Chapter 95
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: What Happened in the Capital
-----------------------------------------------------------------
(3)
5.
It was well past noon.
The southern district of the capital buzzed with crowds milling through the streets. This was the site of the largest market in the entire capital.
Merchants shouting to hawk their wares.
Housewives out buying groceries and such.
To anyone watching, it was just an ordinary slice of daily life, but Pertisha couldn't tear her eyes away.
Limer spoke up casually to her, who was gazing around in wonder.
"You seem in high spirits, Your Highness."
"Yes! It's my first time outside the imperial palace, after all."
Pertisha smiled broadly, her face lit up with excitement.
The seventh imperial princess of the empire. By birth alone, she was nobility with nothing to envy in the world.
But in truth, she was a hidden princess, known only to the imperial family and a select few nobles.
'If I had to pin down the reason...'
It could be chalked up to the peculiar tastes of the current emperor, bedridden though he was.
Martes Plume ul Ruben.
The capable emperor who had planted the empire's banners in parts of the eastern jungles and the western canyons.
He wielded absolute power and truly believed his blood was the noblest in the world.
Which was why he often said that only legendary or mythical beings were worthy true mates for him.
'They thought it was a joke back then.'
The court historians' records noted that the emperor made such quips frequently.
But astonishingly, it hadn't been a joke.
After fathering six children, this young emperor suddenly issued a bizarre decree.
"Find the most noble being from legend, one worthy to bear the world's most exalted seed without shame at my side, and bring them here."
That marked the beginning of the emperor's eccentricities.
Once the order went out, the great nobles and vassals scoured the continent, presenting candidates that fit the emperor's criteria.
Of course, finding actual legendary beings was impossible, so most of those presented were subhumans.
Beastkin, elves, merfolk, and so on.
The emperor bedded all manner of subhumans and sired five more children.
However, four of them died before reaching adulthood. The reasons varied, but the empress's faction was the prime suspect.
'And the sole survivor...'
Was Princess Pertisha.
In a way, her mother was strikingly close to the legendary being the emperor sought.
Because Pertisha's mother was none other than a spirit.
'No idea how he managed relations with a spirit that barely has a physical form.'
What was certain was that Pertisha was a half-human, half-spirit, inheriting the best traits of both.
As proof, she could see things ordinary people couldn't.
Like spirits or ethereal beings, for instance.
And she didn't just see them—she could converse with them and even borrow their powers.
Around that time.
As Pertisha looked around the streets, her face suddenly soured. With a quiet sigh, she muttered,
"I've felt this way for a while now, but Brother is way too overprotective of me."
"Pardon? What do you mean...?"
"He sends fifteen Royal Guards when Sir Rapidus is already with us."
"......"
Limer fell silent at her words.
Just as she said, the Royal Guard—an imperial unit—was trailing their group.
They hadn't told Pertisha, though.
Yet she had not only detected their presence but knew the exact number. Thanks to her special abilities.
'...Spirit arts.'
Her communion with spirits, as mentioned earlier.
Through them, Pertisha's eyes and ears were far sharper than any ordinary person's.
Spirits invisible to normal eyes whispered the world's secrets to her.
'And one more thing.'
She had a special gift.
Song. Beyond mere talent, her voice carried an enigmatic, mystical power.
Just listening to it calmed the mind or restored energy.
That was one reason her brother, the first prince Shartlan—Limer's lord—doted on her so.
"Sir Rapidus."
Just then.
A clear voice snapped him from his thoughts.
It was Pertisha. She tugged lightly at Limer's sleeve and pointed in a certain direction.
"What's that?"
A three-story building in the bustling district.
A poster on the signboard out front read Song of Floris.
The hit play in the capital lately, about a noble lady's love for a barbarian. Limer gave only the necessary info.
"Ah, it's a theater."
"Theater?"
"Think of it as a venue for plays, dances, concerts, that sort of thing."
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity the moment he finished. Limer, sensing the shift, cut in first.
"No."
"I haven't even said anything yet."
"Can't properly protect you in a crowded place like a theater."
"Don't worry. I'm not asking to watch a play. Just a quick peek inside..."
"I'll report to my lord."
"...That's mean."
Pertisha pouted.
Her face soured at being denied.
But moments later, as if the sulk had never happened, her expression turned to wonder again.
"Whoa, what's that place?"
A spacious building near the theater.
She seemed fascinated by the crowds enjoying tea at indoor and outdoor tables.
"A cafe. They sell light food and drinks. But not of a quality fit for Your Highness."
"Then how about we have lunch there...?"
"It wouldn't suit your palate."
"We still need to eat."
"It's fine. I brought a lunchbox."
Repeated refusals?
Pertisha's brows furrowed.
She was properly upset now.
"And there's the risk of poison..."
"That's overthinking it."
"When it comes to protecting you, excessive is better than insufficient."
"It's okay. There won't be poison."
"But..."
"Even if there is, I'll know."
This time, Limer went quiet.
It was true. Pertisha could detect poison in food better than anyone, thanks to the spirits.
And that ability was the real reason she'd survived the empress faction's assassination attempts.
"I won't push anymore, so please make an exception just this once. Who knows when I'll get to tour the capital again."
Pertisha's persistent pleas.
Those pitifully sparkling eyes finally made Limer wave the white flag.
"...Hoo, alright."
"Really?!"
"But keep it secret from my lord."
"Yes! Promise!"
Pertisha beamed.
Satisfied at getting her way.
6.
Around the same time.
As Pertisha, having gotten Limer's permission, walked with lighter steps.
A flood of people poured out of the theater.
Audience members fresh from the play. Among them were Ullan and Ivela.
"Haa, it was so sad."
Ivela wiped her reddened eyes with a sigh. Seeing the tear tracks, Ullan asked, puzzled.
"Sad enough to cry?"
"Of course. Especially the finale—everyone was sobbing, not just me."
At her response, Ullan recalled the play's ending.
The leads, sensing their love impossible, sang a vow of eternal devotion before leaping off a cliff together.
"I couldn't understand it."
"Huh? What part?"
"Why jump off the cliff together? No matter how I think about it."
"Because they couldn't overcome the class difference. The man dies, the woman gets dragged back to her family and forced into marriage."
Ivela's passionate explanation continued.
"It's expressing their resolve to be together forever, even in death, if they can't in life."
"I see."
Ullan nodded silently.
But his face still showed confusion. As they fully exited the theater, she suddenly spoke up.
"Hey."
"Hm?"
"What would you do if you were Ullan?"
In the play, the lovers chose death for eternity over life apart.
What would Ullan choose?
Ivela waited tensely, expectantly. He answered without hesitation.
"Fight."
"...Huh?"
"Fight back and solve the problem."
Ullan raised a massive fist.
As if vowing to smash every obstacle.
Ivela laughed awkwardly.
"Well, you're strong, so that works. But what if you weren't a master? Would you still fight?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
His face deadly serious, he continued.
"Flee once, and you'll flee forever."
Wisdom from the plains—and hard lessons from his past life.
After that weighty reply.
Ullan turned the question back.
"What about you?"
"Hm, I..."
Until moments ago, she'd thought like the protagonists. But his words shifted something.
"I'd fight alongside to the end."
The reason was simple.
She wanted to stand by his side. And fighting with him felt like it could shatter any barrier.
"But we won't end up in that mess anyway. Father—no, the count—really likes you."
"What do you mean?"
"Hehe, nothing."
Ivela grinned broadly.
Her cheeks faintly flushed.
As she spun around.
Grrrrumble!
Ullan's stomach roared.
A cry from hunger.
"Hungry?"
"A bit peckish."
He had been, since earlier.
They'd only had sandwiches to time the play.
"Lunch first, then? There's a great place nearby for hotcakes and meat pies—I reserved it."
"Let's go."
Ullan's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.
The most vibrant expression since arriving in the capital. But the excitement was short-lived; they couldn't enter the cafe.
"Sorry, but you can't come in."
"Why?"
"That outfit..."
"It'd bother other guests."
The two staff at the entrance eyed Ullan. Ivela frowned.
"No one said anything when I reserved."
"We've never had a guest wandering half-naked."
"Sorry again, but could you give the reservation name? We'll refund you."
No room for negotiation. Ivela sighed, half-resigned.
"Haa, Istan el Deorg."
"Right. Istan... el...? Pardon?"
The staffer jotting the name froze blankly. Then cautiously asked,
"And your relation to the reservation holder...?"
"His daughter."
"...!?"
"W-wait just a moment!"
The two staffers bolted inside in shock.
Soon, they returned panting with a man. A scar across his left eye.
He bowed deeply at once.
"Apologies for my employee's rudeness. We were told to accept Your Excellency's family unconditionally, but communication fell short."
"S-sorry!"
The staff who'd turned them away bowed too.
More like the man forced their heads down.
"Please, come in. We prepared a spot after Your Excellency's call."
"Even dressed like this?"
"Yes. For his guests, even stark naked is fine. Though we can't bail you out of the guards if reported."
With that jovial reply.
He introduced himself as Kier Rompel, the cafe owner.
He explained he'd been helped by Count Deorg on the southern front. Without the count, no fancy cafe for him.
Kier led them to the back garden.
A spacious, quiet area. Deliberately conversation-friendly, away from the noise.
"Anything you need, just say. If it's not on the menu, I'll fetch from the market and make it."
With a polite bow, Kier left.
Once gone, Ivela whispered, a bit overwhelmed.
"He's almost too friendly."
"Means he owes the count a lot."
The count truly was a good man.
Ullan murmured admiration. Ivela's expression was more complex, though.
But only briefly.
They ordered food, and soon a mountain arrived.
Enough to make the round table wobble.
"Eat up, Ullan."
"Graciously."
No reason to hold back with food before him.
Ullan devoured it ravenously. No manners whatsoever, but Ivela just smiled warmly at him.
Soon, nearly everything was gone.
"Wow, I'm so excited!"
Suddenly, a clear voice from outside.
Ullan glanced that way. He recognized it.
Then he saw white hair fluttering in the breeze. His eyes widened slightly.
'No way...'
For a split second, a face from his past life flashed— an old comrade.
But he shook his head, denying it.
'Nah, impossible.'
She'd said she'd never left her world until the empire fell.
As he mulled old memories.
Tap tap!
Ivela's finger drummed the table.
To snap him out of it.
"Ullan?"
"Hm?"
"Listening to me?"
"What'd you say?"
"...Even while eating, totally ignoring me is too much."
Ivela pouted.
Ullan dipped his head slightly.
"My apologies. I'll remember this time."
"No need to memorize. Just asked about summer break plans."
"Summer break?"
"End of June, after finals—two weeks off. You and Noa heading home?"
No plans like that.
The plains were too far.
It had taken two months just to reach the capital.
Without Noa's frailty, Ullan alone could do it faster.
But two weeks was still tight.
He shook his head.
"No, not going home."
"Really? Then come to the county? Three days by carriage from the academy."
"Your house?"
"Yeah. Father wants to see you."
More like spar with him. Ivela waited tensely for his answer.
Moments later.
The reply came.
"Unless something comes up."
"...! R-really?"
"Yes."
Not expecting such ready agreement, Ivela lit up.
They chatted amiably over dessert in the warm mood.
Rustle rustle!
Light footsteps approached as a group entered the garden. They sat fairly distant from Ullan.
As the girl at the center doffed her hood, Ullan's hand—reaching for hotcake—froze midair.
The white-haired girl from before.
Her face was stunningly beautiful, turning heads regardless of age or gender.
But that wasn't why Ullan stared.
She was someone from his memories.
"...Pertisha?"
Fixated on her, he murmured the name blankly.
The seventh hero, last to join their party against the Abyss.
The bard who soothed weary heroes' hearts and bodies with song. One of the world's rare spirit mages.
'How is she here...'
As past-life memories resurfaced.
Their eyes met suddenly.
Deep crimson irises, drawing him in. As he gazed into those mystical depths.
A warm touch grazed his cheek.
Ivela's palm.
"...I hate wandering eyes."
With those words.
Ivela pulled his face to her. Blushing, she murmured,
"Look at me properly."
Her eyes burned with fierce jealousy.
Ivela glared sulkily his way.