SOTBW - 245

Maximón had never encountered anyone as strange as himself in his entire life. By “strange,” he meant non-human—not someone who was simply ignorant, violent, or unreasonable, but someone who wore the guise of a human while fundamentally being something else entirely.  

Lucas was a despicable piece of trash by any measure, but at least he was human. So, should a living corpse also be considered human?  

Lost in thought, Maximón couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. A “living corpse”—what a contradictory phrase. He couldn’t bring himself to say such words to Najane.  

What would Najane even say if he were to tell him that the brother he had searched so desperately for was, in essence, no different from a walking corpse? Imagining Najane’s reaction, Maximón furrowed his brow.  

For the sake of Najane’s happiness, he had been turning a blind eye to Luna, who was just as peculiar as himself. But after yesterday’s events, one thing had become certain:  

That “thing” was most likely not Luna. He had briefly entertained the idea that Rockbell might have deceived him, but there was no reason for Rockbell to do so. Rockbell’s subordinates were convinced that the Luna they smuggled out of Lucas’ mansion was indeed Najane’s long-lost sibling, which was why they brought her to him.  

Najane, too, recognized Luna as his younger sister. Therefore, at the very least, the shell of the person pretending to be Luna within the Romsoa Knights must resemble the real Luna’s appearance.  

Had they killed Luna and worn her skin like a mask? Or had they used some clever artifice to alter their appearance? Coincidentally, Maximón recalled hearing about an imposter who had once posed as a low-ranking official in the Noctis administration.  

Zelter—the fake Zelter. That shameless impostor had deceived Najane and left behind an ancient letter. Najane had mentioned that the fake Zelter and the real Zelter looked identical, with only slight differences in personality.  

There had been another similar incident: the murder of Nathan Armunzen. The soldiers guarding the Commander of the Colnux Knights’ residence claimed to have seen Maximón Elgort fleeing, drenched in blood.  

Maximón rubbed his forehead, his eyes glinting coldly as he pondered.  

What were the chances that the fake Zelter, the fake Maximón, and the fake Luna were all the same person? Lost in thought, he gazed up at the slowly brightening dawn sky. Maximón knew he had to make the wisest decision for Najane—one that would leave no lasting scars on his heart. It had to be careful, quiet, and decisive.  

For now, Maximón lacked concrete evidence to prove that the Luna currently residing with the Romsoa Knights was a fake. Though “it” clearly knew that Maximón wasn’t human, he couldn’t reveal his own secret to Najane as proof.  

How had “it” figured him out? Maximón had been cruel and cold to many, but he had never exposed the fact that his blood ran blue or allowed anyone to witness his eyes shifting into those of a Seriths.  

People called him a monster with a mixture of awe and fear, but that was merely a nickname. No one in Noctis truly knew that Maximón was an actual monster.  

“Would Emaydis still love you if she knew your true nature?”  

…Yes, probably.  

Though Maximón knew Najane’s love was steadfast, he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust it. It wasn’t that he doubted Najane’s feelings—he simply feared himself.  

Maximón didn’t even know what his true form was. Perhaps somewhere on his body, he had a gaping maw like the Seriths, or maybe spider-like legs would sprout as time passed.  

For a moment, Maximón imagined himself transformed into something resembling the Seriths. He shamelessly pictured Najane whispering words of love upon seeing him like that.  

People instinctively recoiled in disgust at the sight of the Seriths—not only because of their unsettling and repulsive appearance but also because they hunted humans. What Maximón felt toward the fake Luna was likely what others felt whenever they encountered the Seriths.  

Najane would be no different. It was only natural to feel discomfort at the sight of something that was neither beast nor human. Najane loved Maximón the “human,” not Maximón the “monster.” Maximón dwelled on the revulsion and unease he felt every time he looked at the fake Luna.  

If Najane were to look at him with discomfort, with fear—if Najane were to decide he could no longer love him—  

Maximón watched as the steel-gray sky gradually softened into a gentle pink with the rising sun. He chuckled faintly, feeling a sense of futility wash over him.  

He hated his mind for nurturing this anxiety despite being loved by Najane. He wanted to strangle the fake Luna for planting these ominous seeds of doubt within him.  

Najane loved him unconditionally. Even after witnessing Maximón gripping Luna’s chin and threatening her, Najane had returned to him without hesitation.  

No one else could love him like that.  

No one else would ever truly love Maximón—not someone so unkind, so flawed, so selfish, so devoid of warmth. Only Najane would forever love him for who he was.  

As Maximón stared at the faint glow of the morning sun spreading across the horizon, he picked up the sword he had planted in the ground. It had been nearly several weeks since the Seriths last attacked, and the soldiers’ vigilance had completely waned. Unarmed, they sat around the campfire, dozing off intermittently.  

Maximón wondered how long this peace would last when his eyes met those of Olkoni from the Recheo Knights. Olkoni, having watched the retreating figures of the departing soldiers, approached Maximón.

“Ameilia’s nowhere to be seen.”  

The mention of that name, which Maximón thought he’d never have to hear again, caused a faint crease to form between his brows.  

“She left Romsoa.”  

At this, Olkoni’s expression darkened.  

“…Did she return to her hometown?”  

“No. She became a priest. Archbishop Gwyneth Spello took her in.”  

Maximón couldn’t suppress his irritation at the thought of becoming someone’s source of information about Amelia, but Olkoni, on the other hand, brightened at the unexpected news.  

“This is wonderful! Personally, I hoped she’d live a long life.”  

Olkoni finally understood what Amelia had been hesitating about—whether or not to become a priest. He didn’t know how she’d caught the eye of someone as prominent as Gwyneth, but if this new beginning as a priest helped Amelia gain confidence in herself, it would be an excellent turn of events.  

Though Gwyneth was slightly eccentric for an archbishop and rather free-spirited for a priest, his anti-authoritarian nature and ability to connect easily with others meant he would guide Amelia in a positive direction.  

Relieved, Olkoni nodded firmly. Maximón, unable to comprehend Olkoni’s reaction, shifted his gaze toward the area where the Recheo Knights were stationed.  

“What about Master Taylor?”  

At the mention of Taylor, Olkoni’s previously brightened expression dimmed. Taking a deep breath, Olkoni calmly relayed the latest update on his condition.  

“…He’s barely, painfully clinging to life. The healing priests say it’s remarkable that he’s managed to hold onto his sanity this long.”  

“How much time does he have left?”  

“…”  

Olkoni fell silent.  

Thanks to the Seriths’ recent absence from attacking the fortress, Taylor had been able to sleep peacefully every night without worry.  

Even though his body was so damaged that he could no longer control the tremors in his hands and feet, whenever the field shook violently from the relentless stomping of adult Seriths, Taylor would stagger to prepare himself for battle. Despite everyone’s efforts to stop him, he would strap his holy sword to his waist, climb to the top of the torch-lit walls, and silently wait for the moment he’d be needed.  

When the knights who had grown adept at fighting the Seriths handled the situation well, he would watch with a content smile until the biting cold forced him to sit down. If the situation worsened, he would use the pulley system to descend and assist the less experienced soldiers still struggling in the fight.  

Olkoni quietly mulled over Maximón’s question. Asking how much time was left was another way of asking how many days remained before Taylor, the last Sword Master, lost his mind to madness.  

A Sword Master who overused their ki would see their body deteriorate and their mind clouded, eventually losing awareness of their surroundings and swinging their sword indiscriminately at anyone nearby. Though Olkoni hoped Taylor wouldn’t meet such an end, he knew that moment wasn’t far off.  

“…Still, fortunately, he’s holding on for now.”  

Olkoni deliberately answered in a hopeful tone.  

But Maximón didn’t believe it.  

“What will you do when Master Taylor finally goes mad?”  

As Maximón’s cold words hung in the air, Olkoni’s nose reddened along with the gradually reddening sky.  

“Will you be able to stop him with your sword?”  

If Taylor went mad, he would likely unleash his ki recklessly. The only one capable of stopping him would be Maximón. Though no disciple would want to kill their master, if that moment inevitably came, swiftly severing his head would be the kindest thing to do for Taylor.  

And with that, Maximón was asking Olkoni whether he would entrust Taylor’s final moments to his most trusted subordinate.  

“…I don’t know.”  

Olkoni was tormented and conflicted. Maximón patiently waited for his response. He was well aware that the Olkoni family had served Taylor for a long time. Ending Taylor’s life with his own hands would undoubtedly bring immense pain, but in a way, it might also be considered a final act of loyalty.  

Watching the soldiers returning home or to their barracks after a quiet night, Olkoni let out a small, forced laugh—a sound meant to stifle tears.

“Lord Elgort, if Dame Schnicks were to reach that point… would you be able to do it yourself?”  

Olkoni asked in a voice tinged with saltiness.  

Maximón’s Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably.  

“…No.”  

Expecting this answer, Olkoni bit his lip and laughed bitterly.  

“You’re very human, aren’t you?”  

It was unclear whether this was praise, encouragement, or comfort. The word “human” felt strangely foreign to Maximón.  

Once, Edwin had said to Maximón that though he hadn’t been born human, he would die as one. Maximón never asked his father what he meant by that. Asking for clarification would have felt like an admission that he wasn’t human at all.  

“Olkoni.”  

Maximón continued to stare ahead.  

Olkoni was slightly surprised that Maximón knew his name and tilted his chin upward in acknowledgment.  

“Yes, speak.”  

“What does it mean to be human?”  

It was an odd question. But Olkoni, who had observed Maximón closely for a long time by Taylor’s side, knew that Maximón was far from ordinary.  

Taylor had always worried about Maximón’s inhuman nature and believed someone needed to control it. That was why Taylor allowed Maximón to stay close to Najane, even knowing it might break him. Having witnessed all of this unfold, Olkoni saw Maximón asking such a question as a significant step forward.  

Olkoni tilted his stiff neck back and gazed at the brightening sky, lost in thought. He didn’t know how much Maximón expected from his answer, but he wanted to offer something meaningful.  

Following a flock of birds flying in formation beyond the fortress walls, Olkoni hesitated before finally speaking.  

“Knowing that the only way to save Dame Elderkerth when he inevitably loses his mind is to strike him down with my sword—but being unable to bring myself to do it, wishing instead to die alongside him… isn’t that something inherently human? And though I say now that I can’t bring myself to strike him down, when the moment comes, taking his last breath with these hands—granting him peace after a lifetime of devotion from me and my family—is probably… also something human.”  

Having barely swallowed his tears, Olkoni managed a faint smile, returning to his usual expression.  

Olkoni had resolved to take responsibility for Taylor’s final moments himself. Maximón pondered the emotions embedded in Olkoni’s words—emotions too complex to be summed up in a single phrase—and turned his gaze toward the fortress where morning smoke was beginning to rise.  

What to do about Luna.  

How could he separate that fake from Najane? And how could he explain and make her understand the process?  

Just as Olkoni had declared his willingness to bear the burden of sending Taylor off despite not wanting to let him go, Maximón would have to prepare himself to face Najane’s hatred and eliminate “it.” Not now, perhaps, but someday—inevitably. Without fail.  

Following Maximón’s gaze, Olkoni spoke in a lighter tone.  

“The sun has fully risen.”  

Olkoni shaded his forehead with his palm to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight. Maximón glanced back at the sun rising above the horizon before fully sheathing his dirt-streaked sword.  

He stared at the blazing red sun for a moment longer before moving forward. His retreating figure crossing the nearly deserted field was resolute and silent.  

Olkoni watched Maximón’s back as he departed the field and saluted solemnly.