MTO C40

Chapter 40

The deranged father, who had staggered so close to Michel’s face, suddenly collapsed flat at his feet.

“Oh angel of heaven, please—please take me away! Take pity on this wretch, deliver me…”

Clutching at Michel’s legs, he pressed his lips desperately against the saint’s shoes. Up close, his face was drowned in tears. His back was so gaunt that the ridges of his spine jutted out like sharp rocks; unhealed wounds marred his skin everywhere, surely self‑inflicted.

Colin, rushing out into the yard in panic, tried to pull him upright.

“Father, stop this! You mustn’t—”

“Begone, demon! How dare you wag your filthy tongue before such a holy being!”

“Fath—gah!”

“Colin!”

The old man grabbed a fistful of dirt, throwing it into his son’s face. As Michel seized his arms to stop him, the man switched, slamming his forehead upon the ground.

“Forgive me, O angel, forgive me… forgive me, forgive me!”

Kaidan grimaced deeply. This was the worst state he had ever seen in such a madman. How had Colin not fled long ago with his mother?

Surely now Michel would retreat. Even having comforted the tortured son and dared meet his afflicted father, that alone would make people call him a holy saint. And with knowledge that the Church branded such souls “sinners,” he would have grounds to recoil in disgust—and no one would blame him.

Instead, Michel bent down, still smiling.

“Hello, father. I heard you wished to meet me.”

He stripped off his own cloak, draping it gently over the man’s nakedness. Even when raptor‑like hands clutched him tight, Michel never flinched.

“I have waited for you! Take this wretch’s life away!”

“You’ll catch cold like this. It’s freezing outside. Let’s go in and talk—Colin, is that all right?”

“…Yes, yes.”

“Come then, up we go—one, two!”

With Colin’s help, Michel lifted the trembling man and brought him inside the shabby hut. Left behind in the snowy yard, Kaidan felt peculiarly foolish.

Though the father shouted abuse at his son, though madness clouded his eyes, still he obeyed every word Michel spoke. Worse—he could not bear being parted from him. The moment Michel even stepped away, he shrieked, broke into fits. Michel had no choice but to remain close.

So it was Michel who bathed away the filth with warm cloth, Michel who clothed his skeletal frame. Neither Colin nor Kaidan could go near without sparking hysteria.

Even laid to bed, the man clung hard to Michel’s hand, rambling incoherently. To Kaidan’s ear, it was the nonsense of a lunatic. Yet Michel never silenced him. He listened attentively, nodding, answering gently as though hearing wondrous tales.

And since the father never moved to harm him, Kaidan stood back and watched. He waited to see when Michel would give up. But the night deepened, stars pricked the sky, and still Michel sat there, unshaken at the madman’s side.

When the old man’s eyes fluttered, weariness at last pulling them closed, Michel whispered, “May God’s blessing be with you.”

Peace softened the mad face. At last, his gaze wandered to his son.

“Colin.”

“Yes, father.”

“See you in heaven, my boy.”

Contrary to the chaos they had endured, the man now slept quietly, free from pain. The dark, damp hut echoed only with his steady breaths—and Colin’s muffled sobs.

“Thank you for coming to this wretched place. For me and my father… it is the greatest of gifts. I will never forget.”

Colin bowed repeatedly as they departed. Yet Kaidan uneasily felt the problem had not changed a whit. For all today’s comfort, the youth remained shackled by his sick father.

“If you need work, come to Eglence Castle. I’ll see you given a post.”

Colin’s eyes widened, but he shook his head.

“I am grateful, but I cannot leave my father to work far away.”

“…What if I send the ducal physician?”

“Truly kind, sire—but it would not help. He suffers delusion‑sickness. It cannot be cured.”

Indeed, Kaidan already knew such illness was deemed incurable. His words had only been to ease Colin, who suffered unjustly by birth. To have one’s very father be one’s burden… that was cruelty itself.

Once, in his youth, Kaidan had thought power enough to kill his father would solve everything. Now, with more power than his father had ever held, he still discovered countless wrongs no sword could strike away. Such cases left him at a loss.

“Will you be all right, alone? Tomorrow, when he wakes and finds me gone, my father may lose his wits again.”

Michel hesitated, reluctant to leave, perhaps even considering sleeping there himself.

“I can manage. Just the fact you came today brought us strength.”

Colin smiled, weary but proud. Yet Michel’s face only knit tighter with concern.

“But—”

“Truly. What you gave today—your presence, his blessing—it was real salvation.”

So Colin reassured him. Words that stilled Michel, leaving him silent. Kaidan looked sideways at him, wondering what storm of thoughts lurked behind those violet eyes.

“Thank you, both of you.”

In the end, they left with little to offer but gratitude in their ears.

On the ride back to the castle, Michel was unusually silent. His gaze fixed outward through the carriage window at nothing but shadowed dark, as the sun had long set.

Strangely, the silence itself unnerved Kaidan. Always he had wished for Michel to hold his tongue and act the dignified saint—yet now, in quiet, he felt restless, even parched. He found himself studying the man’s reflection in the glass, unsettled. Why did he feel this way? He did not know. Only that he disliked it.

“What are you thinking of?”

“…Eh?” Michel startled, slow to answer. Kaidan did not repeat, but only fixed him with heavy eyes. Pressured, Michel sighed and at last confessed.

“I only thought… if only I could perform greater miracles. How different everything might be. Maybe then, I’d be of true help to you, Brother Kaidan.”

He laughed awkwardly, embarrassed at the admission.

So—he knows his own inadequacy? Kaidan was surprised. Or was it yet more ploy for sympathy? If so, he should scoff. Deride him.

But he found he could not.

“You did well enough today.”

The words slipped free of their own will.

“You recited without error. You mingled well with the villagers. None doubts you’re a saint. For Colin too—simply meeting his father beside you eased them both. That was no small thing.”

Why am I defending him? He is falsehood incarnate. All his words, his deeds, surely but performance.

And yet… each thing he did felt worthy. Was that false also? Kaidan could not tell.

Hadn’t he been about to praise him, before the commotion? Even a commander must reward a subordinate who fulfills a task well. And the truth, plain and undeniable, was that today Michel had seemed—for all the world—like a real saint.

“…Thank you.”

Michel blinked, staggered as if never expecting such words. Yet he did not smile. For some reason, that vexed Kaidan. Why should he want him to smile?

Before silence could return, Kaidan grasped at another thread.

“You cared for him deftly. Have you met such patients before?”

“Mm… not ones with delusion‑sickness. But—my friend’s father was very ill.”

A friend? Kaidan recalled the names listed in David’s report—drunken louts, gamblers. Could he mean them, calling such wrecks “friends”?

No—Michel added more quietly:

“He was from the same orphanage as me.”

That gave Kaidan pause. He hadn’t heard that detail from David. His attention sharpened.