章節 17: A Capricious God
The bandits who had terrorized the highway were no more. Most of the dozen or so men had been reduced to dust by Uta, while the skilled fire-wielding mage among them had met his end buried alive. Yet, despite the apparent victory, the outcome was far from a happy ending.
The silver-haired girl who had been held hostage and the brave knight who sought to rescue her had both fallen under a cruel blade, their lives seemingly extinguished.
Hours after the battle ended, the bandits' camp, now littered with the ashen remnants of its occupants, stirred. Two figures lying amid the debris slowly began to move.
"Ugh... what... what happened to me?"
"Mary...?"
The knight and her liege, Ilya, stirred awake. Having collapsed together on the ground, the two appeared alive despite their memories of certain death.
Nearby, a blood-stained sword lay discarded, and their clothing remained soaked in dried crimson. The events they recalled were no dream.
"We... we were killed, weren't we?"
"We were..." Mary said as she sat up, only to wince in pain.
Looking down, she saw a painful scar across her chest where the sword had pierced her. Turning to Ilya, she noted a matching wound, though the bleeding had stopped. The scars were unmistakable—clear evidence of what had transpired.
"Lady Ilya's pristine skin... forever marred," Mary muttered bitterly, her expression twisted with anguish.
For a knight or adventurer, such scars might be seen as a badge of honor. However, for a young noblewoman of marriageable age, such blemishes could prove devastating. A scar like this might doom Ilya to remain unmarried or resign her to a union with a much older or lower-status suitor.
"...Mercy. That's what it was," Ilya whispered, her fingers brushing over the scar as her eyes filled with sorrow.
Uta could have killed them both—should have, by all accounts. But he hadn't. Instead, he had chosen to pierce them, to scar them permanently, and then to heal them just enough to ensure their survival.
It was punishment, wrapped in a shroud of mercy, a twisted act of benevolence.
They had been spared but left wounded, both in body and pride, by the whims of an otherworldly being.
For Mary, a knight, perhaps this was an acceptable outcome. But for Ilya, the implications were far graver.
A noblewoman with a scarred body, especially one marred in a manner so suggestive of violence, would face scorn and rejection in the aristocratic world. No ideal marriage would await her now—only unions with older, desperate nobles or men of lower status.
(That man... How dare he disgrace Lady Ilya like this...)
Mary's sorrow quickly gave way to fury. Gratitude for her spared life was buried under the weight of her rage. Had Uta been present, she would have drawn her sword without hesitation to strike him down.
(I'll never forgive him... Never...)
Her hatred festered, even though she knew deep down that without Uta's intervention, Ilya might have suffered an even worse fate. The bandits might not have killed her outright, but they were coarse and cruel men. Ilya could have been defiled, her body sullied in ways far worse than scars.
The ideal scenario would have been avoiding Uta entirely, escaping unscathed. But Mary had made her choice, and she had done what she believed was best under the circumstances.
Still, their survival hinged entirely on Uta's erratic mercy. Had his mood been darker, both she and Ilya might have been reduced to ash or left to bleed out on the ground.
In the end, even this hollow survival might have been a stroke of fortune.
"Let's go, Mary," Ilya said softly, breaking the silence. "There's no point staying here."
"Lady Ilya..."
"Whatever comes next, we'll deal with it then... For now, let's just go home."
No amount of grief could erase the scars. Even if they sought out the finest healers, the wounds would likely never fully vanish.
Supporting one another, the scarred knight and her wounded liege began their slow, halting journey back to the road.
Whether they would come to resent the whims of a capricious god or feel gratitude for their survival was a question that would only be answered with time.
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