Chapter 30: From Distant Past to Now

"Why the hell did you have a brat?! Because of you, we can’t even afford a proper meal anymore!!!"

"Get out of my sight, you damn kid!! Don’t you dare show your face around me—you’re disgusting!!!!"

"Shit… if only this brat—if only you weren’t here…"

My earliest memories begin with curses. Even my dreams always start the same way.

Every day, they are filled with insults, shouting, and the constant fear of violence. Back then, even finding food was a struggle. I scavenged through the streets, digging through rotting garbage.

Everything tasted awful—but it was still better than nothing. There were days, many in a row, when I couldn’t eat at all. A piece of discarded bread felt like a feast. I had never once tasted proper meat or fish. I was so hungry I even tried chewing on tree roots.

My mother worked as a prostitute—a degrading job where she survived by flattering men. But she had no other choice. Whenever she looked at me, her eyes were filled with guilt.

The man who was supposedly my father had been one of her clients—someone who refused protection and forced himself on her. They later married due to their continued involvement. At first, things seemed to go well… but then his business failed. After that, he began to resent my existence and drowned himself in alcohol.

Every day, I was abused. I longed for a normal family. And every time I realized I would never have one, I sank deeper into despair.

"You have talent. I will take you to the Spear King. This is the duty and responsibility of every citizen—you have no right to refuse."

One day, in the middle of the street, a knight in shining armor said that to me. He carried a spear—the symbol of this nation. Even I, uneducated as I was, could tell it was of exceptional quality.

My father was overjoyed when he heard I would be taken to the Spear King. He said he would receive a reward… and sold me without hesitation.

At that moment, whatever little attachment I had left for him disappeared completely. Whether he lived or died meant nothing to me. That was also the moment I decided that men, as a whole, were worthless.

In contrast, my mother resisted. She wept, yet still stood up to the knight with the fine weapon without hesitation. There was no trace of the woman I had once looked down on. Instead, I saw a parent who truly loved her child.

"Then take me with you. But my mother comes too."

Even as a child, I understood—if I left her behind, she would only suffer more abuse from my father. Then we should go together.

Her body was so small it could be mistaken for a child’s. If she continued enduring that violence, she would surely die. I didn’t want that. That much, at least, was clear.

In the end, my wish was granted. That very day, my mother and I were taken to a special district within the royal capital—where the Spear King resided.

Inside the district were children my age, all about the same height, along with the knights who had brought us there. There were also wealthy merchants who provided everything needed for life within the district.

My mother was overwhelmed—so much so that she nearly fainted. For some reason, seeing that made me laugh. I don’t even remember the last time I smiled. When my mother saw that smile, she broke down in tears.

"Your audience with the Spear King has been scheduled. Change at once and prepare yourselves."

And just like that, I was swept along to meet the Spear King.

I struggled terribly to put on clothes I had never seen before. My mother, somehow familiar with such things, helped me dress.

Leaving her behind, I proceeded into the royal palace—to its very center—where the Spear King awaited.

The throne room was strangely dark. There were no magical lights in use. Only candles illuminated the space—rare in this day and age. Given that, the darkness made sense.

I wasn’t the only one summoned. Many children my age had gathered as well. Like me, they likely came from harsh backgrounds. Their eyes were dull, yet filled with confusion at being brought here.

"I see you have gathered before me—those who shall become the next Spear King."

That voice carried an overwhelming weight—so heavy it felt physical. Its authority alone made it seem as though failing to kneel would mean death. I couldn’t even bring myself to properly look at him.

"One who becomes the Spear King must be strong, beautiful, and noble."

Each word radiated absolute self-assurance. To him, he was the only true existence—everything else was insignificant. At most, others were tools to be used if deemed useful.

"You were all picked up from squalor. Your lives now belong to the Spear King. Grow stronger—strong enough that you will not lose to the Dragon King, the Gun King, the Myriad King, the Mad King, the Demon King… and above all, the Sword King."

Among all the kings he mentioned so indifferently, only the final one—the Sword King—carried something different. Affection. Familiarity. And an almost tangible obsession.

That presence alone nearly overwhelmed us into unconsciousness.

"...No fools among you who would collapse from that alone, it seems. Good. If there had been, I would have judged you unworthy. You pass. Starting tomorrow, your training to become the Spear King begins. Prepare yourselves."

Afterward, I was released and returned to my room, where my mother was waiting anxiously. My face must have been pale.

Even when I tried to eat the lavish meal prepared for us, I couldn’t taste anything. That night, I remember falling asleep clinging to her.

Unable to rest in the unfamiliar softness of the bed, I stayed in her arms as she sang to me.

It was the first time I had ever heard her sing.

Her voice was beautiful—truly beautiful.

That was the day I learned she had once dreamed of becoming a singer. I realized then that she had likely endured even more hardship than I had.

And so I thought—more than anyone, she deserved to be happy.

"Shion… I love you."

Her voice was so gentle.

I fell asleep in tears.

From the next day onward, training began—and it was hell.

Every three months, there was an exam. The bottom ten would fail and be expelled from the district. And if that happened, we would return to lives worse than before.

Everyone understood that. No one held back.

If anyone tried to sabotage others, the knights would immediately intervene and expel them. We had no choice but to rise through our own strength.

If I fell into the bottom ten, I would lose the peaceful life I had with my mother. That was unacceptable.

She had suffered enough. From now on, she deserved happiness. She deserved this life.

That became my motivation.

Higher. Higher.

I crushed my peers, surpassed them, left them behind—and eventually became known as the most promising candidate to inherit the title of Spear King.

It hurt to have my mother act like a servant… but she insisted she would rather do that than nothing at all.

After five years, those who remained were all elites. Those who endured earned permanent residency within the district. I began to suspect that even the knights here had once been candidates like us.

I gained the strength worthy of privilege. I was even permitted to wield a magical spear.

My efforts had not been in vain.

And yet—the stronger I became, the more my hatred for men grew.

While we fought desperately to grow stronger, they threatened us with strength they had possessed from the start.

Yes, with magic, we could surpass them. But still—I saw them as enemies.

Even when I traveled to other nations, that belief never changed.

Of course, I never showed it outwardly. I had long since learned how to hide my true feelings. Some saw through it—but those people kept their distance, so it wasn’t a problem.

There were many men who looked at me with vulgar eyes. That only deepened my disgust.

Some even looked at my still-youthful mother the same way.

I suppressed the urge to kill them and forced a polite smile.

Still… as long as I was with her, I was happy.

No matter how uncertain the future was, I felt I could endure anything.

At the same time, I came to understand one truth about this world:

Power is everything.

Without it, your words have no value. Your very existence is denied.

I had once been exactly that kind of being.

Someone who deserved to be scorned. Lucky just to not be killed.

The others who were eliminated were simply weak—that was all there was to it.

That’s what I believed.

Or at least… I thought I did.

"That’s the value of a ‘Saint,’ isn’t it? Where do you see Alicia’s own worth?"

"I’m not asking about the value of power!!!!! I’m asking about her!! Her heart, her actions—what value do you see in her?!"

"I just want to help a girl who’s doing her best while carrying the heavy burden of responsibility. If she matters to you, then I want to help her even more."

"Don’t you dare lay a hand on someone important to me."

I couldn’t understand the words of the man before me.

A man—one who became a king simply by drawing the holy sword.

I had hated him—for being chosen despite lacking real strength.

And yet… every word he spoke was genuine.

There was power in them. And love.

The moment I realized that, I could no longer hate him.

Because his words and actions were the same as my mother’s.

Devoted. Compassionate. Always watching others closely.

Someone who could cherish others more than himself.

In the end, I lost.

I accepted a defeat that had never been allowed before.

My value—was gone.

And yet, when I saw my mother running toward me, I felt her love.

Even though I shouldn’t have… I found myself thinking—

I was glad I lost.

Because I finally understood:

She hadn’t loved me because I kept winning.

She loved me—for who I was.