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Chapter 189
Chapter 189
Obro had a crying face.
The wrinkles around his eyes were so fine that he looked to be about seventy years old.
It was a sad fact, considering he wasn't even forty.
His face was contorted so, with sadness dripping from his beard, yet not a single tear fell.
Е n̊ ü m̊ а̀. і d̄
It was as if something was tightly blocking his tear ducts, and it looked to be that thing called guilt.
I knew because there was a similar thing in my own tear ducts.
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"...Why...."
Obro Denoebang asked, stammering.
A sorrow that could not be stopped even by his tongue, slurred from alcohol, welled up.
"...Why are you doing this. I keep, I keep saying it's not me... why, do you bring up that name, why...?"
W̊ е̌b́ṅо̀vе l̀ Ēṅum̃ã
Amethus felt a sense of déjà vu.
It was seven years ago, on Arete Island, the day he became my subordinate.
I had been the same back then.
I had poked at the past that someone else wanted so desperately to hide with my sharp tongue.
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Amethus had made the same face as this bearded man and asked the same question.
'Why are you doing this? -Why-!'
Е̊ n u m̆ӓ
Even after seven years, it was vivid.
On the island of his ancestors, where the sunlight was so warm, Amethus had roared.
He had cried out at me as I brought up the painful name of Aretion.
'What do you hope to gain by spouting such nonsense, by telling such lies. What on earth do you intend to do by carving up my life like this---!!!'
Amethus gently closed his eyes.
At the time, the pain had been unbearable.
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But look, if I hadn't brought up the past, would he have ever learned the truth of Aretion?
Wouldn't it have just continued to rot deep inside his heart?
To heal a deep wound, one must sometimes cut open the flesh.
But knowing that the pain was too great to just say 'it's for your own good, so shut up and bear it,' Amethus simply took a quiet step back.
So that the bearded man and I could talk.
"Obro."
W̊_е̂_b.n ǒ vel Еn úm̆ а̌
I lowered my gaze to meet his.
I spoke to him in a kind voice, but the bearded man looked down, avoiding my eyes.
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"...I'm, I'm not Obro."
"No, you are Obro Denoebang."
"...I'm not...."
Obro said, stammering.
Е̌ n̄ü m̀а̇ . і d̄_
His brown eyes trembled between his dirty gray beard and hair.
I knew those brown eyes.
I remembered what kind of strength they held, what kind of light they flashed with.
Regardless of his current state, this bearded man was Obro Denoebang.
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The hero of heroes whom the pre-regression me had admired and relied on.
"We came to help you, Obro."
Е́ṅ umа̃. іd̊
"......I told you, I'm not!!"
His voice echoed thunderously.
Amethus, who had stepped back, flinched.
"I'm not, I'm not, I'm not-!! Why won't you listen to me!!!"
The bearded man's roar reverberated throughout the entire mansion.
The brown eyes that couldn't cry even if they wanted to, instead shot out streams of demonic energy.
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With each of the man's shouts, a gale-force wind arose and swept through the room.
Debris from the old walls and ceiling began to fall.
The man who shook the ground with his shouts was now cloaked in a fearsome aura.
Amethus had already been certain, but he was certain once again.
This man was indeed the White Lord.
Only the White Lord could display such an aura even in such a state.
Е̄ ǹ ū ḿ а̂
"Is my state so amusing to you? Do you think... Do you think I want to be like this!! I said no, I told you so, why, won't you listen!!!"
From the mouth of the bearded man, whose weak spots had been poked repeatedly, a mixture of sorrow and anger erupted like flames.
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The demonic energy born from long-standing pain clung to every single strand of his dirty hair and beard.
The dirty hair, imbued with demonic energy, shot out in all directions.
He looked less like a human and more like a demon from an ancient myth.
"...Why."
We b̆ ǹo vе́l̀ Е̇ňu.m а̄_
Obro took a bold step forward.
"Why-!!!"
He had been about seven steps away, but in an instant, he was right in front of us, roaring with a demonic form.
The movement was so swift that neither Amethus nor I felt it.
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I flinched in surprise and Amethus glared with his jade-colored eyes.
"...Step back, Shion!"
Е_ń ů_mа́
Amethus stepped between Obro and me.
I am his master.
It is the duty of a servant to protect his master.
Amethus gripped the handle of his familiar double-edged sword.
"Don't, Amethus!"
I shouted urgently.
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"Don't draw your sword...! ...Damn it, too late...."
The double-edged sword flashed blue.
Amethus was too skilled a swordsman not to draw his sword in the face of a threat.
He drew his sword faster than my words could come out.
Amethus pointed the blue tip of his sword at Obro.
"Step back, White Lord!"
Е̊ ńü ma
"......Uu......"
The White Lord, who had been radiating demonic energy, stared intently at the double-edged sword, at the blue blade.
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That blade was enough to stop the enraged White Lord.
The bearded man trembled violently and then suddenly collapsed.
Then, in a low, very low voice, he sobbed like a beast.
"......Uu, uuuu......"
Е̄ ṅu m̌а̃. ìd̄
As if his display of demonic energy had been a lie, he was curled up on the floor, his body shaking.
He was sobbing, but no tears came out, and in his agony, he clutched at his chest.
Amethus stared down at the White Lord, dumbfounded.
"...What, is this...?"
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"Amethus!"
I glared daggers.
Е n̆ ǔ m̊a
I shouted in a voice filled with an uncharacteristic amount of anger.
"Sheathe your sword, now!"
"......Understood."
Amethus sheathed his sword.
Only after the blue blade was hidden in its scabbard did the bearded man's trembling subside.
But Obro Denoebang was still seized by fear, his body trembling violently.
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He couldn't even look at us straight on with his hollow eyes, only glancing sideways.
"What's the point of scaring him.... Right, it's my mistake. I should have told you beforehand...."
"...He's scared? Then is this man not the White Lord...?"
"No. He is Obro Denoebang."
"...Contradictory...."
The White Lord knows no fear.
Еn̈ um̊ а̃ . іd̊
How lofty is his will and conviction.
Did he not shun the secular world and choose nobility, even with a power that anyone would look up to?
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He is pure white because he is without a single speck of dust.
So naturally, the White Lord should have been fearless.
Everyone said so.
But the bearded man before us, Obro Denoebang, was trembling.
É n̂ümа̃ . іd́
Just by facing a blue blade, he was seized by a terrible fear, curled up in a corner, just trying to catch his breath.
No, he couldn't even breathe properly, panting and twisting his mouth.
"It's a sad thing."
Looking at the White Lord's bloodshot eyes, I felt pity.
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"To think that the West's best... no, perhaps the continent's best swordsman would be in such a state just from seeing a blade...."
I thought he resembled a hairy mushroom more than a person, but now he looked like a single mouse.
Е̄ ñu m̆ ӑ
A dirty mouse in a miserable state, cornered with nowhere to run, that would be more at home in a sewer than in a human's house.
But what could I do?
I smiled bitterly.
"This is the Obro of now."
***
The bearded man trembled for a long time.
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Uu, uuuu, whimpers escaped him.
He clutched his head and hid in a corner, but couldn't overcome his anxiety and kept glancing at Amethus and me.
"Please, stop.... Please, just stop...."
He said, as if begging.
"What do you want? I'm just a worthless drunkard now.... I can't give you anything you want...."
"Mr. Obro."
Е̌ num̌ a
I bowed my head.
I cautiously approached Obro, who was curled up in the corner, and spoke to him gently.
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"I'm sorry. We didn't mean to scare you."
The regressed prince apologized with sincerity.
"My subordinate didn't know your situation."
"......"
Е ñ ū m̆ӓ
"I didn't say anything because it's not something to be spoken of lightly, but it seems we unintentionally scared you. I apologize once again."
"......"
Obro seemed to have softened, if only a little.
I didn't miss the opportunity.
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"We didn't just barge into the village without a plan. We've spoken with Duke Desep. That we would bring Mr. Obro back...."
"Ha, haha...!"
E n̆ ů ma .і̌ d̆
Obro Denoebang laughed upon hearing his father's name.
"Didn't you know? My father has already given up on me. He wanted the White Lord, not the drunkard Obro...!"
"......"
"What can be done, yes, what can be done......"
Obro Denoebang raised his eyes.
His eyes had been steeped in sorrow for so long that they were droopy, and it looked difficult for him to even lift his eyelids.
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"This fellow named Obro has become completely crippled, yes, crippled......"
He hid within his dirty beard.
It was as Obro said.
Years of fruitless hardship had left him completely ruined.
Neither the swordsmanship of the West's best nor his noble character could be found.
Obro Denoebang was consistently servile and cowardly and for that, he was all the more miserable.
Еñ.u̇ma
"I'll leave the Moshan Ruby. I hope it brings you some comfort, however small."
I stood up.
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Amethus also bowed his head deeply as a sign of apology.
"We will come again tomorrow, Mr. Obro."
***
Amethus and I left Obro's house.
Ӗ númа̀_
We even diligently cleaned up the trash we had thrown out the window.
As soon as we left the house, miserable and sad cries and roars of uncontrollable anger burst out from within.
Then, the distinct, rich fruity scent of Moshan Ruby seemed to waft out, and soon it became quiet.
It was proof that Obro Denoebang had become a drunkard who couldn't control his emotions at all.
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I pretended not to hear and walked on.
"I'm sorry, Shion."
Е̇ n ũ m̊ǎ
Amethus said.
"I should have been more careful."
"No, it's my mistake. I should have told you that he fears blades."
I clicked my tongue, Tsk.
I pulled at my lips, somewhat nervously.
"Obro once told me that the version of him holed up in Raenit village would be an unimaginably troublesome fellow. He wasn't kidding."
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I remember the Obro Denoebang from before my regression.
He was a drunkard.
But he wasn't a coward.
How long would it take for that bearded man to become the hero in my memory?
Even I couldn't say for sure.
"...He's like a thin glass knife. It seems like he'll break at the slightest touch, but he's still sharp. I have no idea how to handle him."
Ẅ ѐ.b̄ǹ ӧṽеl Ѐ nũm.a
"Having watched you for a long time, I know a little. That was a lie just now, Shion."
"You're quick-witted. That's right. I know how to handle him. It's just that I don't want to hurt Obro too much."
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There were many ways to force him back on his feet.
I had heard all about his life and its twists and turns from Obro himself before my regression.
The more he holed himself up and drank, the more severe the grudge in his heart would be.
If I grabbed hold of that grudge and shook it, I could make Obro Denoebang pick up a sword again.
Ŵë b́ ñ о̆ v е̊ l Е̇ ń uṁ а
But that was not what I wanted.
Swordsmen who could just use a sword were a dime a dozen. Amethus alone was more than enough.
What I wanted was the White Lord, a hero in the truest sense of the word.
Obro Denoebang had to overcome his own wounds and stand up.
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The White Lord was absolutely necessary to bring down the Cordis Empire.
"...Shion, will you tell me as well?"
Ẁ ê b́ no vèl̇ Еnů m̈ а
Amethus asked cautiously.
During the prime of the White Lord, Amethus was a student at the academy.
Naturally, he had admired Obro Denoebang.
Whether he was from the West or not, it was impossible not to feel reverence for the noble man who was said to have far surpassed the limits of humanity.
"What on earth made the White Lord like that?"
"It's a secret story, Amethus."
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As always.
"But you, of all people, are qualified to hear all my secrets."
The regressed prince's lips moved.
"First, let's find a place to stay for the night. We'll continue the story there."
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