Lord of Disease (JP-GL) 390

390: The End of a Memory

What had happened in Ordregalia was a common tragedy of that era.

The fact that a single race had been destroyed was special, but it was just that the elves had been on a path to extinction.

The number of humans I had killed for revenge was, even at that time, undoubtedly greater than the number of elves who had been killed. That was all.

In that era, the humans who had chosen to stick together were the victors.

If you were to say who the losers of that era were, it would be the elves—the forest elves.

The desert elves—the dark elves—who had abandoned their homeland and had headed for the north, had taken a completely different path. And it was probably only natural that the desert dark elves, who had been merchants outside their desert homeland and had continued to explore various paths, had been able to find a new path.

If I had known of the fall of Ordregalia, I would have headed for the Listrea Demon Kingdom.

I sometimes wondered what would have happened if I had. If Rebecca Stagnet, ‘she,’ had lived—then ‘I’ would not have been born.

The Living Dead Princess, who had led a horde of mindless undead and had destroyed many of the neighboring villages and city-states.

The Walking Army, who had resurrected the magical beasts she had defeated, as if they were stained with their blood, and had fought for a living space with the magical beasts, who had been more numerous then, and had cleared the northern forests.

The Will-o’-the-wisp of the Battlefield, who had the title of having participated in all six of the Battles of Litalside.

…And the veteran necromancer who had been dispatched to the Sixth Army as a guardian and a sign of trust—the future ‘third in command of the Sixth Army’—might not have existed.

Incidentally, my role in Litalside during the war had been diverse, from offensive and defensive magic to supporting the undead and reinforcing the city walls and guarding the supply routes.

The fact that the Sixth Army was now being treated as a handyman unit for post-war reconstruction was, in a way, nostalgic.

The fact that the death knights who had been called the Order of Disease were getting stronger also reminded me of myself, a long time ago.

The reason I hadn’t proposed ‘that’ was because the risk was too high. I was made to understand that an undead created by hand was stronger.

The fact that they had devoured so many souls in such a short time, and that not a single one had become a ‘husk,’ was nothing short of a miracle.

As one who had seen it up close, I had a hypothesis as to why not a single one had lost their will under those conditions. But I had no intention of speaking of it, as it would probably be better to leave the mystery a mystery, so as not to produce a fool who would try to ‘reproduce’ it.

…In a word, it was because of the Lord of Disease.

It was a very crude conclusion, but it was a fact, so it couldn’t be helped.

‘Normally,’ a non-undead would be a little wary of an undead. With education, the prejudice had faded, and the discrimination had also decreased considerably. And yet, it was also a fact that the Fourth Army had been holed up in the often-turbulent east, under the pretext of not having an unnecessary influence on the surroundings. So, normally, they only interacted with other armies… with other races… during regular exercises and irregular training.

Even if it was normal to train with a sword together. To practice a comedy routine with an undead, to play cards, there was no one who would act in such a way.

Because they had a trusted partner, who had shown them that they were prepared to walk with them to the end—they had endured the rapid increase in their mana. And they had survived the hellish, fierce battle, where no one had been expected to return alive, thirteen of them, including Harken.

Of course, I had no intention of telling Master that.

…To have the delicacy of being a Material Ghost, which was rarely touched upon even within the Fourth Army, dismissed with a single word, ‘cool.’

I was the type who could control it, but due to my racial trait of draining mana through physical contact, it was normal to be kept at a distance—and to keep a distance—and yet, for some reason, I had been hugged on our first meeting.

To have my gentle… no, rather direct… refusal to bathe brushed aside with the childish excuse of ‘to get to know each other’ and the shield of her rank.

At that time, I had even wondered if I should resist with my life, though it was doubtful whether this body had a concept of chastity. But since there was nothing heavier than the revenge I had sworn on that day… I had once given up, thinking I would accept whatever was demanded of me.

To be honest, I was ashamed of myself for having thought such a thing, so I couldn’t deny that I had been cold to her for a while. Though I didn’t feel bad, since she had definitely enjoyed making me misunderstand.

And when I had received the clothes I was wearing now, I had felt a sense of rebellion—a repulsion, as if my precious, distant memories had been trampled on—and I had refused once. But with a forcefulness that had made me despise her, as a person who could only get things done by using her authority as a shield, she had made me wear them.

The words that Flora had casually said… that there was no need to be bound by the past… had sunk into my heart. That said, I thought that Flora had wanted to dress me in bright clothes. She seemed to have become more true to her desires after becoming a wraith… but that, too, was a new Flora.

And yet, the clothes Master had given me had been of the same design. Not because she had wanted to treat me as a dress-up doll, to satisfy her own desires. …It was probably because she couldn’t bear to see me in such tattered clothes.

To be treated like that, with no regard for my achievements, my position, or anything else. …To be treated as if I were a younger sister, of my apparent age.

I had been happy.

Of course, I had no intention of telling Master that either.

And then, we had become a little closer. And I had learned that she had had a sister. And I had come to understand, a little, how lonely it was to have come from another world. And I had thought that she and I were similar.

And at the same time, I had become scared.

She had not, at least, had anyone killed. So, she didn’t seem to have the same desire for revenge as I did—and yet, her orders had killed far more people, far more efficiently, than I had ever killed.

Now, I was not so kind or pure as to wish for the lives of non-combatants. But… when I had done that, I had been made to think that I had truly become a monster.

Every time I saw her dark eyes, I had wondered what she would lose next.

And yet, I had no intention of abandoning my revenge. We were both protecting… and using… our positions. Whether it was for the sake of revenge, or perhaps a licking of wounds between two who had the same scars, it didn’t matter.

…And yet, fortunately, Liz had been by her side.

Sometimes gentle, sometimes strict—a perfect match. The two of them, who had been afraid to advance their relationship, for reasons of position, situation, and gender, even though they were so in love with each other… when they had finally… yes, finally gotten together, I had felt a weight lifted from my shoulders.

If Liz hadn’t been there, what would have become of her? Would she have broken? Or would Bridget have been by her side instead? Or perhaps—

“…Hmm? What is it?”

She, whom I had been staring at, tilted her head. Until just now, she had probably been watching me in silence, out of consideration for me, who was lost in thought about the past.

“No, it’s nothing.” I said, vaguely, and she nodded, without pressing the matter.

When you got to know her, she had a delicate side, for all her titles and actions.

“But your red eyes are beautiful, Rebecca. Like a jewel, like a ruby.”

“Huh?” I was startled.

My crimson eyes had been a symbol of my lost connection. As if they were telling me that I was not ‘Rebecca Stagnet.’ And yet, my memories had had no choice but to cling to that name.

And she had called me by that name, as if I were myself. And she had praised my eyes, as if they were just a beautiful thing.

She probably didn’t know. …And it was better that she didn’t. And yet, I was a little happy.

“Our Master is… a great person.”

How many years had it taken me to come to terms with my emotions? …Perhaps, until this very day. But she, before me, had ended the battle in just three years.

“Wait, why are you praising me all of a sudden?”

“…It’s a little embarrassing to say it again… but you are my master. I am grateful, and I trust you.”

“Ehh…” I saw a strange sight, a Greater Wraith blushing.

Oh.

“What, you’re not used to being told that?”

“Yes. I’m used to it with Samarkand.”

“He’s a little special.”

I thought of the greater demon who was not here. At that time, there had still been a movement to eliminate the Lord of Disease, and he had accepted the assassination mission—and at the last minute, he had refused the mission on his own judgment. And he had sworn his loyalty with a blood contract. Later, when I had asked them both, Master had said she had just talked to him, and Samarkand had said he had been captivated by her calm demeanor. The truth was in the darkness, but I was sure that Master had just talked to him in her usual way, and Samarkand had interpreted that usual way as a sign of her greatness.

“…Well, he probably had good judgment.”

“Wait, what? A compliment? Am I going to die tomorrow?”

“Is it so strange to be praised by Rebecca…?” Liz looked at Master with an exasperated expression.

“It’s fine, from time to time. Just accept it.”

‘Rebecca Stagnet, who had been the third princess of Ordregalia,’ had been defeated. But ‘Rebecca Stagnet, the third in command of the Sixth Army’… had won.

I didn’t know if it had been right to destroy the humans. And yet, in the country that this Master had shown the way. A race that would be exterminated for a trivial difference, for a slight conflict of interest, like the next Ordregalia and its elven citizens, would surely not be born.

“You’re making my big sister embarrassed.”

She, who had been deliberately using a different way of speaking, to sound older, said that.

My two kind sisters, Henrietta-neesama and Annette-neesama. And my tutor, Daisy. The civilian official, Flora. Master was completely different from them. But her kind side was similar.

Master covered her face with both hands and looked up at the sky, and she was silent. Her face, which was visible through the gaps in her fingers, was bright red. And after a while, she squeezed out a few words, as if in a groan.

“That dere is a foul…”

I didn’t quite understand what she was saying.

“Liz, I need a translator. You’re married, aren’t you?”

“Even though I’m married, I still sometimes don’t understand what Master is saying.”

Liz sighed. —But her eyes were gentle, and her lips were curved into a smile.

They really were a good match.

If Liz hadn’t been there. What would have become of her—of me?

To dwell on the ‘what ifs’ of the past was unproductive.

But what if. What if, with that dark knight commander, who had recently been so happy to be called ‘Nee-chan,’ who had once smiled even as her black armor was stained with blood… who reminded me a little of Annette-neesama.

…If I were to ask her to prepare the same position for us, after Liz, what would she say?

Regardless of the result, it was a ‘what if’ that I was a little interested in.

Well, I probably wouldn’t cause any trouble in a newlywed home. And besides, if I were to ask myself if my feelings were romantic, I had a feeling that was also different. It was probably a feeling that, if I had been raised differently—if I had grown up differently, it might have become that.

Liz had been by her side, before me. More strongly—or perhaps, sooner—than Bridget, whom she had met before me.

I didn’t know what our relationship would become. But a Master who was not on good terms with Liz… and a place where these two were crying, or unhappy, was something I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want to see my family get hurt anymore.

Liz was the ‘cute bride.’

Bridget was the ‘Nee-chan.’

And I was the… ‘little sister.’

Yes, I thought we had a good division of roles. If I were to say it out loud, it would probably cause a stir in Liz’s heart, so I intended to keep it to myself for the rest of my life.

In fact, I honestly thought that Liz was the best match. It was just that it was a little fun to imagine other futures.

And above all, I could be a strength to them, even in my current position.

I was Rebecca Stagnet. In the Sixth Army, the third in command, after the first in command, the Lord of Disease, a supreme commander of the Demon King’s army, and the second in command, Liz, her vice-commander and her consort.

A position where I could support the people I trusted.

—I was proud of this position.