Chapter 397

Sometimes people get the wrong idea. They think I’m showered with love from Chaos.

Well, to break it down, it’s true in a sense. I can dote on my cherished toys too, right?

Anyway, aside from the love I supposedly receive from Chaos, I don’t have a clue how to use Divine Power.

Rize mentioned she’d teach me before, but who knows? With all the craziness going on, it got sidelined.

Maybe she simply forgot, or perhaps she genuinely hasn’t had the time; I’m not really sure.

So when Hector asked for help, I was as clueless as a baby deer on ice. I mean, Hector probably knows more about Divine Power than I do.

“…You don’t know?”

When I uttered that I couldn’t help, Hector’s face went all shocked and lost.

I get where he’s coming from; Ragnarok is Hector’s symbol and the king’s weapon, after all.

But that very weapon is rejecting its owner. To be precise, it’s the power of Chaos refusing him.

Why? I have no clue. But this much I can say:

“I know the God of Chaos dislikes me. But I can’t figure out why.”

“Humm…”

“Are there truly no leads?”

Hector is currently wandering around. He doesn’t have a clear direction and ends up being a jack of all trades, master of none.

Could it be that he has the kind of nature Chaos loves? You might say that. But it’s not that simple.

Chaos is, quite literally, a God that thrives on chaos. It doesn’t want separated beings like water and oil; it seeks total unity.

Just look at me. Even with demon blood in my veins, I clearly have one ‘color’ defining me.

Karas, who has thoughts akin to Lucky Stalin, is the same. He embodies chaos itself but maintains a strong identity as a lord.

And Hector? He might have the potential of a king, but he’s yet to establish an identity. It’s like saying he’s as distinguishable as water is from oil.

For Chaos, that’s not a good sign. It’s like a double standard, and if I were to liken him to an animal, he’d be a bat.

“Well, I guess it makes sense since he’s only recently founded a nation.”

As I mentioned earlier, there are tribal chiefs who harbor dissatisfaction with the current policies in Tartar.

Just like the elder I met days ago said, they’re a generation that grew up with only the light of glory, facing no shadows.

For Hector, that sounds like a headache, but he likely knows it too—the law has always favored the strong.

Yet if it goes that way, he also knows it means Tartar would regress back to its tribal days. That’s one heck of a dilemma.

“Then why… is my daughter?”

“Hmm?”

“Kara can hold it just fine. Could it be that she received the blessing of Chaos?”

At that question, I glanced at Kara. She seemed puzzled too, crossing her arms in curiosity.

It’s probably less that she received Chaos’s blessing and more that she simply isn’t rejected by it. At least Kara has found her ‘identity.’

From her entrance into the Academy, she has faced constant discrimination as a barbarian and has strongly rebelled against it.

But since I met her, that’s changed. She began quietly establishing her identity while understanding others.

Thanks to that, the discrimination against Kara being a barbarian has noticeably decreased. Now she’s just an ordinary student.

“It’s similar.”

“Um… Have I ever offended the God of Chaos?”

“Yes.”

“What, what did I do?”

Maybe he wants something to cling to, as Hector hurriedly asked after my positive answer.

I blinked a few times and responded bluntly, recalling that moment.

“I punched him.”

“…What?”

“It could have made me a little hateable back then?”

“Ugh…”

Given that there’s a definite record of that, Hector didn’t bother trying to explain himself. Or perhaps he couldn’t.

Of course, back then, Chaos probably pitied Hector. Traditionally, it reaches out towards the lost souls.

Even now, it’s somewhat of a ‘test.’ If Hector establishes his identity, he could wield Ragnarok with pride.

“Ha… So, in the end, there’s no sharp solution?”

“There is.”

“There is?”

“Yeah.”

“You just said I couldn’t be helped earlier, though?”

Helping directly is tough. But I can assist indirectly.

I stared at the questioning Hector and quietly opened my mouth.

“You have concerns, don’t you?”

“Concerns? Like not being able to wield Ragnarok…”

“Not that. I mean, about yourself.”

“…What?”

At my words, Hector paused. His face slowly stiffened.

His expression asked how I knew, and the atmosphere grew heavy.

Since ancient times, people are typically angered when their inner thoughts are revealed. Yet Hector didn’t react that way.

“…Is that also something known by the God of Chaos?”

“Rize told me.”

“Rize… Ah, the Saintess. I met her when I was little. I wonder how she’s doing nowadays?”

“She’s doing great.”

“Good.”

As Hector said that, he glanced at Kara.

Upon sensing the meaning behind his gaze, Kara nodded and stepped outside.

When she went out, she placed a hand on my shoulder. It felt like she believed in me.

“…You.”

“Yeah?”

Though he suddenly switched to informal speech, it didn’t seem to bother Hector.

He looked at me intently, then sighed deeply and opened his mouth, making me feel like a counselor facing a client.

“Do you know how scary death is?”

“I do.”

“I’ve used my shield of pride and honor to overcome death. Particularly when stepping forth as a warrior.”

That’s how most warriors are. They use pride and honor to trample down the fear of death.

Or they might die to protect their country, or fight for justice against evil, and so on.

Some may regard pride and honor as worthless, but they hold immense importance in society.

Even if soldiers are underpaid, if they receive respect, they’re willing to sacrifice themselves for their country.

Even so, being a soldier isn’t a popular profession. It’s because they’re closest to ‘death’ compared to any other profession.

“I was strong, and countless enemies knelt before me. At that time, death wasn’t something I feared. It was simply accepted as part of life.”

“Me too.”

“But after losing my wife and stepping up as king, everything changed. The death of my wife became a significant terror for me.”

Hector spoke, his face darkening with an unfamiliar gloom.

“Death isn’t honorable; it’s fleeting.”

“…True.”

“And it’s irresponsible. Because death is a burden carried by the living.”

Someone once said that death can be a refuge.

But if one escapes their responsibilities, someone else will bear immense sorrow and losses.

Even in religion, death is a hard topic to tackle. Even if a God is present, that God doesn’t reveal the world beyond death.

“I used overwhelming force to prevent conflicts between tribes. Thanks to that, I was able to establish Tartar.”

“…I see.”

“Even after becoming king, I’ve put in my best efforts, but… it hasn’t been easy either.”

Hector confided in me lengthy stories. After realizing the ‘true fear’ of death, nothing seemed simple any longer.

As a king, he must protect his people, but having been a warrior for a long time makes that tough.

The chiefs expressing dissatisfaction? He knows their feelings well and can’t provide definite answers.

“I waged war claiming I didn’t want to spill blood, yet I ended up spilling tremendous amounts of it. I despise the title of the Destruction King.”

“That sounds admirable.”

“Admirable…? I used to think so. Until I lost my wife.”

Hector wore a bittersweet smile. He seemed to have been a hopeless romantic, contrary to appearances.

“Having my hands stained with that much blood, now I should simply close my mouth and not shed any more? Isn’t that absurd? Just because I’m a king?”

“…Yeah.”

“I am a warrior. A warrior who understands the value of honor and pride. But I have also keenly observed the shadows that hide behind them.”

Hector sighed, looking wearied.

“Can someone like me ever truly become a proper king? A warrior who fears death?”

“That’s all nonsense…”

“Is that so…? What?”

When a curse slipped from my mouth, Hector reacted with a dumbfounded expression.

Honestly, I don’t really know the difference between a king and a warrior. I’ve led a life far removed from those concepts.

It was the same when I lived on Earth. I could listen to Hector’s tale, but it’s hard to empathize.

The only thing I can relate to is the fear of death, perhaps? I too fear that the ones left behind would grieve.

“Hector.”

“Speak.”

“You’re neither king nor warrior.”

In situations like this, there’s just one thing needed.

“You’re simply kind of soft.”

That was a heavy dose of reality.

*****

-Keeek

While Kara had been pacing outside, she turned her head at the sound of the door opening.

When she looked, a very familiar face came into view. The same guy who always wears a blank expression.

He had shifted from the pale skin to a sun-kissed tone, but his features were still sharp.

“Sivar? Finished your talk?”

“Yeah.”

“No need to go in?”

Sivar nodded. He needed some time to sort out his thoughts, that’s the gist.

Hearing that, Kara glanced at my office and continued on.

“You wouldn’t tell me what you talked about, would you?”

“Not right now. Later, I bet Hector will fill you in.”

“Right? Then let’s get going.”

“Where to?”

“Where else?”

Kara grinned mischievously and said to Sivar in a flirty tone.

“With the weather being hot, we ought to jump into some cool water, don’t you think?”

“Uh…”

“I’ve even got your clothes ready, so let’s hurry.”

“Okay.”

Sivar, empty-headed, got dragged along by Kara. They looked sweetly close.

As they passed by, onlookers stole glances at them but didn’t stare overtly.

After all, it’s common knowledge that Kara is quite the carefree person. It was just a little closer than usual this time.

“…”

Meanwhile, Hector, hit squarely with the heavy dose of reality, sported a dazed expression for a while.

His lips parted slightly, gazing upwards as if his soul had escaped.

But while his expression was blank, his eyes were still sharp and alert.

‘Soft…’

Being told that by no one other than Sivar, who not long ago had been treated like a wildling, felt incredibly humiliating.

I mean, seriously, it feels like all pride as a human has been squashed underfoot.

Especially since he was also inferior in strength—it felt like his life had been outright denied.

But it didn’t feel bad. Perhaps because both his body and mind had already been trampled down.

‘…He’s got guts.’

Since ancient times, wise ‘kings’ tend to think this way when they recognize someone better than them.

‘Could I bring him to Tartar?’

Hector’s thoughts drifted toward wanting to recruit him as a talent.

In truth, thoughts of being a king or a warrior didn’t cross his mind. Such musings had long faded away.

‘Now that I think about it, there are many cases of that happening.’

Hector closed his mouth and rose from his seat.

Then he began rifling through the books piled high in his office one by one.

‘Not this. Not this either… Where’s it? Should I check the library?’

Unexpected curiosity piqued within him.

He had no idea yet.

-The rune

Ragnarok, which lay atop his desk, vibrated ever so slightly.

---