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Translator: uly
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: The Old Man Carving Stones (2)
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Sixty years ago.
A massive war known as the 'Continental War' broke out.
It devastated half the continent and claimed countless lives. The war began with the rampage of the Demon King.
Kingdoms fell to the claws of demons and demonic beasts, leaving behind an incalculable number of displaced humans.
The war dragged on for ten years.
Nobles and commoners, men and women alike—all rose against the demonic invasion.
Even children not yet ten years old took up arms.
To protect themselves, or their families.
It was a war that plunged all humanity and异種族 of the continent into terror.
Parmon had also joined that war.
He was a renowned knight and a noble of the Empire.
Before he even turned forty, he had reached the realm of Sword Master, a pinnacle of swordsmanship.
No one in the Empire's history had attained it at such a young age.
He believed his sword could fell any number of demonic beasts or demons.
His arrogance returned as bitter, painful reality.
The people of the territory he guarded were torn limb from limb and died. His knights, soldiers, and servants who followed him met the same miserable ends without distinction.
His sword, sworn to protect the weak and serve as the Empire's shield, failed to safeguard a single one.
As the war dragged on, the people around him vanished one by one.
He came to resent the Sword Master realm he had once been proud of.
His strength prevented him from dying alongside his comrades.
Yet he lacked the power to save them all.
One man's strength was woefully insufficient against hordes of demons and beasts.
Cursing his damned swordsmanship, he slashed and slashed again.
Even his comrades writhing in agony.
The countless subordinates who fell under his immature command haunted him even after the war ended.
Each one's final moments appeared in his dreams every night.
The shattered swords of comrades who had ridden beside him pierced into his dreams.
He let go of the sword that felt like a curse.
A sword that protected nothing had no reason to be held.
And so he wandered the continent aimlessly for a long time.
He visited the places where they died and carved statues endlessly.
As their faces took shape, the chipped stone fragments embedded themselves in his body like profound sorrow.
They say forgetfulness is one of humanity's blessings.
He tore that blessing apart countless times trying to recall their faces.
The more he did, the deeper the grief and pain grew, but they could not stop Parmon.
He had to remember those who had fallen.
He hoped the statues would not topple like they had.
At the request of his mage comrades, he poured his entire fortune into erecting a barrier and hiding them from monsters' eyes.
Unless one was a master of the realm, finding the statues would be impossible.
But today.
A white-haired young man arrived.
He possessed the mana of an ordinary person and showed no signs of being a knight or mage, no matter how closely Parmon looked.
So how had he torn through the barrier?
How had he approached without Parmon sensing him?
The young man soon spoke astonishing words.
He recounted the tale of a knight born without arms, and of another who threw himself off a cliff, believing he would not die by a demon's hand.
He spoke of a young soldier who stayed behind in the snow alone, not wanting to be a burden.
He even knew of a subordinate who had secretly confided a wish to adorn the family crest with fresh green leaves.
These were stories Parmon himself had forgotten, remembering only faces and final moments.
No fraud or madman could spin such tales.
His eyes, which had memorized countless people, were not so weak as to be fooled.
The hammer lay on the ground because he knew they were true.
For the first time, the hammer he had gripped his whole life had fallen not by his choice, but of its own.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... Old timer, quit this pointless nonsense."
"..."
"What's the point of clinging to the dead like this?"
"Am I the one holding them?"
"It's because of you that the departed souls can't move on."
Sighs of pity escaped my lips nonstop.
These were souls who had already achieved what they desired.
Souls who should have ascended long ago.
"How do you know whether those spirits are here or not?"
"Good grief... Still don't believe me? Let me see."
Ting-
"Hmm... That one's name is Tilberg?"
The old man's expression hardened like stone.
No emotion could penetrate the face he stiffened to hide his longing.
"He says he's sorry for the wound you got because of him."
"..."
"And this young one over here... Why'd you have to die so young..."
The old man's gaze turned to the empty air I was staring at.
"He says he finally took down one with the dagger you gave him."
"..."
"Old timer, still don't believe me? Want me to go through them one by one?"
The old man's rigid lips finally moved.
"Are they truly here?"
His dazed eyes, fixed on the void, trembled pitifully.
"Were they unable to leave because of the statues I made?"
Sorrow and pain laced the old man's voice.
The spirits' wails echoed in agreement.
Their emotions swirled through my head as if they were my own.
The old man's voice echoed into the emptiness once more.
"Depart, all of you. I will remember you."
His quivering voice pressed on toward another void.
"Bilenov! Go! I'll tell your descendants about the laurel tree."
The old man's voice showed no sign of stopping.
He named every person he remembered.
Along with the precious memories he cherished.
"I will fulfill what you could not. All of you, depart! I will never carve another statue."
I couldn't interrupt the old man's words.
This was a shaman's role.
To resolve the grudges between the living and the dead, and guide them to the right path.
For the old man to release a lifetime of karma and resentment, he had to let it all go.
If he could pour it out like this and find the right path, that would be a blessing.
But regrettably, not a single word he spoke was correct.
"Tsk, tsk... What are these pathetic statues... And these souls have already done what they needed to."
They were mere stone carvings.
No matter how much devotion and emotion infused them, they couldn't forcibly bind the departed.
"Then why are they bound here?"
The living's grudges could be resolved by the living.
But when tangled with the dead's, that was why I existed.
"Because of you, old timer."
Ting-
The rattle rang again.
"No one resents you."
Ting-
"They don't want you carving these things. They want you to be happy."
Ting-
One spirit approached to the rattle's sound.
It leaned against me, merging into my body for a moment.
My speech shifted, spilling out the departed's habits from life.
Mannerisms, unique intonations, expressions—all matched the spirit's perfectly.
"Good grief... Our stubborn captain, always so stingy... Did my words about wanting one more arm really stick with you that much?"
"P...Platz? Is that you?"
Ting-
Another spirit leaned into me.
"Captain! You love meat and booze, right? Go eat some and live well!"
"Alard...!!"
Ting-
"Riding with you was the best, Captain. Heh heh..."
"Taira! My old friend... Is it really you?"
Ting-
Many spirits entrusted themselves to me, pouring out their words.
Not one emotion lacked warmth.
Not one soul pitied the old man.
And what they all wished for in this world was the same.
"Live happily, sir."
"Ah... Ahh..."
The old man's face twisted as if it might crumble.
They didn't want him to remember them.
Nor for him to avenge them.
Realizing they simply wanted his happiness explained that expression.
The living and the dead shared their emotions.
Their crossed wishes finally found their places.
And right then, my strength gave out.
At least I did what I came for.
Ting-
As the rattle's sound faded, I barely pried open my slobbering mouth.
I couldn't hold back the drooling anymore.
"F...Food... please..."
"Who are you...!!"
Pity colored Parmon's face.
How starved must he have been in the war to crave food even in death?
He seemed sorry for overlooking a comrade he couldn't recall.
"I'll prepare some right away. Who are you...!! Please, tell me your name...!!"
My lips quivered as I forced out words.
"It's me..."
"Yes... yes...! Hurry...!"
"Me, I said..."
"I'm sorry... I can't recognize you from that alone...!"
"Me... Chris..."
"Chris...?"
Who knew such an expression could appear on that stern face?
He seemed deeply apologetic for failing to remember the name after all.
Tears welling in his eyes spoke volumes.
"No... Not a spirit, me..."
"..."
"I've been starving since yesterday..."
"......"