Confessions of the Historian are non-continuous pseudo chapters that feature a timeframe far removed from the main story. They will not affect the main story’s update schedule, and will instead be uploaded at random intervals alongside them.

 

Ep 77. Confessions of the Historian: Answer In Death

 

If there was a God, a true divinity possessing of omnipotence…

Then such a being would, undoubtedly, wish to wash their world of us.

Mankind is condemned to a life of suffering and hatred. Such is our punishment for the maddening world we have created together.

Then, the only key to redemption, is truly a simplistic one: to not be punished, one must simply become the punisher.

One must become the God that washes away all our sins.

…Is that not the conclusion you reached, one thousand years ago?

 

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How many people were there that day?

Were they dressed proper?

Were they rich or poor? Kind or selfish?

The adults could answer these questions. Their father could easily answer these questions.

But the little girl merely hung to the stone tablet. On that day, she hadn’t the mind to care about petty details like that. She’d embraced the stone, her agonized cries drowning out the world around them.

Of course, no one else was crying. Even in a strange ritual like this, their status disallowed them from grieving in plain sight.

That, or…no one was grieving to begin with.

“Felicis.”

Even when an elderly voice would call the little girl’s name, she wouldn’t even so much as look towards her father.

Instead, everyone else at the ritual would mockingly look at the ignored noble. They’d all voice the same opinion in unison in their demeaning voices.

“Perhaps she didn’t hear you through all her bawling.”

“True discipline only shows in turbulent times like these.”

“She is a little young to know proper manners.”

…Manners?

Was that really what’s keeping all of them from mourning before someone’s grave?

Sadly, it didn’t matter to the noble. He merely returned a faked, apologetic smile to his colleagues, and would call his daughter’s name again.

“Felicis! Cease your crying. Remember your place.”

Only then did she look at the man behind her.

“What place?”

Her question wasn’t out of curiosity or confusion. Instead, layers of deep-seated hatred were forming her speech as she talked back to her father.

“You killed her. I’m a murderer’s daughter.”

A few of the adults audibly laughed at the little girl’s hateful remark. They quickly ceased their sounds out of politeness, but to them, Felicis’ words were merely hilarious.

They could laugh over this. Unlike their father.

Felicir remained silent. But when he glanced to the side, he could see their father’s unmoving eyes, slowly thinning out to hold back an angered outburst.

 

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The little girl’s screaming filled the mansion for quite some time.

Every time the cane was swung unto Felicis, their father demanded silence each time – and yet, she’d always scream something back. She’d call him a murderer and hypocrite.

‘Why’s she doing that?’

In Felicir’s eyes, it almost seemed as if his little sister was inviting their father to wield further violence. If she’d complied obediently, then the beating might’ve ended by now.

Instead, even when Felicis could barely open her bleeding eye, the other still retained its hateful glare. The countless bruises and bleeding wounds did little to kill the little girl’s spirit. She’d bitterly curse at being born into this wretched nobility, under the murderer that claimed to be her father.

And it would continue on for hours on end. Felicir stayed silent all the while, watching it unfold as told.

And when his sister’s screaming finally fell silent, their father would grab the girl by her collar, tossing her like one would a dead animal. She’d collapse in front of her brother, motionless in her thinned breathing.

“Do not let your unruly sister influence you, Felicir.”

“…Of course.”

“Take her away. And do not serve any food to her this week.”

“…”

She was barely 10.

It was too early to act an adult.

 

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The first thing Felicis saw when she came to was a worried servant, caring after the little girl as gently as possible from the bedside. Although her body still screamed in pain, it was still far less compared to what it had been when she was awake.

But even that gentle care felt repulsive to Felicis.

“…Go away!!”

She swung her bruised arm sideways, knocking off the medicine that was held in the servant’s hand. The woman momentarily flinched, but soon quickly retrieved the medicine that had fallen unto the floor.

Felicis began to well up in tears. Not long ago, it would’ve been her own mother at the bedside.

She’d never see that sight again. Ever.

“Who do you think you are?! You’re not mother, Aldrid. You’re a nobody!”

After picking up the medicine once more, the servant apologetically returned to the little girl’s side. She was lowering her posture to meet Felicis’ hateful glare, returning a saddened smile at the angered outburst.

“I’m sorry, Lady Felicis…but you still have to treat your wounds. Otherwise, you’ll scar.”

“…”

Her mother had always told her to be careful not to trip on her dress. She’d hold the little girl’s hand, pulling her up whenever it seemed like she’d fall.

- ‘Be careful, Felicis! Can’t have our little princess getting hurt now.’

- ‘But even if I get hurt, you’ll make it better! Right, mother?’

- ‘Haha…of course. Always.’

She’d never hold that hand again.

She’d never see that smile, or hear those words again.

‘…You lied to me.’

It’d been a lie all along; Felicis just hadn’t realized it until now. Her mother had been lying to her all life.

She wouldn’t always be here to make things better. She’d leave forever without even saying goodbye to her children.

And to some, that sudden reality was too much to bear.

“…Why did you die, mother…”

Felicis hugged her knees, quietly returning to her sobbing. Aldrid gently held the little girl in her arms, providing what little comfort she could.

And meanwhile, Felicir remained outside his sister’s room, leaning his back against the door.

The boy’s eyes emptily stared upwards into the ceiling. His mind lingering on the question he’d just overheard.

Why did she die?

‘Because she was weak.’

Their mother had died because she was weak.

Felicis was beaten because she was weak.

Aldrid couldn’t do much because she was weak.

Felicir couldn’t even protect his sister – because he was weak.

The weak were destined to live this way. They’d live as those in power pleased for what little kindness they could dig out of them.

And because the world was this way, everyone hurt and stole from one another. They scrambled for what little they could salvage to rise to power themselves – for once they did, they would finally attain the right to live as they pleased.

Their mother had wished that her children wouldn’t live in such a world.

‘But if you wanted that wish to come true…then you shouldn’t have died like this, mother.’

The weak’s lives were decided by their superiors.

And quite often, their deaths were also decided by their superiors.

 

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Aldrid once again opened the door. She carried a tray of food in her arm, which was placed down beside Felicis’ bedside.

“Lady Felicis. It’s not much, but…”

The little girl’s empty gaze fell on the food for a moment. But she soon turned away, shaking her head.

“…I’m not eating.”

“Huh?...Is it because of your father? Don’t worry, this is my own food. He won’t-“

“I’m not eating!!”

Felicis’ gaze fell to the blankets beneath her eyes. Drops of tears began to soak into the fabric.

“…I’m going to die anyways.”

“…That’s not true. Why would you die?”

“Probably beaten to death. By that crazy murderer.”

“Lady Felicis! That’s-“

Before Aldrid could finish her sentence, the door swung open without warning to reveal two figures. Felicir was standing outside the room, and at his side was their father, glaring at his daughter with a murderous gaze.

“Felicis.”

Felicis winced at her father’s oppressive calling. Her little body began to tremble, but the noble nonchalantly began walking towards the bed, hand raised high into the air.

Both Aldrid and Felicis clenched their eyes. They didn’t need to be told what was coming – and soon, a loud crunching noise filled the room.

But contrary to their expectations, the little girl couldn’t feel anything hitting her head.

When she slowly opened her eyes, Felicis saw her elder brother, standing in between her towering father and herself. The man’s angered gaze was falling short of his daughter, instead falling down on his son, bleeding on the head from the hit he’d taken in his sister’s place.

“What is it, Felicir?”

“It’d be quite remiss of you to continue, father. She’ll really die if you go any further today.”

“Hah. Remiss? Are you threatening your own father?”

“Not at all. I-“

The boy’s words were interrupted by another thick smashing sound on his temple. He fell sideways on the floor from the sudden impact, feeling a streak of blood crawling down his face.

Though, his father cared little for it.

“You’ll take it in her stead then.”

The boy didn’t even return an answer. He instead rose to his feet, standing still for his father to once again knock him down. He took the beating in absolute silence; not even a single groan escaped the boy’s lips.

But eventually, even Felicir couldn’t bring himself to rise. After an hour of repeatedly being knocked down and rising back, the boy’s shaking legs were refusing to support his body any longer.

And when the boy couldn’t get up, their father would once again turn his eyes towards the shuddering girl on the bed. He took a step forward, bloodied hands reaching towards his next victim.

But immediately after, the noble felt a small tug on his ankle.

When the man lowered his gaze, he could see Felicir wrapping his trembling arm around his leg, preventing him from approaching his daughter.

The noble scowled at his son; it was a trivial hold. He turned to kick his son away.

That is, until he saw the pair of eerie blue eyes. In the midst of blood and hair shading over them, a deathly gaze was glaring back at him.

“…I can continue.”

Those were the first words the boy had spoken since his beating began.

When Felicir crawled back to his feet, the noble had to consciously gulp down in inexplicable fear.

The boy shouldn’t have been able to get up – he had no reason to. He shouldn’t have had a reason to.

A momentary silence ensued. The noble turned away from both his children, scowling at the blood that had splattered onto his own clothes.

“Well, perhaps that’s enough for today.”

Felicir remained rigidly standing. He waited in place for his father to leave the chamber, and his footsteps to grow distant.

Only then did the boy let out a small, relieved sigh. His legs gave away once more, making him slouch back down against the wall.

Felicis leapt out of her bed. She hurriedly carried her limping body over to her brother, kneeling at his side with a teary expression.

In his ringing ears, Felicir could vaguely hear his sister’s crying. She seemed to be apologizing to him for some reason, but he couldn’t make out exactly what it was for.

Instead, he merely lifted his hand to caress his sister on her head.

It probably wasn’t even remotely close to what their mother had done for her daughter. But this was all he knew. If there’s one thing his mother had taught him, it was that success and prestige weren’t the only values in this world – that sometimes, simple acts and intangible ideals could carry just as much meaning.

Their mother had possessed something far more valuable through her children. What it exactly was, he couldn’t tell – but she did teach him how to keep it, and cherish it.

‘What did she used to say? She said…’

“…Don’t get hurt, Felicis.”

“…Okay.”

“Don’t get sick.”

“…Okay.”

“And don’t cry.”

“…Okay. I won’t…”

The little boy beamed a soft grin through his bleeding lips. As Aldrid busily began tending to his wounds, Felicir’s mind faintly began to grasp at what their mother might’ve wished for in her children.

And, inevitably, his next question began to linger in his mind.

‘…What would that take?’

 

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After whole years, Felicir still found himself still pondering over the exact same things he’d pondered over as a child.

At first, it was simply because he was told to.

He feigned kindness. Acted loyalty. To behave as taught wasn’t any more difficult than learning how to read and write.

- ‘Felicir. When our crusade ends, this entire city will belong to our family.’

That’s what his father would tell him.

Even though the man had never taken part in this so-called ‘crusade’ that had spanned throughout the last few years, he’d boast humanity’s work as his own. Demonkind’s fall was, in his words, a work of his people – and therefore, his own.

Was it rubbish? Probably.

But Felicir didn’t care. He’d grin and nod, just as he was taught.

And then, his father would always say…

- ‘Excel. Become a man deserving of my city, Felicir.’

Again, he’d grin and nod.

Excelling wasn’t difficult. Compared to the small effort it took to fulfill his father’s expectations, the prize he’d one day inherit was far more valuable.

He was taught to chase success. Just like his father, Felicir knew painfully well the value of prestige and power – that they were valuable assets, far outweighing the lives of commoners.

However, the boy also knew the value of what others couldn’t see – just like his mother had.

Unlike his father, she wouldn’t have traded the world for her children. His mother had possessed something intangible through him and Felicis – something that was of priceless value, and yet remained outside of even their father’s grasp.

Then, who was right in the end? Which parent was he supposed to truly take after?

‘…Hm.’

Felicir mused at the thought.

Everything that belonged to his father would one day become his. As the only heir, that was just a plain truth.

But that wasn’t even remotely close to the future his mother had wished in her children. Of that, he was certain of.

She wouldn’t have wanted them to live the exact same lives as their parents had. She wouldn’t have wanted them to live in this cursed world, among the cursed people that inhabited it. If she could, she would’ve rebuilt the world for her two children.

‘Isn’t that right, mother?’

“…One day, it’ll come true.”

Quiet words escaped Felicir’s lips as he stood before his father in the noble’s office. A silver gleam shone out of his wrist, revealing a sharpened dagger that was then suddenly driven into the noble’s chest.

Fresh blood pooled out of his father’s newest wound. The man widened his eyes in surprise, but all he could see was an unnerving grin on his son’s face.

“Felicir, you…? Why…?”

They were poor choices for a noble’s final words. But being his father’s last question to ever be asked, Felicir felt the need to answer.

Why?

Was it to steal his father’s power and prestige? Not really.

Was it vengeance? Not really that, either.

To achieve justice? As if.

It was just the most efficient way forward; that’s all there was to it. His father was an obstacle in the path he’d chosen, and so, the noble had to be removed. They were wasting precious time and resource, after all. The sooner they were gone, the better.

But unfortunately, this coward of a noble wouldn’t understand that.

So instead, Felicir returned an answer that his father would understand. Even if it was a ridiculous one.

“Ah, apologies. I slipped my hand.”

Felicir then ‘slipped’ his hand once more, slashing the blade sideways. The victim’s exposed heart pumped out streaks of blood onto his chair and floor, its beating diminishing further and further.

Once the noble’s breathing completely ceased, Felicir casually slipped his bloodied hand into the inner pockets of his father’s overcoat. He plucked out an antique iron key, which he then used to open the lowest drawer of his father’s office desk.

A jagged stone was emitting a brilliant blue gleam from within. Felicir took it into his hand with a devilish smile on his face, letting the fragment sink into his body without resistance.

“There we go.”

Unlike his father, he wouldn’t chase after what others had told him to chase.

And unlike his mother, he wouldn’t settle for what he already did have. Not until the very world would rest on his palm.

Only then could he break them free from this cursed place – from all the cursed things that surrounded him and his family.

For that ideal, nothing was too much. The ends would justify the means.

‘Isn’t that right?’

If it weren’t, then surely someone would’ve told him so.

 

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To remake one’s world.

To raise one’s family to levels of divinity.

And to continue that world by eliminating everything that threatens it.

Perhaps it was only natural that you would come up with such a solution. It’s a simple, efficient answer. Considering your efforts, one could even call it selfless.

But, I wonder…how did you reflect in your sister’s eyes?

How would you have reflected in your mother’s eyes?

If either had told you that your methods weren’t right – and showed you another way forward – would things have changed?

…

Your tale ends with this page, Reaper. But even in your long journey, I could not find an answer to your question, and thus I must leave it empty.

Your claimed that your ideals were not your own. But your ideals were not your sister’s. And your ideals were, unfortunately, not your mother’s.

…I do not know whose ideals you were chasing.

I’m afraid no one will.