Bonus Story:
The Death of a Minor Lord
I DIDN’T MIND IF I WENT TO HELL UPON MY death. That was how I’d lived my life. My hands could no longer remain moist. I extended my dry arm toward the ceiling and ruminated over my future. I knew that I was going to die soon. My body had always been frail and prone to illness. I’d assumed that I could never live long, and my predictions were proven true—I’d die at the age of thirty-five. In fact, I was surprised that I’d managed to survive this long, and I held no lingering regrets. I’d lived my life as I saw fit.
“I’ve been a bad lord,” I murmured.
Marianne von Polidoro was my name, and I’d been in charge of the Polidoro fief, a tiny village of the kingdom. Only about three hundred citizens lived on my land. Recently, we’d finally managed to produce some food in excess and export it to other areas for a small profit. Our land was far from rich and wealthy—we were barely scraping by.
But it was getting better these days. Everyone could go to bed on a full stomach. When I was younger, we’d truly lived in poverty and squalor. Yes, we were poor even when Faust was born, I thought. The village chief had happily opened our food reserves to our people, and everyone was ecstatic about the occasion. I wasn’t sure if kids were happy that Faust was born, or if they were simply satisfied to eat their fill. It was honestly difficult to say amid the festivities.
It wasn’t quite fair to ask a child to accurately assess why they were happy that day anyway. My son was born two decades ago, and he’d be twenty soon.
“Ah,” I sighed.
I tried to slowly sit up in bed, but my efforts proved futile. Strength would no longer fill my body; left with no other choice, I raised my thin arm in the air. My former chief squire, who’d been replaced by Helga, helped me sit up.
“I’d like to gaze outside,” I said.
She opened the wooden shutters for me. The light was blinding. This manor was built upon a small hill that allowed me to gaze at the farms throughout my fief. The wheat fields had a golden shimmer that displayed their abundance. The fields are so rich. My citizens no longer worried about starvation. This was only a small victory—the most minuscule bit of progress—but it was one that I’d worked my entire life to attain. My vision began to blur. I wasn’t crying; my time was simply coming to an end.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “My vision has begun to fail me.”
I knew that I was going to die soon. My time was near. The boundary between life and death grew vague to me. I felt like I was crossing the line to the afterlife as my consciousness scattered elsewhere, far away from my body.
“Lord Marianne!” my former chief squire cried. “I shall bring Lord Faust right away!”
“Don’t bring him into the room yet,” I said.
I didn’t mind if I died here. I truly didn’t. I thought it’d be for the best if I didn’t see Faust again. He was free to toss my body into a coffin and bury me. Faust probably didn’t wish to see me, and I didn’t know how to face him. At the very least, I didn’t want to meet my son until I managed to gather my thoughts. I couldn’t fully atone for my sins. Even if I were to die now and fall to Hell, I wanted to go without any regrets. I wasn’t allowed to see my child’s face even as I lay on my deathbed.
“That’s quite enough,” I whispered. “I’d like to lie back down.”
I no longer had the strength to raise my arm. The shutters remained open as I was slowly laid onto my back once more. I’m so sleepy. I must be reaching my end. Even so, my mind continues to wander.
I lost my husband when Faust was five. I had my fair share of troubles. My husband was sold off to me, but he was a very good man. He loved me, and that fact alone made me love him in kind. Unfortunately, we just weren’t blessed with any children aside from Faust. I wasn’t sure if it was because my body was frail or if my husband was feeble, but no matter the case, Faust was our only child. My husband passed away soon after from lung disease.
Truly, this was a distressing situation. If I didn’t have a daughter, I couldn’t have anyone succeed my fief. A male lord was very rare in this world; I hadn’t ever heard of one in my lifetime. If I had no eldest daughter, my fief couldn’t remain. I found myself in quite a dilemma. The village chief and my chief squire fully understood the situation and beseeched me numerous times to take a new husband in hopes that I’d be blessed with another child. Their claims were just. It was the responsibility of a noble to leave behind an heir, but I didn’t answer their requests. That was the first of a long list of reasons why I’d go to Hell.
“Faust, grab your sword,” I ordered one day.
“Yes, Mother,” he replied.
At first, it was a way to pass some time and blow off some steam. He’d need to learn some self-defense techniques, so I handed him a small wooden sword. I didn’t know how to interact with my young son, and I thought that some light sparring would be a nice way to play around a little. Faust challenged me eagerly. He was so young that I assumed that he’d need both hands to just barely lift his sword off the ground. I soon realized that I’d completely underestimated him; he only needed one arm to swiftly swing his sword in the air. I widened my eyes with astonishment.
“Wait, Faust!” I shouted.
“It’s your fault for letting your guard down, Mother!” Faust cried.
I tried my best to parry the attack, only to receive a powerful blow directly to my ribs. Faust was still only five. While I was sickly, I was confident in my combat skills and proud of my training as a knight. I was twenty at the time, but I lost to a child. While I had let my guard down, I had no excuses for my defeat. If I’d been on the battlefield, I would’ve died from that strike.
It was then that my son’s potential sank in. There weren’t many superhumans in this world. I’d only seen one in my entire life; it was when I visited Queen Liesenlotte of Anhalt to inform her that I was taking over as the next lord of my land. And I’d never even seen her abilities with my own eyes. Still, I knew that people with extraordinary abilities existed. Faust was overjoyed at his victory, completely clueless about the importance of his blow. He was unable to hold his strength back. I was in so much pain that I thought that my ribs were cracked as I went down on one knee, but I did my best to praise my son.
“Well done, Faust,” I said.
I gritted my teeth and endured the pain, but I think I was able to flash a smile. I was genuinely happy about his talents. He was the only son that my sickly body and my late husband had produced—Faust was undoubtedly a gifted child. And that was a mistake. Needless to say, my son wasn’t to blame for a single thing. I was the one who’d failed him.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I failed everyone in so many ways.”
My former chief squire, who’d once fought beside me on the battlefield, stood by my bed. She was accompanied by the village chief, who helped me govern my fief. I apologized to both of them.
“Lord Marianne, Lord Faust is carrying out his yearly military service splendidly,” my chief squire said. “Ever since the boy you raised took command of our citizens, not a single one of us has died on the battlefield.”
“And our citizens are satisfied with how the land is governed,” my village chief added. “Lord Faust’s abilities are all due to your excellent education, Lord Marianne. And I haven’t forgotten that you transformed our farmland so that we wouldn’t have to suffer from starvation.”
The two tried to comfort me, but I knew that I’d taken the wrong path somehow. Initially, everyone had been against the idea, and I couldn’t blame them. As I said before, male lords in this world were few and far between. I’d never heard of any myself, and yet I was trying to raise one. My only child, Faust, possessed incredible talent, and I wanted to entrust everything to that boy.
People called me foolish. They claimed that I was making excuses—that I just didn’t want another husband. All of my selfish desires were pushed onto my only son, Faust. Because he had such extraordinary abilities, I felt compelled to give everything I had to my boy. All I did was push my egotistical whims onto him.