Chapter 37

I decided to wander around the village and ask the fathers.

“What should I write in a letter that fathers would want to receive?”

Just as I had sought advice from married men and women in the village for a letter to my fiancée, this time too, I wanted to ask those involved for their advice.

They readily extended their helping hands. Unlike when I first came to the village, public opinion seemed quite favorable, which made me happy.

“Still, if it’s a father, I think they’d want to hear how much they’re loved. Even if it’s a bit exaggerated, they’d probably like to hear that.”

“I don’t know much, but if it were me, I’d want to hear how my child is doing these days. There’s nothing as joyful as hearing about your child’s achievements.”

“I haven’t thought much about it, but maybe they’d want to hear that they’ve worked hard all this time?”

Taking these pieces of advice to heart, I wrote them all down, and soon the letter turned into a short novel of five pages.

Perhaps a father would like something like this. I couldn’t understand him, but since I had written down all the opinions, I thought he might like it.

This would be a story for when my late father could read this letter.

“…I don’t know.”

Maybe my father, buried underground, could read this letter.

The reason for the kindness he showed me all this time.

His heart.

I couldn’t understand any of it. Or maybe I had come to not understand. Not even knowing that was so ridiculous that I couldn’t even laugh. I didn’t laugh much to begin with.

If it were Layla.

If it were my father himself.

They could have told me the answer. But now, I was like a chariot that had lost its horses and its way. A useless thing that had lost both the person who would show the way and the one who would lead.

“You seem troubled.”

It was that old man again. The one who had shared bread with me.

“Everyone has worries in life. I don’t think it’s a big deal, old man.”

“Carrying it around your neck is a bit of a big deal, don’t you think?”

Having worries isn’t special, but showing them is a whole different story.

What kind of person is this old man? I know he’s an acquaintance of Cecilia and a native of this village, but he’s incredibly peculiar.

“I don’t understand my father’s heart. I can’t understand his actions, his heart, or his laughter.”

“You haven’t married yet, so isn’t that natural?”

“I need to understand him… to send him the letter he would want to read.”

Like how my father always fell, rolled, and stumbled in front of me, who rarely laughed.

I will send the letter even if my father can’t read it.

“I heard everything. That you’re going around the village seeking advice.”

“…Are you here to tell me it’s meaningless?”

“How could that be?”

The old man laughed, sat on the bench, and started patting the spot next to him. I guess it was a signal to sit.

When I was in the capital, there were no old men who liked me. It was natural for many to hate me since they were loyal to the emperor. I probably couldn’t understand them either.

Of course, I couldn’t understand this old man who didn’t hate me either. Sitting down with that incomprehension, the old man spoke.

“Lord. About that letter. Even if your father were to read it, he wouldn’t be happy.”

“…Can you tell me why?”

“That’s what they want to hear from their children. Not what your father wanted to hear from you.”

“I can’t understand. Truly.”

As is often the case with old men’s words, there was an incomprehensible element. Even though I understood all the words, the sentence itself was beyond me.

“People are all different. Would parents be any different?”

“My father…”

If I tried to dig deeper, something dark and hard blocked it.

As if it had been deliberately sealed.

Even if it was a painful memory, it had been sealed without me ever sealing it.

“My father… my father Arthur Berze…”

“The person who knows best what he wanted is you, Lord.”

Most of my memories of my father were just kindnesses whose meaning and intent I couldn’t understand.

Kindnesses that I could understand with my head but not feel in my heart.

A person I knew was kind to me but couldn’t feel in my heart.

I sealed those memories to remember him that way.

“Raul.”

My father, who always tried to make me laugh, one day stepped on a fallen paper and fell to make me laugh.

“Was that funny this time? I did some research.”

“I’m not so heartless as to laugh at my family getting hurt, Father.”

“Damn it, next time I’ll have to fall so hard I float in the air…!”

“I don’t understand, Father. Putting aside that I wouldn’t laugh, what meaning could there be in that?”

“What kind of ten-year-old talks like an old man who’s seen the world? You should be asking for toys, fighting outside, skipping school.”

My father was always like that.

He urged me to deviate from the path my mother set and to find fun.

“And people should laugh like this!”

“Why should I laugh?”

“Because you’re happy when you laugh.”

“What does moving facial muscles have to do with happiness?”

“When you laugh, the people who love you become happy. Laughing isn’t for your own happiness but for those who love you. That’s why I try to make you laugh. To make myself happy.”

My father always tried to make others laugh. My mother, me, Rizel, and even his friends.

So he always seemed shallow, but he didn’t care at all. He said it was better than being feared.

“…But why am I always the target?”

Then my father patted my head and said this.

“Life is like a sentence, Raul. How beautiful the words are, how well-structured the sentence is, whether it’s a sentence that conveys a beautiful meaning. Worrying about that is no different from worrying about life.”

“Yes…?”

“You are the subject of my sentence, Raul.”

It was even more incomprehensible. Yet, something unknown trembled at those words. I don’t know what to call what exists beneath the skin.

Several years later.

After the Demon King began his invasion and it was decided I would go to the battlefield, my father was furious and stopped me.

“You’re not even married yet, what war are you talking about! Sacrificing yourself for this country, I can’t allow it!”

“Father. It’s already decided.”

“As your parent, I haven’t given permission, how can the empire send my son to his death! Those bastards only look for you when they need you and will throw you away like a rag when it’s inconvenient! A country that takes sacrifice for granted, like parasites!”

“…. It’s the country where Rizel lives.”

Still, my father held me back.

“No.”

“Those who will become family heads must always be prepared to sacrifice.”

“Then don’t do it! What’s a family head anyway!”

It was too out of character for a noble to say, making it even more incomprehensible.

“I want the subject of my life to be a happy Raul. Not Family Head Raul.”

“…. Father. I’ve already made up my mind.”

“Fine. If you don’t go, many will die. They are also many people’s sons. I know that but…”

My father still shook his head and wouldn’t let me go.

“My son is more precious to me. Even if they call me selfish. Raul, please…”

“Father. If I don’t go… if my friend dies because of my absence… I think I’ll never forgive myself.”

“…. Clever child. I knew it. Even knowing that, I tried to stop you just in case, but you never stray from expectations. Then promise me one thing.”

My father handed me a cloak made from his favorite coat and said this.

“Promise me you’ll come back and be happy. Promise me you’ll become a happy person who can laugh well.”

“… Yes. I’ll try.”

“Good.”

My father patted my shoulder.

“May your heart not break and make you give up everything.”

“I… made that promise with my father…”

That’s why I buried it.

“I couldn’t even keep my father’s deathbed…”

Afraid of the guilt of not keeping the promise. Too pathetic to understand my father’s kindness when I couldn’t even keep his deathbed.

Because I was the subject, being far from the period was too hard to bear.

For just that reason, I buried that reason and promise.

I must have been the worst son.

“I must be the worst son.”

“That’s what all children who have lost their parents say.”

Rather, recalling that promise made me look back and realize.

That I am not happy.

That fact was so obvious that the pain of breaking the promise hit hard.

“Do you now know what to write in the letter?”

“… Yes. It’s clear now.”

I tore up the five pages I had written so far, took out a new sheet, and wrote three sentences.

You inspired my life.

The fact that I could write a sentence, that I now want to give meaning to a sentence, is all thanks to you.

Thank you, Father.