Shuumatsu Nani Shitemasuka? Mou Ichido Dake, Aemasuka? Volume 1 Chapter 3 Part4

The act of tricking others carries with it a price.

Who pays the debt? Those who make it a career, of course. Wretched liars who excel at the shameful act of guiding others into performing deeds for their own selfish reasons.

If he had to admit it, Feodor was good at that. Although he had carefully planned out his actions to appear inconspicuous, or rather because he did, he was in the perfect position to act as slyly as he desired.

But all things have limits. As long as he continued to live, Feodor too would someday have to accept the punishment for his folly. His judgment would belong to him alone, and he would be helpless to escape it.

All of which is to say: Feodor had, in the most spectacular manner, caught a cold.

"Ugh…"

He felt as if the world was spinning and shaking apart all around him. Something clung to the inside of his throat; a heavy trickling thing that should not exist. Coc.o.o.ned deep within his bed, he slowly turned over. The world abruptly shuddered and realigned, but slipped back into its endless twisting collapse just as quickly. It was like he was lying down on one of those spinning plates one sees at carnivals.

Vaguely wondering if the entire island had in fact begun sinking already and he wasn't aware of it, Feodor reached for a thin tissue. He made a pathetic noise as he blew his nose, and tossed the newly mucus-laden missile in the general direction of a wastebin.

Of course, it missed.

Not even having enough energy to drag himself over and pick it up, Feodor closed his eyes, wrapped in a formless ma.s.s of chills and nausea. Drowsiness eventually crept in, claiming him.

He had a dream.

"…Well, there you have it. The world isn't as bad as you make it out to be…"

"…Trust me, Feo. I've been around longer than you, and seen more things…"

"Big… brother."

Feodor blearily blinked his eyes open, awoken by his own faint voice. There was a blurry outline hovering above him, somehow familiar and yet not. Who is that? "Is… is that you, Tiat…?"

"Nope, sorry."

His eyes gradually focused. The sun had long since set, and so his room was gloomy, only dimly lit by flickering lamps. Still, Feodor could make out pale purple hair gently swaying above him.

"…Panival?"

"Correct you are," she replied, her voice and expression distant. She squeezed water out of a dripping wet cloth with her slender fingers, then placed it on his forehead. The fresh cool sensation jolted Feodor's unresponsive brain, restoring to him the ability to think.

Panival Nox Katena. The equivalent soldier with the strangest personality. She went about her days at her own pace, without showing those around her any charm or affection. Even when the other three had free time, Feodor rarely ever saw her with them. It was difficult to understand what might be on her mind, even when he listened to her and observed her expressions.

Because of how difficult it could be to merely start a conversation with her, she was naturally distant from others. On the other hand, she had a mysterious quality of friendliness, to the point where she could sneak up alongside others before they noticed her and everyone accepted her peculiarities like it was only normal.

She, like Tiat and Collon, was expected to die on the battlefield in three months.

"Although it's not quite a reward for you getting it right, I do have a small meal prepared for you," Panival said. "How's your appet.i.te?"

She glanced at the table besides Feodor's bed. He followed her gaze to see a small basket there. Shakily propping himself up, he opened the basket to see little sandwich triangles packed into it.

"Lakish made it," Panival said by way of explanation. "Said something about it being 'an apology for earlier'? Oh, she cleaned and returned your jacket too."

"I see…" Feodor reached for one of the sandwiches, putting it into his mouth-

W-Woah?!

He jerked upwards, an euphoric sensation melting from the tip of his tongue all the way into his whole body. Even with his cold having neutered his tastebuds, Feodor could tell that it was extremely delicious; A delicate, mild taste shaped by caring hands, completely distinct from the bland meals he always ate in the mess hall. A meal created by a Leprechaun girl, made to be as suitable to an Imp's palate as possible. The fact that it was so delicious meant she fully understood his preferences.

Oh, d.a.m.n it all. He felt as if he'd lost, somehow.

"You know," Panival said conversationally, watching him wolf down the sandwich. "This is the first time I've seen you without your gla.s.ses. I must say that it does give you a very different impression."

Feodor looked away from the sandwiches to meet her scrutinizing look. That's right, I don't wear my gla.s.ses in bed. He mentally sighed, realizing the irritating position he'd gotten into.

It wasn't as if there was some trick or gimmick to the gla.s.ses themselves, of course. Rather, they served as Feodor's mental switch - the key to his self-hypnosis, so to speak. By concentrating on the fact that he was wearing them, he could maintain his act as a perfect model soldier.

Unless he didn't have anything in particular to think about while wearing his gla.s.ses, he could be confident that his faults wouldn't leak out and he could continue concealing his true nature. Conversely, when the gla.s.ses were removed, his true feelings and desires would easily show on his face.

"…I look naturally menacing, you know? I cover it up so I won't disturb other people." Feodor looked away, feeling his expression twist with annoyance. He took and bit into another sandwich. "Why're you here, anyway?"

"To take care of you," she replied easily. "At first the four of us were going to come, but we realized you'd get overexcited if we all crowded into your room. So we decided to choose by lottery, and I was the lucky person who ended up here."

Oh, I see. He appreciated their concern. As far as the results of the lottery went, he was secretly thankful for that as well; it was fortunate that the reasonable and quiet Panival was here instead of the loud and energetic Collon. It's not like I dislike her, but she would definitely have been much more exhausting to put up with.

"…I borrowed the key from the manager after telling them about your situation," Panival was saying. "Speaking of which, I've heard that you don't like having other people in your room."

"Oh, that? Well…" Feodor faked a vague laugh, still chewing on his sandwich. "…It's because it's such a mess. It's embarra.s.sing."

"You do certainly… seem to have some things lying around." She looked around his room, a tiny measure of shock making itself known even through her typically stoic face.

"Hah, don't stare too much." Feodor lightly scratched his cheek, making a face of embarra.s.sment. "It used to be a dorm room multiple people shared, but I guess it doesn't look like that now, does it? I recieved my own room as soon as I was promoted to Fourth Officer, and this is what I got. It's a pretty half-baked backstory, but-"

"Oh, I don't know about that. If I had to sum it up in a few words… it's a very calculated clutter, I guess? A forest that hides the trees." She laughed lightly. "You know, it's difficult to hide something in a place that's been tidied up before. If someone were to search your room, they'd find what they were looking for immediately."

He nodded vaguely, struggling to reach a third sandwich.

Then the full meaning behind her words. .h.i.t him. He froze, his mouth suddenly dry and his appet.i.te gone. "What are you…"

"While you were sleeping, I thought I might tidy up a bit. And looky looky, I found something veeery surprising!"

Feodor's heart lurched in his chest.

"Internal doc.u.ments belonging to the Winged Guard, confidential stuff that someone in your position shouldn't be aware of-"

The gears whirring in Feodor's mind abruptly s.h.i.+fted. His artfully manufactured and light expression befitting a humble Fourth Officer vanished as if by magic, replaced by a brutal and savage thing which leapt from beneath the broken sh.e.l.l. The glint in his eye sharply distorted into an animal-like rage and he bared his mouth, exposing his canines.

At the same time, his body moved. Forgetting that he should be almost incapacitated and bedridden by his high fever, Feodor sprang off his bed, sending his blanket flying, in the same motion grabbing at Panival. His fingers closed around her neck and he yanked her towards him.

Bang!

She yelped as he slammed her onto his bed. The lamps shook, and the world trembled.

"…Oh. I'm surprised," Panival mumbled dazedly. She was completely pinned with every limb unable to move. "That was quite a change. The way you moved aside, you attacked me when I wasn't on guard."

There wasn't any fear in her voice. Feodor couldn't tell if she was frightened or angry. She just looked up at him, blinking in pure amazement.

"…What do you know?!" Feodor snarled, lowering his face to hers, until their noses were almost touching and the only thing reflected in her eyes were his. "How much have you figured out?"

"What I've said." Panival coughed. "That's enough to know that you've been poking around the Winged Guard's most highly cla.s.sified information. I've also found out just now about your true face that n.o.body else knows about. Your upstanding behavior wasn't all bad, but…"

She smirked. "The Feodor I'm looking at right now has such a wild charm, you know? It's rather pleasant, if I do say so."

"Go to h.e.l.l." Feodor forced more power into his arms. Panival's face contorted with pain.

"Ah… that hurts." She took a slow breath. "Tiat and the others are very honest. They grew up straightforward, enveloped in affection and caring. That's why they're so absolutely blind to two-faced people, especially if such a person as much as smiles in their direction… but that's what I love about them, too."

"What are you trying to say? Out with it."

"That I feel just a little differently." Panival lightly tapped the back of his hand. Loosen up a little, she probably meant. Feodor ignored her, squeezing his hands even tighter. She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders: Oh, well.

"I think things like romance or puppy love… don't suit us. All those things are… traits that belong to races that can… create, raise offspring." She exhaled painfully. "We, who appear and disappear naturally… we can only fake it…"

"I don't care about that."

Exasperation entered her eyes. "You asked… 'What are you trying to say', yes? I'm… getting there." Panival inhaled another wispy gasp. "Tiat… holds deep affection for you. Lakish… respect and affection. Collon… is interested in you as well. Three members of my family… have had their hearts stolen by the boy you pretend to be. So my investigating you… is only the natural thing to do… don't you think…?"

…Such drivel.

Will it be blackmail, then? You want me to act the fool? Fine, I will. Want me to hide all this? I'll do it, by whatever means possible. On and on we'll go, until finally I must do something impossible. When I fail, you'll sell me out to the authorities without a second thought. That, above all else, is something I won't let happen.

Feodor Jessman is an Imp.

In the distant past, Imps were a race said to have the power to deceive, manipulate, and corrupt the hearts of the Emnetwyte with the power dwelling within their eyes. Common knowledge had it that they'd lost that ability over the past few centuries. In fact, among the Imps alive today who still have such power, it's been weakened to the point where it can't hold a candle to what their race was capable of in the past. Even the past extent of an Imp's power was long forgotten by the living.

Feodor tilted his head until the distance between them was so little that their foreheads practically touched each other. A strange light radiated from his eyes.

"You are my friend. Correct?"

"N-ngh…"

As a modern Imp, Feodor too had only inherited the feeble power incomparable to what his ancestors had wielded. It came with several restrictions: first, the area around him had to be dark enough that no excess light could dilute his own. Second, the victim had to be looking into his eyes at a distance so ridiculously close they could probably taste his breath.

Even once those irritating conditions were fulfilled, the result was disappointingly modest. He couldn't freely make his victim do whatever he wished them to. He could only plant small suggestions in their consciousness; in this instance, the suggestion to "Feel as if the person in front of you is a close ally."

"How am I supposed to use this thing?"

As a child, Feodor had often grumbled and complained to his parents about his power. He wanted something stronger, more flashy. If a power has no practical purpose, it's no different than not having one to begin with.

His brother-in-law had once tried his best to comfort him during one of these episodes. "It's the same for us forehead-eyed Stalla, our powers are all gone. But so what? Isn't that okay? A weak power means you don't have a need to use it, right? So in other words, even you Imps don't need to rely on your invasive powers anymore! You can make friends with just trust and honesty!"

It was a terrible argument, enough to make his mother and father break out into scornful laughter. Even so, back then Feodor had agreed with the logic. It was because he held such deep admiration for the individual he called "Big brother," who admitted that his power was gone with a wide smile, that Feodor could act as if that was true of himself as well.

Yes, back then, he had thought that would remain the case.

Enough time had pa.s.sed for Feodor to slowly take in a breath. He could never quite get used to his power. Chances to test it were always scarce, since he had no way of antic.i.p.ating what kind of result might occur. Consequently, he saw it as a last resort rather than an ace in the hole. If it was already all over for him anyway, Feodor decided that he had no reason not to at least give it a try. But…

I messed up.

If he was successful, he'd have known it for sure. Their locked eyes and shared gazes was supposed to inflict a sensation akin to a slide, where his will flowed into theirs. However, what Feodor sensed right now was a hollow sense of loss, similar to a tipped-over bucket on top of sand.

The disaster was entirely due to his own ill health. His loose concentration, unfocused vision, and gamble in conditions where success was already going to be difficult, all combined to create an inevitable result.

Is this where it ends for me? Right here, right now?

Feodor Jessman is an Elpis survivor. To make a long story short, he was the survivor of a country that was once Regul Aire's enemy in the past. In itself, that wasn't a huge problem. His ident.i.ty was recorded in the Winged Guard's register, so they would immediately learn that much just by looking at his file.

However, it was a entirely new matter if his suspicious actions within the Winged Guard were brought to light. To be an Elpis survivor was to be a Remnant of Elpis. As a survivor of a country who tried to destroy the world, he could be seen as someone who still endangered the world.

Moreover, the most troubling part of that interpretation was that it wasn't wrong. As a matter of fact, Feodor was alive now to put the world in danger. His fake mask of honesty, his successful career within the Winged Guard, was all devoted towards that singular purpose. And yet, to stumble at this point!

Do I still have a chance to escape? Feodor's mind working furiously, he eyed the door. How about I run away right now, all the way to Lyell? The path there is complicated, so it'd be difficult for those unfamiliar with it to as much as walk straight. They wouldn't be able to chase me easily.

…No. There's an easier way. He regarded the squirming Leprechaun under him. I can shut Panival's mouth right now. She's not a living being, anyway, so it hurts n.o.body if she dies to keep her silence. Isn't that a nice and convenient story?

He started tightening his fingers, bit by bit. Do it. Do it, Feodor. Everything will eventually disappear anyway, won't it? Just kill one person ahead of time. The tally of your sins won't change in the end.

Don't hesitate.

For the sake of your n.o.ble cause! For the world! FOR THE FUTURE! DO IT!

"…Can't… breathe…"

Panival groaned, unable to perform any other act of resistance. "Loosen… your grip… can't you, Feodor…?" Even before she finished, his grip was relaxing. "Little better… Mm, how should I say this… if we keep talking when our faces are so close… it's a little embarra.s.sing. If you could, why don't you back off a bit?"

Feodor took stock of their circ.u.mstances. They were atop a bed in a dark room, in a position where they were almost embracing each other. They were looking pa.s.sionately at one another, in a certain sense of the word, at a distance where the tips of their noses touched.

I see. Now that I notice it, it's true that this is a pretty compromising position. If someone were to walk in right now, they probably wouldn't listen to any excuses I had to offer.

"If you want to take my lips first… well, it's not as if the thought never crossed my mind…"

"Can it with the jokes." Feodor poked Panival's forehead with a finger, moving off her.

"Hmm?" Panival gave him a mildly confused look. "Did I joke?"

She stood up, stretching her body and smoothening her ruffled clothes. While she ma.s.saged her neck, Feodor moved away to sit on the edge of his bed, which creaked under his weight.

"If my morals were to lapse because of my relations.h.i.+p with you and the others, then I'd be the one taking responsibility for it. I've been pretending to be a model soldier with stainless morals up to now, so I don't want any annoying rumors about this. Besides…"

What in the world am I saying?

Feodor didn't understand what he was doing. Not only had he lost the opportunity to keep Panival permanently quiet, she was out of his control now. The likelihood of him being caught immediately if he was to escape now rose with every pa.s.sing second. Altogether, Feodor likely didn't have a future in the army anymore.

Even so, he couldn't help but keep talking. "I hate people who don't treasure themselves."

"Ah… I see. That's understandable." For whatever reason, Panival cracked a grin. "That said, even if it's not strictly a problem in a military disciplinary sense to commit an ever-so-slightly perverted act against a fellow soldier and subordinate under your command and then back out at the last moment, it would be a different matter if it were to affect weapon performance…"

"You're supposed to be a first-cla.s.s equivalent soldier, aren't you? Why don't you hurry up and start following the rules as soldiers?"

Panival laughed. "I see, I see! Both sides of you are the same in that regard, huh? So that's what you're really like?"

"Not particularly. I'm not saying it out of any sense of ethics or morality. It's just easier to keep up appearances that way."

"Coming from you, that's probably true." She covered her giggles with a hand, but didn't attempt to get near him. "I feel like I'm finally seeing underneath that mask now. You're - how shall I put it - you're honest, but you aren't straightforward."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're likeable. If this is your real face, then I can trust you to keep my precious family safe. In the end, that's good enough to me."

"…What the h.e.l.l?" Feodor couldn't accept such a ridiculous statement "Don't spew garbage. You saw it earlier, didn't you? The kind of secret ident.i.ty I'm hiding?"

"Oh, I certainly did. You surprised me." Panival nodded. "I had no idea you had such unbelievable fangs behind that kindhearted smile of yours."

"I'm a dangerous person. Haven't you realized that?!"

"Oh, I suppose. I can see all kinds of chaos kicking off if the military police ever learned about this side of you."

"If you understand, then…" Feodor rubbed his head. Now that he wasn't in a life-and-death fight anymore, the specter of exhaustion was creeping up on him. "Why aren't you more afraid of me?"

"Because I haven't heard your story yet," Panival said. "What is it you want? What are you trying to do? What kind of person are you at the end of the day, to come this far while hiding your ident.i.ty all the while? There's so much I want to learn about you, and I won't be able to reach a conclusion about whether or not I should be wary of you until I know everything."

"Ah, so that's it. Alright." He nodded. He felt as if something about that logic was twisted somewhere, but he wasn't sure how or where. In all the fuss, it seemed that the heat of his fever had returned, and his thoughts were struggling to keep up with his mouth. "Well, I… I've been investigating the mystery of the secret weapons through all the years I've spent here. The Winged Guard's trump card that they continuously used to stop each and every invasion from the Teimerre."

"You mean us."

"Yes. So it seems. I've finally found what I've been searching for.."

His thoughts kept on swirling in his mind as it teetered on the brink of shutting down, around and over and under and around and over ceaselessly. Himself, his past, his goals, things that n.o.body should be aware of.

But Panival was involved, and that meant she should have the right to know, didn't it? He couldn't hide it from her because Panival was involved - or was it the other way around, and he should conceal the truth because of that exact reason?

"I will unravel the mystery of the secret weapons," Feodor went on, not sure if he was talking to himself or to the person in front of him. "I must obtain one as – as soon as possible, and use it to…"

He breathed in, out, in, out. This accursed heat muddles me so!

"To achieve my goal…"

He shook. His heart raced. He took in one last huge breath.

"My goal to sink Regul Aire."

Feodor's body, which he had forced to move through sheer adrenaline long past its regular limits, finally gave out. Like a gigantic tree chopped down at the roots by an axe, he ungracefully collapsed onto his bed.

"…How bothersome. I feel so very heavy."

"You've been pus.h.i.+ng yourself, huh? At least cover yourself properly." He felt Panival's arms push him down as he struggled to rise, followed by the soft embrace of the blanket that had been sent flying earlier. "You've probably carried a lot of burdens throughout your life, so I can't claim to know your feelings. At the least, I do respect them. For now…"

Her cold hands stroked Feodor's forehead.

"For now, you seem very tired. Just rest without thinking about anything."

"…I'm…" He thought he was supposed to protest. "I'm the one who's supposed to be older. Don't treat me like a child."

"Hah, patients are patients regardless of how old they are. Isn't doing this kind of stuff fine, every once in a while?"

Is it okay? He thought it might be okay. Her hands might be cold, but they felt pleasant somehow. Feeling good is good. Probably.

Feodor closed his eyes. His consciousness was sinking, pulling him down below his pillow.

"Now then."

A dispa.s.sionate, yet kind, voice whispered to him from somewhere.

"Since the mischief we got up to didn't amount to much, why don't we call what just happened a isolated event?"

Something new touched his forehead, warm yet cold. Feodor, already slipping into a dream, was far past the point of knowing what it was.

Feodor never had good dreams when he was delirious and had a high fever. It was just something he had come to expect.

There was a theory about why that might be. If he understood it correctly, his brain was to blame for his suffering. It rooted through his memories, studying them for anything that could lead to absolution for the deceit he wrought in reality. It was the same theory as the so-called Revolving Lantern: if he continued to have nightmares, the underlying reason might be that there was actually some way to resolve his problems hidden within a painful memory.

Not that it mattered. Feodor didn't know whether or not the theory could be confirmed, and understanding it wasn't likely to suddenly bring positivity into his life. To him, who was currently having a nightmare here and now, the knowledge was poor comfort.

In his dream, he was on the 13th Floating Island.

In reality the Floating Island was annihilated long ago, but in his dream it continued to exist. Here prospered the Elpis Mercantile Federation, a long-established city of vain and wealthy merchants so skilled at flaunting money it was almost instinctive.

Their influence made it a very rich country indeed. The nouveau riche populated the upper residential area, indulging in ostentatious habits so widespread that it could only be seen as a world utterly divorced from the other sections of Elpis. Here were pointlessly wide roads large enough for airs.h.i.+ps to float through rather than carriages, surrounded by overly large mansions that competed with one another to have the flas.h.i.+est exterior possible. Feodor found it all very unsightly.

His greatest displeasure, however was that his house was located right next to this district. If he wanted to go anywhere or meet anyone, he had to cross that ghastly street.

"Feodor, d'you hate yer home?"

Someone was suddenly there in front of him, asking him a question. This girl… right. She's the fiancee my parents chose for me.

Five years had pa.s.sed since that day. However, the girl in his dreams remained as young as she was when he last saw her. She had furry limbs, a tail, and cat-like ears sprouting from the top of her head. The age-old features of a half-Ayrantropos.

More than wherever I happen to live, I hate all the creatures that call themself markless.

Back then, he had replied with that. And her response was…

"Even if yer markless too?"

"…Yes, even though I'm markless as well."

She had considered that, and then asked something else.

"What 'bout me?"

Her ears had twitched and slightly jerked. Since they had been acquaintances for a while now, he immediately noticed the appearance of her nervous habit.

"No matter how I look at you, you're more like one of the beast races."

"Then d'you like me?"

"Regardless of whether I hate or like you, I don't think it's good to have such a simplistic way of thinking."

"Then… d'you hate me?"

What kind of choice was that?

"Okay! There's yer homework! Please think 'bout it till we meet again!"

That's right. She'd had that funny little quirk. Whenever they'd met, she would always make Feodor promise her something before they parted. Sometimes she wanted him to read a book on some topic, or she wanted him to get a present to exchange with her own. Or if they had to stop in the middle of a board game, she'd declare, "Next time! We're gonna keep going next time!"

That's why even if meeting with her all the time could get a little annoying, he still had fun.

"Regarding the plan, it's been decided that we'll move soon."

The scene changed.

He recognized it as a moment that had happened one night after eating dinner with his family. His brother-in-law, looking strangely nervous, was talking to Feodor alone.

"Very soon now, we - the Elpis National Defense Force - will do something extremely dangerous and utterly unforgivable. However, it's absolutely vital that we do this, for the sake of Elpis. No, for the future of Regul Aire itself!"

"That's… quite the overstatement," the Feodor in his memories replied, sounding bored.

"Hah, it might sound like one. But it's a very serious matter, trust me."

His brother-in-law spoke without a twinge of hesitation or doubt in his a.s.sertions. "We don't have to keep getting protected. Right now, Regul Aire is satisfied handing off all the battles with the Beasts to the Winged Guard alone. We've forgotten just how terrifying the Beasts are, and that's more frightening than anything else. Patience has turned into haste, and respect has turned into arrogance!"

Feodor's brother-in-law grew more and more agitated. "That's why we must remind them of the threat of the Beasts once more, in a way where blood isn't spilt as much as possible! If we can do that, then everybody will remember to be grateful for the Winged Guard! And they'll realize that we can't keep relying on our hidden fangs forever, too."

What he said was a bit too complicated for the young Feodor to grasp. What he knew was that his brother-in-law was talking about a task that he found to be equally difficult, righteous, and compelling.

"Why… why are you trying so hard?"

Back then, Feodor despised the group his brother was part of. They were comprised of races that hated and discriminated against the markless, races that only lived with their own species and chased away any outsiders.

Feodor didn't think there was much reason or sense in risking the future for their sake. Moreover, his amazing older brother-in-law didn't need to be putting himself in danger.

"Shouldn't you be living for something far more important and precious than some big goal?"

His brother-in-law had smiled. "That's different for everybody. Oftentimes you find something more valuable than your own life. That's exactly why the person who discovers such a thing is so very fortunate. I just happen to be one of those happy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds of Regul Aire, ahaha!"

His teeth glinted when he laughed. Feodor couldn't see the humor in what he was saying.

"…I don't get it."

"Oh, er… what I'm trying to say is… to tell the truth, there's this bunch in our government, a faction of merchants. It sickens me to say it, but they've turned against our plan. They've spread false information about what we're going to do and taken some of our airs.h.i.+ps to other regions for their own reasons. Thanks to the c.r.a.p they're pulling, I'll probably have to go down with the s.h.i.+p if I fail…"

His brother-in-law trailed off into a grumble, and now Feodor could understand. It was typical for someone like his brother to talk so casually about the possibility of having to abandon everything.

"…Still, can a corps commander like you really be beaten by some selfish jerk holding a wallet?"

It'd only been an unconcerned mumble, but his brother-in-law made a troubled face when he heard Feodor.

"Come now, don't go and say that now…"

The scene changed.

"I HATE you, Feodor!"

That girl was yelling at him. Two years had pa.s.sed since their first meeting. He was twelve then, and she was nine.

That's right, he remembered. That was the day we had a fight. I can't remember what it was about now. Something trivial. What type of sauce we put on our omelettes? Or what brand of candy we preferred?

It was the usual story. They were a couple who got along, and therefore they misread the lines that shouldn't be crossed. But, as they came to learn, that kind of thing was a normal rite of pa.s.sage for friendly couples. The next time they met, they'd make up and get just a bit friendlier with each other. As such, the distance created by fights naturally shrunk.

"I dun wanna see yer stupid face 'ver again!"

She'd run off, leaving those words behind. The Feodor of that time wasn't concerned at all. This sort of squabble was far from uncommon for them. Whether or not it was backlash from not being spoiled by her real family, she often said selfish things to him. Her mood rapidly soured if he couldn't find the answer she wanted, but she was quick to cheer up again. It reminded him of a kitten he'd seen once.

At any rate, both of their families were coming together to hold an elegant dinner party the next week. She'd have to meet with him face-to-face again there, even if she didn't like it.

Should I secretly bring over a cake for her? One with strawberries and lots of cream, the way she likes it? That'll definitely fix her mood right away.

Whatever gets her to show me her usual smile.

Though he acted nonchalant, his thoughts were a different story. And so he let her escape, without saying "Let's meet again" or reminding her about the promise of what he'd do the next time they got back together.

He never even thought about the possibility that he would come to regret it.

"Starting now, we shall hold the execution of the wicked monster who hath guided the world unto destruction!"

The scene changed.

He was gathered in a plaza among a crowd. A cow-headed beastman was roaring, his loud voice melting into the screams of the crowd listening to him. In the center of the plaza a special executioner's platform had been installed. Although it was clearly made in a hurry, a.s.sembled with wooden planks and hastily painted, it looked oddly impressive as it sparkled strangely in the sunlight.

Atop that platform, restrained and unconscious, was a single Stalla man.

Who is that? Feodor vaguely felt as if he knew the man very well. Though he had seen his face less often ever since the man became involved with the Defense Force, he still returned home often enough for Feodor to see his face almost daily. Yes, he could almost recognize the man.

But he couldn't say it out loud. Because if he did, then it'd be true.

The one up there was his brother-in-law. Prideful, strong, clever, always br.i.m.m.i.n.g with righteousness and confidence. Someone who'd had expectations thrown at him and proved he could match what was expected of him. His amazing brother-in-law, who he loved and idolized enough to make other people ask "Does such a wonderful guy really exist?"

He was the one who did this?

There was no way for Feodor to believe it.

His brother-in-law was a criminal now, covered in bruises and scorned by the public? Someone who attracted crowds in a plaza to drown him in hatred and curses?

This is… truly a disgusting spectacle.

"This fiend," the cow-headed beastman shouted, "broke Regul Aire's greatest, perhaps ultimate taboo! He exposed the soil of Collinadiluche, a friendly nation, to UNPRECEDENTED DANGER! We will purify his unforgivable sin with blade and flame! We pray that we may cast his depraved soul to the all-healing sky above!"

The crowd shrieked and howled with rage, hanging on to his every word. According to what he said, the offender, whose face and name Feodor refused to know, had willingly defied one of the most important laws in Regul Aire's charter by bringing a dangerous Beast into the floating islands. It rampaged through a nearby city, killing many citizens, until ultimately being subjugated by the work of the Winged Guard. However, the lives lost could never be returned.

So this is an unforgivable sin?

"NOW, PURIFICATION TEAM!" Cow-head raised and waved the huge flag he had been holding. "FOOOOORWARD MAAAARCH!"

Soldiers entered the plaza, moving in perfect coordination. They were clad in yellow robes, golden ceremonial armor, and helmets. In their hands were specialized lethal weapons attached to long poles: an axe, spade, scythe, and lance, edged tools symbolizing each of the four types of purification. Instead of a weapon, the final soldier carried a blazing torch.

The enraged cries emitting from the crowd now gained enthusiastic delight.

What is this?

What… the h.e.l.l… is this?!

Feodor covered his face with both hands, but his eyes remained wide open. He peeked through his fingers, hurriedly trying to both memorize the person on the executioner's platform and what was about to happen to him.

"Oftentimes you find something more valuable than your own life."

"That's exactly why the person who discovers such a thing is so very fortunate."

The words he'd heard that day echoed in his head, over and over. His brother-in-law was always right. He would never betray his own words. He protected the things he wanted to right up to the end. Feodor knew that, he knew that.

That's why he understood him now. His brother-in-law had decided to throw his life away for the sake of those most important to him. The execution about to happen before his eyes was something his brother-in-law had already accepted for himself. It was the just thing to do.

If this is just, then I must accept it too.

No matter how outrageous it was, no matter how much rage it filled him with, out of respect for what his brother-in-law had done, Feodor could not make his resolve be in vain.

"FIRST BLADE! PRESENT WEAPOOOOON!"

The first soldier walked out and jabbed his large lance straight upwards into the blue sky. The crowd exulted with delight.

Their noise, their joy, their cheers, pushed Feodor over his limit. The world boiled over.

The world his big brother tried to save. The world his big brother had been protecting.

Big brother!

Feodor screamed, soundlessly and uselessly.

The soldier lowered his lance and stabbed it ruthlessly into the chest of the person restrained on the platform-

"Big brother!"

Feodor woke up to the sound of his own screams. Gasping, he grabbed his chest. His heart pounded loudly in his ears.

Ahh… even though my screams woke me up, I already feel a little calmer. I'm almost impressed by my own don't-give-d.a.m.n att.i.tude.

Probably because of how long he'd been sleeping, the symptoms of his cold were mostly calmed down now. The nausea and urge to vomit he felt now came from somewhere else.

What a nostalgic dream.

Nostalgic it might have been, but none of those scenes were ones I ever wanted to see again.

It wasn't as if Feodor had forgotten about the past. He'd carry it with him as long as he'd lived. But that was that and this was this. If he remembered everything like he just did, then obviously he would also remember the pain of that moment.

Feodor bitterly swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. It slid down slowly with the peculiar taste characteristic to a person with a cold.

"…I know." Feodor spoke to thin air. "I know, okay?"

He couldn't so easily find what his brother had spoken of, that thing more precious than his own life.

"That's exactly why the person who discovers such a thing is so very fortunate."

His big brother was always right. He accepted his death, remaining true to his ideals.

Feodor knew that, and yet he couldn't help but wonder about what he could have done. If I'd begged him to not die, would he have listened to me? If that happened, would the future be changed, even just a little?

Five years had pa.s.sed since that Beast attack, now commonly known as the Elpis Incident. It first began with the attack on the great city of the 11th Floating Island. The damage of that incident had been barely contained, and politically was labeled an aggressive act caused by the chaotic decisions of the Elpis National Defense Force's commander - Feodor's brother-in-law. The matter was officially settled by his execution.

After that, n.o.body trusted the nation of Elpis anymore on the stage of diplomacy. As the citizens rioted practically every day, even famous merchants pretended to be unknown as they moved their businesses at a shocking rate to other cities. These days, too, didn't last for long. Half a year later, the nation of Elpis was melted away along with the entirety of the 13th Floating Island by the Materno, Smothering and Enveloping Fifth Beast. It was said that the Beast had been secretly captured by Elpis's former leader and broke out in the chaos when they fled the nation.

In that span of time, Feodor Jessman lost everything. His family. His friends. His fortune. All his connections with people he might have wanted to see again.

"Brother… you found what you wanted to protect. That might have brought you happiness." Feodor said. He clenched his fists, unbearable feelings welling up within him. "But I can't bring myself to accept that choice, even now."

He was about to swing his fist down - anywhere he could punch would be fine - when his eyes fell upon something indistinct on his bedside table. Lighting his lamp, he saw a new lunch basket there.

As he opened it, he saw that it was jammed full of sandwiches, much more misshapen than the earlier ones. He hadn't noticed it before because of the cold stuffing up his nose, but for some reason, a mysterious and terrible odor wafted from the sandwiches.

What is… this…?

A folded-up card accompanied the food. Mindlessly picking up a sandwich and putting it in his mouth, Feodor read the message written on the card.

"Hurry up and get better!"

The handwriting on the message was slightly crooked, and as he inspected the letter closer, he noticed ink smudges on the edge of the paper.

As he looked at it, he could somehow imagine a figure of a green-haired girl holding her head, worrying about what to write. "It's too carefully written," he could see her moaning. "And what if he misunderstands it? No, that's so possible!"

So did her handwriting become untidy on purpose? What a childlike way to think.

Feodor bit into the sandwich. An indescribable bitterness flooded the inside of his mouth. Fermented food meant for beastmen. Disgusting, but the kind of flavor one could get used to.

"Now listen here…"

Tears of unknown origin dripped and fell from his face.

It's probably - no, definitely - because of this ridiculously overwhelming flavor. That has to be it. There's no other reason… no other reason for me to be crying now.

"I told you before… when you eat this stuff… be careful how much you use…"