A Letter from the Frontier

Pudding tilted its head in confusion. Kkur? What on earth was happening?

The world only looks beautiful when you're young.

Once you become an adult, you realize the ground you stand on is filled with nothing but ugliness. Eating and being eaten, stealing and being stolen from. Humans and beasts are the same. The only difference is that humans are tens of thousands of times uglier.

Baron Kono closed his eyes while organizing documents. The taxes owed to the kingdom remained the same, yet the number of farmers fleeing grew by the day, and weeds now choked the abandoned fields. He might have to let go of the territory his grandfather and father had protected for generations. He had believed his children and their children would continue to hold it.

Is this where it ends in my generation?

Marguerite's face rose in his mind like a blade lodged in his heart. She had not been his first daughter. There had been two before her. Both died young, and only Marguerite, the youngest and only daughter, survived. The baron, his wife, and her older brothers had all doted on her. Even though they were not wealthy, they had planned to find her a kind husband.

"...."

Baron Kono drew a heavy breath. No one spoke of Marguerite's current circumstances, yet everyone in the household knew. Jerold insisted he would rescue her, bring her back, and restore her to the happy girl she once was, but both the baron and his wife believed it impossible. They had only asked Jerold to retrieve her so that, at the very least, the family could watch over her final days in peace. The hardships she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would face as a woman and as a human were too great to bear. Even if they managed to bring her home, she could never return to an ordinary life.

Jerold, still lacking worldly experience, believed that bribing the soldiers would keep her safe until she reached the Frontier. He was far too naive. No special prohibition had been issued, and the soldiers would never leave Marguerite, now stripped of her noble status, untouched. Her beauty had become a poison that harmed her.

Jerold could grasp large-scale phenomena, yet he still fell short when it came to understanding individual human behavior. The world seen from behind a desk was different from the world where real people lived. Knowing all this, the baron had still scraped together every coin he could and given it to Jerold, hoping Marguerite might suffer a little less. At the very least, money might spare her the worst of the pain.

Baron Kono sighed deeply. The territory's situation grew more dire with each passing day. He might have to borrow from moneylenders within a few years. He had already petitioned the capital to defer part of this year's taxes to the next. Even if he managed to delay payment this year, what would he do next year, or the year after? Even if Jerold rescued Marguerite, there might be no place left for her to rest in peace.

I wanted to at least keep a home for Marguerite to return to.

His own health was failing as well. At this rate, he might die before the territory was taken from him. He would die without ever seeing Marguerite again. Perhaps it was time to tell his eldest son, the heir, about his poor health.

His heart sank under the weight of these thoughts when the door burst open with a tremendous noise. It was the butler. The man who had served the household since the baron's youth was older than him, his hair now completely white. Though he tried to stand straight, his back had begun to stoop. Normally he looked too frail to even open a door, yet here he was.

Startled, the baron watched as the butler trembled from head to toe in the doorway. He seemed unable to breathe properly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Was he having a seizure?

Baron Kono shot to his feet. "Are you all right?"

As he moved to help, the butler raised a shaking hand. In it were two envelopes.

"M-M-Master! Master! Letters have arrived! Letters!"

It seemed he was not in mortal danger after all. The butler had been with them since childhood; though technically a servant, he was family. Baron Kono breathed a sigh of relief as the old man hurried across the study.

"They are from Lady Marguerite, Master."

"Have you gone senile?"

The words slipped out before he could stop them. The butler’s wrinkled face crumpled into a smile, his earlier panic easing. He replied in his usual tone.

"I have no intention of going senile until Lady Marguerite returns. I will endure it through sheer willpower. Look at this, Master. Lady Marguerite and Young Master Jerold have both sent letters."

One envelope was shabby, the other slightly better but still made of cheap paper. Baron Kono accepted the one the butler claimed was from Marguerite and examined the writing on the surface. Only the first letter of the name had been written, as though to avoid drawing attention. A single character, yet unmistakably Marguerite’s handwriting—the script of the girl she had been.

"Good heavens."

Seeing the baron staring, the butler offered a letter opener. The envelope had been sealed with paste rather than wax. With trembling hands, the baron slit it open and pulled out the letter inside.

The letter began with that note about saving paper, then described her arrival at the pioneer village, her marriage to the village chief, and how the people there were simple and good. What followed was a cryptic passage.

Father, my childhood dream has come true. I see those I longed to see even in my dreams. It was my husband who made that dream possible. He stands at the pinnacle of my dream. This world is truly beautiful.

What childhood dream? She had so many. Marguerite had grown up among boys and was quite the tomboy. Thanks to her mother’s strict lessons she could embroider, sew, and manage basic etiquette, but everything else was a mess. Her dreams had always been different from other girls’. Being the late-born daughter, she had been spoiled, and because they were poor she had helped with chores from a young age while her brothers took her along on their adventures. That had shaped her as well.

One moment she wanted to be a hunter, the next she dreamed of discovering a great treasure. For a time she had begged her brothers to teach her swordsmanship so she could become a knight and earn money as a bodyguard for highborn ladies.

Come to think of it, many of her dreams involved money.

Even as a child, Marguerite had seen how poor they were. The times she had poured spirit rain until she collapsed had all been for money…

Wait… perhaps…

Baron Kono read the passage about dreams again. Those I longed to see even in my dreams. The words seemed to refer to spirits. Marguerite’s dreams changed constantly, but she had always said she wanted to see spirits—not just their light, but their true forms. If that was the case, what did it mean that her husband stood at the pinnacle of her dream? What connection could a mere village chief have to her dream?

He could not understand. Swallowing his questions, he continued reading. At the end of the letter was a single line: Be careful of the person I mentioned before. They had never had a conversation that would warrant such a warning. The only time it could refer to was when they had gone to the palace to give her courage. From a distance they had exchanged silent messages with their eyes. Marguerite had mouthed the words: Beware the Saintess.

So this is a warning about the Saintess.

But there was no further explanation, only one absurd addition.

Please tell my brothers that rabbits really do give birth to babies.

Of course rabbits gave birth. Why add such a thing?

The butler had slipped out to inform the rest of the family. His wife and eldest son burst in, out of breath.

"Is it true Marguerite sent a letter?"

"Father, did Marguerite really send a letter?"

He handed them the letter. After reading it together, they murmured in disbelief.

"Good heavens."

"It certainly looks like Marguerite’s handwriting, but to survive in a place like that… This is nothing short of a miracle."

His wife closed her eyes and placed a hand over her heart. Good heavens, good heavens. She kept repeating the same words. He understood how she felt. The baron placed an arm around her shoulders.

"Dear, what about this strange part of the letter?"

Still sniffling, his wife lifted her head. "I don’t know either. It seems she tried to write it so that even if it fell into someone else’s hands it would be safe, but she was never good at social deception. She probably can’t even interpret it herself."

"Haah… It’s my fault."

His wife sighed through her tears. "She was only beautiful on the outside. She grew up like a boy."

The baron found himself smiling despite everything. If they were being honest, the whole family shared the blame.

"But that last line is truly absurd."

At ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the baron’s murmur, his eldest son frowned. "It might be referring to how we tricked her when she was little."

"...."

"...."

When Marguerite was still very young, she had asked Jerold where baby rabbits came from. She had not been able to see any hole where babies could come out. Flustered, her brothers had told her the babies came from the mouth. She had believed it for a long time—right up until she was taken to the marquis’s household. As a woman she had no opportunity to learn about such matters, and even though she wandered farms and climbed trees, she was still a noble lady. She rarely saw animals ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in that state, and whenever she might ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have, her brothers had always shielded her. So she never had the chance to correct her belief that rabbits gave birth through their mouths.

"Then this means…"

Baron Kono trailed off. Marguerite had been trying to say the Saintess was fake. Looking at the letter again, what had seemed like childish nonsense now connected into a single coherent message from beginning to end. She had seen spirits in detail. Her husband stood at the pinnacle of those spirits. The Saintess was a fake.

"Good heavens."

As the baron muttered, his wife and son seemed to reach the same conclusion.

"Good heavens."

"That can’t be possible."

The three of them looked at one another. Perhaps Marguerite had married the male Saintess.

When they finally read Jerold’s letter, it said he had been assigned to work as an official in the Frontier and would visit Marguerite soon.

"I wonder what news Jerold will send," his wife murmured, then gave a short laugh. "I’m looking forward to the future of the man who drove our daughter to the brink of death."

She meant the king.

"If this letter means what we think it does, divine punishment will surely fall upon him."

Her eyes burned cold with fury as she spoke.

Pudding was troubled. The bride Father Popcorn had brought seemed very precious to Master. Thanks to Popcorn’s song, baby spirits had even been born. Pudding could sense how extraordinary that was. Popcorn looked insignificant, but he was truly great.

"Kkur… kkur…"

Pudding needed something. Something far greater. Something much bigger than what Popcorn had done. Only then could it earn Master’s love.

Pudding wiggled and produced about ten legs, then extended the long antennae Master called snail eyes to examine itself. Having many legs seemed rather nice, but Master probably would not like it.

"Kkur… kkur…"

What should it do? How could it make Master say it was amazing? It wanted to hear that it was praiseworthy. Kkur kkur… While pondering alone, Pudding recalled the moment Master had been happiest.

"Kkur… kkeur…"

Master had liked the medicine it offered when he was in bed with the bride. But thinking carefully, Pudding felt Master had been even happier when giving light powder to the villagers and receiving their praise. How could it make even better light powder than that? How… how…

Still pondering as it crawled along, Pudding heard Master’s voice.

"Wait, Pudding, you…"

Startled by the surprise in Master’s tone, Pudding looked down at its body and tilted its head, imitating Popcorn.

"Kkur…?"

Why? Its body was no longer one, but had split into many. Round little pieces clung together like frog eggs it had seen once. When had it broken into pieces? The moment Pudding thought this, its body collapsed and the small fragments rolled away in different directions.

"Kkur…?"

What on earth was happening?