An Old Dream

…What, you’ve already found me?

You’re quick.

Well, you’re different from those other girls, you didn’t go chasing after the hero.

Thinking about it, that sage woman really pisses me off. Who does she think saved her from that closet?

How does it feel, do you regret it?

The guy you dismissed as a porter disappeared, and now your party can’t function properly, huh?

No matter how much you beg, it won’t work. I won’t go back. It’s already too late.

I’ll give you, who found me first, a chance. Want to come with me?

Come to think of it, that hypocrite was of no help in defeating the Demon King anyway—

It was a strange sight.

So strange that it couldn’t be described in any other words.

Commoners in shabby clothes lined up alongside nobles adorned with colorful precious ornaments.

There were blue-blooded royalty, elves who were the guardians of mysterious forests, the hero said to have saved the world, and their companions.

All these people who would never normally mix were gathered in one place.

Gathered in one place, grieving for a common reason.

Holding their breath, filled with anger.

Just waiting for the solemn judgment of the judge.

All eyes in the world were fixed on one spot, on the girl facing the judge.

“The defendant, Michaela Wittelsbach.”

The girl raised her head in response to the call without a moment’s hesitation.

Her pure white hair, fluttering even at the slightest movement, swayed like a snow breeze.

Her blue eyes, sparkling as if they had captured a frozen lake, showed no bewilderment.

Though her white coat was tattered from imprisonment, like a snow-covered field stained with dirt, even wearing that, the girl’s small frame did not lose its dignity.

She was a beautiful girl.

That’s how Michaela Wittelsbach was.

She didn’t look like someone who should be facing a judge as a criminal.

“The defendant has made great contributions to the defeat of the Demon King as a member of the hero’s party. Taking that into account, I will give you a chance for a final defense at this place today.”

Indeed, that was the case.

The Demon King, the worst of the demon race, leading the armies of demons to dominate the human world.

On that dark night when he appeared and clouds obscured the stars and moon, the hero’s party emerged.

The hero chosen by the holy sword.

The forest archer blessed by spirits.

The wise sage of the magic tower.

The saint who received divine revelation.

The swordsman wielding the Sword of Winter.

And the guide who voluntarily acted as a porter, steadfastly supporting them all from behind the scenes.

These individuals repeated various adventures and finally defeated the Demon King, saving the world.

Judging by that fact alone, the girl shouldn’t be in a position to be interrogated.

The girl, Michaela Wittelsbach herself.

After all, she was a member of the hero’s party who had beheaded the Demon King with the Sword of Winter.

However,

“The defendant killed the adventurer, Eugene Heathcliff, of her own will without any coercion. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

However, now she was nothing more than a mere murderer.

“There’s no need for that.”

The girl, looking nothing like a murderer, simply nodded easily.

“I killed that worthless porter.”

Beyond being brazen, no emotion could be found in that dry voice.

Not only was there no regret, but there was also no trace of guilt for brutally murdering a familiar companion who had traveled with her for a long time to achieve the great feat of defeating the Demon King.

Even now, standing trial.

Even at the moment she was first discovered and arrested at the scene.

As if she weren’t a criminal.

No, as if she didn’t even recognize herself as a criminal.

“He was truly a worthless man.”

She was as impassive as the cold winter.

“All he did was covet and envy others without making any effort. He acted like a saint where there were many eyes, but showed his true colors where there weren’t. Despite being so incompetent, he tried to covet glory that wasn’t his. He was unworthy of the name hero. Moreover, he—”

“Just for that reason!”

The girl’s words were momentarily interrupted.

Glancing sideways, a woman with blue hair wearing a robe raised her voice.

It was the sage of the tower.

Come to think of it, she had followed that porter more closely than the others.

She had said that he was the first to reach out to the loner in the closet.

There was good reason for her to raise her voice.

“You killed him for that reason, you! Just because he was a porter and not helpful in battle! The person who always quietly stayed by our side even when things were tough!”

“You’re wrong.”

And that was as far as it went.

“I wish you would listen to the end. I—”

“Shut up! Don’t you dare insult him anymore, you whore!”

“I see.”

Without regret, the girl closed her mouth.

This further drove the sage to lose her reason.

As restraints and dissuasions from those around continued, in that busy moment, the girl recited softly.

“But I don’t regret it.”

“What…?”

“I said I don’t regret it.”

The girl looked at everyone.

Looking at everyone, she confessed her crime statement.

“I don’t care what you say to me. No matter what resentment I receive. I declare, I don’t consider that porter a comrade. I have no regrets about killing him.”

It was spoken in a tone so noble it was almost holy.

It was a horrifyingly cruel confession to the victims.

“If I were to be placed in the same situation again, I would repeat the same action. Because—”

“Enough!”

This time, they couldn’t hold back.

Those restraining the sage, and the girl’s former companions.

Everyone stood up in anger.

There was no one who wasn’t enraged.

“Shut up! Just shut up!”

“Traitor, you traitor!”

“Give him back. Give him back…”

Anger. Lamentation. Screams.

All the hatred in this world poured out.

“I ask everyone to be quiet. The trial is not over yet.”

Although the result was already clear, the judge, who had managed to maintain composure, announced.

“The defendant, Michaela Wittelsbach, not only committed a grave crime but also showed no remorse and even went so far as to insult the deceased. Therefore, this court.”

The gavel was raised,

“Sentences the defendant to death.”

Then, it fell weakly.

At that conclusion, there was no thunderous applause or cheers for punishing the perpetrator.

It was a gathering with no winners.

The girl briefly scanned her surroundings.

Her former companions, the girl in nun’s clothes and the pointy-eared girl with sun-like golden hair, were looking at her with eyes so bloodshot they seemed about to burst.

Then she looked at the hero.

Contempt, emptiness, anger.

It was an eye tangled with all of those emotions.

Holding the Sword of Winter within her body, Michaela slowly closed her eyes.

Outstanding individuals, those called geniuses, tend to stand out from a young age.

Like the elven princess loved by spirits, the sage of the magic tower, or the saint called by divine revelation.

Heroes are inherently born with extraordinary origins, basically possessing something special.

Therefore, in that sense, the girl named Michaela Wittelsbach was quite different from what people commonly call a hero.

Being born as the daughter of a duke in the northern Wittelsbach wasn’t enough to be considered a mythical element.

It would have been impossible for her, who had no talent for combat, to join the hero’s party in the first place.

That’s right.

Michaela Wittelsbach wasn’t special.

It was just the sword that led her on the path of a swordsman that was special.

“Kyaaah!”

It was just the sword born with her that was special.

The sword mentioned here doesn’t simply mean that a sword was made to commemorate the day she was born.

It was in the literal sense.

The sword was born with the baby.

It pierced through the swollen belly of the mother, pouring out with the child.

“Ah, aah…! This can’t be! What, on earth…!”

It was from a very young age.

Even though it was from a time when she could barely focus her eyes, Michaela, who was a newborn, remembered that moment clearly.

The blood-curdling scream that shattered her newly formed, delicate eardrums like breaking glass.

The sensation of first facing the world, thrown onto the cold floor, wasn’t the warm touch of a parent.

She knew that her beginning started not with a blessing, but with a curse.

The sword was cruelly beautiful like a work of art.

The blade, without a trace of rust, had come out without leaving a single wound on the mother’s belly.

“This is the work of demons!”

The priest, whom the duke and duchess had invited at great expense, said so.

“This is likely the work of demons, especially succubi!”

The work of demons.

Although the specific cause wasn’t revealed, it was indeed a credible statement.

In an era when demons lived and ravaged the human world, how could one not believe it?

The Duchess of Wittelsbach unknowingly became a whore who had sold her body to demons.

The Duke of Wittelsbach became a coward who couldn’t protect his wife from demons.

So how could this be called the birth of a hero?

Michaela had made others unhappy from birth.

“Darling. I, I…!”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Everything will be fine.”

Fortunately, the Duke and Duchess of Wittelsbach had a very good relationship.

The bond between husband and wife wouldn’t be broken by mere demonic schemes.

Their love was strong.

There was no room for a scabbard in human form, born with a sword, to wedge between them.

The expected persecution followed.

Mentioning her existence became taboo, and she was confined to live in a small room.

Whether out of minimal familial affection, only enough food to survive was rationed.

The couple left her alone to die naturally and be forgotten.

What miraculously survived in a world of just one person without a guardian, and even taught her human-like knowledge, was none other than the will residing in the sword.

The sword showed many things.

The places where the sword stayed were sometimes bright spring and summer, calm autumn, but towards the end, it was always a harsh winter.

So, she named the sword Winter.

It was truly a childish metaphor, but the young her arrogantly thought that her life was also as cold as winter.

“Hey, is this the bastard child of that demon? Ugh, disgusting.”

While the couple was indifferent to her, the servants were not.

To them, a child abandoned by her parents was an object of interest.

It wasn’t sympathy.

She, who should have been of the noblest status but was treated worse than servants, was a sort of punching bag to relieve their boredom, or rather, their inferiority complex.

Invisible abuse continued.

Being hit, kicked, even having a bowl of soup spilled in front of her face as mockery.

They just didn’t leave scars on her face to keep her looking fine on the surface.

Even that came to an end.

The couple had a child.

It was a cute girl.

The child grew up.

To heal the wounds the couple had suffered from having a demon’s child.

So now, the unsightly demon child was just a nuisance.

“I won’t say much. Remove this filthy demon from my mansion.”

With the Duke of Wittelsbach’s decision, things were swiftly carried out.

For safety, not servants but knights directly appointed by the lord took action.

The honorable swords of knights protecting the people were swung to butcher a fifteen-year-old child who hadn’t even lost her baby fat.

Who in this world wants to die?

Even a girl is no different.

Against the knights who broke down the door and swung their swords roughly, the girl ran away.

Her sharp other half could cut through not only steel armor but also the sturdy knights’ swords and flesh, even when swung haphazardly.

Cutting and running away.

Her clothes were torn by tree branches,

Rolling on the dirt ground, the smell of grass permeated her.

When her strength gave out, even crawling on all fours while holding the sword, she ran away.

─It was futile.

The opponents were knights.

No matter how excellent the weapon, a child was no match for them.

Quickly caught up, she paid the price.

They amused themselves by poking her body with their knightly pride.

They were gentlemanly.

They didn’t rape her, after all.

In a crazy world, there should be at least one pedophile among knights.

She was unlucky.

At that time, that’s all that could be said.

It was just the original sin of being born tragically in a world where demons existed.

No, perhaps it should be said she was lucky.

At least she was born in a noble house and lived without starving, so if she had lived a comfortable life, it would have been relatively comfortable.

…Still, if asked whether it was the former or the latter, she thought it was the former.

“You little bitch, where do you think you’re running off to!”

“We stab and stab but she won’t die? She really is a demon.”

Michaela Wittelsbach believed without a doubt that she was an unlucky human.

“Hey, say something! Tch, no fun.”

It’s a meaningless thought.

She’ll die soon anyway.

The dawn air was cold.

Her eyes were already dead. The blade rises.

To strike her neck.

That was the end.

That should have been the end.

But.

“Stop!”

Instead of the cold sensation of her throat being cut, what whispered in her ear was the echo of steel clashing against steel.

And a young, childish voice.

“What are you doing to a child! And you call yourselves knights!”

Her eyes, which had been falling into the abyss, sparkled like fluorite as they took in the sight.

The darkness was already receding.

That was the beginning.

Of a hero who would save the world and a mere criminal who would murder a mere porter.

So she thinks.

That Michaela Wittelsbach is a girl with too much luck.

So, yes.

There are no regrets.

“Why.”

She forcibly opens her eyelids halfway.

She feels a sorrowful face and tone that can’t even cry.

“Why, why did you do such a thing.”

Why, he asks.

It was simple.

Because a good person, a benefactor, a friend was insulted.

There was no other reason.

“I killed him. That’s all there is to it. I have no regrets.”

It’s about killing a person.

I should receive appropriate punishment.

I have no regrets about that.

Only, there is lingering attachment.

That I made my friend’s face so grief-stricken.

I’m leaving.

Stopping many times with lingering attachment, turning my head,

Then gradually moving away.

It’s time to die.

I closed my eyes.

I feel the cool touch of the guillotine on the edge of my neck.

“…It’s been a long time since I had this dream. This too.”

Was it because I drew the Sword of Winter?

After a very long time, she had a dream.

It was a past that she had no regrets about, but still had lingering attachments to even now.