Ch.12Tale of the Past: Charlotte de Gargantua – 2

Charlotte was surprisingly not skilled in swordsmanship.

One might wonder how this could be true for someone known as a genius in both literary and martial arts, but at least that’s what she thought of herself.

Magic was far more interesting than swordsmanship. And she learned it faster too. For Charlotte, swordsmanship was something she could do if needed, but not something she particularly wanted to do—more of a necessary evil.

Nevertheless, befitting her reputation as a genius, her proficiency was remarkably high. She could replicate most sword techniques after seeing them just once.

It was simply that her physical limitations prevented her body from keeping up with her mind. Movements she could perfectly execute with a wooden stick or branch would leave her struggling under the weight of a real sword.

Still, thanks to her flawless theoretical knowledge, Charlotte was confident in her ability to evaluate others’ swordsmanship just by watching them wield their weapons.

She could gauge a person’s capabilities just by observing how they handled their weapon.

‘…What on earth is that?’

That’s why the way the boy in front of her fought was enough to bewilder her.

He never dodged any attack. He would take the hit, and in that split second before the weapon was pulled from his body, he would counter-attack and kill his opponent.

With their weapons embedded in his body, his opponents couldn’t properly defend themselves and were helplessly struck down. He used no defensive swordsmanship whatsoever—only techniques purely for offense.

And the places where he was slashed or stabbed regenerated instantly. Whether his arm was cut off, his neck pierced, or his stomach punctured—after a brief moment, he would return to normal as if nothing had happened.

Despite allowing countless attacks from his enemies, the blood covering the boy’s body wasn’t his own.

“A regenerator? Damn it, why is someone like him here?!”

“Cut him! Arms, legs, whatever you can! Don’t stab—he’ll counter-attack!”

After two knights were struck down, the others immediately changed tactics. Regenerators might heal quickly, but they didn’t have superior durability, and their regeneration wasn’t infinite.

Eventually, their stamina would reach its limit.

So the strategy now was to cut off limbs to drain his energy through healing. If they could drag the fight out and diminish his regenerative abilities, they’d have a chance.

The challenge was that human bones are surprisingly difficult to cut through, but the Royal Knights were Royal Knights for a reason. Their weapons severed the boy’s limbs with disturbing ease.

After his limbs had been cut off about thirty times, the boy clicked his tongue when he saw the number of enemies hadn’t decreased at all compared to earlier.

“I don’t have much time. Can’t you just die without putting up such a fight? Why struggle so hard?”

“Ha, getting nervous now? Too bad, it looks like your regeneration is reaching its limit.”

“Look at him trying to talk his way out now that he’s in trouble. Someone needs better manners.”

“What kind of idiot attacks us alone? Huh? Did you want to be a hero?”

“Or did you come to have a taste of the princess? You should’ve waited your turn! We might have let you have a go!”

The knights’ laughter overlapped with sounds of “Hahaha!” Charlotte’s face was filled with despair.

Indeed, the boy’s swordsmanship—which abandoned all defense to regeneration and focused solely on offense—was a highly effective strategy considering his real-time healing ability.

He had already killed two knights at the beginning, hadn’t he?

The problem came afterward. Regeneration wasn’t infinite, and once the knights adapted their strategy, the boy was helpless.

Even now, limbs that initially regenerated in 1-2 seconds were taking nearly 8 seconds to regrow. His stamina was clearly almost depleted.

The knights had noticed this too, which was why they were taunting him.

“Well then, shall we finish this? Don’t blame us when you die!”

With those words, the knights charged as a group. The boy blocked the first sword swinging vertically toward his head and dodged another sword coming from the side.

Unlike before when he would carelessly take hits and regenerate, he was now actively defending and attacking with his sword, suggesting that, as the knights had said, his stamina was nearly gone.

The limit came quickly. There were four weapons attacking, but only one to defend with. The outcome was predictable.

A spear thrust forward powerfully, piercing the boy’s chest and protruding from his back. Then a sword pierced his heart, and the remaining swords and spears dug into various parts of his body.

Anyone could see it was over. The boy’s regenerative ability was nearly exhausted, and even his heart had been pierced. There seemed no way to recover from that situation.

Just as Alexandre was turning triumphantly toward Charlotte, and the knights were about to pull out their weapons—

—BOOM!

With a violent explosion, the boy’s body shattered into pieces. A startled Alexandre looked back at where the boy and knights had been entangled.

All that remained was a blackened floor, shattered stone fragments, and knights writhing in bloody heaps with their bodies torn or twisted, having lost limbs.

It was explosion magic. From a scroll. Charlotte realized it immediately. He must have hidden a scroll somewhere on his body and detonated it.

With his regeneration nearly depleted… did he sacrifice himself in a suicide attack?

“Why…?”

Before Charlotte’s question could fade, the boy’s regeneration began.

The scattered flesh fragments returned to their place, gradually forming a human shape. By the time his hand grasped the sword that had fallen to the ground, he had completely returned to his original form.

Even his clothes were restored.

“Huh?” Someone let out a stupid sound, though it wasn’t clear who.

“You weren’t poorly trained after all. Good strategy. With regenerators, you should first deplete their energy to regenerate.”

The boy drove his sword into a human who was still twitching on the ground despite being charred and blown apart, stopping their movement completely. As he pulled out his sword, he added:

“But it’s such an obvious strategy. I saw right through it. Did it not occur to you that I deliberately slowed my regeneration? This is why you need to know your enemy.”

He deliberately slowed his regeneration? That meant this boy could control the speed at which his body regenerated, and despite all that regeneration, he still had plenty of stamina left. It was astonishing—on a completely different level from ordinary regenerators.

Moreover, Charlotte had never heard of a regenerator who could restore even their clothes.

Just then, a figure covered in blood and soot rose behind the boy. Blood dripped from wounds and his legs wobbled, showing his terrible condition, but he still held a spear in his hand.

“Y-you monster!”

The spear pierced through the boy’s chest with a squelch.

But that was all.

The boy turned his head to glance at the blood-covered knight who was struggling in desperation, then casually reached for the spear shaft protruding from his chest.

Then he pulled the spear forward and out.

After pulling forward the spear that had stabbed him from behind, the boy rotated the shaft half a turn so the blade faced himself again and thrust it into his stomach.

With the sound of tearing flesh, the spear impaled two people simultaneously. However, when the spear was pulled out, only one person collapsed to the ground.

The boy who had stabbed the spear into his own stomach remained standing.

As the knight behind him collapsed with a thud, Alexandre let out a shrill scream and frantically fled into the castle, his fat body heaving.

Charlotte wondered if the boy would chase after him, but surprisingly, he walked toward her instead.

“Let’s get out of here quickly.”

“W-who…?”

Big brother? Or mister? Still uncertain about the proper address, Charlotte chose to omit it altogether.

Though his face looked like that of a young man not yet twenty, regenerators were known to age more slowly, so his actual age could be much greater.

“I’m someone here to help you. The explosion will bring others. Hurry.”

The boy lifted Charlotte into his arms. She surrendered herself willingly. At the very least, she was certain he wasn’t a bad person.

In the distance, several voices shouted. Alexandre must have already brought other knights, or perhaps other knights had found him. Either way, it didn’t matter.

Their quick pace turned into a run, and the run soon became a full sprint. The boy carried Charlotte in his arms and ran for a long time without showing any sign of fatigue.

How much time had passed? The sun had completely set and night had fallen, so at least two hours. As their speed gradually decreased, Charlotte gently spoke up.

“Where are we going now…?”

“To lodgings. Probably not as nice as the palace, but you need rest. Just a little further. Two hours on foot without a carriage is a bit concerning, but what can we do?”

“Y-you, I mean, um…”

Seeing Charlotte struggling to find an appropriate form of address, the boy chuckled.

“Call me whatever you want. I’m well past the age of caring about such formalities. Oh, and don’t ask my name—I don’t have one to give you.”

Past the age of caring about formalities? It was a curious expression, but there was no time to dwell on such trivial matters right now.

“Th-thank you. Then… are you on my side?”

“Yes. And I’ll continue to be on your side from now on.”

“Continue to be… on my side?”

“That’s right.”

With those words, the conversation ended again. It wasn’t until long after they arrived at the lodgings that they spoke again.

Perhaps considering the shock Charlotte must have experienced, the boy didn’t approach her except to bring meals to her room three times a day, and Charlotte didn’t initiate conversation either.

Three days passed like this.

After forcing down her dinner and washing herself hastily with cold water, Charlotte sat on the bed in the lodging, gazing desolately at the street, now quiet after the rowdy drunks had disappeared and even the moon was hidden behind clouds.

What had started as a mindless action had now become a routine.

Until recently, she had been looking outside from her palace bed. In just a few days, everything had changed. Even the sky seemed to understand her mood, looking gloomy as if rain would pour down any moment.

Fearing she might start crying again at the memories, Charlotte quickly wiped her eyes and turned away.

It was now approaching the fourth day. With nothing particular to do, Charlotte was staring blankly at the ceiling when a thought suddenly occurred to her.

Though her mother had died, perhaps her father was still alive. He might not be well, but perhaps he was still breathing.

For the first time in a long while, a hopeful fantasy bloomed—the absurd notion that perhaps her brother had merely imprisoned their father.

The obvious fact—that the man who drugged and raped his own stepmother would never spare her father—had long been erased from Charlotte’s mind.

Charlotte immediately left her room and went to the boy’s room, telling him she wanted to return to the palace.

The boy naturally opposed the idea, but persuasion was futile against an 11-year-old consumed by false hope.

After numerous attempts to dissuade her failed, the boy sighed deeply.

His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were not. The meaning was obvious.

It wasn’t that she truly believed it, but rather a simple act of escapism. If so, how great would the shock be when she witnessed reality with her own eyes?

“Ah, aah… aaaaaaah!”

Her choking sobs were drowned out by the pouring rain. But Charlotte didn’t stop crying.

She felt she might go mad if she didn’t. She cried and cried. Even when her throat became hoarse and her eyes swollen, she didn’t stop.

Seeing her parents’ half-rotted, beheaded bodies mounted on poles was not an easy thing to endure.

Because of the crowd murmuring in front of the executed heads and the heavy rain, no one paid attention to the girl crying bitterly while hiding her body under a robe.

So she cried madly without lifting her head. She wasn’t sure what she might do if she confirmed even once more what had happened to her parents.

A strong hand grabbed Charlotte as she staggered, trying to push through the crowd. She knew. She had been warned. Not to go forward. That they would be watching the area for at least two weeks.

Though her reason knew this, her instinct wouldn’t allow it.

At the very least, she wanted to close their eyes. She wanted to collect the bodies that had been thrown onto the execution ground completely naked and give them a proper burial.

Surely if the bodies were left like that, they would be discarded somewhere after half-rotting. And soon they would completely decompose.

The bone fragments left after the flesh rotted would never be found by anyone. Knowing this cruel fact, Charlotte cried even more bitterly.

As if trying to replace all other farewells with just these tears.

After sobbing in the rain for several hours straight, Charlotte fainted. When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the bed in the lodging.

She had cried so much that her eyes stung, her throat was hoarse, and her body felt weak. Her forehead was hot, as if she had caught a cold. It was a natural consequence of lying in the rain for so long.

Charlotte spent the next two days in bed. She would cry until exhausted, fall asleep, and cry again when she woke.

How much time had passed after that? At the sound of the door bursting open, Charlotte instinctively became alert, but soon relaxed and surrendered herself to the bed again.

It was the boy. In his hands was a tray with a steaming bowl of something. It smelled like porridge.

“Feeling a bit calmer?”

Charlotte shook her head. The boy smiled bitterly.

“What will you do now?”

“…”

Yes, what will I do now?

Charlotte stared blankly at the ceiling. There was no one on her side in this world, her father and mother had been cruelly killed, and her future of inheriting the throne and leading the kingdom to prosperity—all those dreams were gone.

The only reason Charlotte had held on without committing suicide was simply because if she died, her mother’s sacrifice would have been meaningless.

In her heart, she wanted to open the window and jump right now. She wanted to cut her wrists with a knife. She wanted to hang herself with a rope.

She questioned whether Charlotte de Gargantua had any value left at all. How could someone so insignificant, without a single supporter, be called a Gargantua?

…I have no one on my side?

At that thought, Charlotte blankly stared at the boy holding the porridge bowl. The boy who seemed to be waiting for her to say something.

Only then did she recall their conversation during the escape from the palace. The person who had answered that he would be on her side for life when she asked if he was on her side.

“…Excuse me.”

Her throat was so hoarse that even the simple act of speaking required considerable effort. Her voice was completely different from her usual self.

“What is it?”

“Are you really, truly on my side? You won’t ever betray me, right?”

“I don’t know why you’re suddenly asking this, but I should answer yes. Do you have something to ask of me?”

“…Help me.”

“Hm?”

Charlotte’s eyes burned with an emotion completely different from before.

That’s right, it wasn’t that she had no one on her side. As long as there was even one person, just one person in this world who would be on her side, she was still a Gargantua.

Charlotte de Gargantua.

The legitimate heir to the throne and the rightful ruler of the kingdom.

“Please help me reclaim my throne.”

This boy would surely nod. He would give a positive answer to her request. Because he was on her side.

The only one on her side in this world. If this person didn’t help her, who else would stand by Charlotte’s side?

And when the boy actually nodded, the emotion in Charlotte’s eyes burned even more intensely.

“Of course I’ll help you. I need you anyway.”

Upon hearing those words, Charlotte’s hands trembled slightly with joy. She had to forcibly pull down the corners of her mouth that were trying to rise automatically.

The only person who supports me wants me. I also want the only person who supports me. Could there be a more perfect relationship?

I can say with certainty that there isn’t. Because we are that perfect relationship.

An absolutely inseparable relationship that must never be broken.

Charlotte reappeared at the palace exactly three years later.

Appearing alone in the air above the palace, Charlotte immediately surrounded the entire palace with a barrier and burned every living being inside—except for one person, her brother Alexandre.

After throwing her brother—who had somehow managed to kneel and beg for his life with tears and snot, his body even fatter than before from three years of gluttony—into the dungeon, Charlotte declared:

That Charlotte de Gargantua had returned. That she alone was the legitimate ruler of the kingdom, and she would not allow any objection.

It seemed civil war might break out when nobles who had followed Alexandre raised armies, sensing that Charlotte would not spare them, but the rebellion was suppressed with surprising ease.

Because Charlotte herself swept away those armies.

The noble families who had lost all their military power were subjected to the most horrific execution methods and exterminated to the third generation.

Moreover, anyone even slightly connected to those families likewise lost their heads to the third generation.

No matter where they fled in the kingdom, it was futile before Charlotte’s fully awakened magical talents.

There was no mercy to be shown to those who thought they could rebel because the king was too gentle.

Charlotte had always wondered why. Her father had been an excellent king, yet almost all the nobles participated in the rebellion. She truly wondered.

And when she heard the answer, she couldn’t hide her dismay. It was because the king was too gentle, too merciful, and thus appeared weak.

That was the only reason for the rebellion. She couldn’t contain her disgust. The kingdom was rotten to its core. And Charlotte was its only cure.

If they rebelled because of mercy making the king appear weak, then blood must be washed with blood. She would show them pure cruelty without a shred of mercy.

During the executions, anyone who displeased Charlotte in the slightest was dragged to the execution ground, regardless of whether they were commoners or nobles.

The reasons varied: disliking their clothes, standing in a particular spot, being annoyed by someone bringing a child, and so on. The bloodbath that swept through the kingdom didn’t stop for a very long time.

After completing her bloody purge, Charlotte’s final act was to torture her brother, Alexandre de Gargantua, who was imprisoned in the dungeon in a wretched state.

Before personally beginning the torture, Charlotte gave Alexandre one last message:

That pleas for mercy would never work, and she would make sure the words “please kill me” came out of his filthy mouth.

Alexandre de Gargantua endured for seven years.

And thus, Charlotte de Gargantua, the Blood Queen, was born.