at my words.
"Again, suspicious light flickered around your irises. Based on the pattern so far, you can distinguish it."
The red glow rimming my pupils, you mean.
I turned my head to gaze at my reflection on the hazy desk surface.
There, beside my face, stood the tall silhouette of another figure.