Chapter 17
Chronicles of a Villain (2)
“…I see.”
After hearing everything from Fikel and Randolph, Isaac fell silent for a moment.
It was a heavy silence.
Bill’s eyes darted around nervously.
He felt like collapsing right then and there.
If possible, he wanted to faint and only wake up after all of this was over.
“Bill, the tea’s gone cold.”
“B-but, Young Master… we’re out of water.”
“Then go get some.”
“….”
Bill glared at Isaac, but more than anyone, he knew it was useless.
With no choice, he left the room.
***
“I understand your intentions.”
At some point, Isaac had stopped using honorifics with Fikel and Randolph.
The space wasn’t large.
Though they had sheathed their daggers, the two fully armed knights stood before him.
Isaac stared at them coldly.
Fikel and Randolph couldn’t understand this situation at all—
nor could they figure out how to respond.
The boy before them was the eldest son of Goethe, yes—
but only twelve years old.
A child who had never killed a man.
Fikel, on the other hand, had killed his first man at seven.
Randolph had held a sword at ten and killed by eleven.
The young master before them had lived a completely different life.
No—he was far too young to understand the world.
Could they make him understand this situation?
No. Impossible.
They stood on a line far too ambiguous to explain to someone so naive.
***
“I’ll pass judgment. Fikel. Randolph.”
“….”
No matter what this boy thought, neither of them intended to back down.
And yet, strangely, the pauses Isaac left between his words made them tense.
“Execution.”
“…Thank you for your under—”
Fikel, who had already expected the outcome, stopped mid-sentence.
“…What?”
“Father’s judgment will likely be no different. Based on my report, you’ll be brought before the military council. We’ll also need to hear testimony again from the condemned man you accused of insubordination.”
“Young Master!”
“Don’t make that face, Fikel. My decision won’t change.”
“I cannot accept this!”
Fikel shouted.
“Why does your acceptance matter? The decision will be Father’s anyway.”
“Do you know hunger?! Have you ever had your fingers and toes cut off from frostbite?! Have you ever seen a comrade die horribly because your blade wouldn’t cut?! Have you ever stayed awake all night, haunted by those who died as monsters, fearing you’d die the same way?!”
“…No.”
Isaac answered briefly, as if nothing.
“And yet you, who knows none of that, will judge us?”
“If you’re so righteous, then you’ll stand proud even after I report this to Father. So why are you shouting at me?”
“….”
This time, Isaac questioned him.
Fikel couldn’t answer.
Randolph simply lowered his head.
Though Isaac had told Bill to bring fresh tea,
the cups in front of them were still full—
untouched.
***
“You know it too. Father would never permit your little operation. Fine—I understand you had your reasons. Father is upright, but not capable. He lacks flexibility. That’s why he can’t maintain good relations with merchant families or bow his head to wealthy nobles. Nor does he have any business sense. He’s simply a shield guarding the North—nothing more, nothing less.”
Isaac calmly recounted their own arguments.
“You admire that about him. You follow him from the bottom of your hearts. The problem is, because of that, soldiers are dying. Supplies are lacking. How many infantrymen died in battle because their swords had rusted? How many froze or fell ill because there was no firewood or fur to cover themselves? How many starved or succumbed to disease due to lack of food?”
“….”
“So you filled those shortages by selling off the vagrants gnawing at Bern City like vermin? You couldn’t serve two masters, and you weren’t mere mercenaries who could earn money by force—so that was your only option? For Father? For Goethe? To protect it? Is that right? Answer me.”
“Yes. Yes! That’s right!”
Fikel raised his voice—then let out a bitter laugh.
“So you could control Niers as long as you remained in charge. Because you’re knights capable of using aura?”
“How many times must I repeat it—”
“Then why did you touch the maids?”
“That was—Niers’s men acted on their own—”
“And that was part of your ‘control’?”
“….”
“Haven’t you crossed the line just like Niers?”
“That’s an insult!”
“Why? Does it offend you?”
“…I have nothing more to say to you, Young Master.”
Unable to hold back, Fikel slammed the table and stood.
***
“From the start, it was a mistake expecting understanding from a brat like you. Randolph! How long are you going to stay like that?!”
“Raise your head! Stand up! We were prepared for this the moment we started! We are Goethe’s sword! If it’s to protect Goethe, we’re ready to cut down anything! His Excellency still has Young Master Jonas—he’s not cursed like this brat who only brings harm to others!”
Fikel’s body began to glow faintly.
Randolph recognized it immediately—
Aura.
The air sharpened.
Like a cutting wind, it stung the skin.
Though it wasn’t cold, it sent chills down the spine.
Fikel truly intended to kill Isaac.
***
What was right?
In that fleeting moment,
Randolph hesitated.
Through countless battles, he had learned—
hesitation in moments like this leads to irreversible consequences.
He had chosen to become Goethe’s shield.
He had sworn to give his life for Goethe.
Since becoming a soldier of Winterband, that had always been his belief.
The slave trade had begun for everyone’s sake.
For comrades.
For subordinates.
To strengthen Winterband.
To protect the people.
To protect Goethe.
He had believed that dirtying his hands—
even bearing disgrace—
was acceptable for that purpose.
But now—
he reconsidered.
Was it truly for Goethe?
At the beginning, yes.
But where they had arrived… was something entirely different.
***
He reached one clear conclusion.
He was a shield.
“Captain Fikel.”
Randolph stood.
“You once said on the watchtower—if you were the sword, then I was the shield. Carlson said something similar: ‘A sword that can cut anything without breaking is a masterpiece. But if that sword gains its own will, it becomes a cursed blade.’”
“Why bring that up now—wait… don’t tell me—!”
“As you said, I am a shield. A shield that protects Goethe.”
Randolph drew his arming sword from beneath his robe.
His blade soon began to glow faintly as well.
“Before he cut off my ear, I thought his stubborn nature ruined everything. Like a blade without elasticity that snaps easily. But after losing my ear… I feel like I can finally hear properly. Carlson was right.”
“Have you lost your mind?! If that brat reports us, we’re dead! What about our company?! Leave them to freeze to death in that miserable place?! Or have them all executed for treason?!”
“That too… would be our sin.”
Randolph’s voice remained steady.
“And let’s be honest, Fikel. That money… wasn’t used entirely for the territory, was it?”
“—!?”
Fikel’s eyes widened.
Sword light scattered in the air.
“I see now. I understand why Carlson pointed his blade at you. And why he chose to stay silent.”
Isaac nodded at Randolph’s explanation.
It was still too early to bring up the name Kyle.
From the sack Randolph carried, blood dripped steadily—
yet no one paid it any mind.
“Did you expect things to turn out like this?”
“No. I thought both of you would obediently follow my words. At the very least, I believed Father wasn’t someone who misjudged people.”
“Fikel… wasn’t a bad man. Rough around the edges, sure, but he had a warm heart.”
Randolph sighed.
“If both of us had tried to kill you… what would you have done?”
“I trusted you.”
Isaac answered calmly.
Randolph’s eyes widened.
“And what made you trust me?”
“I heard about you and Fikel from Father. You stopped Carlson’s summary execution and requested a military trial. That worked in your favor.”
“You trusted me based on that alone?”
“That’s right.”
Isaac nodded.
Of course, he had prepared a teleportation scroll just in case.
Thankfully, he didn’t need to use it.
***
“My… family… what will happen to them?”
“Don’t worry. If you turn yourself in, your family will be fine. Bill—you understand what that means, right?”
Isaac glanced back at Bill.
“O-of course. I won’t say anything.”
Walking behind them, Bill nodded with a pale face.
He couldn’t even begin to grasp how deeply he had become entangled in all this.
***
“Young Master… before we return to the estate, may I stop somewhere?”
Randolph asked carefully.
“As long as it doesn’t take too long.”
With Isaac’s permission, Randolph headed to an inn at the edge of the slums.
It wasn’t just a place to stay—
prostitutes worked there.
“Tia. Are you here?”
At Randolph’s call, the pimp quickly dragged a woman forward by the wrist.
She wore an expression of clear annoyance.
“What? Want me to entertain you? And this handsome young master too? That’ll cost extra.”
The moment she saw Isaac’s face, her expression brightened.
Refined features, well-kept hair, neat clothing—
he looked like someone who could pay well.
“I’m Randolph. You’re Tia, right?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
Seeing Randolph confirm her name multiple times, Tia’s expression stiffened.
She had noticed the edge of chainmail beneath his robe.
“Don’t be afraid. I came to deliver news. Fikel… is dead.”
“Fikel?”
“You remember him. I believe he brought quite a bit of money here.”
“He did. And he turned plenty of people into fools too.”
The pimp muttered from the side.
Randolph ignored him and continued.
“Fikel loved you. He dreamed of marrying you… having children out of love. He may have been clumsy, but…”
“…How did he die? Can I see the body?”
Tia’s face changed—
a complicated mix of surprise, something between sorrow and relief.
“Here… this is Fikel’s head. As for how he died… let’s just say he wasn’t fortunate.”
Randolph lifted the sack he carried.
Dark, dried blood clung to it.
“…Can you show me?”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“Are you sure?”
Randolph hesitated.
He worried she might faint at the sight.
“I watch executions in the square all the time. Severed heads aren’t new to me.”
“But this is Fikel’s.”
“It’s fine.”
At her insistence, Randolph slowly opened the sack.
“Ptoo!”
The moment she saw Fikel’s head—
Tia spat on it.
“W-what are you doing?!”
Randolph was stunned.
“A lunatic bastard like him is better off dead! It’s good for the world!”
“I-I’m sorry, Sir Knight…”
The pimp hurriedly explained—
Fikel’s sadistic tendencies had gone too far, and one of Tia’s friends had died because of it.
“But… I was certain you would build a life together…”
“Why act surprised now? This is a world where families are bought and sold for money. Acting like a bride on her first night for a few coins—that’s our job. Pretending to be a loving family? That’s nothing.”
“….”
“Thanks for the good news. If you’re not here to buy anything, leave. I’m in the middle of work.”
Leaving the stunned Randolph behind,
Tia turned and walked upstairs without hesitation.
Even until she disappeared from sight,
her face carried unmistakable contempt.
***
“So this is what you meant… when you said the money wasn’t used entirely for the territory.”
“…Yes. For now… shall we leave?”
Seeing half-naked women casually walking about the inn,
Randolph finally realized where he had brought a twelve-year-old boy—
and hurried out.
***
“Fikel was born when Winterband was attacked… a child between a tribal warrior and a local woman. Part of it was lust—but he also sought a place to belong, so he kept coming to Tia. But… I didn’t know it had gone that far.”
As they rode back to the estate in a carriage,
Randolph summarized Fikel’s life.
Thanks to that, Isaac wasn’t bored on the way.
***
“It’s ironic. Slave trading was banned in Goethe to ease conflict between the tribes beyond the border and Goethe. Yet someone with the blood of those tribes took the lead in such trade.”
“That’s how the world works.”
“In the end… misfortune created a villain.”
“You could say that.”
“But not everyone who suffers becomes a villain.”
Isaac looked out the carriage window.
For some reason, the northern landscape passing by felt especially bleak today.
***
“We’ve arrived.”
At the sight of the estate in the distance, Randolph let out a heavy breath.
Now he had to face the Count—
and confess everything he and Fikel had done.
Every single detail.
Even the fact that they had tried to sell off the very people of this estate.
The Count would not forgive him.
He was a man who valued honor.
Even if he didn’t take Randolph’s life,
he would take something just as important—
his estate near Winterband,
his rank,
his honor.
‘Where did it all go wrong…?’
Randolph’s thoughts grew tangled.
***
“Sir Randolph.”
Isaac spoke.
“…Would you consider paying for your sins… in another way?”