I Am Not Seen
Ppi ppi ppi? Can't see me, can't see me, I can't be seen.
The governor's residence in the Frontier was a large, spacious mansion that nevertheless felt rather shabby.
The basic structure was there, but there was no decoration whatsoever. It seemed designed purely for practicality.
One would expect a bribe-taking official to live in something more ostentatious, yet this was oddly plain. There were also very few people about.
A fence stood around the property, perhaps to keep out wild beasts, but there was no gatekeeper. Nor were there any soldiers guarding the house.
The coachman opened the door and they entered. It appeared the door had not been locked.
The ground inside the fence was quite expansive, yet it was nothing but bare earth. There was no garden, not even a single flower or tree.
As the carriage passed along the path, Marguerite spotted several chickens and goats.
It reminded her of her parents' barony. Back home, chickens and goats had roamed freely in front of the mansion as well.
The governor carried himself like a noble, so she greeted him with the proper etiquette, yet he merely stared blankly at her.
His eyes darted about as though he could see spirits, but he said nothing. When the coachman handed him the royal letter, the governor looked back and forth between Marguerite and the envelope.
He seemed to know she had once been the crown prince's fiancée.
The governor blinked strangely, then broke the seal. The moment he read the letter, he shouted,
"What? She stole the World Tree sprout?"
That must have been the charge written there.
Denying it would be useless. If they believed Marguerite had stolen the sprout, what would happen to her?
Her heart pounded uneasily. Perhaps his anger was so great that he would refuse even a bribe.
The governor lifted his head from the letter, glanced at Marguerite, then at the coachman, rolled his eyes through the empty air, and looked at her again. After returning to the letter, he cried out once more in that peculiar tone.
"What? This woman tore off the World Tree sprout? Damaged it? What? Is this real?"
The coachman watched the governor with an anxious expression. His task was finished, so he could have left, yet he lingered, clearly worried about Marguerite.
The governor read the letter to the end, uttering several more bizarre "What? What?" exclamations while looking at Marguerite and the empty air before returning to the letter and Marguerite again. His gaze lingered especially on her hair.
Why is he acting like that?
Many spirits surrounded Marguerite, but they were normally invisible to ordinary people. Her little cotton-fluff spirit had left days ago and had not yet returned.
The governor let out a long sigh, then called for a servant standing behind him.
"Prepare a meal for the coachman, and tell the kitchen to ready some food. It's a bit early, but we'll have dinner. Enough for two."
"For you and this lady, my lord?"
"Yes. Bring out some decent wine, not the usual stuff."
"...."
"Ah, and prepare a room for the lady. Not the bridal chamber, the guest room. Though, come to think of it, there's only one usable room right now. Can't be helped. Clean the room next to mine."
The servant gave the governor and Marguerite a peculiar look, then seemed to understand and smirked.
Ah, this is—
A chill ran down Marguerite's spine. She had considered the possibility, yet facing it now was terrifying.
Fearing she might turn and flee, she planted her feet firmly. The coachman stepped forward in alarm.
"E-excuse me, my lord. I'm terribly sorry, but this lady is bound for the pioneer village as a bride, so, well, that is..."
"I know."
The governor waved a hand at the coachman.
"What you're thinking isn't going to happen, so don't worry. The village this lady is going to has already been decided, and I have no such intentions."
Well, it wasn't decided so much as assigned.
The governor muttered the correction under his breath. Before Marguerite could dwell on it, he turned and walked inside.
She remained frozen until his voice called from within.
"Come in. I won't eat you."
Even so, she could not fully trust him. The coachman looked at her worriedly.
"My lady..."
Marguerite drew a deep breath.
"I'm all right. Thank you for everything until now."
After bidding the coachman farewell, she lifted her chin and stepped inside.
The time had finally come to face her falling fate head-on.
Her brother's face flickered behind her eyelids.
Don't worry, Brother. No matter what happens, I won't break. I'll hold on until you come.
Very well. Come at me, fate.
Despite her bold entrance, the governor led her not to a bedroom but to his study. His manner was gentle. Or perhaps simply exhausted.
His shoulders sagged and his back was slightly hunched. Even while walking the short corridor, he rubbed his eyes several times and sighed. He looked utterly worn out.
The study was cluttered with documents and boxes. A few chairs stood near the desk, but they were piled high with blankets and papers.
"Hmm, nowhere decent to sit."
The governor muttered, then dumped the contents of the least cluttered chair onto the floor.
"Here, sit. Sorry it's such a mess. We hardly ever have guests, so the chairs and everything else are completely disorganized."
He sighed as he looked at one of the items he had spilled.
"Ah, so that's where it was. I looked everywhere for this. Ah, watch your step. You might trip and fall. I've taken quite a few tumbles myself. Ah, I'm truly sorry for the poor hospitality."
At his gentle treatment, the courage and fighting spirit she had summoned began to quietly ebb away.
"It's all right. I come from a poor baronial family, so I used to roll around on the floor as a child."
The words slipped out naturally as her tension eased.
"That's quite a rough way to raise someone. It must be difficult for a noble lady to grow up like that."
The governor smiled. The strength slowly drained from her tightly wound posture.
He did not seem particularly bothered by the accusation that she had damaged the World Tree sprout. Perhaps this man was all right after all.
Recalling her brother's warning, Marguerite reached into the bag slung across her shoulder and pulled out a coin purse.
"I have a request."
The governor glanced at the purse and smiled faintly.
"I know what you're about to say, but—"
Marguerite held out the purse, yet he did not take it.
"It's not that I never accept bribes. Quite the opposite, in fact. I welcome them. I receive them often. There's no one in this world who doesn't take bribes. You know that as well, Lady Marguerite."
"...I see."
So did that mean he would accept it, or not? Marguerite stood awkwardly with the purse extended, unsure what to do.
"However, I won't accept a bribe from you. The village you're going to has already been decided."
The color drained from Marguerite's face in an instant. Perhaps the royal letter had already specified it. They might have ordered her sent to the most dangerous village.
The governor looked at her face and laughed.
"Don't worry. The letter only mentioned the charges and your status."
He wore a gentle expression as he suddenly looked into the empty air and nodded.
"It's a good village. A newly established one, but you'll be fine there. It's so normal you'd hardly think it was a pioneer village—better than that, even."
"...."
Could such a place truly exist? Marguerite regarded the governor with a lingering sense of unease. He might simply be a cunning snake who appeared decent. There had been many such people at the palace.
Just as suspicion began to rise, the governor continued.
"According to the letter, your status is listed as a slave."
Marguerite bit her lip. She had braced herself when she heard she was being sent to a pioneer village, but hearing it confirmed was still a shock.
Even commoners lived difficult lives, but becoming a slave meant one could not even resist whatever was done to them. A slave was less than human, unable to protest even the most unreasonable treatment.
"Your status will be decided later by the village chief. After you arrive at the pioneer village, if you marry a local man, the chief may release you from slavery or leave you as you are, depending on the village's customs. Some villages keep people as slaves indefinitely. It all depends on the chief."
Her brother had probably known. That was why he had given her the bribe, hoping to secure a decent village.
Her heart grew heavy, yet the governor shrugged and smiled.
"Again, the village you're going to is a good one. Rest well today. You'll depart tomorrow afternoon. A few more brides are arriving tomorrow, so you'll travel with them."
"Are those women slaves as well?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, but when the other brides arrive tomorrow, you'll be treated the same."
There would be no carriage. All the women would ride in a cart. Meals would consist mainly of jerky and hard bread, with stew only in the evening.
"Understood. But why are you explaining all this and treating me kindly?"
He could have simply sent her away without a word. Yet he had served her dinner like a guest and even prepared a decent room. The letter clearly listed her as a slave, which made his behavior strange. Moreover, he knew she was accused of damaging the World Tree sprout.
The governor scratched his cheek, looking troubled.
"Well, I suppose it's my intuition after years of working as a governor. Something like that."
He offered no further explanation. Instead, he told her about life in the pioneer villages—the hardships, the dangers women faced due to their scarcity, the role of the village chief, and the duties that came with the position.
"...."
It was odd. Why explain the village chief's duties to her?
Is he telling me to stay in the chief's good graces?
Yet the details he provided were strange for that purpose. There was no need to explain the types of certificates a chief had to issue, their format, or the importance of seals.
Marguerite tilted her head.
The governor continued explaining the chief's responsibilities without pause until a servant arrived to announce that dinner was ready.
* * *
Kenson was always busy.
Whenever a village chief was appointed, he had to teach them their duties and the proper format for certificates. If a chief was illiterate and no one else in the village could read, he had to arrange for a literate volunteer to be sent there.
The newly established village was no exception. Since the seal had arrived, he needed to explain certificate formats and the chief's responsibilities.
Certificates had no fixed template; one simply wrote enough information to identify the person—name, age, appearance, and so on.
In other villages the chiefs generally knew what to include, but here, where everything was new, many chiefs were doing the job for the first time. As a result, they wrote with remarkable freedom. Sometimes they omitted things that should have been recorded.
Kenson's role included informing these chiefs what absolutely had to be included.
Even twenty bodies would not have been enough for all the work.
That was why he had thought of this woman. She could read and had been educated as the crown prince's fiancée. If he taught her, she could handle it.
Fortunately, the chief of that village was an intelligent man. Even if Marguerite only knew the basics, she would be able to produce proper certificates.
That way, I could reduce my visits from ten to six.
Every trip to a pioneer village cost money. He could not travel those dangerous places alone, so he had to hire guards or soldiers each time, and food and fodder for the horses added to the expense.
For the impoverished Kenson, reducing even a single trip was a serious matter.
Traveling merchants who visited the pioneer villages could fight well enough to go without guards. The brides the merchant would bring tomorrow were heading in a different direction, so it would require a detour, but he could tag along. He had business in that area anyway.
They ate in the room beside the study. There was a separate dining room with a large table, but he had never used it.
The meal was a little better than usual, though still simple. Meat and wine had been added to the usual fare.
He had thought it would not suit a noble lady, yet Marguerite ate well.
Is that little spirit still asleep?
It stayed in a position where people could not easily see it. Earlier, when he had bowed his head, it had been visible, but now it was not.
Just as he was pondering this while stuffing meat into his mouth and taking a sip of wine, a loud crash sounded and the window shattered.
Startled, he swallowed the meat whole.
A tiny bird with orange feathers flew inside.
"Ppi! Ppi!"
The bird chirped noisily as it circled the ceiling.
Coughing, he looked at the window. The wooden shutter he had installed was broken through the center.
Marguerite stared in shock at the window and the small bird, then lowered her head slightly.
"I... I'm sorry. This bird is one I know, so..."
As she stammered, a spirit climbed onto her head.
The small cloud-like spirit reached the top of her head and rubbed its eyes against her.
"...."
Had the little bird and this spirit known each other?
The spirit looked at the circling bird and spread its wings with a flutter.
"Ppi ppi ppi!"
It seemed delighted.
Marguerite appeared unaware that the spirit was on her head. Her eyes widened as she murmured,
"...Huh... When did it get here...?"
"...."
It was nice that the spirit and bird were friends, and that the spirit had taken a liking to Marguerite, but what about the window?
Even a single wooden window would require calling a craftsman from the city to repair. It would cost money.
I'll have to board it up with planks for now.
The mansion was growing shabbier by the day.
Marguerite glanced at the broken window and quietly took out her coin purse.
"It's all right. This mansion is already full of scars anyway."
Even as he said it, Kenson's shoulders slumped.
Worried by his dejection, the spirit flew in front of his nose and tilted its head.
"Ppi ppi ppi?"
Can't see me, can't see me, I can't be seen.
Muttering inwardly, Kenson forced himself to ignore the spirit and continued eating.