Arc-7 Ch-39

The forest surrounding the elf village felt different from any forest I knew.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on exactly what was different.

For some reason, though, I could tell that the presence of animals and birds was far scarcer than in the forests back in the Bartfort territory.

In a forest this vast, you’d expect it to teem with living creatures. Yet when I stepped inside, all I heard was the faint rustling of leaves brushing against one another.

It carried an eerie feeling, as if something lurking deep within the woods had been watching me the whole time.

Our territory back home might get treated like a tourist spot in the frontier, full of farmland and forests, but even someone as not-particularly-bright as me could see that it was far more developed than this place by comparison.

Feeling a little spooked, I started thinking about heading back to the house where we were staying. My knees weakened for a moment, but I quickly shook my head and pushed that thought away.

Father had told me to stay behind and protect the rest of the family while he headed to the ruins.

Normally, I would’ve jumped at the chance to do that.

Besides, even without me around, plenty of Father’s subordinates were keeping watch around the house. They didn’t really need me there, so it shouldn’t have been a problem at all.

But the moment I thought that far, my mood sank again.

Right now, I felt as gloomy and dim as this forest, where the trees were so overgrown that sunlight barely reached the ground.

My name is Leah Fou Bartfort. I’m the second son of the Bartfort Earl family.

My father, Earl Leon Fou Bartfort, earned his peerage as a newly risen noble after distinguishing himself in the war against the Fanoss Principality before I was even born.

The woman who married him was Angelica Fou Bartfort, the former daughter of the Redgrave Ducal House, which held the largest territory among the feudal nobility in the Holfort Kingdom.

Back then, people apparently gossiped that it was a marriage between an upstart and a problematic young lady with a bad reputation. To me, though, they didn’t seem like that kind of couple at all. Our parents got along incredibly well.

In fact, they might’ve gotten along a little too well. After all, it’s rare to hear of a family where the same mother has given birth to six children, myself included.

Even so, my uncle and aunt who lived on the same floating island had four kids, and Grandfather and Grandmother had five.

Before I knew it, I’d started thinking about my family again. Things had begun to feel awkward, so I’d deliberately distanced myself from Mother and my sisters.

It’s not that I don’t get along with my two younger sisters, and Dylan, who’s quite a bit younger, is an adorable little brother. But differences in gender and age inevitably meant we had fewer shared interests and topics to talk about.

My twin sisters, Roxanne and Melanie, were classic refined young ladies who weren’t very good at sports or martial arts. On top of that, both of them were far smarter than I was, so talking to them somehow made me feel painfully aware of how dumb I was. I didn’t dislike them, but our conversations just never clicked.

As for Dylan, he was less than half my age. We didn’t share any common topics to begin with, and whenever we tried to play together I had to hold back so much that it became exhausting.

Mother was out of the question. Her intelligence and sheer force of personality were overwhelming. She was easily the scariest person in our household.

Even when she got caught up in some incident and her body shrank, that part of her stayed completely unchanged. That just wasn’t fair.

Thinking back on it, I should’ve begged harder and insisted on going along with Father and the others no matter what. But Father had refused to let me come.

My mood sank again as those thoughts circled back.

I stepped outside the house hoping to find something interesting, but it turned out to be pointless.

Unlike the intimidating Mother, Father almost never scolded us. Whenever his work took him to the capital or other territories, he always brought back souvenirs.

Some nobles apparently sneered at Father behind his back, calling him an upstart “Villainous knight” or whatever, but I didn’t let it bother me.

After all, having enemies and rivals fear you enough to give you a nickname was proof of how exceptional you were.

Doesn’t that sound cool to you? In the current Holfort Kingdom, there were hardly any nobles who even had a moniker anymore.

If you thought about the Saintess and the Five Heroes, you’d get an idea of just how impressive that was. To me, Father had always been someone to look up to.

From a young age, everyone around me kept saying that among all the children, I, the second son, had inherited Father’s traits the most and resembled him the closest. That included Grandfather and Grandmother who had raised him, as well as Uncle who had spent time with him.

I’m sure I looked more like Father than Big Brother did. In the Bartfort family, people could usually tell right away whether each sibling took after Father or Mother in looks and personality.

Big Brother, Big Sister, and Roxanne had golden hair like Mother, while Melanie and I had black hair like Father. Even from a distance, the gold and black made it obvious.

So everyone assumed that I, the son who resembled Father the most, would grow up to become just like him.

I grew faster than other kids my age from early on, and I was even able to join military training. I was convinced that Father must’ve had high expectations for me. I never doubted it and kept believing that without question.

But during this whole incident, the only ones allowed to accompany Father were Big Brother and Big Sister.

In fact, even when Father and Mother were permitted to join the dungeon exploration in the elf settlement, the only participants were Big Brother, Big Sister, and her two companions.

I was told to stay in town on standby, stuck with Roxanne, Melanie, and Dylan the entire time.

Surely anyone would feel down about that. It was a rare opportunity, yet my participation wasn’t allowed. No matter how you looked at it, that was just wrong.

Sure, Big Brother and Big Sister had started attending the academy this year and were taking dungeon exploration classes, or so I’d heard.

But it’s not like I’d been lazing around in the territory having fun.

I’d never skipped my daily training, all so that someday I could accomplish feats on the battlefield like Father and become a hero feared by the enemy.

Yet ever since the family arrived here, I’d been consistently denied permission to join Father.

Worse, I’d even been assigned guards with orders to keep me quietly in place, like I was nothing more than baggage.

What the heck? I hadn’t done anything wrong!

Ah, damn it, this is so frustrating.

Father, you idiot! Always flirting with Mother like a fool! You’re supposed to be a lord, yet all you do is leisurely till the fields like some laid-back farmer! Heretical knight!

I curse him like that in my head. It doesn’t really make me feel any better, but at least it lets me vent some of my anger at Father for the moment.

Still, my rage isn’t anywhere close to fading. For now, I wander around the forest looking for something, anything, to take my frustration out on.

There isn’t a single animal worth hunting in sight, and despite all these trees, there aren’t any tasty-looking fruits anywhere either. All that stretches before me is an endless forest.

I’m not that familiar with this place, so if I wander too far and end up lost, I’ll only make myself look like an even bigger fool. Realizing that only makes my anger swell even more.

Suddenly, I feel something under the sole of my boot. When I look down, I see a thick dead branch half-buried in the grass.

I pick it up. It’s close to the same weight and length as the wooden practice sword I always use during training.

I can’t hold back anymore.

I grip the branch tightly, turn toward the nearest tree, and swing it upward with all my strength.

“Oraaaaah!!”

With a yell bursting out of me, I bring the branch crashing down from overhead all the way to around knee height.

I’m not thinking about any of the proper sword forms I learned in training. It’s just a single brute-force swing driven by raw strength.

Thwack!!

The blow lands on the tree trunk, but all it does is leave a faint scratch on the gnarled bark covering its surface.

On the other hand, maybe my grip was off. Even though I was the one doing the hitting, my arm now tingles and throbs painfully.

It almost feels like even this silent tree is mocking me, and that only irritates me more. 

After that, I let my emotions run free and start swinging the branch wildly again and again.

“Hmph! Ei-yah! Tooh!”

I keep smashing the branch at anything that catches my eye. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a tree or just empty air.

I keep swinging my arms and legs until the burning heat in my head and chest finally begins to cool. Sweat pours from my entire body, and my vision spins, but I still force myself to keep moving.

Crack!!

After being battered over and over, the branch finally snaps at its base. With nothing left to swing, I can finally stop my body from moving.

I collapse onto the grassy ground, and the thick scent of grass and earth fills my nose so strongly it almost chokes me.

Our Bartfort territory is already quite rural and surrounded by nature, yet somehow the smell of the grass and soil here feels subtly different.

The forest floor, shaded beneath the dense canopy above, is cool and refreshing. It feels just right against my overheated body.

As I lie here staring blankly, my eyelids naturally begin to droop. When you’ve played as hard as you possibly can and worn yourself out, drifting off to sleep feels incredibly good.

Now that I think about it, there was that time when I fell asleep far from home and caused a huge commotion.

I think it happened before Dylan was born. I had a fight with Big Sister, who I used to play with all the time, and stormed out of the mansion in a huff.

I went to a different part of the forest from the place we usually played in, hid somewhere no one could find me, and before I realized it, I had fallen asleep.

When I didn’t come home even after nightfall, Father and Mother got so worried that they had all the servants searching for me. In the end, they even mobilized the feudal troops because they thought I might have been kidnapped.

That time, not only Mother but even Father, who almost never gets angry, gave me a serious scolding.

Those old memories resurface, and my mood sinks again. My head feels empty, yet the unpleasant memories cling stubbornly and refuse to fade, which is really irritating.

The longer I sit here alone feeling miserable, the more pathetic I start to think I am.

Before I realize it, my closed eyes feel hot and sting with tears. I can’t hold them back anymore, and the moment I open my eyes, the tears begin spilling out.

Once the first tear falls, more and more surge up after it, and I can’t stop them. It’s so frustrating.

I never wanted anyone to see me looking this pathetic.

Thinking I should move somewhere else, I roll over, and a sharp pain suddenly shoots through my chest.

A groan escapes me involuntarily, and I flop face-down onto the ground. Did I have something strange in my pocket?

I retrace my thoughts and hurriedly check inside my clothes. Inside the inner pocket of my shirt, there’s a hard lump of black metal.

It’s a compact self-defense pistol small enough for even a child to carry.

It’s just the right size to fit snugly into an inner pocket, but if you hit a vital spot accurately, it has enough power to take down an adult with ease.

With the rest of the family here, three women and one small child, and even though guards are present, this pistol was secretly lent to me just in case.

The safety is properly engaged, but there’s still a real risk that it could fire if it gets struck against something or dropped.

I’d been so caught up in raging around that I completely forgot I was carrying it. If anyone else had seen me like this, there wouldn’t have been any excuse I could make.

I carefully pull the pistol out, my hands trembling slightly, and inspect it closely. For now at least, the safety seems fine.

The pistol, made of gleaming black steel, looks cool from every angle.

Most nobles like to show off decorative swords meant for swordsmanship or flashy hunting rifles, but personally I love rugged, angular guns and armor like this.

Whenever I join the practical training sessions run by the Bartfort feudal army, shooting practice and piloting drills are always the parts I enjoy the most.

Well, the rounds we use in shooting practice are non-lethal, and there’s always an instructor riding along during piloting drills, so I can’t exactly do whatever I want.

Father may not scold us kids in general, but when it comes to things like this, he’s extremely strict. He never allows us any special treatment just because we’re his children during training.

Suddenly, a bad idea pops into my head.

What I’m holding in my hand right now is a pistol loaded with live ammunition. The nagging Father and Mother aren’t here at the moment.

Isn’t this the perfect chance to fire a gun?

I’m already in a terrible mood. Firing off just one round probably wouldn’t be a big deal.

The moment that thought crosses my mind, my hands begin moving on their own.

I disengage the safety, line up the sights, and place my finger on the trigger. These movements have been repeated countless times during training, and they’re etched into my body so deeply that I don’t even have to think about them.

My target was a single leaf at the tip of a branch on a nearby tree.

Hitting a leaf that swayed even slightly in the breeze would be extremely difficult. If I could pull that off, surely Father would finally acknowledge me.

I focused my mind on landing the bullet right on the target.

As I did, the background noises of the forest gradually faded away, and the leaf in my field of vision seemed to grow larger and larger. It felt like an illusion that made me slightly dizzy.

I steadied my breathing and began to apply pressure to the finger resting on the trigger, yet for some reason I just couldn’t bring myself to pull it.

Father had drilled this into us over and over during every training session.

“Do you have the resolve to kill someone? Do you understand the terror of being killed?”

He never stopped me from joining the feudal army’s training of my own will, but he never gave me any special treatment either.

To begin with, the soldiers in our feudal forces were treated the same whether they came from noble families or were born commoners. Even though I was the lord’s son, the instructors scolded me just like anyone else during drills.

They were strict about weapon maintenance and ammunition management as well. They didn’t hold back during training or actual combat, but in everyday matters they were uncompromising.

If I wasted bullets just to blow off steam or fool around for fun, all that would do was make me look pathetic.

If Father found out I’d done something like that, he’d probably get angry or disappointed. Either way, I really didn’t want that.

“You were told to protect the family. So what exactly are you doing right now?”

If Father ever said something like that to me, I didn’t think I’d ever recover from it.

Apparently, in the military, as long as you followed proper procedures, you were hardly ever punished even if you lost or failed.

Father once told me that even the greatest generals and strategists could lose easily depending on the circumstances, and sometimes they even chose to lose on purpose so they could regroup and start over.

From the moment they were new recruits, soldiers gained experience by repeatedly winning and losing on the battlefield, and that was how they grew into capable military men.

If every failed operation or defeat forced someone to take responsibility, then no one would ever improve and the army would only grow weaker.

“The general of a defeated army stakes his own life in atonement, but this does not apply to the common soldiers.”

That was the sort of thing written in one of the military treatises Father had been reading. To be honest, I only understood about half of it.

Basically, it seemed to say that a proper soldier should never forget the mindset and duties taught by his commanders and instructors, and should always approach his work seriously.

Someone who wandered off alone without telling anyone where he was going, simply to vent his frustrations away from his family like this, couldn’t exactly be called an outstanding military man.

Obviously, there was a huge difference in how people evaluated someone who tried their absolute hardest and still failed versus someone who was half-hearted and failed anyway.

On top of that, since I was the son of the commander, Father, then I had to act in a way that suited that position.

The moment I thought that far, a wave of anxiety washed over me. I needed to hurry back to the family.

“Leah!”

I thought I heard my name being called, and a chill ran down my back. For a moment I wondered if it was some monster lurking in this forest, and my body began to tremble.

Melanie once told me that some monsters imitate the voices of people you know in order to lure their prey into lowering their guard before attacking.

Given how eerie this forest felt, it wouldn’t be strange if some incomprehensible monster like that was hiding here.

It would probably be wiser to run away before any frightening monster could jump out at me.

“Leah!!”

When I strained my ears, the voice calling my name became even louder. It definitely wasn’t a hallucination. It was a voice I knew very well.

Ignoring the owner of that voice would be hundreds of times more terrifying than facing some scary monster.

Why was it that even when her body shrank, her scariness stayed exactly the same?

If I tried to run away now, she would definitely nag me about it endlessly later. Just thinking about that instantly decided what my next move would be.

I mean, really, what choice did I have? If I ranked the things I feared most in this world, she would undoubtedly claim one of the top spots.

No one could defy someone like that once she got started. No one. Not even Father could defeat her.

Still feeling gloomy, I began walking toward the direction of the voice. I was sure I was about to get a lecture.

Just thinking about that made my mood sink even lower. Why wouldn’t Father let me go along with him…?

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The Leah who appeared in front of me wasn’t even trying to hide his dissatisfaction.

He must have been extremely upset about not being allowed to accompany Leon. He radiated an aura that clearly said “don’t talk to me,” even though he still addressed me.

That said, whether that attitude actually worked was highly questionable. Very often, a child’s rebellion was nothing more than a poorly disguised attempt to gain their parent’s attention.

When I was raised as a daughter of the Redgrave Ducal House, I didn’t think I ever really experienced a rebellious phase. Now that I was a parent myself, however, I was beginning to realize just how unusual the ducal household environment truly had been.

Among the six children Leon and I had, the ones who required the most attention were Ariel and Lia, followed by Roxanne.

On the other hand, Lionel and Melanie were comparatively obedient and followed their parents’ guidance. As for our youngest, Dylan, he was still so small that needing extra care was only natural.

Why was it that the children who inherited my personality so often ended up showing a somewhat arrogant side or a fiery temper?

Certainly, I myself couldn’t exactly be called an ideal refined lady when it came to personality. Still, when my own children turned out this rough around the edges, it was difficult not to feel a little self-loathing.

Even so, I couldn’t simply leave my dejected child alone. That was probably just a mother’s instinct.

Normally I was the one who scolded the children while Leon comforted them, but right now I had no choice but to handle this myself.

Children of nobility often grow both physically and mentally faster than commoner children, thanks to their privileged and well-structured upbringing.

Among the children I’ve borne, Ariel and Leah in particular stand out. Compared with others their age, they clearly possess superior physiques and especially excel in physical ability.

However, physical growth and mental maturity don’t always develop in step with one another. Even the eldest two, Lionel and Ariel, are still only fifteen, which means they’re still very young.

Parents play an essential role in the healthy development of a child’s body and mind, yet excessive interference can be harmful as well.

Even after giving birth to six children, each one has turned out with a distinctly different personality. I can easily understand why parents everywhere struggle so much with raising their children.

“Were you crying, Leah?”

“Huh? I wasn’t crying.”

Leah pouts and answers curtly, looking even younger than his appearance would suggest.

That gesture makes a smile slip from me before I realize it. Leah, whose appearance resembles Leon the most, shows traces of his father in nearly everything he does.

I can understand why his grandparents dote on him so much. That said, grandchildren who are excessively spoiled by their grandparents rarely receive a proper education.

Leah in particular often shows an almost obsessive admiration toward Leon, something that borders on fixation. Even from my perspective as his mother, that much is perfectly clear.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with revering one’s father. However, if that admiration leads him to imitate Leon in dangerous ways, then the situation becomes problematic.

Leon’s life is the complicated result of the environment he grew up in, the choices he made, and the circumstances that shaped the outcomes.

Even if Leah attempted to act exactly like Leon, the chances of achieving the same results would be almost nonexistent.

To begin with, no matter how similar their appearances may be, Leah’s personality is completely different from Leon’s.

As Leon’s wife who has stood beside him for more than twenty years, and as the mother who carried and gave birth to Leah myself, I can see the differences between father and son with painful clarity.

“Don’t keep directing all your attention toward Leon. Weren’t you told to protect the family?”

“I already said I understand! You’re being so persistent!”

“No matter where you go, you are Leah Fou Bartfort, not Leon Fou Bartfort. As long as you fail to understand that, acting recklessly will never bring you the results you want.”

“So what, you’re saying Lionel and Ariel do understand?”

“At the very least, both Lionel and Ariel recognize that they are different people from Leon. They attend the Royal Academy and have gained experiences appropriate for their age. Even so, I still cannot completely erase my worries.”

“That’s why you always favor Big Brother and Big Sister! I could do it too if I tried!”

I sense something unstable in the way Leah insists so forcefully.

At the very least, I believe that I love all my children equally. Whether it’s the eldest son destined to inherit the Earldom or a daughter who will likely marry into another house, the amount of love I give them does not change.

However, it is inevitable that the education I provide and the things I grant them will differ according to each child’s personality and aptitude.

This is not discrimination. It is differentiation. Giving children whatever they want without condition is not love, and a distorted form of equality only creates discord within the family.

Especially if Leah seeks Leon’s affection, aims for the position of heir, and ends up competing with Lionel, then as their mother and as the Countess I cannot simply overlook it.

“…Leah, do you want to become the heir?”

“It’s not like I especially want to be the successor. I just want to become like Father.”

“Then as you are now, that’s impossible. Take another careful look at both Leon and yourself.”

“What exactly is wrong with me? Do you know, Mother?”

“Vaguely, yes.”

“Then tell me!”

He looks at me with an earnest and serious expression. It seems he truly means it.

Now what should I do? Even if I explain it to the somewhat impulsive Leah, there’s no guarantee he’ll truly understand my intentions.

Yet leaving him as he is might lead to undesirable consequences. Children often end up taking actions far beyond what their parents anticipate.

This truly is troubling. If my body hadn’t been shrunk, I might have been able to admonish him with firm resolve.

“Leon never wanted to fight, nor did he ever aspire to become a noble. He simply struggled desperately to live, and as a result he became what he is today.”

“So you’re saying I can never become like Father?”

“What you need most right now is growth, both physically and mentally. If you continue hating studying like this, you’ll never become a proper soldier or knight.”

“Ugh, with you it’s always about studying…”

“When we return, you will join Roxanne and Melanie in their discussions.”

“Aaah~ No way, no way.”

Looking at Leah’s utterly disgusted expression right now, he probably still cannot understand what I truly mean.

That can’t be helped. After all, he’s still only a thirteen-year-old child.

The one unexpected thing I gained from this incident was seeing a new side of my own son. Perhaps that alone is enough to take away from it.

Raising children truly is difficult. I once believed that I was, at least on the surface, an exemplary young lady. Perhaps I wasn’t quite as perfect as I thought.

There were more than a few times when I fantasized about what it might have been like if I had been the heir to the Redgrave Ducal House.

As a mother, the only thing I wish for is that my beloved children never face a future where they fight and kill one another over the family succession.

Leah, still unaware of that love of mine, continued wearing the same dissatisfied expression as always.

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Authors Note  

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This was posted to coincide with the release of Dragon Age. It’s a story told from the perspective of Leah-kun, who is currently at that difficult age.

Leah inherited Leon’s appearance but Angelica’s personality. However, his temperament is actually closer to the original Leon rather than the calmer Leon portrayed in this work.

The next chapter will also be from Leah-kun’s perspective, and it is planned to include battle elements. I would greatly appreciate any opinions or impressions. They would truly encourage me moving forward.