Chapter 35: Say That Something like Affection Was Given Form

Say that something like affection was given form. Such was the curious quandary proposed by the robed man.

He went on, “Then what happens to what’s left behind?”

“Hmm.” The man in white sitting across from him laughed. “Solomon sure did something stupid. Sure, he made them immortal, but their egos can just be broken apart like that? Sounds like a pain to me.”

“The homunculi want to return to Solomon. Their affection drives their every action. Solomon artificially implanted that part of their egos himself; they’re made to adore him. For this very reason, the homunculi that lose the object of their affection go mad.”

“So, about Ba’al.”

“His affection was at the forefront, and thus, only his affection managed to escape.” The robed man placed a dark gemstone on the table. “Awaken him, and you will release only hatred and destruction.”

“Sounds good to me. He’ll be far easier to use without his creepy love for Solomon.”

“If you can control him, that is.” The robed man tucked the stone away with a frown.

It was a dazzling room. The high-class furnishings were decadently ornamented, the whole room illuminated by the chandelier hanging from the ceiling which burned with magic flame.

The man in white stood and walked to the window. He stared out at the lights of the night sky, flickering here and there. Then, he turned with a sinister smile.

“Still, I’m surprised you got here so fast.”

“I just regained the power I lent to Caim’s brat.”

“Ah, teleportation. His name was Byaku, right? You assigned him to the cardinal’s daughter. What happened after that? Are they doing a good job, firing people up?”

“They betrayed us. Samigina was destroyed—it will be some time before it revives. With their ray of hope gone, it will be difficult to move those idiots who fell for her incitement. Soon, we’ll have lost them all.”

The man in white seemed quite amused at this. “Ha ha, a complete failure then... So what next?”

“Who knows? I could capture the girl for experimentation, but she’s not that valuable. Of course, the Church of Vienna’s out to get her, so she might be erased before we can even reach her.”

“Heh heh, to them, she’s a spark that could blow them sky-high. Of course they’ll erase her now that they know she’s alive. Is the Inquisition on her trail yet?”

“The nobles and agitators we got on board with our religion are being picked off one by one. Perhaps they’re cleaning house while they’re at it.”

“Good grief. I guess the cult’s going to be retired then. You’ll have to move more carefully now.”

“That was always my intention. The cult was smoke and mirrors—I’m not going to rely on something without substance.” Plucking a cup from the table, the robed man took a sip of tea. “The ones up north were crushed by that elf tomboy. Berith, Ose, and Morax were destroyed. It will take time for them to revive.”

“You win some, you lose some. And we’re going to win in the end,” the man in white said with glee.

The robed man grimaced. “Have you heard about an adventurer called the Black-Haired Valkyrie?”

“Who?”

“She’s the one who beat Ba’al. She also contained the uproar in Bordeaux.”

“Hmm, not bad. What about her?”

“As you can guess by the name, her hair is black. So are her eyes.”

Hearing this, the man in white sat, looking rather amused. He propped up an elbow on the table and leaned forward. “She’s not dyeing it, is she? How does it look to you?”

“I haven’t seen her personally, but there’s a high chance. I intend to look into it.”

“Heh heh, it will be pretty funny if she’s a success.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’ll be even worse if she’s a complete success.”

“You have a point. Aw, it’s on us for letting her get away.”

“Hmm... I’m leaving. Look out for yourself.”

“Naturally. So what happened to Ba’al’s affection or whatnot?”

“Not my problem. We have his core here. That fragment will fall apart on its own once the mana runs out.”

The robed man placed a hand to his chest. His form flickered like a mirage, and then it was like he had never been there at all.

○

Though they had left in the morning, the sun had set by the time they returned to the village. They had supposedly only been gone for a short time, and the experience of this discrepancy in the flow of time was startling to them. They had in fact been gone for an entire day, and the village youths had formed a search party to look for them—a welcome development as far as Belgrieve was concerned.

Marguerite had been quite worked up in battle, but once she had calmed down while Graham carried her on his back, her wounds and exertions caught up with her and sapped all of her energy. She had drifted off along the way, and now lay sleeping on the bed.

Her slumbering face belied her nature; one would never guess she was the sort to curse or run rampant with her sword.

With a sidelong glance at her, Graham sighed. “What a troublesome girl,” he said. “I hope she learns something from this.”

“You have my sympathy, Sir Graham,” Belgrieve said with a smile as he brewed another pot of tea.

Duncan looked at him with his arms folded. “You surprised me back there, Bell. You were faster than the wind when Marguerite was sent flying! I thought you were right beside me but a moment before!”

“I forgot myself...and overexerted a bit.”

“Not at all. She was spared from serious injury thanks to you.” Graham looked at Marguerite and closed his eyes. “It seems I’m terrible at raising disciples. Marguerite picked up the sword, but never picked up any discipline... I tried to be stern with her as if she was my own daughter.” Graham launched into a tale.

Marguerite had grown up without much love from her father Oberon, king of the Western Forest, who had to shoulder the responsibilities of being the head of his clan. He was unable to give her any special attention, and she was mostly raised by her mother and wet nurse.

Around that time, Graham had settled in the western woods to live a life of retirement. After his many years of adventuring, he had neither wife nor children to return to. He had cast aside the life of an elf to venture into the outside world, and faced strong criticism when he returned.

Even so, he had slain demons and other high-ranking fiends, and these deeds were regarded as heroic by the elves as well. He was gradually accepted back into elven society, and some of the starry-eyed young ones would drop by to hear his tales.

“Oberon looked up to me too. It was never made public, but he would often come to seek my counsel, as I had knowledge of the world outside.”

“I see...”

“His visits meant I would see Marguerite as well. She was interested in the world, and wanted to hear the stories of my travels.”

Marguerite simply couldn’t settle for a quiet life. She was far more curious than the typical elf, and her eyes would glimmer each time Graham spoke of a fiend laid to rest. She would always urge him to tell more and more.

“Marguerite was terribly envious of how I made a name for myself.”

“Do you mean she wanted to be recognized?” Belgrieve asked.

He nodded. “Elves do not place much emphasis on individuality. We are free from the chains of self, achieving greater spiritual peace and harmony by becoming one with nature. But Marguerite was different. She wanted to be acknowledged as an individual...and my stories admittedly spurred her on.”

“Well ain’t that the sorta thing anyone her age would think? Back when I was young, I set off from home with nothing but a dream...”

“That’s the difference between elves and humans, Sir Duncan. Both Marguerite and I—we are heretics, cut off from the common sense of our species.”

Was she one of them too? Belgrieve thought back to the elven girl in his memories.

In any case, after many twists and turns, Graham taught Marguerite the blade. The elves did not have anything against combat. Fiends were no strangers to their lands, and they hunted for meat as well. It was admirable for an elf to learn how to handle a weapon.

Marguerite improved at a frightening rate. She had inherited strong mana with her royal blood, and once Graham taught her how to use it, she had picked up several sword styles in the blink of an eye. She combined them all and polished them into her own personal technique.

Her talent only made her yearn for Graham’s path even more than before. Finally the day came for her to take flight with a sword in hand.

“Elves are cold to those who leave. They are beings who disrupt the harmony of the tribe. Oberon and his queen Titania had to adopt the same attitude to keep the tribe together.”

“And that’s why you were entrusted with finding her?”

“Oberon is always busy, you see. Perhaps I’ve spent more time with Marguerite than he has...” Graham sighed. “An elf who leaves the forest leads a lonesome existence—always receiving funny looks, and feared more often than not. But even if she returned home, it would take time before she was accepted again. I wanted to stop her precisely because I had experienced this firsthand.”

“That’s none of your business, granduncle.”

The three of them turned to the voice. Marguerite was sitting up, scratching her head drowsily.

“You’re up... How do you feel?”

“Satisfied yet, granduncle? It turned out just how you wanted it to.” Marguerite sharply glared at Graham.

Graham looked back with a furrowed brow. “Why must you be so cynical about it...? I’ve never denied your way of life. However, you’ll only drive yourself into a corner if you keep acting recklessly.”

“I’m tired of all the lectures...” Marguerite tried to stand, but pain caused her to fall to her knees with a grimace.

Duncan hurriedly raced over to her. “Not a good idea. Your wounds haven’t closed yet!”

“Don’t touch me!” Marguerite slapped his hand away, growling like a beast. She turned to Belgrieve with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m sure you’re all laughing, the lot of you! Some stupid little girl charged in recklessly and got done in, huh? Must have been quite the show!”

“Marguerite!” Graham stood, enraged. “That’s enough! Duncan and Belgrieve rushed out to find you because they were worried! And this is how you repay them? If you keep pushing people away, then who will ever recognize you? Who in their right mind would praise you?! Answer me!”

Marguerite silently bit her lip. She teetered to her feet and swiftly but unsteadily left the house.

“Miss Marguerite!” Duncan started off to chase her.

“Leave her, Duncan! How stupid can that girl be... My patience has run out!”

Graham fell into a chair. This was the first time the soft-spoken man had ever shown his anger, and it was enough for Duncan to freeze in his tracks.

However, it wasn’t enough for Belgrieve, who headed for the door.

Graham grimaced. “You don’t have to chase her.”

“You know that’s not true, Sir Graham. I have a daughter myself, so I understand how you feel...and that your anger is directed at yourself as well.”

“But...”

“You’re clashing precisely because of how close you are. I apologize for meddling, but I think I should go. Will you leave it to me?”

“You have my gratitude. I don’t know how I can thank you.”

Belgrieve left with a smile.

The clouds had cleared up during the day, and a starry sky was spread out above. There was no moon that night, but this allowed the stars to shine with greater intensity.

One shadow lingered at the end of the yard—Marguerite, who hadn’t been able to go far owing to her injuries. She leaned against the fence, breathing heavily as she stared fixedly at the ground near her feet.

When Belgrieve slowly approached her, she spoke without looking at him. “What’s your problem, old man? I don’t need your sympathy.”

“Ha ha, that’s not what I’m here for. I thought we could talk a bit.”

Belgrieve stood beside her, his back against the same fence. Marguerite sullenly turned away.

“Hmph... I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Are you sure? I’m something of a swordsman myself, and I think your skill in the blade is worthy of respect. Despite using a rapier, your slashes were as sharp and fierce as a longsword. Your synergy with your sword must be quite strong.”

Marguerite’s brow twitched. “P-Pretty much...” she hesitantly muttered.

“What sort of training do you do?”

“I mean...the usual stuff, right? I practice my swings, trace the steps of each form, meditate while focusing on the flow of my mana. Then thrusting and slashing at targets. I don’t do anything special.”

“I see... Your movements were unique, like you’ve pieced multiple styles together. I’m surprised you polished it up to that degree. Color me impressed.”

“R-Really...? Hee hee...”

She nearly laughed before she caught herself and immediately covered it up with a sharp frown.

Belgrieve chuckled. “I have a daughter, you see. She’s working as an adventurer in a city to the south. She’s overly doting, but she’s overflowing with talent in swordsmanship.”

“Hmm... Who’s stronger? Me or her?”

“Oh, I couldn’t say. My daughter’s quite something, you know. She’s slain a demon too...”

“Hey, old man...”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m still eighteen. Don’t be so respectful, it’s creeping me out. I left the forest already; why should I still be treated like a princess?”

“I see, then I guess I’ll take you up on that.”

“Good... So how many demons has that daughter of yours taken down?”

“One, as far as I know.”

Marguerite grinned triumphantly. “I got three of the bastards. Looks like I’m stronger.”

“That may be true... But I don’t know who would come out on top if you actually fought.”

“Of course I would. You know who I learned the sword from? My granduncle, that’s who! Who taught your daughter?”

Belgrieve gave a troubled laugh, stroking his beard. “I did. Looks like you’ve got the better master by far.”

“Ah ha ha ha! Are you that strong, old man?” Marguerite burst out laughing. However, the laughter made her wounds ache, and even as she chuckled, her brow was knit with tension.

Belgrieve patted her on the back. “I’m not strong. In my case, my daughter’s natural talents were a cut above the rest.”

“Hey, you’re making it sound like I don’t got talent.”

“There’s no need to look at it like that. I’m sure you’re undoubtedly a bundle of talent. Maybe you’d be just as strong even if Sir Graham wasn’t your master.”

Marguerite frowned at that. “Wrong. I’m definitely a genius, but I got even stronger because of my granduncle. Your daughter would be even stronger if he taught her.”

“I see... You trust Sir Graham quite a lot.”

“Huh?!”

I fell for it! Her cheeks turned red as she looked the other way.

Belgrieve could sense that Marguerite wasn’t stupid. However, youth was quite a troubling thing. The baseless confidence that came from it could be a strength at times, but could become shackling at other times. It didn’t take long for a small bit of stubbornness to snowball past the point of no return. Belgrieve remembered it well.

When he lost his leg, he insisted to his comrades that he was just fine. He continued on as an adventurer, taking up odd jobs that didn’t involve combat, and kept up a smile. He went on even as every step chipped away his self-esteem—he despised the very thought of showing weakness. Ultimately, it became too painful, and he had to run away to Turnera. He hadn’t said a word to any of them, and since then, he had no idea where any of his old comrades were. This was what came of hiding his weakness and stubbornly putting up a strong front.

Belgrieve stared at the sky with a poker face. “I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings. I know them too well.”

“Hmph... Anyone can say that.”

“But not everyone can mean it. I used to be an adventurer. I had hopes and dreams, and confidence. I never doubted that I would one day take hold of my ideal future.”

“So...what happened?”

“This happened.”

Belgrieve kicked his peg leg against the fence.

Marguerite looked at it doubtfully. “You lost your leg...?”

“Yeah... But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t become an adventurer. The thing is, I don’t think it’s a waste of time to listen to me, or Graham or Duncan. We know how failure feels. You loved hearing about Sir Graham’s travels, right?”

“Yeah.”

Belgrieve smiled brightly and gently patted her on the shoulder. “Are you hungry? Do you want to go back inside?”

“Fine,” she conceded after a moment.

Belgrieve helped support her unsteady steps as she made her way back. Once inside, Marguerite timidly peeked at Graham, who sat with a grim look on his face.

The moment he saw her, he apologetically closed his eyes. “Maggie... I said too much. I’m sorry.”

“Y-Yeah... Me too. Sorry...”

Her cheeks flushed red. She hadn’t heard that nickname in a while.

They’re both pretty awkward, Belgrieve thought with a smile. Duncan let out a relieved sigh, then a hearty laugh.

“Marguerite! I request a duel once your wounds heal up!”

“S-Sure! I’m not losing to any old fart!”

“Ha ha ha! I won’t go down easily!”

Belgrieve hung the pot over the fire and thought of the child in the forest. He didn’t seem like an opponent to be defeated; perhaps there was some other way to resolve this.

“If we could understand each other, at least...”

“Hmm? What’s wrong, Bell?”

“No... It’s nothing. Could you fetch some potatoes, Duncan?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Belgrieve glanced at Graham. Graham nodded, with a serene face. His gratitude was palpable.