Translator: Nox

30 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper

Shattered Glass Slipper Shards Episode 30

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‘You seem to have many worries.’

‘Brother.’

Although he said he came to see Father, smiling, it was clear that Brother had come a long way to see me. Perhaps rumors about me had spread through the Halberd family, as his face was filled with pity for me.

‘You’re in a sorry state. I don’t know where the brother I know has gone, and who this sickly person who looks like they’re about to die is. So, did you come here and find many geniuses greater than you?’

‘It’s not because of things like that.’

‘Then what is it? Rys, I cannot imagine the weight of the burden you carry. Nor how heavy Father’s expectations are. You suffer because of this useless brother. If I had possessed talent, you wouldn’t have had to walk this arduous path alone.’

‘Do you not resent your younger brother, Brother?’

‘Resent what? I am merely proud. I only wish you were a child who could express your inner thoughts more. Rys, people call geniuses fortunate beings with innate abilities. But I don’t think so. Geniuses are merely the product of immense patience. And within that patience lies something earnest, a mixture of confidence and despair. I don’t know why you are suffering now. I cannot dare to promise that I can alleviate your pain. But I simply wish to see you. The you from our most proud times, the you who shone more brilliantly than anyone when holding a sword. And remember. Many people are worried about you. Especially Mother.’

People often compared me to my second brother. They would mock my brother’s inferior qualities compared to me, calling him a half-wit as he stoically endured their taunts with a smile.

But I knew. I knew how many tears had flowed and dried within my brother’s heart as he pretended to be unaffected.

It would be a lie to say that my brother, being human, didn’t hate me for making him miserable.

But my brother endured it with patience. He endured it with affection for me. He was a person with stronger self-love than anyone, and his pride was no less abundant, but he possessed the discernment to distinguish the object of his hatred.

That is why I respect my brother. Lestphito Halberd, my second brother, was a man worthy of respect.

In truth, my second brother’s words did not serve as absolution for the murder I committed. Nor could they. But they were enough to give me the strength to overcome my nightmares.

I found solace in his words and regained my sense of self. As my mind became peaceful, I was no longer swayed by malevolent spirits. Naturally, the skill everyone admired returned.

I prospered day by day. I always won, not only in sparring matches between knights but also in duels between knightly orders, which were contests of pride among nobles. In this empire, few could defeat me with a sword.

Perhaps that is why? People praised me, saying I might become the empire’s greatest knight before I turned thirty.

By the time I had been a knight in the Bishvarts Family for six years, everyone in the empire lauded me as a genius, saying that Lustewin Halberd was the sword that represented the Bishvarts Family.

Where had their mocking and critical gazes gone? Everyone smiled at me. At least within the Bishvarts Family, there was no one who disliked me.

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Originally, a knight is not made simply by wielding a sword well.

Only by maintaining dignity as a lord’s sword, upholding the virtues bestowed upon oneself, and living faithfully could one truly become a knight.

Loyalty, faith, humility, valor, love, benevolence, and protection of the weak. My father, Ferdian Halberd, was a man more faithful to the virtues of a knight than anyone else.

My father was loyal to Count Bishvarts and revered his daughter, Lady Roena. He also urged me to live with the honor of a knight.

Therefore, before I joined the Bishvarts Family, I believed all knights were noble beings with the same sublime beauty as my father.

But that was merely my delusion. The knights I met were skilled with the sword, but their thoughts and actions were no different from the commoners or servants they looked down upon.

No, some were worse than thugs from the back alleys. Their behavior was too vulgar and even violent to be excused by loyalty to the Count.

Humility and respect were secondary, and their contemptuous attitude towards commoners and serfs made it difficult to expect them to protect the weak.

Cishe de Bishwaltz was a rather appealing prey for them.

Just yesterday, a girl who had been running around the streets suddenly became the lady they had to serve, and most of them were displeased and uncomfortable with this.

The noble ladies they envisioned were not such vulgar women who stumbled into titles by luck.

They were meant to be born of noble blood, possessing an elegance that could not be approached carelessly. Like Roena de Bishbalz.

I had heard her name for quite some time before I met Lady Cishe.

Knights who trained swords with me, my page Pel, and even the maids walking down the corridors, all whispered her name.

Most of their conversations were close to slander. People would mention the mother of the lady who was to become the Count’s wife, and mock her as well.

They taunted that the daughter of a woman who seduced their lord to take the position of the Count’s mistress must be unspeakably vulgar. Sympathy for Lady Roena was an afterthought.

It was astonishing to think that it was possible for everyone to unite with one heart and direct their animosity towards one person.

But they made it possible. No, they didn’t stop there; they constantly compared her to Lady Roena and snickered.

This was disrespect towards their lord, Count Bishvarts, but no one pointed it out. I found that fact deeply unpleasant.

What would it feel like to live a life of constant comparison to someone else? It would probably be hell.

Even I, who had never faced an insurmountable wall and thus knew nothing of frustration, and therefore could not even conceive of blaming anyone, could guess the extent of the pain my second brother must have felt. How much more so for the person experiencing it directly.

Fortunately, my second brother stoically endured all these insults and was still enduring them well. That is why I respected him and showed him more deference than my first brother during gatherings like hunts.

Therefore, even if people mocked my second brother behind his back, they dared not utter words of ridicule in front of me.

Lady Cishe would be the same. She too must be experiencing the painful times that my second brother had tasted, and was still tasting.

But she was different from my second brother. I could already guess this from our first meeting, when I found her in the garden, looking as if she were crying.

In fact, until then, I had no particular thoughts about Cishe de Bishwaltz.

I only had the mindset that I should respect and follow the decision made by our lord, Count Bishvarts.

However, when I saw her sitting in a corner of the deserted garden, huddled as if to avoid the eyes of others, I felt an indescribable, strange emotion. It was pity.

My second brother, Lestphito Halberd, is a knight who understands chivalry. He learned patience while training his sword and mastered the art of controlling and overcoming emotions through proper education. In some ways, he possessed more strength and admirable qualities than I.

But Lady Cishe is different. She is a delicate girl who has just entered the world of nobility and has not learned how to deal with malice.

Therefore, all she could do was hide and compose her emotions like this.

I approached Lady Cishe and offered her a handkerchief. This was less about worshipping a lady or upholding the knightly virtue of protecting the weak, and more of an impulse.

I could not help but feel pity for her, who was in the same predicament as my brother, yet was even weaker.

Lady Cishe, the subject of so many rumors, was surprisingly impressive upon our first meeting.

Though she was merely a commoner just a few days prior, a sense of grace emanated from her small act of receiving the handkerchief.

Furthermore, her words of thanks and her natural demeanor were no less than those of Lady Roena.

She was a rather beautiful girl. Her wide eyes, opened in surprise, did not mar her radiant appearance.

Instead, her eyes, trembling with fear of the unfamiliar knight, captured my gaze.

Her tendency to avert her gaze, perhaps out of shyness, and the way she tightly clutched the handkerchief I gave her were far from the vulgarity everyone so readily mocked.

“Please, forget what you just saw. I beg you.”

She seemed to have already learned how to swallow her sorrow. Above all, her efforts to conceal actions that might become fodder for gossip, mindful of others’ eyes, were pitiable.

Perhaps that was why. I impulsively blurted out that she didn’t need to return the handkerchief.

I do not possess a gentle disposition, so I do not know how to comfort those in such situations.

Even with my second brother, I merely show him respect close to reverence, thereby upholding his pride.

Therefore, comforting Lady Cishe felt difficult. I wanted to say something, but it felt like a grave discourtesy.

The day after I met Lady Cishe in the garden, rumors spread that she had greatly angered my father, the Count, because of Lady Roena.

“They say Lady Cishe begged Lady Roena for a maid. The maids who were there said it was the most rude and shameless request they had ever heard. Isn’t that interesting?”

My page, Pel, is intelligent and quick-witted, making him perfect as a page, but he is also gullible and frivolous, which often causes problems.

There was no rumor in the Count’s mansion that Pel didn’t know. He loved gossip and enjoyed spreading it to others to chatter about together. This young boy’s current interest was Lady Cishe.

“Rumors are not to be believed. Instead of listening to such things, go polish your sword one more time.”

“Our beautiful Lady Roena burst into tears, and don’t you, as a knight, feel anything boiling up inside you! If I were a knight, I would have rushed to Lady Roena immediately and offered her a handkerchief. Kyaa~”

“Didn’t I tell you time and again? A true knight…”

“Yes, yes. A knight does not get swayed by baseless rumors, but thinks about what he sees, believes what touches his heart, and acts to pursue true justice. I know. I’ll go polish my sword.”

“One more thing. You must not doubt your lord’s sincerity. What you must believe is not the wicked rumors spread by others, but your lord.”

At my words, Pel nodded with a sullen face. I pretended not to notice his expression and headed to the training grounds.