The Tale of the Undying Siblings (1)
Wolfgang’s tale, forged in the brutality of the Winter War, carried enough weight to overwhelm even the most ferocious orcs. Yet Saintess Jeanne was not the sort to simply endure it. As the religious leader who stood at the very heart of the kingdom’s power, ferreting out and exploiting an opponent’s weaknesses was child’s play for her. Wolfgang, however, refused to yield. It became a true contest of spear and shield—an evenly matched struggle that left the orcs seated around them utterly exhausted.
They simply could not follow the conversation. Saintess Jeanne held supreme authority in the kingdom, and while Wolfgang had never desired it, she had still dabbled in imperial politics. The orcs were different. Their race had always been closer to fists than words; when things went wrong, they reached for axes first. Keeping up with this verbal duel was simply beyond them.
“What are we supposed to do about this?”
“Hmm. It’s unfortunate the Chieftain is absent.”
“Deciding this among ourselves feels… wrong.”
Backward though their political system might be, the concept of responsibility still existed. With the Chieftain gone, any rash decision would force someone to bear the consequences. Even battle-obsessed, illiterate orcs who had risen high enough to sit at this table had no desire to create a situation where they would be held accountable.
Yet they could not simply sit in silence while the humans steered the discussion as they pleased. Interrupting would only expose their own ignorance. In the end, they chose the only option available to them.
“Enough. That will do.”
“Since the Chieftain is absent, let us table this matter for another day.”
“Return at a later date. A matter tied to our people’s fate cannot be decided in haste.”
They simply adjourned the meeting. It was simple, yet the most efficient solution. No one had to take responsibility, and they had the perfect excuse—the Chieftain’s collapse.
Wolfgang raised no objection.
‘My original goal has been achieved. If anything, this counts as a win.’
The initiative had been stolen from the start. Saintess Jeanne of the kingdom had already arrived and laid her groundwork. Had more time been granted, an alliance might truly have formed. Of course the kingdom would not withdraw so obediently; this was merely a temporary measure. Still, rendering all their prior preparations meaningless was a definite gain.
Moreover—though it had not been her intention—by felling the Blood Alliance’s Chieftain in a single strike, she had also demonstrated the empire’s power. Wolfgang felt she had accomplished everything she had set out to do.
‘Greed only ruins things.’
The ideal outcome would have been an alliance between the Blood Alliance and the empire, but that was never going to be easy. Orcs had always looked down on and rejected other races. Above all, it had been Wolfgang herself who had knocked Gartan down with one blow. Pushing her luck here would almost certainly provoke fierce backlash.
Even in the empire, if the emperor suffered humiliation, his subjects would rage. Besides, the justification lay with the other side. Though it had been glossed over, it was this side that had resorted to using the undead.
“It seems this round goes to you, Sir Leonhardt.”
Having produced such results despite the unfavorable conditions, Saintess Jeanne gracefully acknowledged her defeat. Her brilliant golden eyes turned toward Wolfgang.
“Would it be appropriate to address you as Saintess?”
“Please call me Jeanne. The title of Saintess is valid only within the kingdom, after all.”
“How modest.”
Offering the clichéd compliment, Wolfgang studied the Saintess. The woman before her looked almost like a mirror image. Jeanne bowed her head with a beautiful smile.
“I have long heard of your renown. It was an honor to meet you, hero of the empire.”
She grasped the hem of her pure white dress with both hands and offered a slight, elegant bow—less mere grace than the very incarnation of sanctity.
Wolfgang gave a polite nod in return.
“I, too, was glad to meet you, Saintess Jeanne.”
“Will you be returning at once?”
“The same could be asked of you. Our business here is finished, so it is time to go back.”
As previously mentioned, Wolfgang detested political warfare. She disliked working in general, but if she had to choose, she far preferred tasks that made use of her body. Yet here she had been, forced to defend against the Saintess’s verbal assault under overwhelmingly unfavorable conditions. Her accumulated fatigue had naturally reached its peak.
In short, she was already exhausted from being made to do something entirely unsuited to her nature. And now the very person responsible for that exhaustion was standing before her offering polite greetings. How could her mood possibly be good?
‘Time to escape. If I linger, I’ll only get dragged back in.’
Watching Wolfgang’s retreating figure after the curt farewell, Jeanne finally became certain.
At first she had been unsure. The appearance and aura were similar, but when they first met she had panicked upon failing to read any desire and let the moment slip. Only after calming herself and observing the meeting could she confirm it.
‘Lana Frost… She has returned.’
Lana Frost. Second daughter of the Frost Duchy and the former crown prince Zaiha’s once-betrothed. The bitter tie that had not been fully severed ten years ago had grown into a monster and come back.
Wolfgang Leonhardt. Jeanne already knew the relevant information. Commander of the empire’s eastern defense forces that kept the kingdom in check. The war hero who had led the Winter War to victory and master of the Vendetta legion.
‘I must return at once and prepare countermeasures. Otherwise the kingdom itself may be destroyed.’
Now she understood why she had been unable to read any desire. The woman had been thoroughly concealing her emotions. Even when standing before the hated enemy who had taken everything from her, she had become a monster capable of perfectly controlling her hatred and rage.
Of course, there remained the possibility that she had lost her memories entirely. Jeanne dismissed it. A person without memories could live, but to become the war hero who led a war to victory? Even making full use of the swordsmanship and knowledge learned in the kingdom, such a feat would border on miraculous. The odds were not zero, but they were exceedingly slim.
Therefore, it was wiser to prepare on the assumption that the woman remembered everything—at least for the sake of caution.
‘I’m hungry. I wonder what they’ll serve for dinner tonight.’
Meanwhile, Wolfgang had already put the Saintess completely out of her mind.
The empire and the kingdom withdrew from the Blood Alliance at the same time. They had originally planned to stay a few more days, but the woman known as the Saintess claimed she had urgent business and chose to depart that very night. Once the kingdom began its withdrawal, there was no reason for them to remain either.
Naturally, the presence of undead horses meant darkness posed no obstacle.
The lonely moonlight shining in the dark night sky illuminated the gray hair of the girl pressed against the carriage window.
Because it had grown late, both Galina and Wolfgang had already fallen asleep. The only ones still awake inside the carriage were Natasha and her older brother Dena. From the beginning, they had no reason to sleep. Both were existences closer to undeath than life.
“Brother, are you awake?”
“Of course.”
“What did you think? Of the meeting earlier.”
“I understand. Undead. Unholy. Existence.”
“So everyone feels that way after all?”
An existence that rejected the cycle of life and death. One that craved life more than anyone, yet stood closer to death than anything else. It was only natural for people to feel repulsion. The undead were beings returned from death. The eeriness and fear born from that impossible contradiction drove people to reject them.
Moreover, Natasha was a necromancer who wielded death itself. How many people in this land could truly like a woman who turned her own friends and family into undead and commanded them? Perhaps there was only one person on the entire continent.
“I thought I could gladly offer even my life for my sister.”
“……”
“Yet in the end, my sister protected us until her very last breath.”
It was no jest or provocation. Natasha meant every word. She would give her life for the sister she served as lord, even if that meant eternal silence.
“Hearing sister speak today brought back memories of the old days.”
Seven years ago, when the empire had been in the midst of the Winter War.
To most citizens of the empire, the greatest objects of fear had been the endless winter and the Wendigos. But for Natasha and Dena, that had not been the case. What Natasha feared most had been humans—the beasts wearing human skin who had stolen her only family, her older brother, and tried to violate her.
Perhaps it was because her sister had spoken of the Winter War that the old memories resurfaced so vividly. How they had come to hate living humans, and from exactly when they had begun to truly love their sister.