“I…I was there…from the start…”
As Marcus recounted his tale to Stella, their dinner stopped. At first, Marcus’s recounts were clinical and cold, bordering on that of a soldier simply telling his superior what had happened. He talked about the situation at hand: the strategic environment, their missions, the equipment, the preparations, and every other measure they had.
Marcus then talked about the training. It was grueling; the Emperor wanted to spare no expense at making sure that his soldiers would be able to conduct the greatest task at hand no matter what. And they did that. He remembered the days when he would be forced to run around by his drill instructor; then he was taught to practice how to use a sword properly, how to fire and maintain a crossbow, and so on and so forth.
He was just a young, former adventurer. Truthfully, he was clueless about what he was up against. In fact, he even told Stella how confident he was during the days in his bootcamp. Everyone, even his comrades, many of them young men who were all drafted for war, felt the same way too.
He told Stella about how the Imperium did its job back then. When the levee order was given, every young man aged 18 to 24 was dragged by thousands of recruitment officers. They all had various odd and normal lives—farmers, laborers, random drunkards on the street slums, some were even hardened criminals that the Emperor decided were worthy of having the right to fight for mankind in exchange for leniency.
Back then, criminals were often put in hard labor or sentenced to death if their crime was heavy enough. Instead, they would all be given the chance to win the war against demonkind for humanity.
“That’s why the faces in the bootcamp are so colorful and diverse.” For once, Marcus began chuckling. “There were naive ones, optimistic ones, and the types who complain too much. There was even a mage there who was so stuck far in his ass that he kept complaining that someone of his caliber was forced to war!”
Marcus stopped.
“They’re all dead now.”
Stella remained quiet. Quite frankly, even if he was just starting, he already felt quite bad. The food in front of them would go cold after all, and both of them weren’t eating as fast as they used to when it was Stella doing the talking. Quite frankly, he was jealous of her because of that.
Her stories were always so bright and wholesome, sometimes so unnecessarily funny, that he found himself captivated by them. She lived such a good life, all things considered. Meanwhile, the stories that came out of Marcus’s mouth were almost unworthy of being spoken about. It was too gloomy, too miserable, and too useless to share.
“...Go on,” Stella softly whispered, her tone encouraging. “I really wish to know.”
“I fear that you’ll die of boredom.”
“On the contrary, this is a story I am most interested in. You said you killed the Death God, didn’t you?”
“And you believe me?”
Stella smiled faintly as she stared at him.
“Yes. Absolutely. Resolutely. To me, the ‘Glorious Expedition’ is just a footnote I saw in the history books. It was a failed invasion that lent no result, a tragedy that the old Holy Empire never recovered from. But, I now know better."
“A-ah, so you’re interested because what happened will change your worldview.”
“No. I am more interested in you. Sir Marcus, what was it like down there?”
Marcus took another deep breath.
Why? Why would you want to even know? My story is so garbage…aren’t the only stories worth telling the ones like yours?
Marcus thought the only truly worthy lives were the ones filled with happiness. The rest were just background scrubs who would be forgotten. After all, who cared about a janitor complaining about scrubbing toilets, except for the janitor himself?
And who should care about Marcus’s experiences in the Glorious Expedition, except for him? The world didn’t know about it, it already moved on, and no one had the ability to even confirm his story. For all Stella knew, Marcus was just making up nonsense. ‘Killing the Death God,’ pfft, how ludicrous.
Yet she wants to listen to some old soldier’s mad ramblings.
It was oddly comforting. And so, Marcus resolved to continue his tale.
The table was now empty of food. While Marcus somewhat lost his appetite to eat, and so did Stella, she resolved to try powering through and eating everything that wasn’t on Marcus’s plate, which he managed to clear out without trouble. It was the first time that she saw Marcus eating so languidly. And she didn’t want to make him feel awful about the wasted food. Not when he was already talking so much about his dreadful experience in hell. And so many were his stories that Stella somewhat felt overwhelmed. He talked about his friends, his comrades, their likes, dislikes, the way they fought, and the daily lives they had down there.
He barely even talked about the battles. It was something even now he seemed to avoid talking about. All he would say was that ‘we lost that guy here’ or ‘that was the last time she healed us,’ refusing to give more details about the actual brutality that hell must have offered. But even with the filter of sanitation, Stella felt her guts and heart crumpling up.
She never thought about it fully, but this man, he truly bore the mark of a survivor who refused to accept why he was the last one. It was written all over his face. He was ashamed, so ashamed, that everyone he knew was dead and he wasn’t. In fact, his stories started to shift. It wasn’t about him anymore; in fact, contrary to Stella’s expectation, he never even talked or bragged about his achievements.
She knew for a fact that with Marcus’s strength, alongside his tactical and strategic senses, he must have been a battlefield hero. Someone who could shift the tides of battle by his sheer presence alone. But that wasn’t what he talked about.
He started talking about them. It was like he was desperately trying to tell Stella their stories instead, because he once vowed that he wouldn’t forget them when they died. It was strange to see Marcus this way. On the battlefield, he was a monster, a man so calm and collected that she believed wholeheartedly that they would win no matter what.
But here, he was just some young man who went through so much pain, which he never showed. It must be why he didn’t want to tell his story. He must have even buried it deep, and if Stella didn’t give him the opportunity to speak, he would have probably kept it close till his deathbed.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
They stood together on the side of the hallway, with Marie and Phoebe inside the dinging room to clean things up.
Dinner was done, so Marcus placed his mask on.
“Sorry about that earlier,” Marcus said. “I rambled too much but didn’t even finish halfway through. Geez, what’s with me?”
“Sir Marcus,” Stella took his hand. “Do you wish to continue it?”
“I was already about to retire in the room they assigned to me. And I mean, it’s already really dark, so you should probably go to sleep.”
“I wasn’t asking about that or me. I’m asking about you. Do you still need to keep telling me all this?”
“Need?”
“Sir Marcus, I can sense that you’ve been dying to be heard. I am willing to lend my ears, and I’ll keep repeating this over even if you try to act tough to run away again.”
Stella pouted as she held his hand tighter.
“I am not letting you run away.”
Marcus was speechless, but he relented.
“Sure…where are we going…?”
“Why, to your room, of course.”
Of course, Stella and Marcus wouldn’t sleep in the same room in the palace. That was inconceivable. But Stella’s little chamber was filled with multiple rooms anyway, and it was guarded by Siris, her familiar. No one would be able to come in and disturb them or eavesdrop without Stella and Siris knowing.
So Marcus was going to sleep in a guest room Stella once used to receive high-ranking noblewomen who would visit her regularly back then.
“Wait, but, what if someone—”
“No one will know,” Stella said, her voice resolute. “We have a lot of time tonight, which I’m sure you’ll need to tell me everything that you need to tell. So just tell me, okay?”
That was enough to make Marcus crack. It made Stella feel good that she was able to slowly chip through his defenses so methodically. He was like a turtle slowly learning how to come out of his shell, and it was something she found endearing.
Soon, they were in his room. Contrary to what Marcus must be used to, the room was spacious and well-furnished. The ceiling was tall, with crystalline chandeliers that activated with just a little bit of mana and paintings that depicted pretty landscapes and flowers, alongside a comfortable bed for one person.
Stella sat on the bed before patting a spot beside her.
“Come here, Sir Marcus,” Stella said. “You don’t need to look so squeamish.”
“I’m really not…”
“I said come here. Hmph. Do you really wish to make a girl call for you over and over again?”
Scratching the back of his head, he replied. “Of course not.”
And so, Marcus sat beside Stella. For a bit, he didn’t start speaking, as he must still be recomposing himself. Maybe he was trying to remember where they left off and was too embarrassed to ask Stella about it.
Or maybe he’s tired. I should really ease him.
Puffing her cheeks, Stella steadied herself before patting her lap. Marcus looked at her inquisitively before she pulled him sideways, straight into her lap.
It’s ticklish.
“W-what are you doing?” Marcus asked, as he was now lying on her lap. Stella felt her heartbeat rising. She didn’t understand why she did this, but, when she saw his troubled face, it came into her instinctually.
No chance to back off. Just go on with it normally.
“I’ve heard men find this quite comfortable,” Stella said, avoiding eye contact. “And you seem quite uneasy. I believe this should help, no?”
“...I’ll tell you my story while my head is on your lap?”
He spoke as if he didn’t deserve it, and probably, the only thing holding him off from just sitting upright out of Stella’s lap was the fact that he didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Stella didn’t like the fact that he always refused her advances, so she nodded to reassure him.
“Sir Marcus, you should start now. You were at that part about that guy who steals chocolate rations.” Stella then placed her hand on Marcus’s hair. “I thought that was quite funny. Say, did he become a friend of yours?”
“Pfft, that guy?! That asshole stole my last chocolate ration. Of course not!”
Stella gently ran her fingers through Marcus’s hair, as he was now worked up enough to start talking. And talk and talk he did, detailing more of his story in hell. Stella listened intently, trying her best to make sure that none of the details about Marcus’s life slipped from her memories. If he was going to share his memories, and the treasured memories of his comrades, then Stella would remember them all.
Hours passed, their voices exchanging in the room, the silence and harmony it provided allowing Marcus to freely share everything. Stella learned so much, until Marcus reached the part about killing the Death God, the final operation, where everyone truly died…
And left him alone to face off the monster and finish it off. He didn’t say much detail about the fight, other than the fact that he did defeat the weakened Death God. Instead, Marcus focused again on the dead. He told her that on the way back home, he saw their faces one last time.
“They’re all dead.” For a while now, Marcus must not have noticed it, but tears went down his cheeks. “They’re all dead. Stuck down there. They told us we were all going back home, but it’s just me here.”
Stella patted his head gently as Marcus continued.
“...Why?” Marcus continued tearing up as he looked at the ceiling. “Why us? We were never meant to go there and fight the demon horde. We were just normal people. I could have died there, and everyone else died. I should be dead. I shouldn’t be here. It’s why I have to finish the job, because otherwise, I don’t deserve—”
“Shh,” Stella placed a finger on Marcus’s lips, silencing him. “It’s done now. You’ve gone beyond just telling your story. Now you’re just beating yourself up.”
“S-sorry.”
She pinched his right cheek gently.
“Bad, Sir Marcus.”
Silence reigned between the two as Stella continued petting his head. He was breathing slowly now, and he turned himself to his side, as if he was trying to look away from Stella. So she leaned down on him, close to his ears.
“Do you wish to sleep now?”
“Yeah. I should get up now. I’ve been hogging your lap for a while now; your legs must be dead already, not to mention this is a bit too much.”
She began casting a simple spell on him. She wasn’t sure if it would work, but with her high [Magic] stat, she was sure she would be able to apply its effects on him. It was a spell called [Sleep], and it made his eyes turn heavier. It should allow him to sleep easier.
“Don’t worry about it. If you wish to fall asleep here, it’s fine. I’ll tuck you in your bed too when you’re in your dreamland, so no need to worry.”
“Piss off, I’m not a child.”
“Why the tough act again? Hmph, you know, it’s better when people say ‘thank you’ instead of that.”
“You’re right.” Marcus yawned. “Thank you. This…feels so good; it’s almost heaven.”
“Is it now?”
“Yeah…”
“You’re drifting off.”
“Right…even…if I wanted to get off…I can’t…”
Stella giggled melodically. Of course, it was her fault that he wouldn’t be able to get out, but, she wasn’t going to tell him. Not when she was sure he was feeling good for once. So, all she did was whisper to him.
“You’ve been through so much. Rest easy now…Marcus.”
No ‘Sir Marcus’—she used just his name. Stella knew him so closely now that she thought she should have the privilege to call him informally. And Marcus didn’t object. Instead, his eyes closed as he fell fully asleep, while tears came out again. This time though, Stella knew that it wasn’t out of misery, but of relief.
The mask he wore for so long for everyone else finally came off for her after all.
A/N:
Favorite character(s) so far?
