Eventually, the house finally fell quiet.
When Młynar came outside, Clarus could almost still hear Kirill sighing from within.
The moment Młynar saw Toland sprawled across the training ground, snoring away, he immediately understood what had happened.
He closed his eyes in anguish, then dragged Toland away.
[When those who have departed will return remains unknown.
But those who remain must continue moving forward for the sake of their own lives.] [Parents burdened with responsibility are forced to abandon their responsibilities, while the children who inherit that burden continue onward under the care of the elderly.] [Day after day of training.
Day after day of sparring.
Skills tempered through tens of thousands of repetitions gradually begin to transcend their former limits.] [Margaret’s swordsmanship improves at such an astonishing rate that Clarus is eventually forced to begin using his strongest Originium Arts whenever he spars with her.] [What began as little more than humoring a child gradually becomes a battle in which he must give everything he has.] [Having a true rival is something worth celebrating.] [After Schnitz’s departure, Clarus found it difficult to truly go all out against his grandfather.
But Margaret gradually gives him back the feeling he once had when facing Schnitz.] [In fact, because Margaret also uses Originium Arts, the pressure she places on Clarus eventually feels even greater than facing Schnitz when he fought using swordsmanship alone.] [Her confidence.] [Her radiance.] [Again and again, her light drives away his darkness.] [What was once a one-sided battle gradually becomes an evenly matched contest.
Even when Clarus fights seriously and gives everything he has, all he can manage against Margaret now is a draw.] [The aristocratic school Zofia attends seems unbearably rigid.
More than once, she complains to the two of you about the stale doctrines of knighthood her teachers preach.
Some of the old fossils even openly declare that knights should be loyal to the royal family.] [Not long afterward, some campaign knights arrive and take that particular teacher away.] [Terran Year 1087.] [Margaret is fifteen, Zofia sixteen, and you are seventeen.] Margaret Nearl untied the straps securing her armor and hung the equipment on the wall of the training ground.
By now, Margaret was already known around the area as an exceptionally beautiful girl.
There was a heroic sharpness to her features, and after an intense training session, her shirt was soaked with sweat outlining her beautiful curves while her long, powerful legs looked more than capable of kicking some nameless competition knight into the next life.
Clarus could personally confirm that last part.
He’d made one mistake earlier and taken Margaret’s side kick directly to the waist.
He was still lying facedown on the ground, groaning.
“You’ve been getting less and less focused lately.” Margaret finished hanging up her armor, wrapped a blanket around herself, then walked over and knelt beside him.
“Zofia!
Ow!
Don’t press there!” Clarus howled as Zofia dug into his back with what she apparently considered a massage.
His fingers were practically gouging tiny holes into the floor.
Zofia remained completely serious.
“Bear with it!
This is a new massage technique I learned.
You’re the perfect person to test it on.” “You just learned it?!
And you’re testing it on me?!” Clarus’s voice went up an octave.
…
“Uncle Liam came by again last night.
He asked when I’m finally going to report to the Adeptus.” Margaret spoke while organizing her protective gear and staring into her bag.
Clarus was sitting on a bench rubbing his waist.
In truth, his body was trembling slightly.
Margaret’s kick had carried an absurd amount of force, and by sheer coincidence, it had landed directly on the site of his Oripathy lesions.
“I think…
it’s probably about time.” Margaret’s hands stopped.
At last, she couldn’t help raising her head and looking at Clarus, his figure reflected clearly in her eyes.
“But if I become a campaign knight, I might only be able to come home a few times a year.” Clarus looked at her, blinked, and smiled.
“That’s fine.
Zofia and I will come visit Grandpa Kirill every day.
You don’t need to worry about him.
Just go.” “No!
What I mean is—” Margaret finally began to panic, but Clarus immediately interrupted her before she could finish.
“Uncle Schnitz and Auntie Yolanta both wanted you to become a true knight.” Margaret froze.
Her gaze slowly lowered.
“Then…
before I leave, I want to…” Margaret raised her head again.
Ignoring Zofia’s surprised look, she stared directly at Clarus with complete seriousness.
“Hiss…
Zofia, could you take a look at my lesions?
It actually really hurts.” Clarus abruptly stood, completely ignoring Margaret’s gaze as he lifted the back half of his shirt.
Scattered across his lower back were five or six black crystalline growths, each roughly a centimeter across.
They stood out horribly against his skin.
Margaret’s mouth remained slightly open.
Her throat had gone dry.
Not a single word came out.
“You still haven’t made up your mind, Margaret?” Clarus smiled at her.
“Then I’m begging you.
Go become a campaign knight, okay?” Margaret suddenly felt like crying.
It was such a strange feeling.
“It’s okay…
It’s okay.
I’ll go.
I’ll become a campaign knight.” Margaret desperately forced her emotions back down.
“So careless.” Zofia, who had kept her head lowered, murmured quietly.
“Hm?
Zofia, what did you say?” Clarus hadn’t heard her clearly.
“Nothing.” Zofia looked up with a smile.
“I said Margaret is really brave.
Making up her mind to go to the front lines at such a young age really is incredible.” “…Thank you, Auntie.” That was how Margaret answered.
It seemed that sometime around the beginning of adolescence, Margaret had started calling Zofia “Auntie.” Margaret lowered her head again, seemingly lost in thought.
Then, suddenly, she looked up.
“Clarus…
wasn’t your dream to become a knight too?” The hand Clarus was using to rub his waist stopped.
Margaret abruptly raised her head, a glimmer of hope appearing in her eyes.
“I’ll beg Grandpa for you!
You can come with me.
You’re incredibly strong!
And as long as we take proper precautions, surely—” Zofia stared at her in disbelief.
“Enough, Margaret.” There was something in Clarus’s voice.
Disappointment.
The hopeful smile that had begun to appear on Margaret’s face froze.
Clarus looked at her with unmistakable disappointment, mixed with a bitterness he could no longer hide.
“What kind of place do you think a battlefield is?
Do you honestly think it’s possible to fight a war without bleeding?” “And after I bleed, then what?” Clarus stared straight at her.
“Margaret, for the sake of what you want, are you willing to risk infecting every campaign knight stationed along the border with Oripathy?” “Oh, right.
I almost forgot.” His smile turned colder.
“Maybe none of that would even matter, because I’d probably bleed to death first.
A military camp isn’t going to risk infecting all its other knights just to provide medical treatment to one Infected.” “I’ll die right in front of you, Margaret.” Clarus’s voice was painfully calm.
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy then.” “No!
I didn’t mean for you to die…!” Margaret immediately panicked, raising her hands as she desperately tried to explain herself.
“Enough.” Clarus picked up his belongings and walked to the entrance of the training ground.
He stopped and looked back once.
“You were too willful this time, Margaret.” “And besides…
becoming a knight is your dream, Margaret.” His expression went still.
“I’m Infected.” “What dream could someone like me possibly have?” Margaret looked as though she’d been struck by lightning.
She stood frozen in place, lips trembling as she tried and failed to find something to say.
“I’m leaving.
I’ll eat dinner at home tonight.” Clarus turned and walked away without looking back.
“Hey!
Clarus!
That was way too harsh!
Wait for me!” Zofia hurriedly grabbed her little shoulder bag and chased after him.
Margaret remained standing alone in the training ground.
“Willful…” On the other side of the wall— Clarus collapsed to the ground.
His eyes were bloodshot.
A towel Zofia had shoved into his mouth was clenched tightly between his teeth as his entire body convulsed.
Zofia tried to call for emergency medical assistance.
Clarus slapped the communicator from her hand.
At a complete loss, Zofia reached forward, wanting to cradle his head in her lap, but Clarus shoved her away with a heavy strike.
Zofia fell backward onto the ground.
She stared at him blankly.
Five full minutes later, Zofia returned downstairs with Kirill.
By then, Clarus was already standing again.
His shirt was off.
The fabric around his lower back had been completely soaked through with blood.
A new black crystal had pierced through his skin, its sharp tip newly exposed.
Clarus showed no expression at all.
He quietly folded the bloodstained shirt.
He wiped away the blood with the towel, put on a clean shirt, then placed both the dirty towel and bloodied clothes into his bag.
Finally, he looked toward Kirill and Zofia and gave them a small nod.
“See you tomorrow.” …
TL: Well damn