DBCRT 31

Chapter 31

Not a single demonic beast remained. It was so surreal that it could have been dismissed as a collective dream—but the traces were unmistakably real. And they were tremendous. Several train cars had been torn off and completely destroyed. The railway bridge was heavily damaged as well. Deep claw marks were gouged here and there, where the beasts had raked across.

“What happened, Zephir?”

“As you can see, it’s all over.”

“I can see that much. I’m asking who performed a miracle like this.”

Zephir’s answer was simple.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Yes. I truly don’t. The demonic beasts suddenly disappeared, and the train that had been falling was back up above.”

Gatra tilted his head, his eyes filled with doubt.

“You’re saying you don’t know why that happened?”

“Yes. I didn’t see anything. It was already over by the time I realized. It happened all at once. I saw no process—only the result. As if time itself had vanished. So I have no way of knowing who did it.”

“Do you at least know what kind of power it was?”

“I don’t.”

“I see…”

There was no way Zephir was lying. He seemed genuinely curious himself.

Gatra turned his gaze toward the Inquisitors of the Order. They hadn’t stepped off the train, only stared outside. In their long gray robes, they looked like ghosts unable to leave the train.

“Was it them?”

“I’m curious about that as well.”

“I’ll ask them.”

Gatra gestured at Zephir.

“You’re coming with me. His Excellency will want to know too.”

Zephir said nothing, and Gatra asked,

“You came here under his orders, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should come along. But first…”

Gatra looked at the people standing behind Zephir.

Meimon Azla quickly bowed in greeting. Gatra nodded in return, then looked past him.

There sat a strikingly handsome boy with a hardened expression.

Irix Verckart.

The duke’s only son—and the boy the Order had designated as the most sacred vessel.

Beside him sat a girl Gatra had never seen before. Her features looked as though they had been drawn with pale pastel crayons.

Yet the cold soul reflected in her eyes, framed by thick lashes, and the expression settled on her face felt subtly out of place. A person’s character and life usually show on their face. But her gaze and expression clashed with those delicate features. As though she had lived kindly and gently all her life—only to be cursed with a sudden change in temperament.

“Hello, Sir Gatra,” Irix said.

“What a surprise to meet here, at a time like this.”

Judging from the exhaustion in his expression, he meant it sincerely.

“I feel the same, Young Master. Is anyone injured?”

“For now, just me.”

Irix raised his arm. It was bound in a blood-soaked handkerchief.

“It doesn’t look too serious.”

“It is serious.”

“You’ll recover soon.”

Gatra turned to the healer beside him.

“Take care of him.”

The healer handed over a wound patch and disinfectant. The girl beside Irix accepted them, then untied the bloodied handkerchief from his wrist. A deep gash was revealed. It must have hurt quite a bit.

She calmly wiped away the blood with disinfectant, examined the wound, and applied the patch. Her hands were skillful. She didn’t flinch at the sight of blood and torn flesh—as if she’d seen such things many times.

“She’s better than this one,” Gatra remarked, pointing at the healer.

The healer looked startled.

Gatra noticed the badge pinned to the girl’s jacket collar. She attended the same school as Irix.

Could she be… a friend?

“….”

No, that couldn’t be.

Irix Verckart having a friend?

“I’ll be on my way now. I hope you return home safely.”

“Very well. Good work.”

Gatra left with Zephir toward the wrecked train.

The train looked as though a dragon had chewed it apart. One carriage in particular had been attacked viciously. If the others had merely been bitten, this one had been crushed and gnawed to pieces.

“This one’s especially bad. What happened here?”

“That was where Young Master Irix Verckart was.”

“Really? Hold on.”

Gatra raised a hand to stop Zephir and glanced to the side. Figures in gray robes were approaching—the Order’s Inquisitors.

“Irix.”

After the far more formidable mage than Zephir left, I called out to him.

“What.”

“You’re hurt on your neck too. Tilt your head back.”

He hesitated, then slightly raised his head.

“More.”

He barely moved at all.

In the end, I grabbed his forehead and placed my hand behind his head, tilting it back myself. He stiffened. I wiped the blood from his exposed neck and applied a patch.

“It hurts.”

“Stop whining. It’s not like your throat was slit. People with worse injuries stayed quieter than you, so shut up and endure it.”

“How would you know that?”

“I used to be somewhere where injured people gathered.”

Irix grumbled.

“I have no idea where that was. If you’re done, go away.”

“You could at least say politely, ‘You don’t have to worry anymore,’ or at minimum say thank you.”

“Do I have to thank you?”

“I want to think you’re cute.”

“What would you do thinking I’m cute?”

“Because I like cute things.”

Irix suddenly fell silent, as if he’d been struck.

After a moment, a very small reply came.

“Thank you.”

Ah, how admirable. Makes me want to smack you.

“By the way… are you okay, Senior?”

“What?”

“You’re not hurt… right?”

What tremendous progress.

From 0.01 to 0.02—that’s double, isn’t it? Going from 50.01 to 50.02 is nothing, but in Irix’s case it’s the former. He’s become twice as kind. Oh my, how proud I am.

“If I’m fine, then that’s that.”

You’re so Room 301.

As expected, a fragment is still a fragment.

I turned to Meimon.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

But Meimon had wounds here and there as well. I tossed him the ointment container the healer had given me.

“At least put that on. Even if it’s minor, it should heal quickly.”

He caught it hurriedly and bowed.

“Thank you.”

I found myself seeing Meimon in a new light.

Originally, that boy had been destined to die. No one looked for him. No one was curious about him. Born in the shadows, he would have been buried in them and disappeared.

That fate no longer exists. The boy will live well from now on. I hope he does. Next year, the year after, ten years from now, twenty years from now—may he continue to live well.

But why had Meimon, who wasn’t even related by blood and wasn’t particularly close to Irix, tried so desperately to save him?

Because of an order from the duke, his benefactor?

No. The duke never gave such an order. Meimon did it of his own will.

Why?

Probably for the same reason I once did.

Just… because he had to.

I entered that building searching for Room 301. Even though it wasn’t my business. Even knowing it was dangerous. Even knowing I might not be able to save anyone. My body moved on its own.

Meimon must have been the same.

He went to save him because he wanted to. And he died for it.

So did I.

Sometimes people help others even when there’s nothing in it for them.

Call them foolish. Ask what thanks they’ll receive. Mock them for helping someone not worth it—they still do it.

When things are most dire, people help others without reason. As if it were a hidden instinct.

That was Meimon.

He must have thought he was the only one who could save Irix.

Fortunately, Meimon won’t die now. Just as he has lived until now, he’ll continue to live.

He’s a bit lacking, but he’s kind. A kid like that deserves to live well.

For a while, none of us spoke.

We didn’t have much to say. We weren’t particularly close, after all.

Irix lay down on the grass.

Thud—

The scent of grass drifted up.

Staring at the sky, he said,

“The sky is beautiful.”

I looked up too.

At first, I saw only darkness. It was pitch black. My neck began to ache from craning it, so I lay down as well. The smell of grass surrounded me.

After watching for a while, one or two stars began to appear. Soon, the sky was covered entirely with them.

White stars appeared endlessly, endlessly. Then, faintly, the Milky Way revealed itself among them.

Now I lay beneath a sky overflowing with stars.

“Wow…”

This world often takes me by surprise.

After gazing at the stars, I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of the night.

Grass, water, stone, earth… the vivid smell of life enveloped me.

It’s nice.

So nice that I wouldn’t mind dying like this.

If this were my last memory, that would be fine too.

And then…

Gatra.

The moment I heard that name, I knew.

He, too, is someone with his own story.

And of course—

he died at Irix’s hands.