My Ex-Girlfriend Was Appointed as a Knight Commander

Chapter 51

The orphanage was, in essence, a small church.

After Sunday service, the head nun allowed the children their afternoon nap. Reading and meditating were her hobbies, her habits. Today was a day for meditation. She sat by the sunlit window, eyes closed, sitting upright in her chair. Though it was called meditation, she wasn’t thinking of anything profound. Her thoughts, more personal than religious, often wandered to her concerns for the future of the orphanage.

When winter fully set in, they’d need more firewood.

She opened her eyes and glanced at the fireplace next to the classroom. On the left side of the hearth, a few dry logs were stacked, ready to burn. Inside, the remnants of last night’s fire—half-burnt wood and ashes—lay scattered. The poker, leaning against the right side of the fireplace, was smeared with soot.

Winter was difficult for everyone.

The church, the pastors, the nuns, merchants, adventurers, hunters, herbalists, orphans, and the parents who had abandoned them alike. The orphanage had reached its limit. There was space for the children, but no funds to feed and keep them warm through the winter. The church’s support barely covered the current children.

Unconsciously, the head nun clasped her hands together. Helplessly, all she could do was pray. She didn’t recite a prayer; she merely cast her thoughts upward, hoping for an answer.

Bang.

The door to the orphanage swung open abruptly. Startled, the head nun turned to see who it was. A gust of cold wind swept through the room, biting into the warm air inside. Standing in the entrance, in front of the now wilted dandelion field, was a familiar face she hadn’t seen in two years.

“Christine...!”

The head nun shot up from her seat and rushed toward Christine, who leaned against the doorframe. She didn’t say a word, just grasped Christine’s cold, frozen hands tightly. The once-vibrant, emerald-green eyes she remembered had dimmed, their light snuffed out by the winter winds.

Without dwelling on what might have happened, the nun hurriedly pulled Christine inside to shield her from the cold. Only then did she notice the leather trunk Christine was carrying.

"What happened?" the nun asked, taking the heavy trunk from Christine’s hands and setting it on the floor before guiding her to a chair. Christine’s shoulders trembled slightly as she exhaled a cold breath, trying to steady herself. When she looked up again, she smiled—just like the nun remembered.

"Please, take this."

Christine lifted the trunk from the floor and handed it to the nun.

“What is this?”

Christine didn’t answer, instead opening the trunk’s clasp. The nun’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of gleaming gold bars inside.

"This is the money I earned from completing an assignment at the Mage Tower. I heard the church’s finances were struggling... so I thought the orphanage might be, too."

Christine smiled as she closed the trunk again, but the nun’s face reflected more concern than joy.

“Today’s a weekday. Is everything alright at the Mage Tower?”

Christine smiled and nodded at the nun’s question.

“It’s fine. And you’ll accept the trunk, won’t you?”

The nun placed her hand over the trunk but then gently pushed it back toward Christine. Despite their struggles, this was not a matter the nun could let Christine handle alone.

"...How can we accept money you worked so hard for? We have no right to take this."

“Think of it as a donation. After all, the orphanage is part of the church,” Christine replied, her smile fading.

The nun shook her head softly.

"Christine... I don’t know how you came by so much money so suddenly, but I know this isn’t the kind of amount you’d get from a single job at the Mage Tower."

Christine stopped the nun from pushing the trunk away again.

"Please. Please, just accept it. Don’t ask me any questions—just use it for the children, for the orphanage."

Christine’s voice trembled with desperation, as if she were clinging to a lifeline. She sounded like a person trapped in a deep, dark hole, frantically searching for a way out.

“Use this money to keep the children from freezing on the streets, from being taken away into the alleys.”

Christine’s voice quivered. The nun didn’t interrupt, letting her speak until the end.

“Give them warm rooms, fill their bellies, and bathe them. Teach them to read and write, to understand love and humanity.”

Christine was trying, with everything she had, to justify herself. But the more she spoke of how this money could help others, the more her heart ached, as though salt were being rubbed into an open wound.

“So, please...”

Christine, her face pale, held out the trunk again. The nun, unable to say any more, took it from her. The weight of the already heavy trunk seemed to double in her hands.

“Please, accept this gold.”

The nun stared at Christine for a long time. Christine, in turn, couldn’t bear to look up, terrified of meeting the nun’s violet eyes, which felt like judgmental lightning bolts aimed at her. Christine bit her lip.

"I’ll take it."

The nun’s voice was soft as she placed her hand on Christine’s shoulder.

“I won’t ask, but if there’s something you want to say, I’m here to listen.”

Christine lifted her head, offering a fragile smile. If she were to confess her guilt and the burden she carried, could the nun accept this money as kindly as she had just now?

Probably not. In essence, as a woman of faith, she could never condone money obtained through evil means. Or perhaps, in an attempt to preserve the orphanage, she might take it while pretending to know nothing. Most likely the latter. She would take the money and all the sins attached to it, perhaps even offering forgiveness for Christine’s wrongs.

But Christine didn’t want forgiveness from anyone—not from God, not from the nun, and not even from herself. Christine was grateful, though, that the nun had chosen not to ask further.

After giving Christine some time to calm herself, the nun brought out tea. The tray carried a teacup Christine had always used during her childhood.

For a moment, Christine felt like the young girl she had been before she was sent to the Mage Tower.

“I left the Mage Tower,” Christine said.

The nun didn’t look surprised. She merely nodded a few times in understanding.

The guards quickly returned to their posts, responding, “No problem, sir.” The young man released the knight, who collapsed.

“Damn it, you... deputy...!” the drunken knight slurred, spouting nonsense as he passed out. The young man sighed and surveyed the scene. It was a disaster. Then, his eyes landed on Christine, who sat quietly in the corner of the tavern. He seemed surprised and walked over to her.

“I’m sorry for the disturbance. One of our knights...”

Deputy commander.

Christine couldn’t find words as she stared at him. This was the man. The cursed one. Her eyes trembled as she took in his appearance.

“We’ll compensate you for any trouble...”

“I’m not a customer here,” Christine interrupted.

The young man looked up, surprised.

“Then why...”

“I came to apply,” Christine replied.

The young man frowned in confusion.

“Apply?”

Christine took a deep breath.

“I came to apply for the Gallows Crow Knights.”

The young man froze, his eyes wide, as though his brain were still processing what he had just heard.

"You're applying... for the Gallows Crow Knights?"

"I want to join as a new recruit," Christine replied.

The young man scratched the back of his head, then asked, “Is there anyone else?”

“There were others, but they all ran away. I’m the only one left.”

He didn’t seem particularly surprised or disappointed. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat across from Christine.

“...Well then, let’s proceed with a quick interview.”

Christine nodded absentmindedly. She had heard the rumors about the downfall of the Gallows Crow Knights, but she hadn’t imagined it was this bad. And now, the man likely cursed by her actions was sitting right in front of her.

What should she do? Should she apologize first?

“I’m Maxim Apart, the deputy commander of the Gallows Crow Knights,” Maxim said, breaking into her thoughts.

“What’s your name?”

Christine looked up. Maxim’s lifeless golden eyes met her green ones. She had found him. But now, what could she possibly do to atone for all that had happened to him?

Christine decided to start with her name.

Did he realize that the person he might hate most was sitting right in front of him?

“Christine... Christine Watson, Deputy Commander.”

Maxim nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“Good, I like your attitude.”

With a sense of dread gnawing at her heart, Christine began her interview with Maxim.

"...Are you listening, senior?"

"Huh...? Oh, yeah..."

Maxim snapped out of his thoughts at Christine’s words. The walk back from the orphanage hadn’t been too hot. Christine puffed her cheeks slightly in displeasure as she glanced at him.

“When we first met! You started the interview so casually, I was shocked.”

"...Yeah, I remember."

Maxim responded half-heartedly, while Christine muttered something under her breath. The sky was a deep indigo—more like late evening than full night. Their footsteps brought them closer to Maxim’s home.

“Anyway! Don’t be late tomorrow. It’s my first day back, and I’ll need your help with a lot of things.”

“I think it’s a bit different from when I used to order you around...”

“I helped you a lot back then, so now it’s your turn to help me,” Christine said, teasing.

Maxim sighed, chuckling as they arrived at his front door.

“Alright, alright. Just get home safely, and I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, senior,” Christine said, her voice sounding a little pouty as she turned to leave. Maxim watched her walk away.

Ah.

He placed his hand on his chest, feeling the sharp pain that seemed to tear through him.

It seemed his condition was worsening. Maxim tried to shake off the ominous feeling creeping up on him, but shadows don’t disappear just because you wish them away.

The memory Christine had brought up—of the day they first met—felt hazy, like it was shrouded in mist.

Change was slowly creeping toward Maxim, and it terrified him.