“Why are you picking a fight first thing in the morning?”
Olivia approached, her jet-black hair pinned neatly upward and ruby-like eyes glittering. She had been my peer back at the academy and had consistently found herself on the opposing side of whatever I was doing. Yet perhaps because of that, she was both a friend who understood me better than Violetta did and a formidable rival.
As the illegitimate child of a minor viscount's house, Olivia technically lacked the pedigree required to step foot in the royal court. Yet with her innate genius, she effortlessly overshadowed everyone around her. That extraordinary brilliance lay nowhere else than in the craft of alchemy.
Unlike mages, alchemists did not simply manifest phenomena through raw magical power. Olivia could decipher intricate alchemical formulas in mere seconds, reassemble them in seconds, and originate new ones in seconds, drawing admiration from all. Truth be told, no one could match her memory or mathematical prowess, and I had been quite fond of her abilities ever since our academy days.
I was generous enough with her that even her ceaseless nitpicking felt almost endearing, and when it came down to it, Olivia looked upon me rather indulgently despite her prickly demeanor.
I am weak for geniuses. I am weak for capable people. And once upon a time, I was weak for delicate-looking people. Mind you, that last part remains firmly in the past. Judging by my experiences with Isabel, I learned the hard way that an outwardly fragile appearance does not denote a fragile mind. Stealing another woman's man seven times over was hardly an endeavor an ordinary spirit could stomach, after all.
“What's this?”
“Can't you tell just by looking?”
What Olivia shoved toward me in annoyance was a thin, long blade. It was small and slender, comparable to a fruit knife, yet much narrower. For a split second, I wondered if she was handing me this to peel fruit.
It was a joke, of course.
“Have you lost your mind?”
Feeling sheepish at Olivia's scowl, I waved the short blade around once or twice before tucking it into my coat. Olivia watched my hand closely.
“You had better make sure not to cut yourself. There is no cure.”
“What do you mean?”
It looked like an ordinary, small dagger. No cure if cut? Just what kind of horrifying curse had she woven into it?
“I etched an alchemical formula that prevents wounds from closing. The moment you're cut, blood will seep out in a slow, agonizing trickle until you die. From excessive blood loss.”
“Ugh… gross—”
I glared at her, openly repulsed. Why on earth would you give me something so terrifying? Was this an invitation to stab myself to death while carrying it in my coat?
Good thing it had a sheath, or else I would have flung it away on the spot. What a monstrous blade. It certainly wasn't something to underestimate just because it was small. If Olivia was telling the truth, there could hardly be a more perverse way to die. I was certain of it.
Imagining the sheath slipping off and getting sliced before I even realized it, I vigorously shook my head. Ah, terrifying. Let's not think about that.
“There's truly no cure?”
“Then you should have told me that from the start!”
“Well, only I have it. So it's basically the same as having none. Do you want it?”
“Hurry up and hand it over!”
Watching my appalled face, Olivia curled her lips into something resembling a smirk. Soon after, she retrieved a tiny pendant from her robes and pressed it into my hand.
“Apply just a tiny dab and it will heal. Though I can't guarantee anything for a major wound.”
Uh, right, sure.
“See you, then—” she said, turning on her heel and strolling away, leaving me to stare after her back with a dubious look. To reiterate, I still found it difficult to determine whether Olivia was an ally or a foe. Truly.
“Lady Dirnant?”
“Ye-yes?”
I had inadvertently zoned out watching her retreat when a voice called out beside me. The face of the man addressing me felt strangely familiar, prompting me to rifle through my memories.
“I am James Diel, Vice Commander of the 4th Knight Order, charged with your escort for this journey.”
I flashed a bright smile. The 4th Knight Order… what a piece of work this assignment was. It nearly made my face twist into a scowl.
“You will be handling the escort?”
The knight standing before me was none other than the man who had called Elliot out with a brief ‘Just a moment—’ when I had visited him two weeks ago. He was the Vice Commander of the 4th Knight Order, and Elliot was a knight serving under that very order.
Oh goodness, what a coincidence. What a wretched, rotten coincidence.
Naturally, I treated him with an impeccable smile, and while I silently cursed this absurd stroke of luck, looking at it objectively, it wasn't an impossible alignment of circumstances.
Because the 4th Knight Order handled an abundance of external duties, they were frequently tasked with escorting royals when they stepped outside or guarding nobles occupying pivotal offices. Thus, it was hardly strange that he had been assigned to this task, but still.
“I look forward to your care.”
“It is an honor to escort you, my lady.”
As he offered polite courtesies, I responded with a smile that could not have been more gracious. Setting aside my churning stomach, principle dictated that my private affairs could not be allowed to disrupt official state business under any circumstance. Besides, the anger and the agony of betrayal were burdens for me alone to shoulder.
Fortunately, unlike my fears, Elliot remained completely out of sight after that. Whether they had deliberately deployed him elsewhere out of consideration for me or he was actively dodging my presence, I didn't know, but not having to look at him was honestly a relief.
Reviewing the documents I had brought once more, I headed for Sorel, having reached a state of mind where anyone could have whispered Elliot's name a hundred times into my ear and it wouldn't have mattered.
“If we continue straight along this road, we should reach the encampment in Sorel by this evening.”
Having buried my face in a stack of papers and dozed off, the voice woke me with a start. Even through the haze of slumber, I quickly recognized Sir Diel's voice and replied that I understood.
Sitting across from me, smacking her lips in her sleep, Celine wore an endlessly blissful expression, as if dreaming of food. I debated whether or not to wake her, but remembering the sheer hell she had gone through accompanying me these past few days, I decided to let her sleep.
The journey, stretching over nearly five days, had left nothing but thick exhaustion clinging to my face. Without even touching the formal suits I had brought for the negotiations, I had barely held myself together by cycling through the spare dresses I'd packed. In the end, finding even the time to wipe off makeup a waste, I had buried my cosmetics deep inside my bag. I was certain that had the high-society matrons caught sight of me now, they would have swooned in horror.
Yet once we arrived at the encampment in Sorel, things were far more likely to get tougher, not easier. I pulled the curtain back with a rustle. The sun had just passed noon and was beginning to sink, but the scenery bathed beneath its brilliant glare was rather desolate.
That was likely one of the reasons the order had chosen this area as the theater of war, yet I could not help feeling a pang of bitterness at how drastically it contrasted with the bustling capital.
Glancing down at the papers piled beside me, I held my head for a moment, but as the fatigue of going two days without proper sleep washed over me, I closed my eyes once more.
After who knew how much time had passed, Celine shook me awake.
“Lady Scarlett. We've arrived. They say the encampment is ten minutes away.”
Her hands shook me thoroughly, carrying what felt like a sense of profound relief. Groggy, I blinked at her before shaking my head hard to banish the lingering drowsiness.
“Is it evening already?”
As if in answer, the glow of twilight poured in beside the drawn curtain. Dazedly watching the light dye my dress crimson, I lifted my head.
“How does my hair look right now?”
“It's a complete mess.”
Celine's candid reply drew a sigh from me. Even if I couldn't do anything about the wrinkled dress, I didn't want to greet people I was meeting for the first time looking like this. I had to at least appear presentable. With the war over, the knights were bound to look respectable. What sort of aristocrat would meet the kingdom's glorious knights in such an appalling state?
Reaching for the ribbon binding my hair, I untied it, feeling the tresses cascade down to my waist. I ran my fingers through my hair to smooth it out, pulled down a few strands at the sides, and then gathered the rest in a loose grip behind my head to tie it securely once more. A light, swaying sensation brushed against my lower back.
“How about now?”
“Much better. You look pretty.”
Celine's cheerful reply brought a smile to my face. To call my bare, unadorned, disheveled face pretty—thank you.
Gathering my wits, I looked out the window to find the scenery had completely changed. In place of the landscape that had filled my vision just moments before, unfamiliar sights began to emerge here and there, and then…
“Looks like we're here.”
Shortly after, the carriage came to a halt.
“We have arrived.”
Hearing the knight's voice from outside, I answered with an immediate “Yes.” Sir Diel opened the carriage door right after. Smoothing down my rumpled dress, I stepped out of the carriage. Having sat for so long, my hips felt stiff and sore. An instinctive frown nearly creased my brow, but sensing countless watching eyes nearby, I smoothed my expression at once.
People neatly clad in military uniforms stood in formation, and our carriage sat roughly near the middle of the procession. I was the very first from our party to set foot on the ground.
A vast crowd lined the perimeter. Though there were no familiar faces, their uniformed silhouettes made it clear that these were the heroes who had contributed the most to this war. Opening my eyes as wide as decorum allowed, I followed Sir Diel's escort forward.
And before long, I caught sight of the man standing at the very forefront.
Beneath the soft, fading twilight, his hair stood dark against the dusk, with deep-set, dark reddish-brown eyes, firmly pressed lips, solid shoulders befitting a knight, and a height that seemed a good head taller than mine. He looked every bit like the knights conjured from the storybooks I had read as a child.
‘Scarlett, he is truly wonderful.’
Yes, even to my eyes, he is wonderful.
Isabel's flushed cheeks and voice steeped in ecstatic delight came unbidden to mind, and for the first time, I mentally agreed with her.
“I am Khalid Prodiad, Commander-in-Chief of this war.”
At his crisp, disciplined voice, I offered a radiant smile and answered.
“I am Scarlett Dirnant, Diplomat dispatched by the Royal Court.”
