Chapter 92: The Hell of Cowardice (1)

[92] 14. The Hell of Cowardice (1)

Sheila, stepping into Adolf’s tent, couldn’t help but frown. The stench of decay filling the tent was overwhelming.

“Don’t mind the smell. I had things to take care of, so it couldn’t be helped.”

Only then did she see Adolf, who was reading a book with a bored expression.

She immediately knelt.

“… I greet His Royal Highness.”

However, Adolf didn’t even spare her a glance. He simply turned a page and said in a flat voice.

“It seems like your legs have healed.”

“Yes, thanks to the priests from the Church that you brought with you…”

“But you refused treatment for the scars on your face, right?”

Adolf closed the book and looked at Sheila. Her face, covered in bandages, contorted.

“… I did so to remind myself of my humiliation.”

“You mean to remind yourself of your incompetence. Either way, you look pathetic.”

Adolf added with a contemptuous tone.

“Anyway, if you’ve come to express gratitude, I’ve heard enough. You may leave.”

“…There’s something I’d like to ask.”

Her tone was laced with suppressed anger. Adolf looked at her with a curious expression, then smirked as if he understood.

“Let me guess what it is. You’re wondering why I didn’t kill that barbarian bitch and that crippled bastard, right?”

Sheila’s shoulders trembled, hit right on the mark. Then, bowing her head deeply, she spoke in a quivering voice.

“That woman killed four of my men and humiliated my entire division. It is my duty to avenge those…”

“In other words, she fights exceptionally well, true to her barbarian nature.”

It was a blow that came from an unexpected direction. For a moment, Sheila felt as if her breath was caught in her throat.

Adolf took out a pipe and placed it in his mouth. Striking a match, white smoke filled the air, spreading with the stench of decay.

“There are two things you need to know, Sheila.

One, those who crave atonement become narrow minded.

Two, a rabid dog, if well trained, can be a good hunter.”

Adolf blew out a puff of smoke. The smell of tobacco, mixing with the stench of decay, created a nauseating smell.

“I made that woman an offer. If she succeeds in capturing Rosalia, I’ll reattach that cripple’s legs.”

Only then did Sheila understand the Prince’s intention. But even after realizing it, a doubt remained.

“Surely, you don’t intend to actually keep that promise?”

Adolf frowned and then pointed at the fireplace with his pipe. Following his gaze, Sheila could finally see what was causing the stench.

Two long objects, too long to be firewood, were burning in the flickering flames. She thought she caught a glimpse of broad claws.

“There’s no one more passionate than those blinded by hope. And there’s no one more despairing than those whose hope has been shattered.”

Adolf put the pipe back in his mouth. An emotionless voice rose with the smoke.

“Don’t worry, Sheila. Once this is over, I plan to feed them both to the dogs.”

***

People talk about hell.

A place where flames never die, burning sinners eternally.

A place with forests made of blades, stretching endlessly.

A place where horned devils use screams as lullabies.

Feya had once thought of it that way too.

But now she knows.

Hell isn’t that simple.

Feya entered the tent.

A weak voice came through the strong smell of herbs,

“Ah, Feya…”

The first thing that caught her eye was his unfocused mechanical eyes. Then his dry lips, his sunken cheeks, his thin arms, and…

…

…And his blunt thighs wrapped in bandages.

The Church priests hadn’t treated Rem because his body was marked with the symbol of a heretic. For three days, Feya had to struggle desperately to treat Rem.

She had to examine her sin in detail.

Nausea welled up in her throat, but she forced it down and approached Rem. Putting on a forced smile, she asked,

“How are you feeling…?”

“I’m a lot better…”

Rem smiled, his face pale, but the bandages that were stained even redder than yesterday told a different story.

“A-Again… with the sad look…”

Feya looked at him, his shoulder trembling. Smiling sadly, Rem extended his hand with much effort.

Rem’s thin hand caressed Feya’s cheek.

“If… If I had a choice… I would have cut them off myself…”

Some words are painful because of their kindness. It was something Feya was realizing, painfully.

Rem smiled faintly.

“Above all… I survived in the end… I’m alive… alive… I can see… touch… hear like this…”

His eyes, though made of gears and bronze, held unmistakable warmth.

“That alone… makes me happy… Everything’s okay… [I love you, Feya]…”

His next words were too quiet to be heard. But Feya could guess what they were.

*No.* Feya wanted to scream. His feelings weren’t real. It was simply an emotion he’d fabricated because he had no one else.

Rem didn’t love Feya.

And even if he did, it was an affection that would vanish once his memories returned.

But Feya loves him.

Now, there was no denying it. After facing her past, after hearing his confession, her heart overflowed.

Feya loves Rem.

And yet, she cut off his legs.

With her axe, with her own hands.

Even now, four days later, she could still remember the sensation. The feeling of the blade slicing through flesh, crushing bones, and then hitting the ground…

“Rem…”

Feya took hold of Rem’s hands with both of hers. She tried to erase those memories, those sensations, with his warmth.

*To hold the hands of someone whose legs have been cut off to try to forget the feeling of cutting them off.* What a cruel joke.

“I’ll… I’ll definitely… make it right… I’ll fix it…”

But because there was no other way,

because she had no one else to hold onto…

Feya, feeling a surge of nausea, pressed her forehead against his hand.

“I’ll… I’ll definitely…”

***

“Ugh-”

Yellow bile spilled from Feya’s mouth. Then, she sank to the ground, falling to her knees. Vomit soaked her pants, but she didn’t get up.

Instead, She just rested her tired head against the nearby tree.

The once proud and confident female warrior was gone. Guilt crushed her pride, and pain stained her once-clear eyes.

And her pain didn’t stem only from her guilt.

The 27 deaths she’d experienced in that illusion,

a pain too great even for a single lifetime.

Horrible things, they don’t just remain in your memories, they’re engraved.

Feya’s eyes became even more clouded.

She could still feel its imprint in her mind. No, it was even imprinted on her skin.

The sensation of arthropods laying eggs under her skin, the feeling of her eyeballs boiling, and the sting of salt seeping into her flayed flesh. *Get them off me*. *I need to erase them*. *This hurts*. *A beetle stuck in my throat, blocking my windpipe*. *I can’t breathe*. *It hurts*. *The needles embedded in my eyes are squirming*. *No, it’s not needles, but poisonous insect stingers*. *It hurts*. *I can’t see*. *I can’t breathe*. *It hurts*. *Please*. *I need to get them off*. *I want to erase them*. *Someone please*. *Mother*. *The feeling of my intestines being trampled, convulsing*. *Father*. *Invincible*. *It hurts*. *Please*. *I…*

The blood that had entered in her eyes snapped her back to reality.

Feya looked down at her bloodied body. Red flesh was stuck between her fingernails. The blood flowing down her arms painted red patterns on the grass.

Clear raindrops fell on it, one by one.

“S-…Sorry…”

Feya buried her face in her hands, collapsing to the ground. She moaned, like a dying animal.

“I, I was in so much pain… I-I was so scared…”

They were words that she couldn’t bring herself to say to him, shameless excuses that she had swallowed back.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Her words, like a prayer.

It ended with her most cowardly truth.

“I love you…”

And then, she couldn’t speak any longer. She simply lay there, sobbing, moaning under the gradually cooling autumn sky.

“Barbarian.”

A sharp voice cut through her sorrow. Feya slowly raised her head.

Sheila was looking down at Feya’s ruined face with contempt in her eyes. Letting out a sigh, she said curtly.

“We found the Captain.”

Hope returned to her clouded eyes.

***

Rosalia opened her eyes.

The scene of her hometown burning was still burned into her retinas. It was the same with the carnage.

But unlike before, Rosalia’s eyes were no longer filled with sorrow. Instead, what fills them is determination.

She looked at the witch in front of her.

“So, I passed the trial?”

“With flying colors.”

The corners of the witch’s lips curled upward. It was the same with Rosalia.

The witch stood up and stretched out her arms.

“A strong desire is not swayed by a mere illusion. You have overcome the trial and proven your desire. So, ask your question.”

Skuld placed her hand on her chest and smiled faintly.

“My name is Skuld. I am the all-knowing witch, the keeper of all answers. So, what do you wish to know?”

Rosalia nodded. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she opened her mouth.

“Tell me how to save Rem.”

“…Is that really your question? Think carefully. You can only ask once.”

Rosalia shook her head.

“That is the only thing I wish to know. I have no need for anything else.”

A satisfied smile appeared on Skuld’s face at those words. Then, she reached out towards the bookshelf and snapped her fingers.

A book, like an arrow, shot towards Skuld. Rosalia caught a glimpse of a golden title: [The Porter’s Tale] as it passed her vision.

She flipped through the pages rapidly, then stopped abruptly at one page. Smiling softly, she said.

“The arrow that Rem was hit with, it was made from a branch of the Memory Tree. It’s an artificial plant that sucks out the memories of the living and turns them into fruits.”

“…You’re saying that Rem has lost his memories?”

“How else do you think he could have stabbed you in the side?”

Rosalia instinctively flinched and touched her side. The wound had already healed, but the shock still remained.

Her face contorted as she asked,

“Then how can I get his memories back?”

“I told you, it turns the stolen memories into a fruit. What else can we do with a fruit?”

“…Eat it?”

“That’s right.”

Skuld snapped her fingers as if to say ‘exactly’. Strong determination flared up on Rosalia’s face.

“…And who has this fruit?”

“That’s the most complicated part of this matter.”

“…Complicated?”

The witch smiled enigmatically and narrowed her eyes. Oddly enough, It reminded Rosalia of a snake.

Skuld’s red tongue flicked out.

“The one who has that fruit is Feya Danderlion. Your only rival, and at the same time, your only collaborator.”

“Collaborator?”

“And the idiot who chopped off Rem’s legs.”

“…What?”

“And most importantly, she’s the woman Rem loves most in the world right now.”

Rosalia’s face suddenly goes blank. Deep disbelief fills her trembling eyes.

Seeing this, Skuld chuckled and said.

“I told you, it’s the most complicated part.”