I followed the man to the Navy headquarters, with that cruel sound still echoing in my ears.
After walking along the path for a while, a large modern building came into view. Beneath it, neatly laid tiles gleamed in the sunlight.
As we entered the building, a soldier as big as a bear spotted the man and hurriedly ran toward him. Saluting with impeccable form, he spoke.
“Colonel, sir. You’ve arrived.”
The man gave a brief salute, and the soldier lowered his hand. He then glanced at me and asked.
“And who is this woman…?”
The man introduced me as a family member of the deceased. Upon hearing that, the soldier moved to escort me.
“Oh…! In that case, this way, please—”
The man raised his hand to stop him.
“I’ll escort her.”
“Excuse me?”
The soldier’s small eyes widened. He scratched the back of his head with a thick hand, hesitated for a moment, then stepped back awkwardly.
“Yes, of course…”
As I followed the man down the hallway leading underground, I saw the Navy personnel moving briskly in all directions.
Whenever they noticed the man, they stopped their work to salute him, and then glanced at me with curious, intrigued faces as I walked behind him.
But that wasn’t what I was concerned about.
“Have other family members already come by? I don’t see any outsiders besides me.”
“Most have already been here,” the man replied, opening a door at the bottom of the stairs.
Here too, the Navy personnel greeted him with the utmost respect. After walking a bit further, someone approached.
“Commander, we’ve recovered all the personal belongings from the Baltic Fleet. We should be able to distribute them to the families within the deadline.”
Commander…?
Since earlier, the title with which the soldiers had addressed the man had been gnawing at the back of my mind.
Navy colonel, Baltic Fleet, commander…
It wasn’t long before I realized what was bothering me.
“Johannes Schultz?”
I looked up at the man in shock. My lips parted slightly, and a faint gasp escaped.
“Are you… Duke Schultz?”
The man raised his eyebrows at my barely whispered words, then looked down at me with an indifferent gaze.
“If you’re asking about my birthright, yes.”
He confirmed it briefly.
“Goodness.”
I stood still for a while, unable to speak.
I thought I was the only one burdened with all the misfortune in the world. But the truth was different.
This man had not only witnessed his father’s execution with his own eyes, but also had to endure the scorn of the many gathered at the port.
But how could he remain so calm? How did he not turn away from those painful moments?
“How—”
“Are you asking how I can seem unaffected?”
I slowly nodded my head. Johannes Schultz did not answer immediately but instead resumed walking.
We continued through the long, white corridor in silence. Then, as we stopped before a door, he grasped the handle and spoke.
“I believe that those who commit crimes must receive punishment appropriate to their deeds. My father taught me that.”
I instinctively drew in a sharp breath.
There was not a hint of tremor in his voice. It was as if he were speaking of someone else entirely, someone whose fate had nothing to do with him—simply stating that the guilty deserved punishment.
“But how can you not harbor any doubts? Isn’t it possible that your father was wrongfully accused—”
“And would that change anything?”
“What?”
He slowly turned his head, his blue eyes locking onto mine.
“A soldier must follow the orders of the military commander, regardless of the reason. Right now, that commander is the royal family.”
I was at a loss for words. It might have been my imagination, but for a moment, it seemed like I saw sadness flicker in his eyes.
“This is the morgue. Would you like to confirm the body?”
His voice had returned to its stern tone. He was asking if I was prepared to face my father’s remains.
Instead of answering, I gave a slow nod, and he pulled the door open.
The morgue was cooler than the other rooms. A strange odor filled the air, a mixture of chemical preservatives and the stench of decaying bodies.
Scanning the area slowly, I found a bed with a nameplate bearing my father’s name.
“The body is more decomposed than the others, so it might be unpleasant.”
“…It’s fine. I need to see for myself that it’s really my father.”
That determination lasted only for a moment.
“Urk.”
As soon as I saw the body, the urge to vomit surged up from within. I quickly clamped my hand over my mouth and rushed out of the morgue.
It took a long time to catch my breath and collect myself. Afterward, disgust with myself started to creep in.
How heartbroken my father must be.
Once I had steadied my emotions, I re-entered the morgue.
My father’s body was so disfigured that it was nearly impossible to recognize. And the stench was overwhelming. His body was covered in purple blotches, and it was in a horrifically damaged state.
Once again, I was shocked.
Was this horribly decayed body truly my father’s?
“Is this really my father…?”
I wasn’t seeking an answer. I just needed to say it out loud, to face the reality.
Johannes didn’t respond either.
I held my father’s unmoving hand. It was the first time I had ever touched a corpse’s hand—it was damp and slippery.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the Navy soldiers stationed in the morgue were turning their heads away, unable to bear the sight. But I had no time to care about them.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
The cold touch of the lifeless body, devoid of any warmth—it finally sank in.
Father was truly gone.
But then I realized something was different from how I remembered my father’s hand. I quickly lifted the hand I was holding for a closer look.
“…This isn’t my father’s hand.”
I hurriedly looked up at Johannes Schultz. His eyebrows rose in surprise. I stammered as I explained.
“My father’s right index finger is bent. I’m certain of it! What I’m saying is that my father might still be alive—”
I couldn’t finish the sentence. Then, one of the soldiers, the only one besides Johannes who hadn’t turned away, cautiously spoke up.
“Well… it’s possible that during the process of the body’s swelling, the finger temporarily straightened.”
“But—”
“The belongings recovered from the body all belong to Sergeant Prim,” Johannes interjected, handing me a box of personal items placed in the corner.
“Oh…”
Any faint hope I had was quickly dashed. A heavy sense of despair weighed me down.
So it’s true.
The Navy badge engraved with Isaac Prim’s name, his uniform, and the handkerchief I had embroidered and given to him as a gift.
Seeing my father’s belongings, the emotions I had been holding back finally surged.
I tried to keep the tears from spilling over by widening my eyes and biting my lips. I clutched the sheet that covered my father’s body and tried to suppress the grief.
By then, the Navy soldiers had all left the room. Only Johannes Schultz remained by my side.
A soft voice broke the silence.
“It’s okay to cry.”
His simple words, spoken by someone who shared my pain, felt more comforting than anything else—even if he hadn’t meant it that way.
In the end, the tears I had held back burst forth. I collapsed beside my father, buried my face, and sobbed.
A large hand hovered in the air for a moment before it gently began patting my back.
I stayed there for a long time, grieving beside him.
* * *
After I had barely managed to pull myself together, with the help of Duke Schultz, I completed the paperwork for my father’s death benefits.
The value of Isaac Prim’s life was, in monetary terms, pathetic.
“Only six million Verks…?”
It was laughable and pitiful to be faced with such calculations right after sending off my father, but I had to keep going. I had to live.
“Sergeant Isaac Prim’s insurance payout was never going to be much. He had borrowed against his salary from the military, and besides, he was only a soldier.”
“But if he hadn’t gone to war, he wouldn’t have gotten sick in the first place!”
“I’m just a low-ranking officer. Complaining to me won’t change anything. If you’re that desperate, go find a military official you know and ask for help.”
The soldier waved his hand dismissively with an annoyed look on his face.
“How…”
The lives of those who died fighting for their country were worth less than the monthly expenses of the aristocrats.
“If you keep this up, you’re going to make things difficult for us. We have to explain this to every family member.”
The soldier glanced around to ensure no one was listening, then lowered his voice.
“Because Duke Schultz embezzled so much, there’s barely anything left to pay out the death benefits for the soldiers.”
His response was cold and rehearsed, almost as if he wanted me to blame Duke Schultz for everything.
And for some reason, that made it even harder to believe.
The soldier hurried me out, saying the same meager amounts had been paid to other families as well.
When I arrived home, I found countless letters stuffed into my mailbox.
Most of them were overdue bills, like tax or water utility notices.
“Ha…”
Poverty didn’t even allow me the time to properly mourn my father’s death.
Without a moment to reflect on his final moments, I had to face the reality of survival and find a way to make money.
