The Lady in the Guest House
The first house was finally finished. It was a simple, crude structure built of mud bricks, but the moment the annex with a roof was completed, I furnished it with a bed and some furniture and immediately moved the 'Lady' in.
"Not bad. It is a fine house, Capitán."
"If there is labor to spare, I shall send some girls to serve as your maids."
I was willing to send a farmer’s daughter or two, even in these busy times, if it meant avoiding the 'pranks' of this mature woman who kept testing the limits of my patience.
She loosened the blanket draped like a cloak over her linen nightgown, right where the sunlight streamed in. Her skin, whiter than the high-quality linen she wore, scattered the sunlight in a dazzling display.
"Why do you act this way? Did you not say this was to be my place of residence? Capitán."
She was utterly enchanting as she teased me with her 'pranks.' And because I knew she was a lethal poison, I lowered my head.
"I shall take my leave now."
"How amusing."
"I find nothing amusing about this."
I barely managed to refuse her temptations and escaped. My SAN points were already at a critical low. It was only after gritting my teeth and focusing my mind on the 'Storm of Space-Time' for a long while that I could walk straight. I shudder to think what might have happened if I were any other man. If she, who clearly looked like a high-born noblewoman, were to suffer some 'incident' here at the hands of other men, I would surely be impaled on a stake for the 'crime of failing to manage my subordinates.'
After he left, Teresa wrapped the blanket back around herself and waited for someone. While waiting, she pulled out a piece of cloth—from where, I didn't know—and a rapier, wiping the blade. Her appearance was not that of a noble lady, but of a highly skilled swordsman.
-Knock, knock, knock
"Enter."
The one who appeared through the door was Quijote, the Capitán's loyal servant.
"My Lady. The 'preparations' are complete. The new 'comrades' have also added their strength to our cause. The 'troublemakers' have also agreed to cooperate with us."
"Excellent, Quijote. Continue to maintain that spirit of service. I shall always be a merciful master to a loyal servant."
"Of course, My Lady."
Quijote, who kept his eyes lowered and maintained the posture of a loyal servant, placed a bottle of *aqua vitae*—the 'water of life' obtained from a noble's servant—on the table and vanished. Teresa opened the wax seal of the strong liquor, which held the soul of the grape, and inhaled its deep fragrance.
"Hmm... I would prefer not to use such things."
Teresa felt that if she had to rely on such methods to hunt him, it would be a defeat, not a victory. Resealing the wax, she hid it under the bed and stood up.
New refugees arrived every day at our site, which was in the midst of restoration. Thanks to them, the construction accelerated day by day. Those who had come last year or the year before were weeping and clinging to us, begging to be allowed to live here forever.
"Sir, please buy my land! Those wicked merchants! They are worse than the Jews; they demand all my land for a sack of rye and say they will take my daughter as a maid!"
Small farmers, who had no capacity to endure such catastrophes, came clutching their land deeds, begging me to buy them. I did not want to turn those farmers away.
"I understand. I will accept your land, but I will do my best to ensure you can till the soil again. However, I cannot offer a high price."
"If not for your help, this old man from this village would have already starved to death last year or the year before! We have all lived off your great kindness to keep our wretched lives going; how could we be greedy!"
A notary is essential for land deeds, even for small transactions. As this kept repeating, I sought out a notary in Valladolid through 'Bartolomé of Segovia.' In exchange for providing the notary with daily bread and the second house built in the village, I had him stay on the farm.
Bartolomé was one of the few who had 'won' in the ruined city of Valladolid. He had received my warning two weeks before the flood and moved his family to the Páramo highlands, and under the pretext of tending to livestock in the winter pastures, he had gathered enough food and valuables to survive for a month.
Furthermore, trusting me to an incredible degree, he had bought up a massive amount of livestock using his house deed as collateral. He had not died in the chaos, and by holding onto the tangible asset of living livestock, he was emerging as a new power in the dying city of Valladolid.
"Hahaha! My friend Juan would never tell me to do something that would lead to my ruin, would he? I’ve dealt with beasts for 20 years, Bartolomé prides himself on having an eye for people!"
The man who had the judgment to build temporary shelters and haul fuel up to a high plateau where one could easily freeze to death was the type of person who would have either gone spectacularly bankrupt or succeeded spectacularly if he had been trading coins in the 21st century.
In Valladolid, where the grain warehouses were rotting, he fought against the city council, which tried to seize his assets as the only supplier of protein, while faithfully carrying out my requests. I lent his livestock the name of 'Royal Property' and shared my food. In return, he gave me fine horses that were too good to be sold as meat.
"Oh, don't cry, Thalia."
Another winner in this chaos was Aventador. The beast was leading a harem of thirty mares, boasting the majesty of an alpha male. He was so aggressive toward other males that he 'buddy-joed' them, but he showed no aggression toward the geldings whose balls had been snipped.
However, there were mares among them that Aventador hated intensely. If they had one thing in common, it was that they—including Thalia—seemed to have given birth to mules before.
Thalia shed tears of sorrow; perhaps in her eyes, Aventador looked like a blonde prince. Thalia kept approaching him despite being hated, but upon realizing she had been rejected to the end, she looked incredibly depressed.
And three weeks later, Thalia was pregnant with a mule.
"Sigh..."
I shook my head at Thalia and walked away. Oh, and all the mares rejected by Aventador, including Thalia, were pregnant with mules, and the father was the same donkey. It was definitely not a forced pregnancy, but that donkey certainly had an incredible talent.
It was impossible for me to supervise everyone alone. This became especially true as the proportion of women among the refugees increased.
"Children. If you faithfully carry out what I command, I shall guarantee your safety. Work hard and serve with sincerity."
The one active there was 'Lady Teresa,' who still walked around with only a blanket over her linen underwear. She always kept two farmers' daughters standing like folding screens to control the refugees, and her overwhelming dignity was a 100-percent pure display of what a high-born noble was like. Even though she wore tattered, unfitting clothes, not a single person dared to refuse or express opposition to her orders.
The problem was her 'pranks' that occurred as our territories overlapped more and more.
"Hehe. Do you see, Juan? My skin is no longer white."
She would show me the color difference between the parts covered by her linen underwear and those that weren't, playing her 'pranks.' Because she chose to show me the line on her voluptuous chest, where a slightly different shade was visible, it was truly hard to endure. I, gritting my teeth like a frog hit by a dungeon stone, found every day to be an act of penance.
"No. You are still as white as ever, My Lady."
At my words, she looked at me intently and spoke in a slow, dignified tone.
"Have I not told you several times not to call me 'My Lady'?"
"I have also asked you several times to call me Capitán, My Lady."
I desperately tried not to look at her alluring lips. Every time I looked, the memory of the day I rescued her came back. The sweet softness of the kiss I gave her to perform artificial respiration came to mind.
As more refugees gathered, our stockpiled food was rapidly dwindling. Before the ground dried up and turned into concrete, I had to dig furrows and ridges in the fields to give the earth room to breathe, preparing for a second flood, and from March, I planned to plant chickpeas for a short-term harvest. About 50 *fanegas* of the rye field planted last year had survived; a 20% loss rate in this chaos was truly a miracle.
However, human effort might not be able to overcome the will of the heavens.
"Achoo! Ugh, I'm dying."
Late April. I felt the temperature drop suddenly at a time when it should have been warm. Even while feeling the onset of a cold, I gritted my teeth and directed the farming.
"Everyone, go out immediately, dig the furrows deeper, and pile that soil onto the bean and rye fields! You must do it quickly!"
"Understood, Capitán!"
Now, when I gave an order, they worked as told without any questions. The refugees, lacking tools, went out with bare hands or wooden plows and shovels, tending to every single stalk of bean and rye with all their heart, piling up the soil. After a week of all-out struggle against nature, I finally relaxed when I realized the rye and bean fields had survived.
-Thump
"Ah! Capitán! Capitán!"
"Ugh... wa... water..."
"Are you awake, Juan?"
I barely opened my eyes to find a naked woman lying next to me, covered by the same blanket.
"Eh... ugh?"
"Hehehe, do not be shy. I am merely repaying the debt I owed you that day."
"What?"
"You seem thirsty; your lips are all parched."
She slowly sat up, tilted a water bottle, and began to drink.
"What are you doing?"
"Do not be shy. Who do you think has been feeding you water for the past three days?"
"Eh?"
She took a sip of water and kissed me. Through the tongue that forced my lips open, the cool yet lukewarm nectar was passed to me.
-Gulp, gulp
I repeated it several times. After doing so four or five times, she stroked my lips once, touched my forehead, and said,
"It seems your fever has not yet broken. Lie down."
She rested my forehead against her snowy white, abundant hills. Every time I breathed, her scent tickled my nose. How could a person have such a scent? I was the same, but no one had been able to wash properly. This was clearly a trap of resonance. Frustration is what makes a man. The Storm of Space-Time is truly the best...
"I don't know what you're saying, but your mumbling is quite cute. Hero of Valladolid."
Teresa stroked the hair of the mumbling man and gave him a slightly more 'severe' prank. Because in the erotic novels she secretly read, men always liked to conquer the peaks.
"Ah! I'm sorry, but 'as of yet,' my breasts cannot provide milk."
Teresa smiled slightly as she watched Juan, who did not react to her prank.
"Hmm... you've fallen asleep."
-Smooch
"I crave your passion, so conquer me whenever you wish. Until then, I shall wait with a joyful heart, hiding this burning passion."
"Giddy up!"
Mounted on the majestic white horse Aventador, she rode beautifully, sitting in a side-saddle. I mounted a gelding and followed her, startled by her speed.
"Teresa! You shouldn't pick up speed in the mud!"
"Hmm... you worry about too many trivial things, Juan."
After the cold in April, I could no longer push her away. The anchor she had thrown had pierced my heart.
***
Author's Note:
Well, in the 17th century, this would never happen even if you killed me. She is a perfectly novelistic character, and this is an *otaku*-style development far from historical accuracy, so I would appreciate it if you just looked upon it kindly. It's just because the author is an *otaku*. I'm sorry, brothers.