Chapter 147 - Waiting for Winter (1)

As Ivan had reflected once before, if Maximilien was a typical JRPG-style hero, Gilles Vert was a man straight out of an old-fashioned hero story. His humble origins, meteoric rise, and embodiment of old values such as chivalry were part of it, but the decisive detail lay elsewhere.

He had married a princess. Like an honor bestowed upon a knight for slaying a dragon.

["Strictly speaking, she isn't a princess."]

["Hmm?"]

["She's the daughter of His Majesty's younger brother. His niece, in other words."]

Gilles Vert smiled bitterly, hesitated a moment, then took a hearty swig. He spoke cautiously, as though admitting something shameful, while pretending not to care in the slightest.

He had always been a man of such contradictions.

["They couldn't simply hand a direct royal descendant to a nobody like me. They had to make some gesture toward the man who would bring back the Demon King's head, and they happened to have just the right prize."]

["A prize."]

["Yes. Those people handed her over as a prize."]

CRUNCH!

The pewter wine goblet crumpled. With a sheepish smile, Gilles Vert shook the metal fragments from his hand onto the floor.

["She has almost no claim to the throne, so children wouldn't pose a problem. But her royal blood would keep me from turning against the royal house. And if I returned after killing the Demon King, I'd have every right to call myself the strongest man in Thilles..."]

["There would still be Maximilien."]

["Mm. He's not a 'typical' Thilles man. Nor is he loyal to Thilles's royal house."]

The royal house of Thilles needed a winning card it could play at will. Since it could not control the Hero, it would settle for an alternative: a traditional knight loyal to the crown, who would return from slaying the Demon King with unparalleled authority.

So it meant to put him on a leash by 'bestowing' a princess upon him as his bride. Refusing would be an insult; accepting would make him the royal family's watchdog.

["Why not just become king yourself?"]

["... What?"]

["Why not? I intend to become king as soon as I get home. Sounds glorious, doesn't it? Kill all those fucking Jarls, then declare that only someone stronger than me can step forward."]

["This is the trouble with you Droan people."]

Gilles Vert chuckled and shook his head.

["A nation must rest on legitimacy, not strength. Society's rules endure upon a foundation of justice. Without legitimacy, a nation ceases to function the moment its authority crumbles."]

["They say using big words doesn't make you look clever."]

["Oh? Were my words too difficult for you?"]

["Draw your sword. I'm going to kill you."]

Listening to the two madmen, Ivan suddenly asked Gilles Vert a question. (They fought every day, so there was no reason to stop them.)

["From what you're saying, you have no loyalty at all. You don't seem to trust your country."]

["Of course not. What do you think I've seen on my way here?"]

["Then why? Why shackle yourself after going to all the trouble of killing the Demon King?"]

["Ha ha, well..."]

Gilles Vert had answered with an infuriatingly smug look.

["Love, of course."]

What would become of a royal woman promised to a lowborn country knight—a woman with so little political backing that she could be offered as a 'prize'—if she lost even her value as a prize?

But even setting all those circumstances aside. Even if she had no royal blood, even if she had never been offered as a prize. Even if she had been nothing more than a maid.

He would still have loved her. He had fallen in love at first sight with that rose of a woman.

After listening to this for some time, Ivan spoke up beside Einar, who looked as though he wanted to die.

["A rose... She struck me as something a little sharper..."]

["Roses have thorns, Ivan. You'll understand once you've met more women."]

["The man married his first love, little brother. Don't listen to him. He talks as though he knows something."]

["Pick up your axe. I'm going to kill you."]

["Could you, though?"]

["Want to find out?"]

Ignoring the two madmen's snarling, Ivan quietly considered it.

A rose.

The Odelia de Thilles he remembered had left a rather sharper impression.

After all, the first time he met her, she had been slapping Gilles Vert across the face.

* * *

Matil-Etoile Station, the largest railway station in Saint Matilene, was silent. Isabelle and her companions looked around with bitter expressions.

They had left this place only a few days ago. In those few days, the trade route that epitomized the city had ground to a complete halt.

Soldiers hurried about. Far down the street, a procession of refugees stretched away.

"Even if we defend the city, there's still the problem of feeding all those people. We can't."

"I know. I know, but..."

Isabelle bit her lip at Elpihera's words. Fleeing was the sensible response. There was no way to feed all those people, and frankly, they did not even know whether the royal family would fight back.

No, it wasn't the royal family's position that mattered. It was the House of Nobles'. Would they really risk their lives defending this country's capital?

"I'll go on ahead."

"Oscar? Where?"

"To my mother. Will you be going to fetch yours as well, Miss Isabelle?"

"Not right away. She's not the sort to flee. Nor is she in a position to..."

What would the city's soldiers think if even the Hero's family abandoned the capital? Isabelle bit her lip and shook her head.

Besides, her mother would never put her own safety first in a situation like this.

There was no helping it. What else could Isabelle do, raised as she had been? Heaving sigh after sigh, she straightened proudly.

"I have to do what a hero should! All right. I ought to pay my respects to the Duchess of Etakrich, too."

"Then let's go. Mother will be pleased to see you."

Oscar turned with a wry smile.

* * *

The nobility lived in a beautiful central district known as Montpolier Street. Built with a lavish abundance of marble, it was called the 'Street of Light.'

Neither the fleeing citizens nor the crimes breaking out everywhere dared encroach upon it. The street was quiet and still immaculate.

Paradoxically, the sight gave Isabelle chills. It was as though the nobles here believed the great counts would leave them unharmed even if they lost the civil war.

Or perhaps they had some other 'reason' to be sure of it.

"Isn't this a little frightening?"

"Doesn't it feel like everyone's watching us?"

"They probably are."

No one stepped forward to stop Oscar as he led the way. People merely dispersed in murmuring groups, or quietly summoned servants and gave them instructions.

A noblewoman in an immaculate dress whispered to her maid, glancing their way. The servant soon hurried off and disappeared.

The nobles were not their allies. Not even within the same city walls.

Oscar walked on in silence and stopped before an enormous wall. Rose vines entwined the gates. The crest of House Etakrich—crossed antlers, spear, and shield—looked down upon them.

"Young master?! H-how are you here?!"

"Martin. Where's Mother?"

"Her Grace is in the inner garden... N-no, how can you possibly be here? S-surely you were in Krasilof... Leave while you still can! Saint Matilene is dangerous!"

"I know. And thank you."

Oscar smiled and patted the elderly butler's shoulder.

"Thank you for staying with Mother, even knowing the danger."

"... Where else would I go, at my age?"

The butler chuckled and opened the gates. Looking over the party, he bowed politely.

"Welcome, honored guests from many nations. Please forgive any shortcomings in our hospitality in these troubled times."

"Thank you for your welcome, Martin."

"Of course, Miss Isabelle. It is a relief to see you looking so well."

Isabelle greeted the warmly smiling old butler and passed through the gates. Soon the Duke of Etakrich's mansion, known as the House of Roses, came into view.

"Wow, Oscar. You really are a rich young master, aren't you?"

"If you knew the bounty on the Demon King's head, this wouldn't seem like much."

"Then why on earth does Miss Isabelle..."

"Why do I what? I'm rich too, you know."

"I'm realizing all over again how frugal you are. Truly impressive. Boss ought to know this side of you."

"Then tell him. Tell him I'm friendly, good at housework, and not just a rich young lady, but one with a proper head for money."

Esidisi flinched at Isabelle's words and cautiously offered her own contribution.

"M-me too. I only spend money on food? Food... And I don't even eat that much? Not really... right?"

"Esidisi, you eat like a pig at a trough."

"Are those ears actually lie pouches? Is it the size of your ears that makes you such a good liar? Shall I make you a little more honest?"

"Oh my, how barbaric. Are those things on your body barbarism pouches, then?"

"I'm ashamed of all of you."

At Eugene's words, the group fell silent again. Turning away from one another, they trudged on until Oscar finally stopped in the middle of the inner garden.

A woman in a red dress sat drinking tea in the midday sunlight.

Eugene found himself speechless. Isabelle's mother had hardly looked old enough to have such a grown daughter, but this woman could easily have passed for Oscar's older sister, with a few years between them.

So this really was a fantasy world. How could a woman with a twenty-year-old son look like that?

As Eugene watched in admiring silence, the woman's gaze settled on Oscar. Her sharply upturned green eyes froze for a moment.

"Mother."

Oscar slowly approached and respectfully went down on one knee beside her. She looked down at her son without a word.

Eugene noticed a faint tremor. Her gloved hands were trembling slightly, but her face remained cold and rigid.

Following her gaze, Eugene let out a soft sigh. She was looking at the sword at Oscar's waist.

The Grand Duke of Etakrich's sword. Its implications were so unmistakable that she lowered her head a little.

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.

"Vert...? Your father?"

"He's fighting."

She bit her lip.

"Idiot..."

"Mother. You must leave the city."

"Your father hasn't come home yet."

Her tears quickly dried. Her expression was as sharp as before, and she spoke with pride.

"I must preserve a home for your father to return to. I am a duchess."

"Mother."

"Your father will return safely. He always has... He always has. That fool will come back. Without fail."

"Yes, Mother. Father will be safe."

"So I shall do my duty as the grand duke's wife. I will protect this family, this house."

"... Mother. But..."

"Enough."

She folded her trembling hands and pressed them tightly together, then raised her head to regard her son with sharp eyes.

"Do your duty as the grand duke's son. Take that sword to the House of Nobles and represent our family."

"This city isn't safe."

"And will you run?"

"No."

"Then there is no reason for me to abandon my son and husband and leave this city."

She smiled radiantly. Stroking Oscar's hair, she clasped his hand firmly and continued.

"Your will is your father's will, and your father's will is that of this country's Lord Protector. Go. As the last elder of this household, I will respect every decision you make."

"Yes, Mother."

Oscar bowed deeply once, then stepped back. The woman's gaze turned to his companions.

They stood stiffly under a pressure they could not explain.

"Isabelle, and the heroes of this generation..."

The phrase seemed to amuse even her. She smiled as though making a joke.

"Please take care of my son."

She had no informants to speak of. The Lord Protector could possess no political assets. The grand ducal House of Etakrich had to maintain absolute neutrality in political affairs.

Her own royal connection, the Duke of Thilles—the king's younger brother—had held royal blood in name alone. So much so that he had been forced to offer his daughter as a prize to the Hero's Party.

Even he was no longer here. She was a flower sheltered in a hothouse, and no one in power would respect her wishes.

Yet irrespective of her political assets, her words carried weight. She had met the Hero's Party in person, survived those times, and married one of its members.

It was the strength of a mother who had raised her son in a homeland where no allies remained to her, through the long years her husband spent abroad on his journey to assassinate the Demon King.

She had been a hostage all her life, and a shackle upon her husband all her life. Yet she was a noblewoman who had never surrendered her pride.

And so this woman, who could not know just how dire things were, was pleading as best she could. With friends her son's age.

"Yes, Duchess of Etakrich. I swear it."

Isabelle sank to one knee, planted her sword in the ground, and bowed her head. She did it without thinking, faced with this unfamiliar side of a woman she knew so well.

As a hero.

"I will do everything I can."

They left the street immediately afterward. Their destination was the Palais de Royal, this country's royal castle.

A dispatch had just arrived reporting that Count Grandmartel's corps had reached the borderlands of Saint Matilene.