Chapter 67 - Lady Zemina (2)

NEIGH!

The clearer the world one possessed, the more distinct its boundaries became.

Just as clear as the color of the plains the pitch-black one possessed were the boundaries of the city walls humans had built around them.

"..."

The boy and horse, whose colors were vivid, were still beings who found it hard to mix with other worlds.

Vlad and the pitch-black one could only stand beneath the human boundary and look up at the walls of Soara.

* * *

"You’re back."

Lamund tilted his wine cup and spoke to the boy climbing the stairs from below.

In the inn that had yet to open its doors, the only guests were the old man and the boy.

Lamund’s voice rang quietly through the place, and even spoken softly, it reached the boy well enough.

"Did it have any effect?"

"A little."

At the old man’s question, Vlad answered as if with some regret.

"Looks like that barbarian bastard didn’t tell me something useless."

"Well, when it comes to the plains, those barbarian bastards would know best."

As he said that and drained his cup, a red bouquet entered Lamund’s view.

Roses.

A bundle of flowers that looked bright just to see was held in the boy’s hand.

"For a horse, it sure has particular tastes."

"They said it moves if you use this."

On the day they had finally returned to Soara after avoiding the barbarians’ pursuit, Vlad had been greatly flustered by the pitch-black one’s refusal.

When Vlad had no idea what to do with the creature stubbornly refusing to enter within the walls packed with humans, the barbarian man whose face was covered in tattoos had laughed and spoken.

That one likes red.

He had said it while pointing to the red cord tying his hair.

"I didn’t know wild horses followed climbing roses."

"It must be a method they found through instinct. They would have to be sensitive to temperature."

Wild horses lived by grazing on grass.

That was why they could not help being sensitive to the cold.

A frozen plain would offer them nothing.

To such wild horses, climbing roses that unfurled their bodies by following warmth were like signals directly tied to survival.

"But this doesn’t seem to be enough."

Vlad carefully set the bouquet of roses down on the table and sank into thought.

"The more red there is, the better, right?"

"Right."

"And the bigger, the better."

"A large thing can serve for a small one too."

"... And if it even moves, that would be perfect."

After saying that, Vlad turned his gaze toward the red moving busily down below.

A red-haired girl groaning as she moved while carrying a blanket larger than her own body.

The most vivid red among all the reds Vlad knew was down there.

"That much is enough to call a rose."

Realizing what Vlad was thinking, Lamund nodded with a meaningful smile.

"But you two don’t seem to be on good terms these days."

"We’ve always been like that."

Watching the boy answer as if it were nothing, Lamund clicked his tongue in pity.

Sometimes there were beings too close at hand for one to realize how precious they were.

"What do you mean, always like that? You brat. There are only those kinds of relationships."

But Vlad’s gaze was still fixed only on Zemina’s red hair, and the old man’s lament-like advice did not reach his ears.

"I’ll be going."

Even now, several days later, the pitch-black one was standing gloomily outside the walls, waiting for the boy, and without it, Vlad would have to return to his uncertain life of riding carts.

Hoping that the girl who had let him out of Soara would now bring the pitch-black one inside, Vlad picked up the bouquet he had set down and descended the stairs toward Zemina.

Watching Vlad approach the girl in a hurry, Lamund could only click his tongue.

* * *

"Zemina."

"... What?"

Busy preparing the inn that would open soon, Zemina raised her eyes into a sharp triangle as she looked at Vlad blocking her way.

"I’m busy."

"Just listen to me for a moment."

Despite Vlad’s urgent attempt to stop her, Zemina simply went about her work as if nothing had happened.

At Zemina’s fingertips, accustomed to doing chores for a long time, the curtains found their places and the bed sheets were arranged with knife-like precision.

"I don’t know what you want to say, but go say it to Lady Alicia. I’m busy."

"..."

Still wounded by the handkerchief that had come from Vlad’s arms, Zemina only ignored him.

She had cut her hair and suffered terribly to save his life, only for what came back to be a handkerchief embroidered with another woman’s name.

From Zemina’s standpoint, it was something worth sulking over greatly.

"I’m asking you for a favor."

"I told you I’m busy. Can’t you see I’m busy!"

Just as Zemina shouted loudly at Vlad, who kept blocking her way.

"Hey."

"... What is this?"

She began to grow flustered at the red bouquet suddenly held out before her.

"Hold this and help me."

"... I told you to take your requests to Lady Alicia."

"No."

Holding the bouquet, Vlad spoke with a serious expression.

"This is something only Lady Zemina can do."

"..."

Hearing the words that had come from Vlad’s mouth, Zemina finally raised her head and looked at the boy.

A blue-eyed boy offering her a red bouquet.

Amid colors that were hard to take her eyes away from, Zemina forced herself to turn her head and answered curtly.

"... What is it?"

It was not because she had heard the words Lady Zemina.

Even if he had not deliberately said such a thing, Zemina would have listened to Vlad.

"Hold this and come somewhere with me."

Seeing Zemina’s face grow redder and redder as she held the bouquet he had given her, Vlad smiled.

Red hair, a red bouquet, and a reddening face.

The redder, the better.

Thinking that even that fellow would surely like this much, Vlad nodded in satisfaction.

"That’s karma for you. Tsk, tsk."

Leaning against the railing on the fourth floor and sipping from his cup, Lamund clicked his tongue as he watched what Vlad was doing.

Vlad, distracted by the situation before his eyes, likely had no idea what he was doing, but to Lamund, watching as a third party, it was enough to leave him dumbfounded.

"Well, he’ll figure it out on his own."

One who had made a flower bloom had to take responsibility for it.

And in Lamund’s eyes, on the face of the girl trying hard to avert her gaze, he saw a single rose blooming red.

* * *

Joseph and Jager stepped forward, holding the torches the jailer had handed them.

Inside the dim prison, two men faced each other with bars between them.

The two stood before the bars dividing their worlds from one another.

The shadows cast by the torches made the dark circles under Joseph’s eyes seem even darker.

"To think the mayor of the city would come see a mere barbarian. What an honor."

"I hope coming all the way down here proves worth it."

Age was sneering from behind the bars, but Joseph was not shaken by his provocation and simply said what he had come to say.

"I want to know the real reason you followed the horse down here."

Age stroked his chin as he looked at Joseph’s eyes, which were deep beyond his years.

He had seen many who tried to force themselves to appear cold or dignified, but very few who truly carried those things within them.

Yet the mayor of Soara before him possessed them, despite being of a similar age to himself.

"Because we needed it."

"I am asking about that need."

At Age’s insincere answer, Jager, who was holding a torch, frowned.

"At first, I thought it might be some tradition or ritual of your tribe, but that was not it."

Joseph had sought advice from Lamund and others who knew the habits of barbarians well.

And at Joseph’s question, all of them had shaken their heads.

"I heard that to you, controlling wild horses is actually taboo. Is that correct?"

"..."

Every world had its own domain where it could shine most brightly.

One who held a sword on the battlefield, and one who held a pickaxe in the farmland.

And wild horses, which could only shine by running, would be most suited to the blue plains.

The barbarians were people who respected such principles.

"I came here to ask the real reason you broke that taboo, crossed the Iron Duke’s domain, and came all the way here to Bayezid County."

After saying that, Joseph merely looked at Age in silence, as if to say that it was now his turn.

A strange, irresistible force.

Looking at Joseph before him, Age thought that perhaps this man might answer his own question.

Age, too, had something he needed to ask the people of the empire.

"... I thought about it while being dragged all the way here."

Under Joseph’s unwavering gaze, Age, who had been sitting comfortably until now, slowly stood and approached the bars.

"That perhaps being captured and brought here was better after all."

Age approached from the darkness, gripped the bars with both hands, and brought his face close to Joseph’s.

A dog that intends to bite does not bark.

It merely holds its breath in silence and watches for an opportunity.

"The reason my men and I tried to control the son of the plains, even to the point of breaking our tribe’s taboo, was one thing alone. We needed the fastest being we knew."

Joseph looked at the gaze in Age’s tattoo-covered face and thought.

It resembled the eyes of an untamable boy.

"What the hell did you people do?"

"What do you mean by that?"

Joseph saw anger slowly boiling up in Age’s eyes.

And that anger was not directed only at him, but at the entire North.

"The dragon is going mad and rampaging."

"...?"

As Joseph felt puzzled by the words that came so suddenly, the wolf of the plains began to roar from behind the bars.

"The dragon that had been quiet all this time is going mad and rampaging!"

Age’s eyes, trapped behind the bars, were burning with rage.

And that rage was not something Age alone had built up.

It was something built up by all the barbarians who had been driven to the borderlands by the empire and lived under constant rejection.

"You are the highest-ranking person here, so you must know what I mean."

At the force Age was giving off, Jager’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

That was how strong it was.

"What did you do to the fragments of the dragon?"

The wolf of the plains snarled at the leader of humans.

And the one-eyed knight took a step forward to subdue the wolf.

Between the two of them, the man with dark shadows beneath his eyes sat without moving, grasping the ominous signs hidden in Age’s words.

The dragon was going mad and rampaging.

The son of a tribal chief had broken taboo and come down in search of a horse to stop the dragon going mad and rampaging.

And he had come deep into imperial territory, at that.

Joseph’s pitch-black eyes began to sink deeply.

"Bring me the blond boy who defeated me."

"For what reason?"

After spitting out his burning anger, Age this time let out a deep sigh and leaned his head against the bars.

"Because the only being that can catch up to the fastest dragon is the son of the plains, who inherited sacred blood."

The remnants of the fallen dragon.

Scattered throughout the world and existing in various forms, they were at times objects of longing, but also sources of fear.

The blood of the once-perfect dragon held that much potential.

"This will not end only in our territory. Right?"

"..."

Beneath the wavering torchlight, the two men faced each other.

The two said nothing more inside the dark prison.