Chapter 57 - Kembel (2)

“Raguel, are you ready to die?”

Silence settled over the study. For a long while, no one spoke. Raguel was the first to break the silence.

“... An explanation. I need an explanation.”

Maphel’tan looked troubled. Instead of answering, he turned to Ilea.

“Ilea, didn’t you explain the basics?”

She replied in an emotionless tone.

“I was going to, but decided against it. If your plan is what I think it is, then I believe you ought to tell the younger master yourself.”

Why he insisted on taking Raguel to the Abyss, what he meant by restoring his sight, and the true meaning behind asking whether he was ready to die. Ilea knew, but could not bring herself to tell Raguel. All those questions had a single answer.

— Maphel’tan wanted Raguel to abandon his humanity.

That was something the two of them needed to discuss themselves.

Maphel’tan swallowed a groan. He had secretly hoped Ilea would have persuaded Raguel by now. He had slipped the troublesome task onto her shoulders, but his little scheme had failed spectacularly.

Ilea was firmer than he had expected. Ordinarily, she would feign reluctant surrender and humor even his unreasonable demands, but this apparently failed to meet her standards.

‘I have no idea what those standards are.’

Clicking his tongue, Maphel’tan approached Raguel. Persuading him took precedence over figuring out what was on Ilea’s mind. He rested a hand on Raguel’s shoulder.

“Before I explain, let me ask you one thing.”

It was a rather unnerving opening. Raguel swallowed hard.

“G-go ahead.”

“Do you trust me?”

Confusion spread across Raguel’s face.

“Trust you? What do you mean—”

“I mean, do you believe that my actions will never make you miserable? That I am not a being made of nothing but blind malice?”

The unexpected question left Raguel somewhat flustered. Unsure how to respond, he scratched his head.

“I-it’s a little hard to answer when you ask me out of the blue like that.”

“Don’t feel pressured. Just tell me what you’ve always thought.”

Maphel’tan’s voice was low and solemn. Raguel felt he ought to give an earnest answer. He reflected for a moment, beginning to sort out his thoughts about Maphel’tan.

Maphel’tan and Yohan. Both could seem like vicious Demons, yet at times they showed a profoundly human side. Anyone who had watched them would agree. Raguel thought much the same.

Who had first offered him a hand when his life was a living hell? Who had given him a reason to go on with even a shred of hope?

It was all Maphel’tan.

His kindness always had an ulterior motive, of course, but those hidden intentions had never once blossomed into terrible malice. At least, not so far. Maphel’tan might have two faces, but he was no fiend consumed by evil.

With a rather serious expression, Raguel replied.

“I trust you, Maphel’tan. I have to, really. The moment I reject you, there’ll be nothing left in my life.”

Without Maphel’tan, Raguel’s life would be nothing but pitch-black darkness. In truth, he did not even have a choice about whether to trust him.

Maphel’tan spoke.

“I understand. Then let me promise you one thing. Your trust will never be betrayed. If you wish, I’ll even stake my life on a contract.”

What on earth was he about to say that warranted bringing up a contract with a Demon? Anxiety crept over Raguel’s face.

“I don’t need a contract. Please, just get to the point. What exactly do you want from me, Maphel’tan?”

Maphel’tan answered calmly.

“Give up being human. In the Abyss, I want you to cast aside Raguel the human and be reborn as something else.”

If he agreed, Raguel would gain a new body. Naturally, his sight would return as well.

Raguel swallowed a groan.

“Surely you don’t mean I should become a Demon?”

Maphel’tan shook his head.

“You will be reborn as something more primordial.”

“Something primordial...?”

Ilea cut in.

“A forgotten ancient race. Like witches, such as myself.”

Aside from humans and Demons, thirteen other races had existed in this world. Of those thirteen, only witches remained today. The other twelve were all extinct.

Maphel’tan intended to restore them all in preparation for the apocalypse late in the story. Raguel would be the first step.

Raguel mulled over Ilea’s words.

“An ancient race, like witches.”

Maphel’tan nodded.

“Would you become one of them for me?”

Conflicting emotions clouded Raguel’s face. Even though he saw little value in living as a human, relinquishing his identity was no easy matter.

A long silence followed. Only after quite some time did Raguel speak.

“... I suppose this is something you really need.”

“It is, but I won’t force you. I’ll respect whatever you choose.”

He meant it. There was bound to be someone else who could take Raguel’s place.

Raguel’s lips moved soundlessly. After much hesitation, he slowly raised his head. With his sightless eyes, the blind boy looked straight at Maphel’tan.

“I’ll do it. Because I trust you.”

Resolve filled his quiet voice. Maphel’tan’s lips curved upward.

“That trust will be rewarded. We’ll discuss the details in the Abyss.”

* * *

Day was beginning to break. The dawn glow that had risen over the hills receded, taking the night’s mirages with it. It was time to wake from anguish and worry and return to reality.

Bluish light seeped into the dark little room. The knight Kembel sat cross-legged. He had not slept a wink all through the long night, but his face was clearer than ever, his expression set with firm resolve.

‘... Yes. I must atone.’

Kembel looked at the small brazier before him. A dagger lay heating in the glowing embers. When the keen blade turned red-hot, he took it from the brazier. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pressed it to his face.

SIZZLE.

White smoke rose. The smell of burning flesh filled the room, and muffled groans spilled out without pause. A terrible, searing heat assaulted his skin.

“Ghh, haaagh.”

It hurt, but Kembel did not stop. Tightening his grip, he ground the blade into his skin. Burns covered his face again. His skin was returning to its former state, hideously ruined.

“Th-this is right. It’s the right thing to do.”

Last night, an unknown being had healed his scars. He had been rewarded for repenting. Kembel found that difficult to accept.

He had done nothing but reproach himself, never once atoning. He had drowned his guilt in drink, unable even to find the courage to reveal his sins. He did not deserve a reward.

At the very least, he should first seek the Third Prince’s forgiveness, then await whatever judgment came, punishment or reward. That was the conclusion he had reached after a night of anguish.

Groaning, Kembel dropped the dagger. Scraps of skin clung thickly to its blade. His face burned like mad.

Without tending to his wounds, he put on his visor. Excruciating pain swept over him as steel touched melted skin.

“Ghh, uuugh.”

Despite the appalling pain, Kembel doggedly finished preparing to leave. It was time to find the Third Prince.

The moment he flung open the door, a familiar face confronted him.

“Have you finally grown up a little? Up and ready to leave before I even wake you. Astonishing.”

It was Maira. He gave a small, apparently admiring clap.

“... Brother.”

“But what’s that burning smell? Surely you haven’t been cooking meat for yourself?”

After a moment’s thought, Kembel lifted his visor. Maira’s expression twisted in horror.

“Y-you!”

His skin was completely seared, leaving him even more hideous than before.

“What do you think, brother? Doesn’t this suit a man like me perfectly?”

“Have you finally gone mad?”

“If not for what happened last night, I would have eventually, just as you say. But not now. My head is clearer than ever.”

Maira could not make sense of any of it.

“What the hell are you babbling about?”

“You’ll never understand, so just think of it as your younger brother finally finding his duty as a knight. I’ll be going now.”

As Kembel tried to leave the room, Maira blocked him.

“Where do you think you’re going in that state? You’re not taking another step until you explain yourself!”

Kembel’s expression settled into calm.

“I intend to see His Highness the Third Prince.”

“What?!”

“You know why without my telling you. Now step aside.”

Maira immediately drew his sword.

“You dare betray your lord?”

Kembel snorted.

“I am the royal family’s sword and shield, not the Count’s dog.”

“Now you want to play the noble knight? You’re already tainted!”

“Think what you like. I’ve made my decision. I’ll wash away at least some of this filth.”

Kembel’s eyes were filled with resolve. Nothing could sway him.

“If that is truly your intention!”

Maira leveled his sword at Kembel. Kembel’s expression turned cold.

“Brother, are you certain you can do this? If you mean to stop me, you’ll have to be prepared to die.”

For an instant, Maira’s gaze faltered. Kembel was a knight capable of projecting aura, a full stage above Maira. Each stage represented an immense gulf in strength between knights, so the outcome of a fight between them was already decided.

Maira could not bring himself to swing. He merely bit his lip and said,

“Your entire house could be slaughtered. Your father. Your brothers.”

They were Kembel’s heaviest shackles. Four years ago, too, he had felt compelled to attack the Third Prince’s palace for his family’s sake.

Kembel spoke.

“If they, too, are knights, then they must pay the price for their disloyalty.”

House Laura served the royal family. Having forgotten their oath and turned their blades on their master, they had to answer for that sacrilege.

“... You would abandon your house?”

“I am no longer a Laura. Do not lump me in with them.”

With those parting words, Kembel left the Village Chief’s house. Ignoring the shouts behind him, he paused outside and looked down at the visor in his hand.

After a brief moment’s thought, he tossed it aside. He would wear no more masks. He intended to shoulder all his responsibilities with his head held high.

He carefully touched his scars.

‘... Maphel’tan.’

If he succeeded in atoning, that unknown being would erase his scars again with a mere wave of the hand. Such a miracle would be nothing to the god called Maphel’tan.

Kembel started to make the holy sign, then stopped. He did not yet know how he ought to worship Maphel’tan.

After a moment’s thought, he thrust both arms high above his head in a gesture of hurrah.

Then he scratched his head and set off. The Nightmare Spirit perched on his shoulder was snickering.