Chapter 49 – Who Are You, Mister? (3)

“It’s dangerous.”

The boy, older now, protested. Cariel’s resolve was firm.

“No one here can help. I must go.”

“Dangerous.”

“…I must. I worry about… what will happen… while I’m gone.”

“I’ll protect the village.”

“…I hope… you won’t have to.”

One horse remained, a communal treasure. The boy’s eyes, filled with anxiety, followed Cariel as he mounted.

“I’ll return. With an antidote… or a healer.”

“…Be careful.”

The boy could only pray.

…

Close calls. Bandits ambushed, his horse killed. He ran. The rain intensified. Mud clung to his legs. He struggled onward.

No welcome. Priests demanded payment. Accusations of demonic influence, divine punishment. You brought this plague.

How… did the rumors spread?

Despair. But he couldn’t give up. He searched, a beggar now, but resolute. Each day, more deaths. Suffering, dwindling hope. The sick multiplied. Crops failed. Starvation loomed. The village… crumbling.

“You’re struggling.”

An old man, staff in hand, watched him, shaking his head.

“Why wander the forest? So… desperate?”

“…How long… has it been?”

He hadn’t noticed. The dark forest, the endless days and nights.

“Worry about yourself. You could die here.”

“I can’t. I have… work to do.”

“Strong will. Not like those… martyrs. I like that.”

“…Elder?”

“Pale yellow mushrooms… that way… take them… they’ll help you.”

You’ve worked hard.

“Elder…?!”

He woke, a chill on his skin. He found the mushrooms.

A dream? Should I trust it?

He couldn’t ignore it. He took the mushrooms, then followed the direction the old man had… pointed.

–Aaaaaah!–

A scream. He ran, his body screaming in protest. A desolate valley. Soldiers, outnumbered, fighting monstrous creatures with bark-like skin.

He charged in.

…

“Twice saved… this must be fate.”

Clean now, fresh clothes, though fatigue lingered. Cariel’s presence… changed. The golden-haired young man treated him with respect.

“Twice?”

The young lord. The one who’d defied his father, Cariel’s former lord.

“You stopped… my father’s attack… on that village.”

I was there.

“……”

“He… abandoned me. But if I’d been captured… I’d be dead… or worse.”

His father had died in a fall. His brothers, to illness, battle. He, the last heir.

“My father… was ambitious. He wanted… the Berke throne.”

But kings weren’t made by ambition. He lacked the skill, the strength.

“I allied with… the Enjuls… offered them land.”

“Enjul?”

“Yes. Iland… the five Holy Knights… The Pope will sanctify the Enjul lord… He’ll be king.”

So that was it. North and South Berke, separated by mountains, lakes, swamps. Days by horse, but impassable for armies.

“I see.”

They were changing the world. Not like him.

“But… Cariel… remains in South Berke.”

“…Me?”

“I saw Iland. His divine presence.”

But…

“I can’t say… if he’s… stronger than you.”

“That’s…”

Absurd. Him, a backwater warrior, compared to Iland, the legendary conqueror?

“…Southern warriors… are strong. We fought barbarians. That strength… fueled my father’s ambition.”

Countless renowned warriors…

“But you, Cariel… you cut down… more than half… We were… in awe.”

A mere knight… so powerful. If only he were mine! His lord had lamented it.

“My father… feared you.”

“……”

Cariel understood. Why his lord had released him. Why he’d spared the village. He’d sensed… respect… a shared understanding. But from the outside…

He felt… a pang of… something.

“You’re eager to leave. But night travel is dangerous.”

“…A horse?”

“You saved my life. I’ll assist you. Now, and in the future.”

I’ve heard the stories.

“Your… ideal of a knight… different… but… I admire it.”

May you… succeed.

Cariel felt… relief. Exhaustion washed over him. He slept, peacefully, for the first time in days.

…

“Barbarians… attacking Baronenes.”

The next day. He’d felt so relieved… so grateful. He rode until the horse collapsed. Grateful for the spare. He rode until that one fell, too. Then, he ran.

Familiar. He’d run since childhood, training, building endurance. Mountains, hills, plains.

His past… had prepared him. If he hadn’t run… he’d have waited. The rational choice. But he ran… because he could. Because of his training.

Sunset. He didn’t stop. His breath ragged, but he was fine. Four sleepless days on the battlefield… this was nothing. No one was hunting him.

This isn’t… hard.

Sweat poured, his mind blurred, but he focused, steadied his breath, forced his heavy limbs onward. He controlled his pace, conserving energy. He couldn’t afford to collapse, not before arriving. What if the enemy was already there? He had to be ready.

He pushed aside despair, the exhaustion, the fear.

Sunrise. He saw it.

…The village. Untouched. He couldn’t be sure, but… perhaps… he’d panicked too soon.

He reached the village.

“Lord Cariel?!”

Villagers, armed, anxious, fearful.

“Where’s Luelde?”

A young man hesitated, his gaze filled with… something. They all looked like that.

“Don’t tell me…”

“He’s… sick. Very sick.”

“……”

His vision darkened. He steadied himself.

“Take this.”

“What… is this?”

The young man looked confused.

“Grind it… give it to the sick. Help is coming. Tell them… to hold on.”

“You heard… about the barbarians…?”

“Yes.”

That’s why he’d run.

“Look!”

Raiders, a dark line on the horizon.

“……”

He’d rested, but he was exhausted. Days of travel, sleepless nights. He’d pushed himself, to be here, to protect them. He couldn’t undo the past, but… he could prevent the future.

“We asked the lord for help… but he refused.”

“…It’s alright.”

Cariel’s voice was calm, reassuring.

“I’m here.”

He instructed them to care for the sick, the others. He looked at the village signpost, then at the approaching raiders. He walked towards them. He’d discarded everything non-essential during his run. Only his clothes, sweat-soaked, mud-stained, remained.

But he still had his swords. One, he’d given away. The other… he’d kept, to protect them. He’d sold it, too, a bitter sacrifice, to buy medicine. But somehow… his former enemy had gifted him a better one.

He had nothing left. But tools were… tools. Even his master’s sword… lost on some forgotten battlefield.

All he had… was himself.

“Please,” he prayed.

If you exist… if you’re watching…

“Take me… instead.”

He would offer himself, willingly, gratefully, without regret.