The Harvest Mouse Exits the Fairytale Together with Cinderella

"…How?"
The quiet question she murmured was one that Edmund also found himself asking.
Today's itinerary had been unofficial—there was no reason for outsiders to know about it.

Moreover, this road was notorious for its danger, infested with wild beasts that made it nearly impassable for anyone except House Valkyrisen.
Was there a traitor among us?
The moment that thought solidified in his mind, the low growls of beastfolk knights echoed in warning.

Then, the harsh sound of clashing steel filled the air.
Benjamin lifted the curtain of the carriage ever so slightly, peering out at the chaos outside.
His expression darkened.

Without a word, he retrieved a magic amplifier from his coat and rose to his feet.
Then, he glanced at Liana.
"I’ll be back."

"Mother!"
"Shh. Stay hidden."
"I’ll go too."

"Ed, do you remember what I told you?"
You must learn to live for yourself.
You must not live a life solely for others.

"And let’s add one more thing—when something like this happens, a child should quietly remain under an adult’s protection."
Reiterating the lesson, Liana placed a hand atop her son’s head, gently ruffling his hair.
But, Mother… Something isn’t right.
The beastfolk knights—who should have been able to subdue the enemies with ease—were struggling.

Why?
Why hadn’t they finished the fight yet?
Why had things dragged on to the point where you and Father felt the need to intervene?

No matter how strong the two of you are… can you really be certain of victory in this situation?
But Edmund had always been an obedient son.
"…Yes."

And so, he answered accordingly.
The moment Liana gave him a soft smile and pulled open the carriage door—
Before anyone could react, thick, choking smoke billowed in through the gap.

It was the beginning of everything.
Everything that would become a tragedy.
The world blurred into a hazy fog.

For an instant, Edmund squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again, masked figures loomed before him, blocking his escape.
They were reaching for him—coming for him—

There was no time to think.
The enemy was right in front of him.
So, he broke his promise to his mother.

He drew his sword.
And then—he swung.
Frenzied.

Unrelenting.
The masked figures crumpled before him, their bodies collapsing like empty shells.
Edmund was only ten years old, but it wasn’t difficult for him to cut them down.

He had inherited his grandfather’s inhuman strength and physical prowess.
"Where are my parents?"
Everywhere he turned, there was nothing but more of those faceless masks.

Good.
If that was the case, then he would kill them all.
If they were nothing but enemies, he would exterminate them completely.

Slaughter them.
Eliminate everything that posed a threat.
That way, things would be easier.

Leaving them alive to extract information?
That kind of weakness would get him killed.
His mother had said that children should remain under the protection of adults—

But standing still, cowering and waiting for rescue, did not suit him.
This was an emergency.
Surely, even she would understand.

That was what he thought.
And when the fog finally cleared, when he finally regained clarity—
"…"

Edmund looked down at the ground.
Blood.
Blood had turned the earth beneath him a deep, suffocating red.

He didn’t need a mirror to know—
From head to toe, he must have looked like a demon, drenched in the crimson of his slaughter.
This translation is the intellectual property of .

And finally—
Among the bodies stacked around him—
Amidst the lifeless corpses—

In a pool of blood that still trickled forth, the last vestiges of life slipping away—
Lay his parents.
Cold.

Motionless.
***
"…!"

Edmund’s eyelids fluttered open.
The boy gasped for breath, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Nothing.

He couldn’t remember anything.
And yet, a searing pain stabbed through his skull, as if needles were being driven into his brain.
"Lord Edmund, is something wrong?"

Packer's voice was laced with concern as he hurried to his side, placing a hand on the boy’s forehead.
"Another nightmare? You were asleep for barely an hour..."
"No, it’s nothing. I don’t remember anyway."

"If you’re suffering from nightmares even after such a short rest, this isn’t something to ignore."
"..."
His memory had been severed completely.

The nightmares he should have had—Packer had erased them.
Only the lingering sensation of dread remained.
It was always the same. Every time he woke up, this was how it went.

But at least this way, he wasn’t trapped in an endless loop, reliving that day over and over again.
Edmund stared at the empty space before him, lost in thought, before finally speaking.
"Give me a calming potion."

"Of course. Please wait a moment."
He should be grateful to Packer.
Without him, he would have been forced to endure torment akin to hell itself.

Looking back, the time before he met Packer had been unbearable—an existence spent teetering on the brink of madness.
If things had gone as they should, I would have been punished by the heavens.
He had run away under the guise of fulfilling his duty as heir.

Escaped.
And in doing so, he had doomed himself to be forever shackled to his nightmares.
"It was an accident, young master."

"It was an accident, my lord."
"You have no reason to be burdened by guilt. It was just an accident."
Everyone said the same thing.

Even Eisen, upon seeing Edmund return alone, had merely placed a hand on his head and said—
"Go rest. What happened to you was just an accident."
Edmund had lost control before the fire consumed his vision—there must have been hallucinogenic agents in the smoke.

That day, he had believed he was cutting down masked assailants.
But in the end, it was his parents he had killed.
Even so—

Did that mean it was truly just an accident?
That he bore no guilt?
If that were true, then why did his parents have to die?

Eisen had told him—
"There’s no proof that you did it."
But his parents—

They weren’t the type to fall so easily.
If they had truly been ambushed by assassins, no matter the difference in skill, they would have fought back with everything they had.
But because it had been him.

Because they couldn’t bring themselves to harm their son.
They had allowed themselves to be struck down without resistance.
How could I not be the culprit?

The thought rose in his throat like bile.
But he swallowed it down.
He chose to swallow it down.

Yes. It was an accident.
Because if he admitted the truth—
If he acknowledged that it was his own hands that had killed them—

Then he wouldn’t be able to endure it.
He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
Mother… Did you really mean it when you told me to live for myself?

You were mistaken.
No—
You were deceived by your wretched excuse of a son.

In this vast House of Valkyrisen, there was no one more selfish than I.
Who was I to protect anyone?
Even my younger siblings were living better, more honest lives than I ever could.

Ah.
Edmund forced himself to swallow it all.
He had chosen this.

The memories, the pain, the unbearable regret—
He had chosen to bury them.
"It was me."

In front of his younger sister and Lady Ratson—
He had confessed.
He had admitted it.

Had he finally reached his limit?
Was this all he could endure?
Was that why he had done something so irreversible?

Is this the end?
He had acknowledged it.
Yet, strangely enough—

Rather than despair, a wave of relief washed over him.
It was over.
He wanted it to be over.

He wanted to stand before everyone and confess, to accept his punishment and pay for his sins.
Then—
"Young Lord."

It was at that moment.
For the first time, Packer—who had always addressed him as Lord Edmund—chose to call him Young Lord.
As if to remind him—

That he was the rightful heir to Valkyrisen.
"You only need to endure five more years. You’ve done well so far, haven’t you?"
"..."

"Lady Zenovia is reckless, and Lord Karon is afflicted with an incurable disease. Can you truly leave this weighty responsibility to them?"
"..."
Both of his parents were gone.

His grandfather was old.
If Valkyrisen fell, it wouldn’t just be the ruin of a noble house—
The beastfolk living under its protection would lose their refuge.

The fragile peace treaty would crumble.
And war…
War would be inevitable.

And Zenovia…
She had already begun making discriminatory remarks against beastfolk, seemingly influenced by something.
As for Karon…

He prayed for the boy’s recovery every day.
But realistically, the chances of him surviving were slim.
He might not even outlive their grandfather.

"I know it’s nothing more than the words of a lowly physician, but please understand—everything I say is for your sake."
"…Alright."
He was awake now.

It was time to get up.
Edmund placed a hand over his chest, where his heart felt as if it were suffocating, and turned toward the window for a moment.
The boy, too preoccupied with suppressing his emotions, failed to notice it.

He didn’t see the fleeting smirk curling at Packer’s lips—
A knowing, twisted smile, as if he were gazing upon a masterpiece just moments from completion.
Zenovia will continue to spout her anti-beastfolk rhetoric, ensuring that she is exiled according to Valkyrisen’s laws.

Gracia Ratson intended to manipulate the child.
After being subjected to relentless discrimination and humiliation, she would inevitably break.
And soon enough—

Edmund would fall completely under his control.
Once that old Duke of Valkyrisen dies, the house will be mine.
And then—

BOOM!
A deafening explosion.
Edmund and Packer both whipped their heads toward the door.

The doorknob, twisted and broken, clattered weakly to the floor.
What… What is this?