19

Lizelotte asked Mireine without turning her face away from the window.

“No. However, since the owners of those personal belongings were all incredible people, perhaps something equally incredible possessed them.”

“……Those sources are masses of congealed emotions like regret, attachment, and hatred—muddy things that never decompose.”

“Eh?”

Even among excellent kings, many stain their later years. A gradually decaying body, thoughts, and the transition of an era they cannot keep up with. These things give birth to attachment and regret. They believe they can still do it, that they can still improve the country, and that they must remain a wise ruler. What was once an aspiration turns into fanaticism. If the king goes mad, the people go mad. If they go mad, the country goes mad.

In such a worst-case scenario, the head of the person sitting on the throne is replaced.

Where are the dark emotions or the aspirations so dazzling they cause blindness, held by that severed head, digested? They are not; they remain.

Those called heroes or braves were likely peerless warriors and battle-hardened veterans once they went to war. However, where they stand, corpses are always rolling. Some are the enemy’s, and some are their allies’. Even if they are battle-hardened and possess unparalleled valor, their close friends and acquaintances are dying on different battlefields where they are not present.

Even if they grasp victory by overcoming numerous gruesome battlefields, they must constantly stand resolute on a battlefield where they continue to lose things. Could such heroes remain without feeling anything, without going mad?

Even if strangers are protected, the comrades-in-arms they talked with and trusted their backs to fight until they die, and by the time they reunite, most are already cold. Even so, they are not allowed the time to mourn those lives and must head to the place of death. What remains? Only military prowess that has faded and become a shell within the flow of time, and their own country following a path of corruption, intoxicated by the fine wine of victory.

“The objects you call Relics are the pure emotions left at the end of such madness. They do not disappear, no matter how much time passes. If they were meant to disappear, they would have already been lost during that journey of madness from the start. And you all try to use even that madness as a tool—”

Mireine had reflexively stepped back.

The personal belongings of wise rulers called paragons of virtue, and the belongings of heroes who saved their nations from destruction—every one of them was the end result of continuing to fight while erasing personal desires and their very individuality to the limit within madness and despair.

Even the emotions contained in such end results are not read by others; they are given grand names like ‘Relics’ and treated as tools to be prized.

As time passes, even that sense of gratitude withers, and only their value as simple tools remains.

Mireine was simply terrified by the realization that they had been acting in a way that trampled over those Heroic Spirits with dirty feet.

“……The Mage of Black Flame must have scooped it up—that end result of a nameless Heroic Spirit.”

Whether it was a pitch-black emotion or a pride kept and protected even amidst madness, those who cannot perceive it will never know.

Nevertheless, the Mage of Black Flame must have sensed the will of the Heroic Spirit from the mana he received. That touched the ‘Restriction’ of the mage.

“……His life as a mage was likely short, but in this current world where even Heroic Spirits are turned into shells and only their value remains unclearly, only you were able to pick up those eternally smoldering emotions of the Heroic Spirits.”

Lizelotte paused, straightened her back, and continued.

“You—, nameless Mage of Black Flame, I shall show you my respect.”

Those were words filled with a warmth that Mireine had never heard from her before.

A short while later, Mireine wiped the table and pushed the wagon carrying the dishes out of Lizelotte’s room.

Alone in the room that was far too large, Lizelotte muttered to herself while still facing the window.

“……Among the things called Relics, there are primary ones that are always cited when examples are given.”

The sun outside the window was faintly covered by clouds, and the room where the magic lamps were not lit grew dim.

“One of those is the Canon. Ains, the book you wrote. ……Did you know? It is said that the mana generated by your book is a poison so potent that an ordinary human would go mad and die if they read it, though I do not feel it myself. The essence of a Relic is as I spoke before.”

If so—.

Lizelotte’s emotions could not be read from her tone of voice.

The warmth where the sun had been shining gradually vanished, and the dim room began to grow chilly.

“Your book, the Canon, is incomparable to the Relics found elsewhere.”

Lizelotte stood up while facing the window and took off her nightgown.

Her fine skin was exposed, but there was no one else in this room besides Lizelotte. No one saw her naked body. No one saw her expression at that moment.

“Ains, what did you see on your journey of madness? What do you see within the madness that still continues? Where is your end result?”

Lizelotte walked barefoot toward the bed, her breasts swaying slightly against her toned body.

“—My master. Am I already upon the journey?”

Lizelotte crawled into the bed and fell into a light sleep.

“……So, why am I dressed in this stiff, butler-like outfit?”

This was the mansion of Marquess Brandy in the residential district.

A man of massive build who did not quite understand his situation and was not used to wearing a butler’s uniform. His hands were rugged, and the development of his thigh muscles hidden by his pants was magnificent. The pectorals, like two large steel plates, did not hide their presence.

“Pfft, pfft. Talidge, it doesn’t suit you at all.”

“That is true. It is despairingly, catastrophically unsuited to you. There is a saying that ‘fine feathers make fine birds,’ but one must add a footnote that it does not apply to Talidge.”

Facing the giant with the sharp eyes, Ains laughed while holding his stomach without hiding it, and Sophia threw cold words without changing her expression.

“I’ve thought this for a while, but Sophia-san, you really speak your mind quite bluntly, don’t you?”

“I personally dislike indecisive, wishy-washy ways of speaking.”

To Sophia, who answered with a composed face,

“……Please consider my feelings too, being forced to wear this and then being put down,”

Talidge said, dropping his shoulders despite his large frame.

“Well, it’s fine. Eventually, pfft, that appearance of yours, pfft, we might get used to it, pffft, maybe?”

“Hey, the laughter is leaking out of your mouth. Do you need me to weld it shut?”

As for why Talidge was now wearing a butler’s uniform at the Brandy estate, the story goes back to the time when the incident in the slums had ended.