Yuria and Olivia -1- The Imperial Army Arrives, Swords and Shields in Hand
The marching footsteps of the Imperial Army echo in the distance—heavy-booted, swords and shields at the ready, mages and healers in tow. Thud-thud-thud. Somehow, they'd learned an Apostle was here. A force of about three hundred strong tramples through the northern snowfields, closing in.
I'd spotted them carrying off intel, but their arrival is faster than expected. I let out a hollow chuckle and look up.
"Fast, huh."
A little sooner would have been nice, but even if they'd come earlier, they'd just have died like dogs. I swallow my regrets and steel myself. Just give a basic statement. Why I'm here. How I ended up staying. Keep it simple, then leave. I hate getting tangled in messy affairs.
It's a thin rope, but with the sturdy backing of the Desmont name, I can dodge deep interrogations. And with Yuria's father as a witness, I should avoid real trouble.
I poke my head out to check on Yuria's father, hidden behind the wall.
Hm?
"This is a problem."
James is out cold, slumped against the wall. My key witness to prove my innocence is useless like this. Interviews with the Imperials are going to drag on.
"Haa..."
I grimace, ruffling my hair roughly. Thanks to Hans's first aid, his life isn't in danger. Abdomen bandaged, bleeding stopped. But it'll take a day or two to wake up. Too much even for a retired adventurer.
I shake my head with a sigh, sensing complications ahead.
"What can you do? It'll work out."
Clank-clank.
The Imperial forces draw nearer. It irks me a bit that they show up after everything's done, but that's how it goes. They're always late.
Thinking I need to clear anything suspicious, I glance at the Young Lady poking the unconscious James's cheek.
"Young Lady."
"Mm."
"What're you doing?"
"Checking if he's alive or dead."
"And if he is?"
"I'd bury him."
"So kind."
"Mm."
The Young Lady really is a good kid. I head to the center of the ruined inn, carefully pocketing Olaf's clothes and the photo from his daughter's corpse. No way to bury the bodies intact now, so this'll have to mark their grave.
Thankfully, no signs of the Young Lady using black magic. Olaf's regenerating body kept things relatively clean. No chance they'll drag her off.
Everything's squared away.
I finish gathering what I need and wait for the Imperials, hoping it ends quick.
Just wanna rest already.
Pat-pat-pat... Amid the grim-faced soldiers, frantic footsteps ring out. Someone urgent pushes through with a cry of "Excuse me!"
"Who's that?"
A familiar voice.
"Excuse me!"
The woman plows through the crowd, voice desperate. Soldiers grumble at the disrupted ranks, but she presses on.
"This area's off-limits. Turn back...!"
"My family's in there!"
"It's dangerous. Leave it to the Imperials and—"
"Please, let me through!"
Pink hair fluttering in the distance. That spring-scented voice—I know who it is right away.
Yuria.
The novel's heroine, racing to check this altered future.
"Daddy!!!"
Yuria squeezes through the soldiers and spots the ruined inn. She bolts toward it like a madwoman.
I watch her, exhaling in quiet relief. At least the future she feared didn't come to pass.
Good call, after all.
Glad I don't have to see her cry. Glad I can make her smile properly, at least once.
I reach out to stop her rushing into the debris—to tell her her father's safe behind that collapsed stone wall.
"Hey, Yuria."
But.
"..."
My hand hangs awkwardly. She doesn't even glance my way, brushing past with a cold glare before dropping to her knees and clawing at the rubble with bare hands.
"Daddy...!"
"Sob... Daddy...!"
"Daaaaddy!!"
Her voice cracks in grief, a soul lost to the world, digging desperately with bleeding hands.
"...Huh."
Never expected this treatment. It's a bit disorienting. I don't crave hero worship, but this stings in its own way.
I glance at my bloodied hands and force a wry smile.
"Bittersweet."
With a sigh, I approach her carefully. I'm used to being hated, but I can't stand seeing a friend weep.
Got to tell her quick.
"Hoo."
I exhale, plastering on a smile. Better to deliver good news grinning.
Step.
"Hey..."
Step.
"Yuria."
Flinch.
She freezes mid-dig, glaring up at me with tear-filled eyes. The heroine's sharp hatred freezes me too.
I've got to speak, but words stick. Her stare's colder than Olaf resurrecting.
I take a deep breath and push on. Duty calls.
"Yuria."
She cuts me off, shoulders trembling, voice thick with betrayal's fury.
"How much I trusted you."
"..."
"Even when weird thoughts crept in, I kept believing, believing it wasn't true..."
She repeats it, spilling rage at unrequited faith. No need to dwell on me being the object.
She unleashes on my hesitant silence—blaming me for not protecting her father.
I reach out awkwardly to clear the misunderstanding, but.
"Hey, just hear me out—"
Emotions boiling, she denies me even that.
She screams again, face buried in the dirt, voice resigned.
"Why do problems always crop up when you're around?"
"..."
"Things were quiet for a while. I swore I wouldn't hate you anymore. Why...!"
"..."
"Why do I always get swept up in the bad luck you bring?"
She clenches her fists, yelling.
How do I take this? Honestly, no clue. Is it raw emotion spilling out, or anxiety from misunderstanding? Can't tell.
"But..."
She sobs.
"I..."
Thumping her chest, she offers reassurance. Thank goodness.
"I still believe in you, Ricardo."
"I know it's weird. I complain, get disappointed alone... I know I'm the strange one."
She wipes her tears.
"Guess I just can't hate you."
A smile tugs at my stiff lips. Bigger faith than I expected—feels good. I braced for "Shouldn't have trusted you," "I was the fool," "Why do I always get hurt?!" But amid her fears, she believes. Grateful.
So, like always, I face her, hiding my dripping arm behind my back, smiling.
"Sorry."
Far off, Imperials find the hidden James. The Young Lady, cradled in one's arms, pouts sullenly.
"Found him!"
Yuria looks at me, eyes wavering, murmuring "Thank goodness..."
I smile faintly, bowing my head.
Arm still hidden, I bow again.
"I meant to keep him unscratched, but my body couldn't keep up. Sorry."
Yuria stares blankly.
And so does the Young Lady, glaring at her.
The army approaches. Their leader, in massive armor, strides toward me. He pulls a scroll from his breastplate, reciting formalities—something about my right to silence.
I nod along. No cuffs? Lucky me. As the soldier reaches for me, I relax to let him.
His hand nears my shoulder.
Klang!
A kick. Against armor. I look down, smiling at the brave girl who'd stomped the man's shin.
"Young Lady."
Arms crossed, she smirks arrogantly—like back in the slums, boasting "I'm kinda important." Eyebrows raised, she glares up at him.
"Do you know who I am?!"
I stifle a laugh at her wincing, rubbing her sore toes.
I pat her head—it's fine, no real trouble.
As Imperials drag her off with "Kids can't stay here," I wink reassurance.
"Eek, let go! Ricardo, you're just standing there!"
"It's okay. Just a quick chat."
"No. I'll show 'em the class difference."
"That might not land well socially."
"...Status difference then?"
"Eh, still iffy."
I ruffle her pondering head and address the leader.
"Make it quick, please."
He chuckles dryly, removing his helmet. He scolds the approaching soldiers sharply.
"You all want to file statements? Harassing innocent civilians gets you disciplined."
Helmet off, he shakes out his hair with a grin. Handsome, brown-haired—he claps my shoulder.
"Why do you always stir up trouble?"
"Huh?"
"Not sharing new recipes? Planning to die on me?"
Malik grins at me.
"Knew it'd be like this—didn't resign from the knights."
In my eyes, this guy's the real protagonist.