Ch.167Report on the Downfall of Charity (9)

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The story grows longer. Not because there are more words. The silence has grown longer.

At some point, Francesco stubbornly stopped talking and only tilted his wine glass. Kain did the same.

Though they were clearly talking about the same thing, the direction had subtly shifted. In the end, the two men silently drank their alcohol and just nibbled on hardtack snacks.

When another empty bottle joined the collection, Francesco said, “Just a moment,” and went outside the workshop. Ten minutes later, he returned with two hot plates. It was smoked cod warmed in milk to reduce the fishy smell. He said it was a simple dish served at nearby restaurants.

Meanwhile, night had fallen over Venelucia. Ships setting out for night operations illuminated their decks brightly. They were trying to catch fish wandering in search of light in the night sea.

‘It’s ironic. That what they desperately seek actually drives them to their death.’

Beatrice used to mutter this while looking down at the night sea.

‘If fish had lawyers, they would say this: Why would they jump in if they knew it was a place of death? They were deceived. They didn’t know.’

But no one advocates for the fish.

Their fate is mostly similar. Their heads and tails, gills and fins are cut off. Their scales are peeled away, and soon a knife roughly pierces the flesh before gently coaxing apart bone and meat.

All traces that it was once a living creature, freely roaming the sea, disappear this way. All that remains are pieces of flesh left conveniently for chewing.

It might be one of three daily meals, or something eaten while drunk. It might be cooked, boiled, grilled, or fried. People smack their lips, muttering to themselves that this is undercooked or that is too burnt, and not long after getting up from the table, they completely forget about it.

Just like how the Dandolo family women were chewed up by the people of Venelucia.

People didn’t remember the mother and daughter completely. Like discarding heads, tails, fins, scales, and gills, they threw their good deeds and virtues into the trash.

Instead, actions that seemed foolish without context, decisions that seemed right at the time but in hindsight were mistakes—these were the things people kept chewing over.

Sometimes an “objective” evaluation like “Well, they did this right” would follow, but it was like adding salt to food—after the praise, they would tear into them even more enthusiastically.

After scraping the pot clean of everything there was to chew on, the bitter taste of burnt residue would ruin one’s palate.

That’s how bitterness works. It sticks to your tongue long after other flavors have passed, stubbornly lingering after everyone else has gone, irritating you with its presence.

Compared to such big fish.

Here in the cane workshop below, the two men exchanging sparse conversation while tilting their glasses are more like small, withered fish.

Unlike the big shots who need their heads and tails cut off because they’re too cumbersome to chew on, these men were easy targets—so insignificant and pathetic that just a glance was enough to condemn them: “What trash. No wonder they still live like that.”

With full stomachs and more alcohol in their systems, Francesco’s eyes grew unfocused. Only then did this handsome, gloomy-faced man share the story he had been keeping inside.

“So what I’m saying is.” Francesco’s tongue was already twisted. “I’m still alive precisely because I was such an insignificant bastard. Get it? Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“Understand? You understand? You don’t understand shit.” The handsome face of the cane craftsman contorted.

“You ran away. I stayed. And me, even me! I did exactly the same things as those poor bastards who were burned at the stake. Core member. You know? Core, member!”

It was true. Francesco was one of the core members. Even if he didn’t know Kain’s true identity, he was one of the “close people” who knew about the deep relationship between Beatrice and Kain.

Then as now, Francesco was a good craftsman. He was still an informant who bridged both upper and lower classes. With his handsome appearance, natural manners, and excellent way with words, he was popular just by breathing.

“But. But you know.” The remaining craftsman refilled his glass.

“They didn’t burn me. The investigator even served me tea! ‘Have a cup of tea and go home in two hours.’ That was it. That was all. That’s how I survived. I was happy. I thought everyone else was released like me. But no.”

When he came to his senses, all the other officials except Francesco were burning. Those of lower rank were exiled or imprisoned on the ship of fools. Belatedly, Francesco realized that he had received the most terrible punishment of all.

There were too many Rose Party members for the Venelucian government to arrest them all. So instead, they made them fight, curse, split apart, and feel disillusioned with each other. Francesco was the beginning of that.

“Thanks to that, I became a traitor. The kind of bastard who spilled all the information and survived alone. You know, every story has one of those guys? The one who sells out his comrades to save himself. I fit right into that story.

But, what the fuck? The bastard who ran away alone that night, who now has the audacity to show his face to me, says he understands? No. Not even understanding. Fuck, what did you say on the first day? Help you? Help you!”

“I did.”

Kain admitted it readily. Francesco buried his face in his hands.

“Tell me. Why did you come back here?”

“I have something to do.”

“What. Complete the Rose Revolution?”

“Something important.”

Francesco’s expression showed he was too dumbfounded for words. Kain lowered his head.

“So what is it?”

“I came to apologize.”

Francesco flinched. It was because their eyes met. Since night had fallen, or rather, since the first bottle had been emptied, Kain had been hanging his head like a criminal.

Now Kain raised his head. His brown eyes were still clear. Francesco found this steadfastness absurd.

“You’ve completely lost your mind.”

The words from his long-lost comrade were starkly plain. There was no shock, no sadness, no anger. It was completely different from how he had been lamenting and raging since opening the bottle. Only a bitter aftertaste remained, like flat beer.

“You’re crazy. Completely crazy. What the hell. You. Where were you hiding for two years, and now you show up and what? You came to apologize? You should have said that two years ago.”

“I’m sorry, Francesco.”

Kain pressed his lips together.

He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell him that he was actually an Imperial Security Bureau agent. He couldn’t say that not only had he failed to protect Beatrice, but he had stabbed her with his own hands. He couldn’t confess that for two years, while his body moved busily, his soul was as good as dead.

He couldn’t make the excuse that it wasn’t him but Niccolo Dandolo and his subordinates who had plunged Francesco into this pain. He couldn’t tell him that to prevent the end of the world, he needed to borrow his help, even though he really didn’t want to come back.

Kain’s own desperation couldn’t be an excuse. Francesco had already been covered in all kinds of filth for two years. He would have to live the rest of his life that way.

There was only one thing he could say. The truth.

“I’m sorry. For everything. This… it took me two years to say this. That’s why I’m here now. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all over.”

Francesco tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. He raised his arm to cover his eyes.

“It’s all over now. All of it. Niccolo is dead and Beatrice is dead. You and I are alive. The comrades who stood up honorably all burned to death, and only the one who ran away and the coward remain.”

“You’re brave, Francesco.”

“Get out if you’re going to talk nonsense.”

“You’re alive.”

“Is that fucking brave? Living because you can’t die?”

“After all…” Something welled up inside. Had Francesco thrown a punch? He wished he had. He sincerely wished for it.

“After all that. After enduring everything that happened afterward. After taking all the abuse that others should have taken. You’re still here. What more could you… could I do?”

I was going to throw everything away. I was going to let it all go. I’ve been living with just my body moving aimlessly. I’ve been floating in emptiness and meaninglessness.

Kain couldn’t say those words. They weren’t words to be carelessly uttered. They weren’t words to say in front of someone who was facing humiliation with dignity and living his own life.

It shouldn’t be done. It wasn’t proper to show such disrespect to someone trying with all their might to preserve their daily life.

“You’re right. I can’t imagine. I don’t know what you’ve been through. Even now. So stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop tormenting yourself wondering why they didn’t burn you to death.”

Francesco dropped his arm. “Ha,” he said, staring blankly at the ceiling. Kain lowered his head again.

“…All kinds of people came looking for me. From those who were definitely comrades, to random passersby. Even complete strangers threw stones, calling me a traitor. Saying people like me should have been hanged from a tree long ago. Do you know what I did?”

“What did you do?”

“I seduced visitors. Especially lonely women. You have no idea how many wealthy but love-starved women there are. Then the next day or the day after, excited men would burst in and slap my face.”

“It worked, I guess?”

“When I acted like a madman, they bothered me less. A handsome traitor who’s good with women. It’s amusing, isn’t it? As a bonus, those women sent mercenaries too. To half-kill anyone who messed with ‘their man.'”

Francesco’s face looked sad. The face of a man confessing that he had ruined himself before others could ruin him looked utterly miserable.

Kain didn’t know what to say to someone who admitted to punishing himself for surviving. All he could do was refill the empty glass.

No. There was one more thing. Listening. Just listening. In that respect, he was better than a bamboo forest or an open field. Those don’t refill your glass.

After a long while, Francesco shook his head with a sigh, as if resigned.