Chapter 8

twenty two

My heart looks to you, Holy Savior;

You are everything to me, and I belong to you.

.

"The mad general is no longer mad."

—People say.

It is as if one awakens from a state of being alive yet feeling as if dead.

The drowsy soul is revived within the decaying body.

Like a thunderbolt striking the ground, Kriggs gripped the King's Army tightly.

The ills that had accumulated in the city over the past three years were almost completely eradicated overnight.

He recalled the servants who had served Solan;

He ordered people to decorate the royal bedchamber according to Solan's preferences and habits, with silks and satins, sandalwood and brocade, all in accordance with the old system;

The man-eating crocodiles in the Imperial Lake were killed, and merchants were ordered to send over various docile pets, such as white deer, peacocks, and silver foxes, to be kept in the garden.

These tasks were completed in just two or three days.

As several ambitious colleagues took turns sitting on the throne, the old ministers, who pretended to be deaf and dumb, whispered among themselves:

"What is he doing? Why is he pretending that Solan is still alive?"

"Is he not insane anymore, or has he become even more insane?"

"Has he finally come to his senses and decided to usurp the throne as a half-demon?"

Near the capital, there is a barren mountain with a rocky cliff.

Like ants, the refugees dug holes and built houses on the steep slopes, multiplying and multiplying. The houses were crooked and stacked, getting higher and higher, like theater benches rising one level after another.

A red-haired, freckled commoner girl walks along a narrow stone path, carrying a clay pot filled with water on her head.

Halfway there, she noticed the ground was shaking slightly.

Is war coming again?

She trembled like a perched pigeon.

She leaned against the low flint wall and looked out—

To the left are rugged, barren mountains. The once lush and majestic peaks have been stripped bare by the axes of countless refugees, leaving them desolate and barren.

The mounted army swept in like rolling black clouds.

Kliger charged through the smoke and dust, taking the lead.

twenty three

Many years have passed.

But for Krieg, the day he met Solan will always remain vivid in his memory.

On the day my mother died, a heavy snow fell in Kitahara that never stopped.

It roared as if it would never stop, roaring and howling, trying to annihilate everything in the world with pure white.

He wrapped his mother's body in a tattered blanket and carried it on his back.

He traveled from city to city, inquiring in each place, presenting his insignia to the lord. He humbly begged who could provide a golden coffin, offering to pay for it himself.

All he received in response was ridicule.

"Ha! Did you hear that? A beggar claims his mother is a princess of holy lineage!"

A golden coffin? Do you deserve it?

"Get out of here, you little bastard, don't offend the ears of this nobleman."

"If your mother were truly a princess, how could she have died and rotted in the snow? She was probably a prostitute, wasn't she? Even the lowest prostitute wouldn't give birth to a bastard like you."

Amidst laughter.

He had remained silent the whole time, but suddenly erupted when he heard his mother being humiliated.

His golden, vertical pupils were clearly visible, like the sharp edge of a blade.

Before the mockery on the man's face had faded, his throat bone snapped lightly at the boy's fingertips.

Like breaking a tree branch.

"My mother is a princess."

He insisted.

The body was carelessly tossed aside and fell onto the dirty, muddy ground where the snow had melted. It twitched twice and then quickly stopped moving.

He carried his mother on his back and left, continuing on to the next city.

No one dared to stop them.

The snow started falling heavily again.

The cold wind chills one to the bone.

In the vast expanse of white, a man in a tattered gray robe and cloth shoes stopped in front of him.

Looking up, I saw a priest.

The priest handed him a handful of loose, worn coins. "Child... use this money to buy a straw mat. At least, let your mother rest in peace and her soul find peace."

Krieg didn't answer.

He said calmly, "Thank you. But my mother was a princess; she should only be buried in a golden coffin."

The priest sighed and admonished:

“Child, wash the blood from your hands. Believe in the God of Light, and from now on, do not harbor resentment, do not be violent, and do not take any more lives. My Lord accepts all living beings and treats them all equally.”

Krieg stared intently at him.

Their gaze was so sharp it seemed to cut open the priest's chest.

His voice remained clear and strong even in the blizzard:

"Does God really exist in this world?"

"If he really exists, why does he never appear?"

"Father, you're starving to death yourself, and you still want to save others?"

"This world is chaotic, filthy, and dirty. Wars break out every day, and countless people die in agony every day—men, women, the old, children, the wise, the foolish, the good, the evil, including you and me, who will all die meaninglessly sooner or later."

"If your God allows all of this to exist, then He should be destroyed."

"Was everything I suffered in the past a punishment from God? Why? Just because I defied my inevitable fate?"

What did my mother do wrong? What did I do wrong?

“Tell me, Father, please tell me—”

“If God is unkind and unjust to me, and though He has infinite radiance, He is stingy with even a ray of it for me, then I would rather go to hell and serve the devil.”

He walked alone in the snow.

For several days and nights, he had not eaten or drunk anything, and just mechanically and continuously walked forward.

Perhaps the next step will be into the underworld, who knows?

His mother's body gradually decayed, and he seemed to decay along with it.

Just then.

A horse-drawn carriage appeared amidst the wind and snow.

Eight white horses pull the carriage, which is made of walnut wood, painted with gold patterns, and has precious glass inlaid on all four walls.

A flickering lamp made it look like a firefly in the dim snow.

The wind stopped.

The car door opened.

The man stood on the wooden steps, looking down at him.

Krieg looked up.

It was as if I were witnessing a beautiful dream.

Solan was only in his early twenties that year.

His slender body was wrapped in a white fox fur coat, and his golden hair was like the rising sun.

He smiled gently at him from beneath his lowered eyelashes.

Krigo knelt down.

I don't know how many times I've said this:

"A kind benefactor—"

"I am willing to sell my body and soul to you in exchange for a golden coffin to bury my mother."

Solan remained noncommittal, then asked with interest, "What's your name?"

He bowed his head and said, "I have no name. If you buy me, you can name me."

So Solan took him back.

She gave him the coffin she had originally prepared for herself and held a funeral for his mother with the honors due to a princess.

He was cleansed and his wounds were treated.

They were assigned to learn writing and martial arts.

He became a loyal servant with a master.

They obey their master's commands without fail and never slacken.

Not long after, Solan came to observe a swordsmanship class.

When he practiced chopping.

Solan walked over and stood behind him, his fingertips touching his shoulder as if stroking and admiring a rare and precious sword, slowly sliding down the muscle lines to his wrist.

He smelled the gentle fragrance emanating from his master.

"At such a young age, his muscles are already as tough as armor."

“Excellent, a born warrior.”

"I've decided on your name."

"Krieg. — Krieg, war."

Solan smiled:

"Good child, become a monster of war for me."

twenty four

The walls were crumbling, covered with thorny vines; apples fell to the ground, a few sheep grazed on hay, and olive trees were in full bloom with pale green flowers, emitting a waxy fragrance, providing a dense shade at the entrance of a cave.

A horse was tied to the tree trunk.

Krieg's old warhorse.

Upon seeing its owner, it excitedly pawed at the ground, circled the tree, and clumsily tightened the reins around itself.

Krieg stepped forward and untied him.

He led the horse and stopped at the door.

Pushing open the wooden door, a slender man with blond hair and dressed in white sat in the window opening.

Hearing the sound, they turned around.

“Krigg,” the man called out.

His tone was calm, as always, like a prophet or a divine revelation.

He's drunk to death countless times.

He just wanted to hear that voice call him again in his dreams: "Krigor".

Krieg had heard that voice call his name countless times.

Sometimes he was mischievous, sometimes feigned anger, sometimes dignified, sometimes whispering a smile in my ear, and sometimes, when moved by emotion, he would gasp erratically and angrily… The last time he spoke to me was on my sickbed, when he said, “Krigg, live on. When you’re tormented by fate, you can go mad, you can curse, but in the end, you have to stand up and walk on alone, go, as far as you can.”

This sound came three years later.

Like a swallow that has undergone a long migration, finally returning to its nest on a branch, gently shaking off the water droplets from its tail feathers.

The man moved slightly.

The light behind it also sifted and moved.

The shadow stretched long, and the white robe trailed on the ground.

In the parable, the Queen of Sheba was deliberately led into a tower when she first met Solomon. Thinking it was deep water, she lifted her skirt to reveal her feet.

It is said that the devil had forked hooves, and Solomon used this to test whether she was human or demon.

He would guarantee that Solan, upon his return, would never have to step into the tower again.

Kligo knelt down in a standard manner and crawled over on his knees.

He bowed his head, tears welling in his eyes, and begged for forgiveness:

"It's my fault, Master. Without you, I couldn't even protect the capital..."

Before he could finish speaking, Solan had already arrived in front of him.

He thought his master was sure to scold him.

But the next moment, Solan said, "Hold on tight."

Then, something soft and warm, like a cloud, was suddenly placed in his palm.

This is a baby.

The girl with short, fluffy blond hair was sucking on her thumb; she had just cried and was looking at him with wide, teary blond eyes.

Krieg hurriedly grabbed it, staring at the little thing, wide-eyed.

They looked at each other in silence.

Solan waited a moment, then breathed a sigh of relief:

"...I didn't cry."

"That's great. It really won't cry in your hands."

He muttered softly and yawned:

"Okay, then you take care of it."

"This little thing is quite troublesome."

"I haven't been able to sleep well lately because of all the tossing and turning every day."