A Story of a Cannon Fodder Volume 1 Chapter 12 part 1

Chapter 12: Depression vs Flower Garden Part 2

In a certain old memory, there was a beautiful mansion with a garden filled with vibrant flowers. In that place, a small silver-haired girl swung her sword frantically, putting all her strength into each swing.

“No, like this. Let me show you.”


A man with silver hair, resembling the girl, spoke to her. Their features were somewhat similar, but he carried a more dignified air, and his face differed from hers.

“Namikaze technique, you see… there are more forms to it, but don’t get too fixated. Be flexible.”


“Ah, it’s difficult. I’ll do it with you.”

Saying that, the man handed the sword to the girl once again. Then, he held her hand and swung the sword together, teaching her how to use it. She was delighted to swing the sword with him, looking at her father with shining eyes, thinking he was cool.

“I want to be like you, Dad!”

“Is that so?”

“Even if I don’t have any magical aptitude, I want to be a Holy Knight like you!”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, I promise!”

“You’ll definitely become a better knight than me, Yururu. That’s why–“

“Daddy! I became a Holy Knight!”

“Good job, Gahelis.”

“Will you put me in your unit… Yururu?”

“I want to become one soon too!”

“You’ll have to wait until you’re fifteen. By the way, Agra is already a ninth-grade knight.”

“That’s because he’s talented.”

On the other hand, Yururu doesn’t have any magical aptitude.

“Even without magical aptitude, I can still become a great knight!”

I remember everything that made me happy. My kind brothers, my tall father, and my strict mother.

But it won’t come back anymore.

I know that. That’s why I don’t care anymore.


A night had passed since Fei learned the Namikaze technique. The morning sun shone upon Yuru’s face. Yesterday, Yuru injured herself with a mysterious knife. Despite the massive bleeding and fatigue from training, she only had fallen asleep. However, when she woke up in the morning, she didn’t feel any fatigue due to the lack of blood in her body. It was as if a different kind of power had suddenly emerged.

Normally, she would have noticed the discomfort. She knew her own strength from daily training to improve her abilities. However, at the moment, she didn’t have such a pure question in her mind.

She only felt the impulse to seek revenge. She wanted to direct all her resentment at someone. Such an impulse was unacceptable.

As if guided, she went outside with a sword in hand. Her vision was distorted, and the impulse didn’t cease. She thought about using the sword to kill the scoundrel who always made fun of her, insulted her father and mother.

(No, no… if I do this, no one will believe in me anymore… neither esteemed Father nor Sear Mother…)

In the morning, ill will surged within her towards everyone, including children and adults who passed by.

(I want to kill them… that person, and that person… they’re all laughing at me)

Everyone seemed like an enemy. Her body ached, and she desired to see the red blood she had shed yesterday by putting the sword to someone’s neck.

Resentment, hatred, and malice consumed her, filling every fiber of her being. The sweet satisfaction of releasing those emotions beckoned to her, tempting her to indulge in them. However, the memories of her kind father and mother, who still lingered within her, held her back, if only by a thread.

Yet, gradually, those memories began to fade into a murky darkness. They transformed into mere recollections, detached and insignificant, as if she were merely an observer looking at distant records.


Her core trembled with turmoil.

Yururu knew that if she were to satisfy her grudge, she would crumble beneath its weight. If someone appeared to validate her thirst for revenge, she would become a murderer in an instant. Even without that, as time passed, her inner impulses grew stronger.

Biting her tongue, she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She managed to retain her rationality and headed towards the usual spot where three trees stood, not the headquarters of the Round Table Knights. Thankfully, there was no swordsmanship training scheduled for that day.

She hoped the other children wouldn’t be there either. She yearned for solitude, for she was already at her breaking point.

Yet, everything was slipping away.

(Ah… today, Fei-kun… I shouldn’t have gone to see him…)

Leaning against a tree, she reminisced about Fei, who had always been by her side. Amidst the fading memories, she caught a glimpse of the black-haired boy’s back. Had there ever been a time when someone needed her so deeply? He was meant to teach her swordsmanship, to clear her parents’ tarnished names, but she found joy in her own growth as well. Tears welled up naturally as she realized she would never see him again.

(No… I wanted to teach him more…)

From this point forward, there would be no turning back. She understood that she was straying from the path of humanity, much like her older brothers. Regret consumed her, time becoming an endless abyss of sorrow. However, it was engulfed by her seething hatred. It nearly vanished, replaced by a self-affirming justification.

If the boy who eagerly sought her teaching heard about my miserable end, he would surely… She was saddened by the thought.

(I was supposed to watch over him, like Father and Mother … but I lost my way…)

How much time had passed, exactly? All she felt was regret. However, it was swallowed up by hatred. It almost disappeared, and what emerged was a justification for affirming herself like this.

“…I’m not evil. I’m not evil at all. Not evil, not evil, not evil, not evil, not evil, not evil. They’re the ones who mocked me. I’m not evil,” she uttered with a deranged laugh, rising to her feet and turning towards where the others were. But there…

“Oh, it’s the teacher!”

“Good afternoon, teacher.”


Bowlan, True, and Arthur stood before her. There was no longer any doubt that Yururu had purposely arrived late. Yet, it no longer mattered.

While she contemplated killing them then and there, Arthur and the others remained carefree. It was to be expected since the three of them had come willingly to this place after their magic training, and everything seemed normal. They could never have fathomed that their swordsmanship teacher would point a blade at them.

Meanwhile, Fei busy borrowing magic book and sought advice from the magic teacher. Despite lacking talent, he arrived late because he refused to give up on potential.

Arthur’s suspicion deepened as she observed Yururu. Jealousy burned within Yururu’s gaze as she looked upon her students, intensifying with each passing moment.

“She possesses more talent and aptitude than I do… she truly looks down on me. These guys are mocking me as well. I want to kill them, kill them, kill them. I’m not evil, I’m not evil.”

Arthur addressed her, his voice filled with doubt.

“Who are you?”

Her eyes brimmed with suspicion. Arthur’s instinct told her that the person standing before her was not the Yururu-Garestia he knew.

“What are you talking about, Arthur?” Yururu replied, feigning innocence.


Bowlan and True turned to Arthur, asking her in return. Their gaze was fixed on her, but Arthur remained focused on Yururu.

“This person isn’t the teacher,” she stated, drawing the iron sword he had borrowed for practicing magic.

Yururu, without responding, drew her own iron sword.

There was no signal. The wind blew softly and then ceased.

In the next moment, they clashed like the wind. The impact was so powerful that Bowlan and True had to close their eyes.

“Ah, it’s incredible to have such talent,” Yururu remarked.

“I’ll ask you again. Who are you?” Arthur demanded.

“I don’t care who I am. I just want to kill you!”

“This isn’t a conversation,”

Arthur felt her attempts at communication were completely ignored. She briefly thought about unrelated matters but immediately switched back to combat mode. She swung her sword as Yururu attacked from both sides. Although Yururu’s sword skills were remarkable, the force behind Arthur’s strikes was strong enough to sever her arm with just one blow.

The clash of swords created a howling wind. True and Bowlan were astonished, unable to approach the battleground.

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