MTO C41

Chapter 41

So Michel, too, had spent his childhood in the Valois orphanage?

His features, however, did not resemble the broad, rugged lines typical of northerners. Perhaps he came from elsewhere. Priests assigned as orphanage directors were chosen at random from any diocese, after all.

“My friend’s father returned to the orphanage when his son was grown. He said they could finally live together again.”

Kaidan leaned in. He wanted to hear Michel’s youth—but instead, Michel spoke of a friend unknown to him. Still, it was preferable to silence, so he listened.

“But later that father took a loan—under the boy’s very name.”

“…Trash.”

Kaidan’s face soured. He had suspected such. Why else reappear, except for exploitation? Once again, proof that people’s nature never changed. His convictions only hardened.

“It was hard on my friend. But eventually he worked and repaid all the debts. Isn’t that amazing?”

“I see.”

Michel gave a small, wistful smile, but it didn’t linger long.

“Just when he thought he could finally breathe… his father fell gravely ill.”

“…”

“So my friend still spends his days nursing him, just like Colin.”

The more he heard, the more distasteful it became. An unfit father who cast away his child, leeched from him, and now lingers in sickly torment… nothing pitiable about it. It was only fitting wages of sin.

But to drag his son into that punishment—forcing him to labor and wither beside him—there was no justice in that. Better such a man fall quickly into the dirt, returning to dust. God’s “mercy”—a hollow lie.

Kaidan clicked his tongue.

“It would have been better had he never returned at all.”

“Yes. It’s hard not to think so.”

Kaidan’s brows drew together. There was a shade in Michel’s voice as if he only pretended agreement.

“But…” Michel hesitated, then admitted softly:

“…When his father first came back, I was… jealous.”

“…”

“To have someone remember him, seek him out, even if it’s a shameful, despised parent…”

The clatter of hooves filled the carriage, a slow cadence between spaces in his voice. The lantern’s crimson glow washed Michel’s face, shadowing it. His violet eyes, usually so lit, sank heavy.

Kaidan half thought he would break into tears. He had no idea how to console anyone—weeping people made him awkward. Was he expected to comfort him? Or was all of this simply one more play for pity?

Did I… actually believe him?

No. He still distrusted everything from his lips.

And yet why did he find himself hoping Michel would not cry? Why did he suddenly think of the handkerchief folded inside his coat pocket?

It was maddening.

But Michel only raised his head. To Kaidan’s surprise, he was not crying. He met his eyes and even smiled faintly, as though he knew every thought in Kaidan’s skull.

“Of course it hurts to see my friend struggle. But I think I understand why he didn’t abandon his father even when others told him to.”

“And what reason is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Loneliness is harder than hunger. Being alone… it’s unbearable.”

That answer grated against Kaidan like grit in a wound. The friend should have left long ago. Who would condemn him? He clung not from affection, but useless guilt. If lonely, he could mingle with others. To keep serving such a father was meaningless torment.

Colin was no different. Why remain, chained to a father all but cast as a sinner? Kaidan wished he had forced the boy away, pried him from that shack.

Michel spoke as if parents were something magical. He knew nothing. If he had lived even one day with a truly monstrous father, he would realize how stupid those words were.

And yet—Kaidan understood him. The word edged itself into his chest: loneliness. To feel cut off from all the world, burning inside but frozen flesh, a sense he knew too well.

He despised that he sympathized.

Michel quieted, lips pressed in thought, solemn for once.

Kaidan remained silent. The more he conversed, the more his hatred diluted into pity, into hesitant kinship. That was dangerous. This man was, after all, a brutal sinner who had beaten helpless wards. Show vulnerability, and he would strike like a viper.

The reason Michel seemed like a perfect saint today was only because Kaidan had watched his every move. He held villagers’ hands, stroked children’s hair—all as performance, a mask tailored to deceive the Duke. Colin’s father too—had Kaidan not been present, surely Michel would have bolted at first sight.

Yes, it was all an act…

Kaidan dragged rough fingers over his face. The more he thought, the more clouded his heart became.

The carriage halted. They had already reached Eglence Castle.

“Brother.”

As Kaidan stepped down, Michel called. The shadows over his eyes were gone, replaced with a look almost steely, decisive.

What new words now? To Kaidan’s dismay, he felt a dark flicker of fear of what might come.

“I have a favor to ask.”

Ah. So that was it. A request for money to pay his debts. Predictable. All this charity was only preamble for this moment.

“Speak.”

Before the festival, Kaidan had sworn not to lift a finger to help him hide behind false virtue. But tonight, he felt different. Just this once, he would allow it—his reward for performing his role so well. Many chances remained to rip the mask away.

And he wondered, perversely curious, how Michel would justify himself this time.

“My request is…”

Early dawn. A carriage bearing Saint Michel departed the fortress. Kaidan did not see him off in person. He merely watched from his study window.

The previous night, he had urged him to rest at the castle, but Michel had bluntly refused. From the moment they arrived he had clamored to return at once to the orphanage. Holding him even one night was the most Lawrence could manage. Indeed, the Saint had risen before dawn demanding departure, worsening Lawrence’s headaches.

Through the glass Kaidan watched him grinning and waving as he left. No need for Kaidan to appear—already the knights and servants had gathered to bid him farewell. They smiled warmly, though all with reluctant expressions. As if forlorn that their whimsical guest was leaving. Perhaps he had brushed his syrup not only on apples but on their hearts.

“Safe return, Saint!”

“Come back and visit soon!”

Only when the carriage wheels vanished from sight did Kaidan let the curtain fall.

On his desk lay a crude drawing, resembling a human only barely. A child’s doodle, messy and uneven.

Yet the artist was none other than a Saint.

“Please… find this child for me.”

To Kaidan’s surprise, Michel had asked not for coin.

“A child?”

“Yes. He looks like this—”

Just before stepping into the carriage, Michel had handed him the drawing he carried close to his chest. The sketch was so poor Kaidan thought it a joke. But the boy’s face was grave in earnest.

“He looks different from others. But no matter what, you mustn’t harm him. Be kind—always. I don’t know his exact whereabouts, but he is in the North. Perhaps you could print posters, like for the relief festival?”

Did he truly believe he could find anyone from this kind of scrawl? Kaidan found it ludicrous—but Michel’s unshaken voice disarmed all mockery. He said it with such conviction that Kaidan could not dismiss it.