Instantly, her eyes grew hot. The fear she had been trying to resist burst free. Tears welled in her eyes and overflowed.
In a trembling voice, she said, “I’m scared…”
Richard wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I’m scared of my brother touching me.”
He squeezed her tighter. She figured he could extrapolate what had happened from telling him that much.
“So I’ve erred after all,” he said. “I was preoccupied with saving your life. I never stopped to consider the awful things that would happen because of that…”
“It’s fine. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“That’s not true.”
Richard brought his face close to hers—close enough that they could kiss. He most likely wasn’t doing it consciously. She figured he was just speaking so emphatically that he had leaned forward without thinking.
But Brunhild wasn’t scared. She felt uncomfortable around men, but Richard was the one man she was okay with. She had never thought of him as a man. Perhaps that was because of his graceful air.
“I will save you.”
His encouraging words made Brunhild’s heart feel just a bit lighter.
“Just hearing that from you is enough for me,” she said.
A gentle night breeze blew by. There was a hint of nostalgia on the wind.
Starting the next day, Brunhild began sleeping in her brother’s room, just as she’d been told.
She was afraid of sleeping at his side, but fortunately, he didn’t do anything to her.
But she knew this stalemate wouldn’t last forever.
That was why Sigurd had scheduled their wedding ceremony for six months from now. He had said he would make things clear. That had to mean he would get Brunhild pregnant on the night of the ceremony, no matter how unsightly and ugly she was.
Brunhild resigned herself to her fate and allowed time to flow by.
A month passed in the blink of an eye.
That night, Brunhild lay at Sigurd’s side with dead eyes.
Detachedly, she gazed at her brother on the bed. He was already asleep.
He had a slim sword beside him.
It was a strange habit. Even when sleeping, her brother would not remove his blade. Was it that valuable? Just then, knowledge that had been slumbering deep within her surged to the surface.
Wasn’t this the Healing Blade?
There was a sword that had been passed down in the Siegfried family for a century. It possessed the power to heal the wounds and illnesses of its owner. The Power of God took a toll upon their bearers, inflicting them with shortened lifespans and ill-health. The aforementioned sword would prevent these effects.
If the sword at Sigurd’s side was the same blade, then it would make sense that he carried it on his person at all times.
But she didn’t care about the sword’s healing power right now. A certain piece of knowledge had been summoned forth from the depths of her memory. The healing abilities that lay within the blade—she seemed to recall that it was a variety of the Power of God.
Sigurd was invincible. He could only be wounded by attacks summoned with the Power of God.
But if this sword contained the Power of God—
Then couldn’t I kill him with it?
If Brunhild could draw this sword without waking him and stab him with it—
—her brother would die.
Suddenly, her heart started racing. An opportunity for a counterattack had fallen unexpectedly into her lap.
She could get revenge for the dragon.
She reached for the sword.
But—
Her hand was trembling.
If he noticed her, then it would be all over. He would glare at her, and she would freeze up in response. Even if she had already drawn the sword, she wouldn’t be able to fight him.
As Brunhild was gazing at her brother, she heard the faint sounds of him breathing in slumber. He was certainly asleep. Despite that, however, she couldn’t help but have an ominous feeling. Wouldn’t he wake up the moment she touched the sword?
“…Brother,” she called out to him. There was no response. He had to be in a deep sleep.
“Brother, Brother.” She repeated this many times. There was still no response.
He was most certainly asleep.
That meant she could kill him.
“Hah… Hahhh…” She felt her blood rushing around her whole body.
She could kill him. She could really kill him…
Brunhild slowly touched the handle of the sword, then gripped it. She felt the cold iron in her palm.
She quietly drew the blade, as slow as a turtle, so as not to make a sound. She felt a significant weight in her palm. It was far heavier than it looked. She felt like she would drop it if she wasn’t careful. Even the faint sound of the sheath and blade rubbing was frightening.
If her brother woke up now…
…she wouldn’t be able to talk her way out of it. Sigurd was emotional. If he saw someone trying to draw his sword from his belt, he would most definitely take their life in anger. His plan to make her his wife would not shield her from that.
As the blade slid out of its sheath, Brunhild’s heart pounded even faster.
The weight in her hand became a lot heavier. Finally, the full length of the ominously shining blade was revealed to her.
She had done it. She’d managed to draw it.
Her heart was fit to burst. The pounding was so loud she thought Sigurd must be able to hear it, too.
She had to kill him first.
She had come this far. She couldn’t back down now. That situation pushed her forward. Somehow, she was capable of moving.
Brunhild got on top of Sigurd, straddled his waist, and aimed for his heart.
She pressed the tip of the sword to his chest, which was just barely peeking out through the gaps in his clothing.
For a moment, she hesitated. The man sleeping beneath her now had killed her family, but he was still her brother. And she would be taking his life in such a cowardly manner. The moment that thought hit her, the sleeping face of the man she was supposed to hate seemed innocent. She was about to do something truly dreadful…
But she shook off her hesitation. She had to do him in now, or she would spend her life being raped by him. This was the alternative to giving birth to the children of the man she hated.
Brunhild tightened her grip on the blade. Just as she was about to stab him, however…
…her brother began to groan.
She hesitated. She had yet to stab him. But an expression of anguish had come to Sigurd’s face. It seemed like he was having some kind of fit.
Brunhild tossed the sword onto the bed and panicked, shaking him.
“B-brother. What’s the matter, Brother?”
He opened his eyes.
“Ngh… Hng.”
He was holding his chest. He was hyperventilating.
“I’ll go fetch someone,” Brunhild said. Just as she was about to get up to exit the room, Sigurd called out to stop her.
“Don’t. There’s no point.”
“B-but…”
“I don’t need your meddling. Just get out of here. Now,” he said, then pushed her away. Brunhild rolled off the bed.
She was frightened. She debated whether to leave as she’d been told. But she could not ignore someone suffering right in front of her.
Her brother was silent. His shoulders were heaving, and he wore a pained expression. He’d been scratching at his head before, but now he was still.
His eyes started to tremble. They seemed hollow, and she couldn’t tell what he was looking at.
He started to say strange things.
“Ahhh, it’s dark. It’s so dark.”
Brunhild was startled. Normally, her brother’s voice was deep and low. But now his voice was quiet and high, like a boy’s.
“I don’t like the dark. Let me out…someone…”
She couldn’t believe the man before her was her brother. He was crying. His expression was clearly frightened.
“Hng,” he sobbed. “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.”
He held his head in his hands and curled up. His large frame became unbelievably small.
He was deranged.
There was no logical reason for what Brunhild did next. The next thing she knew, she was moving.
She returned to the bed and took Sigurd’s hand. “It’s all right. Don’t be scared. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Her brother’s hands were trembling. They didn’t stop even when she clasped them tightly, but she continued to hold them anyway.
Brunhild had a good guess as to why her brother had gotten like this.
He went back to his usual self at dawn. When he shook her hand off, she knew he had regained his senses.
The first thing he said was, “That was unnecessary.”
Brunhild asked him, “Are you all right now?”
“What a stupid question. I’m always in perfect condition.”
“After what I just saw, I find that hard to believe.”
“You didn’t see anything.”
With that, Brunhild understood why her brother had told her to “get out” last night.
“What was that fit you had last night, Brother? Why didn’t you call for anyone?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“No, it is my business. Wasn’t that…a side effect of the experiments?”
Her brother had been put through terrible experiments in Etherium. If these fits of his were an aftereffect of that, then it didn’t seem like it was none of her business. Her brother had undergone those procedures to protect her.
“So what if that’s true? It’s good for you, isn’t it? Since I’m suffering.” He glared at the sword lying on the bed. “You tried to kill me.”
Brunhild flinched. She had been so worried about her brother that she had abandoned the sword she had drawn from his sheath.
She couldn’t talk her way out of this. She cursed her own foolishness.
Her brother asked her another question. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
Brunhild answered honestly, “I just couldn’t…”
When she’d seen her brother suffering, thoughts of killing him had flown right out of her head.
Fearing her brother’s anger, she looked down.
But he just snorted in disapproval and said no more. He picked up his sword and sheathed it, then left the room.
He didn’t do anything.
Now alone, Brunhild reflected on what had just happened.
Her brother was right. Why hadn’t she killed him? She still resented him for killing the dragon. And she did hate him, but—
She found her answer immediately.
Ultimately, she still loved her brother.
In the depths of her heart, she wanted to see the kind person he had once been.