“The world can’t be like this.”
Herscherik wondered. In the two years he had spent in vain since his reincarnation, how many people had cried to themselves in the dark? How many had died? Angry at himself for turning his back on reality and thoughtlessly wasting his days for those past two years, Herscherik could still do nothing but wet his cheeks with tears at his powerlessness.
Despite the season being early spring, Ruseria’s cell became rather cold after sundown, making his breath materialize in puffs of white. The count was spending his second night in his cell sitting on the simple cot on the floor and staring up at the small, barred window, his only connection to the outside world.
I wonder if Prince Herscherik is all right.
The sight of the youngest prince, with his blond hair and blue eyes, visiting him all alone in the early morning just to hand him his pocket watch refused to leave Ruseria’s mind. When he had first met the prince at the party, his initial impression was that Herscherik was unassertive, just like the king. His blue eyes had floated nervously around the party, like a faint light parting through a layer of thick, dark clouds. His far-from-flashy, muted blond hair had reinforced the count’s ghostly impression of the prince. When that same prince came to Ruseria’s cell, however, he was practically a different person. While there was still a slight shade of nervousness about him, his eyes shone incomparably brighter than they had at the party. Ruseria couldn’t turn away from Herscherik’s gentle, sapphire-like eyes full of concern for his injury. Ruseria felt more than curiosity about them. The instant he met the prince’s eyes, an emotion akin to awe and respect had overtaken him, and he could not avert his gaze from the prince’s. Instinctively, Ruseria had bowed in a pledge of loyalty and given the prince every answer he’d asked for. In the end, the prince ran off, declaring that he would stop Ruseria’s execution.
I hope he’s all right...
Despite standing on the brink of death, the count’s mind was completely occupied by Herscherik’s well-being. Perhaps because the prince was now the same age Ruseria’s son had been when he had lost him. Although his son wasn’t blond or blue-eyed, or as handsome as Herscherik for that matter, the count couldn’t help but see a resemblance between them.
Then, Ruseria heard footsteps coming down the hall outside the cell. A single pair of feet, the count deduced. While he also had an easy guess as to the identity of his visitor, Ruseria couldn’t be bothered to look away from the window. The footsteps stopped in front of his cell, as expected.
“This suits you well, Count Ruseria.”
With a silent sigh, Ruseria turned around to find the man who had been the catalyst of his demise. He had guessed correctly. “What do you want, Viscount Grim?”
“Hmph. I’ll be Count Grim before long.” The chubby man raised the corner of his lips in a victorious smirk.
Viscount Grim was one of the nobles aligned with Minister Barbosse. It was his embezzlement of national funds that Ruseria had uncovered. The viscount had claimed an exorbitant amount of governmental aid by making falsified reports.
“A soon-to-be count has deigned to come and converse with a lowly criminal like me? Glad to hear you have plenty of free time on your hands,” Ruseria answered, revealing a portion of his annoyance.
Grim’s expression shifted from triumphant to snarling. “Hand it over, and I’ll let you live.”
“It? Whatever are you talking about, O noble Count?”
“Enough of your games!” Grim kicked the metal door of the cell. It made a considerably loud clang, but Ruseria didn’t hear any guards stir down the hall. He assumed that Grim had already paid them off. “The thing you have!”
“Oh... It. Hm.”
Now which thing is he talking about...? Ruseria racked his brain without showing it. After spending so long gathering evidence and testimonies, he had accumulated a considerable amount of “things.” He regretted, above all, that what was supposed to be his most surefire and incriminating piece of evidence was nothing more than a bait in the minister’s trap. Not that it mattered to Ruseria now that he was imprisoned without possibility of release, but it seemed that one of the pieces of evidence in his possession was very inconvenient for Grim. What else could have riled him up this much?
“Why bother asking me? Go find it yourself.” Ruseria dismissed him then answered his own question in his head. In fact, considering that it took him so long to come to me, I’m sure he’s rummaged through my effects already.
“If I could find it, I wouldn’t be talking to you!” Grim kicked the metal door again.
Ruseria frowned at the loud clanging of the door and bars, exasperated by the predictable answer.
“If you tell me where it is, right now, I’ll make a case for canceling your execution tomorrow. Hand over the letter!”
“Make a case to no avail, right?” Ruseria was surprised at the lack of emotion in his own words. He opened his pocket watch to see that it had already passed eleven o’clock at night. “I can’t imagine that he’d miss this golden opportunity just for the sake of your personal security after going through the trouble of sending an assassin my way.”
Barbosse had indeed hired an assassin against Ruseria. That was what had illuminated for Ruseria that he had little time left and that he had already acquired a piece of evidence that the minister wanted to recover at all costs. That’s why Ruseria had come to the capital to present it, despite his perilous position.
I was just off the mark on which piece of evidence he was concerned about...
With a note of self-deprecation, the count closed his watch and held it tight in his hand. He had already prepared for the worst when he decided to come to the capital.
“Begone, Viscount Grim. Or Count Grim. ...You have my gratitude.” Ruseria smirked.
As soon as Grim saw Ruseria’s face, a shiver ran down Grim from head to toe, as if he was doused by a bucket of ice water.
“Thanks to you, I can die serving my country, unashamed of the life I’ve lived. I’ll be waiting for the arrival of you and your whole lot in the Darkness Below, alongside its wardens.”
People in this world believed that all lives became mere souls after death and transcended to the afterlife, where they would find themselves in one of two places. Those deemed by God to have a benevolent soul were invited into the Garden Above, where they spent some time in unbridled exaltation before reincarnating into their next life. On the other hand, those deemed by God to have a malevolent soul were sent to the Darkness Below, where the Dark King judged the crimes of their souls, sentencing them to a torture worthy of their crimes. After serving their punishments, those souls were purified and reborn into a new life. There were wardens that guarded the gate to the Darkness Below, preventing any evil soul from escaping that realm. In this world, parents disciplined their children with the threat that the wardens of the Darkness Below would snatch away any misbehaving children.
All Ruseria had done was bark out a threat like a cornered dog, but Grim still felt like he had somehow lost. In order to shake that feeling, he slammed his clenched fists against the steel door. The uproarious clang echoed through the cells once again.
As the sound faded, Grim growled from the pit of his stomach. “Enough of your yapping... Only the strong and the cunning survive in this world. Those who are neither, the fools, are rewarded with death after a lifetime of servitude, or pay for their insolence with their life! That’s why I will survive, and you will die!” Without waiting for Ruseria to respond, Grim turned around and walked away with large strides.
I have all the time I want to look for it, Grim repeated to himself. I will rule his land once he’s dead, after all. Still, he never managed to wipe away that sensation of defeat.
After silently watching Grim’s retreat, Ruseria shrugged and stroked his watch. He pushed the button in firmly to reveal the portrait. It was the only keepsake he had to remind him of his wife and child. The portrait had been drawn soon after his son’s birth. Ruseria had often left in the midst of his duties to visit him, only to be scolded by his wife. Each day, he had found joy in watching his son grow and contentment in his wife smiling beside him. But now Ruseria had lost everything. He would even lose his life before the next sunset. He wondered if Grim was right—if only the strong and the cunning deserved to live in happiness while the weak were left with no choice but to accept injustice. Ruseria couldn’t be sure.
“...Count Ruseria.”
“My Prince?” The youngest prince was peering through the barred window just as he had that morning. Bathed in moonlight, his face looked a little reddened. He looked down at the count, clearly on the brink of tears. “I meant to ask you this morning... Isn’t anyone with you? It’s dangerous to be out on your own.” Youngest or otherwise, it was inconceivable for a prince (a three-year-old, no less) to be out at night without a chaperone. Herscherik shook his head at the question and seemed to be indecisive on whether he should say something or not. “What is it, My Prince? Even though spring has come, it can get cold at night. Please return to your room so you...”
“I’m sorry, Count Ruseria. I spoke with father, but it didn’t help.” As soon as Herscherik interrupted Ruseria, large teardrops overflowed from his gem-like eyes. Despite Herscherik’s attempts to stop the tears by wiping his eyes with his sleeve over and over and biting his lip, he couldn’t keep the droplets from rolling down his cheeks. Father tried too, but he couldn’t do anything. That sentence sounded too much like he was making an excuse for Herscherik to dare utter it. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry... sorry...” Until he got here, Herscherik was determined not to cry. But when he met Ruseria face to face and uttered the desolate result of his appeal, he was overcome with sobbing. No longer able to meet Ruseria’s eyes, Herscherik groveled to the ground, unbothered by his face digging into the dirt. Herscherik hated himself for being so powerless and didn’t know how to face Ruseria.
“...Prince Herscherik, please lift your head.” Ruseria’s gentle voice reached Herscherik’s ear. When the prince timidly looked up, he found Ruseria’s face nearly pressed up against the bars of the window and a pocket watch being presented to him. “Take this with you.”
“What...?”
Without giving Herscherik a chance to respond, Ruseria shoved the watch at him.