My story, a story about the life I have lived.
The footsteps of my life that I have walked. The traces I have left behind.
The bonds I have formed, the precious people I have sent away, the lives of others that I had to erase with my own hands.
All the dirty and murky battles I have experienced, the brutal days when I was pushed to my limits.
I, I, I, I, I….
Everything had to be told from my perspective.
In the past, I never found it strange. Because it was my experiences. It was a story about my life, and ultimately, wasn’t everything that happened a result of the decisions I made?
Even now, my thoughts may not be much different. However, at least compared to before, a significant change has come to me.
At that time, it couldn’t be helped. I had to survive. I had to live so that I could perform emergency treatments and bring the injured back from the brink of death. I had to live first.
The world of the Empire in the 20th century was going insane. I couldn’t stop the flow of the world, the immense waves of modern human history.
At that time, it was like this. Back then, it was like that.
Excuses, excuses, excuses.
From beginning to end, this time it was a continuous series of excuses. Am I the one who has gone insane, or is this world the one that has gone crazy?
I have lived my life, this life given to me, the countless results of accidents decided by the choices I made…. In other words, my memories.
I swam over my memories. The waves that formed within that were my breath, my inhalation.
As the people I cherished more than anything began to fade away one by one, the pain, the suffering, the salt added to the wounds of being unable to do anything. While enduring those, there was one thing I held onto stubbornly, a determination that I could not lose to anyone.
That first bond was with the person I was closest to, a figure who was like a brother, who had spent the most time with me in my first unit, Cesar. Sergeant First Class in the Imperial Defense Force, Cesar Li.
The time I spent with him was exactly two years. For two years, we shared meals together, friends who shared each other’s pains and filled in each other’s deficiencies.
With every meeting, there comes a farewell. I had to leave the unit I had grown fond of and transfer to another unit.
And then, my second and my first.
What gave me courage was the second bond I formed after Cesar.
Someone who understood me, embraced me, cherished me, genuinely cared for me, wiped my tears, and made me forget the pain brought by our losses and emptiness… the first to knock on the door of my heart with the emotion of love I sincerely respect.
Helena. Intermediate Priest, Helena. Helena. Helena….
I repeated that name many times. Like eating a handful of salt, I was left with a taste that was salty, faintly bitter in my mouth. It was the flavor of painful loss.
If I spent two years with Cesar, the precious time with Helena, where we leaned on each other and did not lose hope, lasted three years. I do not intend to merely compare them.
These two people built trust with me over the years. No matter how I approached them, they always greeted me with a smiling face, understanding and supportive bonds.
If by now, none of those two bonds remain.
If those two lifelines, which were almost everything I had, have all frayed and broken.
Like a tale from long ago, if I failed to survive while riding on a lifeline sent down from the heavens and ended up falling endlessly with the line breaking. If beneath me, a tiger lay waiting to swallow me whole.
…
When you meet someone you’ve never encountered before, you become somewhat acquainted, at least recognizing their face.
When you meet that person a second time, you then become acquainted enough to know their name.
When you meet for the third time, you share contact details or home addresses for letters.
From then on, the fourth, fifth, tenth, twentieth….
Finally, after meeting a hundred times, you either become best friends with that person or, if in a romantic context, begin to awaken to the relationship. In other words, love starts to sprout.
We call this fate. A true manifestation of time and effort created through dozens, hundreds, or perhaps thousands of meetings.
However, if it is a bond destined by fate.
Then, can we form a bond with someone in just one meeting…?
….
If so.
How far can you degrade yourself to protect that person with whom you formed a bond from that one encounter?
Money? Honor? Power? Family?
If you dig a little more bluntly, how about a part of your body? A single arm, a single leg, perhaps even an ear, or would you cut off a finger?
There may be people who could. Of course, it is possible.
Unfortunately, I was not one of those people.
Helena, who became my bond with just that one encounter, was someone I could not trade for a fortune.
At the time, I couldn’t explain it. Creating a bond in a slaughterhouse is easy, but it is also easy to lose that bond.
I didn’t think the relationship with Helena was as deep as I now consider it to be. That was my mistake.
At the very least, I should have expressed my true feelings.
But I could not.
And then, Helena died.
That winter, the few bonds I had connected with dwindled to single digits.
The following spring, the slaughter stopped.
That summer, ceasefire negotiations were conducted.
That autumn, I was stationed in a nameless city of elves to maintain order in the occupied territories.
The following year, in late summer, I finally became a free man.
I went to the Holy Empire. Most military priests went there, and I wanted to properly honor Helena’s death in return for the promise of receiving the appropriate rites for it, along with honoring Helena, who had been ordained as an intermediate priest.
In the beginning, the Empire sent most military priests to the Holy Empire. Even if I did not wish to go, I would have had no choice.
War is a frantic struggle for survival, where an enemy I do not know strives to kill me, and I strive to kill that enemy. It was not a “fight” where people punch each other, breaking noses and tearing skin, where, if things go wrong, one ends up dead, but simply “slaughter” to kill.
Murder, in any circumstance, is a crime. It is not taken lightly by religion either.
Religion has gradually transformed to fit the tastes of people over the ages. Unlike in ancient times when committing murder would lead to extreme punishment with no questions asked, military priests conscripted to the battlefield begged for forgiveness under the guise of “reconversion.”
If one committed murder, one begged for forgiveness for having to do so. If a soldier died due to one’s insufficient skills in treating injuries, one begged for forgiveness for that lack. If one’s poor judgment led to an ally’s death, one begged for forgiveness for that foolish judgment.
And if one was filled with rage because an ally died while sharing hardships and acted violently against the enemy beyond necessity, then surely, such a person would also have begged for forgiveness for that.
Even at that time it was ridiculous, and reflecting on it now, it is laughable, but that is the way the world has always been. As I mentioned before, I could not confront the enormous flow that pierced through the world.
And so, without further ado, I went to the Holy Empire. I only thought of deluding myself into obtaining the fantasy of healing the pain of loss I had experienced there and washing away the blood on my hands.
Reality was different. Because it was located deep inside the territory of the Empire, it was a safe Holy Empire not swept away by the flames of war.
The Holy Empire is a city-state governed by a religious system. If one were to find a similarity, it would be akin to the Vatican City back on Earth, where I once lived.
With a strong religious tint, the territory is extremely small. Mr. Grezio, residing on 3rd Street of St. Paul Avenue, knows Mr. Luciano, who lives on the opposite side of the Holy Empire. The community within the society of the Holy Empire is very narrow. It means that everyone knows everyone.
Naturally, the society of the Holy Empire leans very conservatively. For them, religion is a compass that points the direction of life and a guide to living a proper and better life.
…Is there really any need to continue?
The conservative citizens of the Holy Empire unleashed raw arrows of condemnation toward the murderers who got off the train.
Those criminals, who had to kill to survive, bowed their heads in silence under their accusations.
I was one of them.
*
Chloe tightly closed her mouth. Only the clattering noise filled the cabin, and the chilly air coming through the window made the space feel unbearably cold.
Professor Antorelli’s story had come to an end. However, she could find no words to add to his remarks.
Chloe also understood that Professor Antorelli had an exceptional past. She knew that he might have lost someone precious, that he visited the hospital once a month on weekends, and that he even took time off during weekdays to visit the hospital if the situation allowed. All of that was well-known to her.
And Chloe was not a superhuman. She was neither particularly clever nor a genius.
One cannot make a sardine pie with just sardine tails. You cannot sprout a seed with just a drop of water, nor can you feed five thousand people with just a piece of bread. Such things are not possible without the miraculous interventions described in the scriptures.
The same goes for assumptions. Chloe simply had too little information about Professor Antorelli. It was so shallow that it might as well have been nonexistent.
Who would think that the moisture barely dampening the floor was a deep puddle?
Although Chloe knew fragmented circumstances about Professor Antorelli, she did not know a single thing about his past.
It wasn’t that she never had that curiosity. Every time Professor Antorelli displayed remarkable classes as if he had transcended everything, as if he had comprehended all aspects of life, she couldn’t help but wonder, “What on earth has he experienced to reach such a state?”
However, she had never felt disappointed because he did not open up about his past.
And the reason may be that she secretly feared this moment would come.
“…”
So, when such a moment unexpectedly crashed in at a truly unanticipated timing.
Chloe chose silence instead. She had neither the courage nor the thought to speak rashly.
What words could console him? What words could lighten the atmosphere? What eloquent phrases could fill Professor Antorelli’s hollow eyes with vitality?
Chloe, with her age and inexperience, found it too difficult to comprehend. She could not compare with Professor Antorelli, who had experienced the life’s trials.
The crux was that their levels did not match. As someone who had not endured the same pain of loss, she could not easily empathize with his suffering.
While Chloe stood frozen, unable to react, it was Professor Antorelli, still looking out the window, who spoke first.
“The reason I’m going on this trip to the Holy Empire is also because of that. I want to face my past once again.”
“…If you face it, won’t it hurt?”
“It will hurt. It will hurt immensely.”
“Then why…?”
“Even so, that is no reason to avoid it. Life is like that.”
Chloe could not resonate with even that.
It felt miserable. Why was it that she could not empathize at all?
They say that pain diminishes when shared, so why couldn’t she share in Professor Antorelli’s pain?
“Why are you telling me this…?”
Ultimately, Chloe asked in a trembling voice. There was too much that she couldn’t understand.
Professor Antorelli then shifted his gaze to her. His dim eyes fully contained Chloe.
“…At least, I hope you won’t regret not saying anything.”
“Is it because you didn’t say anything to that priest named Helena?”
“…”
Professor Antorelli did not answer. Just that was a significant enough answer.
“It’s late. I think it’s best we get some sleep.”
Professor Antorelli stood up and gently placed his hand on Chloe’s shoulder. Without any strength, she felt as if she was drawn to slowly rise and exit the cabin.
“Then, have a good night.”
“…”
With that, Professor Antorelli closed the door to the bedroom again and disappeared. In the room where four people were sleeping, only Chloe remained awake.
Chloe stared blankly at the bedroom door that had closed, then slowly shuffled over to the top bunk. Her unsteady steps made her body sway precariously.
Lying on the bed, Chloe’s mind raced fiercely. It felt like her nose might bleed.
‘…Is it possible that I have pried into something unnecessary?’
She had only thought of it as an exciting journey. She planned to progress their relationship and transition into the final stage immediately after graduating from the academy.
But it wasn’t like that. This wasn’t a journey at all; it was Professor Antorelli’s pilgrimage.
And Chloe was merely one of the burdens that had awkwardly intruded.
That realization felt like a tearing in her heart. The pain stemming from Professor Antorelli’s tragic past wouldn’t easily dissipate.
Chloe quietly swallowed her tears. The pillowcase soaked with emotions she could not hold back.
She could not empathize.
