It was an unusually bright moonlit night.

  Moonlight streamed through the thin curtains, casting a soft shadow on the woman sitting in the most luxurious room of the Palace of Light. She gently placed her hand on her belly, inside which awaited the only child of Monarch Samuel K. Alaskark, who had died the previous month. The child was nearly eight months along, and she knew they would surely be a prince.

  A soft knock sounded at the door.

  A man entered and dropped to one knee before her. He was clad entirely in black cloth, wrapped from head to toe, a plain sword hanging at his side.

  “Everything is ready, Queen Sanguel.”

  Sanguel lowered her gaze, her eyes cold and unreadable. No one could ever tell what thoughts lay hidden behind that look. She rose slowly to her feet and spoke in a tone of one born to command:

  “I entrust this to you, Rambeck. Make sure no child born tonight survives to tomorrow.”

  Rambeck kept his head down, showing no reaction. Sanguel placed his hand on his shoulder, her tone softening into something that almost resembled a sigh.

  “There are many things I cannot reveal, Rambeck. But you must understand, it’s all for the sake of the Realm of Light, and for those children themselvesl. What you are doing tonight is freeing them from a predetermined miserable future.”

  Rambeck remained silent, bowed once more, and withdrew.

  The moment the door closed, the queen consort immediately summoned a servant.

  “Make the preparations. I am about to give birth.”

  The maid froze, flustered:

  “Y-Your Majesty…? You have not yet reached thirty-five weeks, and there are no signs of labor…”

  Queen Sanguel turned back to her, her expression calm as the moonlight beyond the window.

  “The Prince will be born tonight.”

  **************

  Inside a decrepit house hidden among the trees on the outskirts of Russher, sounds that didn’t belong in the dead of night echoed.

  “Breathe slowly… one… two… You’ve come so far to get here. Just a little more. Hang on…”

  The woman lay flat on the bed, sweat dripping from her skin as waves of pain clenched her swollen belly.

  Her fingers dug desperately into the hem of the older woman beside her, while another stood nearby, murmuring constant reassurance. She bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself to match her breathing to the midwife’s instructions.

  After a painful cry, the midwife exclaimed:

  "The baby's out! He’s a boy! You did wonderfully!”

  Immediately afterward, an unusual silence fell. The mother murmured weakly, hovering between consciousness and delirium:

  "My child... where is he? Why isn't he crying...?"

  The midwife lifted the baby, wrapped he in a blanket, and said in a slightly panicked voice:

  "The baby can't breathe. He may have suffocated..."

  At the same time, the rickety wooden door burst open.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Three dark figures rushed in, bringing with them a gust of icy night wind. One moved instantly, striking the midwife unconscious and snatching the infant from her arms. The other midwife barely had time to scream before another black-clad figure clamped a hand over her mouth. She was so terrified and fainted immediately.

  “W-Who are you? What are you doing?” The mother cried out weakly.

  Rambeck examined what lay within the swaddling cloth. The baby was wrinkled and flushed red, frail and motionless.

  He seemed dead.

  Despite trembling all over, the mother tried to crawl out of bed. Her hands frantically reaching for her baby.

  But childbirth had drained all her strength; she couldn't even sit up straight before collapsing again. The baby still lay motionless in Rambeck’s large hands, completely silent.

  Several minutes had passed. He had no chance of survival.

  He spoke calmly to the other two:

  “He’s dead. The mission is complete. Deal with the women. Intimidate them a little, then give them some silver to keep their mouths shut.”

  The other two nodded and quickly withdrew.

  Rambeck let out a long sigh and placed the lifeless child beside its mother.

  This was the strangest mission the royal family had ever assigned him - to kill every child born tonight.

  No matter how much he pondered it, he could not grasp the reason behind such an order. And yet, he carried it out all the same, just as he always had. Queen Sanguel was a terrifying woman. Even while the Monarch still lived, her influence had been absolute. Still, she was not the kind to slaughter without cause.

  But above all else, obeying orders required no reason.

  Rambeck was a soldier. He had killed many people in his lifetime. Some of them were guilty. Some were not. Even so, he was no cold-blooded butcher. Anyone who could murder an innocent child without a shred of guilt could hardly be called human.

  All four children listed were dead. Except for this one, who unfortunately died at birth, others life had ended by his own hands.

  Rambeck turned toward the door. With the mission finally complete, the emotions he had long suppressed surged like a rising tide, weighing his legs down with a strange, unbearable heaviness.

  He had believed himself numb after countless bloody assignments for the royal family. It seemed he was wrong. It would take many sleepless nights before he could even begin to forget this suffocating feeling.

  Then, suddenly, a cry rang out.

  The baby he was certain was crying. A loud, clear, full of life cry.

  Rambeck froze, his whole body trembling. Despite the orders, despite the coldness he tried to maintain, despite the unanswered doubts, he felt cleansed by the clear cry of the newborn. The crushing weight piled deep within his chest seemed to loosen, then fall away.

  Before he realized it, he had lifted the child into his arms, holding it with an almost reverent gentleness. The child stopped crying as soon as it was in his embrace.

  Rambeck moved closer to the window, letting the moonlight shine over them.

  It was a boy with dark red hair. His small body seemed to glow, like a life bestowed by the moon.

  He had crossed the threshold of death on his own.

  He had seized life with his own hands, even as fate decreed he should not exist.

  Could this child be the salvation the gods had sent to him? Rambeck wondered.

  The mother also woke up at the sound of the crying, but she didn't dare do anything, only staring at the man with a mixture of hatred and wariness. Rambeck returned the baby, which was almost silent after being held in his mother's arms.

  The woman wrapped herself around her son as if to shield him with her entire body, casting Rambeck a cautious gaze.

  “If you mean to harm him, then kill me first!”

  Rambeck replied in a low voice,

  “No. He is already dead.”

  Panic seized her. She hurriedly checked the child until she was certain he was breathing.

  The boy slept peacefully in her arms.

  Her expression became confused.

  “Why…?”

  "Promise me three things: First, pretend this never happened. Second, don't let anyone see the baby or hear him cry for the next three days. And finally, if anyone asks, say his birth date is three days from now. No need to leave the capital, the city gates are heavily guarded now."

  Rambeck didn't know why he was doing this. The child's survival surely held some meaning he couldn't quite grasp at the moment.

  "Have you thought of a name for him yet?"

  The mother hesitated, but she said:

  "Yes... His name is Ferir... Ferir Hakken."

  by Rio Uehara

  I actually got isekai’d once.

  It happened 10 years ago, when I was just a 16-year-old kid suffering from "main character syndrome." I slipped on the stairs, and the text thing I knew that I was in a place called Averula.

  That place had monsters, a Demon King bent on world domination, and "Heroes" carrying the hopes of the kingdom on their backs.

  Being the traveler from the other world I was, I figured I should shoulder some of that burden. So, I joined the Hero’s party as the sixth member.

  Also the one everyone called the errand boy.

  I spent three years cooking, peeling oranges, serving tea, giving massages, and literally fanning those "Heroes" - only to kick the bucket in the final boss fight.

  The last thing I saw? My so-called "comrades" decided I wasn't worth wasting a Resurrection Elixir on.

  Luckily, I woke up back in my old world.

  After that, I’ve spent the last 10 years living a quiet, peaceful life. And I was perfectly happy keeping it that way forever.

  But now, the god that kicked me to the other world in the first place wants me to go back, right to the moment before it all started.

  For what? To be an errand boy again?

  I’m not feeling that idea at all.

  ------------------------

  Update everyday until April 25.