The Path to the Ghost Gorge
At the mere mention of the ruins, she finally grasped the true reason Adolf Kareha had been treating her.
Even from what Aisia knew, few ever returned alive from such places—almost none, if one were honest. Yet every so often someone did. The common thread among those survivors was that they had abandoned their own comrades and fled. In theory, if one encountered a powerful foe like a monster deep inside the ruins, one could use a magically rich “bait” to escape. She had concluded that she herself was meant to be that bait.
“So in the end you mean to drag me not to the battlefield but into some deadly ruin and leave me to die. Or use me as a shield. That’s what you want, isn’t it!”
Adolf Kareha slowly shook his head.
She no longer claims she wants to die.
Reflecting that the maid at her side had been of considerable help, he spoke to Aisia in the same calm tone he always used.
“You are mistaken. I truly wish only to restore you.”
“Restore me? What a joke!”
Aisia rejected him with fierce resistance. All the distrust she had accumulated began to pour out.
“I’m already a useless creature. A hostage seized by an enemy nation, a shameful princess who became the cause of our defeat in war.”
Her eyes burned with rage and humiliation.
“I’d rather die here. I have no reason to walk into that kind of danger with you.”
Adolf Kareha could explain no further. The desperation born of his previous life’s memories pressed upon him, yet he could not speak of it. In the end he left only the words “Take time to think,” and departed the room.
She remained behind, replaying every humiliation and degradation she had endured.
“I can no longer bear children, so I cannot even fulfill a royal’s duty. All that remains for me is to suffer shame as a prisoner of the enemy and now become a meat shield—is that it?”
Unable to swallow her fury, she clenched the blankets and sank into helplessness. Liberia’s army might come to rescue her someday, yet no one could say how the war would turn, and even if she were freed, a barren princess would no longer be needed by her own country. That anxiety only intensified until even the maid beside her seemed useless.
As time passed and she recovered somewhat, she attempted escape several times; every attempt failed. The mansion was ringed by imperial soldiers under tight watch, and her body was still far from whole, her movements restricted. In the end she remained under even stricter guard than before, subjected daily to every treatment and examination Adolf Kareha devised.
There was no physical torture, of course. Yet endless powerlessness and shame—being seized even by common soldiers, surrendering her body to enemy physicians—gnawed at her from within. And at the center of it all stood the man named Adolf Kareha.
“Why does this man treat me this way… Cold torture would be better.”
She muttered to herself, carving deeper hatred and suspicion toward him. If she recovered, she would only be used as bait at the ruins, she raged. Yet after venting her anger, she began, little by little, to admit that he had never broken a single promise he made to her.
Outside her room the imperial soldiers came and went, calling her “Princess,” yet the word felt like mockery of an empty shell. The physicians examined her body with clinical detachment, recording her condition and writing it down. Watching them, she thought this must be how an animal felt when observed in the zoos some nobles kept for amusement.
Adolf Kareha had said there would be no torture. But as these days repeated, Aisia could only interpret them differently.
No one cares about my heart or my shame.
She poured out the bitterness inside her mind.
Yes… this is the worst torture of all…
Meanwhile Adolf Kareha searched ancient records and grimoires with growing desperation and summoned every mage he could for counsel.
“We must find the ancient relic. With the Tear of Life, her body can be healed.”
An elderly scholar stroked his long beard and answered.
“The Tear of Life… it is a legendary object mentioned only in ancient texts. There are even rumors that no one who has entered those ruins has ever returned alive.”
“Even so, we must try. Tell me everything you know.”
Thus Adolf Kareha gathered the materials, confirming the approach to the relic and the conditions for releasing its seal. One of those conditions was the need for “the mana of a Hero’s bloodline,” and he already knew how to satisfy it. Yet the very person who carried that bloodline was Aisia. Having failed to win her cooperation, he let out a long breath. Further information yielded no new progress.
“In the end it is possible only if she accompanies me. But her resistance is too fierce; persuasion will not be easy.”
One day, as he began preparations to depart, Adolf Kareha entered the mansion and a soldier hurried to report.
“The prisoner—no, the princess—attempted escape again. She nearly injured herself trying to jump from the roof, but fortunately we stopped her.”
He went at once to Aisia’s room. She sat apart from the soldiers who had restrained her, her face full of despairing anger.
“Why do such a thing…”
When he asked, Aisia snapped back as if the question itself were absurd.
“Why? Because it’s the only thing I can do while locked up! I thought dying would be better.”
That night Adolf Kareha canceled every external meeting and paced for a long while before her door. He reached for the handle, then finally turned away. Any conversation would only end the same way. Mutual distrust only deepened. Still, he had to take her on the journey.
“We must go to the ruins. If she will not, I will have no choice but to force her.”
He muttered to himself and meticulously planned the expedition, then issued orders to the soldiers.
“There will be movement for a time. Prepare so that the princess suffers no discomfort. Even so, if she resists along the way, she must be brought by force. There is no other way.”
On the day of departure Aisia was compelled into the carriage. No chains bound her, yet the eyes watching her made escape impossible. Adolf Kareha looked once at her reddened eyes, then took the lead on horseback and set out toward the deep mountains where the ruins lay.
The road was long and harsh. At every moment Aisia fixed him with a sharp glare.
So it has come to this after all…
She repeated the thought inwardly. His comrades and soldiers already guided the way, prepared camps, and readied themselves against every danger. Soldiers who watched her leave murmured among themselves—“They say there’s a relic in the ruins… the princess there…”—and she caught fragments of their talk, sinking into deeper revulsion.
Once called a hero on the battlefield, once the spiritual pillar of the Liberia Empire, she now judged herself thus:
Am I nothing more than a meat shield?
She looked up at the sky.
Several days into the journey, unexpected assassins struck. Even within their own borders such an attack was deadly, yet Adolf Kareha reacted with swift precision, commanding the soldiers until the assassins were subdued.
“Th-this…!”
In the midst of it, just as a blade was about to reach Aisia, Adolf Kareha stepped in front of her and became her shield.
“Lower your head!”
He shouted firmly, protecting her with his own body. The enemy’s blade sank deep into his armor; the impact wounded him as well. Yet he showed no sign of pain, drew his sword at once, and cut the assassin down. Afterward the surrounding soldiers recovered their wits and rushed in to restore order.
Aisia watched the scene in confusion.
Did he truly mean to save me…? Or was it only for show?
Her heart shook violently. Still the suspicion would not leave her—the fear that he had protected her from the assassins only so he could use her later in the ruins.
Even afterward, whenever danger arose on the road, Adolf Kareha was always the first to shield her. At that sight Aisia began to feel confusion, distrust, and a subtle emotion all at once.
They say this man is a cruel war-mad butcher. How can he protect me so devotedly?
Her inner self was swept into deep conflict. Ultimately she still believed he was using the infertility treatment as an excuse to exploit her. Yet little by little a small crack began to form between them. Before she knew it she found herself asking, Is this man truly using me for nothing but malicious ends?
“I’m thinking too much.”
“What is it?”
She gazed out the carriage window and exhaled. Minna, who had been combing the princess’s hair, heard the sigh and asked. Counseling one’s mistress in her worries was, after all, a duty any fine maid should fulfill.
“It’s nothing.”
Each time they passed mountains and valleys, Aisia’s eyes caught glimpses of Adolf Kareha efficiently commanding the soldiers. His tactics and leadership were strict, yet he showed respect for his subordinates and seemed to take careful thought even for the transport of food and supplies for the common people.
A simple slaughter-maniac would never show such consideration.
She shook her head and questioned herself.
No. It could all be pretense—nothing but a scheme to put a hostage at ease.
While these tangled feelings continued, they drew steadily nearer the ruins.
The entrance to the ancient ruins lay at the bottom of a deep mountain gorge. From old times the place had been called the Ghost Gorge for its ominous reputation; countless adventurers had challenged it and never returned.
“So this is where the ancient sanctuary said to seal the Tear of Life is supposed to stand…”
Adolf Kareha unrolled the map and confirmed their position. Broken stone pillars ringed the entrance; unknown characters and patterns were carved into every wall.
“Stay sharp, all of you. Once we enter there may be monsters or traps.”
He gave the order to the soldiers.