Chapter 161 - Unconditional Indulgence (3)
The place Erika led him to, still holding his hand, was a stable on the outskirts of the village.
Up until that very moment, she had not let go of Ernest's wrist.
But the instant she spotted a man standing by the storage room next to the stable, anxiously scanning his surroundings, she hastily released him.
"My god. You actually brought him."
Upon spotting Erika and Ernest, the man blanched in shock and muttered anxiously.
Before they even got close to the storage room, he darted inside.
"Bitber's there too. Remember?"
Despite how tense things seemed, Erika nonchalantly pointed at the stable as she spoke.
Bitber.
Erika's so-called "Widow."
"I remember. Said she likes men."
There had been an adjective before "men," but he decided it was best to leave it unsaid.
"You traitors! You sold us out to the Empire!"
"Calm down! If we were going to betray you, don't you think we would've done it a long time ago? Why would we do it now?"
"You brought an Imperial Army officer! What exactly are you planning to do?"
"He's the one who helped us! Please step back! Move away! This won't end well for any of us if you keep this up!"
As Ernest and Erika approached the storage room, chaos had already erupted inside.
Shouts mixed Imperial and Belliang languages in a cacophony.
Werner was desperately trying to calm the terrified, panicked people, but it didn't seem to be doing any good.
When Erika reached for the door to go in, Ernest stopped her and entered first.
He was worried that, caught up in their agitation, the people inside might resort to violence.
...
Yet the moment Ernest opened the door and stepped into the storage room, the dozen people who had been screaming fell instantly silent, as though someone had flipped a switch.
With faces stricken by fear, they edged backward, their eyes fixed on Ernest's deep blue officer's uniform.
Ernest scanned their faces, trying to estimate their ages.
None of them looked to be under thirty; some could have been over fifty.
These must be the ones who had experienced the ruthless persecution of the Saraan people within the Empire firsthand.
Their fear of the Imperial Army seemed entrenched deep in their souls.
Ernest raised a finger to his lips for silence.
It was already quiet enough, but with that gesture, the room slipped into perfect stillness.
No—the silence was only broken by the small, constant sound of someone sniffling.
"An."
Erika rushed to the corner of the storage room and hugged the young girl who was curled up and crying.
As soon as An felt Erika's arms around her, she clung to Erika and began to sob even harder.
Having relayed Erika's message to Werner, An had simply been here without much thought, but when she heard the adults shouting and fighting, fear had overtaken her, and she had started to cry.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have made you do that. You didn't do anything wrong, An. For now…"
Erika wanted to take An out of this place, but she knew that if she left right now, the situation would only get more complicated.
Yet, letting An go alone when she was so frightened didn't seem safe, either.
"I'm aware that there are things between the Empire and your people that can't even be put into words."
In the silence, Ernest began to speak in a quiet, composed voice.
He had spoken in Imperial, but seeing that everyone seemed to understand him, he continued in that language.
"I have no words of sympathy to offer you, and I will not give you any. I'm a complete outsider to you, and I always will be. I don't harbor any goodwill toward you. And likewise, I have no desire to win your favor. So let's dispense with the pleasantries and get straight to the point, even if it's a bit blunt."
Inside the storage room, only An's sniffles, muffled as she clung to Erika, and Ernest's calm voice drifted through the quiet.
Raised with a good education by his father, Ernest spoke with utmost politeness, yet, true to his words, he addressed the matter bluntly.
"What kind of disgraceful behavior is this in front of a child? Have you no shame"
"..."
At Ernest's words, the Saraanian people—who had been clamoring inside the storage room—fell silent, unsure of what to do as they watched An sobbing in Erika's arms.
Yet at the same time, they were too fearful of Ernest to move a muscle.
Having observed, analyzed, categorized, and understood their every move, Ernest spoke.
"Let's talk."
Ernest held a belief: that if people were rational and logical, true conversation and persuasion were possible—that it was possible to understand each other.
However, that belief was brutally shattered during the war, especially in the horrific battle fought in the Bertebras Forest.
People, he had learned, sometimes clung to irrational fanaticism and broken logic, listening only to the senseless murmurs of madmen, steering themselves disastrously off course.
Therefore, even though he judged that talking to these people was possible, and proposed a conversation, he never let the Balt Gun slung over his shoulder leave his side.
With his tall, sturdy build, the face and eyes hardened by war, and his low, even-toned voice, Ernest appeared at least a hundred times more intimidating than he truly was.
Although, compared to the actual threat he posed, that impression was probably just about right.
Ernest could, if he wished, take on everyone in this room with his bare hands—and kill them all.
In truth, even Ernest himself could not clearly define the limits of his own abilities.
He constantly felt as if he had turned into a monster.
"Here, hold An for a moment."
"..."
And so, when Erika, struggling, lifted the crying An and thrust her into Ernest's arms, the others could not help but look on in horror, as if they were seeing a baby being placed directly into the maw of a bear.
Ernest himself was no exception.
Standing awkwardly, he took An and held her, then looked back at Erika in bewilderment.
An, who seemed to have calmed down a bit, was sniffling quietly; but she, too, must have been flustered, because she buried her face in Ernest's chest and didn't move an inch.
In the end, Ernest had no choice but to awkwardly support An's bottom with his arm and gently pat her back.
"As Werner said, he's the one who helped us last time."
Erika stepped forward and spoke.
She was careful not to mention Ernest's name.
"The first time we met, he realized we were Saraanian and showed us a route so we could avoid the soldiers. The second time, he just walked past without pretending to see us."
"…How are we supposed to believe that?"
A woman who looked to be in her forties asked in a trembling voice.
"Your suspicion is justified, and I can't completely erase it."
Erika addressed the wary Saraanian people calmly.
"All I can do is ask you to trust me. I can tell you why you need to leave this place, but I can't tell you why you should trust me."
"How can we trust you when all you're doing is asking us to trust you?"
"This… this is our new home now. Our children have even been born and raised here. To them, this is simply the hometown where they grew up."
"To begin with, there's no way the Empire would come all the way to Belliang and do something like that. Look, even the Imperial officer you brought doesn't actually plan to do anything to us That was a long time ago. As long as everyone keeps the secret, nothing will happen."
No sooner had Erika finished speaking than the Saraanian people began to protest in a panic.
They even used Ernest's suggestion to talk as evidence, turning it around in an attempt to persuade Erika instead.
'This is so frustrating.'
Honestly, Ernest found this whole situation deeply exasperating.
It felt like his patience had worn thin after dealing with Bailey's obstinacy earlier.
He was utterly tired of trying to persuade people who ignored reality in favor of irrational hopes.
Ernest wanted to say, 'Whether you believe me or not doesn't matter anymore.
Now that I'm here, things will go as I intend.' But he had to hold his tongue—anything he said could be badly misunderstood.
As an Imperial Army officer, Ernest was well aware that the moment he arrived and discovered Saraanian people in the village, all decisions had effectively shifted into his hands.
With just one word from Ernest, the countless soldiers stationed in this key supply village would turn the place upside down to arrest every last Saraanian.
On the other hand, it was also impossible for the villagers to harm Ernest now.
Not because of Ernest's own strength, but because if anyone did him harm, the entire village would face annihilation.
Ernest was a noble of the Empire, a captain in the Imperial Army, the son of a hero, and in his own right, a hero himself.
If even a regular officer were attacked here, every Imperial soldier deployed in Belliang would be on high alert.
But if Ernest were injured or killed here, the Imperial Army wouldn't hesitate to burn the entire village to the ground, wiping out Saraanian and everyone else alike.
That's why Ernest believed his suggestion—"Let's talk"—made it perfectly clear just how safe he was.
If he wanted, he could shoot everyone here on the spot or force Erika to follow him without a word of discussion.
'…I must be losing my mind, too.'
After thinking this, Ernest realized that his own thoughts weren't normal.
He would never actually do something like that, but the very fact that he even considered it showed how far he'd strayed from himself.
It had been less than half a year since he'd been exposed to the violence of war, and already so much of who he was had broken.
The Saraanian people showed no intention of abandoning their new home, and they kept trying to persuade Erika to give up.
Yet Erika listened to everything they said, her expression stubborn, not retreating an inch.
"An."
At that moment, in the midst of the confusion inside the storage room, Ernest's quiet voice rang out.
Everyone's eyes turned to him.
Holding An in his arms, Ernest gently patted her back, then set her down.
"Mm…"
Though her tears had fully dried, An seemed embarrassed.
She buried her face in Ernest's chest and fussed a bit, then peeked around her.
Realizing all eyes were on her, she jumped in surprise and dashed out of the storage room.
"The Empire still harbors hatred and contempt for the Saraanian nation, and, what's more, they are passing that down even to their children."
As soon as little An left, Ernest spoke bluntly.
"If you report a Saraanian, you can get a reward, and if you're a soldier, you might even receive a medal."
All of this was true.
Not a word of it was a lie.
And what he was about to say next wouldn't be, either.
"Once the Empire solidifies its control over Belliang, it will begin hunting down and killing the Saraanian people, just as it did in the Empire."
As soon as Ernest finished speaking, a suffocating silence fell over the storage room.
"…B-but, you wouldn't do something like that, would you? Right?"
The man who had tried to persuade Erika now asked Ernest, his face pale and beads of cold sweat on his forehead. Ernest met his gaze squarely and replied,
"It's foolish to believe that just because someone chooses not to do something, everyone else will do the same."
"..."
What sense does it make to judge everyone by the actions of a single exception?
"And the very reason you asked me that question is because you already know the Empire won't leave you alone, isn't it?"
They were hoping for Ernest to show mercy, and that hope existed only because they believed Ernest had the power to kill them all.
In reality, they knew they needed to run.
Despair filled everyone's hearts.
It was so overwhelming they could barely breathe, let alone speak.
The silence dragged on, heavy with suffocation.
"Karen."
At that moment, the Old Woman who had been standing a step back looked at Erika and spoke in her rough voice.
She called Erika "Karen," and Erika turned to look at her in response.
"What is your real reason? You said you weren't that person, so your words carry no weight, and you have no obligation to do any of this for us."
The Old Woman's voice was tinged with suspicion.
In the end, this was where all the questions led.
Why was Erika risking everything to save them?
"I'm doing what I believe is right."
"And?"
"..."
Erika answered resolutely, but when the Old Woman pressed her, Erika's lips parted soundlessly and she couldn't continue. Werner squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.
It was clear Erika was trying to save the Saraanian people, but it was equally obvious she had another motive.
And since she wouldn't reveal it, no one could fully trust her.
"I see."
Although Erika hadn't said anything further, the Old Woman muttered quietly, as if she'd heard all she needed.
Her voice, by now, was filled with a kind of certainty.
But it wasn't a certainty rooted in suspicion of Erika.
"We must run."
The Old Woman spoke, her eyes brimming with tears.
Hot streaks traced down her wrinkled cheeks.
"This can't be… What did we ever do to deserve this…?"
A middle-aged man, clearly worn down by hardship, wept bitterly as he lamented.
"We abandoned everything and ran for our lives, barely managing to survive. For the past twenty years, we gave everything just to settle down and make a life here. And now… now you're telling us to leave all this behind and flee again? To Konchanya, where we can't even speak the language?"
They had once lived outside the Empire, only to become Imperial citizens when the Empire waged its War of Conquest.
Later, they were branded as Saraans and no longer considered Imperial.
To survive, they'd left their hometown and escaped.
They'd endured every imaginable hardship for twenty years in Belliang, struggling desperately to put down roots in a place where they couldn't even understand the language.
Truly, they'd fought with everything they had, just to live.
But now, they were being told to run away to yet another country—leaving behind the new home they had built with their very lives.
"Still, it's better than dying, isn't it?"
"..."
Ernest had never been one to attach value to death.
On the battlefield, where people fell in droves, no more important than flies swarming filth, he'd come to utterly reject the meaning people ascribed to death.
Honor?
Glory?
All of that was nothing but utter nonsense.
Death was just death, and dying from futile actions was nothing more than a pointless waste.
As a Commander, the best Ernest could do for his subordinates who faced death was to provide a clear and righteous goal, and to minimize casualties so their deaths would not be meaningless.
"Ah…"
"Damn it… Damn it…"
Moved by Ernest's words, people began to break down in tears.
"He's right. He's absolutely right."
Amidst them, the Old Woman smiled, her wrinkled face creasing with emotion.
"Staying alive as long as you can—that's the real victory."
She wiped away tears with her hands, warped from a lifetime of hardship, and spoke again.
"Let's run. Not just for ourselves, but for the kids—there's more than a few of them. We can't just let everyone die here."
"…Should've never gotten married…"
"You fool! Don't say such nonsense just because you can! If the kids heard that, you'd be struck down by the heavens!"
Once again, they decided to flee.
They would travel from southern Belliang to the northern port, then take a ship across the Northern Sea and Western Sea, heading to Konchanya—a place where they couldn't even speak the language.
It would be a journey beyond words in its hardship.
But it was still incomparably better than just sitting here and dying.
"Have you had a meal yet, young man?"
The Old Woman looked at Ernest and asked.
Her manner was cautious, laced with fear still lingering deep within her, but she overcame it and offered kindness out of gratitude.
Ernest thought that it would be better for both parties if he declined.
"No, he hasn't. Isn't that right?"
But when Erika quickly turned to Ernest and answered for him, he couldn't bring himself to say no.
"…Yeah."
Ernest nodded slightly, almost mumbling his reply.
Erika broke into a broad smile, and the Old Woman's face softened with relief.
Seeing those smiles, Ernest felt as if a small stream had begun to flow through his heart, which had been dried, hardened, and cracked by the horror of death and the will to kill.
"We'll make Opeka, so everyone bring what you need."
"Huh? But, isn't that…."
When the Old Woman mentioned 'Opeka,' people exchanged anxious glances, looking flustered.
"If I say bring everything, just bring it."
"Yes…."
But once the Old Woman put her foot down, everyone reluctantly agreed.
"I don't need any. Neither does Werner."
"What? That's mine—who said you could just decide that on your own…?"
When Erika refused not only her own Opeka but Werner's as well, Werner protested, clearly put out.
But when Erika quietly met his eyes, Werner grumbled under his breath but didn't object any further.
With that, Ernest realized that, given the situation, he was the only one who'd end up getting this mysterious thing called 'Opeka.'
"What's Opeka?"
Ernest asked Erika, and she smiled gently at him.
"Brick."
He had no idea what kind of nonsense that was—what could "brick" possibly mean here?
Fortunately, Ernest would soon learn for himself what Opeka was.
"Opeka is a gift we make to show gratitude to someone we're thankful for."
Erika explained its meaning to Ernest, who at that moment was preoccupied fending off Bitber's overly affectionate attention.
"You cut as many horse-tail hairs as you are grateful."
With that, Erika gave Bitber's tail a gentle brush, then carefully picked up a pair of scissors.
She hesitated for a while, trying to decide how much was enough, then snipped off a modest amount so it wouldn't be too much.
At the same time, the others were also gathering horsehair from their own horses.
"What on earth is going on…."
Despite everything, everyone's confusion was plain to see.
It was dizzying enough to be offering Opeka—a traditional Saraanian gift of gratitude—to an Imperial Army officer, but what was even more bewildering was how every single horse in the stable was staring intently at Ernest, cocking their heads in curiosity and showering him with interest.
If the door hadn't been properly closed, every horse would have bolted out of the stable and swarmed Ernest, licking his hair with wild enthusiasm and circling around him.
Erika's horse, Bitber, seemed to be in the best mood of all.
With an air of absolute superiority over the other horses, Bitber relished the privilege of being the only one allowed to do this.
This meant he licked Ernest's hair thoroughly until it was a matted mess.
Once they finished preparing the horsehair, everyone gathered it up and handed it to the Old Woman.
"You stingy lot."
"..."
The Old Woman made that comment the moment she saw how little horsehair everyone had collected.
Since you're supposed to cut as much as you're grateful for, everyone had only brought three or four strands.
No matter what, they felt a natural reluctance to offer more—after all, this was for an Imperial Army officer.
Still, thanks to Erika generously cutting plenty from Bitber's tail, there was more than enough to make the Opeka.
"Werner, aren't you giving anything?"
Erika asked Werner with a smile.
He started to say something, then let out a long sigh.
"There's nothing I can offer right now."
Just as he had on the day he first met Ernest, Werner politely lowered his head in apology.
Werner was so overly formal that it actually made Ernest uncomfortable.
"I'll make sure to give you something truly valuable later."
"That won't be necessary."
"..."
Ernest flatly refused Werner's offer of anything "valuable."
He didn't know what Werner had in mind, but he knew for certain he never wanted to accept it.
Noticing this, Werner straightened his back and quietly stepped back.
"Werner, can you please stop doing that."
Erika, cheeks tinged red, chided Werner.
Werner stared right at her, but Erika simply folded her arms and turned her head away sharply.
After that, Ernest followed the Old Woman and the man who seemed to be her son into a nearby house.
Since the area was on the outskirts, Imperial Army patrols were rare, so they were able to avoid any uncomfortable situations.
"My dear."
"Yes, Mother."
As the Old Woman entered the house, she called out.
The reply came from inside, in Belliang.
"We have guests—could you please prepare a meal? I'm sorry, but I have some things I need to take care of."
"Oh, of course. And what about your meal, Mother?"
"I'll eat later"
"Yes, I'll eat separately…"
The warm conversation between the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law came to an abrupt halt.
The young woman froze, startled, when she saw Ernest's officer's uniform and the rifle slung over his shoulder.
"Dear, we have guests."
"…Oh, right…"
The man gently spoke to his wife, but she still looked visibly anxious.
"Excuse me, ma'am."
Ernest, doing his best to mind his accent, addressed her politely in Belliang.
Then, moving very slowly, he took the rifle off his shoulder and leaned it carefully against the wall.
"Hehe…"
Erika stifled a laugh behind her hand when she heard Ernest's Belliang.
With her nearly perfect grasp of Belliang pronunciation, Ernest's clumsy attempt sounded quite funny to her.
"It'd be better if you just spoke normally. You trying so hard only makes it more awkward."
Erika giggled and then, putting on a stern expression, mimicked him.
"Excusee meee, madam."
"I didn't sound that bad."
"It was pretty close."
"Karen."
As Erika teased Ernest with a giggle, Werner shot her a wary look, his face pale.
"I haven't even been hearing Belliang for half a year yet. I think I'm doing alright."
"..."
When Ernest assessed himself with an unexpectedly objective air, not just Erika but Werner and the Man also stared at him in stunned silence.
The Old Woman had already taken the horsehair and retreated into a room, and the Man's wife, unable to understand Imperial, just watched nervously.
Ernest realized she was a pure Belliangian, and also sensed that these people, forced to flee, were now faced with a difficult decision because of his arrival.
"That's impossible! You're lying!"
Erika accused Ernest, casting him as a liar.
"Imperial and Belliang are completely different, from the grammar to the pronunciation! There's no way that's true!"
Seeing Erika protest so aggrievedly, the two men—who had also only learned Belliang later in life—nodded in total agreement.
Despite the others' complaints, Ernest, who had managed to hold fluent conversation in Belliang even with only a patchy education during the war, ignored their grumbling and turned to address the lady of the house.
"I apologize for showing up so suddenly. I hope you'll understand."
His pronunciation was a little awkward and the phrasing rough, but the sentence structure was perfect—nothing out of place, no mistakes or hesitation.
"Oh my, you're such a polite gentleman."
When Ernest spoke, the "wife"—who had never been treated this courteously in her life—let out a huge sigh of relief, relaxing and breaking into a smile.
"Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll bring out the food shortly."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Hehehe."
Having settled the situation with his respectful words and demeanor, Ernest walked over and sat down at the dining table.
"Karen."
"..."
Ernest called her Karen, a name that might be Erika's real one or just a cover.
Erika flinched, then tugged at her lips before sitting down beside Ernest.
"Karen is my Saraanian name."
The name Karen isn't uncommon for women in the Empire.
"Did you lie to me?"
"No."
Erika instantly denied Ernest's sudden question.
Observing her from the corner of his eye, Ernest confirmed that she was telling the truth.
She'd said that, when they first met two years ago in the Empire's Northwest, she was on the run.
That was before she was adopted by Mayer.
However, Erika seemed to have received a good education for quite some time in a favorable environment.
The fact that she complained about how difficult the Belliang language was made that obvious.
On top of that, she appeared more accustomed to her Imperial name, Erika, than to her Saraanian name, Karen.
If she hadn't lied, then something didn't quite add up.
And, as far as Ernest could tell, she genuinely wasn't lying.
In other words, she was telling the truth, but not the whole truth.
"Is Opeka always made only from horses' manes?"
Ernest didn't press Erika further; instead, he changed the subject.
Everyone glanced around nervously as they took their seats at the dining table.
On the spacious side of the six-person dining table, Ernest and Erika sat next to each other, and Werner took the seat next to Erika on another side.
The man of the house, glancing around uncertainly, carefully sat down across from Ernest.
"For us, horses are our most valuable possessions, and they're also sacred animals."
Erika spoke in a calm voice.
"Horseshoes are symbols of luck, and a horse's mane represents the heart. The horse's head is a symbol of wisdom. Of course, not everyone owns a horse. They're very expensive animals, after all."
At Erika's words, Werner, who didn't own a horse, gave a small shrug.
He seemed, for some reason, reluctant to talk about horses.
"..."
Likewise, Ernest was choosing his words carefully.
Among Saraanian people, asking, "What does it feel like to believe in a god who doesn't help you and might not even exist?" was exactly the sort of question that needed the most delicate approach, and he knew better than to poke at such a sensitive subject out of curiosity.
Perhaps Ernest's intense passion for learning was its own kind of illness.
Even now, Ernest himself was starting to realize that he was just a little—really, only a little—out of the ordinary.
As Ernest fell silent, lost in cautious thought, a stifling silence settled over the table.
Werner looked to Erika, clearly hoping she would say something to break it, but Erika just gazed quietly at the empty dining table with an unreadable expression.
From the kitchen came the sounds of cooking and someone humming.
The savory aroma unmistakably meant butter was being used.
Because of the hot weather, the windows stood wide open, letting in a cool breeze.
In that moment, a wave of bittersweet longing washed over Ernest.
Memories of his childhood flashed through him—those moments sitting quietly at the dining table, waiting as his father cooked, listening to the sounds from the kitchen and breathing in the delicious smells.
If only he could go back to those days, he wouldn't wish for anything more.
When he had first entered the house, Ernest had spoken in Belliang with impressive fluency, but during the meal, he became unusually quiet, making the atmosphere awkward.
"Thank you for the meal, ma'am. It was excellent," he said with a smile after eating, finally breaking the awkwardness.
Still, even after the meal, Ernest didn't leave the table right away.
He had no choice but to wait for the Opeka the Old Woman was preparing.
With time hanging in the balance, there was only one thing for him to do.
"I need to learn the Belliang language."
Of course, he meant studying.
"I'm not even sure where to start teaching you."
Despite others being present, Erika spoke as if it was naturally her responsibility to teach Ernest.
"I've got the grammar down. What I need now is a richer vocabulary and correct pronunciation."
Ernest was fully aware of exactly what he needed as a student.
Becoming a soldier, he'd spent more time teaching illiterate soldiers how to read than actually fighting in battles, earning himself a reputation as an eccentric.
The people who had taught Ernest Belliang were soldiers or Baltracher—mainly commoners. As a result, his vocabulary never really advanced beyond that of a commoner's.
"Repeat after me."
Rather than teaching Ernest individual words one by one, Erika simply told him to repeat what she said.
Ernest echoed her sentences, separating the words he knew from the ones he didn't, analyzing the structure to deduce the parts of speech he didn't recognize, and pondering whether any familiar words were just in a different form.
"What does that mean?"
"You are like malachite, radiant and resplendent in the sunlight."
"What about this one?"
"I don't know how you remain unchanged, just as you were in those distant, shimmering memories."
"And this one?"
"You remain unchanged, even as time passes, bringing me nothing but pure joy. Truly, you are the unchanging standard of beauty."
"Aren't you only teaching me weird things?"
"No, it's not weird. It's a line from a famous story."
"I don't think so."
"What would you know? You haven't even been learning Belliang for half a year yet."
It did seem a little odd, but since Ernest really hadn't been studying Belliang for even half a year, he decided to let it go.
Erika looked rather pleased with herself.
No one else dared to say anything about their peculiar Belliang lessons; everyone just kept their heads down, trying to read the mood.
"Oh dear."
Just then, the Old Woman, who had gone inside the room, let out a groan as she came out.
Ernest, who had been learning Belliang from Erika, quietly glanced at her, then stood up.
No one had expected this kind of gesture from this young noble officer.
That a noble officer would pause what he was doing and stand up just because an old commoner woman had arrived—it was unheard of.
All the fear had left the Old Woman's face, and her oak tree-like wrinkles softened into a gentle smile.
"Don't use it right away. Be sure to wash it thoroughly before you do."
With trembling hands, she pressed something into Ernest's palm—a necklace woven from horsehair. Even with fingers worn by age, she had crafted it so delicately in that short amount of time.
"I was in such a hurry that I couldn't wash it properly, so it's still dirty."
"Yes."
Ernest replied to the Old Woman, then rolled up the necklace and tucked it into his pocket.
The horse's tail picks up a lot of muck and dirt, so putting the necklace on right away wouldn't be wise.
It'd be better to soak it and wash it thoroughly later.
"…To be honest, I'm not sure I'll even use this."
Ernest, after thinking for a moment, said this to the Old Woman.
He didn't like wearing unnecessary things on his body, and the necklace was, without question, unnecessary.
Besides, even though horsehair ornaments were common, for an Imperial Army officer like Ernest, wearing an item that could link him to the Saraan people was too risky.
"But I'll keep it safe, along with the meaning behind it."
So Ernest was frank about not wearing it, and just as honest about treasuring the gesture.
"I'll hold onto the feeling I had in giving it, too. Young man whose name I don't know."
The Old Woman answered with a smile.
Opeka.
It means 'brick.'
Layer by layer, sincere hearts build a bond.
Even if they never shared their names for each other's safety, this horsehair necklace, and the feelings woven into it, would always remind them they had met.
"Thank you so much. Thanks to you, I was able to strengthen my resolve."
The Old Woman spoke again, her eyes welling up with tears.
Though she spoke in the Imperial tongue, her Belliang accent grew stronger, her words heavy with heartbreak and disappointment.
Still, life, no matter how painful, is always better than death.
"..."
And in that moment, as he listened, Ernest realized he wasn't just someone who killed—he had saved someone, too.
Just then, a memory of his own voice echoed softly in his ear.
"At the very least, Major, you're saving lives. Unlike us, who only take them."
He remembered saying those words while receiving treatment from the First-Class Baltracher, after Yurgen and Jonas had died in battle.
Ernest took a slow breath and looked down at his left hand.
His fingernail, blackened, hardened with dried blood.
He rubbed his thumb over it.
More than ten days had passed since he'd been wounded—enough that he could feel no pain from it anymore.
Yet, pressing down hard, a sharp pain seemed to shoot up the back of his neck.
How many people had he killed with this hand?
There were those he'd killed himself, and there were those who'd died following his orders, as well as others killed by his subordinates on his command.
If he tried to count all the casualties from both the Bertagne and Bertebras forest battles, the number would reach at least a thousand.
Maybe even more.
And yet, here he was—pleased with himself, as if he had truly achieved something, even though he'd barely managed to save a handful of people, and even that wasn't certain.
Only now did Ernest realize why he had agreed to Erika's request and helped the Saraanians.
'Coward.'
He'd reveled in the moral high ground of helping others, intoxicated by self-satisfaction in an attempt to wash away his guilt.
It was cowardly hypocrisy.
What was he facing head-on, really?
He couldn't even look at himself honestly before trying to look ahead!
'How weak I am.'
Perhaps, when it came to facing this directly—when it came to confronting all those he had sent to their deaths and the peace of Belliang shattered by the Imperial Army's invasion—Ernest was, in truth, far too weak.
Yet oddly enough, admitting to himself that he was weak brought a small measure of calm to the storm that had been raging in his heart.
Ernest realized then that it was his own insistence on being "strong" that had been weighing so heavily on him.
And he was struck, all over again, by the fact that he was still only seventeen.
He was still too young to take such risks to protect his friends.
'Company Commander, looking back, you were always right.'
For Ernest, there was only ever one Company Commander as a superior: Yurgen Vendermere.
It would remain so, even as the years passed.
He'd been promoted far too soon, right after losing Yurgen, and found himself Company Commander himself.
Yurgen's words had been absolutely correct. Ernest had enough ability to take responsibility for others, but he was still a mere child when it came to bearing the weight of that responsibility.
"In that case, I'm glad."
After a long, agonizing silence, Ernest responded to the old woman's words in a murmur.
Ernest Krieger was young and fragile.
But he had come to realize that himself.
So he thought, if he could support his shattered self—if only a little—even through this lowly self-deception, perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing.
Ernest echoed the words he had once spoken in the past, this time to himself.
'Even so, you still saved someone… No, at the very least, you tried to save someone.'
He thought himself a coward.
But that hypocrisy offered a small consolation to his worn-out heart, which felt like a well, bottomless and dark.
He knew he could never cast off this guilt and responsibility now.
But having found the strength to look back at the self that had been crumbling beneath their weight, he would no longer fall apart without noticing.
The war wasn't over yet.
His friends were still fighting.
Somewhere, perhaps far from him, they might be locked in a fierce battle right now.
Ernest couldn't allow himself to break or fall apart here.
For now, that was enough.
As long as he didn't snap or shatter, as long as he could hold himself together, that was enough.
Ernest gave a faint smile, one that reminded him of his father