Chapter 62

House of Mercy (3)

A girl who had lost her parents in war had a younger brother.

He was a beautiful and kind boy.

To her, he was family, a lover, and a child all at once.
She would do anything for him.
Truly anything—
no matter how hard, how dirty, or how humiliating.

And then, one day,
she realized she had a talent for mental magic.
With that ability, she began a life as a mercenary.

She extorted money from passersby and carried out assassinations using magic.
Her life gradually fell into ruin, but thanks to that, her younger brother grew up without lacking anything.

There was only one thing she wished for—
that her brother would live a happy life, lacking nothing.

…

To meet a lovely woman, fall in love, have children, build a family,
and live a peaceful life—one that would never be taken or trampled.

But she overlooked one thing.

Her brother was a boy.
And boys become men.

That was the tragedy.

Her brother turned to theft and murder.
He went to war and pillaged.
He raped and killed the women taken as spoils of war.
Such a miserable life was passed down—
just as it had been before their father died.

As time passed, her brother grew older—
and uglier.

He became a hairy, wrinkled, foul-smelling man.
The beautiful boy he once was disappeared without a trace.
Only an ugly man remained.

And that ugly man, while serving as a mercenary in some territorial war,
was struck by an arrow and died.
At the moment the war horn sounded, an arrow flew and pierced his brow clean through.

A futile and ugly death.

“That’s when I made my decision. I would never let that tragedy happen again. I saved beautiful boys from the fate of becoming ugly. There is no holier act than this. This is salvation.”

Though under mental domination, the head nun continued speaking, offering thoughts Isaac hadn’t even asked for.
Her voice grew increasingly heated.

“The tragedy of life is that by the time you realize it, it’s already too late. It makes me unbearably sad to see beautiful boys turn into monsters in this cruel world.”

Behind the iron door, countless glass spheres were displayed.
The severed heads of boys—those were her “works.”

With a sense of mission, she abducted boys, drugged them, bound them to the worktable, and cut off their heads.
She sincerely prayed for their “salvation,” then treated the remains and sealed them in glass spheres filled with preservative fluid.

“Only a world full of uncorrupted potential exists here. This is beauty! This is art, child!”

At that moment, the nun’s eyes flashed blue.

Overcome by emotion at the sight of her “works,” she broke free of Isaac’s mental domination on her own.
To her, it must have felt like finding a lighthouse in a dark, endless sea.
Her conviction and sense of purpose had guided her out.

But to Isaac, it was absurd.
Just how strong was that twisted belief, to break even mental control?

“Then what about boys who aren’t beautiful? The ugly ones?”
“What does it matter what happens to them? It’s no tragedy for something ugly to become uglier.”
“That’s… honest.”
“Don’t worry. You are exceptionally beautiful. I will make you into a flawless masterpiece.”

“You already forgot what happened when you tried something earlier?”
“I was simply careless then. I didn’t realize your mind was that strong.”

Fwoosh!

“But now, it will be different.”

Flames rose from the fingertips of the nun, whose eyes had regained focus.

“Fire magic really is the easiest, huh.”

Isaac shook his head with a hint of pity.
Despite having formed two mana circuits, her mana perception was pitiful.
She thought Isaac had resisted her mental magic purely through willpower.

It reminded Isaac once again just how extraordinary Enette had been—
she had sensed mana instantly and successfully gathered it in one attempt.

“But are you sure about this? All your carefully made ‘artworks’ are here.”

Isaac deliberately picked up one of the displayed glass spheres.

“Don’t touch that!”
“Let’s see… how long did it take you to make something like this?”

The nun shouted, but the sphere slipped from Isaac’s hand.

Crash!

The glass shattered into pieces.
The severed head rolled out along with the preservative liquid.

“Sorry. My hand slipped.”

“Y-you… worse than a beast…!”
“This one looks interesting too.”

Isaac picked up another sphere.
The nun’s face flushed red and blue with rage,
but she couldn’t move recklessly.

Her precious “artworks” were at risk of being destroyed.

“Still, decorating severed heads with gold leaf and jewels… this doesn’t look like mere art.”
“Child, if you don’t put that down, I will tear you to pieces.”

“Got someone powerful backing you?”

Isaac’s reasoning was simple.
From what the nun had confessed under mental control, she was a mage mercenary.
The cost of building a facility like this, feeding and housing dozens of boys, acquiring drugs, and decorating everything with precious metals—
there was no way a mere 2nd-class mage mercenary could afford it.

Even the glass spheres displayed behind the iron door numbered in the dozens.
Without wealthy patrons or clients, this would be impossible.

“Marquis Dietrich?”
“I’ll tell you. So put that down, and let’s talk.”

The nun put on her usual gentle expression again,
though the trembling in her cheeks betrayed her.

“You look like you’ll burn me alive the moment I do.”

At Isaac’s remark, the flames in her hand vanished.

“There. Now… it’s fine, right? Put it down. I won’t harm you.”

“Alright. I’ll throw it—catch. One, two…”

Isaac held the glass sphere with both hands and bounced it up and down.

The nun’s head followed it up and down in sync.

“Three—”

Isaac threw the sphere.

As the nun reached out to catch it,
her vision went black.

Isaac’s fist had struck her squarely.

Crash—

Once again, the sound of shattering glass echoed.

Enraged, the nun tried to gather mana at her fingertips to cast a spell,
but she wasn’t given the chance.
A flying kick sent her rolling across the floor.

“Tragedy? Beauty? Salvation? What a joke.”

The nun slammed into the wall and lost consciousness.

“What do you know… about what these kids could have become?”

Isaac’s voice trembled slightly.

He quietly looked at the severed heads, lying as if asleep.

In the cold underground chamber, it was a grotesque and chilling sight—nothing but heads remaining.
But what Isaac felt was something entirely different.

Looking at them—no longer boys, but objects—
his chest ached.

Or perhaps it was anger.

It might have been the fleeting regret of an old man—
like the blurred resentment of someone who had lost his youth in a dark vault.

He had returned to a past that should never have come again,
but this present—knowing everything that lay ahead—
was not the same as the past he had once lived, ignorant of it all.

The Isaac of his previous life—the boy, the young man—was dead.
He had withered away within the possibilities of a different life that might have been.

But because he had gone all the way to the end,
he could now strive again from the starting point.
To reconcile with himself.
To forgive himself.

In a world where it was natural for the strong to take not only what the weak had, but even their chances—
even so, what the nun had done was utterly unforgivable.

No matter how ugly or miserable life might become,
there are things you can only know by seeing it through to the end.

Choosing that path—
that belongs to the individual.

And defining oneself by that choice—
that, too, belongs to the individual.

Isaac drew the dagger he had taken from a mercenary.
Taking the nun’s life would be an easy thing.

But instead, he sheathed it again.

Dealing with her was not his role.

“Hey. Wake up.”

Isaac roused the unconscious nun.

—

The giant wolf and the young swordsman left a deep impression on the mercenaries.

“Damn it…”

Eleven.

That was the number of comrades who had fallen without even properly clashing blades.
Half of them were dead, the other half incapacitated.

There were still more than twenty mercenaries left,
but not a single one of them dared to step forward recklessly.

The swordsman’s back was guarded by a massive wolf,
and the swordsman himself looked capable of taking on ten opponents at once.
There was not the slightest hesitation or disruption in his movements.

The experienced mercenaries understood instinctively.

The reason they had avoided lucrative battlefields,
the reason they had instead chosen to guard an orphanage—

was no different from the appearance of that swordsman.

They were now facing a real knight.
Whether he used aura or not didn’t matter.

He was already a monster.

“If you’re not going to attack, then step aside.”

Though he looked like a mere green youth,
his swordsmanship was anything but.

The mercenaries only exchanged uneasy glances.
If they charged, they’d lose their lives.

But if they retreated, they feared the marquis.
If they ran, the marquis would put a bounty on their entire company.

“What’s that?”

Amid the tense standoff, one mercenary suddenly spoke.
He wasn’t looking at the gate where the swordsman and wolf stood—
but toward the inside of the building.

“…Ah, shit.”

The mercenary captain cursed.

Dozens of presences.
Through the corridor windows, what appeared was a swarm of children rushing out.
Judging by their naked state, they had escaped from the basement.

“Catch those brats!”
“Ghk—!”

The captain shouted instinctively,
but realized too late that this wasn’t the time.

In the moment of distraction, another mercenary fell.

“If even a single one of your men lays a finger on those children, you all die where you stand.”

Before he knew it, a blade was already at the captain’s throat.

The swordsman had moved faster than he could even perceive.

“Everyone stop! Leave the children alone!”
“What are you talking about? The marquis—”
“If you want to live, do as I say!”

The captain roared.

Meanwhile, the children rushed past the mercenaries and out through the main gate.
Some staggered, barely able to walk.
Some cried.
Others ran as if desperate to escape this place as fast as possible.

Among them, Carlson spotted two boys with reddish-brown hair and green eyes.
Terrified, they didn’t notice him and simply headed toward the gate.

That was enough.
There was no need to acknowledge the Randolph brothers and give the mercenaries leverage.

“You’re here.”

Amid the fleeing children, Carlson saw a familiar boy.
Isaac, dragging the bloodied head nun along, had come outside.

“Hindi…?”

The mercenary captain looked back and forth between Isaac and the nun, stunned.

“Still want to continue?”

Carlson asked.

With a blade at his throat, how many mercenaries would still show resolve?
Nothing was more important than life.

The captain shook his head.

“Then get lost.”

Carlson withdrew his blade.

“The marquis won’t let this slide.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“…We’ll withdraw.”

The captain avoided Carlson’s gaze.

“Move out!”
“We’re really leaving like this?”
“We leave the city today.”

At the captain’s command, the mercenaries grimaced.

They had been earning a hefty sum just guarding a suspicious orphanage.
Now, overnight, they were losing that job.

“There are twenty-three of us, and only three of them—”

Smack!

The captain slapped the mercenary across the face.

“If you want to fight, do it alone, idiot. There are twenty-three of us—and three monsters on their side. Are your eyes just decoration? No… it’s your brain that’s useless.”

Once the mercenaries withdrew, only the children—still under lingering mental influence—remained in the orphanage.
The staff had already fled when Carlson and the hellhound arrived.

“You took your time.”

Carlson spoke with a hint of complaint,
though his expression wasn’t particularly bad.

“There were things I needed to find out. Did you see the Randolph brothers?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Good work.”

Isaac patted the hellhound, who nudged its head against him.
Sensing that everything was over, the beast leapt over the wall and disappeared.

“Who is this woman?”
“The head of this place.”
“Then this…?”

Amid the chaos, Carlson noticed something he hadn’t seen before.
A glass sphere inside a golden cage.
Inside it floated the severed head of a boy,
with petals drifting around it.

“This isn’t magic… and it’s not sculpture either. That’s a real human head.”
“…I see.”

Even Carlson, who rarely reacted to anything, needed a moment to process it.

But there was no time to explain everything.

“Someone’s coming.”

At Carlson’s words, Isaac nodded.

Two presences approached.

They were different from the mercenaries.
The mana they emitted openly felt like a warning—

Know your place and run.

“One of them is definitely an aura user… the other… I can’t tell.”

Isaac muttered.

One was clearly a powerful aura user.
Even from a distance, their mana felt sharp.

But the other—
he couldn’t read at all.

That person possessed an overwhelming amount of mana,
yet it didn’t feel like something contained within a human body.
It felt more like raw, natural mana itself.

Like the dense mana that filled a demonic realm.

“We should be careful.”

Carlson gripped his sword.

They were close enough now to hear footsteps.
Two figures appeared along the birch-lined path.

And then—

they spoke first.

“Huh? Young master?”

Pallich tilted his head, arriving alongside a mysterious woman.