“What to do indeed…”
The man knew Bathion had two daughters left. One was still young, so the woman before him was likely the next tool for a marriage alliance. Through the princess’s marriage, allied forces continued to pour in. Among them, Razhan was a particularly persistent enemy to the coalition forces.
The man slowly tilted his head, his gaze fixed steadily on Daphne’s eyes.
[…….]
Daphne trembled as she stared at her reflection in those vivid blue eyes. The man seemed to be contemplating what to do with her.
A woman from an enemy nation wandering alone outside the castle walls. She could be killed immediately, or taken as war spoils. Daphne knew well enough what happened to women taken as prisoners by the enemy. The only difference was whether she died quickly or lived as long as she could endure.
To avoid being captured, she had to say something, anything. But the man’s overwhelming presence made her shrink in fear. His unhurried tone, slitted eyes, and the leisurely gaze that looked down at her gave him an air of arrogance and an unusual intimidation.
The man seemed ready to pronounce her fate as he slowly parted his lips. Daphne closed her eyes tightly and tried to relax her body. At that moment, her mind blanked, and all she could think of was to pretend to faint again. Like the boy, Leoford, she hoped the man would lower his guard and expose an opening.
But her trembling wouldn’t stop. At this rate, she’d genuinely faint and wake up in the middle of the enemy camp.
“Ha-ha.”
Then the man chuckled softly. It wasn’t an opening; it was a laugh of disbelief, bordering on a sneer.
Even though she knew it wouldn’t work, the situation felt utterly hopeless.
Hic.
The fear and confusion were so overwhelming that she began to hiccup. Daphne instinctively covered her mouth, her terrified eyes fixed on him. The man pulled his lips into a smirk, raising his eyebrows slightly in amusement. It was a playful smile, though it only instilled fear in Daphne.
Regardless, the man casually picked up a dagger that had fallen next to Daphne. He examined it briefly, front and back. Decorative, poorly maintained, and with a blunt blade—such a weapon couldn’t properly kill anyone. He sighed faintly and flung the dagger far away, muttering as if to himself.
“Up close, your act is… quite terrible.”
His voice carried a strange note of amusement.
Hic.
Daphne couldn’t conceal her tension. Her heart, cornered and frantic, raced faster with each beat, and the cursed hiccups wouldn’t stop. Should she reveal she was a princess? If so, perhaps she could expect some level of respect. Her mind, sluggish though it was, began to churn.
“How did a princess end up here alone?”
…How did he know? Her mind went blank again.
The man’s eyes narrowed as he observed her wavering violet eyes. It seemed the woman understood the common tongue of the Inacos Union. Yet another unexpected detail. The man’s lips curved into a more distinct smile than before.
[Do you understand the language of the Inacos Union?]
He deliberately asked in Velarezian.
Daphne, after moving her lips several times, finally managed to utter a sound.
“This place… is the land of Enna, the goddess.”
She intentionally replied in the Inacos language, sensing the man’s interest in her.
“Ah, the god Velarez serves.”
As if confirming her suspicion, the man responded with pleasure. Though it was unclear if that could be called an answer.
“Here, nothing should to be killed—”
“Aha.”
His teasing response caused Daphne to falter.
“Well, I believe in a different god.”
His tone was mocking, as if provoking her, What will you do about that?
“…A wise one ought to respect other religions…”
Every word felt like stepping on thin ice.
“A wise one?”
His expression shifted so quickly that Daphne’s mouth froze mid-sentence. Though his lips maintained a faint upward curve, his gaze revealed clear displeasure.
“According to Velarez, I’d be a barbarian, wouldn’t I?”
It seemed she’d stepped on the wrong foot. Only then did Daphne realize her mistake.
“Of course, they wouldn’t be wrong. I’ve certainly received an incomplete education.”
“My… my meaning was…”
“Taking pleasure in killing people while high on drugs seems more barbaric to me, but suit yourself.”
As the man said, Velarez’s royals and nobles would shut themselves in the safest places during wars, spending their days intoxicated, deriving amusement from killing slaves.
What did it matter if they were godlike in appearance? Velarez’s ruling class was the true barbarian. Even reflecting on the start of this war confirmed it. As someone with the same hair and eye color, she felt a surge of shame.
She was humiliated.
Yet, despite that, Daphne wanted to live.
“…I want to live.”
And so, she desperately muttered something between a sob and a cry. Though her life as a beast in a cage had been wretched, it was still precious. She didn’t want it to end like this. Daphne bit her lower lip hard to suppress her rising emotions. For a moment, it was difficult to maintain her composure.
The man stared at her in silence, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he asked an unexpected question.
“How do you know the Inacos language?”
Caught off guard, Daphne stammered.
“I… learned it.”
“Learned it?”
All Daphne knew had come from Sione. It was Sione who had created, even in a small way, a broader world for her.
The man observed Daphne quietly for a long time. Then, suddenly, he straightened his posture.
Startled by his sudden movement, Daphne recoiled.
Was he going to take her away? Like this?
No.
But she couldn’t think of anything else to do.
Then it happened.
“If you want an honorable death…”
“……”
“Don’t leave the castle again, Princess.”
“……”
“There are warriors from seven nations in that camp. Their appearance, language, and thoughts are entirely different.”
The man’s smile at that moment seemed oddly merciful. With those words, he disappeared, taking the boy Leoford with him.
The forest returned to silence. Slowly, Daphne sat up. It felt like waking from a nightmare. Yet the pain and soreness throughout her body reminded her that this was no dream.
She had survived.
[Why…?]
The world had fully brightened by then.
***
Leoford, despite his wide strides, kept glancing back toward the forest where the woman had been left. Soon, her figure was entirely out of sight. The moment they exited the forest, Leoford, as if he had been waiting, called out to his brother.
“Johannes.”
However, Johannes Tenen didn’t stop walking, acting as if he hadn’t heard Leoford’s voice. Leoford came to a halt, raising his voice.
“Johannes!”
Only then did Johannes pause and turn to face him.
“She was a princess?”
Leoford gestured back toward the forest with his chin as he spoke. Johannes shrugged nonchalantly.
“She looks just like Bathion’s son.”
Eight years ago, Johannes had set foot on the Wesel Continent. He had lost his parents in an instant and, as the new King of Itium, was thrown into the battlefield. At the time, he had been just fourteen years old.
The regent, Princess Johanna, and the old nobles hoped the boy king would die in battle. Contrary to their wishes, Johannes killed Bathion’s son in his very first campaign, becoming a legendary figure among the allied forces in one stroke.
“Probably the eighth or ninth princess or something.”
His tone was indifferent.
“What?”
Leoford’s eyes and mouth opened wide in astonishment.
“Then that was all the more reason to capture her! Or kill her!”
Johannes gazed at Leoford, who was trying hard to act like a warrior, without saying a word. His steady gaze made Leoford’s face scrunch up in discomfort.
“…What’s with you all of a sudden?”
Leoford was the only family Johannes had left. When Johannes, then fourteen, was sent to war, there had been no one he could trust to take care of his younger brother. In the end, he had no choice but to bring the four-year-old boy to the heart of the battlefield.
That’s how Leoford grew up—on the battlefield. And it had always weighed on Johannes’s mind.
“Johan?”
Johannes did not want Leoford to become desensitized to killing. He wanted him to run through fields covered with fresh green grass, not blood-soaked battlefields littered with corpses. Leoford was only twelve now, and Johannes believed it wasn’t too late.
