Day-1

Oswald sat at the makeshift desk.

He had asked the guard for a sheet of paper, which he now laid out before him as he took the pen in hand.

For a moment, he simply stared at it.

Soon enough, the sound of his pen scratching softly filled the small solitary cell.

It was a condemned man’s final letter.

***

I sit before this blank white page, wondering which words to write in what may be the shortest and most sacred moment of my life: the moment just before I cease to exist.

By tomorrow morning, I will no longer be here.

At last, it will be time for me to join my mother, father and younger sister, Lily.

The reason I am stepping onto the execution platform of my own accord is simple. I believe that I am an unforgivable war criminal. Others may think differently, but at the very least, I am trying to take responsibility for my actions.

However, if you ask whether I am afraid of death, the truth is that I am terrified.

That is why I tell myself every second that tomorrow I will finally be freed from the turmoil and emotions that have haunted me for so long. If I don’t, there are moments when the anxiety and fear become so overwhelming that I can’t sleep.

Earlier, a guard asked if I wanted a sedative. After a brief moment of consideration, I refused. Strangely enough, I am calm right now.

Perhaps I should share a little of my exceedingly ordinary story.

After resigning as supreme commander, I lived quietly near Carlton. From time to time, I would visit Fiore Cathedral, where I would watch the children or chat with Father Paddington about various things.

Come to think of it, I will no longer be able to see Alice grow up. Now that it’s come to this, that part does make me feel a little regretful.

All this time, I have worn the mask of a rigid, intimidating man. In truth, I like children. I also like animals and plants. I enjoy listening to people’s stories and connecting with them over shared experiences. I am someone who carries a great deal of quiet affection.

Before I became a soldier, I dreamed of becoming a doctor. I wanted to hear the stories of people in pain and save lives that were slipping away. Having worked alongside my father, a farmer, since childhood and witnessed both the beginning and end of life, I had a better understanding of its value than most.

However, the world, which had once been filled with endless curiosities and beautiful colors, came to a sudden halt when I was eight years old, the moment Astasha took everything from me and shattered my everyday life beyond repair. I locked away the memories of what I loved, along with my untainted self, behind iron bars, hammering them shut again and again so they could never be opened.

Then, of my own volition, I became a soldier who killed people.

In hindsight, it was a truly exhausting life. I filled the void in my heart with nothing but a thirst for vengeance. I lived solely for my homeland, baring my teeth and flinging myself against walls at every opportunity.

My sole purpose was to destroy Astasha. That was what kept me going. I clung obsessively to my country, to revenge and to victory, because without them I could not have survived a single day with a sound mind.

Perhaps that is why, now that I have lost everything, I am left with such overwhelming emptiness.

I lost my family. My friends. The superiors I trusted and followed. My homeland and the one woman I thought was love.

I no longer know what justice was that I once pursued. It all feels like a fragile, false illusion now.

If someone who despises me were to read this, they would probably laugh scornfully.

Do I have any regrets?

There is only one.

The woman I thought I loved, she alone is my one regret.

Yesterday, she came of her own accord to visit me in this wretched place.

I had always thought there were countless things I would ask her if we met again: where she was staying, how she was managing, whether she was happy, and whether she loved me.

But when I saw that dazzlingly beautiful face again, I was lost for words. In that instant, I also found the answers to all the questions I had been carrying around with me. When faced with someone who looked as though they might break into tears at any moment — someone who thought I was worthless — all I could offer was a hollow apology.

She might resent me. After all, I had sought her out, disturbing the peace she had found after fleeing, wanting nothing more than to forget me. And yet, despite my compulsion, I now find myself wishing—paradoxically—to beg for forgiveness and mercy with this insignificant life of mine.

Last night, I finally understood the reason behind my fate with Daphne Winfred.

After becoming a soldier and carrying out operations in Astasha, I was severely wounded and lost consciousness due to blood loss. I later awoke in a civilian hospital in Astasha with someone else’s blood flowing through my veins.

At the time, boys and girls in Astasha — especially those who were homeless or had no money — often survived from day to day by selling their hair or blood. Daphne Winfred must have lived a similar life.

Perhaps it was through this strange twist of fate that I became connected to her.

In fact, there is no doubt that this was the case.

This means that she never made any of those choices, and she is not to blame for any of it. It was nothing more than coincidence and fate.

Ultimately, I was just an ordinary person.

I longed to form connections, to share laughter over trivial conversations, and to share sorrow when it came. I wanted to build a family, one of countless ordinary people.

Daphne Winfred must have been an ordinary person, too.

She would have wanted to form bonds, have simple conversations, and live in her own small, happy world.

Fate.

If we had been born in a different era and met in a peaceful world, might our story have had a different ending?

Could we have stayed together as lovers?

This is what I want to tell her at last.

I love you.

My love has failed, yet even in this wretched hell, I want to express my feelings fully. This letter will never reach you, so I can speak freely.

I love you.

With all my heart.

Night is falling. Death is drawing near too, only a few hours remain. The lights have been turned off, so it must be time to sleep.

It’s still cold in Astasha.

But I know that a radiant spring will always come, wherever one may be.

—AH. 643.

At the Threshold of Spring

Oswald Lawrence

***

D-DAY

Beneath his drooping head, slightly overgrown hair swayed.

Drip. Drip.

Water ran down his chin, his cheeks, his neck. The cold wind stole the warmth from his body.

“Ah…”

Blazing sunlight and the murmur of voices drifted indistinctly around his ears. Hovering on the hazy boundary between consciousness and unconsciousness, Oswald slowly opened his eyes.

His head hung low.

At the bottom of his vision, he saw his own thighs resting on the chair.

“Lift your head.”

His condition had deteriorated after he refused food and water for two days. The water thrown over him while he was unconscious had left dark stains on the ground. His hands were tied behind the back of the chair.

Now, all he could do was wait quietly for death.

When he raised his head, he saw a sniper and an assistant standing before him.

The sniper’s face was concealed, and the ominous barrel of the rifle aimed at him remained motionless.

The day of death had come.

The sun was unbearably strong.

Its merciless rays beat down on his forehead, making it unbearably uncomfortable. It was so bright that he had to keep his eyes closed.

It was absurd that even such basic things could be uncomfortable at the moment of his death.

He didn’t even have the strength left to laugh.

His mouth was filled with bitterness and dryness.

Summoning what little strength he had left, he forced his eyes open and scanned the crowd.

Below the bell tower plaza, an enormous sea of people was spread out.

So the articles really had gone out, he thought suddenly, and a faint smile tugged at him.

How would the imperial citizens of Astasha receive my death?

As Phozmeri’s eternal defeat?

As Astasha’s eternal victory?

Would Daphne be among them?

“……”

Would she be there?

He wanted to check—to be sure—but the sun was too strong for him to keep his eyes open.

D*mn it.

Just then, a cloud drifting across the sky covered the sun.

The harsh brilliance dimmed, the world falling briefly into shade.

Only then could Oswald open his eyes properly.

It was nothing more than the shadow of an ordinary, unremarkable cloud, yet it felt like a blessing.

Was this God’s final mercy?

Oswald quickly searched the crowd.