Jerold Reunites with His Sister
Jerold finally understood why all his subordinates kept running away.
He chewed on the jerky, sucking out the juices as his eyes followed the documents in front of him. At this rate, my head's going to explode.
In the city, he could occasionally go out for a drink, meet friends, or at least walk the streets and watch people pass by to lift his spirits. Here, there was nothing. No people, no streets, no entertainment.
The mansion had food and drink prepared, but somehow, enjoying them alone felt hollow. His superior, Kenson, probably contributed to the atmosphere—he worked nonstop except when he was sleeping. When the boss was always working, the subordinates couldn't exactly slack off.
In the end, Jerold turned to other tasks just to change his mood. He let out a deep sigh, then suddenly chuckled. When he'd first arrived here, his resolve had been fierce. He'd been determined to rescue his sister no matter what it took, his emotions sharp as a blade. But the moment Kenson showed him the marriage certificate bearing Marguerite's signature, that blade had melted away.
His sister had truly escaped slavery and become a proper commoner, the village chief's wife. At the time, he'd thought he'd work like a dog to repay that kindness. Humans were truly ungrateful creatures. The moment he learned his sister was safe—perhaps even happy—his eyes had turned toward his own comfort. He'd started complaining without realizing it about how much work there was and how exhausting it all felt.
This won't do. I need to work harder.
Jerold rolled the tough jerky around in his mouth as he continued reading through the documents. The merchants were supposed to return within a month or two, so the day he'd actually see Marguerite wasn't far off. Kenson had no intention of delaying Jerold's visit to the pioneer villages and had already begun teaching him, bit by bit, what tasks needed to be done there.
After working for a while, his eyes grew tired and he closed them. Marguerite's face came to mind. Even though he'd heard she was fine now, what surfaced in his memory was her expression the day she'd left for the pioneer village. Her eyes had been filled with anxiety, yet she'd forced a smile, trying to look strong. That look had hurt more than if she'd simply cried.
When I see her in person, will the face in my mind change to one of happiness?
As he pondered this and returned to his documents, a servant entered.
"Lord Jerold, Lord Kenson is calling for you. The merchants have arrived."
"The merchants? Weren't they supposed to come in a month or two?"
The servant nodded. "Normally, yes. They're much earlier than usual. They didn't bring any brides this time either. They usually bring them along to handle matters in one trip."
Following the servant outside, Jerold saw two men in shabby clothes excitedly conversing with Kenson. A carriage stood nearby, but the horses were nowhere in sight—probably taken to the back by servants to be fed and watered. Behind the building was a roughly constructed stable that doubled as a barn.
The merchants, still talking animatedly, glanced over and their eyes widened.
"Well now... he looks exactly like the lady."
"He really does look just like her."
They were talking about Marguerite. As siblings, they probably resembled each other somewhat, but surely not to that extent. The merchants broke into wide grins.
"This could be useful material. We can push forward using the lady's connections and get more meat out of them."
"Brother, is there anything you need? We don't have any particularly fine liquor, but we do have... well, how about some erotic books? We've got some really good ones."
"It must get lonely out here. We originally brought these for Lord Kenson, but we'll give them to you instead."
"A skilled artist drew them. The illustrations are incredible—almost like they're about to jump off the page."
The atmosphere suddenly turned suspicious. Kenson gave the merchants a bewildered look.
"If you were going to give them to me, you should have given them to me. Why are you offering them to him all of a sudden?"
At Kenson's grumbling, both merchants spoke in unison.
"We have goods to supply to the royal family."
"These are items for delivery to the royal merchants."
The moment he heard "royal family," Jerold's mood plummeted. Those were the people who had torn apart his once peaceful, if poor, family. Bright and cheerful Marguerite had changed after being dragged to the marquis's household, as if she'd put on a mask. Their father had never described what he'd seen of her, but Jerold knew the rumors. In noble society, people mocked her as the "Iron Mask fiancée" or "Marguerite who never smiles."
Even after her engagement was transferred to the marquis's family, the nobles still viewed his sister as nothing more than a low-ranking noble from a poor baron's house. The territory Marguerite had struggled to maintain through rain and spirits had slowly dried up, while the royal family only pretended to provide the promised support. Marguerite had endured everything, believing in that support. Their father had known this too, which was why he'd never protested to the royal family. He'd worried that if Marguerite learned the truth, she wouldn't be able to bear it and would explode, incurring the royal family's wrath.
In the end, all their painful endurance had concluded with an unjust accusation. His chest burned with rage, but he couldn't voice it. It was suffocating.
Noticing Jerold's changing expression, Kenson hurried the merchants inside. As they entered the building, Kenson leaned in and spoke quietly to Jerold.
"You wear your emotions too openly on your face. You and your sister really are alike. But that could get you into trouble. You'd better be careful."
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine. You don't need to apologize to me."
Kenson smiled wryly. "You're not the only one in this world who's suffered injustice. Everyone lives while hiding it. With practice, you can do it too. For your family's sake, at least try."
Did something similar happen to him as well? There was something meaningful in those words. Jerold looked up to ask, but Kenson had already changed his expression, signaling the conversation was over.
The more Jerold listened to the merchants' stories, the stranger they became. Apparently, the village where Marguerite lived produced meat of inexplicably delicious quality.
"Really, even after tasting it myself and seeing the village with my own eyes, I still can't believe it. I have no idea how they manage to make meat taste like that."
"I even wondered if it might be monster meat."
But among the things the merchants had purchased was mole meat preserved in its original form. Even that had tasted completely different from ordinary mole meat. Hearing their accounts, Jerold found it strange as well.
The merchants mentioned they'd finalized contracts with merchants from the royal trading district and major cities, then repeatedly offered Jerold drinks.
"Please take care of us, brother."
"Even though the village chief seems completely clueless about the world, there's something about him that makes him hard to handle. Our only option is to push through using connections."
As they spoke, they handed him a book. It was an erotic illustration of a man and woman with not a single thread of clothing between them. Whoever had drawn it was quite skilled.
"...."
Jerold hesitated for a moment, but there truly was no entertainment here. Though reluctant, he accepted the book, and Kenson burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
"You siblings really are amusing. You look so elegant, like you belong up in the heavens, but your behavior is exactly like ours."
Jerold felt embarrassed, but he didn't put the book down. Kenson asked the merchants, who were leaving the next day, to stop by one particular village, then assigned Jerold a task as well. There was a village that had been established several years ago, but last year's harvest had been poor.
"Go check on how that village is doing. If it looks like they won't make it, we might need to send them something, even if it's just in the form of a loan."
Kenson let out a long sigh. "There aren't many villages that are doing well, and the number of failing ones keeps increasing. It's a real problem."
The next day, Jerold left the mansion with the merchants. The road to the pioneer villages was rougher than the one leading to the mansion. Sometimes the path narrowed so much that even a single carriage could barely pass, or they encountered bumpy stone roads. The merchants seemed accustomed to such conditions. They handled the horses with remarkable skill, safely navigating treacherous spots. Once, a wheel had an issue, but the two men crawled beneath the carriage and fixed it in no time. They were skilled.
Jerold didn't necessarily need to learn these things, but he didn't know what might be useful in the future. He committed every small action of the merchants to memory—not just the route, but how they repaired the carriage and handled the reins.
After several days of travel, they finally arrived at the village Kenson had mentioned. Jerold wanted to look away from the horrific reality before him. He'd heard there were about seventy people in the village, but when he arrived, only around thirty remained. They were all skin and bones from starvation. As crops failed and food dwindled, people had fled one by one. Every time someone disappeared, the food supply decreased a little more. Even posting guards to protect the remaining food didn't help—the guards would collude with the escapees and steal it. There was nothing they could do.
Jerold had already received instructions from Kenson to provide flour in the form of a loan in such situations. He drew up a loan certificate, handed over several sacks of flour, and left the village.
I'd heard pioneer villages were difficult, but...
Seeing it with his own eyes, the hardship was beyond anything he could have imagined. Cultivating the land wasn't easy either, judging by what he'd seen. Much of the pioneer territory was covered in dense trees and undergrowth like a forest. Even choosing the best land for fields, trees, grass, and rocks were everywhere. Just cutting down a few trees and clearing stones would take over a month. There was a reason the kingdom was so generous with its provisions.
Is Marguerite all right?
No matter how much Kenson and the merchants vouched for him, the village chief couldn't possibly be an ordinary, good man. Even if he wasn't a violent criminal, he probably wasn't normal, and the chances of him getting along with Marguerite, who came from nobility, were extremely low.
Marguerite...
She wasn't a slave, but the possibility of his sister being happy was infinitely low. At first, he'd been grateful just knowing she was safe, but now Jerold's heart was once again filled with anxiety and despair.
I hope she's happy.
And finally, Jerold arrived at the village where Marguerite lived.
What is this?
Before him stretched a completely different scene from the village he'd just visited. Fields that looked as though the harvest had just ended, and a tall stone wall surrounding the village.
No, wait. The harvest is over?
That couldn't be right. It wasn't harvest season. But no matter how many times he rubbed his eyes and looked again, the village fields showed clear signs of having been freshly cut with sickles, as if the harvest had just concluded.
The merchants looked just as surprised.
"Last time, the crops were growing so well that I wondered if something might happen, but..."
"Is this even possible?"
Jerold found himself asking, "Does that really look like harvest marks?"
"It does seem that way."
"It does, doesn't it?"
The merchants answered uncertainly. As the carriage entered the village, people who had been waving in greeting stopped. Each person they met wore a shocked expression.
"He looks exactly like the lady."
"He looks just like her."
People abandoned their work and followed the carriage. Everyone who saw Jerold smiled. There was no trace of anxiety or hostility in their expressions. He felt as though he'd been bewitched.
Even the people they met deeper inside stared at Jerold with wide eyes, then smiled.
"Go on inside."
"The children just ran off making a fuss. If you go now, you'll see something interesting."
What could possibly be there? A couple who appeared to be husband and wife exchanged glances, then grinned mischievously.
"He looks just like the lady, so he must be her brother. Come on, hurry. We were just about to go listen to the children's stories and see for ourselves. Let's go together."
The man grabbed Jerold's hand and pulled him along. Led by the man, they crossed the village, and after walking for a while, a woman's shout rang out.
"Catch it! Don't let it get away!"
"Aaaah!"
"We lost it!"
"It got away!"
Following that came the voices of children.
"...."
That's strange. That woman's voice sounds just like Marguerite's.
The man and woman who'd brought Jerold chuckled. The voice that sounded so much like Marguerite's called out again to catch it. Jerold began walking faster, almost running, past the couple.
After moving ahead a bit, he spotted a woman running back and forth. Small children were scattered around her, and in the middle of them, a rooster was desperately trying to escape.
"Margue... rite?"
The woman chasing the rooster was definitely his sister. A man stood watching Marguerite and the children chase the rooster, smiling.
"That's the village chief and his wife."
The couple had caught up and spoke beside him. But before they finished speaking, the rooster came charging toward them as if flying. Above it was a small bird.
"Oh."
Jerold's eyes widened. The small bird seemed to be chasing the rooster, but its direction was straight toward Jerold. If this continued, he'd collide with it. But the bird was moving too fast for him to dodge.
As Jerold stood frozen, the man—the village chief, and Marguerite's husband—shouted toward them.
"Orange, stop!!"
In that instant, the bird plummeted to the ground as if struck by an invisible hand.
"...Did it die?"
Jerold muttered without thinking as he looked at where the bird had fallen. The bird buried in the dirt suddenly stood up. It seemed to be alive. With a strange chirp—pik-kok-kok—the small bird waddled toward the village chief.
"Brother?"
Marguerite, who had been running after the rooster, spotted him and her eyes widened. "Marguerite."
Tears welled in Jerold's eyes. Ah, it's my sister. The same mischievous little sister from their childhood was here. His vision blurred with tears, and Marguerite shouted.
"Brother! Catch it!"
In that moment, the rooster let out a loud crow and leaped over Jerold's face into the sky.
"...."
Jerold fell flat on his back and thought, She's definitely the same Marguerite as when she was young. She hasn't changed at all, my sister.