“Sigh... Ogre,” Lange also let out a sigh of his own.
After a moment of silence, he began to speak of his own background. “Ogre, although my background is more than a little better than yours on paper, I've never felt any affection from my family. Because my birth was an accident—it's true that I'm the son of a Knight, but I'm also the child of a maid.”
As he spoke, Lange suddenly chuckled twice. “It's quite funny, really. I've never actually seen my nominal father. If they hadn't detected that I had the talent of a Knight, he probably wouldn't have even acknowledged me as his son...”
Ogre didn't ask about Lange's mother.
The fate of a maid whose name was never even mentioned went without saying.
“Ogre, I used to see my mother, whom I barely met a few times, as a source of shame. But later on, I slowly realized that the bloodline I should truly be ashamed of is my father's. No matter how great others think he is, in my eyes, he's just a piece of trash!”
But when Lange reached this point, he suddenly forced a bitter smile again. “But I have to admit, it's precisely because of this piece of trash that I was able to survive and become a Knight...”
“Lange...” Ogre took the initiative to comfort him. “We can't choose our birth. All we can do is make ourselves as strong as possible—strong enough to break free from our predetermined destiny.”
Perhaps no one could truly defy destiny.
But there would always be those who refused to yield to it.
“Maybe that's the real difference between you and me, Ogre—you're a born strongman,” Lange said, squeezing out a smile. “And as for me... if I hadn't met the young master, I probably would have been trapped by this for a long time.”
“Folke... what did he say to you?” Ogre seemed to understand why Lange, who wore a mask of arrogance, would pledge his loyalty to the similarly-aged Folke.
“The first time I met the young master, he was holding a book... Later, when we met again, he was still holding it. He pulled me along and, in a very childish voice, explained the stories in the book and his own ideals to me, word by word. As for the exact details of what he said, I've long forgotten most of it.”
Lange recalled the past, a sincere smile appearing on his face. “But I still remember one sentence he said to me.”
“‘Kings are not great because of their bloodline, and servants are lowly because of theirs—this is unreasonable. A person's greatness should not lie in their lineage, but in their actions and thoughts.’”
Lange narrated the past, mimicking Folke's tone.
“Uh, your young master... the books he reads certainly have some depth...”
Ogre recalled what he had done during his own childhood.
Aside from bullying mana rabbits, catching birds, and occasionally catching some fish, there didn't seem to have been anything else...
As for his happiest moments, that would have been the times he spent listening to his father tell stories.
His father had used stories to entice him, which was how he had learned those bitter and difficult human characters...
Some people could display their extraordinary nature from childhood. Ogre felt that he certainly wasn't one of them, but he believed—Folke must have been.
“I think the young master understood them. In any case, from that moment on, I decided that I wanted to be his Knight and follow him—until his ideals are realized.” The more Lange spoke, the firmer his gaze became.
“Sometimes, having a goal is a good thing,” Ogre smiled and said. “That's what my father told me. He said—for a person to have a goal in life already makes them better off than many others.”
“Hahaha! I don't understand all that complex stuff, I just feel that the young master is worthy of my following. I can feel that he is different,” Lange said with a hearty laugh, rubbing the back of his head.
“Lange, Ogre! Why did you two run so far away?”
Just then, Folke also happened to walk out of the Professionals Association and waved at them.
Rate on N.U.
