Chapter 48 – Who Are You, Mister? (2)

“I am…”

He couldn’t answer. His throat tightened. What to say?

A boy with ordinary brown hair. Golden eyes, too bright to meet. He looked down. Small white wildflowers clutched in the boy’s hands. Common, unremarkable.

Relief and guilt warred within him.

This child…

He’d almost not recognized him. You’ve grown. He couldn’t say it.

I…

He’d taken up the sword to prevent this. To protect children, the weak, the innocent. For justice, fairness.

But… reality was cruel. The strong oppressed the weak. The wicked exploited the righteous. Even the weak preyed on the weaker. Good deeds punished, righteousness mocked.

[Changing the world… a fool’s errand.]

His master’s words. His own reply…

[If no one else will… I must.]

That had been his only thought. The world hadn’t been kind then, either.

[I just… wanted to be… admirable.]

Admirable. The knight had called himself that, proudly. But in the end… he’d lost that pride. Discouraged? Despairing? Resigned?

He’d wanted to comfort him. You’ve done enough. But he’d lacked the words.

That alone is enough.

He’d said that. The knight, face hidden by his helmet, had seemed confused.

[Enough? Why?]

He couldn’t remember his reply.

…But…

He knew what he had to do.

As a boy, following the knight had been his escape. Mindless action, a refuge from the pain. He’d distanced himself from her, too. How could someone like him… bring happiness?

Look forward, Father, Mother.

…Impossible.

“These graves… your parents?”

He forced his voice steady.

“Yes.”

“How… did they die?”

“…Father… protecting the village. Mother… protecting me…”

Farmers with weapons. His father, a hunter in his youth, now… setting traps. And his mother…

“The army… they took everything… food, tools, supplies…”

“……”

He’d seen the signs. More than looting… destruction. Only the elderly and children remained. Young adults… taken as slaves, prisoners. No ransom. A burden on the enemy. Like wounded soldiers slowing an army.

He’d survived countless battles, skirmishes, duels. His training… hadn’t been wasted. But as his master said… only for advancement. Rise higher, change the world. But at what cost? Betraying comrades, sacrificing subordinates. He’d refused, leading from the front, surviving through skill.

“What now?”

“I live.”

Obvious, yet… heavy.

“Crops fail… but we still farm.”

“…True.”

Obvious. Common sense. Yet… he felt despair. What was the point? The dead didn’t return. Only loss remained. Emptiness.

“Father said… giving up is… arrogance. A luxury… for those who… can afford it.”

“…What?”

“Things don’t always go well. Success, failure… they’re… intertwined. Pray for success, but accept failure.”

“……”

So… that’s how his master had seen him. Sorrow, and… gratitude. The boy had survived. He hadn’t lost everything.

“Luelde, was it?”

“You… know me?”

“Of course. I helped your parents… build this cabin. We played… in these fields…”

“Then… you’re… the knight?”

Knight. He’d forgotten. His master’s ideal… didn’t exist. A fabrication.

“My parents said… Cariel… you’d be a great knight. I asked them… what’s a knight? And they said…”

“One who overcomes the impossible.”

He spoke, as if in a trance.

“One who dies for noble ideals.”

The boy continued.

“Endures pain.”

“Corrects mistakes.”

“Loves justice, goodness.”

“Vanquishes evil.”

“Embraces dreams, love, hope, faith… and runs to the world’s end.”

A dream.

He couldn’t see the knight’s face, but he heard his voice, clear as day, echoing in his mind.

“Luelde… what must we do?”

“Rebuild. But first… grieve. Then… food, shelter.”

The boy spoke with clarity. The rain was light, but without shelter… a hardship.

“You’re right.”

Cariel nodded.

“Let’s begin.”

The boy placed the flowers on the graves. Cariel watched him pray, a silent vow forming in his heart.

====

Time flew. The village rebuilt. Cariel’s sword, reforged into tools. He chopped wood, built houses, his youthful skills returning. The elders helped, their knowledge invaluable. They built sturdy homes, not just cabins.

They drove off bandits, some of whom joined them later. They scavenged, foraging in the forest. They endured. Fewer mouths, less manpower, but they survived.

A year passed. Tax collectors came, but Cariel, his reputation preceding him, sent them away. They’d be back, though. He sought out his former lord, but was refused an audience. A five-year tax exemption. Better than nothing. The villagers rejoiced. He felt a pang of shame, but hid it.

Stability attracted new threats. Bandits, infiltrators, those seeking to exploit their vulnerability. Cariel dealt with them. Courage and wisdom. He heeded his master’s words.

That year’s harvest was bountiful. Small, but enough. The golden fields, a comforting sight. Luelde grew older. A militia formed, small, but… something.

A traveling merchant arrived, not seeking them, but passing through. They traded leather for tools. He promised to return.

He’d thought, with more resources, he could retrieve the children’s parents. Regret. But then… they returned, escapees, and the village wept with joy. Luelde celebrated, but that night, he cried at their graves.

Years passed. Six years since his vow. The aspiring knight… an ordinary villager.

A wandering priest asked to build a church. He surveyed the land, then… died.

…And the plague came.

It swept through the village. The priest’s death fueled rumors of a curse. No one helped. Not even the Church, the servants of a supposedly benevolent god.