WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Hydrogen B

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Chapter 82: 13. Meeting the Family (3)

──────

* * *

"With this, you could fight back even if someone ambushed you while you were combing your hair."

"Exactly."

Ivan trembled without realizing it, overcome with the joy of finally meeting a sensible person.

It was common sense that a man was at his most vulnerable to surprise attacks while combing his hair, so there was no need to explain further.

This was a meeting of sensible men that transcended both age and era, the twenty-first century and the premodern world. People called common sense that applied regardless of time or country truth. Yes. At that moment, they had practically discovered the truth.

Einar kept marveling as he balanced the comb on a finger, clicked it open to draw the dagger, and changed it back into a comb.

A transforming comb. And it had that solid, reassuring weight of pure metal, without even relying on magic.

It was the same kind of emotion men felt when they first handled a firearm. The distinctive functional beauty of metal, its precisely fitted parts locking together with a clean snap. Any man would have to admire it.

"Could I try it once..."

"Absolutely not."

"No, why?"

"You have no concept of hygiene."

"...?"

Ivan looked at the head-tilting Einar with pity.

What was this man talking about when crumbs from that morning's bread were still stuck in the corners of his braided beard?

To Ivan, a beard was the result of trying to imitate even a little of the late king's style.

In other words, it was an image of coolness. Only the late king could possess the ideal form of coolness itself.

That was why Ivan spent a long time grooming his beard every morning and night. It was the best courtesy he could offer, like paying someone a respectful visit.

Droan men, on the other hand, were different. Those bastards simply grew their beards because, in their words, "hair grows, so you grow it." They braided them, soaked them in beer and whatever else, then gave them a rough squeeze and shake before calling it done. It was not done.

He could not possibly entrust his treasure to the leader of such people.

After hearing the full explanation, Einar was left in a muddled state, uncertain whether he should be angry or feel wronged.

Then he heard faint sniffling.

"Wait a moment."

He strode over, grabbed the director's office window, and threw it open.

"..."

Below the window sat a couple of young orphanage residents, along with Isabelle, whose face suggested she was about to burst into tears.

"Well, this is unexpected."

The children all ran away the moment they saw Einar's face, but Isabelle remained where she was and looked up at him.

That face. Those eyes. Even Einar knew them well. The resemblance was remarkable. He gave a faint chuckle.

"Maximilian's daughter."

"...Yes, Great King."

"None of that 'Great King' business. Call me uncle."

Einar shrugged, then rubbed between his brows for a moment. He had naturally assumed his younger brothers had kept the surroundings secure, so what was this supposed to be?

"How much did you hear?"

"..."

"You heard all of it, then. I see."

Einar let out a deep sigh.

"We'll talk again later."

He shut the window and stepped back. Ivan did not look troubled in the slightest.

That bastard knew.

Einar snorted, returned to his seat, and sat down.

"Is there a soundproofing spell on this room?"

"No. If there were, I couldn't hear anything outside."

"Right. You're not the type to do that... Tsk. You knew?"

"She needs to know this too."

"Sure she does. You're going to tell a little girl that her father might have gone mad? And what is this place, an assassin training camp disguised as an orphanage? How did those children get right under my nose without me noticing?"

"That's a misunderstanding. They're all war orphans."

War orphans were pitiful children who had to spend their lives watching other people, society, and the world.

It was only natural that such children walked carefully. Ivan tacitly encouraged that attitude as well.

If they learned even one useful skill before entering society someday, their chances of survival would improve.

Einar did not seem to accept that obvious common sense. No matter how enlightened he looked, he was still, in the end, a premodern man.

"What kind of orphans can sneak beneath my chin without my younger brothers noticing? Even among the demonfolk, the ones who could manage that were rare."

Einar laughed helplessly as he walked toward the director's office door.

"The reason I came to see you is pretty meaningless now, but I should still confirm it once. Are you seeing Esi these days?"

"Mm."

"Right? I knew it... What?!! You're seeing her?!"

"Mm."

He even made sure she ate and had recently been overseeing her training.

Einar looked Ivan's impassive face over once, rubbed his forehead again, then naturally pulled out an axe.

"Come outside right now, you bastard!!"

The Droan code had no record of settling things through conversation with a scoundrel who lured a close friend's daughter away in a foreign country and toyed with her.

* * *

A curse?

A tainted soul?

The Seven Dragon Generals and the Demon King...?

The story was so enormous, so utterly detached from reality, that Isabelle felt confusion before sadness.

It was difficult to accept before it was even possible to understand. To people, gods were something distant and motionless, hinted at through priests.

That was how people of this age saw them. Gods existed, the afterlife was absolute, and scripture ought to take precedence over any law, yet no one lived with the tangible awareness that gods truly existed.

So stories of killing gods or receiving a god's curse were naturally treated as vague lines from myth.

Lost in confusion, Isabelle staggered along without direction.

'Father.'

She thought of the Hero, a man whose face had grown so faint that she could only vaguely recognize him in exaggerated statues.

She could not clearly remember his voice, his way of speaking, or any distinctive trait.

Perhaps they had separated when she was too young. Perhaps they had spent too little time together after the war ended. Perhaps he had simply been too great a person for her to truly grasp....

'No.'

She now knew that was not the reason. A sudden chill ran down her spine.

Her image of Hero Maximilian was made of colorless, transparent memories. She had certainly seen her father briefly at the victory banquet.

He had been a man who smiled brightly and shone brilliantly. That was how she remembered him.

But had he truly been like that? Isabelle could not say for certain.

The Hero, her father, had been fading. Even beneath the victory banquet's brilliant chandeliers, like paint slowly bleeding across water. Gradually....

Her father had not shut himself away. He had not gone into seclusion.

He had been unable to endure himself. Yes, to put it more clearly... to interpret it mythologically, he had sealed himself away.

What would happen if a man capable of splitting the sky alone, cutting off the Demon King's head, and breaking through armies of tens of thousands were swallowed by madness?

The terror now crawling down Isabelle's back was likely only an echo of what Maximilian himself had already felt.

The Hero must have understood more clearly than anyone what he was capable of.

If a single person who could slaughter a nation and society wielded all their power solely for madness and desire, what should such a person be called?

A Demon King.

Worse, he would become a Demon King in a world without a Hero. A disaster no one could resist. Humanity could not withstand another war.

So Maximilian had sealed himself away. He was the person who could most precisely predict what he was capable of, and what would happen because of it.

The people who did not know that were forgetting the Hero's final sacrifice.

The nobles who swallowed the wealth and territory left behind by the dead Demon King and defeated demonfolk mocked the vanished Hero.

And Isabelle, left behind, had resented her father.

A man who had devoted his entire life, completely, to the world.

"Bella? Are you crying? Oh my god, what's wrong?! You look so pale..."

"Esi...?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here. What's going on?! Come here. Drink some of this... Wipe your tears...!"

"Esi... Esi... What do we do...?"

It seemed she had wandered close to the school. Perhaps her feet had naturally taken her there because it was a path she walked so often.

Sniffling, Isabelle threw herself into Aesidis's arms.

"Why? What happened? Hmm?"

"Uncle.... What are we going to do about Uncle...?"

Only after she forced the words from her mouth did Isabelle finally understand why she had been crying.

She pitied Ivan. She grieved for him.

Her father, Maximilian, had sacrificed everything to cut down the Seven Dragon Generals and slay the Demon King.

And Ivan had done the same. He too had killed a Seven Dragon General and, apparently, lost part of his soul to the same curse.

Then the conclusion came naturally. He would meet the same end as the Hero.

Before madness consumed him, he would either imprison himself or be driven by madness until he died at the executioner's block.

That clear future was too sad, too heartbreaking.

Understanding why her tears flowed, Isabelle collapsed and sobbed.

"It shouldn't be like that. Right, Esi...? It can't be like that."

Great heroes who had given their whole lives, cast themselves aside, and achieved deeds no human had ever dared accomplish.

If the end awaiting such great people was nothing more than confining themselves while waiting for a lonely death, was that not too unfair?

People who knew nothing lived on, while countless kings who stole and fed on the Hero's accomplishments amassed wealth and fame so happily.

Was there not something wrong with a world where the heroes who had laid society's foundations rotted alone underground?

If gods existed, it could not be so. If the Lord truly loved humanity, it could not be so.

Thinking of her father, Ivan, and the heroes of the past war she did not know, Isabelle wept.

Aesidis held Isabelle's shoulders and slowly patted her back.

* * *

After arriving at Saint Basilisha Orphanage, Elizaveta could not conceal the presumptuous thoughts running through her mind and covered her face.

The orphanage had now become almost half of what used to be an orphanage.

"King Einar."

"Oh, Elizaveta. It has been a long time."

"Is this... a declaration of war?"

At Elizaveta's small gesture, a royal guard rushed over and retrieved Ivan from where he lay on the ground. Nothing other than Ivan could be retrieved. The orphanage yard had become a crater.

"Entering this country without an official letter, ignoring every procedure, then daring to attack one of my close associates. Einar, do you find me and this nation so laughable?"

Elizaveta checked the injuries of the unconscious Ivan.

Thanks to her long experience commanding in the field, she could tell that Ivan's injuries were not particularly serious.

With a sigh of relief, she slowly stroked Ivan's cheek.

"Pavel."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Do what you must. Krasilov will never yield before a foreign enemy who has insulted the heir to the throne."

"Yes, Your Highness."

When Pavel took a step forward, the soldiers surrounding the orphanage walls raised their weapons as one.

At nearly the same moment, the Huscarls standing beside Einar drew their own weapons.

Killing intent stretched taut. It felt so precarious that it might snap at any moment.

Einar shrugged between them.

"Is that temperament hereditary? Calm down. If I had to state my purpose, that fellow was all of it. And if I had to make an excuse, this was just a family matter."

"A family matter? Why would one of my close associates be part of your family matter?"

"Who knows? It seems he might become part of it now. Boys, put down your weapons."

Einar waved a hand and took another step forward.

When Pavel raised his spear threateningly, Einar gave a short laugh and gestured.

"Put away that toothpick, boy. No one needs to shed blood today. Elizaveta Kirillovna Krasilov, as King of Droan, I offer my apologies. I will surely make amends for today's discourtesy."

"I would like to hear the reason first."

"Ask him when he wakes up. It was a sparring match we both agreed to, so pursuing this any further would insult me as well. And when that bastard wakes up, I'd appreciate it if you passed along one message."

"I'll allow the relationship, but at least wait until after graduation before giving me grandchildren."

With that, Einar turned and began walking away.

Blood dripped, drop by drop, from behind the arm he held behind his back.

Einar clenched his hand tightly and smiled.

You have grown, bastard.

Satisfied, he continued on. The Huscarls followed him as he calmly departed through the Krasilov Royal Guard surrounding them.

Ep. 13. Meeting the Family

Footnotes:

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried