Chapter 2: The Seven Days of Silence
Chapter 2: The Seven Days of Silence
Queenstower, audience chamber—
“What did you just say?” asked the hoarse voice of a woman.
Oswald bowed his head in reverence, then repeated himself word for word. “I must humbly report to Her Majesty that... owing to an unfortunate accident during her journey from St. Edward’s Private Academy to the palace, Princess Elizabeth Victoria has gone missing.”
The queen’s complexion had gone beyond pale; she was now a deathly white that starkly contrasted her brilliant red robe and silver crown. Her face had been so worn and wrinkled by her illness that she looked much older than fifty, and while she held the royal emerald scepter, in her hands it seemed more like an old woman’s cane.
“This can’t be... What are the royal guard doing?”
“It really was unfortunate. The royal guard have all been found dead.”
“All six knights of the royal guard were found dead on a country road, and the princess has gone missing... yet you say it was no more than an unfortunate accident?” she probed, her voice now so rough that the words barely escaped her throat.
Oswald’s expression didn’t change in the slightest; there was a mask-like smile spread across his lips. “I do, for it was an unfortunate accident. The knights’ remains were retrieved by a unit who were marching down the path for training purposes. It is indeed a great shame, but I suspect it will only be a matter of time before they stumble upon the princess as well.”
“Cease this discourtesy!” The head butler stationed beside the queen attempted to reprimand him, but quickly faltered into silence when the knights standing on either side of Oswald reached for their swords.
“If any of my actions can be considered discourteous then please accept my apologies, but I swear here and now that I have done nothing but report accurate information.” Oswald’s tone was completely indifferent, offering not even a glimpse of his true emotions.
The queen staggered. “O-Oh... How could this be...?” Her breath became shallow and irregular, and she began letting out a series of small, high-pitched whistles as the air struggled to pass through her throat.
The butler hurriedly moved to support her. “Oh no! Doctors! Get the doctors!”
They must have been standing on alert just outside the room, as the door was immediately thrown open and seven people dressed in white rushed in.
The queen glared as the doctors commenced their treatment. “Hngh... You deceive Princess Margaret, you plunge our country into the flames of war... and for what purpose!? Hn— Hack! Hack!”
Oswald stood in silence for a moment, then spoke plainly. “There is only ever one objective in war. The very existence of a battle between nations depends on there being something to gain, for a nation is simply a gathering of people who have come together to survive. And the survival of any nation ultimately depends on one thing: economic activity. To answer your question, Your Majesty, the purpose of war is money.”
“Gh... Curse you, you... you demon! You lead my people to death over your petty coin!?”
“The average human lives for no more than a hundred years; to allow some to die sooner is no major loss. And besides, is it not honorable to surrender your life for the good of your nation?”
“Enough sophistry! To think you would go to such lengths for money... You have a noble title, and have been granted a rank well above what would be expected of someone your age. Is that not enough? What drives you to such lengths for money?”
“This is all so far beyond a petty officer such as myself. I have received more grace than I deserve, and have indeed been blessed with great status.”
“...Then why!?”
“For a reason that I imagine one born into such privilege may never be able to understand... While I have been granted status and fortune unbefitting my humble being... to strive for even more is only human.” Oswald quite intentionally droned on, watching as the queen clutched her chest in pain.
“Shame be upon you! Urgh!? Ghh—!”
“Your Majesty! Please, you mustn’t speak anymore!”
Having seemingly decided that it was more important to speak her mind than preserve her remaining strength, the queen ignored the doctor’s warning and screamed at Oswald again.
“You sinner taken by greed! You shall fall to the wrath of God, and spend eternity in hell having your entrails torn from your stomach!”
“Oh really? In this petty officer’s humble opinion, desire is as common as a pebble by the wayside. If mine is so great as to attract the eyes of God in heaven, then there is no greater honor.”
Oswald mimicked the motions of a religious prayer, looking on as the queen gripped her chest. She had begun foaming at the mouth, and the whites of her eyes were starting to show.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!” the doctors cried.
Oswald bowed, then excused himself from the audience chamber. He passed through a large door and began the trek down the palace tower, his two fully-armored knights following closely behind.
He eventually reached a passageway; pillars lined the wall on either side, and a red carpet spread down the middle. A black-haired girl wearing a silk dress popped her head out from the shadows.
“Oh my, you’re back early. Have you finished speaking to Aunty?”
“To be graced with the lovely Princess Margaret’s presence... This petty officer is so honored he might just swoon where he stands.”
“Oh, is that so? How troublesome. Please do hold off on fainting until you’ve told me what I want to hear, Oswald.”
“...This inelegant space does not suit someone as noble as Princess Margaret. If we could move to the terrace...”
“Of course.”
They walked out to a terrace overlooking the courtyard where a number of elaborately designed tables and chairs had been set up. It was just past noon. It was warmer than one would expect for the middle of April, and a gentle breeze was blowing.
Margaret sat down, casually resting one leg over the other and exposing her pale thighs from beneath her skirt. Oswald stood at attention beside her, holding his hands behind his back as he carefully surveyed their surroundings. The two armored knights stood on watch in the doorway, while a maid was busy brewing tea.
Margaret urged Oswald to speak. He bowed deeply and obliged. “...An audience with Her Majesty... was too much for this petty officer. It was a disgrace on my part.”
“Oh dear, did you fail at something?”
“I had no choice but to present provocations no better than a shoddy bluff... I cannot even begin to explain the extent of my regret. It is because of this petty officer’s blunder that the commander at Applewood failed to subdue Princess Elizabeth. By the original contrivance, I would merely have needed to show Her Majesty the princess’s remains.”
“You’re right. Instead, you had to say this and that to push aunty into a corner. What a troublesome man you are.”
“My apologies.”
“Do you think Liz is all right?”
“According to the report, she was saved by an unknown boy, and the two fled toward the mountains.”
“I see. In that case, she’ll be coming to the palace. I can’t wait. Do you think she’ll bring one of those famous Applewood pies back for me? The weather’s good enough that it should last the journey.”
“...The palace? But most of the soldiers are on our side, and Princess Elizabeth should understand that we are plotting to assassinate her.”
“That doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t come to the castle, I’ll become queen, won’t I? And then I’d lead High Britannia to war.”
“So she’ll come all alone just to prevent a war?”
“That’s right. That’s the sort of girl Liz is. Isn’t it wonderful? I should bake a tart for her. Dear me, that girl has always hated strawberries. She’s not good at telling whether they’re sour or sweet... Fufufu.”
“Is that so?”
“I just can’t wait. Do you think she’ll be here soon? I’ll bake a strawberry tart.”
“A splendid idea.”
So her actions transcend personal interest...
Oswald understood that presenting the princess’s corpse would be a major blow to the queen’s psyche so, in response to Elizabeth’s recent escape, he had planned to have the soldiers search the mountain and the surrounding villages. Elizabeth coming back to the palace alive would throw a massive wrench in his plans. He had considered the princess somewhat of a clever girl, but perhaps he had been taking her too lightly.
I should have the soldiers I sent to Applewood keep watch over the roads.
Margaret brought her teacup to her lips. “I’ve been meaning to ask—the royal guard set up body doubles, did they not?”
“It is as you say. They sent the royal carriage and had six subordinates put on disguises to act as bait.”
“How could you tell they were decoys? I’m intrigued.”
“That is very simple. While the royal guard may be unified and loyal, those under them are not so monolithic. In most cases, money is enough to sway the human heart.”
“So that’s it. You just bribed their subordinates.”
“My apologies, I am aware it was not a plan great enough to stave off the wise Princess Margaret’s boredom. Sir Graham’s own loyalty was so strong that he never even considered that others may not share his devotion.”
“Fufufu... And what about your loyalty?”
Margaret directed him an entertained, provocative glance. She crossed her legs the other way, exposing her thighs to a precarious degree as her skirt moved. Her pale skin was almost radiant.
“If I may make my plea to my most esteemed Princess Margaret... This petty officer has already transcended loyalty. What nonsense would it be, if I could only serve you with a strong heart? For each and every member of humanity need not think, speak and act, if it is not for the happiness of Her Highness. I exist only for your noble purposes.”
“Right... Hey, Oswald?”
“Yes?”
“There’s something that has been troubling me for a while now... What tea do you think pairs best with strawberry tart?”
“How about Darjeeling with honey?”
“Wouldn’t that be too sweet?”
“It would offset the sourness of the strawberries, would it not?”
“Fufufu... You’re right. I’ll go with that. Do you think Liz will be here soon?”
“The wind is picking up, and you mustn’t catch a cold. Isn’t it about time you returned to your room?”
“Very well. Oh, and Oswald.”
“Yes?”
“I like Liz. She’s a good girl.”
“Certainly.”
“So when you bring her to the palace, please won’t you let me welcome her before aunty? Before she goes rotten, of course. But I’m sure she’ll keep in this weather. Even the Applewood pies keep.”
“As you wish.” Oswald reverently lowered his head even lower than he had to the queen.
Margaret stood, then headed for the door connecting the terrace to the tower, her silk dress swaying as she walked.
✧ ✧ ✧
Bastian was terribly nimble in the forest. When he was a child, his teachers and tutors would always be chasing him for one reason or another, and while he could always feel the thrill of the chase, it was never something he feared.
He stumbled upon a brook. While he could have dived in to escape, it was still April; the water would be cold, and the girl in his arms didn’t seem like the sort who would come out unscathed from that. Instead, he ran along the riverbed, eventually coming across a brick watermill. There was no one around, and the door wasn’t locked, so he decided they could take a break inside.
It was a rather simple construction—a roof of wooden planks over four brick walls. Inside were all of the tools required to process wheat. There was also a small fireplace that already had firewood inside, but Bastian refrained from abusing the absent owner’s hospitality even more than he already was.
Bastian plopped down in an old, withered chair. “Phew... It’s been so long since I went all out. I’m pooped.”
“Err... Thank you for saving me. Really.” The girl sat down at the table across from him and lowered her head, but Bastian just waved a hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry about it. You’ve saved me plenty of times, Elize. Ah wait, it’s ‘Elizabeth’ now, right?”
“My real name is Elizabeth, but... you can call me whatever you prefer.”
“Well then, since I’m already used to it, you happy for me to stick to using ‘Elize’?”
“I don’t see why not.” She happily nodded. “I was ‘Elize’ just this morning, and yet it already feels so nostalgic...”
“That silk dress really suits you.”
“Oh...? Does it really?”
“It does. Though I think I still prefer your school uniform.” It wasn’t until the words had already left his mouth that Bastian realized they could very easily be misunderstood, but Elize simply gave him a carefree smile.
“Fufu... Yes, I’m more at ease in my uniform. Come to think of it, when you say I’ve saved you, are you talking about at school?”
“Right. They were always picking on me because I come from Belgaria. I should’ve said some other country instead.”
“I never knew you were that strong, Bastian. Why did you always put up with their abuse?”
“I made a promise to my grandpa... One fight, and they’d bring me right back home.”
“You’re surprisingly earnest.”
“Ah—!!”
All of a sudden, Bastian turned pale.
“What’s wrong!?”
“Th-That whole thing back there didn’t count as a fight, did it? Don’t fight, don’t reveal your identity, and don’t butt into foreign politics—that was my promise.”
“I wouldn’t say it was a fight. Though ‘don’t reveal your identity’ must mean you’re not really the son of a count, are you?”
“Ah, no, th-that’s...”
“A brown-haired, crimson-eyed boy called Bastian. From what I’ve heard, red eyes are a characteristic exclusive to Belgarian royalty.”
“What could you be talking about?” Bastian pulled a special pair of glasses out of his pocket. They had black frames and smoke-crystal lenses.
“Why are you putting sunglasses on all of a sudden? And indoors, too?”
“W-Well, my demon eyes are itching to go on a bit of a rampage, you see. These are sacred glasses that can seal away the powers of darkness.”
“As I recall, the third prince’s name was Heinrich Trois Bastian de Belgaria.”
“Never heard of him.”
“...Very well. I promise not to tell anyone. No matter who you are, it doesn’t change the fact that you saved my life.”
“Y-Yeah.”
“I know I already asked, but did you really come here to hand me your book? You really forced your way through hundreds of soldiers just for that?”
“I did. Well, that was why I was chasing you, at least. I got you out of there because we’re friends.”
“...Friends?”
“Huh? Hey, don’t look so shocked! If having me as a friend is really that embarrassing, I swear I’m gonna throw myself into the brook!”
“...When word started to spread that I was actually a princess, I was sure that no one would call me a friend anymore. It’s... somewhat of a relief.”
“Hm. Sounds like High Britannian royalty’s got it rough.”
“I’d say Belgarian royalty are harder to approach.”
“I dunno about that... I get along pretty well with that Eddie bloke from the House of Balzac. He’s got no annoying reservations, and doesn’t act all superior even though he’s my elder. Oh, right, and his gramps is strong as all hell! He actually taught me a thing or two about fencing, ya know.”
“I see. A duke, eh?”
“...Urk! Ah, no, err... What I meant was, uh... That’s just what I’ve read in the papers!”
“Ah, yes, yes. I understand.” Elize smiled.
Bastian decided it was probably a wise move to change the subject. “So, um, what was that army all about? They looked like part of the High Britannian Army, but wouldn’t it be pretty strange for them to be pointing their guns at a princess?”
“It’s just your average dispute between houses. This country’s industrial technology has advanced by leaps and bounds over the past few years. As a consequence, opinion has started to spread that we should go to war and use that power to make other countries submit to us.”
“Sounds reasonable enough.”
“Does the notion really come so naturally to you men? I’m against it. If we go to war, people will die.”
“Can’t argue with that, but... Belgaria’s been at war since long, long before I was born. I don’t really get what it means to not be at war.”
“You don’t get it?”
“Err, well, I do think it’s a good thing if people aren’t dying...”
“...Good. Because if we do go to war, it’ll be with Belgaria.”
“Hah?”
“High Britannia shares its main border with the Belgarian Empire. Its other neighbors are mostly small countries, though I suppose if you wanted to cross the sea there’s also Hispania and those in the far east.”
Bastian furrowed his brow. “Have they gone loopy? Even if they do have some new cannons, they’re not gonna win. I mean, just compare how much experience our troops have, for example... How many hundreds of years do you think Belgaria’s been at war?”
“...But if victory is possible, then they should go to war. Is that what you think, Bastian?” There was a tinge of concern in Elize’s voice, but Bastian wasn’t the sort to just say what a girl wanted to hear.
“If you can win, then attack. That’s what the army’s there for.”
“But what would be the point of going to war? The country will flourish without it. In fact, do we not both stand to gain more if we focus on diplomacy instead?”
“Eh? Do we really?”
The idea that a nation could do better without war—it was something that Bastian had never before considered.
Elize nodded. “Let’s say there are two villages—one where everyone is always fighting, and one where everyone works together. Which one would live longer and be more prosperous?”
“...Whichever one wins when they inevitably go at one another?”
“Perhaps they would be more prosperous—immediately following their victory, that is. But when misfortune strikes and the village is weak, will the people they defeated in battle help them get back on their feet?”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. The way I see it, that’d be their chance to get back at them. Several times over.”
Elize nodded once again. “For a hundred years, we may prosper from winning that war. But what will happen in two, perhaps three, hundred beyond that? Does any country prosper forever?”
“Forever, eh...?”
Bastian barely knew anything about Belgaria’s past. History as a whole was a matter that generally only interested a small portion of curious folk. The Empire’s history stretched back 851 years. There had been a time when its capital had fallen, and a period when more than half of its territory had been captured. There was no way of telling what might happen over the next hundred years.
“But would you even live long enough to see the possible consequences?” he asked.
“When one becomes a ruler, they must think not of their own happiness, but of the future of the nation.”
“I see.”
Now that he thought about it, Bastian did recall his imperial tutor saying the same thing. “For those who are in a position to lead the nation, it is crucial to value the nation as a whole over individu-blah, blah, blah...” He hadn’t really been listening.
“And that reasoning is why I am against war.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But the country is all for it. These factions presumably want to make my cousin Margaret queen.”
“Does she want war?”
Elize thought for a moment. “...That woman... probably doesn’t care either way.”
“What do you mean?”
“She spends each and every day trying to alleviate her boredom. She is the eldest daughter of a prince and holds the blessed position of High Britannia’s first princess... She has kind parents, skilled subordinates... She’s beautiful, healthy, affluent, with enough of anything she could ever want... But what she was never given was a role to fill.”
“That’s something.”
“And that’s why she spends her days mind-numbingly bored.”
“Now that’s one thing I really don’t get. If you’re bored, just sneak out and play.”
“No matter what Margaret does, she very quickly grows tired of it. She picks things up faster than most people, and she’s very resourceful.”
Even the Belgarian royal family didn’t have anyone that perfect. First Prince Auguste was in a terrible state, while Second Prince Latrielle was constantly worked to death by the Ministry of Military Affairs. Apparently Fourth Princess Argentina had been sent off to the border to work as a commander despite being both a woman and a minor, but he had no idea whether she was managing to pull that off or not. The fifth-born child had died at a young age, and Felicia—who had been moved up to the position of fifth princess as a result—hadn’t left her room since she was a child. In a sense, perhaps Bastian himself was most similar to Margaret—after all, he had been blessed with both health and affluence.
“I used to be like that.”
“You did?”
“Then one day I met this real weirdo in the army library—he was turning through pages like his life depended on it.”
“Were you there to read too?”
“When I flipped over all the stone statues in the courtyard, the grand chamberlain snapped and led an order of knights to hunt me down, so I was hiding where they’d least expect me.”
“...Hah.”
✧ ✧ ✧
It happened in spring, about two years ago—
It was always a pain whenever Bastian was recognized, so he would wear sunglasses when outside of the palace to hide his red eyes. But as he spoke to the young man seated beside him, Bastian wondered whether he even needed to wear them; the young man was so fixated on the book he was reading that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if Bastian had been wearing nothing at all.
“Is it really that interesting? That book?”
“Mn? Well... Let’s see... It’s a bit iffy.”
“‘A bit iffy’? Then why are you still reading it? It must be a real drag.”
“I read for the same reason that I breathe.”
“Because you’d die if you stopped breathing?”
“Yes, that’s right. And it’d kill me to not finish this book.”
“Are you sick or something?”
“Hahahah... I get that a lot.”
“Well, I detest reading. I’d much prefer racing horses or practicing swordsmanship,” Bastian said with a shrug.
The young soldier pulled out a few books from the pile that was stacked up on the desk. “This novel is about a superhuman swordsman. He fights a great monster 100 cubits (44 m) high. It’s one of those battles where things become so tense that you actually begin to sweat.”
“H-Hm?”
“And the heroine uses magic in this one. The protagonist is her strong assistant and believe me, he really is a tough cookie.”
“Wh-What? Magic!? Are you one of those heretics!?”
“Oh, pardon me. You’ve never heard of the Empire’s bestselling fiction? I thought noble sons around your age would be their biggest reader base.”
“You think so? Again, I despise books...”
“I’d recommend this one. Ah, no, actually, perhaps it’s a bit extreme. The battles are as cool as it gets, but the heroine barely leaves an impression.”
“Huh!? Err... That’s... Well, whatever works. The battles are cool, yeah? All right, I’ll borrow it and read a bit.”
“You will? I hope you like it. The author’s around your age.”
“Eh!? Aren’t all books written by grumpy adults!?”
“That really depends. A lot of books geared toward younger male audiences are written by young authors, I assume because they have similar sensibilities. In other cases, they’re written by adult authors who are still children at heart.”
“Do you write as well?”
“...The idea does interest me... but that would just give me less time to read.”
“I-I see.”
Bastian gazed at the book. A proper publication. To think this was written by a child his age... That’s seriously amazing.
The young soldier glanced at him. “...If you ever do write a novel... perhaps I’ll be reading your masterpiece one day.” The man too delicate to be a soldier offered a gentle smile. Bastian responded with a nod, putting the book under one arm.
All of a sudden, a loud stomping could be heard as a black-bearded military man closed in. “Oi, you! Soldier! Your break ended ages ago! You plan on keeping the marquis waiting!?” he yelled, completely red in the face.
“Geh!?”
The young man hurriedly stood up. At the same time, a clamor was forming around the entrance; the strongest unit of the Empire’s First Army, the White Tiger Brigade, had appeared at a place as ill-suited as the military library.
The robust knights in white pointed at Bastian. “There he is!”
“Crap.”
And so Bastian ran. He weaved between the desks, then kicked open the window and jumped, the borrowed book still in his arms.
✧ ✧ ✧
After some rest in the watermill, Bastian led Elize back into the forest. They were back on the highway before long, and were in the city of Applewood by dusk.
“I’m surprised you didn’t get us lost, Bastian.”
“Really? I’ve got a good grasp on how far I’ve moved and I remember what the map looks like, so there was no way I was gonna get lost. Sure, I may have been a little off earlier, but that’s because I was so focused on dodging bullets.”
“Hah... You sure are a weirdo.”
“You think so? It’s something Latrielle can do as well. Oh, but Argentina’s hopeless when it comes to directions. She’s a riot, that girl. She actually gets lost in the woods.”
“Getting lost in the woods is normal.”
Hearing those words, the confused Bastian couldn’t help but cock his head to the side.
Applewood was a fortified city enclosed by stone walls. It was the largest town in the eastern region, bustling with a vast number of people. Even though the sun was beginning to set, the roadsides were still lined with open stalls, the touting voice of merchants making the atmosphere as lively as a festival. Despite how much further ahead the country was technologically, the lives of commoners in High Britannia didn’t seem much different from those in Belgaria.
Bastian wore his sunglasses just to be safe. In a city this large, it wouldn’t be strange for at least one person to be able to recognize a member of Belgarian royalty.
“...Not too many soldiers,” he whispered into Elize’s ear. Her shoulders immediately shook as if she had been tickled.
“Mn. And not every battalion’s on Margaret’s side. I’m sure they each have their reasons.”
“I don’t know whether this Margaret gal’s the ringleader or someone else is giving the orders, but trying to kill the royal successor after they’ve already been named is pretty terrible.”
“I need to get to the palace.”
“Just leave it to me. I’ll make sure you get there.”
“Thank you, Bastian.”
There was no telling who would be after Elize. Fearing for her safety, she huddled up to him for protection. Her shoulder had never been this close back when they would walk the path between the schoolhouse and the dorm, and for some reason it only strengthened Bastian’s desire to keep her safe no matter what.
“You think they’ll let us stay?” he asked.
“They should if we just say we’re students.”
“Can’t quite tell them you’re a princess, huh?”
“Right. That’d be too dangerous.”
They had considered going to the mayor of Applewood, but there was no telling what faction he was a part of. If he turned out to be on Margaret’s side, there was a good chance he would reveal Elize’s location to the army.
They entered a shop in town before the sun had completely disappeared over the horizon. It was a two-story building made of white brick, housing a bar on the first floor and guest rooms on the second. This was the standard appearance of a lodging facility, not only in High Britannia, but in Belgaria as well.
Inside were four four-seater tables, as well as a row of six seats along the counter. It was rather busy; men who had just come back from work were busy chatting and downing ale.
An elderly woman stood behind the counter. “What’ve we got here? This is no place for children,” she said, immediately refusing them in a hoarse voice.
How are we supposed to explain this?
While Bastian wavered, Elize spoke up without hesitating. “My apologies. We’re students, and one of our family members has fallen ill, so we’re on our way home. Someone from our house was supposed to come by train to pick us up, but they must be running late... Would you please let us stay the night?”
“Hm...” The woman leaned over the counter, appraising them from head to toe. “You got money, right?”
“Ah, err...”
Bastian fished through his pockets. He had made a pretty tragic blunder; the bag he had tossed aside contained not only his school supplies, but also his money.
“All I’ve got is an old pocket watch, an even older dagger, and my masterpiece. That ain’t good. No matter how you look at it, the only valuable thing I’ve got on me is the book...”
“Will my handkerchief do? It was given to me by my mother. I haven’t used it much, and I’m sure it has some value.”
The old woman stuck out a hand, and Elize gave her the handkerchief. The look in her eyes changed in an instant.
“Well now... This might just be silk...”
“It’s no trouble if that’s not enough. We can just search for another inn.”
“Urk. Y-Yes, well... It does look like you’re in need of help... I’ll let you stay. But as a heads-up, we only offer breakfast and dinner.”
“Thank you!” Elize bowed her head.
Bastian put a hand on his chest and let out a sigh of relief. “Good on ya, Elize!”
“Oh, it was nothing. We’ve been walking this whole time, so I just really wanted a bed to sleep in.”
The woman tilted her head. “Incidentally, are you two siblings?”
“Eh?” they chimed in unison.
“Would you be okay sharing a room?”
“Ah, err...” Elize’s cheeks turned a deep red, while Bastian awkwardly scratched his head.
“I’m fine sleeping outside,” he said.
“Don’t be silly, it’s still cold out! Madam, of course we’ll make do with one room. We are brother and sister, after all.”
“Got it. Then here’s your key. Just leave it on the counter when you check out. Well, it’s already too late for children to be out walking the streets. If you want a meal, eat it now. We’re about to pack up.”
“Great!”
“I hope she’s got meat...” Bastian said, earning him a sneer from the old woman.
“Oh, I do hope it’s to the taste of a noble boy.”
They were served a thin chicken soup with a hard bread roll. Normally, the meal would come with a mug of beer, but given that they were kids, the inn had made a special exception and prepared them each a glass of water. Beer could last for more than a week, whereas water would go bad in three days, even in the colder seasons. Water so pure it could be drunk without needing to be boiled was, in a sense, a greater luxury than beer.
Bastian gulped down a spoonful of soup, then let out a very pleased “Delish!” He had spent all of last night writing his novel and hadn’t eaten anything proper all day on account of skipping breakfast that morning. Then to top it off, he had raced down the roads from school, gotten into a scuffle in the forest, and walked all the way to town. He was naturally starved.
The warm soup soothed his empty stomach. Its light flavoring was perfect for a thirsting palate.
“This is amazing! Lady, you’d make a fine chef in the Belgarian courts! Seriously!”
“Hah, looks like you know how to give a compliment. It was the old man who made it.”
“It really is delicious...”
Elize was in a similar situation—there were even tears welling up in her eyes. She had resolved to give up her normal life at school to become queen, and was then very nearly killed on that same day, having been showered with bullets and chased around by soldiers.
I can’t even imagine how fatigued she must be.
“Well, all that aside—seconds, please!”
“Hey, Bastian...”
The old woman let out a snort. “Hah! Don’t be greedy! Just this once, you hear?”
“Gotcha. Thank you.”
“Ah... Then... me too,” Elize said, her cheeks once again going red as she held out her plate.
With food in their bellies, Bastian and Elize made their way to the room they had been given. Upon opening the door, they froze; the room had a desk, a chair, and a single, sizable bed.
“Is this... meant for one person?” Bastian asked.
“There are two blankets, so it’s probably a bed for two... W-We’re going to sleep here... together, are we...?” Elize was red from ear to ear. Then all of a sudden, her knees gave out. Bastian quickly grabbed onto her shoulder to keep her up.
“O-Oi, are you okay!?”
“Hyah!?”
He must have taken Elize by surprise, as she immediately lurched away, losing her balance and stumbling over. She only collapsed onto the bed, so there was no risk of her being injured by the fall, but Bastian had reflexively reached out to catch her.
The result: Elize lying faceup on the bed, Bastian on top, pinning her down. Her golden-blonde hair was messily spread across the gray sheets, and mixed in with the smells of sweat, dirt and soup was an unrecognizable but strangely enthralling scent.
Elize closed her eyes, her shoulders trembling. “You... can’t...”
“C-Crap.”
“Hah... Foo...” She started breathing heavily. “...Umm... N-Not yet...”
“Wait, don’t get angry! Th-This is— I just fell over, okay!? I’m tired too!”
“Ahem!”
Someone cleared their throat behind them. Both Bastian and Elize immediately shot up and turned to face the door. It was wide open, and standing in the doorway was the old woman, scowling.
“Hah! You should save that sorta thing for after you lock the door.”
“We’re not doing anything!” Elize declared, almost shrieking.
Bastian shook his head in an attempt to back her up. His cheeks were so hot that he wondered if he’d be able to shoot a new special technique from his face.
Oh, and lady, we’re supposed to be siblings... What do you mean by “that sorta thing”!?
When they eventually did climb into bed together, their backs brushed against each other ever so slightly.
“Kyah!?”
“Erk, sorry.”
“I-It’s fine. We just don’t have much space to work with.”
“R-Right.”
They shared their considerations as their hearts pounded away, but eventually, their accumulated fatigue lulled the both of them into a deep slumber.
✧ ✧ ✧
The next morning—
Bastian and Elize were eating breakfast in the dining area on the first floor. It was still early, but there were a few other people eating at the nearby tables.
Breakfast consisted of more hard-baked bread—this time topped with egg and thick slices of ham—and a glass of water. It might have been considered a little excessive from the perspective of a commoner, but compared to the feasts enjoyed by kings and nobles it was a very modest meal.
As they were Belgarian and High Britannian royalty, Bastian and Elize could eat as much extravagant food as they wanted back home, but they both had enough common sense not to make comparisons. It wasn’t that Bastian or Elize had grown accustomed to town life; they simply had a better understanding of how commoners lived than the average noble would.
“Thank you for the wonderful breakfast, madam.”
“That wasn’t half bad, lady.”
“Hah! You don’t have to make such a big deal over every little thing. Just eat up and leave already!”
All of a sudden, the front door was thrown open so forcefully that they thought it might come off its hinges. In the doorway was an elderly man wearing linen clothes, holding a newspaper in his right hand and, for some reason, a frying pan in his left.
“Big news!”
“Hah!? Settle down,” said the old woman, “What happened?”
“The queen is dead!” The man held up the paper, the front page of which read:
Her Majesty Charlotte Stillart, the queen of High Britannia, has been called back to heaven.
Stillart Year 42, April 15th.
Her medical report has been released by Parliament.
Her Majesty passed late in the night due to a disease of the heart, and has set off for the Kingdom of God.
The Seven Days of Silence will begin on the 16th. Please wear your mourning clothes.
The customers eating breakfast cried out in surprise, while the old woman offered a prayer to God in heaven. Bastian looked at Elize. Her face was pale, and her lips were quivering.
“Wh-What do I do...? Bastian...”
“Oi, get a grip.”
“It’s all my... How could this be...? I... didn’t make it in time...”
“This has got nothing to do with you. We went over this yesterday—the knights were expecting this to happen! Where do you factor into that!?”
“Ye... Yeah...”
She was clearly distraught; the noisy guests and the old woman gave them dubious looks. Bastian took Elize by the shoulders and helped her to stand.
“We’re going. You’re okay to walk, right?”
“Y-Yeah.”
He wanted to give her some time to rest, but not here; she was better off somewhere away from prying eyes. And so they left the inn and started walking down the main road. Bastian wore his sunglasses just in case. The last thing they wanted right now was to walk into someone who might recognize a member of Belgarian royalty.
Stalls were already displaying their goods, and the street was bustling with shoppers, but the atmosphere was much different from the day before. News of the queen’s death was spreading through hushed whispers, and crowds had formed around those selling newspapers. There were even some people who had crumbled to their knees and started crying. The queen was the symbol of High Britannia, and so many countrymen grieved as though they had lost their own mother. Elize was no different.
“Waaah... Your Highness... Aunty... You were such a kind soul...”
“......”
Bastian gave her a moment to let out her sorrow, watching as she stooped down into a corner and began to sob. Under normal circumstances, this would be terribly conspicuous behavior, but today was an exception—a number of similar scenes could be observed on this street alone.
A while passed before Elize finally calmed down. She wiped her reddened eyes, then said in a quavering voice: “I’m... sorry... Bastian.”
“You feeling any better?”
“Yes...”
“Then let’s get our thoughts in order. This may be harsh, but bear with me.”
“...Okay.”
“Her Majesty passed last night, on the 15th. Today is the 16th.”
Bastian waited for an affirmative nod from Elize, then continued.
“Mourning will start today and end on the 22nd.”
“Correct.”
“And the new queen will be decided on the 23rd.”
“That’s supposed to be the case. Parliament will unveil the new queen at the palace for the Daybreak Declaration.”
“You’ve already been chosen as the successor, right?”
“Yes. This is my proof.” She dearly presented her left hand. There was a golden ring wrapped around her ring finger, engraved with a seal that looked like the petals of a flower.
“So that’s the royal crest?”
“The white rose is High Britannia’s national flower. If I go to the palace with this, the faction calling for war will not be able to ignore me, no matter how many supporters they have.”
“And you want to stop the war?”
“Naturally. That was Queen Charlotte’s wish as well.”
“...But at this rate, that Margaret gal is gonna become the new queen.”
“Unless I can reach the palace before her coronation, things will go as the war-supporting faction pleases.”
“She can become queen without the ring?”
“Yes. It’s one thing if the ring bearer is present, but if she is unaccounted for... No one is permitted to search through a late queen’s personal belongings, so as far as anyone would be aware, the ring could just as well have never been passed down at all.”
“I suppose so.”
The journey from Applewood to the palace would take half a day by train, or five days by carriage. On foot, they almost certainly wouldn’t get there in the seven days they had. Bastian sighed. This was going to be a difficult trek.
“If only Her Majesty had just come out and said you were her successor.”
“Perhaps she was about to. She was likely just waiting because I was still a student.”
“Oh, I see.”
“But... as her health worsened, she sent for me in a hurry. I might have made it in time had I reached the train.”
The queen had apparently died late last night. Had Elize managed to board the train at Applewood Station before noon, there was a high chance she would have reached the palace before then.
“She surely told those closest to her that she was naming me as her successor, but there is nothing they can do if I’m nowhere to be found.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Can we still use the train?”
“Hm... I doubt it, but we should take a look anyway.”
Bastian led Elize toward the center of town. They arrived just in time to see a pillar of distinctive black smoke billowing into the air; the train must have been pulling into the station. The rhythmic clatter of spinning wheels and the whoosh of compressed steam leaving the exhaust grew louder and louder, until eventually the imposing form of the locomotive came into view just across the fence. As it came to a stop, a number of soldiers began to step down from inside the carriages.
“Looks like they’re starting the war already. And Applewood is their first target.”
“This is no time to joke around, Bastian. They’re obviously looking for me.”
“Ah, yeah. I knew that.”
Just the day before, Bastian had knocked about a bunch of High Britannian troops. Princess Margaret—or whoever their leader was—had almost certainly been informed, and had sent even more soldiers in response. Presumably, their orders were to assassinate Princess Elizabeth.
“Looks like the train’s not an option. Let’s go out onto the road. I’m sure there’ll be a carriage that’s willing to take us.”
“Sounds appropriate...”
“Hm?” Bastian made a quizzical noise. Elize was staring at him; she seemed to be at her wits’ end over something.
“......”
“What’s wrong? You need the bathroom?”
“Fool! Why was that your first assumption!?”
“Sorry, sorry. Then what is it?”
“...Bastian... There’s no going back from here. But you still have one last chance—if you return to school now...”
He inadvertently cocked his head to the side. “What are you even talking about?”
“B-But the situation is—”
“I made a promise. I’m definitely seeing you to the palace.”
“You’d be putting your very life at stake! And all you came here to do was hand me the book you’d written!”
“That’s right. And if you die, I won’t have anyone to read it. That’s enough of a reason for me.”
“I... I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
“...I guess we really are similar.”
“Eh?”
“I’m like that Margaret gal. Each day just drags on and on... It’s boring. I’m not doing this for you—I’m doing it for me. So don’t worry about it too much. Just use this weirdo however you see fit.”
“Don’t—”
“Whoa, over there! Oi, c’mon! This way!”
“Ah!?”
Bastian grabbed Elize by the hand and ran. A number of soldiers had come out onto the main road, but not before the two rushed into an alley.
“That’s not good. They might have the town gate under surveillance.”
“What now!?”
As they made their way between the brick buildings, luck was clearly not on their side. Their path cut straight past some soldiers who were eating their meals on the backstreet—three opponents.
“H-Hey, is that... Blimey! It’s Princess Elizabeth!”
“Halt, you two!”
The third man blew into a whistle, which let out a loud, shrill sound; it was not long at all before more soldiers gathered.
Bastian, still gripping onto Elize’s hand, yanked her back. While his hearing was so sharp that he had been able to pick up on the clatter of metal armor across the forest, that talent was of almost no use in the middle of a noisy town. Soldiers who were just squatting down for a meal, for example, would be near indistinguishable from the general everyday bustle.
“One bad thing after another!”
“Bastian, run! Even if you have to leave me behind!”
“Just quit it already, Elize! How are you supposed to shoulder a country with an attitude like that!? You keep putting me first, but if you die then who the hell’s gonna prevent the war!? Live, even if you’ve gotta eat dirt to survive! Live so you can protect the peace, goddammit!”
“Ah...”
Bastian had unintentionally lost his temper, but the apologies could wait for after they had escaped. They made a frenzied dash from alley to alley. Bastian could visualize how far they had traveled, but didn’t have a map of Applewood in his head to guide him. He had a bad feeling in his gut.
They’re probably cornering us.
Unless they were able to slip out of the city soon, chances were that they would end up completely surrounded.
“Elize, follow me like your life depends on it! Don’t look away! Don’t be scared! As long as you don’t stop, I’ll definitely protect you!”
“Understood!”
And with that, Bastian let go of her hand, trusting that she would stay with him. He intentionally charged straight into the first alley that he knew the soldiers were waiting in. The path was narrow, so only three men stood at the lead. They must not have expected Bastian to come rushing toward them since they frantically attempted to ready their firearms, quite taken aback.
“S-Sto—”
“Too slow!”
Bastian pulled out a dagger—his ridiculously old dagger. He had made off with it when he knew for sure that he would be studying abroad. But it wasn’t just any old weapon...
Legend has it that the first emperor of the Belgarian Empire, L’Empereur Flamme, had received from the faeries an almighty metal known as trystie, which he then used to forge seven blades. Prince Latrielle possessed the second, the Armée Victoire Volonté. The seventh, the Défendre Sept, had been entrusted to the house that had protected the Empire for generations, and was now in the hands of Duke Eddie. Even Princess Argentina had been granted a weapon, having been given the first emperor’s fourth blade, the Grand Tonnerre Quatre.
Isn’t it unfair that I’m the only person who doesn’t have one? Sure, Auguste and Felicia were never given legendary weapons, but that’s because they’re notoriously sick and can’t leave the house. Even Argentina got one, and not only is she younger than me, but she’s a girl, too! I could be a commander if I wanted to be one! Yep, I could totally do it. Well, probably. I think I could.
As a result, the night before he departed for High Britannia, Bastian had “borrowed” a weapon from the treasury. Naturally, the palace noticed it was missing as soon as the following morning, which sent the court into complete turmoil. The only reason it hadn’t become a larger incident was because the emperor, in an attempt to save his son’s neck, had assured them that he had loaned Bastian the blade.
I can’t just show up to school carrying some massive sword. This one should be the most convenient for where I’m going.
And so, Bastian had ended up taking the dagger. The blade, which was resting in an exquisitely designed scabbard, extended straight from its base to its tip, drawing a long and slender triangle. It was approximately 4 palms (30 cm) long, said to have been made to the exact length of the first emperor’s foot.
This was the Vite Espace Trois (The Emperor’s Nimble Steps III). Its double-edged blade was as thin and light as paper, and legend had it that the weapon could be swung so fast it severed sound itself.
Bastian held the regalia he had just pulled out in his right hand, and immediately felt something surge through him. And then, something peculiar happened—he could have sworn he was running even faster than usual. He was right before the enemy’s eyes in the span of a single breath, surprising even himself.
“Don’t point a gun at your own princess, you stupid soldiers!” he shouted.
Before the first soldier could even aim his gun, a blade sliced clean through his arm. It didn’t make a sound as it tore through the wind, just as effortlessly cleaving another man’s arm as the dagger was pulled back. It was only when it was partway through severing a third soldier that blood began to violently spurt from the first man’s shoulder, shortly followed by an agonized scream.
“GAAAAAAH!?”
The three soldiers’ guns dropped to the ground. Bastian immediately scooped one up, firing into the crowd of soldiers standing behind them without hesitation.
“Did you see that!?” he yelled, “Fall back now unless you want to die!”
This was High Britannia’s latest gun model. Reloading was fast and easy, and each round packed a considerable punch. But it was a single-shot, front-loaded model that needed to be reloaded after each shot, so as soon as he had pulled the trigger, Bastian threw the gun aside. Before it had even touched the ground, however, he kicked another fallen gun into his hand and fired again. And so he continued this process, slicing through foes, snatching their loaded guns, and then finishing them off with a single bullet. The only soldiers he didn’t aim at were those who had turned to flee.
These are incredible. It might be in part because I’m shooting point-blank, but they easily pierce through even the thickest parts of iron armor. It’s a shame these soldiers are all so weak.
“Hm?”
Just then, a figure stepped out from the end of the alley, blocking Bastian from continuing forward. It was at that moment that Elize finally caught up.
“Hah... Hah... Bas— Ah...!”
Elize stopped herself short of saying his name, noticing the enemy ahead. By the look of it, the person blocking their path was a woman; she had short black hair, her lips were tightly sealed, and there was a sharp look in her eyes. She was wearing the uniform of an officer beneath what appeared to be light armor, a longsword and a pistol dangling from her hip. She presumably had a dagger beneath the cloth covering her legs, too.
The woman let the rifle slung across her shoulder fall to the ground. They were ten paces apart; in the time it would have taken her to load a round, Bastian’s dagger would have already made contact. The fact that she had chosen to drop her gun meant she was skilled enough to have realized that.
Bastian’s lips curled into a smile. For some reason, he almost wanted to chuckle. “What’s this? So there is a half-decent fighter here.”
“I am First Lieutenant Glenda Graham of the High Britannian Army, First Division. Who are you?”
A shiver raced down Bastian’s spine. He pushed up his sunglasses.
“Bahaha... ’Tis not a name worth giving. You may call me the emissary of darkness, Chevalier Sombre! Now savor the taste of the darkness that dwells in this right arm!”
“Hm. A Belgarian name.”
“Ah! Wait, err... The Dark Knight! That was what I meant to say! You may call me the Dark Knight.”
Glenda drew her longsword. An ordinary weapon would easily shatter when struck by one of the emperor’s legendary blades, but judging by its silvery-white glimmer, this was no ordinary weapon—there was no doubting that this woman was holding a blade made of that new ore being produced in High Britannia.
“A foreigner nonetheless. Are you doing this for money? You’ll regret it.”
Without giving him a chance to answer, she rushed straight at him.
C’mon, how could I let her take the initiative? Did I lose my nerve because I finally found someone who might actually be able to put up a fight? You’ve gotta be kidding me.
Bastian tutted. “Ah, I’m such a bloody fool! When you see an enemy, you’re supposed to attack right away!”
As Glenda closed the distance at top speed, Bastian stepped in to meet her.
“What!?”
“Ouraaaaaah!”
He thrust out the Vite Espace Trois. Glenda was able to parry the first strike, but the next one followed too quickly for her to react; he had slashed three times in practically the same instant. Sparks flew, and the ear-grating screech of metal on metal pierced the air. The moment their blades parted, Glenda’s bracer tore open.
“Gnn!? My new-alloy armor!”
“You’re wearing armor there, too!?” No wonder his dagger hadn’t sunk as deep as he had expected.
Glenda swiped her sword, forcing Bastian to step back. Was she trying to create some distance between them?
“Think again!” he roared, once again stepping in to meet her. He caught her next slash with his dagger. It let out a metallic wail shriller than anything Bastian had ever heard before as she glided her sword’s edge over his dagger, its tip extending straight toward his face. He sidestepped this while moving in even further. They were now so close that their foreheads were almost touching, their eyes—and their weapons—locked.
Bastian clenched his left fist until it began to let out a jarring sound. Make a fist harder than stone and then... slam it in!
Glenda took the attack with her arm, but Bastian had enough brute strength to pick up a cow; her body was knocked up into the air.
“Wh— How!?”
“Go to sleep!”
Now that she was unable to brace her legs, Bastian launched a kick toward her abdomen. She managed to block using both arms, but the sudden impact was like she had been hit by a speeding carriage. She was thrown back-first into a brick wall. It crumbled around her, raising a huge, dense cloud of dust.
Glenda was no longer visible. Was she getting back up? There was no time to wait, or to settle their fight.
“We’re going, Elize!”
“Ah... Okay!”
And so Bastian and Elize successfully made their escape from the city of Applewood.