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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Liberation
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Please take good care of me.
"Will you nobly take your own life, or would you prefer to die by another's hand?"
"...Pardon?"
"Did you not understand my question?"
At Palato's words, Raf Ram desperately thrust out both hands in protest.
His outstretched hands, as if grasping for something, trembled with terror.
"...I-I told you everything! That's all I know!"
"Because you've told us everything, I'm making this courteous offer. Had you not cooperated so readily, you wouldn't even have the chance to hear such a question."
At Palato's words, Arsen subtly turned his head to gauge the others' reactions.
Not only Entir and the squires, but even Zenovia, who usually had a gentle and kind impression, stared down at Raf Ram with cold, unmoved faces.
It seemed no one questioned that he had to die.
Arsen posed a question to Palato.
"Is there no way for a bandit to return to being an ordinary person, Sir Palato?"
"Not that I know of. If it were just a few sips of magic beast blood, perhaps, but your brother is fully corrupted. Death is the only option."
Palato replied to Arsen's question in a kindly tone.
His gentle demeanor felt so out of place with the content and situation that it bordered on unsettling.
Palato turned back to Raf Ram and posed another question.
His tone was incomparably colder and more resolute than before.
"I'll ask once more, Raf Ram. Will you take your own life, or borrow another's hand to die?"
Raf Ram's body shook violently, as if seized by convulsions.
"N-No... I don't want to... Arsen! Save me! Please! We're brothers!"
Crawling on his belly to reach Arsen, Raf Ram clutched at the hem of Arsen's pants and wailed.
Arsen involuntarily stepped back at the wretched sight.
Interpreting it as rejection, Raf Ram wailed even more desperately, wrapping both arms around Arsen's legs and clinging like a limpet.
It sounded less like a human cry and more like a beast's howl.
The pitiable sight tugged at Arsen's heartstrings, and without thinking, he opened his mouth.
"...What if we just chase him out of the castle...?"
"That would be pointless. A young bandit like this can't survive alone out there. If he does survive, it'll be because he joined another bandit group. And if Raf Ram grows there and starts killing and raping, the sin of it all falls on you. Could you bear that?"
Palato's calm rebuttal rang so true that Arsen mulled over his response several times before quietly burying it in his heart.
It was absurd by Earth's ethical standards, but by this world's logic, Raf Ram was no longer human—he was a magic beast.
A beast that merely walked on two legs and spoke human words.
Any sentiment born of past ties, any desire to spare him out of pity, was a light and meaningless act.
"Your brother is no longer the person you remember. He may seem human now, cowering and begging in fear, but given the chance, he'll impulsively kill and violate someone. Bandits must not be spared."
At Palato's firm words, Arsen sighed and looked down at Raf Ram.
His brother from childhood, the sole companion in the hellish castle life.
By ordinary standards, were they best friends? He couldn't say yes. But neither could he casually say, "Die well."
Yet Raf Ram had already crossed an irreversible river.
Even if he hadn't crossed it by his own will.
"I'm sorry, Raf Ram."
Arsen bent down and forcibly pried loose the arms Raf Ram had wrapped around his legs.
He could have coldly kicked him away, but he didn't want to.
Arsen had once trembled in the face of death himself, so he didn't want to humiliate Raf Ram in his final moments.
"Y-You... traitor! Filthy bastard! Vile...!"
Born of an outsider whore, fit only to mate with dogs—Raf Ram spat curses with bloodshot eyes, flecks of saliva flying.
Arsen easily subdued the lunging Raf Ram by pinning his arms.
He could simply strangle him, snap his neck, or draw the sword at his waist and end it—any method would suffice.
But Arsen couldn't choose any, merely gripping Raf Ram's arms tightly.
"You're frozen stiff, pup. Can't kill your own brother? Want me to handle it for you?"
Entir taunted mockingly, and Arsen glared at him with narrowed eyes.
Entir met the glare with his own ferocious stare.
Stomping the ground hard, the impact reverberated everywhere.
"What're you staring at, you insolent brat...?"
"Sir Entir, please, just a moment—quietly."
Palato placed a hand on Entir's shoulder and murmured softly.
Entir glared at Palato briefly before snorting and stepping back a few paces, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.
As if declaring no further interference.
"...A scum like you... Agh!"
At that moment, Zenovia seized Raf Ram's nape with one hand and hoisted him up as he spewed endless curses.
Raf Ram's legs dangled off the ground; he flailed and clawed at Zenovia's hand in agony, but the lady knight's pale, delicate hand didn't budge, tightening around his throat.
In a voice colder than any Arsen had heard from her before, Zenovia said,
"No more words worth hearing, so I'll take care of it. That's fine, right?"
Arsen nodded silently.
Zenovia carried the dangling Raf Ram out of the castle lord's residence without a word.
Raf Ram, sensing his doom, shrieked like a hog dragged to slaughter.
A few seconds later came a sharp crack, like snapping a chicken bone.
The screams ceased.
* * *
That night, Arsen sat on the second-floor terrace of the castle lord's residence, gazing at distant mountains.
The day's events kept replaying, leaving him restless.
Raf Ram's final, desperate screams echoed in his ears.
And his own weakness—holding the arms but unable to act.
Had he been certain Raf Ram couldn't be spared, he should have killed him himself, yet hesitation stayed his hand.
Ten years in this world, yet the frail sentiments of his Earthling soul still held him back.
Lost in such laments alone, the door opened.
Zenovia entered, one hand holding a bottle, the other two brass cups.
"Care for a drink?"
"That's alcohol, isn't it?"
"Call it medicine for the mind."
Offering booze to a ten-year-old kid.
Of course, this world used full age, so by Korean standards he was older, but still not of drinking age.
Not even by this world's standards.
"Kidding. It's not really alcohol. Just a beverage. You think I'd go mad enough to drink before tomorrow's battle?"
Closing the door with a thud, Zenovia plopped down opposite Arsen uninvited and set the cups on the terrace.
She filled both brims with a deep purple liquid.
It looked exactly like wine by color alone.
"Never imagined expedition supplies would allow beverages."
"Why not? It's not booze."
Zenovia cleared her throat and offered a brass cup.
"Come on, take this drink from your big sis before my arm falls off. It's from the northern estates—super expensive."
Ignoring Zenovia's exaggeration, Arsen stared at her white hand gripping the cup.
That ordinary lady's hand—save for its size and length—had snapped his half-brother's neck that afternoon.
Shaking off dark thoughts, Arsen deliberately brightened his voice.
"Doesn't drinking make me an accomplice? Should report to Sir Palato first."
"You'll really die then."
Arsen chuckled at Zenovia's cute scolding and let the liquid flow into his mouth.
Sweet and grape-like, but utterly devoid of alcohol—like grape juice.
"Tasty?"
"Very."
"Little squirt already knows booze flavors? Useless."
As Arsen shot her an exasperated look, Zenovia giggled as if drunk on her own mood, refilling her drained cup.
Tilting back another solo drink, she turned to gaze outside.
Keeping her eyes fixed outward, she spoke calmly.
"I buried Raf Ram properly."
Unsure what to say, Arsen stared into the outer darkness.
The two perched on the terrace avoided each other's eyes, locked in awkward silence.
"What you heard earlier—ignore it. That wasn't Raf Ram; it was the filthy bandit who stole his body and memories."
Only then did Arsen realize Zenovia had come to comfort him.
Whatever the truth, to others, Arsen was a boy who'd witnessed his brother's brutal death that day.
In fact, the Earthling persona within him lacked immunity to such events, explaining his gloom.
Older than ten-year-old Arsen, but by this world's standards, his inner self wasn't particularly mature.
"How can he be someone else if the memories and body are the same?"
"That's up to how you see it, but I've decided that's the case. Thinking everyone harbors such evil within is too horrifying. Easier to blame the magic beast blood."
Zenovia replied lightly with a smile, swirling her cup.
Thereafter, wordlessly, they shared another round.
No alcohol, yet it felt like sharing drinks.
"And just in case—don't blame yourself for not killing Raf Ram."
"Pardon?"
"It's normal to struggle killing someone you know who's become a bandit. The abnormal ones feel nothing. You didn't kill him today not because you're weak, but because you value others."
Arsen fell silent at Zenovia's words.
Minutes passed before his reply came, voice thick with suppressed emotion.
Zenovia's sharp ears caught it but she deliberately ignored.
"Thank you."
"No big deal."
Seeing Zenovia's grin, Arsen thought how nice it would be to have such a big sister.
"...Alright! Enough heavy talk. Let's chat romance. How's it going with Miss Eloise? Last time, she was totally smitten."
"No idea why that's coming up."
"Don't play coy. Want my tearjerker romance with Kamin? Unhearable without tissues."
"With Sir Kamin?"
The unimaginable revelation startled Arsen, shelving dark moods momentarily.
Kamin's usual aloof, ascetic vibe clashed utterly with romance.
"We were childhood friends from the same area. Kamin was bullied back then—timid, couldn't speak up, small build. So I boasted I'd protect him, swinging wooden sticks everywhere, which got me noticed and made squire."
Listening to Zenovia, Arsen pictured bullied young Kamin.
Imagining that stoic face taking punches was amusing.
Had it not been for her final words.
"...So, thinking of proposing marriage to Kamin when we return. I'm not getting younger."
"Hearing that the night before battle feels weird."
Arsen shook his head at Zenovia's classic death flag, gazing at the green moon.
Somehow, his heart felt much lighter than before.
Tomorrow's battle—he could swing his sword at enemies without hesitation.
The next morning, the expedition marched toward the bandits' lair.