Arc 10 Interlude: "—Why?"

—When I found that unbloomed flower bud in the garden, I stopped in my tracks without thinking.

It was a garden where various flowers bloomed in a riot of colors. Unfortunately, I am not well-versed in the names or types of flowers, but I had heard that these were precious blossoms, grown from seeds gathered from all over the country. It was such a large and magnificent garden. The gardener entrusted with its care must have found it a worthy challenge to demonstrate his skill. The garden’s perfection was proof of that.

To be honest, when I first stepped into the garden, I didn't have high expectations for the colorful display. By nature, I lacked the sensibility to appreciate flowers, and I had never taken much interest in the gardens at my family home. Even though I was allowed into the royal castle of Lugnica by the grace of my understanding father, I did not overestimate myself enough to think I could join the discussions of responsible adults. Thus, out of necessity, I had come to the garden to kill time until my father’s business was finished, and unexpectedly, I found myself captivated by that bud.

"————"

At the end of my amber gaze was a large, drooping bud. Its petals, tinged with a faint redness, were closed. Perhaps I was drawn to it because I projected myself—clumsy and harboring a restless frustration—onto that unbloomed bud. Such a thought felt a bit too poetic, perhaps even a little self-indulgent.

However, among the flowers that had already bloomed into large blossoms, standing proud as if they already knew every inch of their own charm, it was a fact that I felt a sense of empathy for the bud that had yet to reveal its true potential.

—In the end, what can I do, and what is expected of me?

"I am..."

I pride myself on being blessed by birth, lineage, and talent. As one given such birth, lineage, and talent, I felt a sense of duty to respond with results worthy of them. And I was also aware that this pride and sense of duty were fatally incompatible with my own desires.

"————"

In a manner of speaking, among the seeds planted in this garden, I was the only immature seed that questioned its own way of blooming and remained a bud. The other flowers, without doubt or hesitation, knew their place, understood it, and fulfilled it. And yet, I—

"...Just what kind of flower will you bloom into?"

I asked the bud, and the silence, which could offer no answer, made me catch my breath. Enveloped in the sweet scent of the flowers, I couldn't even reach an understanding with the bud I felt a kinship with.

Because what this disrespectful self desired was not to bloom into a beautiful and vivid flower, but to become a thick, sturdy tree that would protect those flowers from the wind and rain. Yes, the self that harbored such an unattainable wish seemed like a hollow, ridiculous existence—

"Phugh!?"

—In that moment, accompanied by a terribly ungraceful cry, something fell from above into the garden where the buds swayed.

"—!"

Startled by the suddenness, I stood frozen as if my feet were sewn to the spot. Inside my mind, which had turned white and ceased to function, the warning bells of danger rang late, followed by the various mental preparations and instructions for such a situation. However, before I could pull those thoughts from the depths of my mind, the person who had fallen headfirst into the flowerbed sprang up and—

"Pffft! Bwah! Peh, peh! Wh-what is this, dirt? Is it dirt!?"

With those words, a boy with beautiful golden hair disheveled and jewel-like red eyes blinking, crawled out of the flowerbed in a sorry state, covered head to toe in soil. That was—

"Oh, as expected of Me... I thought it was the end when I fell headfirst toward the stone pavement, but to think I would repel even such a predicament with My innate heavenly luck..."

—That was my first memory of the last 'Lion King.'

"—Ah."

A raspy breath escaped, and consciousness awakened. My five senses began to stir, and all sorts of information were sent to my brain one after another. —In that instant, the thing that appealed most strongly to my mind and body was an inescapable, violent thirst.

"————"

Thirst. It wasn't just a simple thirst of the throat. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. Everywhere in my body, in every single place, water was missing. I craved moisture; I starved for dampness. My nasal passages and throat, the pathways for air, were parched; the stomach walls that take in food were parched; even when I blinked, my eyeballs were parched; the vessels that should be carrying blood throughout my body were parched; and my soul, crying out for its deficiency, was parched.

Thirst. It was thirst. Thirst was eroding my life.

"—Ah-eh, a..."

My mouth was so dry that my numb tongue couldn't produce proper sounds. I wanted to do something about this thirst, so I tried to call for someone. No voice came out. Rather than calling, it would be faster to move myself. —No, even that thought didn't exist. Like a drowning person clinging to their rescuer and dragging them down, my mind was a blank slate of thirst.

Appealing to my parched body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, I gathered the slight strength remaining in my frame and tried to push myself up. I sat up. I tried to stand. I stood. I tried to walk. I walked. I tried to search. I searched.

"—Oh."

I was desperate. I was truly desperate. With a head dominated by thirst, I admonished myself that this was my last chance. If my feet stopped, if I accidentally tripped, if even one thing went wrong, I wouldn't be able to do it again. I wouldn't be able to search. I wouldn't be able to walk. I wouldn't be able to stand. I wouldn't be able to wake up. Sinking into this unfathomable thirst, never again, never again, never again—

"————"

With all the strength of my weak body, I managed to push open the heavy door and stepped outside. Cursing the thirst of my body, which felt like it would succumb even to the slight breeze blowing through, I scanned my surroundings. My vision was cloudy and difficult to see. It was narrow. I quickly realized it was because one eye was covered. But before I could secure my vision, a faint sweet scent drifted on the wind.

Lured by it, I tilted my head and found it. —A vase, with yellow and pink flowers arranged in it.

"—!"

There was no time to think. I lunged for the vase as if collapsing. I pulled out the decorated flowers as if plucking them and tilted the vase I held in both hands. Then, I drank, drank, and drank the water intended for the flowers as if bathing in it. The spilled water ran down the corners of my mouth and cheeks, wetting my neck and soaking my black nightgown. I didn't care. Coughing, I threw the vase aside, and the sound of shattering pottery echoed.

"Eho, eho..."

I wiped my mouth roughly with the back of my hand and turned around. In the hallway, vases were placed at regular intervals. I approached with legs that had regained more strength than before, discarded the flowers, and gulped down the water. I threw the vase aside. On to the next vase. I repeated this twice, three times, drenching my parched body with water, reclaiming my existence from the thirst, and as I moved toward the next vase—

"—You must not!"

My wrist was grabbed along with a sharp shout, and I turned around. The one holding my wrist was a white-haired old butler who stood frozen with wide eyes, holding me back—before I could pull from the memories beneath the thirst to remember who he was, a thick surge of passion overflowed.

"Let go!"

While my right arm was held, I swung my free left hand, striking the opponent's body with all my might. Literally, I did not hold back. It was a blow intended to shatter bone or tear flesh, but the old butler easily parried it with his other hand, leaving both of us unscathed. I could tell there were all sorts of reasons—physical condition, skill, experience. —But I couldn't stop.

"Let go! Let go! Let go...!"

With every word, a strike; with every swing of my arm, I remembered how to swing, and my sharpness increased. However, no matter how sharp my fingertips were as they cut the air, the old butler easily blocked them. Gradually, the chill of the thirst that was creeping back up again seemed to crawl from my feet.

"Please, let go! My throat is parched... I'm thirsty... Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, I can't stand it...!"

"Please, calm yourself. I will prepare water immediately. Furthermore, you must not walk barefoot. We must tend to your wounds."

"Water... really? Is there... water...?"

"There is. Right away. But before that, your wounds."

The momentum of my desperate struggling gradually weakened at the old butler's plea. The thirst was still there. A thirst that was slightly better than immediately after waking. If there was water to quench that thirst, I would be happy. It would help. I would be grateful.

"Wounds..."

As the strength slowly left my body, I blinked at those out-of-place words and happened to look down. Looking, I saw red marks scattered on the carpet in the hallway at the feet of the old butler and myself. They began in the middle of the hallway and ended at the soles of my feet. —It was blood. I hadn't noticed, but I had stepped on the shards of the broken vases, and apparently, I had covered the hallway in blood. I had stepped not only on the shards but also on the flowers I had thrown out of the vases. The trampled and scattered petals mixed with the flowing blood, creating a terribly filthy, mottled pattern.

A terribly, filthy, mottled pattern. —In that instant, an ominous pattern of black spots flashed through my mind.

"—Ah, ah, AAAAAAAH!!"

My thin throat let out a scream, and I writhed. Perhaps my guard had dropped because I had started to calm down. In response to that reaction, the old butler's restraint loosened, and I swung my free arms, tearing my wet nightgown to look at my own body. The wrapped bandages, and the haggard, pale skin that had lost its color—in the parts hidden by those bandages, a hideous black pattern covered my entire body, cursing this frame with its toxicity.

"No, Ferris! Ferris!! Where!? Where are you!?"

My body itself felt like an irredeemably defiled thing, and a scream escaped me. I wanted to tear off the bandages, but I didn't want to see what was underneath. The ugly black pattern hidden beneath the bandages—I didn't want to harbor it in this body for even a second longer.

I don't want to see it. I don't want to touch it. I don't want to be in contact with it. I don't want to be defiled.

I'd rather just di—

"—Crusch-sama!"

That body, which should have been ugly and hideous, was held from behind by slender arms. It wasn't like a wrestling hold. He wasn't trying to stop me with some kind of martial arts move. He just impulsively threw his arms around me from behind and hugged me with all his might. If I had wanted to shake him off, I could have. But not even a fragment of such a thought occurred to me.

I simply surrendered, my body vaguely enveloped in a faint, welling blue light.

"It's all right, I'm right here. I'm right by Crusch-sama's side..."

"Fer...ris..."

"Yes, yes. That's right. It's Ferris."

The strength of the arms wrapped around my body tightened, yet I felt no pain or fear. By the time I realized it, I had collapsed on the spot, sitting flat on the floor. Naturally, the one hugging me—Ferris—was also slumped in the hallway with me. When I tilted my head slightly, his lovely face was so close I could feel his breath. His round eyes were trembling with tears, and his desperate attempt to keep his expression from crumbling was brave and endearing. Naturally, the sense of rejection toward everything that had been surging through my body receded.

"...But, I'm scared. I'm still scared. My body is still covered in those black spots..."

"Crusch-sama, regarding that, it has already—"

"—Old Man Wil."

Ferris called out to the old butler, cutting him off just as he was about to say something. Receiving Ferris's gaze, Wilhelm—yes, Wilhelm. It was Wilhelm. The old butler was Wilhelm, the 'Sword Demon,' an extraordinary swordsman, and a dependable person.

With Wilhelm in front of me and Ferris behind me, I was held between them.

"I..."

"Please listen, Crusch-sama. There is no need to worry about your body. —Forgive me."

"—Ah."

While hugging my trembling body and soothing my wandering gaze, Ferris's hands slowly began to undo the wrapped bandages. I caught my breath at his gentle yet terrifying movements, able only to watch as the bandages were slowly unraveled. From my neck to my chest, I had torn it with my own hands, and the skin peeking through the gaps in the frayed nightgown was exposed—and I widened my eyes to find that the pattern I had feared was not there.

"Eh..."

"It's not just here. Your arms, your shoulders, your legs... the abnormality has been removed."

As he spoke, Ferris also undid the bandages on my shoulders, and I blankly lifted my arm. What was there was an arm that looked dry and rough, but the traces of that black mottled pattern had vanished. And then I finally noticed. —That that burning pain, like having boiling water poured through my entire body, had ceased at some point.

The thirst was there. Even now, its remnants remained. But that was a thirst for life, craved by a body from which that agony had been removed.

"Ferris... did you remove that curse? From my body..."

"————"

The leeway to reflect on myself was born in my heart, and I finally reached that thought. Ferris had bravely and desperately devoted his strength to healing me, staying by the side of someone who was being eroded by that unceasing agony every morning, every night, every day. That wish had borne fruit, and he had rescued me from that prison of suffering—

"—No, that's not it. I couldn't do anything."

However, that question and expectation were denied by Ferris himself. Shaking his head, his yellow eyes filled with disappointment—a deep disappointment and dejection toward himself—he softly touched my arm where the pattern had vanished, his lips trembling several times.

He hesitated to speak, resolved himself, then hesitated again, repeating this many times until he finally made up his mind and spoke. It was—

"In order to heal Crusch-sama's body, I sought the cooperation of the 'Holy Dragon Church.'"

"...Eh."

"A girl who calls herself a 'Saint' of the Church lent us her strength. I... was unable to save Crusch-sama. I am truly, truly sorry."

I lost my voice at Ferris, whose voice trembled as his eyes filled with tears. Slowly, the meaning of the words he spoke was understood by my brain, which was being released from pain and intense thirst.

The 'Holy Dragon Church'—it was an organization that deeply, deeply worshipped the existence and grace of the 'Holy Dragon' that had protected the Kingdom of Lugnica since ancient times, and worked to maintain the peace and tranquility of the kingdom's citizens. The creed of the 'Holy Dragon Church,' which forbids involvement in national politics to avoid its activities having too much influence, was something I could nod to as noble and understandable, but on the other hand, it was a relationship that could not be easily acknowledged—because the existence the 'Holy Dragon Church' treasures above all else and our own way of being are fundamentally incompatible.

"—The Dragon."

The 'Holy Dragon Church' upholds and is grateful for the covenant formed between the Kingdom and the 'Holy Dragon.' —That is to say, the maintenance of the covenant is the highest priority for the kingdom's prosperity, the same as the kingdom's way of thinking that regarded the members of the Royal Family, lost to a merciless disease, as mere cogs for the sake of the covenant.

—The same value system that digested the death of Fourier Lugnica as a mere event.

"—!"

My chest was struck by a formless emotion that came welling up, and I felt a sense of nausea. The thoughts, images, and feelings that surfaced in my head—all of them violently stimulated my five senses; light struck my hearing, smells struck my vision, pain struck my taste, voices struck my touch, and tastes struck my smell—things that shouldn't normally be connected ganged up to beat me down.

—Why did that name come up? —Why did that smile float to mind? —Why could I hear his voice? —Why could I feel that face from my memories? —Why do I remember the taste of the blood and tears that mourned that death?

—Why was Crusch Karsten able to remember Fourier Lugnica?

"—Ah."

There are sensations that are returning. A sense of loss and a sense of duty, endearment and sadness, anger and joy, warmth and coldness. —The good memories and the painful attachments to that person who has gone forever, mixing and melting together.

However, there is something I understand, fatally.

"—The Royal Selection."

At the sound that spilled from my trembling lips, Ferris's shoulders shook violently, and I could tell that Wilhelm, whose face I couldn't see, also stiffened.

We are incompatible with the 'Holy Dragon Church.' We can never be compatible. We cannot walk in step, and we cannot look at the same things together—we ourselves chose that, decided that, and declared that we would do so. And yet, if I was saved by the very opponent whose help I must never accept.

"Ferris—"

"—Yes."

When I called his name, there was no tremor in Ferris's voice. He gave a short nod, his gaze straight, and though his expression was stiff, he did not look away. His yellow eyes were saying that no matter what was said to him, he had made that choice prepared for the consequences.

"————"

I have to say it. I know the reason. I know why he had to make that choice.

I know that it was, more than anything, to save me. How many days of agony he must have spent by my side as I was eroded every morning, every night, every day. How much he must have felt the powerlessness of his healing hands when he couldn't save what he wanted to save—I have seen that up close, closer than anyone.

That's why I have to say it.

‘I’m sorry for making you worry. I understand your feelings.’

"————"

That's why I have to say it.

‘I made you make a painful decision. But the responsibility for that lies with me.’

"————"

That's why I have to say it.

‘Please do not grieve. It is thanks to you that I am able to be like this.’

"————"

I have to say it. I have to say it. I have to say it. I have to say it. I have to say it. I have to say it. I have to say it I have to say it I have to say it I have to say it I have to say it I have to say it I have to say it I have to say it I have to say it say it say it say it say it say it say it say it say it say it say it—

"—Why?"

It spilled out, as if tripping. Those words. They were entirely different in warmth and texture from the words I thought I had to say.

"You should have known, shouldn't you?"

Stop it, stop it right now. Close your mouth, close your eyes, paint over your consciousness. Don't look at the things in front of you, the things that happened, the choices that were made—forget them all and turn away.

"Ferris, you of all people... you were supposed to be the same as me."

I must not say it. I must not let him hear it. I must not let it be known. Because he tried to save me. Because he offered his prayers. Because he only wished to remove the suffering of the one he loved.

That's why I must not say it.

"—Why?"

I must not.

"Why did you betray your oath to His Highness Fourier?"

—If I was going to betray that person, I would have rather just died.