Chapter 06
I put down the needle I was holding. I couldn’t concentrate because it felt like his stare might poke a hole in my face.
When I turned my head, those red eyes were staring straight at me.
“There are lots of toys for you to play with over there.”
The room was filled with expensive toys, all prepared just for the young master. But instead of playing, the boy just stood there, blankly staring at me.
“Don’t you like them?”
I waited for an answer, but he said nothing.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Normally, an eight-year-old would get excited over new toys. I thought I wouldn’t need to play with him for a while. But seeing him like this, I wasn’t so sure.
“Do you want to play with me?”
He still didn’t answer. He only blinked at me, expressionless.
I sighed and thought maybe I should just show him how to play with something. If that didn’t work, maybe I’d take him outside for a walk.
Just as I was about to stand up, the boy finally spoke.
“What is… playing?”
I froze.
He wasn’t looking at me anymore but at the toys. His eyebrows were furrowed as if he really didn’t understand.
“Playing means… having fun, moving around, enjoying yourself with these things.”
But he still looked confused.
I tried again. “Is there something you want to do right now?”
“No.”
“Then do you see anything here that looks fun?”
The boy glanced around, then pointed—not at the toys, but at me.
“…I want to watch what you’re doing.”
So he came over and sat beside me, staring at the doll I was sewing.
I warned him, “Don’t touch anything sharp here unless I say it’s okay.”
He nodded.
Sewing dolls had always been my hobby, even in my past life. Back then I could only make sock dolls, but now, as a noble, I could make beautiful ones with proper materials.
Then the boy suddenly asked, “Why do you make people?”
“Because… they look pretty when they’re done.”
“That’s strange. I have to learn how to kill people, but you make people.”
I froze.
He pointed at the doll’s head, chest, stomach, legs. “If you stab here, here, and here… they die.”
He even looked happy explaining it. Like it was something he was proud to know.
A chill ran down my arms.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“I learned it.”
“From who?”
“Knights. To become a knight, I have to learn how to kill people.”
I frowned.
“Who told you that?”
“The adults. They said I just need to kill people well. If I kill everyone, I’ll win.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
This boy was only eight years old, and yet he talked about death so easily.
I asked, “What do you usually do all day?”
“Practice.”
“All day?”
He mimed holding a sword, stabbing the air. “I practice killing. And I study knight lessons.”
That was it. No play, no fun. Just training.
I thought, What kind of insane family raises a child like this?
The duke’s relatives, who took him in after his parents died, were clearly trying to turn him into a perfect war machine.
I asked softly, “So… do you really want to become a knight who kills lots of people?”
The boy stared at me for a while, then nodded.
“Yes.”
“…Even if you have to practice every day?”
“…Yes.”
His answer came slower this time.
I looked at him and said quietly, “That’s so sad.”
“Sad?”
“Yes. The reason you have to be a knight is too sad.”
I told him, “I think a knight holds a sword not to kill many people or to win wars, but to protect what’s precious to them.”
“Protect… something precious?” he repeated, confused.
“Yes. To stop the enemy from taking away what you love.”
But he just blinked at me, not really understanding.
“I hope that when you use a sword, it’s not just to kill, but to protect something important to you.”
I wanted to tell him more—like that killing should never be the goal, that he should find his own path—but I swallowed the words.
This was a different world with different values. I had to accept that.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I don’t know what’s precious to me.”
My chest tightened at his words.
I couldn’t fight his guardians. I had no power. But I could do one thing.
“Let’s go outside.”
“Huh? Where?”
“You haven’t seen enough of the world. You need to experience more. Then you’ll find what’s precious to you. While you’re here, I’ll help you.”
I held out my hand.
After staring at me for a long time, he finally placed his small hand on mine.
“…My name’s Kashiyar,” he whispered, blushing.
I smiled. “Alright, Kashiyar. Then I’ll show you a game called treasure hunting.”
“Why? Treasures are already everywhere.”
“…”
Even then, his words often left me speechless.
Later, when I remembered this forgotten memory, I couldn’t sleep.
In my dream, Kashiyar appeared again—innocent, yet terrifyingly cruel, just as he had been back then.
“…Ha.”
I sat up in bed, brushing my ivory hair back.
“This feels like crap.”
