SOTBW - 228

Popin gazed down at Rachel, who lay quietly asleep. Ever since the day she had eradicated the bandits, Rachel had remained in this state. By now, she should have been waking up out of hunger, but it seemed her excessive use of Qi had left her lying there like an old man on the verge of drawing his last breath.

To say the situation wasn’t unsettling would be a lie. Every day, Popin washed Rachel’s body with holy water, fed her holy water instead of regular water, and frequently changed her bandages to keep them clean. Fearing any complications might arise, Popin barely slept, dozing only in short bursts while keeping vigil by her side. Each morning, as the sun rose, he anxiously held a feather to her nose to check if her breath still lingered, his heart racing every time.

Healing priests had come and gone, but none could awaken Rachel. The incompetent clerics merely remarked that it was fortunate she was still alive and claimed there was nothing more they could do.

Clasping his hands tightly together, Popin’s face contorted as though he were about to cry. How could he not know that these priests weren’t charlatans? There truly was nothing left to be done for Rachel.

Popin stared at the festering blood seeping through the thick layers of bandages. Before leaving the Rochelle Marquisate, Rachel’s face and feet had been the only parts of her body still intact. Now, even those areas were beginning to succumb to the incurable disease.

Rachel’s skin, damaged beyond repair, resembled that of a burn victim—peeled back and raw. If the bandages weren’t changed promptly, blackened, putrid blood oozed from her deteriorating flesh, emitting a foul stench.

This excruciating pain was entirely Rachel’s burden to bear. Enduring it, overcoming it—all of it fell solely on her shoulders.

Thanks to Rachel’s use of Qi, the people of the Elbision territory and the soldiers Daniel had brought along successfully eradicated the bandits without a single casualty. Yet Rachel continued to pay the price for that day.

Popin found the situation unbearably unjust, but he had no one to blame. It was Rachel herself who had chosen to fight in such a condition.

As Popin fiddled with the star-embedded cross around his neck, he sometimes imagined what Rachel’s life might have been like had she not been born with talent for the sword—a normal, peaceful existence. He pictured her attending parties where she could dance with handsome men, reading romance novels, wearing beautiful dresses and expensive jewelry, and strolling through rose gardens.

But Popin couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly at the absurdity of such thoughts. That wasn’t Rachel. Rachel Rochelle was born for the sword—to fight, to protect, to seize victory, and to become the greatest swordsman, even if it meant burning her very flesh and soul.

When rebellion broke out in Bastronia and plunged the nation into chaos, the then-young Marquis Rochelle, despite not receiving a royal decree, led a modest number of troops alongside Taylor to suppress the uprising.

It was during that time that the marquis, watching Taylor single-handedly decimate the rebel forces on horseback, fell in love at first sight. However, Taylor was already in his mid-forties, while the marquis was just eighteen. Moreover, Taylor had vowed lifelong celibacy in devotion to his country, leaving him unable to reciprocate the marquis’s fervent affections.

Eventually, the marquis married a woman from another noble house but swore to raise his future daughter to be just like Taylor Elderkerth. Fatefully, his wife bore him a daughter—Rachel.

Whether divine providence heard the marquis’s prayers or not, Rachel displayed overwhelming Qi that surpassed even sword masters at a young age, becoming the envy of all swordsmen in Bastronia by the mere age of eight.

The depth of the marquis’s love and pride for Rachel, who wielded Qi and restored the honor of their disgraced family, was self-evident.

The marquis instilled in his daughter the pride of the Rochelle lineage, certain she would grow to become a hero rivaling—or even surpassing—Taylor. 

“The blood of the Rochelles must always defend Noctis Fortress. Though our ancestors were exiled from Noctis due to the king’s mistake and settled in these woods, the great pride of the Rochelles shines brightest when safeguarding Bastronia. For those who inherit the blood of the Rochelles, fighting for their homeland and its people is not merely a noble obligation—it is destiny. Only when we face this heavy fate head-on can we truly call ourselves Rochelles…”

Thus, Rachel herself embodied the essence of the Rochelle name.

No one doubted that Rachel would inherit the title of Marquis Rochelle, nor did anyone question that she would become a sword master.

Had Rachel been appointed as the commander of Noctis Fortress, all would have pledged their loyalty without hesitation. Who would dare oppose her appointment? Surely, no one so foolish existed.

Popin often imagined a healthy Rachel riding into the streets of Noctis Fortress, welcomed by throngs of people celebrating the return of the Rochelle heir. The thought brought tears to his eyes.

Why had providence dealt Rachel such a cruel trial? Clutching the star-embedded cross, Popin stifled the sobs threatening to escape.

Rachel and Popin were born on the same day, at the same hour. Popin’s mother, a maid from a family long-serving under the Rochelle household, had been granted the honor of breastfeeding the noble-born child as a reward for her family’s years of loyal service.

It was because they shared milk as infants that Popin, a mere maid’s son, was able to grow up alongside Rachel without barriers between them. Thus, Popin prided himself on knowing every facet of Rachel—even those unknown to her parents.

When Rachel collapsed before completing the final trial to become a sword master, and when the healing priests declared her illness incurable, Popin had once witnessed her crying out in anguish within the small chapel of the mansion late at night.

In the dim chapel, Rachel glared at the star-embedded cross, cursing the heavens.

“If You intended to give me this incurable illness, why grant me talent? Why let me be born into the Rochelles?”

The cry of Rachel echoed through the high-ceilinged cathedral. From behind the door, Popin stood with his hand over his mouth, silently listening as Rachel knelt before the cross in prayer and penance.

“…If this is Your punishment for my arrogance in being consumed by my talent, I will reflect on it. I will respect the weak and dedicate all my strength to protecting my homeland for the rest of my life. I will live a life of service, remaining chaste forever… So please, please allow me to die at Noctis Fortress…”

When Rachel had been healthy, she never doubted that she would become the commander of Noctis Fortress. She always believed that if she were to die, it would be on the battlefield of Noctis. That was her destiny as someone born into the Rochelle family and as a sword master.

Rachel believed there was a just reason why she had been born with Qi.

Perhaps that reason was “to fight.” To protect her country, to defend people from the Serith, to serve the Rochelles, and to fulfill the purpose of her own existence…

Popin knew that Rachel had always honed her Qi while fully prepared to face death. Though Rachel had vowed not to fear death whenever it came, she likely never imagined dying in such a futile and despairing way.

With her slowly decaying hands clasped in prayer, Rachel desperately pleaded:

“As the ancestors of the Rochelles did, I wish to be buried in the fields of Noctis as its commander… I will fight against the Serith, whom even You could not vanquish… Like Rakhshu did, I want to fulfill my duty by fighting until my last breath… Please, I beg of You… If You allow me to preserve my honor as a swordsman and as the daughter of the Rochelles, I will gladly accept any greater punishment. Please, please…”

But providence turned a deaf ear to Rachel’s pleas.

Even the Marquis Rochelle exhausted every possible means to save his daughter, but nothing worked except holy water—and even its effects waned over time.

Having lost her strong and free body overnight, Rachel saw no reason to live and attempted to take her own life. Unable to protect her nation, fight the Serith, uphold the honor of the Rochelles, or wield a sword for herself, what purpose did she have left?

Rachel could not accept the shell of a person she had become, so she resolved to die before her accumulated honor and self-worth crumbled completely.

But as fate would have it, she could not die. Rachel knew all too well that her parents loved her unconditionally—not because of her Qi, but simply as their cherished daughter. She understood deeply how much they adored her.

She knew about the nanny who prayed for her every night in tears, the kitchen staff who secretly bought the finest ingredients to cook nourishing meals in hopes of her recovery, and how the servants voluntarily increased cleaning shifts to prevent her from coughing due to dust—all without being asked. She knew about those indebted to the Rochelles who quietly left medicinal herbs at the estate, hoping to aid her recovery.

Whenever Rachel fainted from the unbearable pain of her decaying body, Popin stayed by her side, muffling his sobs. How could she not know? Rachel was aware of everything—and because of that, she couldn’t bring herself to die.

Rachel Rochelle was someone who understood the meaning of love. She realized that despite her desire to end her life for the sake of honor, there were far too many people who loved her without any clear reason. 

Sometimes, life moves forward not because of our own will, but because of the love others have for us. Some might describe this passively as “being kept alive,” but Popin believed that living while knowing you are loved was truly meaningful.

Though Rachel often grumbled at Popin, she would personally chase away anyone who teased him about the freckles on his nose and cheeks, scolding them harshly. When training under Taylor, she insisted that Popin also learn to wield a sword alongside her.

Although Popin was never formally Taylor’s disciple, he picked up many skills by watching and practicing, eventually becoming capable of fighting like a knight. It was all thanks to Rachel that Popin—a mere maid’s son—could read and write, manage ledgers, calculate numbers, and handle weapons like swords, spears, and bows.