Ch.105Ideal (6)

“It was more of an excuse, really.”

That was the first thing the old man said to me after Isra left with a disgruntled expression, giving him a fierce look.

“Of course, this is just between us men, but I’m not trying to have any serious conversation like you might have thought.”

If I were an irritable person, I might have snapped at him here, embarrassing him by saying I was busy and asking if he really needed to hold me up like this.

But I wasn’t that kind of hysterical person. Rather, I was quite the opposite.

Being practically the embodiment of generosity, I graciously nodded.

“There are things that can only be discussed between men, aren’t there? You don’t seem particularly uncomfortable around women, but still, there are things one can’t say to a lady.”

He’s talking more than usual. Is this really not something important?

Besides, what the old man was saying now would never have made it as dialogue in the game, had this still been a game—it was only acceptable because the times and world were different.

If there had been talk of gender or discrimination, the Mourner character might have been cut entirely.

Perhaps that’s why I felt strange, having found yet another piece of evidence confirming this world wasn’t a game.

Though I suppose it wouldn’t have made much difference if it were.

Moreover, what the old man said was partly true.

Although living with my sister meant I wasn’t uncomfortable around women, I couldn’t say I was completely at ease with them either.

While I wasn’t uncomfortable with women, most of my friends throughout my life had been men.

Among them was even a strange fellow who was remarkably oblivious to women’s affections, to the point where he didn’t even realize when he was being confessed to.

Fortunately, I’m not that clueless.

“That’s true. There are things we can talk about because we’re both men.”

“Hmm, that’s what I mean. Though it’s nothing special…”

“It’s fine. Speak freely.”

“Thank you. Well then…”

As I sat down, the Mourner took a seat beside me.

A brief silence fell. During that time, I observed him.

I don’t know his name.

He looks like a typical barbarian warrior, though I know it’s a kind of disguise.

A middle-aged man with long gray hair—white mixed with darker strands—blinking his black eyes.

Anyone would see him as an old, weathered barbarian warrior, which showed how much effort he put into his barbarian cosplay.

As evidence, not many people knew he was a Mourner.

My sister, Melody, me, Isra, Lorian, Ortemilia, and the Black Knight.

Everyone else believed he was just a barbarian warrior.

Perhaps it was because his cultural identity was from the Northern Tribal Alliance. His cosplay was perfect.

The barbarian warrior profession wasn’t that different from a Mourner anyway.

Their role classes were quite similar too.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you from the Northern Tribal Alliance, old man?”

“Hmm, that’s right.”

The old man gave a bitter smile. Beyond that smile, I could see a faint happiness.

It was the expression people show when reminiscing about the past.

“Where exactly are you from?”

“You wouldn’t know even if I told you. It’s not a well-known place…”

His nostalgia was gradually turning into pain. Seeing the sorrow clearly settling on his face, I realized what was happening.

The old man is a Mourner.

Mourners are born from their first act of mourning. They become what they are after having everything in their lives completely stripped away.

And if he’s from the Northern Tribal Alliance…

I recalled Isra’s past that I’d heard about recently.

The story of the Frost Tracker tribe, where three clans had to choose death as the Empire pushed in.

A common tragedy. A painful memory that could be heard anywhere. Something that every human living in the north had probably experienced at least once.

But being common didn’t diminish its tragic nature. Rather, it was tragic precisely because it was so common.

I looked at the old man with a bitter expression. I could anticipate what he was about to say.

But I didn’t interrupt him. Sometimes wounds need to be spoken aloud to heal.

Perhaps reading my demeanor, the old man soon began to trace through a past he had never shared before.

“As you guessed, I’m from a village that belonged to the Northern Tribal Alliance. But it was such a small village that it’s debatable whether we truly belonged.”

The old man laughed awkwardly. He stared blankly into space as he continued his story.

“We just happened to be in the north, so we were considered part of it. The village simply enjoyed the venison that was given to us as new members of the Alliance. We didn’t have much for feasts, so we just drank, enjoyed ourselves, and went to sleep to prepare for the next day’s work.”

Despite his words, he seemed to miss those simple gatherings that barely qualified as feasts. He held his aching knee and gave a bitter smile.

“Life wasn’t difficult. The north is harsh land, but we were close to the south, so there was plenty of game and herbs. As the village hunter, I regularly led the men on hunting trips.”

A hunter? He didn’t look like one. The old man’s body had an unmistakably burly appearance.

I wondered if he really had the same profession as Isra.

“Don’t look at me like that. I used to have a nimble body like Isra’s. It’s just… when I came to my senses as a Mourner, I had become like this.”

Only then did I realize that the past he was speaking of was quite distant.

Well, if so much time had passed, it’s natural that he would have changed a lot.

“We were just busy with day-to-day survival, but we were happy. My daughter was growing up well, and she was starting to find it annoying to talk with me. She used to declare that someday she would go south and bring back a noble groom from the Empire.”

The old man closed his eyes. Beneath his happy expression, a sense of loss was simultaneously felt.

If only that had happened. I had the illusion of hearing words that weren’t spoken.

It was sorrowful. As I closed my mouth bitterly, the old man sighed.

“If only that had happened, I wouldn’t have regrets.”

“What happened?”

“It was a common occurrence. There was a noble in the Empire advocating for northern conquest, and young, spirited men were desperate to achieve merit.”

I could vaguely imagine the scene he was witnessing.

The village horizon, dust rising along the plains where the forest didn’t reach.

The sound of horns echoing from afar, and people panicking and running in confusion.

The Empire’s knights approaching them.

“The Northern Tribal Alliance had unified vast territories. That became their undoing. They weren’t skilled enough at defense to protect their people in time.”

“So…”

“I went to fetch the Alliance’s soldiers. The village had almost no horses, just pack animals at best. When I returned with help, nothing remained.”

With a bitter smile, he clenched his fist like a boulder, then opened it.

In his downcast eyes, a faint hatred lingered.

Hatred that hadn’t diluted despite the long time passed. It had remained like a scar, a psychological trauma.

“I never thought I’d say this, but at that time, I thought: I wish everything had just disappeared.”

“Surely not…”

“My daughter was dying. My wife was already dead beside her.”

I understood what he wanted to say.

If there had been no trace left, he could have searched with hope.

He could have lived forever clinging to hope.

That’s exactly how it was when I lost my sister.

I thought my sister had just left because she was tired of me. Though it was painful to think that way, it was better than believing I had lost her forever or that she had died a terrible death.

If someone like me had received a call from the police saying they had found my sister…

And if I had sensed deep hesitation from that police officer…

I would have gone mad too.

The sad thing was, in this world, there was a bastard who bestowed power upon such madmen.

“That’s when I became a Mourner. That was my first mourning.”

“First mourning?”

“…Let’s just say I was the only one who survived from that place.”

Was that all he wanted to say? The old man lowered his fist and sighed.

It was somehow a relieved sigh. Though the story wasn’t over, speaking it aloud seemed to have eased his mind.

“Since then… it’s just been… an endless life of regret. And mourning is the power of regret. Thanks to that, I’ve survived until now.”

I recalled when I first found the old man. The memory of a noble who wanted his suffering and manipulated him into killing himself.

Sometimes, that kind of revenge exists in the world. The old man had moved forward day by day through regret, death, and pain.

“What happened to your knee?”

“It was injured during my first mourning, and repeatedly after that. At some point, I became lame.”

Mourners are immune to status effects. But they’re not immune to natural physical reactions.

Those aren’t considered status effects. Injuries that can’t be recovered are treated as wounds, so that must have been the target.

The problem was that the old man was too well-suited to being a Mourner. He cleared away his regret and smiled.

“Until now, I’ve been just wandering around, wanting to die. At least until I met you.”

“That’s good…”

“Thanks to you, I’ve had some enjoyment for a while.”

I froze mid-sentence and slowly turned my head.

The old man wasn’t looking at me. He was still staring blankly into space.

His focus was subtly blurred. Something sank heavily in my chest.

“Old man?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you saying? I mean, this man-to-man talk…”

“Was a lie.”

I was too dumbfounded to even laugh. I narrowed my eyes, then relaxed them, then narrowed them again as I looked at the old man.

“I had a vague suspicion.”

“About what?”

“The power of a Mourner. At its source… there’s an entity called Mother who’s targeting you, isn’t there?”

Something I hadn’t told the old man until now. I kept my mouth shut, knowing he had to know.

The old man is a higher-level Mourner than me. I don’t know how much higher, but at least higher than me.

“So I understand now. Why there have been no Mourners who lived as long as I have.”

I know too. I knew what he was about to say.

“This power was given to humans… but it’s not a power humans should use.”

“Old man, you can’t mean…”

“I don’t have much time left.”

What expression was I making? The old man glanced at me and smiled slightly.

“You seem to have known. That’s good.”

“No, I…”

“You’re a homunculus, so you won’t end up like me. You’ve overcome madness several times… you’ll be different from me. I find that comforting.”

As I lost words and closed my mouth, the old man smiled with relief.

“I don’t know how I’ll end, how I’ll close my eyes. But thinking of that poor girl’s sister, it might not end well.”

He’s talking about Isra and Selma. I met his eyes.

“When the time comes, I hope you won’t forget your promise.”

I recalled what I had said.

‘Someday, when I become capable of killing you… and if you still want to die then.’

Words that felt like a promise I couldn’t keep. Words I had said not knowing it would come to this.

‘I’ll kill you.’

But I could only nod. There’s no point in trying to dissuade a man who has made up his mind.

Perhaps because he now knew there was a safety measure in the worst case, the old man smiled with a more relaxed expression.

“Until then, I’ll lend you what little power I have. It should be easier to use. It will be a reference for you too.”

I couldn’t tell him there was no need for that.

I couldn’t tell him that upon reaching level 20, one gains the power to absorb life and transcend lifespan.

How could I say such things?

I didn’t know how to explain it, and I wasn’t even sure if it really worked.

Before that, I might end up becoming Mother’s pawn.

As I hung my head, I heard the old man’s voice.

“It’s been truly enjoyable.”

The old man’s voice sounded genuinely happy.

“I didn’t know if I could mingle with people again. But… once I did, I realized how much I had missed it.”

The old man had his eyes closed. He smiled as he traced through his memories.

“Simple morning greetings, the sound of a child whining… the eyes of those who welcome me… it was really nice.”

I had forgotten it, it was so long ago. From his words, I knew he was going back to the past.

Back to the time before he became a Mourner, when his daughter was still alive and sharing her fanciful dreams.

Before he had to reap many lives and mourn them.

“I came looking for death, but I didn’t expect to find life again. I’m truly grateful.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I wanted to tell someone I’m grateful. No matter what happens, that fact won’t change.”

The old man stood up first.

“You’ll be a better Mourner than me anyway. You don’t let the power control you, and you’re willing to confront its source. You have talent and you work hard.”

He had an expression tinged with regret.

“You and I are different. That’s a good thing.”

With those final words, he left. I gritted my teeth in the empty training ground.

“As if that could be true.”

But there was no one to hear me. I sat there for a long while more.