30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?!-Chapter 288: What Justifies a Knight’s Battle? (11)

"......Ahem."

Everyone present let out a hushed breath, momentarily at a loss for words.

—[The Hidden History of Mordred.]

The only one aware of this matter was Guinevere, Mordred’s long-standing ally. At most, the Pendragon royal family and Galahad might have had some vague idea.

That meant only a handful within the entire kingdom knew the truth.

And yet, here was a complete stranger, whom they had met for the first time today, casually revealing knowledge of such a well-kept secret.

Their minds reeled.

But the man responsible for their bewilderment?

"This isn't even difficult. There are at least five other people around me who could figure this out."

"That just means those around you are just as extraordinary as you are...."

"Extraordinary? First time anyone's ever called me that. You nobles sure love to overreact."

"...Did a noble scam you or something? You spew noble-hatred as naturally as breathing."

"Enough small talk. So, I take it my guess was correct."

"......"

The one who had left them all stunned seemed completely unfazed.

As if he'd merely solved a trivial riddle.

"...Hah."

His audacity was beyond measure, and even as he arrogantly took a sip of tea, no one could find the words to reprimand him.

Cain couldn't help but wonder where in the world such a creature had suddenly sprung from.

What in the world happened outside during the five years we were gone?

He was a knight Cain had neither seen nor heard of during their time away.

At first, he had even suspected the man might be the Fierce Wolf or the Black Lion in disguise, but after a brief exchange, it became clear he was nothing like them.

The one thing Cain had discerned was that this man was exceptionally strong—and just as intelligent.

Even though they had barely spoken for an hour or two, Cain was certain of one thing.

This man was not beneath him.

Nor beneath his father.

Neither in strength, nor in anything else.

Which led to one question—

Why?

Why was this man acting on behalf of Mordred?

What does he stand to gain?

A warrior of his caliber wouldn't move without reason.

Cain couldn’t help but be curious about his motives.

At that moment—

"...I understand your intentions. You're aiming for the Accursed King—that damnable 'pest' of a being."

The old knight—no, the commander of the Hundred Ghosts Shield Knights, the strongest knight of Mordred—spoke with a grave expression.

"But that is impossible. This is our war, the war of Mordred. It is the duty our ancestors left behind for us. We cannot entrust it to an outsider."

With each word, a weighty presence filled the space, layer upon layer, like an immovable fortress.

On the surface, it might have seemed like the stubbornness of a knight, the obstinacy of an old man, or even the arrogance of a noble—the very thing that man despised.

But those present immediately realized # Nоvеlight # the truth.

He approves of him.

Cain could see right through his father’s thoughts.

This man wasn’t of Mordred’s bloodline, nor was he even from Wales.

And yet, he was recklessly throwing himself into the very depths of hell.

Cain's father was worried.

A remarkable young man, full of potential, was about to throw himself away for nothing more than youthful bravado.

It was a sentiment they could all understand.

And so, at some point, everyone’s gaze naturally turned toward him.

They were grateful, yes—but they could not allow him to bear the same "curse" they did.

It would only be right to ignore his offer and—

"—If you tell me where that damn god is, I'll give you some cookies that little Louise made. For the record, these are the first cookies she’s ever baked in her life."

"......"

"As a bonus, I even have photos of her making them."

Thud.

"......"

"...What are you doing, Father?"

"Ahem. It is simply the natural desire of a grandfather to see his eight-year-old granddaughter’s face."

"...I am her father."

"So what?"

"......"

"I'll let you have the photos, but leave the cookies."

"Haha, have some pity on an old man who could drop dead any day now."

"Hah! Stop spouting nonsense. You’ll outlive me at this rate."

"......"

"......"

—And thus, a father-son struggle ensued.

***

"That tiny thing grew this much?"

"Grew? What do you mean? She’s still tiny."

"My god...."

"Look at those chubby cheeks."

"...She takes after her mother completely."

"She’ll grow into a beauty. Well, that’s only natural—after all, she takes after the most beautiful woman in Mordred."

Unlike the foolish adults still locked in their cold war, the others were staring at the picture Ihan had handed over, their eyes sparkling with emotion.

Their youngest sibling.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

With an age gap of over ten years, their gaze toward Louise was not that of older brothers but of parents looking at their own child.

She’s never getting married.

Nine older brothers, an overwhelmingly dominant father-in-law, and a terrifying great-grandfather.

Whoever tried to take her away would be nothing short of pitiful.

"If any bastard dares to make this child cry, I, Felix, will tear them limb from limb!!"

...And then there was a cousin built like a bear.

Yeah, whoever wants to marry her will need to be an Aura User at the very least.

That was the bare minimum requirement to survive these people.

While Ihan was lost in these absurd thoughts, the battle between father and son finally reached its conclusion.

"You still have a long way to go, boy."

"...Did you really have to beat your own son so earnestly?"

"Hmph."

The knight who had claimed victory over the cookies showed no interest in the defeated. Instead, he carefully stroked the small cloth pouch, as if afraid the cookies inside might break.

"To think that little thing has grown so much...."

The cookies themselves were unimpressive.

Clearly, this was a child's first attempt at baking, and the clumsy results were undeniable.

But there was no doubt—

Even if these cookies were moldy or laced with poison, these men would eat them all.

And they would savor every bite as if they were the most delicious cookies in the world.

"You have given me a most wonderful gift."

"It wasn’t for free. Now it’s time for you to pay up."

"......."

"If you take something, you have to give something in return."

"...I understand. But, if anything, receiving such a precious gift makes me even more certain—I don’t want you going after that 'pest.'"

"......."

"You’re still young, with a bright future ahead of you. And you weren’t even born in Wales."

So you shouldn’t go.

This war belonged to them.

It wasn’t a battle for an outsider to spill their blood in.

"That sounds like discrimination based on birthplace."

"Haha, no, no, that’s not it...."

Garnok’s voice gradually softened.

As if swallowing his emotions.

As if trying to suppress the ache in his heart.

"It’s because you’re a good person. That’s why I’m trying to stop you."

"......."

"You are our benefactor. A good man. And how could I not try to stop you? You could die—!"

Others, whose spirit vision had yet to fully develop, might not understand.

But Garnok had heard the stories through the ghosts.

Everything this man had done for Mordred.

And it was a debt so great that even if he poured the remainder of his life into repaying it, he could never hope to make it right.

"You saved our poor granddaughter. In place of this wretched old man."

He had heard it all.

What his granddaughter had suffered.

How she had survived.

How lonely and miserable she had been.

...How that child had endured such cruel years.

"You’re blowing this out of proportion. Any decent adult would have done the same."

"But you were the only one who did. You were the only adult who reached out to her."

"...I wasn’t the only one."

Ihan trailed off and shifted his gaze outside the tent.

"Do you really think that little girl survived five years completely on her own?"

"...?"

"There were plenty of decent adults around."

Ihan glanced outside.

The knights, soldiers, and servants still going about their duties.

"A lot of those people out there had families who quietly helped her. That’s why she survived."

"......."

***

It was a simple story.

How could a three-year-old child, suddenly abandoned, survive for five years?

Because of an exceptional survival instinct?

Because she was more intelligent than her peers?

Perhaps those factors played a role, but they were not the deciding factors.

So, what was the real reason she had survived?

—Hey, Santa. Did you know? There’s a fairy that leaves firewood behind whenever winter comes!

A knight’s wife who secretly left firewood and blankets on cold days.

—And when there’s no food, an old granny fairy sneaks in some bread and dried fruit!

A veteran soldier’s mother.

—There’s even a fairy uncle who gave me a fishing rod!

A fisherman who still remembered the kindness of his lord.

For five years, whenever the child was truly in danger, unseen hands reached out to help her.

And because of that, she had grown strong and healthy.

It may have seemed as if everyone had turned their backs on her, as if she had been abandoned.

But whenever she was on the brink, there were always people who quietly stepped forward.

That was why she could still smile.

"You said you want to repay a debt? Don’t pay it back to me—pay it back to them. I was only here for ten days, but they have been looking after your family for five years."

"......."

"That’s a relief. There may be many terrible people in this world, but there are just as many good ones."

"...That’s true. Truly... it is."

Garnok and the rest of Mordred’s bloodline had reddened eyes.

An overwhelming gratitude, too immense to put into words, clenched at their hearts.

Ihan silently observed them for a moment before shifting his gaze to the Margrave, whose expression was on the verge of breaking into tears.

"To be honest, I wanted to punch you."

"......."

"Seriously, how could you just leave a child behind so irresponsibly?"

"......."

"...But it didn’t take me long to figure it out. People who got too close to that little girl—sooner or later, they’d suddenly drop dead. The steward you left in charge died of an unexpected illness. The old man who had been looking after her, a retired knight from your own household, passed away from heart failure not long after."

"...Sir Bine."

"Yeah. His name was Bine. That old man watched over her for three whole years."

...It was something Ihan had discovered during his investigation.

Those who took care of her, or simply got too close, had a disturbingly high tendency to meet sudden accidents.

They would fall ill.

Suffer injuries from seemingly minor mishaps.

It was too frequent to be mere coincidence.

Perhaps the reason the Margrave had not been able to station more people around her was—

"[A curse]. That thing latched onto her."

"......."

"That’s why you kept people away. To minimize the victims."

"......."

"...I heard it from a certain black knight I know. Only people with a special constitution can withstand the presence of gods. And that little girl..."

"A 'vessel'...."

"......."

The Margrave clenched his teeth.

He looked as if he could weep blood.

"Yes. My daughter was arbitrarily chosen by the Land God as a vessel. She is to be a 'vessel' for the god’s descent, and the people of this territory... are meant to be sacrificed as its foundation."

Crack.

"The worst part? Do you know what it is?"

He forced out a bitter laugh.

"We can’t even escape this fate."

"No, even if we tried to run, as long as we were born in Wales, we cannot defy this destiny. In other words—"

—We cannot escape, even if we want to.

"...Because our family, our friends, and our lovers—"

"—are all hostages."