NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 22
It took a lot of effort to put my princess to bed.
That much is understandable. A child who is seven years old, and still emotionally younger than that, would surely be upset upon suddenly being told that she would have to leave her parents for two or three days.
Certainly, I am the one most favored by my little sister at home, but she loves everyone else just as much.
When my father picks her up and soothes her, Eliza always beams with a radiant smile.
She loves my mother’s cooking too, and she is always eager to learn when she grows up.
She also relishes the attention of her three older brothers; during those times, she behaves like a true princess.
Additionally, she adores her kind new step-sister. The increase in women in a household previously dominated by men must be a factor, but she seems especially delighted to have her hair played with during cooking breaks.
Given all this, there’s no way she could accept being separated from such a family, regardless of the reason.
To put it in a cliché way, she is still just a child.
No matter how much I try to reason with her, reminding her that I will accompany her and that it’s for her own good, Eliza threw tantrums, screamed, and refused to calm down. Finally, after the midnight hour, she seemed to have exhausted herself and finally fell asleep.
However, it seemed likely that mornings would be just as tumultuous.
Our family, having just emerged from an unprecedented battle that would likely bring numerous complaints if we lived in an apartment, was utterly exhausted. My brother and his wife dragged themselves away to their own rooms, while my second and youngest brothers headed to their room like the living dead. Furthermore, judging by the fact that they did not return, it was clear that our mother, who took Eliza to bed, also collapsed from fatigue.
Now, only my father and I remained in the living room.
“…Would you like something to drink, Father?”
“…Ah, yes… Bring me the good stuff from the water house.”
When I asked my father, who was lounging in his chair, he made that request.
Our family’s secret treasure, the distillate made from rye that is favored in the northern part of the Empire, is what my father keeps safely hidden behind a concealed lid in the cupboard—something he entrusted to me because I wouldn’t embezzle it. I was no longer surprised by the existence of items that no longer matched the times; I carefully retrieved the clear glass bottle that contained it.
It looked quite expensive. When I presented the remaining third of the bottle, my father downed it in one go without even diluting it in a small glass.
Even though it was obviously strong liquor, he really knows how to handle it.
“Erich, do you want some?”
In the small glass he offered, a faint amber liquid swayed. I knew that the smell of alcohol wouldn’t suit my twelve-year-old taste, so usually, I would hesitate, but…
I couldn’t deny that I wanted to drink.
Taking a sip, the heat surged through me and surprisingly smooth flavor slipped down into my stomach. The lingering acidity left a unique aftertaste that wasn’t bad; it seemed like a flavor I could enjoy when I became a bit more mature.
“You drink well. You’re definitely my child.”
My father laughed and downed another glass with the same gusto. However, being strong liquor, it would be better to have something to nibble on. When I retrieved some dried meat left over from winter, my father accepted it without a word and started slicing it with a knife.
“…Who would have thought it would come to this? What a twist of fate.”
Perhaps the alcohol was acting as a lubricant; my father started to speak smoothly. After downing a third glass, he looked at me and appeared to hesitate, moving his lips… Then he began to talk quietly.
“I never told you this, but I was actually the second son.”
“…Is that so?”
That was news to me. Both my grandfather and grandmother passed away before I was born, and even the only relative I knew, my brother Heinz, was too young to remember anything, so I never had a chance to hear such stories from anyone else. No one in the manor saw the need to bring it up, nor did my uncles who became sons-in-law or my aunts who were married.
“Yeah. My older brother was… um, eighteen, I guess?”
“Well, don’t ask me.”
In his slightly muddled state from the alcohol, he must have forgotten the specific numbers; after mumbling something nonsensical, he confidently nodded, remembering it as eighteen.
Apparently, before I was born, my oldest uncle had died along with his wife from a contagious disease. My father, who had been working outside as the second son, was urgently called back to take over the family.
The shock of his brother’s death must have weakened my grandparents, and they passed away shortly before the twin boys were born. As a result, only our family remained in this house.
“So, I understand the pain of having to throw away dreams for unreasonable reasons.”
My father chewed on some intangible thoughts, forcing them down.
That makes sense. My father was once a child too and had a time as a boy or young man chasing his dreams. The fact that he hadn’t become a room住まい from being a second son suggests that something significant had compelled him to leave home.
“I was a mercenary, you know.”
“What!? Father…!?”
“Yeah. Seven large battles and fifteen skirmishes in three years, that’s about the extent of it. I even took a couple of helmets as trophies, and I earned enough prize money to buy some land expansion rights from the deputy. The horse I bought was also through contacts from that time.”
What a day; it felt like a sudden wave of revelation washing over me.
My sister is actually a half-fairy, and I’m shocked to find out that my seemingly model farmer father was once a mercenary? Please spare me; my brain is going to short-circuit.
“But, you know… When a worn-out father cries to you, it’s hard to be tough on him. That hand, which swung a painful fist, now…”
My father’s distant gaze seemed to reflect on the memory of his frail grandfather, the reason he laid down his sword, I assume. I began to understand that the hands of a mercenary, who must have subdued many powerful foes, could be defeated by those of a weakened farmer.
“…I never imagined I would let you go through something similar to what I did.”
There’s no doubt my father struggled internally. In this era, mercenaries were quite savage, akin to bandits; however, they were also professionals of war who were organized enough to fill the slots of regular soldiers. While adventurers often acted in small groups, mercenaries functioned as military units, and their bonds with their comrades on the battlefield were notably strong.
How painful it must have been to leave home. Seeing my father, who seemed to get more rough around the edges as he reminisced, made me sympathize with his plight.
But even so.
“…I don’t feel that way.”
“Huh?”
My intention was as I expressed to Margit. I will pursue what I want to become. Being a cool brother to Eliza is firmly within my hopes.
“I am Eliza’s brother. It’s a brother’s duty to look cool and protect her, right?”
Saying this with a smile, I took the wine glass that was getting too excessive and poured its contents into my stomach to empty it. If a brother’s desire is to look good for his sister, then it’s a child’s duty to care for his father.
“Hmm, I see, so you’re doing it to look good.”
“Yeah, that’s about it. After I look good, I will do what I want. Just wait and see.”
“Hahaha, oh really?”
After some cheerful back and forth, my father suddenly stood up and asked me to wait a moment before disappearing from the living room. Thanks to my developed sense, it seemed he headed to the storage in the basement.
After some time, just enough for the soup to get cold, my father returned with a bag covered in dirt. The storage floor was exposed dirt, so he must have dug something out.
“I’m giving this to you. I planned to give it to you when you stood on your own, but there’s no reason you can’t have it now.”
He took out a sword wrapped in oil paper. It was polished and carefully prepared to prevent rust, resembling a sword one might typically think of as a Western sword. Even in its simplicity, the glimmer of the candlelight reflected off the arming sword, making it shine proudly.
“This is something I used before I quit. I sold the spear, shield, and armor for money, but this was my trophy from the helmet I gave away. I brought it because I was reluctant to part with it.”
Though he claimed he could have made a good profit selling it, the way he carefully wiped the oil off showed how much he cherishes it. Additionally, it was clear he had taken care of it, as it showed no signs of oxidation. His deep attachment was evident in the way he meticulously preserved it by burying it underground, limiting its exposure to air.
“It may not be a divine silver sword or a magic sword, but it’s quite a fine piece. I’m not an expert, but according to Smith Master, it’s made with a high-quality method they call pattern welding.”
At that moment, I didn’t know, but later I learned that pattern welding refers to a technique that creates a laminated structure from multiple materials. Like Japanese swords, it has a core of one metal and an outer layer of a different metal, making it tough and flexible, as well as excellent in sharpness.
“Back then, you looked like you wanted to say something like, ‘What a foolish father!’ But I was truly happy.”
That ‘back then,’ was likely during the autumn festival when I displayed my sword-fighting prowess. Throwing down a significant amount of money equivalent to one dracma as celebration was something only a child would see as absurd, but now I understand why.
Indeed, if my son, who was making a name for himself through his martial prowess, could leave behind stories of valor to be told in this manor until the end of this generation, I could empathize with the overwhelming joy that would bring.
“Therefore, I got a bit too carried away and splurged a little. Well, it’s not like I regret it, though.”
How delightful it is to hear a father speak proudly and joyfully of his own experiences. Overwhelmed with a sense of awkwardness, I turned my eyes away from my father’s face, which had formed a clear adult smile.
If I continued to look, I might have started crying.
“So, this is yours.”
After wiping down the sword completely, my father offered it to me.
Etched on the blade, which had its fittings removed, was an emblem resembling a wolf’s profile. It was worn and difficult to read, but the inscription read…
“…Sending Wolf?”
“Yeah, it seems to be the name of a peculiar creature from a long time ago.”
What my father conveyed was a tale I had also heard vaguely somewhere. A wolf that follows people down dark paths. If someone commits a wrongdoing, they are quickly devoured, yet it also leads those who offer respect and are in need.
This sword was likely forged with a wish for it to return its owner to those who await it.
…Well, given that it now rests in my hands, it seems a bit unfortunate.
However, one thing was clear: it was a good sword. I could feel the center of gravity firmly set even without any fittings; it wasn’t just light, it had a “usefully light” quality that I realized instantly. A sword is a weapon that cuts through things with its mass and speed, and considering that aspect, this was truly an excellent piece.
With this sword, I felt like I could cut through a completely divine silver helmet.
“I’m entrusting this to you. Protect Eliza well. Be a good brother.”
At the end, my father said this and carefully sealed the wine before quietly putting it back in its hidden spot.
“…Yes.”
And thus, I deeply bowed my head to my father, who murmured that he had drunk too much and was going to bed…