Virgin Knight Who Is the Frontier Lord in the Gender Switched World - Chapter 82

Indeed, I have come to understand the perspective of the nomads.

In conclusion, there are instances where mutual understanding is simply impossible in this world.

I would prefer to end the discussion here.

Yet, my thoughts will not cease.

“Foolish,”

It’s nauseating.

In my previous life, I was raised as a modern, civilized person, surrounded by warmth and abundance.

In this life too, as the blue-blooded heir, a frontier lord and knight, I have been raised.

Though my territory is not very wealthy, I have never lacked food or clothing and have been recognized by those around me.

To the nomads, it must seem as though I have only ever walked a bright path.

The humiliation my mother Marianne endured when she was treated as a madwoman is something I have also gritted my teeth over.

The ancestral spirits who have continued our bloodline and the oath as a knight to devote my life to the land and its people may also appear to be part of this bright path.

Lack of education, poverty-driven crimes.

From the perspective of such desperate people, Robert-sama and I are always walking a bright path.

I cannot deny it, and in fact, it is true.

We live faithfully to our own wills, our actions limited by our positions, yet even that is a beauty of life, dying while adhering to our personal values of truth, goodness, and beauty.

It’s a blessed way of life.

We are envied and hated.

Even if the words are right, I somehow find them disagreeable.

It’s understandable that there are unreachable understandings.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say I completely understand,”

Let me repeat.

In conclusion, there are instances where mutual understanding is simply impossible in this world.

I shall likely poison myself this midnight.

The nomad troupe leader will never understand Robert-sama’s values to the end.

But, compared to the truly foolish humans rarely seen in my previous life, it was still better.

A creature that only emits a mad cry, hated by Robert-sama, not even capable of self-help.

Not truly impoverished who cannot help themselves, but a creepy existence that grumbles like a hungry ghost over things not given by others.

Always holding the mistaken perception that they are the victims, recognizing all their attacks as ‘retaliation’, without even attempting to consider whether there is any logical justification.

She was not such an entity.

Ah, these nomads, they were not such embodiments of malice.

Certainly, I must admit that.

But.

Ultimately, why couldn’t the troupe leader shed her small malice, even if she could understand and even worship Robert-sama’s legitimacy?

I, Faust von Polydoro, simply cannot comprehend it.

The “shadow in their hearts” of these discriminated people was beyond my grasp.

No, in this incident, is the difference in origin or lack of education even relevant?

According to the nomad troupe leader, the motive is the ‘shadow in the heart’.

I feel that the whole point is different.

“…Motojirō Kajii“

A Japanese novelist, his name comes to mind.

Everyone knows it, his famous short story, “Lemon.”

“It was an unclear and ominous mass that continually oppressed my heart,” begins the compelling narrative.

A story of just about 5000 words.

Poor, a drunkard, suffering from tuberculosis, neurotic, and burdened with crippling debts.

A truly hopeless existence.

Yet, when he found the weight equivalent to “all good things, all beautiful things” in a single fruit, a lemon.

Even imagining it as a bomb, blasting the art shelf to smithereens in Maruzen, and deriving pleasure from that thought.

When I finished reading that short story, I had one thought.

Isn’t the “unclear and ominous mass” essentially about the protagonist himself?

“…”

I remember being severely criticized by those around me for that opinion.

Even accused of being overly delusional.

That it wasn’t such a story, as suggested by the lemon-themed song “Secret Delight.”

That it was merely a ridiculous act of a madman that the writer beautifully penned.

But, interpretations of a novel can vary from person to person.

My opinion on the short story “Lemon” remains unchanged.

Wasn’t the protagonist of that novel, the ‘I’, realizing that the truly ominous mass in this world was himself?

Strongly attracted to “something shabby yet beautiful” because, unable to make ends meet in a world without money, he was trying to find something truly beautiful.

And the ending given to the most beautiful thing he found in the story.

“If we apply this to the troupe leader, who is the culprit this time,”

It’s irredeemable.

It may just be my delusion, but still.

It’s utterly irredeemable.

Born into an underprivileged background, unable to help herself as a discriminated brigade leader, now the head of an opera troupe.

She faintly understands that the truly evil mass in this world is herself.

And the most beautiful thing she has found in this hopeless world is Robert-sama himself.

Against the lovely roses of Robert-sama’s symbolic rose garden, she found the weight equating to “all good things, all beautiful things.”

She never intended to harm Robert-sama.

She just wanted to explode it, like a lemon.

She wanted to shatter everything beautiful in this world, starting with that beauty itself.

Such was her sad fantasy.

“…”

But it has happened in reality.

That’s all.

It’s not just that, I think.

I close my eyes and mutter.

“It’s nothing but a delusion.”

I remember my former self, a literary youth in my previous life.

I was young.

I knew nothing of reality.

Now, I deeply regret living immersed in books, in delusions, with little interaction with my parents.

I can no longer even recall the faces of my father and mother from my previous life.

I feel nauseated by my own foolishness and ugliness.

In both my previous and current lives, I have not been able to repay my parents.

Such was I, “—” in my previous life, and “Faust von Polydoro” in this life.

Filling my mind with delusions instead of knowledge, I simply drifted through my previous life.

In this life, feeling good about the superhuman powers I was given, I failed to notice my mother’s deep affection.

What has become of me is this body.

At least, I must live.

I must live diligently pursuing truth, goodness, and beauty, without any time to lament the world, without shame.

The knightly education of a blue-blood and the moral sense of a Japanese from my previous life have devilishly combined.

I must live out my days honorably until the end.

That is the only way I consider as atonement.

“Human ugliness is unchanging. I too am ugly.”

Now, both that troupe leader and myself are the same.

In conclusion, all humans are ugly.

I should be thankful that I’ve realized this.

The final advice left by the troupe leader.

For Lord Polydoro, who has never walked anything but bright paths, understanding the darkness in people’s hearts may prove useful in protecting himself.

I think I will take that advice sincerely.

Certainly, due to the love from my parents in both my previous and current lives, I never knew the darkness in people’s hearts.

“…”

But that’s another matter.

Let’s repeat it countless times.

In conclusion, there are instances where mutual understanding is simply impossible in this world.

That is true.

But if Robert-sama had been alive, he would have understood such things without being told, I believe.

He read people’s hearts through and through, considered everything, and diligently pursued truth, goodness, and beauty.

It’s just a pity.

Even after hearing the discussions following his death, I feel this way.

If I could meet the living Robert-sama, even I, as the lord knight living for my land and people, might have been convinced.

Well, that’s an impossible future now.

“…”

I stop my rambling thoughts.

All these lengthy reflections are meaningless.

The result is unwanted by anyone, and the only one who found salvation in this incident’s resolution was the troupe leader, eagerly awaiting her descent into hell.

Neither the royal family, Lord Michael, the Wesperman family, nor the nomads left behind by the death-wishing troupe leader gained anything.

There is just one person left.

What Faust von Polydoro will do is all that remains.

All these foolish delusions don’t matter.

They were only permissible for me, who once lived as a modern person in a previous life.

Not for me now, not for Faust von Polydoro living as the current lord knight.

“…”

I had to work as an enthusiast.

I swore I would surely bring peace of mind to Liesenlotte.

No, to Queen Liesenlotte.

That promise was one I had to fulfill.

I am a knight.

The song was heard.

Lord Michael, with his soprano voice, began to sing in the royal garden.

It was a Requiem.

The meaning of a Requiem is…

“Rest.”

In the Latin of my previous life, it signifies this.

As an enthusiast, I must seek the peace, the rest of Her Majesty’s heart.

The resolution of the incident, as Queen Liesenlotte first desired, is irrelevant.

I must keep the promise I made to the beautiful “Liesenlotte” whom I vowed to protect as a knight.

This world is topsy-turvy.

Where notions of chastity are reversed, and I, a man, am supposed to wish for a woman’s happiness—it’s all mismatched.

But I do not care.

I will demonstrate the pride of a man, of a knight.

I have yet to figure out how to bring rest, peace to Her Majesty’s heart.

Yet, I cannot help but knock on the door of the Queen’s private chamber.

Here I stand, not as a hero of unmatched valor, but simply as a knight, to fulfill an unbreakable promise to a woman.

Prepare yourself, Faust von Polydoro!

I knock on the door.

It’s a single strike.

Not twice, but just one echo.

I knock on the door just once and stand rooted.

“Enter.”

Queen Liesenlotte’s single word demanded just an action.

I open the door and enter.

The light is dim.

Candles made of beeswax cast a faint light illuminating the room.

Empty wine bottles were scattered on the floor.

—Has she eaten?

I worry, but there was no need to ask such a question.

Queen Liesenlotte had become emaciated.

There is no way she could have had a satisfactory meal these last few days.

The sight before me was the result of agony, of one who had given up on eating.

“—Good, say nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing should have been able to happen. My husband, the man I loved most in this world. To think everything he did was pointless, that he was a foolish man.”

“I report!”

Do I have the right to continue speaking?

While doubting, I cannot remain silent.

Her Majesty is on the verge of death from her anguish.

Even if she should scratch my face with her nails.

Even if she should severely beat me with a wine bottle.

I cannot help but tell the truth.

“The culprit was—the leader of the nomads. Of course, she had no intent to kill. It wasn’t there. What she wanted to tarnish was not Robert-sama’s life. What she wanted to tarnish was—”

“The rose garden, namely, everything that Robert had built up since his days as a page. All that is good and beautiful, is that what you intend to claim?”

She was exhausted.

She had wasted away.

Her long red hair had lost its luster, the areas around her eyes were deeply darkened, and her body was emaciated.

During the investigation these last few days, she had likely consumed nothing but wine.

While she took this in, she must have been thinking about my statement.

For a long, long time.

During these five years, she might have even considered the possibility that the culprit was among the nomads.

But she denied it.

There could be no benefit, that just couldn’t be.

It should not have been.

“But I will speak. She confessed. The culprit was—the leader of the nomads. Tonight, she requested to take her own life. By now, she must be drinking poison.”

“—”

Her voice was not even a voice.

Queen Liesenlotte let out a silent scream.

I regret.

Even I, foolish as I am, can see that each and every choice was mistaken.

I have clearly chosen wrongly now.

Queen Liesenlotte, holding a wine bottle, threw it at my head.

The throw shattered on my forehead, and the blow, weaker than a superhuman’s, became useless shards falling to the floor.

Perhaps even a blow of suffering would have comforted the Queen’s heart.

Looking at the pointless strike, I think with a face filled with bitterness.

“Truth was not needed then! What were you thinking, doing this!”

It was a harsh statement.

A blow from a wine bottle was now meaningless.

Queen Liesenlotte’s voice was filled with more pain.