9. Recollections in Black and White p2
As planned. The northern magic room front had agreed on a final tactic beforehand. If the front line became impossible to maintain—specifically, if the sergeant died and the number of defenders was reduced to one-third of the original number—they would stake everything on a single, desperate gamble.
The Imperial army magician would ignite the corpses of the Imperial soldiers, who were carrying large amounts of gunpowder, with a burst of fire-attribute magic power. They would simultaneously release their magic power and detonate all the corpses in the corridor, taking the enemy with them. He had hoped that Bogart’s explosion earlier would ignite them, but perhaps because it focused more on the blast than the flames, it had been a dud. Therefore, the Imperial army would detonate them themselves.
Along with the flash, a deafening explosion echoed.
“Tch, the Empire’s way of doing things is so…”
Baldo covered his ears, closed his eyes, and rolled away.
Intense heat, wind, and sound—.
As soon as the chain of explosions seemed to have ended, he sat up.
The corridor was filled with darkness and smoke.
It was impossible to see the state of the corridor without straining his eyes.
But Baldo could say with certainty,
(I’m… not done yet.)
Looking into the depths of the corridor, a large shadow swayed, trailing black smoke. It was standing on two feet. It hadn’t been defeated even after that explosion. He was half-terrified, but Baldo had half-expected this. That’s why he stayed low and ran towards the hero, emerging from the recess in the corridor wall.
He would hide in the darkness and smoke and cut off his head.
He approached the giant. He burned his energy to the limit.
What he had to be careful of wasn’t being tricked, but tripping over the corpses at his feet. Given the state of his injuries, this was a golden opportunity. If he missed this chance, there would be no next time. He would end up without even landing a blow on the hero.
This wasn’t just as a soldier of the Imperial army. As someone who had once given up on his dreams, as someone who had once knelt before the unreasonable, as a small, single human being, this was his only chance to show his utmost resistance.
—I can resist. Even without talent, I can resist.
—Otherwise, what was it all for?
(I’m… going home. To that house, where my sister is waiting—)
He crossed the sea of corpses and raised his familiar sword. He shook off the pungent smell of burning and opened his eyes. He clenched his back teeth. He put all his soul into it.
“I don’t like it.”
Just one sentence before the desperate flash.
The hero turned around with a furious expression.
The moment that illusion spread through his mind—.
“Guh… !?”
Baldo’s vision was completely painted black.
With a scream, a dull pain spread through the top of his head.
Was he lying on the floor? Where was up, where was down? A blurred pain, as if through a membrane, enveloped his body, and he couldn’t muster any strength. It was a miracle that his neck wasn’t broken. He had lost all feeling in his face and jaw.
He realized with his hazy mind that he hadn’t been able to do it. He didn’t know what had happened. As it was, his consciousness melted away like a flickering candle. He felt like a part of him was laughing overhead, mocking that this was what life was all about.
In the midst of his fading consciousness, the only thing he could do was apologize. Two shadows swayed in the darkness before his eyes. One small, and one about half her height. He reached out to them as they swayed and faded.
Like a branch trembling under the weight, he reached out.
—I’m… sorry.
Whether his last words actually escaped his lips, he didn’t know.
“Well, sweet dreams.”
The last thing he saw in his fading vision in the real world was a strange greatsword radiating a violet light.
“Drown them, Welstveil.”
※※※※※※※※※※
—I… wasn’t chosen.
It was an old memory. He heard the sound of turning a faded page.
The boy was born the eldest son of the Halt family. The Halt family was a long line of merchants. Therefore, from the moment he was born, he was destined for a brilliant future. It went without saying that he was expected to be the next head of the trading company by the merchants and apprentice disciples belonging to the company, as well as his family.
For generations, the eldest son had inherited the position of chairman.
He remembered his mother gently stroking his head and saying,
“Nudd. You’re going to succeed your father, so you have to work hard. Be a great person like him. Be a strong person. Be someone who can lead others. I’m sure you can do it.”
So, the boy tried to live up to those expectations. To be more worthy of being the successor, he honed his discerning eye, learned negotiation skills, and mingled with the apprentices to learn the tricks of the trade. It was hard, but it wasn’t painful. The expectations of everyone pushed him forward, but that wasn’t all.
He had a pure admiration for his father.
His father was always busy and rarely came home. He only heard about his daily achievements from his disciples and his mother. Before he started going to the trading company, he only saw his father a few times a year. A great man who had built the Halt family’s golden age. Even though his father’s profession wasn’t depicted in heroic tales, the boy knew he was just as great.
His father was a quiet man with a stern face. No one, including the boy, had ever seen him smile.
He must have been a strict person. He had never been praised by his father, nor had he ever been spoken to kindly. He had no memory of receiving any familial warmth.
But when it came to work, his father was sincere. He raised the salaries of his employees according to their performance and gave them important tasks.
The boy was proud of his stoic father.
“Is everyone here?”
The day of the next successor’s nomination arrived.
The siblings, including the boy, were lined up in the dining hall. It was an old family tradition.
“The nomination of the successor shall be conducted in the presence of all successor candidates.”
It was a hollow custom. For generations, the successor had been the eldest son. This time would be no different.
The boy straightened his back, believing it without any basis.
“The next successor to the chairman is… you, Nate.”
—Therefore, for a moment, he couldn’t understand his father’s words.
Nor could he understand the voice of his younger sister, three years his junior, expressing her joy. She should have been next to him, but her voice sounded distant, as if from beyond a door.
Why? He repeated the question, knowing the cruel answer that awaited him. It was a lack of reality, as if he was trapped in a nightmare. He was the eldest son, and he had been told since he was a child that he would be the next successor. He had never been complacent about those expectations. He had never failed to make an effort every day.
The answer to that question was his lack of talent. His lack of ability.
Simply put, his business talent wasn’t as good as his sister’s. The boy’s lack of ability had disappointed his father. That was all.
The guilt of betraying expectations. The scornful gazes of his disciples and siblings.
They turned into blades and pierced him.
“That’s all. You may leave.”
The great back of his father, whom he had admired, turned away from him.
The back he had unconsciously relied on and trusted—.
He knew. That it was all an illusion.
The indifference and coldness he saw before him were the truth.
The boy knew that it was right.
That’s why he was driven to the officer’s academy, and then—.
