kscans

Chapter 178 - Revenge, Syril

"Hebrahel-sama… The foolish king has perished."

In a small village on the Castrato border, Syril stood holding a bouquet of simple flowers. Before her was a gravestone at the edge of an unmarked cemetery. It was the gravestone of the man who was once called Count Ansbach.

After their defeat against Frontier in the war some ten years ago, Castrato placed the blame on Count Ansbach. Now that his true identity was revealed, the house was of no more use to them. Moreover, the retainers he kept were all criminals who were critical of Castrato. He was a convenient scapegoat. A great war had occurred, and Castrato, needing someone to take responsibility, pushed it all onto Count Ansbach.

"I will take all the blame. So please, spare my family from collective punishment."

Inside a room of the mansion where they were confined, Hebrahel looked up at the envoy from the King of Castrato with a composed face and answered, then looked down at his sons.

"Did we not say we would be with you?"

"Why, now of all times, would you say such a thing?"

His sons were flustered.

"If you are lost, the Ansbach family will truly end. And so too will the lives of those of my house who shared our fate."

The sons’ faces stiffened in realization.

About half had been lost in the previous battle, but the border count’s retainers and knights were imprisoned in the mansion’s basement. Only Syril and a few others were by their side to attend to their masters.

"You are the last of the Ansbach family. You must not abandon those who swear loyalty to our house. If it can be bought with my life alone, it is a small price to pay."

His father’s smile was gentle.

Seeing Count Ansbach’s serene expression for the first time, his sons, as well as Syril and the others, were rendered speechless. The House of Count Ansbach had been swept up in international intrigue and had served Castrato like slaves for a long time. At last, peace had come to the exhausted family. And they had even been provided with the grandest place to die. If he could die for his sons, he would be content.

That relief must have shown on his face.

Seeing their father's profile as he resolved himself to die, the sons felt an indescribable sorrow that caught in their chests. They could not find the words to say. A family toyed with by the times. Such things were common in any country. The Middle Ages were rampant with assassinations to clean up the messes of the powerful, and public beheadings for collective punishment.

In such a world, if it could be settled with just one head, it was indeed a stroke of luck.

However, that was only if the King of Castrato would truly accept it.

"It is my last wish. All of you, flee this country together. You are, after all, of the blood of the Castrato and Frontier royal families. There must be a country somewhere that will take you in."

Once the matter was over, the facts would fade. It was possible for the forgotten to survive. If his sons were also lost to collective punishment, the captured members of the Ansbach household would surely follow them in death. They were people who had opposed the Castrato royal family and been branded criminals. Few of them had family in this country, and they would never again bend the knee to the King of Castrato, the object of their aversion and hatred. For the members of the Ansbach family, who had also been exiled to this land, it was absolutely necessary for the sons to be alive to protect them.

Because Count Ansbach readily agreed, the King of Castrato promised to waive the collective punishment.

Thus, Hebrahel was secretly executed, and arrangements were made to send his body to the Frontier side. The official story would be that they had disposed of the fool who started a conflict on his own authority and brought trouble to Castrato. It was a cowardly scheme to make Count Ansbach the mastermind and leave the matter ambiguous.

But before that could become fact, others moved, and Count Ansbach’s body was seized.

They were comrades of those who had resisted Castrato and been sent to the Ansbach house. They had formed an underground organization in Castrato and had been secretly communicating with each other.

These were people who felt an immeasurable debt of gratitude to Count Ansbach for protecting their exiled comrades. They were the seeds of a small resistance, who knew that tomorrow it could be their turn. Knowing this country of Castrato well, they were certain that the King of Castrato would not keep his promise. So they acted with lightning speed, seizing Count Ansbach’s body and rushing to rescue the members of the Ansbach household who were confined in a mansion on the outskirts of the royal capital.

Syril and the others had not been conducting espionage in Frontier for so long for nothing. Once their shackles were removed, their stealth skills were as sharp as ever. With the help of a few comrades, the Ansbach retainers were released from their cells. They protected Hebrahel’s sons and escaped from the Castrato royal capital.

"Father…!"

The sons collapsed in tears upon seeing Hebrahel’s body. The attendants and knights watched them with pained expressions, themselves trembling with anguish.

Escaping would not have been difficult. If Hebrahel had only been willing, they were prepared to protect him even at the cost of their own lives. Compared to the knights of Frontier, the soldiers of Castrato were like amateurs. The sons, Syril, and the others had repeatedly pleaded with Hebrahel. Let us escape. Let us establish our house somewhere far away, unknown to anyone. But Hebrahel had not nodded his head in agreement.

Syril and the others did not know.

They did not know that Hebrahel was exhausted. That he wanted to end his own life. Even if it was a deception, if it was for the sake of his sons, there was no better place for him to die.

And so Hebrahel went to his death of his own accord.

Syril, who did not know of his inner conflict, was remembering the past.

She was the child of someone sent from Castrato as a criminal. That was Syril. Many others had also married while serving the Ansbach family, a land of exile, and had families of their own. Most of them were trained as spies and forced to swear loyalty to Castrato. But no matter how much loyalty to Castrato was drilled into them, at their core was an overflowing gratitude to the Ansbach family. The terrible reality of Castrato that they heard from those around them. The Ansbach family was under Castrato surveillance, so they couldn't say much, but the retainers still secretly told their children.

Unlike the relatively free retainers and knights, the members of the Ansbach clan were bound hand and foot by the supervisors who came from Castrato.

Loyalty to Castrato was beaten into them until it became a conditioned reflex. Respect, awe. They were beaten with whips, seared with candles, their masters placed under the absolute control of Castrato. How many times had Syril and the others gritted their teeth, forced to stand by and watch their masters, exhausted and losing their will to resist, subjected to countless acts that trampled their pride.

That was the norm in their house.

As a result, the Ansbach clan could not defy Castrato. If told to die, they would die gladly. A loyalty carved into them like a curse from birth. They could not save Hebrahel, who had already been brainwashed.

Even so, he had wished for it. For his sons to survive. For just a small bit of resistance.

Normally, he should have wished for collective punishment, and it would have been certain that both parent and child would die, but there, Hebrahel resisted. Brainwashing is not a half-hearted thing. Even if the person is not conscious of it, they are made to do as the other wishes. If it had been perfect, Hebrahel would have wished for collective punishment himself and played the part of the villain, just as the King of Castrato intended. But having come into contact with the extraordinary little girl, his very foundations were shaken, and several doubts had arisen in him. …Is my homeland truly right?

That small wedge was driven deep, and now that it had come to this, it was not the consciousness drilled into him by brainwashing, but Hebrahel’s true feelings that came to the surface.

He did not want his sons to die.

It was a natural feeling for any parent.

That would also lead to saving the lives of many knights and retainers. Hebrahel's sons were still young, their brainwashing incomplete. They could still be corrected.

Syril and the others had been loyal to Castrato for the sake of the House of Count Ansbach. Now that that yoke was removed, there was nothing to fear.

Guided by their comrades in the underground organization, Hebrahel’s sons decided to head for the central region. They could not take their father’s body with them, so the sons carried only a lock of his hair, and the body itself was buried in an unmarked cemetery in Castrato.

"Please leave the grave tending to me."

Hebrahel’s sons nodded to the smiling Syril and set off for the central region, looking back reluctantly.

Left alone, Syril smiled bewitchingly.

It was a deep, graceful, and grim smile, like that of a glamorous femme fatale.

Now. Let us begin.

O King of Castrato. Shall I let you taste hell?

With the entire border count's family missing, the flustered Castrato royal court could only announce that the Count Ansbach party had fled under the cover of battle. They had no other choice.

And so Syril disguised herself and infiltrated the Castrato royal palace alone.

As you all know, Syril laughed out loud as she carried out her revenge.

"It is over, Hebrahel-sama. The foolish king who tormented your family for so long is dead. …I wish I had done this sooner."

Syril had family left in Castrato. She had never met them, but her father had told her so. Syril’s clan was a family of prophets in Castrato. A mysterious power manifested only in the female children. They were a family that could communicate with the gods and be granted their wisdom. In other words, she was the granddaughter of the old woman in the Castrato palace basement, and had inherited that knowledge. All to brainwash the Ansbach daughters with the gods' miraculous medicine.

Syril, who was to infiltrate Frontier under the guise of Habilus's marriage, swore in her heart. She would obtain a magic-wielding infant and free the Ansbach family from the curse that had tormented their masters for so long.

Though Syril steeled her heart, it all ended with her only putting the Ansbach family in a worse predicament.

It was wrong from the start. In the end, I was brainwashed too.

In anguish, Syril’s face twisted.

To save the Ansbach family, Syril and the others had desperately tried to steal a child from Frontier. The border count's house was a family created for that sole purpose. To free them from their curse, they had no choice but to obtain what Castrato demanded. They had blindly believed so. They had been made to believe so. By the villainous supervisors of Castrato. The supervisors were skilled in manipulating people’s hearts. They used the stick and carrot exquisitely, and knew exactly how to break a person’s spirit.

And so, they had played Syril and the others for fools as well.

Telling them to send a magic-wielding infant from Frontier to Castrato for the sake of the Ansbach family. They had guided Syril and the others’ consciousness as if that were the only way. Their loyalty to the Ansbach family had been used against them. The supervisors had deliberately tormented their masters and manipulated the pained Syril and her companions with sweet-sounding voices.

Looking back now, Syril and the others had been nothing more than cornered prey.

"If only… if only I had killed that foolish king from the start, there would have been no worries."

She had been brainwashed not to even think of such a thing. To save the young masters from the torturous brainwashing by the Castrato supervisors, she had been foolishly convinced that she had no choice but to grant the king’s wish.

The young children who cried and begged for forgiveness.

The beatings, called discipline, that unfolded before their eyes. The children forced into absolute submission, their every resistance suppressed, submerged in water, seared with fire, while Syril and the others could only watch. By showing them this, the Castrato supervisors had nipped any bud of rebellion in Syril and the others.

Quickly. We have to get a magic-wielding infant from Frontier, quickly.

Those days, when she had been brainwashed to blindly strive for a single purpose.

"If only I had realized the root cause sooner…"

Syril collapsed weakly before Hebrahel’s grave and wept without a sound.

The silence of the empty, unmarked cemetery gently enveloped her, drenched in her tears.

Finally, Syril could cry.

For her foolish master, who, because he was merciful and strong, threw himself into needless regret and repentance. Her beloved master, who had worried about Syril and the others until the very end. His life was not one to be praised. Rather, it was likely a life that would be the target of criticism. Even so, Syril knew Hebrahel, who was gentle and suffered from the conflict with the conscience that lived within him. She knew he had been pained by the many injustices that befell the children, and had let out heart-wrenching wails. She knew that every night, he would stroke his battered sons, as if telling himself that this must be right, that he must not be mistaken.

From the outside, it would seem like an abnormal scene. But for Hebrahel, who knew the fate of those marked as failures, this was the only way.

His uncle, locked away in a dungeon, who had lived a miserable future like a living corpse.

Everything was distorted and wrong, and without realizing it, the Ansbach family had continued on.

"Someday, I will come to your side."

Whispering so, Syril left the unmarked cemetery. In the end, Hebrahel had grown exhausted and snapped. Syril watched over him for a long time as he journeyed alone to a place of rest.

More time passed, and Hebrahel’s sons returned to Castrato. The new King of Castrato had cleared Hebrahel’s name and restored his honor. Decades later, the sons, who had heard the news from a retainer and returned to their homeland, went first to their father’s grave.

They intended to bury him in a proper gravesite, not an unmarked cemetery like this.

But what they saw when they arrived was a beautiful gravestone surrounded by a field of flowers.

And next to it, a small gravestone.

'To the side of my most beloved.'

The gravestone, engraved with only those words, bore Syril’s name.

"Syril, you…"

Perhaps she was relieved by the peace that had come to her homeland. She had followed her late master in death.

Understanding this from the two gravestones standing side by side, Hebrahel’s sons closed their eyes tightly and continued to pray. For the gods’ mercy to be bestowed upon the lives that were toyed with by the times and scattered in vain.

The two, kneeling and praying earnestly, do not know.

They do not know the fact that Syril, the one who was supposedly toyed with by the times, was the one who defeated the foolish king and laid the foundation for the peace that Castrato now enjoys.

A cornered mouse bites the cat. A single drop of water determined the fate of this country.

Thus, the last descendant of the prophet family disappeared, and Castrato lost its power to connect with the gods. The power of the prophet family to receive communications from the gods was a rare thing, unparalleled and comparable to that of an O-saki. It seems to have been hidden in the shadow of the flashiness of magic, but the power Castrato should have sought was already within its grasp.

To predict future events and gain the knowledge of the gods was a power not even Frontier possessed.

The former king of Castrato did not realize it. And the current king, and everyone else, does not realize it either.

The records of the family that disappeared without a trace were never recorded anywhere, swallowed by the darkness of history.

Only the Heavenly Gods know.

The gods merely watch over the people who live their lives peacefully, without incident.