Nurturing the Hero to Avoid Death Chapter 9.5

Thanks a bunch to Mich.e.l.le O. and Wojciech R. for the tip!

Light streams through the windows.

It's morning.

I have to get up, but try as I might I can't seem to pull myself out of bed. My body is a bit stiff, making it impossible to move. My breath comes out in harsh puffs and sweat clings to my body. How gross.

For a second, I thought I had returned to the past. It's been a while since I've had such dreams.

Normally, the memories of them fade once I wake up.  However, that’s not the case currently. It's as if some higher power has made it so I will remember.

The dreams always begin at night. In pitch darkness, my mother and I sprinted through the town's back alley, a mixture of smells thick in the air. Chasing after us were several organized crime members.

As we zipped past other people, desperately crying out for help, the onlookers turned from us in disgust following a single glance. They ignored me and my mother, walked away from us as if they hadn't seen anything. As if we were just air.

No one was willing to help us.

The country my parents and I were from was said to be the largest on the continent. Everything from as far as the eye could see was beautiful, big, and bustling. It was a country overflowing with talents.

However, such a great place naturally drew the interest of outsiders. Immigrants flocked over like moths to a flame. But these people were from all over the world with clashing cultures. They were uncivilized and dirty, a hindrance to all.

As such, no one batted an eye if a crime was committed before them. Even if that crime was murder. No, they were all the more happier that the immigrant population was cannibalizing itself. Law and order? Justice? Don't make me laugh.

The country's inhabitants had come to a tacit agreement. This was a place where all would be forgiven.

Every few months, my father returned home from his business trip. Listening to his travel tales was one of the few pleasures in my life. In his stories, he often mentioned a smaller neighboring nation. Despite its size, its immigrants lived in peace and harmony with the citizens. It seemed like something out of a dream.

Then one day, my father didn't return. Several months rolled by, but he was still nowhere in sight. My mother believed he would definitely return one day. I, however, had my doubts.

Perhaps he lost his life on his way home. Or maybe he found a better life and no longer felt like coming back.

One day, as I was shopping at the market on the way home, I encountered a group of gangsters. I took my mother and ran. However, as a child and a woman, we were no match for their speed.　

The dreams always start when they cornered us in the alley, and repeats over and over again.

The wind whipping past as I ran. My mother's screams.

Over and over.

The fear gripping my entire body as I dashed off without her.

Run.

Run.

Run.

Daggers of guilt pierced my heart, causing me to come to a full stop. Questions of how I could abandon my own mother attacked my psyche ceaselessly. I condemned myself. Without wasting time, I turned around and ran in the direction from which I had fled.

But, when I had finally reached that place, my mother lay cold and still, the whole ground drenched in red.

I screamed.

If I wake up at this scene, I usually have a headache or feel nauseous for the remainder of the day. The latter is slightly better than the former but both are still terrible.

Yet right now, the dream is still continuing.

When I arrived at the scene of my fallen mother, our pursuers caught sight of me.

Fear devoured me as I made a mad dash for it. Yet it was too late. Despite my struggle, I was beaten and kicked to the ground, my legs broken until they lay limp. In the end, they caught me.

Disgusting smiles slid across their faces. One of the men wrapped his putrid hands around my neck, squeezing tighter and tighter. I clawed at his hands, trying to peel them off, head flailing, legs still as motionless as before.  I couldn't breathe. With each pa.s.sing second I grew more and more panicked.

And then my vision dyed red.

As always, my sight abruptly cut off. Following a slight pause, it returned.

Before me lay corpses, scorched black and ripped in pieces. Blood and organs littered the ground.

And my hands. They were dripping with blood.

A hoa.r.s.e scream ripped from my throat once more.

Whenever I wake up during this scene, that's when I know it’ll be one of the worst days ever.

°•°•°

To this day, I still recall when I stumbled into this village alone.

After my mother had begged me to escape the country by myself, that I had to live, I did exactly as she had told me.

I gathered the money my mother and I had saved up. The smuggling fee was expensive, but I managed to leave the country by hiding in a livestock wagon. From then on, I did my best not to come into contact with other people or demons. I made my way east, running or hiding whenever required.

I held on to the belief that the country to our east was amazing, relying on my father's stories to fuel my determination. As long as I reached the promised land, I would find happiness. In my childish, immature mind, I also dreamed of the possibility of meeting him again.

Yes, I had to believe.

Even when my steps no longer kept in a straight line, my vision growing hazy, I continued to walk, holding on to my belief.

While I still had money, I bought food for myself. But soon, the last of it ran out.

However, I was resilient. I hunted small river fish and game, gathered wild fruits and edible weeds. And I managed to survive.

Since I looked like a vagrant, no one tried to approach me anymore.

I walked and walked. Just kept on walking.

Starving and sleep-deprived, I finally collapsed in the middle of the road. I must have looked like I died. A good samaritan came across my p.r.o.ne body and felt pity for me. Thinking I should at least be mourned, he carried me to the church. At that point, I was already standing by death's door.

As I was laid into the child-sized coffin, I suddenly opened my eyes, surprising the nun who was by my side.

I escaped being buried in the graveyard by a hair. Eventually, the nun took me in and raised me.

Whether this was the amazing country my father had always spoke of I did not know. However, compared to how life was back then, this place was definitely like a dream.

That's why to me, where I was now and the country my father had always mentioned were one and the same. They were both the places promised in our dreams.　

I am now attending the munic.i.p.al school. Although I wanted to work after I graduated from the elementary track, granny pleaded for me to continue my education. So, here I am.

The nun is a very good person. She's taken in orphans from all over the place. The kids leave when they become independent, but new ones always replace them. As such, the church can barely afford to roof them.

More robust than the average person and not a stranger to physical labor, I had planned to work and help support the church. To help ease the financial burden. Yet, granny always donned a troubled expression whenever I mentioned this idea. She would say the money I earned belonged solely to me.

I just wanted to do what I could do.

As I enter the dining hall, granny catches sight of me.

"Oh my, Al? Are you okay? Do you have a fever?"

"I don't."

"That's a lie! Your face is red!"

I don't want to be told this by a granny with cheeks as red as apples. "Well, even though that's true, I'm fine. I can move without a problem."

"But still!" Granny sighs. "You're totally indifferent toward yourself… What a troubling child. Please don't push yourself too hard."

"I know."

"I wonder if you actually do know or if you're just saying that."

"I'll be back." Just when her nagging begins, I make a quick break for it, grabbing coffee and some bread before heading out.

As soon as I step into the cla.s.sroom, I feel a plethora of stares aimed at me, ranging from good-willed to hostile. Like always, it's a bit annoying. What is it about me that's so interesting?

Standing at the center of the room is a silver-haired boy.

Lian. The second son of the lord who lives in the biggest mansion in the village.

Noticing my arrival, he narrows his ice blue eyes, tilts his chin up slightly, and smirks. He gives off the appearance of looking down on me, but his gaze is too gentle to really be arrogant. A little more, and it looks like he'll burst out in laughter.

Which reminds me…

When I had first arrived at this village, he looked at me differently. His gaze was not as gentle. In fact, those eyes had sized me up with scorn, as though he hated being too close to someone like me. His eyes were like the ones from where I had came from.

Since when has this changed? The person he was long ago and the person he is now are as distinct as night and day. It's like they're different people altogether…

A little while ago, I met Lian at the church after I got injured at work. I was surprised to find him collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

Was he that weak? I had no clue. This had never crossed my mind. He's as strong as ever with the sword. Unfortunately, I've yet to beat him in a spar.

Upon closer inspection, his face was blue, body on the verge of freezing to death. Extremely exhausted. One phrase zipped through my mind at that moment: magic deficiency. From what I've heard in the past, that's what his symptoms suggested.

Was it like a chronic disease? I had no idea.

He immediately refused when I offered to take him to the hospital. And when I offered to take him home instead, he refused that as well.

What does he want then?

He declined all of my attempts to help him, and in the end told me to leave him alone. It's like he's a brat throwing a tantrum.

What happened? He's usually a reasonable and exemplary honor student. Yet, he actually said he didn't want to go home.

Even though I didn't have all the facts at hand, I was starting to think Lian's running away from something. Ahh, was that the reason he escaped to the church?

In order to hide his weakness, he spread his shoulders and elbows wide, practically overdoing it.

And although he's talking like a brat, all audacious and conceited, in reality, he was worried about me. I'd proof of this. Whenever he saw me hurt, he'd fly to my side and give me a recovery item, face all blue.

Looking at this troublesome guy, I lend him a hand despite his words of refusal.

Deep down inside, I was sure he's a kind person. He's popular with the middle and lower cla.s.s students. He seemed to be trying hard to a.s.sociate with the other upper cla.s.s students too.

Because he looked like he'd faint at any moment, I forcibly performed a magic transfer. And also to return the favor.

…But I appeared to have overdone it. Now he's unable to move.

Well, I had an inkling I was overdoing it during the process. But it felt too pleasant to stop. For a moment, I had forgotten myself and kept silent. By the way Lian's eyes were trembling, it must have felt pleasant for him too.

Finally running out of energy, he stopped fidgeting around. I carried him to my room and attempted to lay him on my bed for the time being.

As I was about to pull away, he clung on to me like a child, eyes still shut in slumber. From his lips left soft and desperate pleas. Don't die, he muttered. Don't leave me.

As far as I knew, I wasn’t dead yet. I just fell off the roof. The old man’s alive and kicking too. With the sinking suspicion that he woke up, I turned my attention to his face. He's still asleep.

Shivering, he latched on to my shirt.

He's crying.

…What the. Could it be? Was he lonely?

No, that couldn't be it. Lian was always surrounded by people and he had his family too.

At least, that should be it, but… Now that I thought about it, even when there were people physically around him, Lian sometimes sported a lonely look in his eyes.

And I knew those eyes well. They're similar to my mother's when she yearned for my father's return, a shadow crossing her gaze.

For some reason, that same shadow existed in Lian's eyes. That said, lately it's been gradually receding. I felt nostalgic whenever I saw it, and when it subsided even further, I felt relieved.

Meanwhile, Lian's staring intently at me while I was engrossed in my thoughts. It's strange. Usually, he looks on forward. His brow slightly furrows.

"Alfred? You…"

Before he can finish, the bell rings. The teacher enters the cla.s.sroom and he flips back forward in his seat.

In case some of you didn’t see the rushed little announcement in the previous chapter, I’ve decided to split chapters up if they exceeded 20 pages, keeping ~10 pages per part. Part two will be out in like 9 days or something. Exams and projects due. Sorry for not updating the other novels yet. I’ll get to them when I have the time.

Man, poor Al. It was really heartbreaking translating that first part… And wow, underneath that silent and expressionless demeanor is a strong and mature soul.

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