Chapter: 112
He was born and cried.
The world of a child is incredibly small. Before learning piled up and awareness expanded, there was only one person in his world: his mother.
In a shabby, dusty little room, his mother fed him with warmth, despite her dry coughs. She ventured into the world beyond the door to bring back baby food.
Thanks to his ignorance, young Envers was able to bask in the bliss of his mother’s boundless love. She was the only person who truly cared for him in this world.
As he grew older and began to absorb the world around him, strange modifiers were attached to the most comforting three syllables.
His mother was referred to as a mere servant, someone looked down upon.
⋯⋯⋯⋯.
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His mother taught Envers with the books carelessly tossed aside by the servants. Blue, the color of your eyes—blue. As wide and clear as the sky. From such words onward.
This was the House of Redburn, and he had been born of their lineage.
Nobles held higher status, especially a duke—a great bloodline respected anywhere in the world. Thus, he too must become someone worthy of such blood.
How to tidy clothes, and the secrets to doing laundry.
Using apple peels helps to wipe out grease and stains.
Time spent learning with his mother was joyful. The world grew larger, and he learned new concepts. Status, power, authority, bloodline…
He had never seen his father’s face but harbored vague expectations. The other half that had created him—father. What kind of person was he, and how would he bestow love upon him?
Just like in the storybooks, could he also become a splendid noble and lead others?
⋯⋯⋯⋯.
Young Envers also had these questions. If Duke Redburn was such a noble person, then his wife must be valuable too.
Why was the passing servant’s attire fancier than his mother’s?
What could be the reason behind the condescension in their eyes while they still used honorifics? Why did they feign ignorance despite hearing everything clearly, widening their eyes?
These were questions he couldn’t solve back then.
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The year Envers turned ten.
The servants finally said it was time to meet his father.
The first time Envers saw his father was in a vast bedroom illuminated by red lights, filled with pink smoke. Naked women lay sprawled on the large bed, their eyes glazed over.
His father didn’t stop shaking his waist, even with his young son present.
It was a scene that was more sickening and terrifying than lewd. No one felt pleasure or joy; they all merely swayed with expressions hardened like wax.
There was neither love nor lust. It resembled a snake pit, grotesquely intertwining bodies.
When he asked what was going on, his father answered curtly amidst the splashing water sounds. Breeding. This was a breeding farm. As if humans were livestock.
“Take him away for education.”
That was the end of that short remark. Envers was grabbed by both arms and dragged away somewhere.
Only then did Envers realize. Beyond feeding the chickens and chicks, what need was there for further love and affection? He was merely a pest.
To Duke Redburn, Envers and his mother were the same way.
His mother must have swayed like a broken doll on that bed, just to create him. Thinking that made him feel nauseous. Something, many things, felt horribly wrong.
Dragged away by the servants, Envers arrived at a mansion where boys resembling him were gathered. He instinctively knew they were his brothers.
This was a home for illegitimate children.
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[Redburn Confidential Document: Fairytale Induction Plan]
Conducted on children in formative years whose worldview has yet to solidify.
1) Instill an indelible trauma to control growth direction and
2) Accompany with covert emotional conditioning to
Induce a fairytale with specific effects artificially.
Target fairytales are as follows: specialized abilities aimed at Black Wizards, Succubi, and Wizards / The higher the lethality, the greater the priority.
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What followed was an unending series of education and training. The instructors repeatedly taught the reason for sacrificing their lives for Duke Redburn. Rewards were given to those with good attitudes, while punishments were dealt to those with bad ones.
They learned how to wield daggers and rapiers, and how to face wizards. They were also incited to harbor blind hatred towards wizards.
Duke Redburn wished to give his sons a comfortable life and happiness, yet claimed he had to resist because of the evil wizards who plotted against their house.
The reason you must suffer through the training is because of wizards, and once you grow up and slay the wicked wizards, you will live a lavish life you rightfully deserve.
“Wizards, wicked wizards, must die… die!”
“Shout louder! Is that all you have to say to those who harm our House of Redburn?”
“Die! It’s all your fault, wizards must die…!!”
Envers shouted along with the boys, yet in the corner of his mind, doubt loomed.
After such arduous training, the boys were rewarded according to their performance. The top achiever received sweet treats, while Envers, being in the middle ranks, received stale hardtack.
Crispy, hard, and with a slight nuttiness in flavor.
Envious of the sweet cookies that the top boys munched on, he couldn’t help but wonder how they tasted, so he once approached the first-place boy.
“Can I have just one bite?”
“………”
The first-place boy, frowning and raising his red eyes, replied.
“I don’t talk to worthless trash below fifth place. Even if we share blood, the purity is different; seeing your incompetence, you must have been born with diluted noble blood. Don’t talk to me, you peasant.”
The first-place boy’s name was Roderus, and he had been insufferably arrogant since childhood.
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Trailing behind.
“Why am I a peasant when I’m a Redburn too?”
“Because you can’t wield a sword properly, you peasant.”
“I’m Envers. I can wield it well enough!”
“I’m Roderus. With that grip, your aim will be off, you peasant.”
The reason Envers followed Roderus around, treating him with such a lack of respect, was simple. He was the only one remaining with whom to converse.
Other high-ranking brothers often swung their fists, telling him, “Don’t bother me!”
While the low-ranking brothers eyed the middling Envers with jealousy, shunning him, smug with their own scores.
Although Roderus had a sharp tongue, he still responded when spoken to.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if you held it like this?”
“………Just do as I told you, dumb peasant!!”
By playing dumb, an avalanche of helpful tips would spill out.
Sometimes, when in a particularly good mood, he would share a piece of his cookie as charity. Especially on days when he snagged first place.
Was it a result of Roderus’s coaching? Envers, once slow to learn, managed to climb up to ranks three or four.
“Roderus.”
“Since I’m a year older than you, use honorifics. Call me Lord Roderus.”
“Brother Roderus.”
“Dumb peasant…”
Between the two at that time, there existed, if loosely, a bond of sibling affection. They got along decently.
Competing yet serving as mirrors reflecting each other’s flaws.
When Roderus caught a severe cold and fell to the very bottom of the rankings, Envers even shared his cookies with him.
On nights when the full moon rose, they sat side by side, envisioning their future.
“I will become the right hand of my father, Duke Redburn, and revive our house, making my name known all over the continent.”
“Can I be your left hand then?”
“Your little self could never do that. Peasant, you will… be my right hand. My right hand’s right hand.”
“Then Brother Roderus will have two right hands!”
Had it been a proper household, they might have been the best of brothers.
However, soon the house of illegitimate children found itself facing severe winters. For the duke, it was the autumn of harvest. One morning, the instructor announced:
“We will hold the final exam. Everyone will fight everyone. The one who takes first place in combat shall become Duke Redburn’s glorious spear, while those who fail…”
The part of the instructor’s statement that was left unsaid conjured many imaginations.
Competition intensified, and jealousy turned to hatred. The boys, who had been taught that their sole purpose in life was to devote themselves to the House of Redburn, did not wish to become ‘worthless losers’.
Was that the case for Roderus too? Or was there another reason behind it?
One day, he quietly approached Envers.
“…Peasant, I’ve figured out how to use mana. I’ll tell you, but it’s a one-time use, so you must use it only in a crucial moment.”
Roderus taught him the absurd way to draw out mana. Despite its flaws, Envers trusted him.
Envers thought, If I make it to the finals, what if we end in a draw? Then neither of us will be chosen. If it happens that only one must be chosen… perhaps it would be fine to concede.
Because he had promised to make him into the right hand’s right hand.
“Ugh, Aaaah…!!”
In the much-anticipated final exam, Envers collapsed, spewing blood due to mismanaged mana.
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What happened to Roderus afterward was unknown. Envers only knew his own matter.
After a period of recovery, Envers realized that his body had been ruined. His sense of feeling and managing mana had become distorted. The family physician diagnosed him, saying, “This boy will never achieve timing or fullness.”
Envers’s talent was severely damaged.
He was tagged as an ‘unselected dead weight’. Driven by a desire to win, he had ruined his body by drawing forth mana he didn’t fully understand.
The disdainful looks that had been directed at his mother now fell on him.
Yet, that was fine. It was alright. If he tried hard, he might still become the family’s guard. He might be able to devote himself to studying and rely on his wits.
So, if only he could live with his mother, even if disregarded. Had it already been a year since they were separated?
After his discharge, Envers sought out his mother. However, the room where she stayed was empty. When he grabbed a passing servant and asked, he learned she had been kicked out.
The one who gave birth to a worthless child had no value for reception.
“………”
He felt as if he stood there for an entire day, dead inside.
Other brothers who also failed had vanished, and anyone he inquired would only respond mechanically, “They are working for the family.”
When he asked someone to tell him where his mother had gone, they would only say they didn’t know the moment he left the estate’s main gate.
They had no intention of lifting a finger for dead weight.
Then,
Then if I somehow grow strong enough, rise to the fairytale, and achieve sublimation, become a damn ‘useful’ man, I can bring my mother back.
All who had looked down on him would see him again, even brother Roderus… then he could ask them if it was necessary to go so far back then.
He applied to the academy upon coming of age, and he was accepted.
He swung swords, spears, daggers, and staffs alike. He practiced until he exhausted himself to the point of losing consciousness throughout the night. It didn’t matter if the mad wizard at the academy caused a ruckus.
His only goal was to become stronger, having no gaze for anything else.
However, one night, under a beautiful moon, he occasionally looked up to the sky, reminiscing about the past. Remembering sharing cookies with Roderus while gazing at the same moon. His brother.
“………”
Hatred, longing, sorrow, betrayal—an amalgamation of emotions left him in chaos.
Would he have become Duke Redburn’s right hand, wielding a rapier for the family? Did that lie that deceived him… hold any meaning at all?
Was he doing well?
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“No…?!”
One morning, when Roderus Redburn awoke from an unsettling dream, he realized he had transformed into a beautiful girl while still snuggled in his bed.
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