Chapter 62

Droplets rise up.

Much like countless bubbles that form and pop.

Suddenly surging up, then fading away in an instant.

Amongst the many bubbles,

a slender finger touches one of the droplets.

Then.

It gazes at it closely.

…

The spindly branches grow dense, forming a lush forest and mountain ravines.

That probably means human hands haven’t reached here.

The wind cuts through the darkness like a blade, shaking the branches slightly as they try to grow dense, even snapping some shallow-rooted trees right at their trunks.

In the inland, spring has come, but here, even that feels burdensome.

Carrying a bundle of broken branches on his back, he heads deeper into the ravine.

There, a small cottage awaits.

After dropping off the branches meant for firewood near the cottage, he walks to a nearby spot where he fills jars with water from the partially frozen river.

He returns, repeating this process several times with new jars.

Dawn passes.

Still early morning.

But the forest remains cold and dark as ever.

With basic preparations done, he diligently grabs his hunting tools.

Familiar with the forest paths and tree routes, he moves forward.

Snuffing out the faint breath of a small animal caught in a trap.

Skillfully separating the hide from the flesh.

Removing the blood and innards, scattering them around while resetting traps baited to lure more prey.

He moves again, masking the scent of blood with snow, sand, and dirt.

If the wind blows strong, beasts will surely pick up his scent.

Thus, moving against the wind as much as possible, though nature’s whims don’t always cooperate.

Even so, there’s nothing to do but accept it.

Still, all he’s caught are tiny creatures.

Digging out wood-boring insects from beneath the bark of certain trees, he tries to make do.

When the sun begins to shine into the depths of the forest, he finally returns to the cottage.

Opening the door familiarly and stepping inside,

he surveys the empty interior, taking a deep breath.

Sitting idly, he pushes logs into the barren stove and lights it.

Then, sitting in a nearby chair, he quietly watches the scene.

At that moment,

the door opens, and someone enters.

“I’m back.”

The man simply turns his gaze toward the voice.

However,

nothing is visible.

As if the world itself has broken, everything distorts and warps.

…Nothing.

Something seems to have passed, but

it’s unclear.

Who knows?

No.

It’s just become unclear.

Ultimately, that’s the story.

Where did it all start to break down?

He knew.

Countless times, reviewing, reflecting, agonizing over tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousand attempts…

The conclusion was painfully obvious, yet somehow unrelated to the facts.

“…”

Yeah.

Maybe it all started going wrong from that moment.

Accepting Alesia’s proposal.

Allowing her companionship.

Was that why?

The Demon King pointed out how weak he’d become.

No, worse—how unaware he was of his own weakness.

How pathetic he’d become.

Certainly, when crises and trials came, he managed to overcome them, albeit barely.

But the decisive point…

Grandeous’ sword ultimately rejected such a person.

That’s the story.

A mere failure.

Yet somehow, everything unraveled from there.

His original goals and contracts were buried far away in memory.

He focused solely on escape.

But somehow, rumors spread.

That he had allied with the Demon King, that he was a successor, all sorts of tales circulated.

Those hunting him gradually increased.

Of course, he defeated them all, but even that had limits.

Still, he managed to survive well enough.

Living far away with Alesia, planning a quiet life together.

Though that life came with a bleak future, at the time, he was just too exhausted.

“…”

Adding dry wood.

Like an illusion, the flames hungrily consume the logs.

Years passed.

He saw a child, grew somewhat accustomed to life.

Then everything collapsed.

Alesia died. The child was taken.

Since then, he’s scoured every place, driven solely by the desire to find the child.

In the end, he became a grand slaughterer, piling up false accusations and infamy.

Now, there’s nowhere he can properly set foot.

…It doesn’t matter.

But still, the child remains unfound.

Not a single clue.

Having nothing to rely on is this heavy, huh?

No matter how much he thinks, no matter how many leads he tries to grasp,

Where should he even begin?

He’s already tried everything possible.

“…”

Adding more wood.

I’m starving.

Already, the outside world is slowly losing its light.

It happens this way whenever you blink.

What am I even doing?

Nothing.

…Absolutely nothing.

The Demon King left, saying it would be more fun to go with the child.

What did he say back then?

[An escape with a predetermined ending—doesn’t it feel newly pitiful?]

No matter how much you deceive yourself,

the sun rises, the moon sets.

“…”

I realize now.

Because I grew complacent, because I wanted to settle—

this disaster happened.

Every tragedy stems from my weakness and foolishness.

Had it not been me, she wouldn’t have met such a fate.

And…

the child wouldn’t have been treated this way from birth.

“…”

I must find them.

But where? How?

Here we are again, stuck.

This cycle of thought, these agonies, have repeated tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousand times—but it never gets easier.

It’s hard.

It’s hard.

As the sun sets and the moon rises,

my body grows older, weaker.

But motivation refuses to return.

Where else is there to go?

Just another place to confront and destroy everything once more?

…

Huh…?

A distant voice pulls open his eyelids automatically.

“…”

Gripping the sword he unconsciously held, he steps out of the cottage door.

When did I even grab it?

Confusing.

“Eh?”

Upon opening the door, three figures stand before him—a young man, a girl, and a man.

Among them, his gaze instinctively lands on the young man.

Hair white as swirling snowflakes—or perhaps silver.

Eyes firm and golden.

Even the facial structure…

is eerily similar.

“…”

Feeling destiny this way is absurd.

“What? You’re the owner here, correct?”

The young man politely inquires, but…

“Now what? Did you come looking for some forest sage? We’re actually here for the mass-murdering guy!”

The red-haired girl interjects irritably.

“Hmph!”

The man coughs sharply, signaling tension.

“…”

Somehow.

One thing is clear.

“You’re the son of the hero, aren’t you?”

At that, the red-haired girl smirks.

“Oh wow? You know that much? Guess you’ve gotten famous, Hero Junior?”

“…Stop it.”

The white-haired youth frowns, embarrassed.

“Excuse us, but we’d like to confirm if you’re the person we seek.”

Despite clearly gauging his identity,

the man maintains formalities.

“…”

I stay silent.

What should I even say?

You’re your father’s son, and you, red-head, judging by those royal features, seem related to that side too…

…As for the man, no idea.

“…”

What do you want me to say?

“So, what’s your business?”

Then the girl steps forward, accusing.

“If you’re the infamous slaughterer, you deserve proper punishment. Sure, flipping a few territories and cleaning out guilds and alleys might’ve been fine, but you went too far with innocent people!”

“…”

Innocent, huh?

Sure, there might’ve been innocents.

But if I stopped to check each time,

when would I swing my sword?

When would I hunt?

“How did you find out about my location?”

“What difference does it make?”

Her attitude is completely arrogant.

Yet strangely,

it doesn’t bother me.

Though unfamiliar and distant,

somehow it doesn’t feel entirely alien.

“…”

So, what do you intend to do?

“Ah! Enough talk! Either you surrender or… we’ll sever your limbs!”

“Hey! You really…”

The young man holds his forehead, exasperated.

“While her words were harsh, that’s exactly what we mean.”

“Don’t you think roughing people up is excessive?”

“It’s hard not to when the features are so distinct.”

Jet-black long hair, a sturdy build.

An untamed beard grown wildly.

“While black hair is common in the empire… we’re not even in imperial territory, are we?”

“…So you intend to capture me?”

“We were asked to.”

The red-haired girl chimes in again.

“Direct orders from my sister-in-law. Can’t let it slide.”

“…Hah.”

Sister-in-law, huh?

Tracing the connections within the royal family…

“…Are you Enjul’s daughter from a collateral line?”

That makes her gasp.

“Eh?! How do you know that?! Did I mention my name or status earlier?”

“…”

That confirms it.

“…Era, right?”

Can’t be Sylas.

Definitely not Ellie.

Then… isn’t it obvious?

‘Even here, bad karma finds bad karma, huh?’

A wry smile escapes me.

And the youth standing before me…

Isn’t he the son?

“Can’t this be resolved through dialogue?”

Does he sense my intentions?

“Then step back. If you never approach this area again, I’ll let it slide this time.”

“What?! Let it slide?! Are you insane?!”

The fiery girl takes offense immediately,

igniting flames in her hands and hurling them at me.

“Eh?”

They dissipate harmlessly.

“…”

I still have…

this much left.

Conveniently.

“You don’t know killing me would destroy the empire.”

And not just the empire.

I’m merely a vessel, a carrier of curses.

Yet even without activation,

misfortune clings to me this strongly.

“Whatever you want to do, go ahead.”

I need to rescue the child.

Even if I succeed, the child will only inherit the curse I pass on.

Perhaps…

dying sooner would be better.

No, the Demon King said death would lose its meaning.

“…”

I foresaw this tragedy long ago.

Why did I commit such regrettable acts?

I merely…

wanted a little peace.

That simple desire turned out to be so greedy.

A daily reminder.

“Come.”

All I have left is this worthless sword.

Toppling my father was meaningless anyway.

Father still reigns as the continent’s strongest, maintaining peak power endlessly.

Meanwhile, me?

I’ve grown old, dull.

Far from my prime, both body and mind waste away day by day.

It’s my fault.

I should’ve carried it alone.

Instead, I leaned on others’ kindness.

Made a grave mistake.

‘Disgusting.’

Regret doesn’t even arise.

Even if given another chance,

I wouldn’t go back.

What’s done is done.

So I…

“―!!”

Whether I die at the hands of these kids,

or perish under another trial,

my conclusion will remain unchanged.

—

BOOM!

The droplet bursts.

A delicate finger.

Its tip finally exerts force, bursting the droplet.

It may have existed.

Or maybe not.

Such stories.

Once again,

vanish without a trace.

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