Chapter 52
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 52
Chapter Title: A Song for One Person (2)
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After leaving the restaurant, we finally arrived home amid an excruciatingly awkward atmosphere.
As soon as we reached the entrance, Erzena's tightly sealed lips parted.
"Oh, today's meal was really... enjoyable."
"I'm glad. Let's go again sometime."
"Sure."
Her ears were flushed bright red as she hurriedly slipped off her shoes.
"W-Well then... I'm tired, so see you tomorrow. ...Nathan."
And no sooner had the words left her mouth than she bolted up to the second floor.
Calling someone by their name without hesitation must take some real courage, after all.
But I still had unfinished business with her.
"Ah, wait just a moment, Erzena."
At my call, her body—which had been rushing up the stairs—froze in place.
"Now seems like the perfect time to give you what I mentioned before."
"...?"
She stared at me with a face full of confusion, as if wondering what I was talking about.
"Wait right there."
Leaving her behind, I headed down to the basement.
- Thud. Creak. Bang!
About three minutes later, amid a racket of noise, I returned holding something in my hands.
"Cough! More dust than I expected—nearly couldn't find it."
Erzena's gaze fell on it, shifting instantly to surprise.
"A guitar...?"
It was, in fact, a guitar.
"Ahem, it's a far cry from the top-grade instrument you used to play, Erzena, but it's still quite serviceable."
I said it with a touch of pride.
"To be precise, it's... well, the one my grandfather used and passed down to me."
I brushed the dust off roughly and offered it to her.
"Use it while you're staying here. It'll help fend off the loneliness."
Erzena had arrived at my house without a single belonging.
The bare essentials and spare clothes she'd hastily bought at the market were all she had.
'No hobbies or leisure time? That'd be hell on earth.'
I was too swamped to care, but she was different.
Even starting at the Immigration Control Office today, it wouldn't be polite to leave her idle with nothing to do.
She'd be stuck here for two months—she needed some form of entertainment.
Sure enough, her golden eyes sparkled with delight.
"Wow... I'd been so curious about the guitar you mentioned, Central... Nathan."
She snatched it eagerly and scurried over to plop down on the sofa.
The complaints of fatigue vanished, replaced by eager humming.
"Let me see."
- Twang.
Her finger plucked a string, and an off-key screech burst out.
"..."
"..."
Silence.
"I-I'll retune it."
"No need. I'll handle it."
She deftly adjusted the string tensions with practiced ease.
And before long,
- Ding-ring.
A sweet melody flowed from the now-tuned guitar.
"Nice instrument. Deep tone."
It wasn't pristine. Far from precise.
But worn smooth by years and hands, it carried a unique, profound resonance.
A nostalgic pang, evoking my old academy days.
And echoes of the tunes Grandpa used to play lingered within.
"If you strum it like this here... Ah, perfect. Now the sound flows more naturally."
As I watched her excitedly fiddle with it, I murmured softly.
"Care to play something?"
"Pardon?"
She looked up, startled.
"I'm dying to know what Rock Spirit is all about."
I'd only heard rumors.
They said she transformed utterly on stage.
What would she be like, I wondered?
So far, I'd seen her fanatic zealot side and her genuine saintess grace.
So what expression would singing bring to her face?
Curiosity burned.
"Ah, no... Asking so suddenly like this..."
"No pressure."
I eased onto the sofa as I spoke.
"Just think of it as a little request from your landlord to his tenant."
Do it.
Erzena narrowed her eyes.
"...Feels like the pressure just went up fivefold."
Our banter lightened the air.
"Ahem!"
She cleared her throat.
"Then... shall I try one song...?"
I nodded with a smile.
"It'd be an honor."
'What song to pick.'
Erzena sank into serious thought.
Truth be told, performing hadn't crossed her mind.
She'd just gotten excited touching an instrument after so long.
But those expectant black eyes staring now? No way she could say no.
'Dinner was great, and he even thanked me.'
His earnest words still smoldered like embers in her heart.
So she wanted to sing something he'd enjoy.
He'd said it through the window:
He didn't rely on God.
'Hymns probably aren't his thing, then.'
What had she sung before?
She reflected.
[Kill the Unbelievers], [Walk the Thorny Path Barefoot], [4-Hour Nonstop Divine Praise Medley]...
Fiercely brutal.
'...What mindset had her in to belt those out?'
Her face flushed hot.
She shook her head vigorously, scattering the memories.
Then it hit her—a song from her childhood favorites.
The one she'd croon lying in bed at the convent, after dragging her exhausted body through the day's ordeals.
[When the Long Day Ends].
'That one.'
Deep breath. First notes.
"When the long day ends, a short night awaits us..."
Her voice resonated softly, filling the room.
"The faces that cried and laughed all fade away, and with carefree expressions, we gaze up at the starlight..."
Nathan had his eyes closed, nodding faintly now and then.
The Central Officer tapping the floor in rhythm with his toes.
Erzena flashed a subtle smile.
'He keeps good rhythm.'
She wove on with an even gentler melody.
Then the fireplace's soft warmth mingled with a faint golden aura, enveloping him.
So discreetly he wouldn't notice.
Cozy as a blanket, seamless and snug.
Nathan's breaths evened out gradually.
And slowly, their cadence slowed.
"Lay your weary body down, rest your head on my lap and sleep..."
As she strummed, thoughts drifted.
If only this song never ended.
If only this poor man slipped into deep slumber just like this.
If only this moment stretched on forever.
"Don't open your closed eyes. I don't want you to catch me watching you..."
For the first time, not for God—but wholly for him—she sang.
Not roaring till her throat bled, but like a soothing lullaby.
For this upright man, fragile enough to snap at a nudge.
- Slump.
Nathan's head lolled; his crossed arms fell loose.
"Mmm..."
His face relaxed at last.
No more worry or weariness—just a child's carefree innocence as he sank into sleep.
A smile bloomed on Erzena's lips.
In this instant, she was purely, blissfully happy.
Fireplace flames danced with holy power; even the crickets outside fell silent, savoring the song.
And so, as night deepened, one woman sang for one man.
The next morning, at the Immigration Control Office.
"Good morning, everyone."
Feeling more refreshed than ever, I greeted them with vigor.
"Good morning."
Erzena followed me in, her expression light and unburdened.
"Good morning, Central Officer and Miss Erzena!"
"Secure borders without exception!"
"Slept like a rock last night!"
Vibrant replies echoed back in unison.
A rare sight indeed for the Immigration Control Office.
No wonder everyone clocks out on time.
Of course, exceptions existed.
"Why scissors... why'd I go home late alone..."
One pitiful soul still haunted by yesterday's blunder.
"Come on, Olfactory Officer. Rock next time instead of scissors."
"Grrrr..."
He shot me a murderous glare at my light teasing.
That was when.
- Flap, flap.
Powerful wingbeats sounded from somewhere.
"Hellooo, Royal Post Office~!"
A cheerful voice announced a lightly clad young woman entering the office.
But something was off.
She had no arms.
In their place: large, snowy-white wings.
"...Harpy."
Half-human, half-bird in form.
The Royal Post Office prized speed above all, staffing deliveries entirely with harpies.
Unfettered by roads, soaring the skies—they were born postmen.
As if to prove it, a claw-mark medallion hung at her neck: the Royal Post Office seal.
She pulled out the dispatch list with her beak and read.
"Hmm... let's see, Nathan Kell? Nathan Kell here?"
"Right here."
One flap of her wings, and she zipped straight to me.
- Thud.
A heavy clunk as her talons deposited her grip onto the desk.
"Sign for receipt, and the one you missed last time too!"
Work files from the Foreign Affairs Ministry, a thick cipher tome from Intelligence.
And a sheaf stamped with a serpent seal.
'That must be the Evil God Cult dossier the Intelligence Chief mentioned.'
Undeniable.
"Yes. All accounted for. One sec—"
Then, one more thing caught my eye.
A lavish red envelope.
Familiar.
Exact shade as the last letter.
Chills spiderwebbed down my spine anew.
"Hold on, please."
"Huh? I'm swamped—gotta hit the margrave's next!"
I grabbed her.
"Th-this letter. Who sent it?"
Please say I'm wrong.
Not that person.
Her gaze followed to the envelope.
"Uh... this one..."
She faltered, then snapped to rigid attention, chin thrust skyward.
"The Royal Post Office discloses no sender information whatsoever!"
She recited it like a machine, tone stiff as board.
"P-Postwoman? What's—"
"The Royal Post Office discloses no sender information whatsoever!"
Harpies stiffen like this under extreme tension—or ironclad orders and drills.
Paralyzed rigidity.
Meaning the sender wielded authority too absolute to question.
That's when I knew.
'Damn it.'
The letter was from the princess.