Chapter 1: The Third Prince’s Return

Franziska, a mercenary under Renard Pendu, tilted her head. Do Belgarians not know what fear is? she wondered. The security around the palace was understandably stringent, but Verseilles itself didn’t even have protective walls. They had walked in so easily that it was actually somewhat of a letdown.

She had entrusted her armor to her older sister and shoved her favorite crossbow into a covered basket. Now she walked the streets alone, wearing frilly clothing befitting a woman her age. The pendant proving her allegiance hung at her chest, tucked beneath all the fabric.

A vast stone-paved road stretched straight from the south gate to the palace’s front door. Each path that branched from it was simple and easy to navigate.

It’s like they’re not even considering that someone might invade. Now, ain’t that some confidence?

It seemed everyone living here shared this sentiment too, believing it impossible that an enemy nation might reach the capital. That was why city walls were deemed unnecessary. It was rather unsettling—distressful, even—from Franziska’s point of view, but in the hundreds of years since Verseilles had been established, not once had their assurance been challenged. This held true even now, as while High Britannia had certainly come close, they were ultimately forced to retreat.

Belgaria was detestably prosperous. There were shops lining both sides of the main street, each and every one stuffed with so many goods they were almost bursting at the seams. The locals were just as gaudy: legions upon legions of people passed her by every second, all wearing outfits that were much too elegant. Many were of course wearing black mourning clothes—their emperor had just died and their troops had endured one large-scale battle after another—but even they looked finer than expected. They couldn’t all be nobles, meaning even the commoners here had enough extra wealth to consider what they wore.

In addition to this, there were troops stationed on every street corner. It wasn’t that the Empire was on high alert; they were presumably there to keep the peace. Franziska knew it would be too much hassle if someone recognized her, so she was hiding her eyes beneath her bangs, taking care not to make any unnecessary eye contact.

Franziska hailed from the northern parts of Germania, in a poor region where the long winters sealed the land in snow. Their economy was, for the most part, supported by the earnings of mercenaries. She had never been to High Britannia before, but she couldn’t imagine even they were this prosperous. As any good mercenary knew, wealth could be converted into military strength at the drop of a ducat, so why had anyone considered it a good idea to wage war on this nation?

She stepped onto a side street, then slipped into a quaint brick café a little farther down. Her eyes scanned the tables for a youthful yet apathetic-looking woman and a ten-year-old girl—her older sister Jessica and her younger sister Martina, respectively. It wasn’t long before she spotted them sitting across from one another in oak chairs.

“A coffee,” Franziska told the waitress before making her way over to her sisters’ table. “Sorry to keep you guys waiting!”

“Welcome back, Sis!” Martina exclaimed. She got up from her chair and immediately clung to Franziska, who caught her with open arms.

“Hee hee! Did you miss me, Martina?”

“Nuh-uh!”

“You are five minutes late...” Jessica said calmly, taking a small sip of coffee.

“Erk... I-It’s not my fault. Not like I was out playing around or anything.”

“Take a seat already.”

Franziska noticed that the waitress was already heading over with her coffee. She put Martina back in her chair, settled into her own seat, then set the basket containing her crossbow down by her feet. Once she had taken her drink and the waitress was gone, she nonchalantly reclaimed the leather bag containing her armor. It was quite a large parcel.

With their little exchange complete, Franziska took her first sip of coffee. A pleasant aroma slowly dissipated through her mouth. A bitterness entertained her palate, complemented by a faint, lingering acridity and just a hint of sweetness.

“This is crazy good!”

Franziska had cursed the Empire when she placed her order, wondering how on earth a single drink could be so expensive, but now she understood. It seemed to contain sugar, which was an expensive luxury. It contained so much, in fact, that she could hardly even call it coffee anymore. Surely it was something else—a dessert of some kind, perhaps.

“So? Did you find anything?” Jessica asked in a hushed voice.

“Mhm, ’course I did. There were more Belgarian officers in town than I knew what to do with, and not one of them stood a chance against my masterful seduction techniques,” Franziska replied, attempting to sound coy. She elegantly crossed one leg over the other, trying her best to emphasize her toned waist and shapely but slender limbs. “A few words was all it took for them to spill the beans.”

“Wow! You’re so cool, Sis!” Martina cried, her eyes glistening with simple admiration.

Jessica raised an eyebrow. “Really...? What part of threatening them with a knife is seduction?”

“Y-You were watching?!”

“So that was what you were doing.”

“Urgh... There was still a lot of seduction involved, though!” Franziska shot back, raising her voice. “That is, up to the point I coaxed them into the shadows!”

Jessica fixed her with a stern glare, then warily glanced around them.

Whoops...

They were speaking Germanian, but there were bound to be some Belgarians around who could understand them. She decided it best to speak in a quieter voice.

“Moving on...” Franziska continued. “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?”

“Nobody ever asks for the bad news first,” Jessica replied.

That might be true, actually.

“The good news is that Gil wasn’t hanged. Someone as important as him would get a publicized, large-scale execution, but there was nothing like that from the Fourth Army. He either escaped, he was released, or—and this is the most likely outcome, they say—he was hired. The fourth princess is apparently hard at work reinforcing her army.”

Jessica had actually predicted something similar but a few days prior. “If she wanted him dead,” she had explained, “she could have had him executed the day after his capture... The fact he is still alive surely means that she wishes to recruit him.”

While this news had come as somewhat of a relief to Franziska, she had more to say. “Unfortunately, it seems the war between Argentina and Latrielle is pretty much settled. The emperor died, right? There’s nothing else to it. Latrielle’s already got enough achievements to his name, and he’s first in line to the throne. Word on the street is he’s already staked his claim.”

Jessica put that week’s newspaper down on the table. She had a more recent extra with her as well. “There hasn’t been an official ceremony, so he hasn’t been enthroned, per se. To be more precise, he said, and I quote, ‘I promise to carry on my father’s will and lead Belgaria to greater prosperity.’”

“Hm...”

Franziska could speak Belgarian, but she couldn’t read it. At most, she could pick out the words she did understand and use her imagination to piece them together.

Her sister Jessica, meanwhile, could understand the languages used in thirteen different countries. According to her, all the languages in the region originated from the common tongue of an ancient empire, so they were pretty much just dialects. She had also mentioned that this ancient empire had fallen to Belgaria’s first emperor.

“So, what might the bad news be?” Jessica asked.

Franziska sighed. “The fourth princess has returned to Volks. Didn’t even stop by the capital.”

“I see...”

While the sisters were riding in a wobbly carriage with Bastian, taking a detour around where the battlefield was thought to be, the Empire’s Fourth Army had started marching in a completely different direction.

Franziska found herself growing irritated at Jessica’s apparent lack of concern. “Your fortune-telling didn’t warn you about that?”

“Even with my fortune-telling... I could not care less about the location of the Fourth Army.”

“But our brother’s there!”

“Is knowing where he is enough for us to save him?”

“Erk...”

Indeed, finding Gilbert had never been the issue. Had the three sisters attempted to raid the Fourth Army alone, they wouldn’t have managed to save their brother or their other captured comrades. This was what Jessica foretold, at least, though it seemed to Franziska that her sister always saw things differently from everyone else.

“What do we do now then?” Franziska asked.

“Information will naturally gather at the capital. Our first course of action should be to establish contact with the remnants of our brigade.”

“I see!”

While Renard Pendu had been defeated in their previous battle, they hadn’t assigned their whole brigade to assist the supply unit; there were still around seven hundred mercenaries accompanying High Britannia’s First Division.

“A mere seven hundred mercenaries would not be enough to stage a rescue mission, though,” Jessica added.

“So it’s hopeless...”

Jessica gazed out the window and up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set, dyeing the western sky madder hues. It was almost time for dinner.

“Yes, such a move would be impossible with them alone...but they carry strength and determination. They are a star that I cannot ignore—a star that glimmers in the night sky. Beside it, I see the twinkle that is Queen Margaret and her retainer...then the Empire’s second prince and fourth princess... They are all glittering stars, and it is my duty to watch them. This city is a most convenient spot to observe those stars on earth.”

“In other words, we need more information. Is that it?”

“Yes. Have no fear, though—we are coming ever closer to Gilbert.”

“Hah... Fine. I’ll believe you,” Franziska conceded. But with the Fourth Army headed to Fort Volks, distance-wise, they were getting farther and farther apart.

“You look down, Sis.” Martina seemed rather concerned as she peered into her big sister’s eyes.

“I’m fine,” Franziska reassured her, patting the girl on the head. “Hm, but wait... I get that we need to get in touch with Renard Pendu, but where exactly are they? The way things are going, isn’t High Britannia headed straight home? Are they gonna take our men with them, or dump them in a ditch somewhere?”

“For starters, Oswald Coulthard is not foolish enough to discard such valuable war assets.”

“Maybe, but Margaret’s a bit...you know.” Franziska prodded her temple.

Not even Jessica could disagree with that. “This is true, but I cannot imagine Queen Margaret would pull out so easily. Could you be a dear and gather more information for me? I have suspicions that something is happening on the Germanian front...”

“Let me guess—the stars again?”

“Before the war began, High Britannia was frequently exchanging messages with the Kingdom of Langobarti. If they do not make use of their connection now, they will have laid the groundwork for nothing.”

“What, d’you think they’re going to help them run away?”

“If Queen Margaret were that predictable, she would not have accompanied the expedition to Belgaria. High Britannia’s main force retreated, but they have not experienced any significant losses, nor are their troops fatigued.”

The High Britannian Army was unharmed, though they had been forced to retreat due to a severed supply chain. Jessica could easily envision them attempting something more drastic.

“But in that case, they should’ve just held their ground at Boneire. They still had a pretty big advantage there.”

“Had they made the wrong call, though, the war would have already come to an end. The Fourth Army simply would have appeared from behind while they fought the First Army, and as the High Britannian soldiers are novices when it comes to war, they would have deserted in terror.”

“I guess that’s one way to look at it...”

Belgaria had reserve forces in the capital as well, so there was a high chance the High Britannian troops would have been cut down before they reached the capital. In fact, there was no guarantee that reaching the palace would even secure their victory.

Jessica called herself a fortune-teller, but she more often did the work of a tactician. “Queen Margaret had the troops retreat, foreseeing a pincer attack, but the situation might change if they can receive supplies from the Langobarts in Germania. She is not the sort of woman who would willingly return home empty-handed.”

“But isn’t it that Oswald guy who’s controlling the army? Colonel... Coulthard, I think his name was?”

“He is simply devoted to Her Majesty, purely and naively. He can already see where the war is headed, but he knows what the queen desires and moves the army accordingly.”

“Even knowing he’s fighting a losing battle...?”

“A more common occurrence than you might think. Renard Pendu was defeated, yet you still work so hard for our brother.”

“W-We’re not the same!”

“We agree to fight in wars for money, because we need money to live.”

“Exactly!”

“There is something Queen Margaret needs as well—something to live.”

“What’s that?”

Jessica shrugged, then her tone became even colder than usual. “Entertainment, I presume.”

Franziska gritted her teeth. “Entertainment? I swear, if we ever see that bitch, I’m going to smack her.”

“Such is why the High Britannian Army will not abandon Renard Pendu and return to their country. It is easier for us to gather information here in the capital, and we are far more likely to establish contact with our comrades. More power means more viable options, and so we will continue our preparations...until we seize the opportunity to save our brother.”

Franziska nodded; saving Gilbert was indeed the most important part. “We’ll save him no matter what. He’s our brother, for crying out loud. He’s family!”

Jessica looked up at the sky again, watching the deep-red clouds set ablaze by the setting sun. “The second prince’s star shines brightest. The power he holds right now is unlike anything else.”

The stars aren’t even out yet... Franziska thought, curiously tilting her head. She turned to her older sister. “So are you saying the Empire’s gonna win?”

“But of course. The outcome of this war is so clear that there is no need to even divine it. What remains uncertain, however, is what the Empire will end up sacrificing in the process. So long as the conflict draws on, I am certain something will be lost.”

“Sounds about right...”

“It is my belief that, in the end, Queen Margaret will return to High Britannia... after obtaining one thing and losing another.”

“She’s seriously prancing home all carefree after everything she’s done?”

“There are darker clouds looming over her western star—the star that represents her motherland. I wonder what will happen...”

“That mess in High Britannia’s none of our business anyway.”

“Perhaps...”

All of a sudden, Martina’s hands shot up into the air. “Hey! It’s Bastian!”

Franziska looked up just in time to see the familiar face entering the café.

✧ ✧ ✧

Bastian was sixteen years old, putting him at the same age as Franziska. He had brown hair and a build that was on the slender side. Unlike before, he was now wearing sunglasses; it seemed he also had a reason to conceal his identity in the capital.

Accompanying him was the blonde girl. She was short and had absolutely no curves to speak of, but she was apparently their age as well. Her name was Elize.

Franziska recalled their previous conversation, back when Jessica had asked the girl why she was lying about being an exchange student.

“What?!” Bastian had exclaimed in response, leaping to his feet in an instant.

The atmosphere in the carriage had grown infinitely more tense, and while Franziska had known deep down that she should have been on edge, she couldn’t bring herself to react. Having seen Bastian’s unmatched speed, she knew she had no chance of winning against him in a fight.

Elize, however, had remained calm. “What makes you think I’m lying...?”

“There might be a war at the capital tomorrow,” Jessica had answered simply. “Your very life would be at risk if any Belgarian recognized you as a High Britannian, and there is also a chance the High Britannian Army could kill you by accident. It is much too risky for a normal exchange student to head there at this point in time.”

“I see now... You’re right. It was quite a thoughtless charade on my part,” Elize had said with a nod, owning up to her lie at once. It had quickly become apparent that she was choosing her next words with the utmost care. “I can’t go into the specifics, but, erm... I had to flee from High Britannia. I do intend to return eventually, but when I can depends on the state the country is in. I’m going to the Belgarian capital for Bastian, to help him achieve his goal.”

Bastian had folded his arms and nodded. “Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t really know what I’m doing either! I’ve just got this feeling that I need to get to the capital or something bad will happen.”

“You may be skeptical about us going to a war zone for such an ambiguous reason,” Elize had added with a wry smile, “but that’s simply the sort of person Bastian is.”

So, he’s an idiot? Franziska remembered thinking at the time. Bastian had saved her though, so she didn’t dare say it aloud.

Jessica had closed her eyes. “We were serving in the High Britannian Army.”

Franziska had been petrified by her sister’s sudden admission, but Bastian and Elize had merely looked at Martina in shock.

“The child too?”

“You’ve got that right!” Martina had exclaimed, throwing up her hands in delight. “I did my best!”

“I see... You sure had it rough.”

How exactly had they interpreted that? In any case, they hadn’t seemed to think they were mercenaries. Franziska had covertly breathed a relieved sigh as Jessica continued, mingling fact and fiction.

“We have no homeland to return to, so we intend to rely on some acquaintances at the capital.”

“So that’s how it is, huh...?”

Bastian had looked convinced, though Elize hadn’t seemed to fully believe their story. Either way, their conversation had continued for the rest of the journey, with neither side quite revealing their true intentions.

That very same pair were now making their way toward the sisters’ table.

“Hiya,” Bastian greeted them, raising a hand. “Kept you waiting, huh?”

“Were you able to accomplish what you were hoping to?” Jessica asked.

“It all worked out, one way or another. How about you? Found those acquaintances of yours yet?”

She looked reluctant to answer, instead directing a worried glance toward Martina. The meaning behind the gesture was so thinly veiled that it didn’t take Elize long to guess what she was trying to say.

“Martina, have you tried the cake here?”

“The cake?”

“It’s very delicious, you know. How about we go and get a slice? My treat.”

“Really?! Hooray!”

The “cake” Elize was referring to was brioche, to be more precise—a type of rich bread sprinkled with sugar. It was an expensive luxury compared to normal bread, but still just barely affordable for the common man. Franziska personally loved it, but in their current situation, she was aware that she needed to restrain herself.

With that, Elize and Martina headed for the register.

She sure knows what she’s doing... Franziska mused.

Jessica’s gesture had served two important purposes: it removed both Martina, their worst actor, and Elize, the one with the better acumen, from the conversation entirely. Now only her, Franziska, and Bastian were at the table.

“Thank you for your consideration,” Jessica said with an appreciative nod.

“Don’t worry about it. There are some things a kid shouldn’t have to listen to. So yeah—what happened exactly?”

Jessica added a tinge of gloom to her tone as she continued. “Our acquaintances are unfortunately gone... According to the neighbors, the husband died during the war, and the wife returned to her homeland with the three children.”

This was all a lie, of course; there was no way mercenaries from Germania would have had acquaintances in the capital. Even so, it seemed that her ploy had managed to earn them Bastian’s sympathy.

“I see. Yeah, that’s rough... What are you going to do now?”

“It is hard to say. We do not have much in the way of travel funds.”

This time, Jessica was telling the truth. They wouldn’t have been mercenaries in the first place if they were rich. Even those in Renard Pendu, reputed as the strongest brigade on the continent, weren’t wealthy enough to walk around covered in gemstones like the noble lads and lasses.

The three sisters had enough money to hitch a ride to Germania, but as their current objective was to save their brother Gilbert, they would need to remain in the capital, at least for the time being.

Jessica gazed into her empty coffee cup on the table. “Ah, I know... I could try writing to another acquaintance.”

“Do they live nearby?”

“They live in Germania, but we have nobody else to turn to. The last thing I want is for my dear sisters to grow up on the streets.”

Bastian folded his arms and groaned. His attire seemed to suggest he was a noble: the material was first-class, and sunglasses were considered a luxury item. For this reason, Jessica intended to extort him as much as she could. She spoke calmly, of course, even trying to avoid showing too much sadness or any unnecessary tears. This subtleness only made her fake predicament come across as more real.

Franziska focused entirely on combat, so she wasn’t a particularly good actor. I want cake... I should have followed Martina, she thought as she kept her head down, trying her best not to interfere with her sister’s negotiations. She wasn’t entirely against extracting a few days of expenses from this spoiled brat’s wallet.

“All right, I’ve got an idea!” Bastian exclaimed, slapping his knee. “You can stay at my place! There may be a few naysayers, but we’ve already shared a journey and a meal, and nobody’s gonna toss three women out onto the streets—not on my watch. They might not treat you as guests, but...how about it?”

Franziska’s eyes widened at this sudden development. “Are you serious?! Do you even know who we are?!” she blurted out, earning her a kick under the table from Jessica.

Not another word, eh? Boy, that sure was pathetic of me...

Bastian gave her a bitter smile. “Nope, don’t know a thing about you. I’ve got terrible instincts, so I can’t really tell who’s good and who’s bad, and I’ve made a huge mistake in the past as a result. But even so, I couldn’t bear to live suspecting every person I come across.”

“You really are weird...”

“You think so?”

It was around that point that Martina and Elize returned with a wooden tray, on which a brioche loaf was divided into five pieces.

“We got some for you too, Sis!”

“Really?!”

Franziska had once again spoken without thinking. She was embarrassed, of course, but they had been on the battlefield for quite some time, and she hadn’t eaten anything truly sweet for two whole months.

“Bastian, did anything important happen while I was away?” Elize asked.

“Yeah. It looks like they’re gonna have to contact some faraway acquaintance, so I was just asking if they wanted to stay at my place for a while.”

“Excuse me?! What are you thinking?!”

“Huh? Are you against it?”

“Of course I am! Inviting these marriageable women you just met into your home? That’s... That’s indecent!”

Bastian’s cheeks flushed red. “I-I don’t mean anything by it, though!”

Franziska waved her hands dismissively. “Ah, no! You don’t need to worry about anything like that happening! Really! This would really help us out, and, w-well... I know I’m pretty cute and all, but Bastian doesn’t look like the sort of guy who’d get up to anything shady like that.”

“There is nothing to worry about; we are not going to take him from you,” Jessica added quietly, wearing her usual expression—an expression that made it hard to tell whether she was looking at someone or gazing far into the distance.

This time, Elize went red. “Th-That’s not what I meant! I’m merely reminding Bastian what’s expected of a gentleman! The two of us, we’re...we’re not like that at all!”

Meanwhile, Martina was happily munching on her brioche as though the conversation didn’t concern her in the slightest. “So sweet!” she gasped.

“A-Anyway!” Bastian jumped to his feet. “We’ve got plenty of spare rooms you could use. You don’t need to be anywhere near mine!”

That seemed to be enough to ease Elize’s concerns. “Very well, then. I suppose I’m going to be intruding myself, so I have no right to oppose anyone else staying at Bastian’s house. As long as this isn’t a bother to any of you, of course.”

Franziska hurriedly shook her head. “A bother? Definitely not! As far as we’re concerned, just having a roof over our heads is heaven! A whole lot better than camping in the rain and marching the nights away!”

“...Right.”

“Do you have beds?! Do you?!” Martina asked excitedly, placing her hands on her cake-stuffed cheeks in surprise. “Is this heaven?!”

“Looks like it won’t be an issue then,” Bastian said with a nod, seeing no reason to turn them down. “Welp, we should get going. There’s a little something I need to do tonight, so it’d be best if we could get things settled early.”

And so Bastian and Elize made their way outside, with Franziska and her sisters trailing along behind them.

As they walked along the evening road, Franziska became lost in thought. If only I’d properly stalled the border regiment, then that blasted Regis Aurick wouldn’t have made it to the front lines. High Britannia’s supply ships would’ve been safe, the First Army would’ve fallen, and the capital would be occupied. But what then...?

Would Gilbert have been walking these streets with the three sisters or even with the rest of their brigade? She took care to keep the irritation from showing on her face, though her clenched fists had started to shake.

Bastian boldly walked forth, bringing them closer and closer to the extravagant structure up ahead: the imperial palace, La Branne. It wasn’t long before they made it through the lines of noble villas and were standing right before the ornamented gates.

Not to mention the gates are wide open. Am I missing something here? Isn’t there a war going on? Not that I think these delicate things are gonna be of any use in holding back an army... Still, Belgarians really will make anything into art, won’t they? Franziska thought with a quiet sigh.

In contrast, her homeland of Germania prioritized sturdiness and practicality, such that reliefs were seen as nothing more than unnecessary bumps. She had grown quite used to these customs, though that wasn’t to say she didn’t admire Belgaria’s flamboyance to some degree. And now, the palace—the nexus of all the nation’s glamor—was right before her very eyes. Franziska inadvertently breathed a longing breath, but still, what were they here for?

“Hey. Hey, Bastian. Why are we at the palace?” she asked. “You taking us sightseeing? We here for a little look-see?”

Bastian scratched his head. “Err... How should I put this? Right...” He removed his sunglasses to reveal his eyes, which gleamed an even richer crimson beneath the evening sun. “This is my house.”

“Huh?” Franziska froze, unable to process what she had just heard. It seemed that Jessica had already figured things out, as she did not react to the announcement in the slightest.

“Wowee!” Martina cried out, though she did not seem to grasp their situation either.

Elize merely sighed. “I had hoped you would tell me before we got here.”

“Hah... I had a vague feeling that you already knew,” Bastian replied. “It would’ve been strange for me to just spell it out, right?”

“I still wanted you to tell me proper...”

“Really? Does it make a difference if you already know?”

“Hmph.”

In the midst of their light quarrel, they were approached by a sentry—a man clad in first-rate light armor that shone a brilliant silver. “Ahem! Pardon me, kids, but could you identify yourselves? What did you come around here for?” he asked, his voice ever so slightly menacing.

The simple fact he was a soldier of the Empire caused Franziska to tense up, but Bastian was brazen as could be. “Oh, great timing. Could you go and fetch Marquis Bergerac for me?”

“What was that, son?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s still the minister of ceremonies...assuming he hasn’t been fired yet.”

The sentry observed Bastian carefully, evidently not impressed by his tone of voice, but then his eyes widened in surprise. “Brown hair and... Huh? Red eyes? K-Kid... No, sir. You can’t be...?!”

Bastian flipped his hair in a grandiose gesture, though there was a somewhat bashful look on his face. “It’s embarrassing having to introduce myself after such a long time, but... I am none other than Heinrich Trois Bastian de Belgaria, third prince of the Belgarian Empire. Please call for my grandfather, Marquis Bergerac.”

The sentry responded with such a crisp salute that Franziska could practically hear him snapping to attention. “M-My humblest apologies!” he stammered. “I beg for your leniency with my punishment!”

“Yeah, yeah. Enough of that. Can’t expect anyone to recognize me when I come back like this. More importantly, I really need to see my grandpa.”

“Understood!”

The man immediately turned on his heel and raced back to his post. He appeared to exchange a few words with the other sentries, who then leapt to their feet at once, a few sprinting off elsewhere. It wasn’t long before a legion of maids were springing up to welcome them.

There was, of course, a more conspicuous figure among them—a dignified old man whose chest was covered with medals, and whose arms were wrapped in mourning ribbons.

“Bastian?! Is it really you?!”

“Hey, Gramps. I’m back.”

“You’re alive?!”

“Harsh...”

It was Marquis Bergerac, head of the Ministry of Ceremonies, father of the third imperial consort...and Bastian’s grandfather.

“You dullard!” the marquis exclaimed. “First I heard that you ran away from school, then you disappeared entirely!”

“Ah...”

Now that Bastian thought about it, he hadn’t been in contact with the school since he sprinted off after Elize.

“Then the war broke out right after,” Marquis Bergerac murmured. “I was so certain you were...”

“Ha ha ha! No way in hell am I ever going to die.”

“Did anything happen in High Britannia?”

“Nah, nothing aside from me getting shot and cut up a little. Oh, right—I met Queen Margaret too. Had a duel with her retainer and everything. Think his name was Oswald or something. Anyway, he was ridiculously strong.”

The marquis immediately collapsed to his knees, sending the maids into a panic. A few began to cry out.

“Is everything okay?!”

“Sir!”

“Fetch his medication!”

As Franziska listened from the sidelines, she couldn’t help but wonder what on earth Bastian was talking about. Under any other circumstances, she would have assumed it was a joke, but after seeing his strength firsthand, she was certain he could take on a whole battalion. Given his amount of skill, perhaps he was even close to rivaling her brother.

Marquis Bergerac fixed Bastian with a glare. “D-Don’t tell me... This war wasn’t all your fault, was it?”

“...I can accept the blame for not being able to stop it, but that Margaret chick seriously wanted this to happen.”

“My heart is going to give out just listening to you...”

“Done in by a story? That sure is rough. A little exercise should sort you right out.”

“Imbecile! The devil is in the details!”

“Aha, so it was that remarkable, eh? Is my overflowing literary talent oozing into my masterful conversational skills?”

“Grr... You walking international incident. Just you try repeating all that to Latrielle. He very well might have you thrown in a cell.”

“Latrielle? Is he that on edge?”

“There was a massive war, during which the imperial army suffered greater losses than ever before. And to make matters worse, the emperor has passed.”

“I see. Can you tell me a bit more about that second part? Word is my old man died of old age, but doesn’t that seem a bit strange? He’d just taken a wife, and he was eating plenty of meat at the New Year’s party.”

“Hm...” Marquis Bergerac glanced over at Franziska. “Who are these young ladies?” he asked. It was quite obvious he was attempting to change the subject, but he had every right to be curious.

What should I say? Bastian pondered, looking over Elize, Franziska, Jessica, and Martina. It didn’t take him long to decide on his answer.

“They’re my friends.”

“Friends...?”

“They’re stuck in this country with nowhere to stay. We’ve got plenty of rooms in the palace, right? Could we house them there for a while?”

The already prominent crease in the marquis’s brow deepened. “Ghh... What nonsense.”

“Not an option?”

“A member of the royal family is asking the Minister of Ceremonies to house his compatriots. Of course I must oblige, and that is exactly the problem.”

“Hm?”

“Hah... In the midst of a national crisis, during which His Imperial Majesty passed and so many soldiers have fallen, the third prince—who just had to have been studying in High Britannia, of all places—returns dragging four women along. This is a scandal worthy of every front page in the Empire.”

“C’mon, they put me in the papers all the time. It’s nothing new.”

“Hngh! My heart...!”

Despite their exchange, Marquis Bergerac still welcomed them inside the palace. Bastian remained calm all the while, but the rest were too overwhelmed to speak; the grand sights elicited nothing but sighs of various sorts.

They were surrounded by such splendor, such magnificence. Franziska wasn’t sure whether Margaret had ever visited La Branne before declaring war on the Empire, but if she had, then her war was more than idiotic—it was plain suicidal.

Or perhaps this very palace was what she wanted.

Bastian headed off toward another room, explaining that there was something he needed to discuss with the old marquis, while the others were asked for their preferred living arrangements. Elize was ultimately given her own room, while the three sisters shared one between them. The Ministry always kept a number of rooms at the ready in case of sudden visitors.

Franziska’s head started to spin as she looked around the room they were given. “Is this for real...?” she sighed.

“We have snagged a surprisingly large catch...” Jessica muttered under her breath.

“I was sure you’d already known, Sis.”

“The stars were not that talkative...”

“That ought to have been the first thing they brought up! Heck, I’d give them a good kick if they weren’t so far away.”

“You would...kick the stars?”

“Yeah! Hah... I was expecting to spend the night in some stable or another, but...look at that. A canopied bed with gold-embroidered covers.”

“Wow-ow-ow! It doesn’t smell like straw!” Martina cried out as she leaped beneath the sheets.

“Top-end mattresses are filled with cotton these days,” Jessica informed her.

Mercenaries were generally quite poor no matter how famous they became, so Franziska had never slept on a cotton bed before. Her surroundings were so luxurious that she ultimately found it all rather depressing.

“I’m sleeping on the floor,” she said.

“Whatever has gotten into you...?”

“When our big bro’s been captured and put through so much, I... I just can’t...”

“How idiotic. What if you are unable to rest away your fatigue? What if you cannot muster your strength when you need it most? How can we save our brother then? There is absolutely no need for such pointless restraint.”

“T-True, but—”

“And besides, if you do that, a certain someone is stubbornly going to join you.”

“Ah...”

Franziska glanced over to see that Martina was already sound asleep in bed. It was still quite early in the evening, so she must have been considerably tired.

Jessica sat down in the splendid chair in the corner. It was upholstered in embroidered fabric, and its wooden legs were carved with intricate designs; it suited her strangely well.

“They said they would bring our meals to our room. I shall wake you when they come. Get some rest, Franziska.”

“What about you, Sis?”

“...I have some thinking to do, so I am going to stay awake.”

“Then I’ll stay up with you! I don’t really have much on my mind, but I can always tend to my weapon.”

“Are you deliberately trying to cause a commotion? The maid will no doubt scream if she walks in to see you handling a crossbow.”

“Erk.”

“Please, just go to sleep. You really do look terrible.”

“Hey! I’m always as cute as can be!”

Jessica offered a gentle smile. “You always overexert yourself trying to protect us. The stars say that we are safe here, so at the very least, please take a short nap. That is all I ask. And thank you for everything that you do, Franziska.”

“If you insist...”

Franziska didn’t believe in the stars, but an overpowering wave of drowsiness hit her the moment her sister told her to sleep. Is this magic too...? she wondered as she dropped onto the bed, her consciousness fading as she sunk into a deep, deep slumber.

✧ ✧ ✧

After speaking to Marquis Bergerac, Bastian ate a light dinner and exited the palace. He had made himself a lot more presentable, having changed into clothes befitting a Belgarian noble.

“Did you finish talking to your grandfather?” Elize asked, walking beside him.

“I asked what I needed to. I could sense there was a lecture coming though, so I gave some excuse and slipped out.”

“How awful...”

“You can say that again.”

“For him, that is.”

“Pff—?! H-Hey, c’mon. I don’t go around causing problems because I want to.”

Elize let out a small giggle. “I’m only joking. So, did he say anything concerning? You look rather pale...”

Bastian had used perfume-infused water to wash the grime from his skin, changed into his finest clothes, and put on sunglasses to hide his eyes. He almost certainly looked far better than he had that afternoon, and yet Elize was still able to notice even the slightest changes in his expression.

Incidentally, Elize had also changed into the clothes of a Belgarian noblewoman. She now wore a long dark-green dress, the skirt of which was decorated with lace and frills. Its color paired quite nicely with her vivid gold hair.

Purchasing new clothes usually required one to have their measurements taken by a tailor. The completion of an order would take about a week, though finer pieces could require upward of a month. The Minister of Ceremonies, however, was able to prepare a perfectly fitting dress at a moment’s notice.

“You look adorable in those clothes,” Bastian said, a sudden glint in his eyes.

“Wha—?! Wh-What are you talking about...?” Elize sputtered, the abrupt compliment causing her face to turn red. “Oh, Bastian...”

“Now I know what the heroine of my next book is going to wear.”

“I should have seen it coming...” she sighed.

Even under their current circumstances, Bastian spent each day gathering new material for his future masterpiece.

“But yeah, back to what I was saying before.” Bastian ruffled his finely combed hair. “I found out quite a few things, but the most concerning part has to be about my old man and my brother.”

“Yes, His Imperial Majesty is no longer with us. You have my condolences...”

“Well, the thing is...it’s starting to look like my brother did it.”

“...Excuse me?”

Bastian quickly checked their surroundings. They were walking along the widest street in Belgaria—one that stretched out straight from the imperial palace and was illuminated by streetlamps even well after sunset. The period of mourning meant the city was a lot quieter than usual, however, so there wasn’t anyone close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“It’s not like I saw it myself, and I haven’t got any evidence, but...word is my old man and his new lady were in their bedroom, then my brother went in and found them dead. Doesn’t that sound weird to you? And guess what he does next—he stations soldiers all around the premises, then only lets the grand chamberlain and a select few doctors and maids inside.”

“Y-Yes, well, I assume it’s normal to keep people from entering the emperor’s bedchambers, especially when something so serious has happened...”

“They even denied his dead wife’s attending physician. The situation’s gotten so bad that Estaburg has snapped; they’re on the verge of declaring war.”

“War?!”

“Granted, Belgaria’s always at war, so it’s not too rare for tensions to escalate, but their refusal to send her body home or allow her doctor to even see it is pretty crazy, right?”

“Yes, I must admit...”

Elize’s face clouded. Bastian was insinuating not only that the official statement on Consort Juhaprecia’s cause of death was untrue, but also that one of the Empire’s princes had committed the grave sin of patricide.

“Why does the Empire permit such reckless actions?” Elize asked, despondent.

“I reckon for the same reason High Britannia hasn’t put Queen Margaret on trial—there’s no evidence. Sure, there are plenty of things that don’t add up here, but nothing decisive. And then there’s the fact that most ministers recognize my brother as the rightful heir to the throne.”

“Then...surely that makes them traitors.”

“Not really. My old man wasn’t too keen on military or political matters. It was under his reign that we nearly lost to High Britannia.”

“Is that really the issue here?!”

“There’s no mistaking that this country needs a strong leader. That might not be the right way of running things, but the Empire wouldn’t have survived this long if we were any weaker. That much is fact.”

“So that’s why they recognize him...”

“Beclard accepts it—he’s the grand chamberlain, by the way—and the big nobles around the capital are all in the second prince’s faction too. Isn’t it more important to choose the side that has the most to offer, rather than dwelling on whether its actions are right or wrong?”

“Are you really okay with that?”

Bastian folded his arms. “Hm... I don’t really know if what he did was acceptable. The way I see it, the important part is what he plans on doing after he becomes emperor.”

“...That’s a reasonable way to look at it.”

“Either way, I’m going to do what I think is right. I made a promise, after all.”

Bastian’s fingers stroked the leather pouch hanging at his hip. Inside was the memorandum given to him by Roland, his dear friend from High Britannia. He was a man who had preached liberalism, even going so far as to write a book to communicate his ideals. His belief was that every man, woman, and child should have the freedom to seek happiness, and as things currently stood, those in Belgaria did not have such freedom. The nobles lived in luxury while the commoners were exploited, and countless lives were continuing to be lost as the nation persisted with its endless wars.

“Something’s got to change, but that’s not to say I think the Empire’s all bad. We can’t just bring the entire system down.”

“Right. Nothing good ever comes of such abrupt, widespread change.”

“But what to change, and what to keep? I don’t know. That’s why I’ve decided to ask someone who might.”

With that, the two continued their nighttime walk down the street.

✧ ✧ ✧

Far from the hustle and bustle of the city center, where extravagant shops and noble residences lined the streets, lay the outskirts where the commoners lived.

Bastian and Elize went down a narrow side street and, after taking a few wrong turns, eventually arrived at a certain pub. It was a brick structure around the size of a cozy cottage. The area was incredibly quiet with few passersby to speak of, and most of the surrounding buildings had shuttered windows, yet this one establishment alone leaked warm light out onto the street. Its wooden door was ajar, and a great many voices could be heard conversing inside.

A sign that read “Provence” dangled above the entrance.

Bastian pulled the door fully open. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling inside, keeping the place bright as day. There was a counter to their immediate left, and the bartender behind it glanced up at them as he continued to dry a tankard.

Farther inside was a partition to obscure the seated patrons from prying eyes, making it feel as though half of the pub were a private room. One large, round table sat in the middle of the open space, with four mismatched tables around it.

The patrons were all adults. There looked to be around thirty in total, many of whom leaned on their elbows with tankards in hand. Alongside the food on the tables were a variety of newspapers and books, making it immediately apparent that this was no ordinary pub. Almost all those inside were engaged in spirited debate, though these discussions came to an abrupt halt as everyone cautiously eyed Bastian.

Fifteen was the age of adulthood in Belgaria; there should have been no issue with Bastian and Elize entering a pub, and yet they had garnered quite a bit of attention.

Elize fearfully tugged on Bastian’s sleeve. “U-Um... Is this really the place? Are we allowed to be here?” she whispered.

“Oh, right. The drinking age in High Britannia is seventeen, right? Are sixteen-year-olds barred from pubs there?”

“You should only drink when you’re a responsible adult...”

“Well, you’re an adult here. Everyone over fifteen is.”

“I presume that law was made for convenience’s sake, to prevent any issues that might arise from the nation treating its conscripts like children as it sent them to the battlefield,” Elize mused. “Both mentally and physically, most people younger than seventeen should be considered underage, though this goes up to eighteen—even twenty—in some other countries.”

“Fifteen is around the age where you can kill an enemy soldier one-on-one, and any bloke who can take a life should naturally be treated as an adult. It’s the least amount of respect we can show to our fallen enemies.”

“That way of thinking is why Belgaria thinks so little of women’s rights... Well, putting that aside for now, do you see whoever it is you’re looking for?”

“Can’t really say. I’ve never seen them before.”

Bastian could feel the patrons’ eyes silently following him as he made his way farther inside. There was no denying that he and Elize were the center of attention.

No, wait... Bastian thought to himself. They’re not just curious; it seems like they’re wary of us too.

Upon reaching the counter, Bastian raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Do you have a sec?” he asked.

“I’m very sorry, sir, but we don’t stock any tea that would suit a young noble’s tastes,” the man replied. He had spoken courteously, though it was clear to all those in earshot that what he really meant was, “Get lost, brat.”

There were plenty of establishments that scorned nobles in the provincial cities, but they were a rare find in the capital.

Bastian chuckled. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Lighten up, eh? I’m searching for someone. A certain Bourgine.”

The bartender’s expression soured the moment he heard the name, and the silence in the pub somehow grew even heavier than it had already been. The mixture of disgust and caution that had been present in all the eyes watching them quickly turned into blatant hostility.

All of a sudden, one of the patrons—a rather well-built man—drew his long sword. The others retreated to the wall, hoping not to be caught up in the mess.

Nothing stood in the armed man’s way. The way he gripped his sword made it clear that he knew how to use it, and a number of scars cut across the thick arms that protruded from his shirt. His battle-ready glare made it easy to assume he was either a soldier or had previously served in the military.

“Bourgine ain’t here,” the man growled. “Get lost. This ain’t no place for a noble brat to be messin’ around.”

“Really? I heard this was the best place to look,” Bastian replied.

“I said get lost.”

“No can do. This is too important for me to turn away now.”

“You’ve seriously got a death wish, huh?”

The man raised his sword, sending the onlookers into an uproar. Some cried out words of encouragement, while others urged him not to do anything stupid.

Bastian refused to budge even as the blade came at him. He could hear Elize let out a panicked yelp from behind him, but there was no real cause for concern; the prince could tell that the attack wasn’t going to reach him, and just as expected, its tip cut through nothing but air.

“I didn’t come here to fight; I came to meet this Bourgine person,” Bastian said calmly. “Made a promise to a friend, you see.”

“Quit your babbling. It don’t matter what your reasons are. A meetin’ with a noble like you’s completely outta the question!”

The man took a step closer. This time, he was in range to strike for real. Bastian knew that he could dodge, but with Elize right behind him, he was better off catching the blade on the extremely slim chance that something did happen. The only problem was that drawing a dagger here would erase any hope of a civil conversation, and this was his only lead to his mystery mark.

Do I really have to do this barehanded...?

Bastian clenched his right fist just as the man raised his sword again.

“Stop this at once!” came a sharp voice from somewhere deeper inside the pub. The man flinched and immediately lowered his weapon, following the others in turning his gaze to the source of the command.

Stepping out from behind the obscuring screen was a woman who looked to be about thirty. She wore a cape over her green blouse and a long skirt, which was reasonably standard attire for a civilian. Her perfectly straight brown hair was mostly bunched beside her head, positioned so that it elegantly draped down across her chest, though her skin was pale and her arms slender to such a degree that she looked awfully sickly. It also appeared that something had happened to her leg: she carried a cane, and her foot dragged along behind her as she walked.

The man with the sword winced when met with the woman’s stern glare. “You shouldn’t have come out, madame! He might be a soldier from their faction!”

“A child like him? Without a sword, even?”

“Well, we’ve gotta play it safe...”

“Threats I can understand, but when you actually intend to harm someone, it crosses the line from caution into senseless violence. I never wish to be protected through such means.”

“I-I wasn’t going to really...” the man murmured as he tucked his sword back into its sheath in embarrassment.

The woman turned to Bastian. “You mentioned a promise just a moment ago.”

“Y-Yeah... Are you Bourgine?”

“Some do call me that, though I can’t say whether I’m the Bourgine you’re looking for.”

“Do you know Jean Roland de Tiraso Laverde?”

She widened her eyes ever so slightly, then sighed. “He’s not here. He went to study in High Britannia.”

“Yes, that’s where I met him.”

“...Is he the one who told you to look for me?”

“Yeah. Well, that’s kinda the case, kinda not. It’s a little complicated...”

Bastian could feel his chest tighten as Roland came to mind, while Elize simply looked down at her feet.

“Very well, then. Come take a seat,” Bourgine said, gesturing toward the back of the pub.

The other patrons, who had up to this point been watching with bated breath, were suddenly overcome with surprise. “Madame! Are you sure about this?!” one cried out.

“I want to hear what he has to say. Does anyone object to this?”

Nobody did.

✧ ✧ ✧

There was a round table behind the screen, on either side of which was a two-seater sofa. Even closer to the back of the pub were several barrels, as well as stacks of unused lumber and brick.

Once Bastian and Elize were seated, the woman introduced herself as Morgane Bourgine. She explained that she was a commoner who had once taught at a school in the capital, though she was now having to live in hiding.

Still unsure whether they could trust her, Bastian and Elize decided to continue using the same false names they had adopted in High Britannia.

“Are you hiding because someone’s out to get you?” Bastian asked.

“Yes, I have a faction of nobles at my throat, all because I publicly voiced my objections to the nation’s current policies.”

“What sort of objections?”

“Oho... It was three years ago when I went into the square and shouted, ‘This country is rotten to the core!’”

“What?!”

“A small portion of those in power make a living by exploiting everyone else. Something must be done. Everyone should have the right to pursue happiness from the moment they are born.”

“Wait, when you say you went into the square... Do you mean right outside the palace?”

Bourgine nodded. “That’s where I would have the biggest audience, correct?”

Bastian broke out in a cold sweat. The beliefs she espoused fell under the doctrine of liberalism. Roland had been a liberalist himself, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that his teacher shared such views, but to raise them so brazenly in public...

“You sure got up to some crazy things,” Bastian murmured.

“I did not break any laws.”

“Yeah, but once the nobles have their eyes on you, you’re bound to get harassed.”

“Yes, I was fired from my job as a teacher within the day. There was apparently an issue with my ‘work ethic.’”

“That’s tyrannical!” Elize exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise, but Bastian just sighed.

“That’s what happens when you lash out at nobles in Belgaria.”

“That’s right. They see it as the natural order that commoners are exploited and fall into ruin at their hands. They consider it no different from harvesting their crops and culling the harmful weeds.”

“So what you’re saying is, you made your address knowing full well who you were up against,” Bastian said.

Bourgine nodded again. “I lost my job, but thanks to the help of my supporters, my liberalist awareness program lives on. My mother was High Britannian, you see, so I’ve been to that country on a number of occasions. All I do is teach what I’ve learned.”

“The freedom for anyone to find happiness... Right?”

“Yes, the boy came to me while I was spreading that message.”

She was of course referring to Roland. He had come to the capital with his merchant grandfather at the age of thirteen and one day heard Bourgine giving a speech in the square. After returning south, he spent a month doing his own research. Then, once he had learned as much as he could alone, he used every means at his disposal to find her and further his studies even more.

He was a passionate one, all right... Bastian conceded.

“He really is quite clever; he absorbed my teachings like parched sand absorbs water. I hear he learned High Britannian through his own efforts, and once again, he wished to expand his knowledge.”

“Is that why he went abroad to study?”

“Yes... I tried to stop him. I knew it would be dangerous once the war started.”

“You knew the war would happen?” Bastian asked, taken aback by the statement.

“Not exactly. I knew that the pro-war faction was dominating the mainstream and deduced that the rest was simply a matter of time.”

Elize’s expression darkened. “The war has of course started, so I can’t deny that...but there were plenty of people advocating against it too.”

“Yes, I understand that. I simply did not believe they would be able to subdue the push for war, as unfortunate as that is.”

“...Is that so?”

Bastian and Elize had tried their hardest to stop High Britannia from declaring war on Belgaria, yet their efforts had ultimately been in vain. Knowing this, Elize could only look on sadly.

Bourgine shrugged. “Putting that aside, such is as far as my relationship with young Roland goes. So, do you think I am the Bourgine you are looking for?”

“Yeah. No doubt about it,” Bastian replied, though he had never doubted it from the start.

He took in a deep breath. To be blunt, he felt more nervous now than when he had dueled Oswald or leapt from the tower. Bourgine had taught Roland—she was the mentor who had so heavily shaped not just his way of thinking, but his life—and as anyone would expect, she was concerned for her pupil’s safety and well-being.

Bastian had to be the one to tell her.

The incident in High Britannia hadn’t been the first time he had witnessed death firsthand, but it was the first time it had ever made him feel this way.

He looked at her head-on. “Roland...is dead.”

Bourgine closed her eyes. A short while passed during which she stayed quiet as a mouse, and it took a moment for Bastian to realize she was offering a silent prayer. When she looked up at them again, she nodded just once, not asking for the specifics.

“Roland had his ambitions,” Bourgine eventually said. “However he met his end, it would have been the result of the choices he made. There is no point in me asking how he died. Such arbitrary declarations as, ‘That’s how he would have wanted to go,’ or, ‘He must have regretted that,’ would only be an insult to his determination.”

“I never thought about it like that...”

Bastian had been convinced that Roland had died a sad, regretful death—he certainly hadn’t gone in a way he would have deemed satisfying. Perhaps, however, that was not for him to decide.

“All that matters is what you do from here,” Bourgine said. “Right?”

“I...think I want to carry on his will. He entrusted it to me. The world needs to move forward—to become somewhere every man, woman, and child can seek happiness.”

“And you’re doing this for the sake of your friend?”

“That’s part of the reason, but I also think there’s some sense to what he said. That’s what I thought when I read this, at least.”

Bastian pulled something out from his pouch and set it down on the table. It was the book Roland had bequeathed him. Bourgine picked it up, slowly flipped through a few pages, then sighed.

“Precisely what I expected him to write—a wild goose chase after an ultimately unattainable ideal.”

“Is he wrong?”

“No... There’s no right or wrong when it comes to ideals. So you read this and thought it made sense, did you?”

“Yeah, but...I also realized that I didn’t fully understand it. That’s why I need to learn more. From you, if possible.”

Bourgine offered a bitter smile. “I don’t know how you’ve interpreted liberalism, but it is a very counterintuitive way of thinking for a noble like you.”

“Why? Because I’d lose my ancestors’ privileges? I couldn’t care less about those. Once upon a time, there was something I wanted to accomplish. I was certain that as long as I could do that one thing, I wouldn’t need anything else. I was even willing to give up my life to achieve it. But I failed.”

He hadn’t been able to deliver Elize to the palace, nor had he saved Roland.

“If you do this, I can guarantee you’ll face some strong opposition...”

“Don’t worry about it—I’m used to causing trouble. I made my resolve a long time ago. Those kinds of noble privileges aren’t what I need right now.”

“You...honestly want to learn from me?”

“Did it sound like I was joking?” Bastian replied, overflowing with determination.

It was clear from the look on Elize’s face that she wanted to say something. Bastian wasn’t sure what her take on the matter was going to be. They weren’t in High Britannia, so liberalist views weren’t publicly prohibited, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still suppressed as dangerous ideas.

Whenever a person was outed as having liberalist beliefs in Belgaria, they would quickly lose their social standing. Would this also be the case for Bastian, though? There was no past precedent of a liberalist prince, though with Latrielle now having essentially seized power, there was no telling what might happen to him.

But even so...

“I need to learn,” Bastian said. “To carry on his will, I need to study just as he did.”

“But a noble child...”

“I’m not a child, and Roland was a noble too.”

“That is true, but I was quite hesitant to teach him as well. Considering all that happened, I can’t even say whether I taught him right...” Bourgine murmured, a crease setting in along her brow.

“If you can only teach a commoner, then I’ll just abandon my house! That should solve things, right?!”

But no sooner had he made this declaration than he heard some voices brewing from beyond the screen.

✧ ✧ ✧

“We’ve had reports of someone causing a commotion,” an unfamiliar-sounding man announced. It was clear from his tone that he was a policeman.

“Was I really that noisy?” Bastian asked in a hushed voice.

“No, that is the noble faction. They are searching for me,” Bourgine explained, grabbing her cane. “We’ll have to continue this another time.” She proceeded over to the clutter at the very back of the room; then she opened the side of a barrel.

It’s a door!

As it turned out, the pub had a secret exit—hidden inside the barrel was a stairway that led underground. As Bastian peered inside, he could hear the other customers arguing with the policeman.

“Oh, c’mon. You’re not going to find anything here,” said one of the patrons, much to the policeman’s ire.

“Well, it’s my job to make sure! Out of the way!”

“What are you trying to find, exactly? Tell us and we can help you look.”

It seemed they were buying them time.

Bourgine practically crawled into the barrel cavity, her lame leg making the process unbearably slow. “I’d rather not be spotted by the police,” she whispered to Bastian. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m coming with you.”

Bastian couldn’t understand what was going on. It was the job of the police to capture criminals, but being a liberalist wasn’t an arrestable offense. Could it be that this woman was running because she had actually committed a crime? He couldn’t say for sure, but the point still stood that she had been Roland’s teacher; he wanted to hear more of what she had to say.

And so Bastian climbed into the barrel as well. “The staircase is pretty steep, Elize, and a little damp too,” he said as he started making his way down. “Be careful you don’t fall.”

“C-Certainly.”

Elize gingerly followed as well.

“This way,” Bourgine whispered as the staircase descended into pitch-black darkness.

“I know,” Bastian replied. “I can see.”

“There isn’t any light down here though.”

“Yeah, that’s why I took off my sunglasses.”

As Bastian led Elize by the hand through the darkness, he could faintly make out Bourgine a short distance ahead. She was feeling along the wall, no doubt using it as a guide. The stench of wine and mold wafted through the air; they were presumably in an underground storage, but the thick layer of dust that covered everything inside suggested it wasn’t being used.

They pressed onward. Even with his vision obscured, Bastian could work out how far and in what direction he had traveled with considerable accuracy. They certainly weren’t on the pub premises anymore, though he wasn’t entirely sure what building they were headed toward. At the very least, he could tell they were now in someone else’s cellar.

They continued walking alongside the wall until they reached a wooden ladder leading back up to the surface.

“Interesting... So it is a secret escape route,” Bastian mused aloud. “That’s pretty cool.”

“I haven’t broken the law, but the police are dangerous. We must take care,” Bourgine warned.

They were now in a pitch-black room on the first floor of an undecorated warehouse, which led out into a narrow alley. The road was little more than a dirt path, which was a rare sight to see in the capital where most roads were paved; it was probably only used to carry goods.

When the group stepped outside, Bourgine winced. There were figures standing in the dim moonlight—soldiers in black military uniforms. It was the police.

Bastian swiftly donned his sunglasses and stepped forward so that he was next to Bourgine. The police were responsible for upholding the law, so he doubted they would be too dangerous, but she seemed fearful enough that he thought it necessary to prepare for the worst.

“Looks like they were waiting for us,” Bastian noted.

“This can’t be happening...” Bourgine murmured, her voice quavering.

There were five policemen in total, and soon enough, one stepped forward—a man with a round, mild-mannered face. “I take it you’re Madame Bourgine,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

“Where are you going so late at night, hm?”

“I thought it was about time for me to get home...”

“Mhm... Could you lead the way then? It gets awfully dangerous out here at night, so allow us to escort you.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, officer, I’m not alone. I don’t require your assistance.”

The man glanced over at Bastian and Elize. Bastian rarely attended public events, so very few people would recognize him by appearance, plus it was quite a stretch of the imagination to think that the third prince would be wandering around in a place like this. It was for those reasons that the policeman’s attention was immediately drawn back to Bourgine.

“Madame, there have been reports of a burglar around these parts,” he said.

“I see... What dangerous times we live in.”

“Might I check your belongings?”

Bourgine nodded. “O-Of course.”

Bastian had never been searched by the police before. He wondered whether this was a measure they used to harass liberalists; after all, Bourgine quite clearly had little more than her cane on her. As far as he was concerned, the most she had to fear was being delayed by a few minutes.

But the third prince was naive.

The policeman moved his hand to Bourgine’s waist, and then his expression became tinged with doubt. “What do we have here?” he asked, holding up a gold earring set with a precious gem.

Bourgine shook her head. “I haven’t a clue where that came from.”

“That so? Because this looks like the earring that was reported stolen. Why is it on your person?”

“I have nothing to do with this. You came up to me with it in your hand, and shamelessly so!”

“Then why did I find it in your pocket, hm?!”

“These clothes have no pockets.”

“You can’t talk your way out of this one! All right, boys. Take her in. We’ll look into this back at the station.”

Bourgine stood frozen in place as the other policemen moved in to prevent her escape. “I haven’t done anything wrong! This is completely unreasonable!”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for when we reach the station.”

“This is exactly what happened with my comrades, and not a single one of them have been seen since!”

“Silence, you destructionist provocateur!”

Bastian was unable to contain his shock. Is this seriously happening?! How can they act so unjustly toward those the law is meant to protect?!

Just before the policemen could grab Bourgine, Bastian stepped forward to confront them. “You’re being a bit harsh, don’t you think? I can’t let you take her like this.”

“Judging by your clothes, you seem to be a young noble...” the round-faced policeman said. “Do you know who this woman is?”

“I know enough. She’s someone my friend and many others look up to as their teacher. Now I’ve got a question for you: what’s that earring? Do you really think a woman with a cane is somehow committing burglary, and then walking around with her stolen goods in her non-existent pockets? No way can you seriously believe that!”

“Ngh!”

“Who the hell would accept such a crude fabrication?! If this were a book, I’d be livid about your terrible writing!”

“What are you on about?!”

“Preaching liberalism isn’t against the law, yet here you are, arresting her without cause. Are you really protecting the capital like this?!”

The man clicked his tongue. “I don’t know what kind of a noble you are, but we’re not leaving another liberalist on the streets. Oi, bring him in too!”

“I ain’t a noble.”

“A commoner, then. I’ve got to say though, you’re pretty well dressed for one.”

“That’s because I’m not a commoner either.”

“Huh...?”

Bastian tore away his sunglasses and pushed back his brown bangs, exposing his crimson eyes to the world. “I am Heinrich Trois Bastian, third prince of the Belgarian Empire. I know all of your faces now, so you’d better prepare for what’s to come!”

“Wh-What?!”

The men paled and exchanged a few worried glances, their shoulders trembling in uneasy bewilderment.

“H-His Highness...? It can’t be...”

“Are the police always committing such unlawful acts?” Bastian asked. “Who do you take orders from? I know you’re an arm of the military, so is it the Ministry of Military Affairs? It’s not the minister, is it? Who told you to capture Bourgine?”

Each question made the policemen more and more flushed, and it wasn’t long before their confused embarrassment gave way to rage. The men were now seeing red.

“Urgh... Y-You fake! He must be an impostor!” one policeman screamed. “A prince wouldn’t be here, and he certainly wouldn’t be sticking up for a liberalist!”

The liberalists opposed the existence of an emperor above all else. An emperor existed above any and all of the nation’s laws, and every citizen had an obligation to unconditionally follow his words; simply living in Belgaria meant obeying his divine will. His sons, the imperial princes, benefited greatly from the arrangement as well. It was no mystery why the policemen found it inconceivable for a prince to tolerate the existence of a liberalist, let alone adhere to her beliefs.

“Well, would you look at that,” Bastian sighed. “Guess my status isn’t even enough to stop them.”

“You’re no more than a scoundrel appropriating His Highness’s good name! This is nothing short of treason! You’ll be executed on the spot!”

Bastian couldn’t tell whether the policemen truly believed he was a fake or simply feared punishment so much that they were trying to silence him. He didn’t have long to dwell on the question, however, as the man at the lead drew his blade. It wasn’t the usual long sword used by soldiers on the front lines—rather, this was a short one-handed saber. Shorter weapons were easier to handle in the city and considerably easier to carry.

It wasn’t long before the other policemen had also readied their weapons.

Bastian reached for the dagger at his waist—one of the treasured blades of the Empire. Legend spoke of the faeries bequeathing the sacred metal trystie unto L’Empereur Flamme, the first emperor of the Belgarian Empire, which was then forged into seven swords.

In Bastian’s hand was the Vite Espace Trois, a weapon that was approximately 4 palms (30 cm) long to match the first emperor’s foot. The double-edged blade that extended from its intricately designed handle drew a slender triangle from its wide base to its tip. It was thin and as light as paper, with some even saying it could be swung fast enough to sever sound.

Bastian had made off with the dagger about half a year ago, and he had grown quite accustomed to it since then. He no longer felt a rush as he drew it, nor did he feel any need to grip it with unnecessary force; he could move his hands naturally as though he were wielding nothing at all.

“Graaah!”

The policemen rushed at Bastian with their swords raised. Their voices resounded through the alley, but their footwork was half-baked and their swings much too slow.

This is about what I’d expect from a soldier who’s never been to war...

Bastian swung his dagger. The movement was accompanied by a shrill metal twang that assailed the ears, and then, a moment later, a saber blade stabbed into the earth by his feet. He had cut through the first policeman’s sword, severing it at the base.

“Step forward again and I’ll aim for your neck,” Bastian said, fixing the man with a stern glare. “I’ve decided that I won’t hold back when I’ve got someone to protect.”

“E-Erk!”

The policeman stumbled backward, his compatriots faltering with him a beat later. They had heard rumors of the third prince’s abnormal strength; some said that he even surpassed Marshal General Latrielle in terms of physical might.

Finally understanding who they were up against, the men paled and started to quiver. It wasn’t long before one broke down and ran. The others were quick to follow.

Bastian sheathed his dagger. “Ah... They never told me who gave the order.”

“Bastian! Are you hurt?!” Elize called out, her concern all too clear on her face.

“Hm? Weren’t you watching? There isn’t a scratch on me,” he replied in his usual tone.

A relieved look crossed her face. Bastian had been gravely injured not too long ago, and while his wounds had since closed, he certainly wasn’t in peak condition.

“Are you really Prince Bastian...?” Bourgine asked, a deep frown creasing her brow.

“Yeah.”

“Then what’s your game here? If you truly read Roland’s book, then you should understand the sort of creature a liberalist is.”

“To some degree. Is it wrong for a prince to share those views?”

“It makes me reluctant to trust you. Why would someone who enjoys all the privileges of the current regime seek to destroy it?”

“That kinda stuff doesn’t matter to me. I know this is going to sound pretentious, but...I grew sick and tired of all the luxuries by the time I turned ten. To me, the palace is just a long list of restrictions; I can barely even breathe there. I’m far more concerned about carrying on the words Roland entrusted me with to the very end.”

“So this is all for him...”

“Like I said before, that’s only part of the reason. His book made me realize the Empire is wrong in its current state, but I haven’t studied enough. I don’t know what needs to change and what should stay the same.”

“And what if I told you I wanted to destroy the Empire in its entirety?”

“I’d want to hear your reasons; then I’d come to my own conclusion. If what you say makes sense, then sure, I can crush an empire or two. As I am now though, I think doing that would be wrong.”

“Are you sure about this? If you continue down this path, you’ll never be able to return to the life you know now.”

“You were living nice and peacefully as a teacher, right? So why did you make that speech in the square?”

Bourgine paused for a moment in thought before making her declaration. “For my own justice.”

“Then I’m the same,” Bastian replied. “I’ll do whatever I think is right, no matter what I need to give up.”

“And you?” Bourgine asked, turning to Elize beside him.

“Me...? Truth be told, I come from High Britannia. I do intend to return home one day, but I’ve been thinking I should learn more about Belgaria before then. I won’t insist on it if you think I’ll be in Bastian’s way, but...”

“I see. You need not worry about that, but you very well might end up in a situation like this again.”

“That doesn’t bother me. When you have such a lofty goal in mind, this sort of thing happens more often than you’d expect,” Elize said with a small chuckle.

“I assumed you were just some noblewoman, but for you to write off an attack so easily means you must have been through a lot...”

“Aha. I suppose you could say that.”

Elize had sprinted through a forest to escape troops armed with guns, fallen victim to a trap by an uncle she had trusted, escaped a fortress of soldiers, and plummeted into a river at the bottom of a chasm. Compared to all that, this really was a rather mundane occurrence.

“Bourgine, I need your guidance,” Bastian said. “Then I can decide for myself whether this is a road I want to walk.”

“You really are a prince, aren’t you? When one wants to become someone’s student, they normally make a request along the lines of, ‘Please, won’t you teach me?’”

“Erk... Sorry.”

Bastian had never spoken like that before, not even with his own father. He was used to people speaking to him in such a way, of course, but he couldn’t quite muster it when put on the spot like this.

Bourgine carefully scrutinized him. “If you truly wish to see the Empire change, then there are two options available to you. For one, you could return to the palace and offer your opinion to the second prince. You might be able to get a few proposals through, depending on how convincing of an argument you make, and the country will be better than before as a result—somewhat more equal, with a little more freedom.”

“And my other option?”

“You move the people. The Empire does not exist because of an emperor and some nobles; it exists because of the populace as a whole. Everyone has simply forgotten this. If you wish to change this nation, you will first need to change the public’s perception. Will you be able to do that?”

Bastian was stunned into silence for a moment. It all seemed so obvious now that Bourgine had said it.

“Change the people, eh...?”

“If you want to do that, you’ll need to know how to speak properly. You’re better off returning to the palace if you’re going to make orders like a prince.”

“G-Gotcha! No, I mean... Understood, ma’am!” Bastian hurriedly corrected himself, straightening his back as he had seen the palace guards do many times before.

Elize immediately burst into laughter. “That doesn’t suit you at all, Bastian.”

“Oh dear. My apologies...” Bourgine said with a broad grin. “Everyone has their strengths. What matters is having the right person in the right place, as they say. Your speech will improve with time. Until then, there are plenty of other things to learn.”

“Was it really that strange?! At least try to hold back your snickering! Wait... Other things? Does this mean you’re going to teach me, Bourgine?!”

“You could at least call me Ms. Bourgine. But yes. You saved me from those policemen, and there’s that matter with Roland as well. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“Then I’m in your care, Ms. Bourgine!” Bastian held out his right hand to his new teacher, and the two exchanged a firm handshake.

“I have high hopes for you, Bastian.”

All of a sudden, Elize turned. She was tickled by a peculiar sensation, as though she had noticed someone smiling in the shadows of the moonlight.