The World Is Not Equal
It was a talent, the skill of running a farm.
And the serfs were even more capable. Their families were the most capable of all.
Women wrapped in headscarves and wearing gloves carried baskets of flowers, gently lifting them from the ground. They plucked each flower with a tiny knife—no scissors required—and yet every single one was perfectly fresh.
This was the work of Demian.
Demia had overheard my plan and answered without hesitation. “It’s impossible for flowers to stay completely fresh, but I can cast a spell that slows the wilting down just a little.”
By placing the flowers in baskets that Demia had enchanted, they would lose far less moisture. They would stay fresher for longer.
Since they only needed to remain fresh until they reached me, the arrangement was excellent.
The Mount of Light held every kind of flower.
And every single one ranked among the highest tier of living blooms.
The sheer rarity of highland flowers was impressive enough, but the divine premium attached to the Mount of Light made them priceless.
Even garden roses were treated as completely different from the roses that grew in the cracks of the mountain rocks.
The fragrance alone was different. To me they all smelled basically the same, yet the priestesses of Pythia and Demia, with centuries of experience, shook their heads in clear disbelief.
“You should be able to tell the difference if you studied at the temple. Look here. Have you ever seen a silver-lavender rose like this? It only grows on the Mount of Light. It’s incredibly rare. Still, no matter how rare it is, it’s just a flower. If we take it far away, it will wilt before we know it. What exactly are you planning to do with them? If you’re thinking of making perfume, perhaps we at the temple could…
“I’m bringing them back as living flowers.”
The secret of the subspace could not be shared with outsiders, so I first rented a warehouse, opened the subspace inside it, and stored the flowers there.
That was when I realized I needed a sorting table. With nowhere to set the baskets down, I had simply spread the entire collection on the grass. From a distance it almost looked like a flower graveyard.
While gathering the flowers, Anselm quickly became my supporter.
I never knew exactly what of me he had seen to decide to stand by my side, but he always tried to teach me something new and offered helpful suggestions whenever the idea came to mind.
He had such a kind heart.
Once Anselm was on my side, the other Demia temple priestesses became my fanatical supporters. They would never actually kill me, but they would gladly play the part of killing me. The power of faith was truly remarkable.
“We leave tomorrow. We’re heading for Serpine territory. I’ll tell you exactly where in the territory when we get there. Everyone can ride in carriages, so please don’t worry.”
“What about the warehouse goods?”
One of the priestesses from Demia asked. While I had been away, the others had been taking turns staying up all night to guard the place.
They were too polite to ask in front of the people, so they only spoke to me in private.
I reassured them that it was fine and that the items had already been moved.
My words made the priestesses’ eyes widen for a moment, but they quickly nodded, their faces showing they understood my intentions without needing further explanation.
Tomorrow we set out for Serpine. Today I should sleep early.
Demia walked slowly down the creaking wooden corridor without making a sound. It was an extraordinary ability.
Even so, the moment he stopped in front of a door, it opened as if by itself.
“Welcome.”
Pythia smiled and opened the door for him. Demia stepped inside.
Pythia closed the door and asked, “Want some mead?”
“No. There’s something I want to ask.”
“Arian?”
Pythia guessed immediately. Demia sighed.
He sat by the window, thought for a moment, and then spoke slowly.
“You’re not a mage. You have no mana at all. You don’t feel sacred power either. But the moment you open your mouth, it’s all lies. Why did you gather those flowers? What are you planning?”
I couldn’t tell whether he was asking me or simply trying to organize his own thoughts through conversation.
Pythia didn’t seem bothered by his strange attitude at all.
She laughed, poured herself a glass of mead, and murmured, “You’re thinking, aren’t you?”
“You’re not worried?”
“Worried about what? About Arian hurting me?”
Pythia smiled. Then she looked straight at Demia.
“I’ve never met anyone as harmless to me as that child, Demia. No one has ever done as much for me. If you wanted to take my life, I would hand over my own heart with my own hands. I wouldn’t let you turn her into a murderer.”
A faint light sparkled in Pythia’s eyes—madness, or perhaps trust. The two were different flowers that had grown from the same soil.
Seeing Demia’s stunned expression, Pythia smiled and added, “Don’t make that face. You’re the same, aren’t you? You’re also worried about Arian—
“Of course I’m worried. She saved my life, worried about my meals, fought for my honor, and poured every ounce of strength into cleaning up after the messes I made! If I didn’t care, would I be human? It’s not about worry—it’s about something else!”
Demia’s lips twitched. He shot a glare at the ceiling.
“Arian lies all the time, but I can sense it. There’s something about her. And it’s not something a human can have. Pythia knows that kind of power eventually—”
“Yes, either someone who draws power from nature’s forces or—”
Pythia looked up at the ceiling too.
“A god.”
Pythia’s voice carried the sorrow and anger of someone who had watched her fallen homeland.
“Unbelievable.”
Demia looked up at the ceiling with contempt, then turned away.
“I owe Arian a debt. I must repay it. Until I do, Arian Danier stays under my protection. No one may touch her. Not even a god.”
Demia spoke with a sharp edge that could cut anything he touched, but Pythia’s face when she drank her mead was unreadable.
She nodded with a smile that was neither agreement nor disagreement.
Demia’s eyebrows shot up.
“Really?”
“Mhm.”
“Absolutely true.”
Pythia set her glass on the table.
This room was probably the best the inn had to offer.
Since it had been prepared for noble guests visiting this region, it had a table and chairs. Nobles did not wish to dine with serfs or commoners on the lower floor.
From this room onward, Arian, Demia, and all the priests had their own rooms. Arian had rented five rooms and fed the priests until they were stuffed.
She had paid for everything out of her own pocket. It must have been an enormous expense.
After the terrible epidemic swept through the area more than ten years ago, even an inn could only house five people per room.
On top of that, this particular inn was expensive because it also had rooms reserved for nobles.
In the original plan, it would have been a noble-only inn, but the nobles rarely came to the Mount of Light, so this arrangement had been chosen instead.
It was Arian herself who had paid for the stay in the noble rooms and for the wages of the people who had gathered the flowers.
When I lived as a princess, I had never received such protection. Even when I was being educated as the future king, Pythia had demanded she be treated as an equal.
Yet Arian demanded nothing from Pythia. At most, she asked her to clean and go for walks.
And Demia was also receiving the protection of this Arian. Even knowing that, Demia kept bragging that she was under his protection.
That was probably…
“Arian really doesn’t make it easy, does she?”
Pythia’s words made Demia click his tongue loudly.
Demia wanted to help Arian, to protect her, to care for her.
But the truth was that Arian was the one doing the protecting, and Demia disliked that very much.
“No matter what you want to do, you can’t understand what’s rattling around in that tiny head of hers.”
Demia grumbled. He kept circling around Arian like a puppy eager to please, but because he couldn’t actually help her, he grew frustrated.
Pythia laughed and looked at him with new eyes.
The boy she had watched grow up was now becoming a man. He had fallen in love, grown restless, and was even more impatient because he could not read her heart.
Arian…
The opponent was terrible. Demia had achieved results beyond even twelve-year-olds, but Arian was a monster.
She was a born political monster, just like her father, the chamberlain.
Pythia recalled Demia’s father—William Hamilcar—on Demia’s face.
The two men were nothing alike, but they shared the same stubborn nature.
The blood of Hamilcar, who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, flowed thickly in Demia’s veins.
So.
“Demia really needs to grow up faster.”
Pythia spoke.
“Demia.”
“Hm?”
“Do you know why Arian chose Serpine?”
Demia’s purple eyes blinked slowly. He naturally assumed that Serpine’s count was wealthy and eager to show off his abilities, which was why Arian had picked that territory.
But the truth was far more complicated. Demia could not imagine it—because Arian had grown up in a world he did not know about.
Pythia’s gaze lingered on the note Arian had left behind, then returned to Demia.
If Demia wanted to stay with Arian, protect her, and become close to her, he needed to understand why she had chosen Serpine over anyone else.
“Once you know that, you’ll be able to protect Arian better. I promise.”
The flickering candlelight danced in Demia’s purple eyes. He nodded and murmured, “There must be a separate reason Serpine was chosen…”
Demia sounded as if he was determined to find out, but Pythia could have bet money he would never understand.
That was the way of this world.