TPWSM 34

Chapter 34

As soon as they passed out of the central district, a small village appeared.

Along a gentle hill, half a dozen two-story houses with red roofs clustered together.

Against the backdrop of the evening glow, the fragrance of freshly baked bread drifted from open windows. White smoke puffed lazily from chimneys, dotting the red sky.

Every windowsill had a small flowerpot placed neatly upon it. Most of them held blue cinerarias, the national flower of Dvorka.

Amid the peaceful scenery, like an illustration from a fairy tale, Davit was overcome with longing.

If only, someday, I could live in a house like that, leading a modest and quiet life…

Together with bright, energetic Melania, and with his old nurse Olenka.

…Whether that could ever happen in this lifetime, he wasn’t sure.

“This hillside used to be a tent village. People who lost their homes in the war pitched tents and lived here,” Sir Julio explained, pointing toward the homes.

“Really?”

Davit recalled the tents he had seen outside the outer walls, where refugees huddled together.

Those makeshift shelters, patched with scraps of cloth, looked as though a single push would send them toppling over.

To think this quaint little village had once been nothing but ruins.

“In the winter, frozen corpses piled up in heaps. It was no place for people to survive.”

“…”

Davit shut his eyes tightly at the grim image.

He himself had fled to an island because of the war, but he had never seen its true horrors firsthand.

“Not long after visiting the tent village, Her Grace brought the residents into the annex of the lord’s castle. The maids working there now—you’ve seen them? They all used to live in the tents.”

“So she took them in as servants?”

“Yes. The castle was short on hands anyway, and rebuilding homes on the ruins would’ve taken far too long. To keep them from freezing to death, she brought them inside first.”

“And those maids are still working now?”

“Not a single one has quit. They were given jobs, rooms in the annex, and generous wages, so they stayed with their children and settled.”

“…Surely they didn’t feel kindly toward the Grand Duchess. Would they really agree so readily to live under her roof?”

After all, those people had lost their homes to the flames of war. With how hostile Blansk’s residents were toward the Grand Duchess, wouldn’t those villagers have felt conflicted about serving her?

“Actually, for the first year after arriving, Her Grace didn’t reveal her identity. Once it became known she was a princess of Lassantia, yes—the mood in the castle turned a bit sour…”

Sir Julio clicked his tongue and rubbed the back of his neck.

Silence hung between them. Davit waited for him to continue.

“But tell me, Your Highness, where else would the maids find a mistress like her? Their husbands died at war, and nowhere else pays as much as the castle. The back gardens are spacious, perfect for raising children. They know reality, so they stayed.”

Come to think of it, Davit remembered the large yard behind the annex, where children played every day.

Whenever he walked there alone, he often stopped to watch them.

Sometimes their ball would roll toward him. Davit would pick it up and hand it back, and the children would accept it shyly, heads bowed.

So they were the maids’ children…

He hadn’t realized families lived inside the castle itself.

“Your Highness, shall we pause for a drink?” Sir Julio gestured toward a well.

At Davit’s nod, the guards hurried over and drew water.

Davit filled his canteen and drank, then offered a few sips to his escorts.

He had sweated much under the sun, and the cool water revived him.

With more composure, Davit scanned the surroundings.

Behind the well, something caught his eye: a waist-high stone statue.

A statue of the goddess Furana, arms spread wide.

Davit tilted his head.

Levanteia regarded the Furana faith, the state religion of Dvorka, as heresy. That difference in belief had been one of many pretexts for war.

Everyone, even across the sea on Paddon Island, knew that the colonial governor banned Furana worship and gatherings.

Religious meetings too easily turned into resistance movements.

If the villagers can erect a goddess statue out in the open like this… does that mean the Grand Duchess imposes no religious restrictions?

It seemed that their way of life remained unchanged from before the war.

In many ways, Blansk appeared free from the governor’s control.

It’s hard to believe this is a colony of another nation.

Davit thought of the colonial governor he’d glimpsed at the wedding: Crown Prince Daimon.

A middle-aged man who carried an air of danger, his breath reeking of narcotic leaves whenever he spoke.

The Grand Duchess had told him: Lassantia, her family, was Levanteia’s greatest sponsor.

Perhaps that was why the Crown Prince treated his niece carefully.

Though, to his nephew-in-law Davit, he had sneered that he had the air of a rebel.

Grrrrk.

A loud stomach growl broke the moment.

Sir Julio, embarrassed, rubbed his belly.

“It’s suppertime. Let’s go where they serve good lamb tonight.”

The group returned to Blansk’s central district and ate dinner.

By the time they came back outside, night had fallen.

Clap!

Sir Julio suddenly slapped his hands together. By now, Davit realized, it was a habit of his.

“What is it now?”

“Ah, heavens. I nearly forgot! I was supposed to take Your Highness to the most important place of all.”

He smacked his own forehead in self-reproach.

“Another place? We’ve already seen the farmland, commercial district, and homes.”

“It’s the area Her Grace devoted the most effort to creating… though at this hour it might be a bit eerie. Perhaps better to visit later.”

Sir Julio gave a sheepish laugh.

Davit hesitated. He was tired from the day’s travels, but curiosity tugged at him.

If it was the Grand Duchess’s most cherished project, what kind of place could it be?

“Since we’re already out, we may as well see everything before returning.”

“B-but the sun’s gone. It might be more than eerie—it could feel downright spooky. And we only have one lantern.”

Sir Julio tried to excuse himself nervously.

“Lanterns can be bought over there.”

Davit pointed to a general store on the street, its doors wide open, shelves displaying portable oil lamps and candlesticks.

With no way out, Sir Julio forced a grin and went inside. He soon emerged with extra lamps.

Davit, sensing his nervousness, felt a pang of guilt as he mounted his horse.

Sir Julio urged the horses faster than ever, clearly intent on arriving before the darkness deepened.

They followed a brook out of town until they reached…

A vast, green field.

On a dim summer night, the damp scent of grass rose from the earth.

A park?

Davit had expected some grand building or monument, given how much effort the Grand Duchess had put in.

But no.

There was only one striking feature: a massive stone stele in the middle of the lawn.

Davit dismounted and strode toward it.

The surface of white marble was covered in finely engraved names.

He raised the lamp to read. They were all people’s names.

Looking behind the stele, he saw a broad lawn fenced off by a low barrier. Square stone slabs, hundreds of them, were neatly laid in rows.

…This was no ordinary place.

“I told you it would feel eerie, Your Highness,” Sir Julio murmured shakily behind him.

“A cemetery?”

“Not exactly—no bodies are buried here. It’s a memorial park.”

“A tribute to the fallen soldiers of my country?”

“Half the names are civilians. How many do you think died in bombings? Burned corpses couldn’t be retrieved, so at least they raised this monument.”

“…”

“Families come and bury belongings of the dead here—jewelry, keepsakes. Those stones mark the spot.”

Davit stepped inside the fence as Sir Julio spoke.

Each stone slab bore inscriptions. Crouching, he lit one with his lamp.

“Here lies our beloved mother Vasilisa.
We buried her treasured teacup with her.
May you drink warm ginger tea to your heart’s content in heaven.”

Below was the date of death: seven years ago. That was when Levanteian forces had pushed this far into Blansk.

Davit checked other slabs. Each bore words of mourning for the deceased.

Had the families visited recently? Fresh white chrysanthemums lay atop every stone.

Sir Julio and the guards hesitated, then entered as well.

At night, the empty memorial park was chilling. The chorus of insects only heightened the eerie mood.

The guards, on edge, gripped the hilts of their swords.

Though unlikely, there was always the chance of intruders.

Davit brushed the petals of a chrysanthemum with his fingertips.

He removed his hat, closed his eyes, and bowed his head in silent prayer.

Then he turned to Sir Julio.

“Next time, I’d like to come properly, with flowers. During the day.”

“Yes, then I’ll order some chrysan—hiii!”

Sir Julio gasped mid-sentence, recoiling in fright.

He raised a trembling finger over Davit’s shoulder, his face gone white.

Davit spun around.

“What is it?”

“A g-ghost…!”

Sir Julio clutched the back of his neck, collapsing in terror. The guards rushed to support him.

Narrowing his eyes, Davit looked toward where he pointed.

On the far side of the park, a shadowy black figure crouched low, writhing on the ground.

An animal?

Too bulky for a deer, too small for a wolf.

Or perhaps… a person draped in black cloth, lying flat.

What were they doing? Digging beneath a stone slab?

…Surely not a grave robber.

Shing.

Davit drew his sword and advanced cautiously.

“It could be dangerous, Your Highness!” one guard cried.

Davit hushed him with a sharp look.

If they made too much noise, the figure would escape. Now was the time to catch them.

He gestured, and one guard followed with sword drawn, while the other stayed behind with trembling Sir Julio.

Step by hushed step, Davit closed in.

Rustle… scrape.

The sound of cloth rubbing carried as he approached.

It was indeed a person.

A stranger wrapped head to toe in a pitch-black robe.

Davit leveled his blade at the back of the figure’s neck.

“Who are you? State your identity.”

“…”

Slowly, the figure rose.

Clang!

Steel met steel in a flash.

The stranger had whipped out a sword with unbelievable speed.

Something spilled from beneath their feet, but Davit had no time to check.

Clang! Clang, clang!

Blades rang violently through the night.

Even two against one, the robed figure parried every strike with fierce skill.

Strangely, they only defended, never pressing an attack. Davit even feinted openings, but they refused to exploit them.

He too had no intention of killing—only capturing.

Thus, he targeted the robe itself.

Each time it fluttered, Davit drove his blade into the cloth.

Thrust!

Twisting his hilt, he hooked the fabric on his sword and ripped it upward.

Riiip.

Half the robe tore away.

The fastening cord loosened, and the whole garment slid off one side.

The figure’s silhouette was revealed.

In the pale moonlight, a cascade of red hair spilled from her waist.

Tall, slender…

A woman.

“Ah, I was careless. I’ve lost.”

The familiar voice made Davit flinch.

The woman lowered her sword to the ground and raised her hands in surrender.

Davit’s brow furrowed sharply.

“…The Grand Duchess?”