**Chapter 18: Homecoming②**
The change in my father’s expression was dramatic. In that moment, I realized that my earlier expectations had been somewhat emotional and distorted.
I hadn’t anticipated such an emotional reunion. But when I thought about it calmly—what would it feel like to have a son who was supposed to be dead return home? Moreover, this son had succumbed to a strange illness after years of suffering, and I hadn’t even visited him in the years leading up to his death. I didn’t harbor any resentment about that fact, but he was unaware of my feelings.
In this world, the dead sometimes return, driven by deep grievances against the living.
If my son, who had died in the night, were to suddenly appear, even a man holding the title of Baron would struggle to maintain his composure.
At first, my father’s eyes widened in shock as he peered through the dark window at me, then his face drained of color. The strict man I had imagined was nowhere to be found. I sensed a hint of fear in his expression, and it struck me like a revelation. There was no shock; perhaps the body of Adendor had altered my psyche in some way. After all, I had grown numb to pain, so it was not surprising that I might also be dull to mental shocks.
At least Baron Formet didn’t scream in panic; that was something to be thankful for. I was calm enough to think such thoughts.
After knocking on the window several times, perhaps regaining some composure, Lord Formet cautiously approached the window. His expression was one of someone caught in a nightmare. He shrank back, glued to the window, observing my face intently, and called my name in a trembling voice.
“B-Baka… that’s impossible. LiEru—you were supposed to be dead.”
It felt like I hadn’t been called by that name in ages. No one had uttered my name in the time leading up to my death, so it could have been years.
LiEru Formet. That was the name of my previous life. And now, it was likely a name that would never be used again.
As if confirming it, Lord Formet spoke again.
“I buried you and held a funeral. LiEru… you died a year ago.”
“…Yes, Father. I’m not unaware of my death. I’ve come with a request. Please let me in.”
Even standing before him, I felt no resentment. Should I be pleased about that? Perhaps it was thanks to Senri. I had already found something precious in my new life.
Seeing my calm demeanor, my father’s color returned slightly.
“Do you… resent me?”
His voice was low and strained, revealing the anxiety and regret within him. I must reiterate: I held no resentment. Though our time together had been short, he had indeed given me many things.
He hadn’t come to visit, but he never abandoned me, even when there was no hope for my recovery. He didn’t stop my care, and he provided me with countless books if I wished for them. Surely, I must have cost him a considerable amount, even among his seven children.
That was why I could remain composed even after death. My lack of grievance was not due to my kindness; it was because he had raised me that way.
And if he had indeed cremated me… it seemed someone had swapped my corpse and sold it off somewhere. Well, that was of little concern to me now.
My mind began to whirl with thoughts of survival.
“Do not resent your circumstances.” That was one of my father’s teachings. Think and act before harboring resentment. It felt like a rather difficult lesson to impart to a child afflicted by a strange illness who hadn’t yet reached ten, but here I was, alive because I had listened to the words of my elders.
I looked up at him with eyes that mirrored those of my former self, now transformed into a blood-red hue.
“I don’t resent you. Father, if you’re scared, you don’t have to let me in, but I want you to hear me out.”
“…Ah, what a night this is… Come in.”
Though my father still looked pale, he sighed softly and opened the window to invite me inside.
—
“…He’s gone, then.”
After watching my son leap from the window and vanish into the darkness, Lord Formet slumped heavily into a chair. A wave of profound emptiness and fatigue washed over him.
His son was terrifying. That was how Lord Formet viewed LiEru.
The illness that had struck when he was barely ten had taken everything from his son. The cause was unknown. No matter how much magic was employed or how many renowned doctors were summoned, the illness never healed. With so few cases, research had hardly progressed, and those afflicted would weaken and perish within a few years. The only exception was—Zero.
The name given to the illness by the wise was “Soul Death Disease.”
It was not contagious, and the likelihood of it being hereditary was low. All he could do was think that his son had been unfortunate. He had often pondered why such suffering had befallen him.
Yet, his son never complained. Even when he could no longer walk and pain coursed through his body, he never uttered a word of resentment. Though he must have been battling countless emotions within, he rarely let them surface. His mental fortitude was so strong that even the caregivers praised him.
However, it didn’t take long for that originally admirable quality to take on a sinister aspect. His eyes never wavered in the face of death. Even after hearing he was going to die, a year passed, then two, then three, and still he did not perish.
It wasn’t that he was stingy with the money for his care. The Formet family wasn’t particularly wealthy, and summoning mages from the capital for healing magic cost a fortune, but such matters were trivial.
It was simply that his son, fighting against the illness, had begun to appear like a monster. And likely, this was the view shared by everyone who had cared for him over the years. The doctors who had once called his son a miracle soon changed their words. Visits dwindled.
It was unimaginable. The sight of someone wrapped in a thick aura of death yet still fighting was too gruesome and abnormal for ordinary people to bear.
When he heard that his son had died, the first emotion Lord Formet felt was a profound relief. Finally, his son could rest peacefully, and he mourned him. He didn’t hate his son; he loved him just as he loved his other children. But to continue harboring such feelings for a son who was far too strong was a heavy burden.
And yet, due to some conspiracy, LiEru had returned from death once more. This time—as a true monster.
The son who peered through the window bore no change from his previous life. His body had grown slightly, but that was all.
He didn’t utter a word of resentment towards Lord Formet, who could easily be seen as having abandoned him, and his temperament remained unchanged. That was precisely why his abnormality was so starkly apparent.
He thought he had buried his son. In the Formet territory—and indeed in other places as well—it was customary to cremate the dead and hold a funeral unless there were considerable reasons otherwise. Of course, Lord Formet had done so. He had seen with his own eyes his son’s ashes and bones interred in the grave. But if LiEru’s words were true—then someone must have swapped the corpse along the way. It was not impossible, as he hadn’t been watching every moment of the transport and cremation.
It was an unforgivable crime. He absolutely had to find the culprit.
However, before that, how should he respond to LiEru’s request? He hesitated, cradling his head in his hands in the room where his son had just departed.
What a strange fate. It was rare enough to be afflicted by Soul Death Disease, but to become Adendor while retaining one’s memories was something that would be laughed off as nonsense if spoken aloud. Yet, it was said that Adendor reflected the temperament of their previous life quite vividly. The idea of returning with memories intact was something he had only heard of in fiction, but LiEru’s overwhelming attachment to life made it plausible that he could retain his memories.
And the boy who had actually appeared was his son, without a doubt.
Even in death, LiEru was still his son. As a parent, he had his thoughts on the matter. The content of his son’s request was not particularly difficult. Even though he was a lord in a rural area, it would be no trouble for Lord Formet to discreetly prepare a hideout or provide living supplies. Even if it wasn’t perfect, he could impose a gag order.
However, the problem was that concealing an Adendor was a grave sin. Adendors were subjects that required purification. Due to their nature of gathering the power of death and becoming exponentially stronger, neglecting them could lead to irreparable consequences. If the concealment were discovered, even a noble would not escape unscathed. Moreover, it seemed that his son already had pursuers.
As the head of the Formet family, Lord Formet’s primary concern must be the survival of his house. He could not allow the lineage of the Formet family, passed down through generations, to die out in this age. The fate of his clan rested heavily upon his shoulders.
After a night of torment, even as the sun peeked over the horizon, no conclusion had been reached.
By common sense, I should immediately contact the Order of the Final Knights. No matter how much he is my son, Adoro is still Adoro; no one would blame me for reaching out. Perhaps they would feel pity. How unfortunate that your son fell into the hands of a necromancer.
Yet, he was undeniably my son. Once, I had felt fear at his terrifying obsession with life, but as a father, I understood. He was undoubtedly my child. The son I could not save had come seeking salvation.
It was foolish. The risk was far too great. However, that son must understand this as well. Even so, he had come to me for help.
Could I truly abandon him and still hold my head high as a father? Could I continue to live proudly as a member of the nobility?
After a deep, searing conflict within me, Lord Doro made his decision.
I could not keep him within my domain. It was far too dangerous. However, I could provide financial support and resources. It was a passive approach, but it would still aid my son.
Afterward, I could simply pretend to be unaware. For Adoro to propose a negotiation was, in itself, unthinkable. The one who obstructed my son’s peace would be dealt with in the name of the baron. The trafficking of corpses is a grave crime, but selling the body of a noble’s son would never be forgiven.
Just as I resolved to call for someone, the door swung open without a sound.
A man clad in black appeared, accompanied by a large black dog.
“I can sense your turmoil, Baron Formato. I had my suspicions from the name etched on the grave, but to think you are of noble blood, Adoro… Heh heh heh, it seems the notion that a noble’s corpse makes for fine elemental material is not merely superstition…”
Who is this man!? How did he get in here!? Before I could raise my voice in alarm, the man with the suspicious gaze wore a deep smile.
“I shall take on the resolution of your troubles. Of course, I will accept a reward, but— I am a Master Beast. This dog is Albatross, a relentless pursuer.”