30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?! novel Chapter 243

[──!!]

Scratch.

“...Haa, it seems Mother has done it ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) again.”

Iliad paused his brush mid-stroke at the roar that, for a moment, could have been mistaken for a beast’s howl. But as soon as he realized who was in the direction of that sound, he couldn’t help but chuckle.

It was coming from where his mother and the knight were.

“Looks like she’s telling Sir Ihan old stories again.”

“Another victim, then. The former chancellor and Lord Tristan also screamed like that.”

“They did. Well, talking with Mother tends to be an ordeal, one way or another. Ahaha!”

Iliad could already guess what was happening over there.

She was probably reminiscing about the past, and Sir Ihan was most likely losing his mind over it.

“...Mother is... an unusual person. She’s different from most people in many ways, so it’s only natural.”

Tap.

Iliad set his brush down and picked up the teacup Elza had prepared for him.

“Rather than unusual, her way of thinking is... peculiar.”

“...It’s not her fault. She was raised in a peculiar environment.”

“Well...”

“Mother is... a pitiful person.”

“......”

Iliad understood his mother better than anyone.

Not simply because she was his mother, but because he had based a fairy tale on her life. To do so, he had thoroughly uncovered every detail of her past.

And so, he knew exactly why Felicia possessed such a twisted nature.

Her parents had been indifferent.

The adults around her had done nothing but criticize and despise her.

In the end, she had lived a life of neglect.

In such a world, the only companion, friend, and guide she had ever known was a single sword.

It was inevitable that she would see the world differently.

“‘A female knight who knew nothing of parental love, who did not know how to love or be loved.’ That was a line from Volume 2, wasn’t it?”

“...Elza, you’ve read my books?”

“I own the entire collection. In fact, I’d be surprised if there was anyone in the household who hasn’t read them.”

“S-Suddenly feeling shy now.”

“There’s nothing to be shy about. If anything, your books have helped redeem the more... peculiar and ruthless aspects of Her Excellency’s past. You’ve done something remarkable.”

“...Ahem...!”

Yes.

It was an untold secret, but the reason Iliad wrote fairy tales based on his mother’s life wasn’t just because he wanted to adapt real stories into fables.

It was also because he wanted to protect her.

Because there were many disgraceful moments in her past that would never be praised.

A life of neglect.

A life where only the sword existed.

A life drenched in blood.

After all, there was a reason one of her many titles was The Wraith of the Battlefield.

Even in wartime, she had done things that deserved condemnation.

Her cruelty had earned her that brutal moniker.

Iliad knew that—knew that his mother deserved the criticism for some of her past deeds.

And yet, he still wanted to tell the world.

That she had not been cruel because she lacked honor or nobility.

But because she had never been taught kindness, love, or warmth by the wretched adults around her.

“She was resented for this ‘glorification’ in my fairy tales. Some people hate them for it. I believe they call those people ‘anti-fans’ nowadays? Hah... maybe I’ll get stoned one day.”

“If you wish, I can take care of them for you.”

“...Can’t even joke around with you.”

Criticism was inevitable.

Honestly, he had never expected his fairy tales to gain such massive popularity in the first place.

Whether they were praised or condemned, Iliad remained indifferent.

He simply kept working on his next piece in silence.

“But more importantly, it seems Mother really likes Sir Ihan. They’ve known each other for less than a month, yet she’s taking care of him like this, telling him her old stories. Hmm... maybe because they’re similar?”

“Similar? Are you saying that knight is like Her Excellency?”

“Mother and Sir Ihan have quite a few things in common. They’re both a bit peculiar, extremely harsh on themselves, and... they both lack talent.”

“??”

Elza tilted her head, but Iliad didn’t bother explaining further.

Without his level of insight, most people wouldn’t have noticed it.

I knew from the first day.

Just from the way he stood and swung his sword.

Ah.

This man is nothing but a common swordsman.

His talent was utterly ordinary.

Even among the trainees at the Offen household, there were surely dozens—no, hundreds—just like him.

Except for one thing.

Sir Ihan is someone who does not know how to give up.

Iliad could tell just from looking at his body.

His training was brutal—so severe that it must have felt like carving away his own bones and tearing apart his flesh.

It was the result of relentless, obsessive discipline.

A product of pure determination—something akin to his mother’s.

Someone worthy of respect.

And judging by the way he moved in battle...

He must have been in some ruthless organization in the past. An assassination squad? A mercenary unit? Maybe both. He’s definitely been through brutal wars. His combat instincts and reactions scream ‘war veteran.’

Just from watching one sparring session between Ihan and his mother, Iliad had deduced most of his history.

It wasn’t difficult.

One could learn a great deal just by observing someone’s callouses and posture.

...It’s just that few had the ability to do so.

He lacks natural talent, but he makes up for it with sheer creativity and adaptability. Just look at the way he uses his own body to the absolute limit.

It was a sorrowful trait, one that mirrored his mother’s.

But unlike her, Ihan had something else.

A fresh perspective.

An unwavering desire to seek new paths.

But such reckless ambition isn’t something just anyone can have... he’s a strange case.

Even from what Arno had told him, many of Ihan’s techniques were clearly developed while betting his own life on the line.

A method befitting a madman with no will to live.

When Iliad first heard he was coming to visit, he had expected a lunatic.

Yet, he turned out to be surprisingly normal.

And that made Iliad all the more curious.

Why—

Why does he live as if he has nothing to lose?

He wasn’t a madman.

So why was he able to throw himself away so easily?

It’s almost like he’s lived two lives already...

...Ha!

“I must be getting too absorbed in my work. My imagination’s running wild.”

“Master?”

“Elza, bring me more tea. My throat’s suddenly dry.”

“Understood.”

“Thanks.”

Iliad decided to take a break to clear his mind.

Perhaps he was just exhausted from working on his next piece after such a long hiatus.

Or maybe...

Was it because he had recalled the past?

Outside, he could hear Sir Ihan’s voice, still scolding his mother.