Northern Winds and Lingering Shadows
During the journey, the carriage came to a halt. Perhaps I had dozed off for a moment—there was a dried trail of drool pressed beneath my lips. The horses must have been exceptional, for after only a single day of travel the air had already grown this bitterly cold. So this was what it meant to head north. I was just wondering whether I would have to subsist on nothing but potatoes from now on when the carriage door opened and my fiancée, Glacisia, stepped inside.
"Are you cold?"
"Quite. We haven't even reached your territory yet, and already it's like this. This won't do."
"Would you like a cover?"
Glacisia held out a white fur pelt she had apparently acquired somewhere. Personally, I had no objection to the material, but in a region this frigid, wearing such furs was probably everyday life. Once I actually tried it, the softness and warmth made me understand why the wealthy draped themselves in fur coats. However, that warmth was soon invaded by another presence. Glacisia had sat down beside me and was trying to share the same fur blanket. Perhaps because she was from the north, the notion of sharing came naturally to her. Yet the northern elites I knew only understood monopoly, war, and nuclear weapons. It seemed the people of this north, even their leaders, still grasped the meaning of communal property.
Ah, Professor Vladimir Lenin, are you watching? Here stands a leader who has perfectly internalized your philosophy. And an incredibly beautiful one with an excellent figure, at that.
"Oh my. I was only trying to share the fur because it's cold. Is there a problem?"
"No, none at all."
When in Rome, follow Roman law; when in the north, follow northern law. The concept of "mine" did not exist here. Only the concept of "ours" remained. Glacisia leaned closer and closer toward me. Her warmth grew more immediate, and so did her captivating face. Silver hair inherited from her father, crimson eyes from her mother, and a face that combined both into something striking. Honestly, among all the women I had seen so far, Glacisia's features alone came closest to my personal taste. So this was what happened when the blood of the Vampire Queen mixed with northern DNA. If one were to take only the finest traits of living beings and combine them, the result would probably look like Glacisia. In the game she was perfect in tanking, damage, and utility alike. On top of that, she had inherited her mother's beauty. If only her terrifying and deranged personality were not part of the package, I might have fallen for her. I might even have felt excitement at the way she was pressing herself against me now. But knowing that deranged personality, the only thing I felt was a threat to my life.
I gently pulled the edge of the fur blanket over Glacisia's face. Honestly, it was terrifying.
"Why are you covering my face?"
Apparently she disliked having her face hidden by the blanket. I made a mental note of it.
"It's embarrassing to admit, but being this close to a lady's face feels rather awkward."
"You may look."
"Pardon? What did you just—"
"It is not rude, so please do not hesitate. You may continue looking at my face."
When she thrust her face directly at me like that, it really was a little embarrassing. It was not that I found women themselves awkward; it was simply that the situation still felt unfamiliar. There was allure yet dignity, splendor yet a touch of simplicity. A face that somehow held contradictory charms all at once naturally made one feel shy.
"Staring at an unmarried lady's face—what sort of rudeness is that?"
"But staring at one's fiancée's face is not rude, is it?"
Ah, right. She gave no room to escape. Unless one were a pressure-release specialist on Modric's level, breaking free of this would be difficult. Yet watching her act this way, I began to wonder: was this truly only anger over the broken engagement in the past? Was it merely a desire for revenge against someone who had rejected her? If she were driven solely by vengeance and rage, there would be no need for behavior this close to seduction. What exactly did Glacisia feel toward me? Affection? Favor? I could not tell. If a man could not even understand another man's heart, how could he possibly understand a woman's? Whatever her feelings were, however, they could not be normal. Otherwise she would never have handcuffed and abducted me.
Glacisia, who had not once taken her burdensome gaze off me, finally spoke.
"Who exactly are they?"
For a split second I thought she had discovered that I was possessed. My heart nearly stopped. But I had worried for nothing. What she said next had nothing to do with that.
"Where are the people who looked down on you, calling you an orphan, saying your origins were lowly, claiming your face looked like a woman's?"
Neither Werner nor I particularly enjoyed being told we looked like girls, but I had never actually been discriminated against for it. She was arbitrarily adding new reasons for discrimination.
"What do you intend to do by asking about them?"
"I must make them understand thoroughly."
"Understand what? Some moral lecture about not discriminating against or looking down on people?"
It was almost funny that such a pure-hearted young lady still existed in this world. People naturally looked down on and slighted those they considered beneath them. I was no exception, so if I were to condemn it, I would have to start by scolding myself right here.
"What happens when lowly-blooded wretches dare to scorn the mage recognized by the previous head of House Winterheart—the current head's own fiancé."
Only she could call the capital's most prominent nobles "lowly-blooded." Even while pretending indifference, she knew how to feel anger on behalf of others and how to act for their sake. That side of her was… honestly adorable, and it made her seem young. Her appearance and age were those of an adult, yet her mind was still that of a child.
"…A moment ago you said staring at a face was rude and minded your manners, yet striking your fiancée's forehead is not rude?"
"I struck you as an adult trying to correct that naïve way of thinking."
"Naïve?"
"Discrimination toward such people is never shown openly."
Anyone with common sense would not openly call someone an orphan or mock their lowly origins to their face. The higher one's position and the more steeped in superiority one was, the more likely they were to pretend to extend a hand while whispering insults behind one's back. Besides, someone like Werner, who also possessed ability, could not be dismissed so easily. Still, in their eyes his lowly birth was like filth; no matter what fine silk he wore, he remained a rag stained with dirt.
"Instead they apply pressure through subtle, meticulous methods that make open protest impossible."
"But those who challenge me always do so to my face."
"That is only natural, since Lady Glacisia possesses a noble status unlike someone lowly like me. Challenging the strong may be admirable, but beating a sick beggar is hardly something to boast about."
That did not mean they refrained from beating beggars, of course. Even while praising with flowery words to one's face, their eyes and actions never hid the contempt they felt for the lowly. And Werner was not foolish enough to miss it.
"If they had at least poured wine on my clothes while openly calling me lowly, I would have had a chance to protest. But when they praise me to my face and look down on me with their eyes, is there really any opportunity to object?"
Glacisia fell silent for a moment, then reached out to straighten my collar. In a somewhat sorrowful voice she asked,
"How did you change so much?"
"I am not sure what you mean by changed."
"The Werner I saw when I was young was not like this."
Well, of course he was not—this was not the same person. But I could hardly say that.
"What sort of person was I, in the eyes of young Lady Glacisia?"
"When I saw you at six years old, you were different. You carried yourself as though you were the greatest under heaven, and if anyone looked down on you, you would strike them down. You maintained the attitude that you could change the world."
If Glacisia had been six, Werner would have been fourteen… Damn it, that was exactly when the idiot was running around creating spells like Abyssal Guide of Darkness. Of course a child deep in chuunibyou would have lived with that mindset, completely unaware of how frightening the world truly was.
"That is a very long time ago… Both you and I were… still very young back then."
"Young" was an understatement. At fourteen, in the world I came from, one was still just a child. Six went without saying.
"Fortunately, the world kindly taught me—even without parents—that no matter how much I struggled alone, nothing would change. And that someone born lowly would remain lowly no matter how many spells they created or how desperately they struggled."
I continued calmly while looking at Glacisia's sorrowful face. The noble society that a boy who had lived by begging suddenly found himself thrust into was cruel. It was cruel enough to turn even a sensitive boy into a cynical adult. And it was repulsive enough to disillusion a boy who had once delighted in developing cringeworthy spells like Abyssal Guide of Darkness.