MTO C52

Chapter 52

When morning light broke, the Sister excused herself to prepare breakfast. Since Kaidan had sent all soldiers to comb the forest, he had to fetch fresh water himself.

The moment he opened the door to the Headmaster’s room, the orphans swarmed forward in a rush.

“Did Headmaster wake up?”

“Is he better now?”

“Headmaaaster!”

They stood on tiptoe, large eyes shining, not at all afraid of the imposing duke blocking the way. Kaidan firmly closed the door again, putting a finger to his lips. At last, they hushed.

“Sa‑beom‑nim!” (Instructor)

One of the smallest had clutched his trouser leg without fear. After a pause, Kaidan said:

“Your Headmaster needs to rest.”

The children’s shoulders slumped. Kaidan held out his bucket.

“He needs cold water.”

“I’ll go!”

“Me too!”

They scrambled to seize it, running down the hall together. Watching their small backs vanish, Kaidan returned into the sickroom.

Now it was quiet again. He sat by the bed, gazing at Michel’s face damp with heated breath.

Fool.

He recalled what David had reported. Michel had wagered his life for a single starving child—running into the forest in mid‑winter chasing berries that did not even grow. Now he lay dying, and that child would bear this memory of horror forever. No one had gained anything; all had suffered loss.

And yet Kaidan could not bring himself to blame him.

Sweat had drenched Michel’s hair, leaving gray strands plastered to his brow. Gently, Kaidan brushed them aside.

At last, with difficulty, he admitted—

“I was wrong.”

He never thought those words would pass his lips. But rather than humiliation, he felt clarity. The confusion in his chest settled like sand to the bottom of river water.

Kaidan had never believed in God. He had wandered battlefields too long, witnessing atrocities no benevolent power could allow. Likewise, he had dismissed saints. Miracles? Plots of the Church to raise itself high. He himself had paraded this man—trash among men—beneath the title of ‘Saint’ without a shred of guilt, believing it necessary for Valois.

But no imposter would lay down life to keep a promise to a child. No fraud would throw himself before venom for nothing but orphans.

Michel had been reborn into a true Saint.

The realization was painfully simple—and woefully late.

How pitiful. He’d had countless chances: when lightning struck him and he rose again, when David’s reports hinted true change, when villages filled with gratitude for his blessings. Each time, Kaidan had blinded himself, deafened himself. He imagined himself rational, objective—yet he was only a crippled swordsman, swinging at shadows.

Fear had ruled him. Fear of being deceived again, of seeing old tragedies repeat. Now he saw—how wretched he had been.

If he had acknowledged Michel sooner, perhaps this battle with death would not have befallen him.

Half a day had passed since the antidote. Fever flared and fell again, cyclic torment. No prayers nor vigils guaranteed survival. Perhaps, Kaidan thought grimly, Michel would indeed perish, his end dictated by divine plan. Then his brief deeds would be carved in hagiography, his soul rising to hear an angel’s trumpet—a glory beyond measure for any priest.

But.

If he lived once more—if he rose again with miracle—

Kaidan lifted that thin hand and pressed lips to it. Rough soldier’s mouth to smooth saint’s skin. It was confession—the first reverence he had ever given.

He gazed at him intently. Never again would he err a second time.

Drifting in Darkness

‘He’ sank downward into black. Though eyes were open, no light. Though limbs stirred, no movement. Yet it wasn’t frightening. It felt like being swaddled in an endless quilt. Comforting, almost nostalgic.

What had I been doing?

At the thought, images reeled past like film on fast‑forward. Birth, youth, triumph, sorrow, death, rebirth. Tearful laughter, weary smiles. Finally—an image of a stern man looking down at him with fierce eyes.

His name: Kaidan Eglence.

And his own name? Michel… no. Geum Jeong‑oh. No, not that either.

…Then who?

Had he died again? Perhaps. He had fought a monster and lost. That was all. Life always bent toward death. Reincarnation had been the exception. He felt no bitterness. At least this time his end was meaningful.

But memory stabbed—Heart.

The boy whose whole life had twisted because Michel interfered. The boy frozen pale before a monster’s maw.

Was he saved? Surely. Kaidan came. It was close to the orphanage. He must be safe. But why was a monster there at all? Could there be more? What about the others? Tonight was supposed to be their celebration.

Oliver, Alice, Charlotte, Dan, Max, Leon, Heart…

Panic rained like hail over still water. He tried to thrash, but his body was bound. Tried to shout, but the world was silence.

Not yet. Not yet, I can’t leave.

He sank deeper. I don’t want to say goodbye yet.

Then—

Like smoke drawn into a bottle, he was pulled inward. Shell fragments encased him in fetal curl. If he only endured, he could be whole again… part of nature itself, beyond sorrow or joy. The final puzzle piece near to snapping in when—

“Yes. It’s too soon.”

A voice. A hand. Unknown force yanked him upward. The bottle shattered, the egg broke, and breath flooded him like surfacing from deep water.

“Eh?”

No longer darkness—all around blinding white.

Groundless, boundless. Not walking, but floating. It was like standing on a blank canvas, a sky without horizon.

He turned once, slowly.

And there—impossibly—a child appeared. Neither stranger nor familiar. Not one of the seven orphans, not a boy from taekwondo class. Yet achingly known.

“…You’re…”

But memory failed. Male or female? Small or grown? Their face blurred, yet intimately close.

“Long time no see,” the child said warmly.

Michel faltered. “…Have we met before?”

The child smiled gently, not hurt.

“I wished to see you. So I called you here.”

“…Where is here?”

“Sorry to drag you into this. But only you were fit.”

Cryptic words. He opened his mouth to ask again, but the child stretched a hand to his brow. Strange—suddenly they were the same height.

How? This small child towering equally?

“A gift. So you won’t lose your way.”

The touch radiated light, warmth seeping into every limb. At the same time, the child grew larger—or perhaps Michel himself shrank.

“Wait a moment—”

“Child, you are the one I love.”

Odd, to be called child by a child. But he did not laugh. His heart knotted. He reached desperately, but the figure drifted away, dissolving.

From their fingertips the light spread, devouring all, until he could not open his eyes against the brilliance.

“Whatever happens, never forget this.”

The last words echoed with faint laughter—then there was nothing.

Time to awaken.