Type-Moon: The Human Love Simulator [27]
Nemed had performed flawlessly. In just a few days, he had ruthlessly eliminated Hengist's enemies, showing loyalty even beyond that of a trusted follower.
Yet, Horsa couldn't shake off a sense of unease.
It was all too perfect, too seamless...
But Horsa wasn't skilled with words. After much internal deliberation, he finally said, "This man... he's definitely hiding something. He's using you to amass his own power."
Hengist's brow furrowed slightly. No one likes to hear negative remarks when they're in high spirits; even a wise ruler like Emperor Taizong had been driven to rage by the honesty of Wei Zheng.
It's human nature, but the distinction between a great leader and a mediocre one often lies in the ability to master one's emotions. Hengist soon set aside his irritation, patiently explaining, "My dear brother, Horsa, do you really think I'm unaware of Nemed's little schemes?"
"Hmph! He betrayed Powell and even skinned him alive. Even those Anglo-Saxons who were never swayed by Kaelar's influence find his actions repulsive, but they remain silent out of respect for my authority."
Hengist waved dismissively. "It's only natural for Nemed to be a bit hasty right now. He's young, after all—when has a young man not made mistakes? He's trying to build his own faction, that's all."
"And remember, he's still my adopted son. If he were to be crushed underfoot, it would be my reputation that suffers."
Of course, if Nemed turned out to be worthless, he'd lose all value in Hengist's eyes.
But for now, Nemed was incredibly useful, dutifully serving as a blade to cull the disobedient—without Hengist needing to lift a finger. If things went awry and backlash ensued, it would fall solely on Nemed's shoulders.
As the judge, Hengist stood in an unassailable position.
If things truly were as straightforward as they seemed.
"Alright, my dear brother," Hengist said, placing a reassuring hand on Horsa's shoulder. "Nemed is still useful. We are brothers—don't you trust your elder brother?"
"Yes, I trust you, my brother," Horsa replied, a note of resignation in his voice.
---
"Nemed? What kind of name is that? Ni-what? Hilarious…"
"My apologies, I meant no disrespect by mocking your name. My name is Kaelar, Lord of Maple Ridge."
"Kill you? No, I intend to forgive you."
"You are human beings, not the livestock and slaves of a lord. You must cherish your lives because to love others, you must first love yourself."
"I will let you go, but only if you promise me this—love yourself more than anyone else. And when you've learned how to love yourself, go out and love others."
"As long as you did not willingly set foot upon the lands of Maple Ridge, as long as you are willing to lay down your weapons, I will love and forgive you."
"…"
"…"
"Nemed, Hengist has his eye on me. We need to make a decision."
"Nemed, we don't have much time left. This is the only way to preserve our strength."
"Nemed, you are Kaelar's finest disciple. You're the only one I can trust with this. Only you can accomplish this mission."
"…"
"Nemed, dying is easy—living is the hard part."
"Nemed, the fate of the Anglo-Saxons rests in your hands."
"Alright, Powell… Alright. I accept."
"A lie repeated a thousand times is still a lie. The truth, even when smeared a thousand times, remains the truth."
Nemed's gaze was steady. There was no deference to Hengist's authority, no gleeful arrogance before his fellow Anglo-Saxons—only calm.
"Teacher Kaelar, your words are like gold that never tarnishes. I will forever remember your teachings, and I will uphold them with my life."
"I understand now. I completely understand why you chose to love us, because now, I, too, wish to love others."
Nemed's fingers traced the cover of the Gospel of Kaelar, a text dictated by Kaelar and recorded by Powell, describing his vision of a utopian world.
It was a forbidden text, ordered to be destroyed by Hengist as a heretical work. Yet the task of destroying it had been entrusted to Nemed.
In the dim light of his room, Nemed sat quietly, reading each line in the Gospel of Kaelar. He knew this might be his last chance to ever read it.
Outside, the three thousand men he had recruited for his "Watchers," the enforcers of Hengist's will, were murmuring among themselves. What they were saying was unclear, but the fury and loathing in their eyes as they glanced at Nemed's room was unmistakable.
---
At Maple Ridge, Kaelar was dressed in a simple leather cuirass. He had long since outgrown the need for heavy armor. Beside him stood a horse, and next to him, atop a white stallion, was Artoria.
Kaelar hadn't wanted to bring Artoria along, but the stubborn little lioness had insisted. In truth, her strength was formidable, more than enough to protect herself amidst the chaos of a shattered enemy line. Stray arrows wouldn't threaten her.
Besides, Kaelar was confident that once he launched his offensive, none would even have the chance to target Artoria.
"Lily, your only job is to wave the flag," Kaelar said earnestly. "Last time, my strength was insufficient. I couldn't impose my will."
"This time, I will not allow a single person to die before me. My will is a divine mark upon the world—unchangeable. You won't need to lift a finger."
Artoria blinked, nodding slowly, then asked, "Kaelar… Are you really going to charge in alone?"
Kaelar smiled, nodding. "I alone am enough."
The two rode their horses until they reached the conquered lands. The Anglo-Saxon warriors were celebrating, their drunken revelry loud enough to be heard from miles away.
Kaelar gazed at the seemingly endless line of… soldiers? If they could be called that. He turned to Artoria and asked, "Lily, do you see that endless sea of men? Are you afraid?"
Artoria shook her head. "Not as long as you're here. Besides, all I need to do is follow you, right?"
"And what about you, Kaelar? How do you feel?"
"Me?" A fierce light blazed in Kaelar's eyes, hotter than the bonfires of the seventy thousand Anglo-Saxon raiders. He laughed. "My soul is boiling!"
"Hengist, I've come to teach you."
---
Hengist felt uneasy, as if he'd forgotten something important. Yet, no matter how much he pondered, nothing seemed amiss.
He stepped outside, his irritation mounting as he saw his warriors lost in drunken revelry. Anger surged. "Look at you! How do you expect to fight tomorrow if you're this drunk?"
"If you don't kill Kaelar, Vortigern's wrath will consume you all!"
"You're right," a voice said, clear and unwavering. "But I have no intention of waiting until tomorrow."
Kaelar emerged, his noble leather armor more decorative than functional. A glimpse of strange tattoos could be seen at his neck, though most were hidden beneath his clothes.
The battlefield, still littered with the unburied dead, reeked of blood, alcohol, and charred meat. It was enough to make anyone retch.
Some of the more depraved Anglo-Saxon raiders were toying with the severed heads and limbs of Celtic knights and lords. Yet Kaelar did not lose his temper. His serene face bore the compassionate smile of a saint.
With pity in his gaze, he looked at Hengist and said, "Even beasts can be touched by compassion."
"I have come to teach you."
A pirate, standing beside Horsa, was the first to notice. "It's Kaelar. He's only brought a single servant. There's no sign of Maple Ridge's army."
Hengist's unease vanished. He laughed, brushing aside the earlier tension. "So, it's just you, Kaelar? Never mind whether you can do it—how do you plan to 'teach' us, considering you refuse to kill?"
"You're right, I won't kill you," Kaelar said sincerely. "Every life is precious. I will not allow a single person to die in my presence."
Kaelar, the man who would never take a life.
---
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