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Star-Embracing Swordmaster Chapter 50: Time to go home (3)

Chapter 50: Time to go home (3)

Peter⁠‍ sat quietly in‍​⁠ silence, gazing at‌ the wooden box‍ in front of‍ him.

An​⁠ awkward wooden box.‍

It​ was carved with‌‍ designs that could‍ be described as‌⁠ ornate or peculiar.⁠‌

“The‌⁠ House of… Ravnoma‌​ was the only⁠‌ family in the‌ west that could⁠​‌ honor its oath.”​‍

“I‍ understand.”

Many‌⁠ of the priests,‍‌ including Andreas, clasped‍‌‌ their hands in⁠ front of Peter.‌

They‌ knew they carried‌ a heavy burden​ for the Lord‌ of the Land.‌

“I​‌ will give you…⁠⁠ the knights, and​‍ I will honor‌ my oath as⁠ best I can.”⁠‍

Peter​‍​ stood up and​‍​ addressed the priests.​

He⁠ would provide the‍‌ best support he‌ could.

He‍ would do everything⁠ possible to erase‍ the traces of‌​‍ the dragon, the‌⁠ proof of his​​ oath.

“Thank‍ you, Count.”

“Please,‌ feel like a guest until you​⁠ are ready.”

As‌ the priests bowed‍ and departed, Peter‌‌‌ sighed softly.

“He‍‍ was right after​ all.”

“I‍​‍ guess it was‌‌ his only choice.”‍

Ravnoma,‌ and its ruler⁠‌ of the West⁠​ and guardian of​ the Alliance, had​‌ fallen.

And‍⁠ the priests were‍‍⁠ bringing out the‌‍⁠ old Oaths from​⁠ his now-ruined mansion​‍‌ and directing them‍ to those who⁠⁠ deserved them.

“…”‌⁠‌

Feeling⁠‍ frustrated and powerless,​⁠‌ Peter took a few steps and​ glanced out the​​ window for a moment.

Fortunately,‌⁠ there he found‍‌ something comforting, different​ from the heavy​‌ air of this​‌‍ place.

The​​ carriage was moving.⁠‌

“It’s​‌‌ a flag I haven’t seen in⁠ a long time.”‍⁠

A small flag fluttered‌ on it.

It‍ was a flag‍ Peter used to​⁠ see frequently when‌‌⁠ he was younger.‌⁠

“You​‍​ can rest a bit if you‍ want.”

“Your‌‍ body must be‌​​ warming up.”

Peter‌ nodded at Ragmus’s‍ response.

Even⁠​​ he would have​‍​ done the same.⁠

He‌‍ could fully understand​⁠ the young man’s‌⁠ feelings.

A young man holding​⁠​ a flag that‌ only the Knights⁠​ of Bayezid could​‍ bear, was leaving⁠⁠‌ the mansion.

Returning.​‍⁠

To​ his home.

To⁠‍ do what he‌‌‌ must.

***‍⁠

Today,‍‍‍ as usual, a young man wandered⁠⁠ through the dark‍‌ streets of Soara.‌

Most⁠⁠ people in the‌ dark alleys struggled⁠ to grab some⁠‍‍ bread, but the⁠‍ boy was born⁠‌‌ with conditions even⁠‌⁠ worse than theirs.⁠

Dark‍‌ skin like the​​ night.

Being⁠‌ a person with​ dark skin, subject⁠⁠ to contempt and⁠ discrimination, Ned, born⁠​ in the darkest‌ corner of Soara,‌‍⁠ was even ignored.‍

“What​​⁠ the hell? There‍ isn’t even a place to work.”⁠⁠⁠

Ned,‍⁠​ with dark skin,​‌ opened his eyes,​ so he had⁠ to get up,‍‍ and now that​​‍ he had gotten​ up, supposedly, he​​‍ had to eat‌‍⁠ something, but the‍‌‍ situation in Soara‌ didn’t even allow​⁠ for a decent​‌​ meal.

“It​⁠‌ wasn’t this bad⁠​‍ before…”

Ned​⁠‌ silently rolled his‍‌ eyes, exploring every‍⁠‍ corner of the‍‌​ back alley.

The​ kids who used‌‍ to stay afloat⁠ with mischief were​‍‍ now completely exhausted,​‍‍ only rolling their⁠‍ eyes without strength,‍ and those who‌ had work all‌ night, despite their‍⁠ work, only had​‍ thin cheeks as⁠‍​ they sighed.

Everyone​​ was bleeding.

In‌ favor of the⁠ golden beetle that‌ craved money.

“The‌‍ old times were‍⁠‍ better…”

Sighing​ out of place,⁠​‍ Ned’s gaze naturally‌ turned to a particular building.

They‍ used to reminisce​‍​ about the good‍‌‌ times when people‍⁠ were in trouble.⁠⁠

“Now,‍‍​ if I steal⁠​⁠ there, I won’t​‍​ even be able⁠⁠‍ to find the⁠⁠ bones.”

The​ building Ned was‌‌ looking at was⁠ the Smile of​⁠ Rose.

A place with a rough boss and‌⁠​ a friendly madam.​

But‌⁠ now, all the​‍​ people who used⁠‍​ to be there‍​⁠ were dead or​‌‌ missing.

What​ used to be‌‌​ full of pleasant⁠‌ music and laughter​‌‍ from the women​‍ was now just​‍ a place full‍‌‌ of heartbreaking moans‍⁠‌ and the shouts‌​‌ of thugs.

Now,‌ if Ned were‌ caught stealing there,​ there would be⁠‍ no blond boy‍ to save him.⁠⁠

‘Hmm?’‍

Ned,​‍‍ lamenting the reality‍ while remembering the‌⁠‌ old times, saw‌‌​ unusual people for‍‍ the alley.

A plump man who‍‍ seemed to have​ some money and⁠‍​ another man with⁠​ a sharp appearance,‍‌ like a mercenary.⁠​​

Seeing‌⁠ them heading straight‌ for the inn​‌ street, apparently to‌ relieve their pent-up‍ desires, Ned stuck‍ out his tongue​​​ slightly.

“…This⁠​ might work well.”‌‌

The​⁠‍ man who looked⁠⁠‌ like a mercenary‌ seemed to be‍ a bodyguard, but⁠‍​ in this situation,‍⁠ Ned was willing‍​ to take the‍ risk.

It‍⁠​ didn’t matter if​⁠ he got caught​ as long as​‍ he didn’t die.‍​​

He⁠⁠ couldn’t depend on​⁠‌ his brother forever.‌⁠⁠

‘…..’​‌

He‍⁠‍ was full of​‌ hunger and desperation,‍⁠‍ clouding the judgment‍⁠ of the young‌⁠ man.

Slowly‍‍‌ trailing the two‌ men, Ned skillfully​​ approached, hiding his⁠‍ body among the​ scattered debris. The‌‍‌ way he approached‌‍‍ slowly was praiseworthy‍ enough.

“Now.”‌​‍

However,⁠​ Ned didn’t feel​​ when someone pointed​⁠ at him.

“…”​⁠‍

The⁠‍‍ mercenary, who noticed‌‍ the approaching black​‍⁠ youth, naturally brought‌‍‌ his hand to⁠ the sword handle​‌​ from behind.

Although‍⁠ tension gradually increased,‌‍ Ned didn’t notice.‍‌

His‌ lack of judgment‌‌ was due to⁠‌ his concentration but‍ lack of a broad view.

Ned,‍⁠​ trying to get‌‌ close to the‌​ fat man.

The‌‌‍ mercenary, trying to‍‍ draw his sword‍ upon seeing Ned.‌

In​ the moment of‍ approach, about to⁠​​ be another fallen‍ person in the‌⁠⁠ back alley today.‌‍⁠

“You‌ still act like⁠ an idiot.”

Bam!⁠⁠

At​‍​ that moment, someone‍‌ stepped between them.‌

A man who appeared​ so nonchalantly from‌⁠ an angle the​‌ mercenary couldn’t foresee.⁠⁠⁠

“Ugh!”​⁠‍

Ned‍‍​ grabbed his numb⁠‍ neck and saw‌‍‍ the man swiftly⁠‌⁠ moving past him.⁠

A blond boy he⁠⁠‍ had seen somewhere​​ before.

And‌ his familiar steps​‌​ too.

“What’s⁠​ going on?”

But​ Ned couldn’t associate‍ that image with‌⁠​ the boy who‌​ once sold seconds⁠ at the Smile‌‌ of Rose.

It⁠​‌ was too confident‌ and grand for‍⁠ that.

“Oh,‍⁠ I lost it.”​‌‌

The⁠‌‍ boy, who had‌‌​ lost his prey‍​ of the day​​⁠ but had gained⁠⁠‍ the sunshine of⁠ tomorrow, simply cursed‌ without knowing anything.‌

Toward‍​‌ the blond man​ who had just​ passed after turning​​⁠ in his neck.‌‌‌

As‍‍ the evening fell‍‌ and darkness set‌ in, there were‌ shops that only‍ then illuminated their‍‍‍ dim lights.

One⁠‌ of them.

Among‌‍ the shops selling⁠ colorful flowers, there⁠ was one in‌‍ particular that attracted‍⁠⁠ men.

Rose​ used to smile‌‍​ at them, but‍‍⁠ now her attention⁠‌ was drawn to⁠ another shop window.​‍‌

“Hey,​ over here!”

“Next‌⁠⁠ time, it’s me!‍⁠ Come play with‌‌ me!”

“You’re⁠⁠ the one with⁠⁠ the money, Marcella!‌‌ Pour me a drink!”

“…”⁠​

At​⁠ the back of‌‍​ the bar, where‍​⁠ men shouted with⁠ wide-open eyes, a woman touched up‍ her makeup.

She​​​ used to have‌‍​ jet-black hair that⁠​ would have been​ the envy of‍ anyone, but over‌ time, her hair‍⁠ was losing its​ shine.

It‍‌ had already withered​‌ beyond the point⁠ where any amount​​ of makeup or⁠‍ jewelry could cover​ it, but maybe‍⁠ she didn’t mind.‌⁠⁠

It​ didn’t matter because​‍ men kept throwing‌‍ gold coins of‌ lust at the​ woman who had⁠‍ once been a symbol of the​ alleys.

“Marcella,​⁠​ are you ready⁠ to go out?”⁠⁠​

The‍⁠ woman with the⁠⁠​ long cigarette stood‌⁠ behind Marcella.

The⁠ smoke she exhaled‍‍ was unbearably acrid.​⁠

“I‌‍ need one more​​ person to settle⁠ my debt. If⁠⁠‌ not, you won’t‌​ leave here until⁠ your body is​ in pieces.”

The​⁠‌ middle-aged woman smoking‍⁠⁠ the cigarette mocked‌‌ her with a smile that seemed​⁠ to have poison​⁠‌ etched into every‍‍ wrinkle.

“…”‍

It⁠ was a mockery‌⁠ disguised as advice,​‍ but Marcella didn’t‍​ respond.

Anger,⁠‍‍ sorrow, or fear.⁠

She​​ knew that all​⁠‌ the negative emotions⁠ emanating from herself⁠​ were like sweet‌​ wine to the‍​‌ woman behind her.‍‍‌

“…Let’s‌​ see how long⁠‍ you can keep⁠⁠ yourself so dignified.”‍​

Since​‌ she didn’t like‍‌ Marcella’s lack of⁠‍ response, the middle-aged​‌​ woman caressed Marcella’s​‍⁠ chin from behind‌ her back and​ growled.

But‍⁠ Marcella just returned​ the smile.

“Long‌⁠‍ life, Madame.”

“…”​

Marcella​⁠ didn’t let herself​ be intimidated.

She​⁠⁠ was just trampled‍⁠ on.

While​‌⁠ watching Madame leave⁠⁠​ the dressing room‌ with a furrowed‍⁠ brow, Marcella resumed​​ her makeup session.​

Her⁠⁠‌ reflection in the​⁠⁠ mirror was pitiful,⁠​⁠ but instead of‌ bursting into tears,​‌ she preferred to‌‌‌ apply another handful⁠⁠‍ of powder.

Marcella​ acknowledged that she‍‍ had risen too‍ high above the‍‌ matter of a simple prostitute.

And‍⁠ here, in the​‍​ alleys of Soara,⁠⁠ there was always‌‌‍ someone who applauded​⁠‍ eagerly for those​‌ who fell.

“…Still,‍⁠​ this is good⁠ enough.”

She⁠‍ sadly smiled to‍‌⁠ herself in a space reserved only⁠​‌ for Marcella.

She‍‌⁠ was one of​ the victors here⁠​ in the alleys,⁠​ even if the​‍ pain of the‌⁠ fall had shattered‍​ her body.

At‍ least she had​ chosen her own​‍ destiny.

Even⁠ the method of⁠⁠ her destruction.

“It’s‌​‌ coming out!”

At​ Madame Ancalzin’s exclamation,​‌‌ Marcella forced a smile and stood‍ up from her⁠‍ seat.

Instead⁠⁠ of the charm​‍​ that naturally emanated​‌ from her, she​‌‍ displayed the forced‍ glamour of makeup.‌​‍

“Marcella!”⁠

“Here!​ Here’s my gold​⁠‌ coin!”

When‍‌⁠ she appeared under​ the bright lights,‌‍‌ the men began‍ to shout.

Marcella​⁠‍ stood still in​​​ her assigned seat⁠‌‌ and observed the⁠‍ men in front‍ of her.

Men‍​​ dominated by desire,‍‍ like pitiful beasts.⁠​

“…”‌‍

In​‌ front of her‍ were countless bottles​‌‌ and glasses because‌​ she knew how​‍⁠ to cook but⁠​⁠ not how to⁠‌ drink.

None⁠ of them really‍‍‍ mattered.

She‌​ would prepare a drink for the⁠​ man who paid‍‍ the most.

And​‌ the man who⁠‍ held his cup‍‌⁠ would be the​​‍ winner of the‌ day, free to‍ smell the withered​ flowers at his⁠⁠ leisure.

Because‍‌ that was all.‌⁠

“Here!⁠ Take it. I have a gold‍‍‌ coin!”

“Gold!⁠⁠​ I have two‌ gold coins!”

“Can‌‍‍ we pool our⁠‍ money here? I’ll​​ pay 3 gold‌​⁠ coins between the‍‌ two of us!”‍‍

Marcella‍‍‍ closed her eyes⁠‌⁠ as she listened​⁠⁠ to the men‌ shouting at her.‍​‌

The⁠‌‌ men in front⁠ of her were‌‌ throwing gold coins,⁠ but none reached‌ her feet.

The​​​ chains of debt‌ that Jack the‌‌‌ Maimed had imposed‌⁠ on her bound‌‍ her.

The⁠⁠⁠ Madame by the‌‍ window, who had⁠​ just mocked Marcella,​‍ smiled.

How‌ wonderful it was⁠‌‍ to see how‌​ a withered flower⁠ produced golden honey.‌⁠

“Then…”‍⁠

Madame‌​ picked up a long cigarette and‌ prepared to auction‌‍‍ off Marcella to⁠ the highest bidder.​‍⁠

“One​​ hundred gold.”

The⁠ voice resonated lowly​ through the deserted​‌ stairs.

It‍‍ was a voice⁠‍‌ so clear and​​ powerful that everyone‍‍​ present turned their​ heads.

“…What?”‍⁠⁠

“I’ll⁠ pay 100 gold.”‍​

.….‍

To‌​⁠ Madame’s surprise, someone⁠‍ was ascending the‍‌ worn-out steps.

“…!”⁠‍⁠

Marcella​​‍ involuntarily shuddered upon​ hearing the creaking‍⁠ and closed her‍⁠‌ eyes tightly.

She⁠⁠ let out a muffled cry upon‌ hearing the man’s​​ footsteps who had⁠‌⁠ brought destruction to⁠​​ the Rose’s Smile.‌

Creak-.⁠‍⁠

He⁠⁠​ had taken it​ all in stride,‍​ but the memory⁠ of that day​‌⁠ still struck deep⁠‍​ into Marcella’s soul,⁠⁠‍ tearing open her⁠ wounds.

“…Sir,‍ did you say‍‌⁠ 100 gold coins?”⁠‌

Madame​ asked from the‍ window to the⁠‍‍ man ascending the⁠⁠​ stairs to make‌ sure she hadn’t‌‌ misheard.

The⁠ men, who had‌ just gasped with‍​⁠ desire, also stared‍ at the sudden​​‍ entrant with open‍‍‍ mouths at the‍​ enormous sum.

But‌ the man who⁠​ had climbed the‌ stairs with imposing​ steps said nothing​ more, only moved​​ briskly toward where⁠‍ Marcella was sitting.⁠

“May​ I request here?”​⁠⁠

“…Yes.”​

I shouted an outrageous‍‍‌ amount, but Madame‌​​ was unable to⁠‌ dissuade him.

On‍ one hand, his‍⁠⁠ aura was fierce‍​​ enough to kill.​‌

“It​‌ seems you have‌⁠⁠ the money.”

The‌​ man’s black cloak​ and leather armor⁠​ looked very luxurious.​

He‍ was hooded, so⁠‌ I couldn’t distinguish⁠‌ his face, but​⁠‌ it was clear⁠ that he was​ at least a young noble from⁠‌‌ somewhere or a knight of certain‍ renown.

He‍​ looked like a man who could⁠‍‌ easily pay at⁠ least ten gold​‌​ coins, if not​⁠‍ a hundred.

If‍‍ so, he would​⁠ be more than‍‌​ worthy to hold⁠⁠ the withered flower.⁠

“Would‌​‌ you like a menu board for…?”‍

“No,‍​‌ thank you.”

The‍⁠ young man, who‌⁠ had already grasped​ the atmosphere of‌‌ the place and‌ restrained Madame with‌⁠ a skillful touch,⁠‍​ looked at the⁠ woman in front⁠ of him, with​‍‌ his eyes still‍​ closed.

Madame​ was momentarily perplexed.‍‌⁠

There‌ was no sign‍​ of desire in⁠ the man’s smile.‍‍

It​‍‍ was just a smile of sadness.⁠​​

“I​⁠​ always missed these‌ things, even after⁠​ I left…”

Unintelligible​​⁠ words began to‌‌ flow from the‍‍ man whose sudden⁠‌ appearance had everyone’s‍⁠ attention.

“Grilled⁠‌ sausage and blood​‌‍ sausage and hash‌ browns on white⁠‌‌ wheat bread…”

Everyone‍‍⁠ stood bewildered, looking‌​‌ at the man‍ who was ordering⁠‌​ breakfast in a place where drinks‌ were supposed to‍ be ordered.

“Is⁠ he crazy?”

Even​⁠ Madame, the owner‌ of the establishment,⁠⁠​ shook her head​‍ in disbelief.

“…!”‌

Marcella,⁠‍ however, could understand⁠‌ clearly.

The‍‍ words uttered by​ the man in‍ front of her​‍ were nostalgic.

They‍‌ were foods that​‌ had always appeared⁠‍ in the landscapes⁠‌ of her dreams.​⁠​

“I​ want the one…‍ that Jorge always‍‌ ate, please, Lady‌‍ Marcella.”

It​‌⁠ was the food‍⁠​ that she had‌‌​ always prepared for​‍ Jorge.

Marcella‍ didn’t want to⁠​ open her eyes.‌

The⁠​ boy’s voice was⁠ familiar, almost dreamlike.‍

If‌ she opened her‍ eyes and saw​ the reality in‌‌ front of her,⁠ and it wasn’t⁠‍‍ what she expected,​⁠​ she didn’t think‌ she could bear‍‍‍ it.

“Ah…..”​

Marcella​ slowly opened her​ eyes with tears​​ streaming down her‍​‌ face.

A sigh of relief‍ escaped from her‌ lips.

Through​ her blurry vision,​ she saw a blond boy.

“I​ told you I would come back,⁠ Lady Marcella.”

A bright golden glow⁠⁠​ emanated from the⁠‍ man as he‍⁠⁠ took off his⁠‌ hood.

It‌‌⁠ wasn’t the tarnished‌‌‍ gold that the​‍ men in this‍‍ place exhaled with‍⁠‌ lust.

It​​‌ was the color‌ of the daytime‍​​ child that Jorge‌⁠​ had picked up,‌⁠‍ and Marcella had⁠​​ washed.

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