Chapter 31
Chapter 31
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Secret Meeting (3)
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Berryhill, the remote outpost in the northern reaches of the Empire.
Thanks to the princess taking me as her ally, I'd forged some 'solid' ties with the local nobles.
But even so, I was still just a prison warden for now.
To make real use of the interests I'd gained, I'd need to become a lord at the very least.
That said, doing so might provoke Grand Duke Tutton.
The lord of Berryhill was one of his close allies, and he was already on edge after failing to retrieve Myoran.
In this situation, swallowing up the lordship would be as good as a declaration of war.
Besides, becoming a lord came with a mountain of headaches.
Even back when I was prime minister, the bureaucracy had been a nightmare—being a lord was practically ruling a kingdom in miniature.
In this life, I wanted to focus on nurturing the seeds of downfall as much as possible.
To that end, it might be best to keep the current lord on a short leash.
Make sure he couldn't report back to Tutton about me.
"I'll be heading out on a trip."
"Where to, sir?"
I pointed toward the window at Clea Rockhart's question.
Toward the small city visible on the distant horizon.
"Berryhillton."
"Berryhillton—the capital of this province."
"Yeah. I've got some important business with the lord."
"Will you be all right going alone?"
Her ponytail swayed as she asked, and I answered flatly.
"One of us has to mind the prison. You never know when another assassin or kidnapper might show up."
"If you're late coming back, I'll hide."
I knew she wouldn't hide.
She'd stood her ground and guarded this place alone, even after every previous warden had died.
"Got it."
As I stepped out of the warden's office,
a pair of brand-new shoes sat at the entrance.
Clearly high-end—hard to come by around here.
"Who left these as a gift this time?"
"......"
Clea, who usually answered promptly and precisely,
paused for a moment, then rolled her blue eyes.
"No idea. Probably one of the nobles who visited this morning."
"Huh. Good taste. They match my uniform perfectly."
I chuckled and picked up the shoes.
As I tried to slip them on without bothering with the shoehorn,
"Hold on. Who puts on new shoes like that?"
Clea gave me a pitying look and fetched a chair.
She sat me down, brushed back her hair, and knelt.
"Leather shoes like these crease permanently if you scuff them. Give me your foot."
I reluctantly extended my foot.
The woman, usually so cold, slipped the shoes on with gentle hands.
"You know a lot about men's shoes too? Impressive."
"I'm a former imperial secretary. This is basic."
She said as she tied the laces tight.
"Bring back something tasty when you return."
"Sure."
I left the office with light steps.
On my way out, I checked the cells to make sure our inmates were behaving.
Myoran's cell.
True to her usual quiet self, it was peaceful today as well.
Her back to me, she tended to her potted plant.
It had grown quite a bit in just a few days.
I'd probably need to repot it soon—or move it outside.
'Did peaches grow that fast?'
Not much of a botanist, I moved on.
Anje's cell was eerily quiet too.
Peeking through the door, I saw her lying on the bed.
'Sleeping, huh.'
First time seeing the saintess asleep.
Usually she was by the window or scribbling away at her novel.
At least she was staying put—good.
I left the prison and headed to the new station.
A loop carriage service that started after news of the trade route construction.
Even in this rural backwater, I could travel without a horse now.
Perfect timing—a carriage arrived right away.
I lucked into the one empty seat amid the packed passengers.
Next to me sat a woman in a white dress and wide-brimmed hat.
For a split second, she reminded me of Anje—but her hair was pink.
"......"
A small shoulder bag rested on her lap.
When the carriage jolted hard, a fountain pen tumbled out.
"Here you go."
"......Thank you."
Her voice was clear and refined.
Obvious noble lady—odd to see her traveling alone in the boonies.
And that crest on the pen: a quince flower.
As far as I knew, it belonged to an extinct house.
"Nice fountain pen you've got there."
"Yes, it's my treasure."
She answered my question after a long pause.
"The only memento from my parents."
"I see. The crest caught my eye—haven't seen it before."
"From a fallen house. I'm the sole survivor."
"My condolences. Sorry for dredging up bad memories."
Pretending to apologize, I stole a glance under her brim.
Neat pink hair and slightly red eyes.
Dead ringer for Saintess Anje, but with a mole under one eye.
And none of that signature madness she exuded.
"No, it was fated, I suppose. I'm over it now."
She opened her bag with pale white hands.
Packed full of papers—novel manuscript, clearly.
"You're a novelist."
"Just a hobby for now. Heard there's a contest in Berryhillton, so I thought I'd enter."
A beautiful literary girl from a ruined house.
Straight out of a novel herself.
"Fascinating. One of my inmates... er, acquaintances writes novels too. You remind me of her."
"Really? Must be a real hassle."
"Hassle? Why would a writer be a hassle?"
"People with inner demons often take up writing to vent them."
She closed her bag and tilted her head toward the carriage ceiling.
Highlighting her smooth, snowy neckline.
"They heal themselves while seeing readers relate."
A lovely smile lit her face under the hat.
"And if they can spread good beliefs and ideals to readers, even better."
If Anje was a precarious flower on a cliff, this woman was a sunflower blooming in an open meadow.
Wonder if Anje would've turned out this bright without being locked in the Holy See's basement.
"Your words are soothing. Makes my heart feel lighter. Guess I'll hit a bookstore while I'm in Berryhillton."
"A bookstore?"
"Yeah. I want my acquaintance to live as brightly as you. Figure I'll grab some good books for her."
"How kind. What sort of person is this acquaintance...?"
She tugged her brim lower, hiding her face as she asked.
I gave her my honest feelings.
"Honestly, she scared me at first. Stunningly beautiful, but her eyes were emptily suffocating."
The first time I met the saintess, it was pitiful.
She suspected every living thing that approached her.
"She doesn't trust easily either. Peers into your soul first to size you up before relaxing."
"Sounds like a hassle."
"Others call her a distrustful maniac, but I don't see it that way."
"Why not? I'd hate it."
The pink-haired woman asked flatly.
I thought of Anje and smiled faintly.
"She grew up in a dark place where she couldn't trust anyone. Her suspicion isn't malicious."
"The environment's fault, then."
I gazed steadily at the white-dressed literary woman.
"Exactly. In a better place, she'd have become a beautiful literature-loving woman like you."
The lady fell silent at my pointed words.
"I want her to live happily like you—chasing her dreams freely."
I lightly touched the golden lion badge on my uniform.
The mark of warden.
"That's my job. Helping those with wounded hearts find redemption."
"Noble work. Like a novelist."
"Noble? Nah, I'm selfish. Once the job's done, I'll laze around."
"God would find that endearing. Novelists slack off after success too."
Her red lips curved slightly under the hat.
She looked up at me thoughtfully and made a proposal.
"Want to go to the bookstore together? I'd feel safer with someone as kind as you."
Me, kind?
First time anyone's said that in this life.
"I usually stay cooped up indoors. First outing in ages—I'm nervous."
"Makes sense for a writer. Sure."
If only our inmates were this pure-hearted.
The healing vibe made the bumpy carriage ride bearable.
"What's your name, by the way?"
"Derek Minster."
"I'm Ann... Eri. Dropped the family name after the fall."
"Got it. Looking forward to traveling together."
The carriage stopped.
Stepping out revealed a world apart from the prison.
Even a frontier town was still a town.
Buildings stretching to the horizon, ringed by sturdy walls.
A testament to the Empire's golden age.
"Bookstore's this way."
Eri slung her bag over her shoulder; her hair danced lightly in the breeze.
Men at a distance stared blankly.
The white dress and pink hair were a striking combo.
Novel even for city folk.
But none dared approach.
Not with a black-uniformed, shady-eyed man planted beside her.
On the way to the bookstore,
people lined up at the food stalls.
Eri halted, gazing intently.
"Hungry?"
Ice cream.
A luxury dessert, but cooling magic tools had made it common lately.
Hence the long line.
"No, just nostalgic. Haven't seen it in forever."
A little girl held her ice cream, beaming gratefully at her father.
"Before the fall, I ate ice cream with my parents once. My only real memory."
Eri's red eyes lingered wistfully on the pair.
I checked my watch and casually joined the line.
"Then let's get some."
"You sure? It'll take forever."
"If it's good, I'll grab some for the road home. Want my acquaintance to try it too."
"You really care about her. Even little things like this."
I scratched the back of my head sheepishly.
"Like how ice cream brings back your memories, maybe it'll inspire her."
She'd killed many, but never touched the innocent.
Fix her twisted beliefs from torture and experiments, and she'd turn out like this lady.
I believed it.
"Plus, she's an insanely picky eater."
"Cute side to her."
"Won't touch most food, but devours apples. So, apple flavor it is."
"......I see."
The pink-haired woman clenched her fist over her mouth.
Muttering to herself quietly.
I focused on the stall.
Then, the shopkeeper emerged, scanning the crowd.
Our eyes met; he beckoned me over.
I approached hesitantly; he bowed deeply.
"Warden of Berryhill Prison, right? Saw the insignia."
"That's me, but why call me over...?"
He gestured to the ice cream tubs politely.
"How could we make a servant of the Empire wait in line? Wanted to help."
Nobles really do hold sway out here.
Good call wearing the uniform.
"Not much of an ice cream expert, though. What's good?"
"Apple sorbet's our bestseller."
Yet the apple tub looked barely touched.
Not that popular, apparently.
"......"
Before I could speak, he scooped two.
I escaped the line in seconds.
"Ended up getting them quick. Boss gave us two."
"For serving the nation."
"Not sure if she'll like this flavor. Didn't look popular."
"Don't worry. It's my favorite."
Eri smiled brightly and savored the apple ice cream.
Then sidled naturally closer to me.
"Now, shall we head to the bookstore?"
Black uniform against white dress.
We strolled the city, ice cream in hand.
Suddenly, a odd thought struck me.
Wait, earlier... I never asked for two.
How'd the shopkeeper know?
As I tilted my head walking,
the red eyes under the white hat narrowed.
Like someone very familiar.
Meanwhile, at Berryhill Prison.
Myoran emerged from her cell and headed to unusually quiet Anje's room.
She flung open the locked door.
Glanced at the "Anje" on the bed—and scowled.
It was just a pillow disguised with illusion magic.
"Don't tell me she snuck off after the warden."
Myoran's catlike eyes gleamed coldly.
She glared icily toward Berryhillton.
"Daring to hog him first?"