Chapter 107

“Ow, ow, ow... You got a grudge against my leg or something, Harold?”

“It's because you won’t stop running your mouth.”

The heavy tension that had filled the room only moments ago crumbled under their bickering.

Despite the significant age gap between the two men, they appeared to Cynthia like old friends. She knew Cody well; he had visited frequently since her husband first became bedridden, and his cheerful, candid personality was infectious. He was the kind of man who could strike up a friendship with anyone.

The young man named Harold, however, was exactly as he had been introduced: blunt, abrasive, and seemingly determined to make as many enemies as possible with every word he spoke.

And yet, his words—sharp as a scalpel—had pierced Cynthia’s heart and moved her more than any gentle encouragement ever could.

Deep down, perhaps she had already given up. It had been five years since her husband became bedridden. With no prospect of recovery and their income dwindling, they hadn't even been able to afford a proper doctor for a long time. Somewhere in her soul, she had resigned herself to the idea that this was her fate, that it simply couldn't be helped.

Young as he was, Harold had seen straight through her resignation.

He had forced her to choose: surrender to a cruel reality and flee, or stand and fight of her own volition. He had done it for her sake alone.

Be strong—as a wife, and as a mother.

(What harsh, selfish... and kind words.)

Given the power dynamic, a nobleman like Harold had no reason to seek the consent of a commoner or offer her a choice at all. If curing her husband benefited him, he could have simply proceeded without a word. Whether he succeeded or failed, Cynthia would have had no standing to complain.

He had told her, "The only thing you can do is choose," but in truth, even that choice was a luxury someone of her status shouldn't have expected. Normally, she would have been forced to stand by and watch the treatment in silence.

Yet Harold refused to let her blindly obey authority, even though he was the one wielding it. He would provide the means to solve a problem she couldn't handle, but he demanded she use her own strength to reach out, stand up, and walk forward.

She was struck by the nobility of it. For a high-ranking noble to go to such lengths for a commoner, to offer such stern but necessary encouragement... it would have been harder not to be moved.

Cynthia realized then that Harold Stokes was a nobleman in the truest sense of the word.

“Whatever. Strike while the iron is hot. Let’s get started.”

“R-Right now?”

“I know it's sudden, but Harold is a busy man,” Cody explained.

“You’re the one who dragged me here,” Harold shot back.

He stood up, looking Cynthia directly in the eye.

“A final confirmation. There is no guarantee this will work. There is only a possibility of recovery. It may have no effect, or it could result in an unforeseen disaster. Even so, will you proceed?”

“...Yes. My husband... Please, help Farrell.”

“...I see.”

As if signaling that further talk was a waste of time, Harold headed for the bedroom. He moved with a sense of purpose, already familiar with the house's layout.

Inside, Farrell lay with his eyes closed, drifting in a shallow sleep. Cynthia lit a candle, casting a flickering glow over her husband’s pale face. Harold reached for the hilt of his sword.

“...What do you think you’re doing?”

Before the blade could clear the scabbard, Cody’s hand clamped down on Harold’s, stopping him.

“That’s my line,” Cody said firmly. “I don’t intend to let you go that far.”

The two men locked eyes, their gazes intense enough to draw blood. Cynthia didn't understand the subtext, but it was clear there was some history or a hidden cost she wasn't privy to.

After a few seconds of silence, Cody spoke.

“Knowing you, you probably figured you had to take the burden yourself after that speech you gave her, right?”

“...”

“But I’m not backing down. I was the one who asked for this, so let me take the responsibility.”

“...Fine. Do as you please,” Harold relented, handing the sheathed sword to Cody.

Cody drew the blade.

“U-Um... what are you going to do with that sword?” Cynthia asked nervously.

“It's a bit complicated, but Harold’s sword possesses a unique power. It might be the only thing capable of waking Finnegan.”

A special power? Curing someone with a sword?

Cynthia couldn't begin to imagine how it worked—surely he wasn't going to strike him. Cody ignored her confusion, taking a stance and drawing deep, steadying breaths.

The crystal embedded in the sword began to glow. At first, it was a soft pulse, but it quickly grew into a brilliant, blinding light.

Cynthia watched, breathless, until Cody suddenly doubled over in pain.

“Guh...!”

His breathing turned into ragged gasps, and heavy beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. The brilliant light began to flicker violently, weakening until it finally guttered out entirely.

Only a few minutes had passed, but as the light vanished, Cody’s knees buckled.

“Haa... haa... Dammit... this is... exhausting...”

“A-Are you alright?”

“Yeah... no problem...”

“The hell it isn’t,” Harold snapped. “It’s a massive problem.”

“No, no, I just...”

Cody tried to stand, wanting to finish his sentence, but his strength failed him. The sword slipped from his numb fingers. The clatter of steel against the floor echoed hollowly through the room.

“Give it up. It’s impossible for you.”

“...You really don’t mince words, do you? I didn't think it would be this taxing.”

Cody offered a self-deprecating smile. Cynthia felt a pang of sympathy; he clearly felt he had failed in his duty to his friend.

Harold reached down and retrieved the sword before Cody could try again. He gazed at the blade for a long moment, lost in thought.

“I see,” Harold muttered. He turned to Cody and delivered the merciless verdict. “You cannot handle this sword.”

“I thought it didn't choose its wielder?”

“As a weapon, it doesn't. But you lack the magic power required to manifest its true functions.”

“If it takes magic on Harold’s level, it’s basically an exclusive item for you...” Cody sighed, slumping into a chair, completely drained.

Cynthia knew Cody was one of the elite of the Order of the Holy King. If simply attempting to use the sword had left him this shattered, the burden must have been astronomical. If Harold could wield such a thing without effort, just how powerful was he?

“Exactly. Sit there and watch quietly.”

“Fine, fine... I get it. Man... it’s been a long time since I felt this pathetic.”

“That’s surprising. I assumed your entire life was a series of pathetic moments.”

“Luckily, I’ve got thick skin. I’ve lived my life without the burden of shame.”

Despite the quips, Cody’s expression was tight with frustration.

Seeing how much he cared for her husband warmed Cynthia’s heart. Even if his strength had fallen short, the fact that someone still cared enough to try meant everything to her.

However, the weight of the word "responsibility" lingered in the air. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were risking something significant to save Farrell.

“Then use that thick skin of yours to keep grinning like an idiot. It’ll be better for him to wake up to that than to a funeral face,” Harold said.

“Yes, yes, you’re as arrogant as ever.”

“You as well, Cynthia. Is that the face a wife makes when her husband returns? Even if you don’t trust me, you can at least trust in Finnegan.”

His words swept away Cody’s regret and Cynthia’s lingering anxiety in one fell swoop.

How could one person be so formidable and yet so kind? His words, his unwavering presence—they gave her the courage to face the unknown. A small smile finally touched her lips.

“...I believe. In my husband, and in you, Lord Harold.”

Satisfied, Harold turned to the bed.

He took his stance. Once again, the sword began to glow, but the intensity was on another level entirely compared to Cody’s attempt. This was the raw difference in their magic power.

The air in the room began to swirl. Even Cynthia, who possessed no magic, could feel the sheer volume of energy condensing toward the blade.

When the power reached its peak, Harold drove the hilt of the sword into Finnegan’s abdomen. The reaction was instantaneous.

“...A—h...!”

Finnegan’s eyes, which had been vacant for five years, flew open. A voiceless cry escaped his throat.

Harold and Farrell were engulfed in a radiant, pale green light. To Cynthia, it looked like a holy painting of a miracle being performed. For her, it was a miracle. After five long years of failed treatments and broken hopes, the man she loved was finally being called back to her.

“Hurry up and come back,” Harold muttered under his breath.

In that instant, the light expanded, filling the room before vanishing in a silent burst.

Silence returned. The candle had been extinguished, leaving only the pale moonlight to illuminate Finnegan’s silhouette in the dark.

Cynthia’s heart hammered against her ribs, so loud she feared it would wake the whole house. She waited, breathless.

After a few heart-pounding seconds, the silence broke.

“Nn... wh-ere... am I...?”

The voice was thin and raspy, but Farrell had spoken.

Cynthia’s vision blurred with tears. A sob built in her throat, but she forced herself to speak through the emotion.

“Farrell.”

“...Cynthia? Why... why are you crying...?”

“Farrell...!”

Words failed her. She threw herself onto his chest. He was too weak to even lift his arms, but she didn't care. She just needed to feel the beat of his heart and the warmth of his skin.

He was clearly confused, but Cynthia didn't have the strength to explain. She just buried her face in his chest and sobbed his name over and over. Slowly, painfully, Farrell managed to lift a thin, wasted hand to stroke her hair and cheek.

They stayed like that until a soft knock interrupted them.

Cynthia looked up as a voice came from the hallway.

“Sorry to break up the reunion, you two, but I really need to get some answers from Finnegan.”

“M-My apologies!”

She rushed to open the door. Outside, the sky was already beginning to pale with the first hints of dawn.

Cody walked straight to the bedside.

“Hey, Finnegan. How are you feeling?”

“Cody...? You’ve... gotten old... since I saw you...”

“Well, you’ve been out for five years. I prefer to think I’ve become ‘distinguished.’”

“...What did you say?”

“I’ll explain all that, but first, the body. Any pain? Anything feel wrong?”

“Can’t... talk right... body feels like lead... but... if it’s been years... that makes sense...”

“If it’s too much, we can do this another day.”

“No... tell me. What happened... to me?”

“Alright. I’ll keep it brief.”

Cody laid out the facts.

The battle in the Bertis Forest five years ago.

Finnegan being chosen as a juror for the trial of a new recruit suspected of espionage.

The moment he had suddenly become distraught and tried to harm himself when questioned about the trial.

How he had been unconscious ever since.

“—And you finally woke up just now.”

“I see... Cynthia... I’m so sorry... I put you through so much...”

“It doesn't matter,” she whispered. “You’re awake. That’s all that matters.”

“Cody... did you... save me?”

“I wish I could say yes, but I’d be lying. The one who saved you was Harold Stokes. Do you remember him?”

“...Ah. Yes. I remember... I see... I was saved... by the man I tried to kill.”

“What? What do you mean?” Cynthia gasped.

“A lot happened,” Cody said. “Harold was framed during that mess in the forest.”

He explained how Harold had been branded a spy and sentenced to death due to outside pressure. In reality, Harold had uncovered a Sarian plot and risked his life to prevent a war. The death sentence was merely a pretext to exploit him, and even now, his life was in constant danger.

“Finnegan, you agreed to the death sentence because your family was being held hostage, didn't you?”

“Yes... they told me... if I didn't... my family would die...”

“No... and Lord Harold knew that?” Cynthia’s voice trembled.

“He knows,” Cody confirmed. “But he doesn't hold a grudge. Not against Finnegan.”

“...Where is he? I need to... apologize... to thank him...”

“Actually, he left as soon as the treatment was done. Said it was an emergency. I stayed behind to check on you and explain things.”

Cynthia was stunned. She hadn't even been able to say thank you.

He had given her everything—her husband’s life, the courage to keep going, and their future together. And then he had simply vanished into the night. Based on Cody’s story, they might never see him again.

“He did leave a message for you two, though,” Cody added. “‘Live however you like after this.’ Honestly, the kid could work on his people skills.”

“...No,” Cynthia whispered. “Those words are more than enough.”

“Is that so? Well, glad to hear it.”

As the sun rose, a brilliant white light flooded through the window. It was so dazzling that it reminded Cynthia of the radiance Harold had unleashed. She bowed her head as fresh tears tracked down her cheeks.

Even if her voice didn't reach him, she had to say it.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Mama? Why are you crying? Are you hurt?”

“Mihai...”

Mihai stood in the doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes before running over to hug her.

“Mama is fine, sweetie. Go on, say hello to Papa.”

“Okay! Good morning, Papa!”

“...Mihai? You’ve... grown so much...”

“Ah! Papa! You’re awake!”

Mihai scrambled into Farrell’s arms as Cody supported his friend.

Farrell had become bedridden just before Mihai was born. This was the first time father and son had ever truly met. Mihai babbled happily, and Farrell listened with a mixture of laughter and tears. It was a scene of pure, unadulterated happiness.

As she watched them, Cynthia noticed Cody looking thoughtful.

“Cody-san? Is something wrong?”

“Ah, no, nothing major. Just a quick question—how many kids do you two have?”

Cynthia blinked, confused by the sudden change in topic. Cody had visited many times over the years; surely he knew their family?

“What a strange thing to ask,” she replied with a small smile. “Mihai is our only child.”

---

Author's Note: It’s not quite a massive foreshadowing, but back in Chapter 51, during the flashback, Finnegan mentions they didn't have kids yet but one was on the way. That child was Mihai. Since that was five years ago and Finnegan has been bedridden ever since, they couldn't have had any more children, and there were none before Mihai.

If you caught that, you might have wondered, "Wait, who is Sarah?"

As it turns out, these three chapters weren't just a heartwarming recovery arc for Finnegan—they were the chapters where I set up a massive death flag for little Sarah-chan.