Drettonus(English Version)

33. Lonesome swordsmen

    Kder Island, December 15th.

    Hiroshi wakes up from a nap in his old bed. His body still seems to be getting used to his old sleeping routine.

    Before getting up, he runs his hand over his face, expecting to get blood on it, but his hand remains dry, indicating that there is no longer any wound.

   "I'm already healed...? I don't think I could do it on my own so quickly, much less in my current condition. Is Lord Vak being charitable to me?"

    He spends a few more seconds lying down looking at the ceiling, since lying in a bed is a privilege he can no longer take for granted.

    After finally standing up, he slowly walks over to the mirror to take a closer look at his current fragile and decayed appearance.

    When he lifts his shirt, he sees his ribs easily visible beneath the skin, the result of spending a month without food, receiving the nutrients necessary for his survival through a tube. His body was in a coma, but he was not in a hospital, obviously he would not receive adequate treatment.

    Like every time he was in that place, in that prison, his survival was the only guarantee he had. Anything beyond that was a luxury they were not willing to provide him.

    Looking at his wrists, reddened by the marks left by the handcuffs that forced his body to remain upright, he questions his memories:

   "Did I have this when I first came here...?"

    Lastly, he simply stares at the reflection of his own face. They haven't done anything to his head, so there's no drastic difference. However, his face now bears an expression unlike any he remembers wearing. His eyes have never looked so dead.

   "These eyes... are very similar to his..."

    The man who killed his older brother. On the day this man was killed by Hiroshi, his face seemed empty somehow, as if his final battle carried no meaning.

    In the anger of the moment, the boy didn't care at all about what was going on in the man's mind, but his last words somehow never left his memory:

   "I'm sorry, kid... I was just tired."

    When he heard this, he had no idea what it was supposed to mean. He would never bother trying to understand the words of a murderer, no matter how hypocritical that logic might be. Besides, what was he tired of? What tiredness would drive someone to become an instrument of murder?

    Yet, several weeks later, for some reason this memory became much more recurrent in his mind, and with each repetition it began to make more and more sense.

    He continues to look at himself in the mirror, trying not to get too lost in his thoughts. His hair is still pretty much the same as before, if not a little messier. Ever since Vektor Drenn cut it, he has never been able to feel the same grandeur that his appearance once carried. On the contrary, he looks more pathetic every day.

    The wound on his head that would still not have healed if not for his lord's interference is the definitive mark of his loyalty, the trial necessary to participate in this current mission. The memento of this trial was kept in the drawer of Katsuo's room.

    In the worst case scenario, this drawer will be the tomb of his memories. In the best case scenario, someone will open this drawer and find what was stored inside. Either way, this item no longer means much to him, because it is something that connects him to a life he no longer plans to return to.

    Before leaving, he decides to eat whatever he finds in the fridge. It may be rude to take someone's food without permission, but technically this is still his home.