Free Web NovelPavela looked at Eleanor.
This woman who confidently thought she could do anything was now standing on the edge of an abyss of self-reproach.
She also remained silent for a long time, even trying to use Pavel's old soldier logic to analyze the situation, attempting to find the most reasonable tactical response.
But in the end, she only moved her left hand—the only one she could move—and gently grabbed the corner of Eleanor's clothes hanging by the bed.
"Eleanor."
Pavela spoke, her voice still weak but carrying an unprecedented seriousness.
Eleanor lowered her head, looking at the hand grabbing her clothes.
That hand was small, the wrist so thin it looked like it might snap, knuckles wrapped in gauze, and the exposed skin covered in overlapping old and new scars.
But she held on tight.
So tight it was as if she were holding onto something she absolutely could not let go of.
"Those things you said,"
Pavela's voice was very soft, with a hint of raspiness, "I heard them all."
"But I think you've got one thing wrong."
"One very important thing."
She paused, as if organizing her words.
Pavela wasn't good at saying things like this either.
She was good at speaking with knives and guns on the battlefield, good at surviving through underhanded schemes and cold judgments.
If you asked her to cut open her stomach to see how many bowls of noodles were inside, she might actually do it; but to cut open her heart and speak her true feelings—that was harder than fighting another Night of Calderburg.
But she decided to speak anyway.
Because the person sitting opposite her was Eleanor.
"You asked if you're qualified to be my sister."
Pavela's gaze fell on the ceiling, a self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"That question... I can't answer you."
"After all, I haven't seen many living'sisters' in my life. Where would I find a standard to compare whether you're qualified or not?"
Her gaze moved from the ceiling to Eleanor's face.
In those light gray-blue eyes, there was none of the usual craftiness or mockery, nor the coldness and madness of the battlefield.
Only a very clean, even somewhat clumsy, sincerity.
"But, Eleanor, listen well."
"There's one thing I can tell you." fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
Her fingers tightened slightly on Eleanor's clothes.
"You said you didn't dare jump down when you were standing by the pit."
"You said you were counting my breaths the whole time you were holding me."
The corner of Pavela's mouth twitched slightly.
It wasn't a smile.
It was something deeper than a smile.
"But do you know what I was thinking then? Lying in that muddy pit, watching the birds fly by in the sky, the first thought in my head wasn't 'I'm going to die,' nor was it 'it really hurts.'"
"What I thought was—oh no, Eleanor is definitely going to be furious."
A hint of grievance entered her voice.
"When I crawled out of the pile of corpses with the Disciplinary Squad's guns pressed against the back of my head, I wasn't even afraid."
"But at the thought that you might look at me with that'See, I told you you couldn't do it' look, I really... lost my nerve."
"Completely lost my nerve."
She took a deep breath, a dull pain coming from her ribs, but she didn't stop.
"Do you understand what that means, Eleanor?"
"It means that in this crappy world full of lunatics and monsters, you are the first person who can make me afraid of 'disappointing you'."
The hospital room was so quiet that the rustling of leaves blown by the wind outside the window could be heard.
"Back on the battlefield, who cared if I lived or died? Superiors only cared if the mission was successful, and comrades only cared about who would block the bullets today. If you got hurt, you'd find a corner with no one around, sew a few stitches yourself, and have to keep getting back up. No one ever guarded me, counting whether my breathing was fast or slow."
"Later, I made a deal with you. I would lead you across the battlefield, and you wouldn't kill me. That was supposed to be a fair trade."
"But what you did later went far beyond the scope of that deal."
"You gave me a name, Pavela von Schwartz."
"You gave me an identity, your sister."
"You even hoped to give me a 'normal' world."
Her eyes began to sting.
She held it back.
She didn't want to cry at a time like this.
She had already cried once in the void realm; that time was too embarrassing, and she didn't want a repeat.
"You asked if what you gave me was the peaceful life I wanted."
"I'm telling you."
"When you pulled me out of that pit, I only had one thought in my head."
"I was thinking—so this is what it feels like to be caught."
"So stop asking such stupid questions."
"Things like 'am I qualified to be your sister' or 'did I push you into another hell'."
"Listen well, Eleanor von Schwartz."
She ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) used all the strength in her left hand to grip Eleanor's clothes tightly.
Her knuckles turned white, and a dull pain was squeezed from the wound under the gauze, but she was completely oblivious.
"When I was lying in the pit half-dead from the explosion, I never thought of calling for help."
"Because I knew I didn't need to."
"I knew you would come."
"Just like you always do." freeweɓnøvel.com
"That is what you've given me, Eleanor."
"Not just a surname, not just a home."
"But the fact itself that 'no matter what happens, someone will come to get me'."
"This is the most luxurious thing I've ever owned in my life."
She finished speaking.
After finishing, she felt as if she had been hollowed out.
Not physical exhaustion, but a room deep in her soul that had always been locked was opened by her own hands.
The things pouring out of that crack made her whole body go limp, making her want to shrink back into the covers and never come out again.
But she didn't shrink back.
She just quietly looked at Eleanor.
Eleanor sat motionless in her chair.
Her posture was still upright, her shoulders still squared, her hands still folded on her knees.
From the outside, she looked no different than she had a minute ago.
But Pavela noticed.
Eleanor's eyelashes were trembling.
Very lightly, very quickly, like butterfly wings struggling in the wind.
Then, a drop of water fell from those trembling lashes.
Tracing a thin, sparkling trail down her fair cheek.
Silently.
Eleanor didn't reach up to wipe it away.
She didn't even lower her head.
She just sat there, letting the tear slide down her jaw and finally drop onto the back of Pavela's hand, which was gripping her clothes.
It was warm.
Like a drop of melting snow.
Pavela had seen many of Eleanor's expressions.
Arrogant, elegant, dangerous, mischievous, gentle, serious.
But she had never seen Eleanor cry.
She even thought Eleanor wouldn't cry.
How could the woman who hadn't shed a single tear while dragging her broken body to save her on the Night of Calderburg possibly cry?
But she was indeed crying.
Silently, quietly, even elegantly—crying.
Second drop of tear followed.
Then a third.
They slid down the same path, as if carving a transparent river on her cheek.
Eleanor finally moved.
She didn't wipe her tears.
She reached out and covered Pavela's hand, which was gripping her clothes.
Her fingers were slightly cool, but her palm was warm.
Gently and slowly, she pried Pavela's hand away from her clothes.
Then, their fingers interlaced, locking together.
"You rascal."
Eleanor's voice was so raspy it hardly sounded like her own.
Those few words were wrapped in laughter, wrapped in tears, wrapped in some kind of surging emotion that was about to burst its banks, which she would probably never admit to her face.
"When did you become so good with words?"
Pavela felt that hand trembling slightly.
Eleanor von Schwartz's hand was trembling.
This hand had once held longswords, operated mechas, and taken countless lives on the battlefield.
But now it was trembling.
Because of her.
Now, only the sound of the wind outside and the occasional blurred sound of footsteps from the end of the hallway remained in the ward.
The winter sun shone diagonally through the window, casting a warm yellow patch of light on the white sheets.
That patch of light happened to fall on their interlaced hands.
Eleanor lowered her head, her forehead gently resting against the back of Pavela's hand.
Her long hair fell down, obscuring her face.
Pavela couldn't see her expression.
But she felt a warmth on the back of her hand.
It was tears.
Drop after drop, silently falling onto her skin.
Pavela didn't speak either.
She just used the little strength she had left to gently and clumsily rub Eleanor's knuckles with her thumb.
Once.
Twice.
As if saying—
I'm here.
I'm still here.
I'm not going anywhere.
Eleanor's shoulders trembled.
Then she took a deep breath and slowly raised her head.
Her eyes were red, her eyelashes wet, and tear stains still hung on her cheeks.
But she was smiling.
A very, very faint smile through tears.
That smile held none of the arrogance of the "blood rose," none of the majesty of the Commander of the Order, and none of the composure of the Schwartz Family's eldest daughter.
There was only a nineteen-year-old girl, looking at the sister she wanted to protect no matter what, showing a smile of relief.
