Chapter 8: Kind and Cruel
We had rushed Sigren to my room, needing to treat him as quickly as possible. As I glanced at him lying on my bed, now cleaned of the dirt that had covered him, I could see just how pale his complexion was and the extent of his injuries. Read the translation only on itsladygrey.com. The healer’s description of the large scar that split his abdomen made my heart seize. I had always known the battlefield was brutal and unforgiving, but the reality of war—the true meaning—was only beginning to set in.
The sight of Sigren’s small, unmoving figure among the corpses of demons and soldiers had left me shaken, like a snow globe caught in a blizzard, its usually peaceful atmosphere shattered. Despite having the memories of my previous life, I had never really considered myself a child. I had actively participated in the war effort and visited the battlefield to fight against the monsters. But now, looking at Sigren—the male lead of this novel—lying helplessly in my bed, with the only sign of life being the slight rise and fall of his chest, I realized the reality of my situation. I was a child, if not in mind, then certainly in body. How many other children were on the battlefield?
I anxiously awaited the healer’s verdict. Various medical personnel had been coming in and out of my room for the past two days, checking on Sigren’s condition and advising me on how to care for him. Until now, no conclusive assessment had been given. The healer’s verdict would determine the fate of the world. If Sigren died, it would be the end of everything we knew. It was make or break. Read the translation only on itsladygrey.com
“It was a very serious and critical injury, especially for one so young. However, he has fortunately passed the critical period. Although he’s not out of the woods yet, I predict that with rest and good care, he will recover quickly. If there are any problems or concerns, please do not hesitate to call me, my lady,” the healer reported, his posture finally relaxing as he began to pack up his equipment. The stress left my body like air escaping from a balloon as I slumped back in a plush chair by Sigren’s bedside. Covering my eyes with my arm, I let out a long, drawn-out sigh. The immediate crisis had been averted! Even though his fever had not receded and he remained unconscious, he would live. For now, that was a comfort.
The door softly clicked shut as the healer left. I sat up and looked at Sigren attentively. In his deep slumber, he was undisturbed by my gaze. The boy seemed like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White from fairy tales, cursed to rest in an unbreakable slumber. He looked so young and fragile, defenseless. I couldn’t believe that this boy was the hero destined to save the world.
“At this time, isn’t Sigren about fourteen years old?” I racked my brain trying to recall details about Sigren in his youth. Despite my efforts, I came up blank. To be honest, I hadn’t thought much about his early years when writing the novel. There was very little exposition on his childhood since I had focused more on the main storyline. I had only included a few lines about his past without going into detail. It was rarely mentioned in the book, as the action-packed storyline was more than sufficient to retain readers’ interest. I knew nothing about Sigren’s childhood beyond the sparse facts I had included. One thing I did know was that at this time, his identity as the prince of the empire was still unknown to all the characters. This was a plot point that would be revealed later, so currently, I was the only one aware of it. Read the translation only on itsladygrey.com
To understand the situation better, I reviewed what I did know. Sigren’s childhood was harsh and unhappy. Like a worn road, his past was filled with bumps and obstacles. His problems began with his status as an illegitimate child, born to a commoner mother. His existence was considered a stain on the royal family’s dignity and a potential threat to the line of succession. The aristocracy sought to eliminate him before he could aspire to the throne. Threats and assassination attempts rained down on him like a hailstorm. His mother, powerless to protect him, could only shield him with her life. She tried to seek asylum in another country, but instead of protection, she was killed.
That was why Sigren, at such a young age, was left alone in a dangerous world. The only way to save his life was for him to flee to Heilon, located in the desolate north of the country. Heilon, being a border region, was almost always in a state of military readiness. Plagued by monsters, luxury and gossip were irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was defense against the monsters. The people who sought his death had no influence there. Abel recognized his talent for the sword and took him under his wing as a disciple.
That was the tragic story of Sigren’s childhood. The details I remembered were prearranged and unavoidable, summarized in just a few sentences in the novel. His traumatic experiences were presented as a backdrop to justify his personality and character development, a common trope in fantasy novels.
Seeing the boy before me, I felt immense guilt. He was a living, breathing person enduring so much pain—painful backstories being a method authors use to deepen their characters.
It was my fault, albeit indirectly, since I had been unaware of the consequences. I couldn’t view him with the detached perspective I had used when writing this world.
I gently stroked Sigren’s soft hair. “Ugh, you must have suffered so much. I’m very sorry.”
I had planned to leave when the time was right, but I had encountered Sigren sooner than expected. For now, while staying here, I would care for him kindly. Although the story dictated that he would eventually kill me—a fact I was painfully aware of as I looked at his peaceful face—there was still a chance to alter that future. I had no intention of becoming his enemy like the original Fiona. It was crucial to build a positive relationship with him to ensure a better outcome than the original Fiona’s. The future had to change. Read the translation only on itsladygrey.com
“This sister will take care of you with all my heart, so please be merciful and spare my life when you grow up.”
I exhaled deeply, then buried my face in the soft blankets at the edge of the bed. I felt drained, having been running on the last of my energy for the past two days. I hadn’t left Sigren’s bedside since his treatment began. I couldn’t sleep well, constantly worried about his condition and the fate of the world. I couldn’t leave such a seriously injured patient alone. I decided to rest, just for a moment…
The thought trailed off as I descended into unconsciousness. My mind went blank, as if Morpheus himself had cast a sleeping spell—I was out like a light. Read the translation only on itsladygrey.com
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