16
Reinhard was holding up the insect assassins, and Julius had gone to confront whoever had been shooting. In the woods, hidden beneath the shadow of a great tree, Ferris could do little more than put his trust in the fighting skills of his two companions while pouring his own efforts into healing the mortally wounded Vincent, who lay before him.
The emperor had lost his right arm and hemorrhaged a great deal of blood before Ferris had been able to begin treatment. Ferris had succeeded in reattaching the arm, but even his prodigious abilities could not restore the emperor’s lost blood or drained vitality. Instead, Ferris fanned the guttering flame of Vincent’s life by exciting the emperor’s water mana, a tactic that involved leaning on the human body’s ability to heal itself.
“I’m begging you, don’t die! It would be the stupidest thing to end up in a war because of this…!”
“…Don’t shout directly into my ear. O more-feral-than-ordinary beast of a person.”
“…Look at you—finally awake, and the first thing you say is something nasty.” Ferris had been utterly taken aback by the Volakian ruler’s sudden remark. Vincent was on death’s doorstep, his stamina nearly exhausted. Yet somehow, he had clawed his way back to consciousness. Apparently, the demi-human healer didn’t have to worry about Vincent simply giving in to despair. If one was of frail heart, it could be reflected in the body. Ferris knew from experience that life gave its light only to those who wished for its flame to keep burning.
Emperor Vincent, his face pale, smirked at the obvious relief in the cat-boy’s expression. “It seems your fears are much alleviated. If I am to depart this mortal coil, war between the empire and the kingdom will become unavoidable. A heavy burden for your narrow shoulders, no doubt.”
“Uh-huh, very much so, so again, please don’t die, Your Majesty. It would be a stupid way to start a stupid war.”
“You feel war is stupid?” Vincent’s cold, bloodless smile didn’t change at Ferris’s remark. In the emperor’s dark eyes was the reflection of the young knight, who hadn’t even bothered to try wiping away the blood that spattered on the Volakian ruler. “This must vex you greatly. Were Lugunica’s royal family well, and the covenant with the Dragon safely in place, you would have no need to save this life of ours.”
“ ”
“Your healing abilities are considerable. I acknowledge as much, without sarcasm or irony. To be unable to wield those skills on behalf of those to whom you were most loyal… There are no words for how ill your stars must be.”
“…! Don’t mock me!” Even as his injuries were being healed, Vincent didn’t hesitate to needle at Ferris’s own wounds. The demi-human had resolved to let it pass—but in the end, he was unable to do so. “Vexed, you call me? You say I don’t want to save you? What do you know about me…?!” The cat-boy’s voice shook. Though his hands were full of healing power, there was anger in his eyes as he glared at his patient.
Vincent was right. Just as he’d said, Ferris’s abilities had done nothing against the magical plague and had been impotent to save his homeland or its king. There were many he had wished to save and many he had watched die. Worst of all, the one he had to save, Ferris had lost, and the young knight had been swallowed up by his own powerlessness. Yet now he was here, doing this.
His power had been unable to save his prince, but this man, curse him, he could save…
“But His Highness… He never would have thought that way. He may have been lost, but that man would’ve had me help others. He was never so narrow-minded as to begrudge the happiness of others!”
If he closed his eyes, Ferris could still see that young man’s smile as clear as day. How long he had wished for him to be happy, for Ferris and his master to be blessed together. But it was not to be, and his inability to make it so left the healer wishing to die at times. But Ferris knew, well enough to break his heart, that His Highness would never have allowed such a thing.
That was why, even now, Ferris did not withdraw his hand or slacken his effort as he healed this person he reviled.
“Don’t mock me, Emperor Volakia. I am the healer of my lord the prince and of the Lion King. In their kindness, they made no distinction among people. So how could I, as their hand, choose some and reject others? If every one of them were alive and well, I would still answer to what was asked of me. I have committed to it—and no less.”
“ ” Now it was Vincent who did not speak.
Ferris realized he had gotten emotional, but he didn’t regret it. The young healer refused to bemoan that he had bombarded the emperor with his words, piling on disrespectful words one after another. In that moment, he felt only love for those two people who evoked such feelings of admiration from him with but a thought. That was the most important thing in Felix Argyle’s life. He had reaffirmed as much precisely with his caustic words to the ruler of an entire empire.
“Unless I’ve missed my guess, that sniping was done by Balleroy Temeglyph,” Vincent suddenly offered, letting the words out in one long breath.
“What?” It took Ferris a second to grasp what the emperor had said—and its implications. Balleroy was one of the Nine Divine Generals. It stood to reason that Vincent would know how the man fought.
“Unless one understands his particular abilities and unravels Balleroy’s little trick, one will most certainly be destroyed by his hail of missiles. Even if your other knight has seen through his gimmick, one person alone will not likely be able to bring him down. Two might manage—just.”
“Two…? But Reinhard is—”
Ferris spared a glance back in the direction of the guardhouse and thought of Reinhard. The Sword Saint was still back there, single-handedly holding off more than fifty assassins. Ferris believed that Julius and Reinhard together could overcome any opponent, no matter who it might be. But at that moment, the chances of Reinhard rejoining them seemed approximately the chances of a bug against a shoe.
“Are those ears of yours for anything more than decoration, beast-boy?”
“Decoration…?”
“I said, two might manage. The presence or absence of the Sword Saint is of no consequence.”
“ ”
With that, Ferris looked down at his small, weak hands. Ferris had just one weapon: the lion-crested dagger he had received from his master. He didn’t know how to use it, nor did he possess any skill as a swordsman. If the emperor thought Ferris would suffice as an opponent for one of the Nine Generals, then he thought in vain.
“You may plead impotence, if you wish,” Vincent said with a taunting little snort. “In which case, you need only be a passive observer, watching things unfold.” When the emperor saw Ferris’s eyes widen, he continued, “Perhaps I should use the word bystander, instead of observer? It seems to be your specialty. The price of your weakness was what you were most loyal to before. Seemingly, you are willing to pay it again.”
“I’ve had enough…! Fine! Just fine! Act—that’s all I have to do, is it? Take action? Fine!”
That manner of speech Vincent used evoked the greatest anger in Ferris yet. However, the object of his rage wasn’t just the emperor—it was his own hesitation. He kept coming up with rationalizations for why he couldn’t do things; excuses made everything so easy. But they were disgraceful.
He had spent all his time chasing after people who weren’t afraid of such things, and he was still just following in their wake.
“Then listen well, you beast of a person. You need only gamble your life.”
Seeing that Ferris had risen to the bait, Vincent beckoned him over with his newly attached right hand. Ferris’s face twisted as he heard the Volakian ruler’s strategy. The emperor smiled when he saw the look, and for the first time, it was not with disdain. His expression was like one of a boy who had come up with a nasty little trick—a smile cruel and beautiful.
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