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Chapter 11
What One Does Not Know
Louis Yanpots was consumed by confusion and unease. Unaware of how dry his lips had become, he paced restlessly around his spacious room.
‘…Just what was that knight?’
He had never seen him before.
Though, in truth, it wouldn’t have been strange even if it were his first time seeing her knight.
After all, it had been nearly ten years since Louis last saw Anastasia.
But from what he had heard, his father would never assign a knight to her.
More than anything—
That smell of blood…
It was unsettling.
One might imagine the First Prince, heir to the throne, as a sheltered flower raised in a greenhouse. But Louis personally trained in swordsmanship under the commander of the Royal Knights.
Though the war had long ended, was there anyone who didn’t know the scent of blood?
That metallic, raw smell that rises even from the smallest cut on one’s finger.
But the knight clad in that warped silver armor carried something far heavier.
Much thicker.
Much deeper.
“…I should ask Anastasia.”
Louis sank into his chair, biting his lip. The taste of iron spread in his mouth. An unexplainable emotion churned deep within him.
Who was that knight?
Since when did a knight have the liberty to hold a noble lady so freely?
Who was he, that Anastasia allowed herself to be carried in his arms?
How long had they known each other?
That armor—ancient and intricately crafted—was even distorted.
A knight’s pride lay in gleaming armor, yet his was neither repaired nor restored. That meant he wasn’t a knight formally appointed or taken in by the duke.
Duke Etrange cared far too much about appearances for that.
“…Then it means Anastasia herself brought him in under her authority as the second daughter.”
And the duke allowed that?
Louis shook his head.
That wasn’t like him.
Then—did Anastasia even have enough gold to hire a knight?
If she had, she would have done so long ago, like the other noble ladies.
Wait.
‘…Then does that mean she’s recently obtained gold by some unknown means?’
None of it made sense.
He couldn’t grasp what was happening.
But… one thing was clear.
“I have to protect her.”
Under the moonlit night, Louis opened the window, trying to ease his troubled thoughts.
Fireflies flickered in the darkness. In the distance, soldiers patrolled the castle walls with lanterns in hand.
Louis sat at his polished mahogany desk and dipped the nib of his quill into ink.
It was time to write a letter.
A letter to bring her to him.
* * *
Contrary to Enoch’s concerns, the black carriage returning to the estate did not run over any corpses.
Artorius had already thrown them into the bushes on either side of the road.
They would likely be torn apart by beasts beyond recognition—but Artorius did not care.
If one intended to harm others, one should be prepared for that outcome.
“Artorius.”
Anastasia called to him softly.
Without a word, Artorius stepped down from the driver’s seat and extended his hand beneath the carriage step.
Soon, Anastasia’s small foot stepped onto his hand as she descended.
It didn’t hurt.
It wasn’t heavy.
It was simply small and fragile.
“Your heel is broken—you won’t be able to stand properly. Lean on me.”
Anastasia did not refuse.
She willingly took hold of his firm arm and leaned against him.
“Thank you. And Enoch?”
“Y-Yes, my lady.”
Her presence had completely changed.
She was no longer the Anastasia Etrange the old head butler remembered.
Enoch hurried down and knelt on one knee before her.
Anastasia took his wrinkled hand and helped him up.
“Stand, Enoch. And from today onward, you are my personal butler. You won’t need to handle the carriage anymore.”
“…Pardon?”
“Your first task… yes. Hire me a new personal maid. I’ll leave it to you.”
“…My lady.”
Concern filled the old butler’s eyes. Anastasia could see the deep loyalty he carried within.
“…Don’t worry. I have everything planned.”
The ruins of the collapsed tower still remained.
Servants were working to clear it, but it was far too massive to handle in a single day.
“Hey! Move faster!”
“A-Ah! It’s falling!”
“Careful!”
It was utter chaos.
Well, the duke was in a foul mood.
If the wreckage remained, punishment would follow—so the servants worked frantically, even at night.
‘…Father was never a good master.’
Anastasia narrowed her eyes and let out a soft sigh.
“Artorius.”
“What is it?”
“Will you hold me a little longer?”
He nodded silently.
The blue glow no longer shone from within his helmet.
Human Artorius…
Anastasia shook her head, pushing the thought aside.
“Thank you. And Enoch?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Dismiss all the servants. I’ll take care of it.”
“…You will, my lady?”
Rolling up her sleeves, Anastasia spoke.
For some reason, Enoch felt a strange sense of trust in her slender, pale wrist and bowed his head.
“As you wish.”
Though years had passed since his demotion, Enoch still carried the dignity of a head butler.
And none dared ignore it.
Clap—!
With a single clap, all eyes turned toward him.
“A message from the lady. Cease your work and step back ten paces.”
Murmurs rose.
Then the servants bowed—first to Enoch, and even deeper to Anastasia.
Her command was carried out precisely.
“Good.”
With the duke absent, Anastasia needed to plant the seeds of influence early.
And as always, it began with helping those beneath her—and winning their hearts.
She took a quiet breath.
A spell was a request made to the will of the world.
To the force that raised and set the sun, waxed and waned the moon, brought spring after winter, and the seasons in endless cycle.
Her beautiful voice spread into the night sky like a melody never to be heard again by mere laborers.
“Spiral—”
A shiver ran down everyone’s spine.
They instinctively felt it—
Something beyond this world had arrived.
“Like a night filled with stars—”
She raised her arm like a conductor leading an orchestra.
And then—
Like a grand symphony rising, the tower’s ruins lifted from the ground.
Gasps erupted.
“With the small hands of the water-drawing maiden.”
Black lines formed across the now-cleared grass.
They widened like opening eyes, revealing a dark void.
The debris was pulled in, swallowed completely—
And when Anastasia’s subspace closed, nothing remained.
Only the fading echo of her magic lingered in the air.
‘…It’ll be useful someday.’
At the very least, she could drop it from above as a mass attack.
Or perhaps use it as material for a golem.
After all, the tower had been built from the finest stone to imprison a mage.
“What are you staring at? Dismissed.”
At her words, the servants bowed once more and quietly dispersed.
“Enoch.”
“…Yes, my lady.”
Even he was still slightly frozen from what he had witnessed.
“My room. It’s still empty, right?”
The room she had been unable to enter since being locked in the tower at age ten.
In a secluded annex.
“Yes, my lady…”
“It’s been cleaned?”
“It has.”
A small smile curved her lips.
“I’ll go there.”
“…Pardon?”
* * *
It had been a very, very long time.
The bed didn’t feel small.
Perhaps a bit short—but not cramped.
After being locked in the tower and barely eating, even the bed she had used at ten didn’t feel tight anymore.
‘…I’m not even 160 cm, am I?’
Standing before the mirror, now changed into her nightclothes without a maid’s help, Anastasia estimated her height.
“…At best, mid-150s.”
She already knew.
It was the same body she had lived with in her previous life.
Still, she had wondered if anything had changed.
The only difference…
Was the faint scar on her chest.
“You grew well, considering you were starved and imprisoned.”
It was Artorius.
But his voice carried clear awkwardness.
“Still uncomfortable, Artorius?”
“…In all my life, I’ve never brought a woman into my room—nor entered a woman’s.”
His blue eyes wandered over the soft mattress and blankets at the foot of the bed.
“You’ve never slept on the floor either, I assume.”
“…After Aquila Castle, I’m quite used to it.”
He sat casually on the mattress, running his hand over the bedding.
“It’s been a long time… since I’ve had a proper place to sleep.”
“There were no beds there?”
“After two hundred years, things tend to decay.”
“…I see.”
Anastasia nodded and sat on the window frame.
The night breeze drifted in, scattering her beautifully braided golden hair.
For a moment, Artorius simply stared—
She looked like a sculpture from an ancient age.
“Artorius.”
“…Yes?”
“Will you teach me how to use a sword?”
Her gaze was serious.
This wasn’t a joke.
“With your body, wielding a greatsword won’t be easy.”
“I’m not trying to match knights.”
“Then why?”
Her small slippered foot tapped lightly against the floor.
Golden petals shimmered into existence, gathering into the shape of a reversed cross—
An osmanthus sword.
One of her spells.
“Just in case.”
“…Just in case?”
“Yes. I need a way to protect myself… one that isn’t magic.”
Artorius watched as the sword dissolved back into petals.
“…You’ll get calluses on your hands.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Are you worried about my hands?”
“That’s not what I mean. I am already your right arm—your sword. Then why…”
Her blue eyes gleamed as she whispered:
“So I can hold a dagger in my left hand.”
