Rochelle couldn’t even scream as she was dragged across the floor by Ivan. Overwhelmed with terror, she desperately flailed her arms.

The moment her right hand unconsciously grabbed the hem of the man’s coat, he spat a curse as if disgusted and slammed Rochelle’s head hard against the glass of the front door.

“Agh! Hup, aaah!”

Shards of broken glass embedded themselves in her delicate skin. The pain felt as if a hole had been bored into her skull. As hot blood spread from her forehead across her body, Rochelle let out a full-throated scream.

Gasping for breath, she rolled shamefully on the floor, not even noticing her dress riding up over her chest.

Soon, her limbs began to convulse. The blow to her head was so severe that Rochelle hovered on the border between life and death.

If she had to die, she had hoped to do so with the composure and calm her father once showed.

“Contact headquarters and tell them she’s been captured. Also, add that they should devise an execution method more novel and spectacular than what was done to her parents. She’s a daughter of the Kotov family—an ordinary method won’t satisfy the crowd.”

“Yes, Sir Ivan.”

“Before that, make sure that stupid girl is held down tight so she can’t move.”

Above her, as she struggled to breathe, the excited voice of the man rang out as if he’d just played a fun game, then began to fade away.

Rochelle managed to open her eyes and glared at them with a face twisted in anger. Beyond her blurry vision, she saw the man turning away, pulling a fresh cigarette from his pocket.

Then, the young man who had been trembling at a distance behind Ivan began to approach her.

As his neatly pressed uniform pants fluttered, the steady sound of his shoes grew closer.

“……”

The young man’s determined expression became clearer and clearer.

Instinctively, she knew she had to escape. Forcing her trembling arms to push against the floor, she twisted her upper body—and her right hand touched something cold.

Rochelle blinked slowly and looked down at the ground.

“…Ah.”

It happened in a split second.

The world seemed to freeze. Even as she clutched a palm-sized shard of glass and rushed at the man, each second felt like a hundred years.

With a scream, she plunged the glass into the back of the man’s neck. Instantly, dark red blood gushed out, staining her pale wrist.

“G-God, Ivan, Sir Ivan!”

“……”

“Sir Ivan! Are you alright?!”

Dennis, unable to react at first to the sudden disaster, responded a beat too late in panic.

As he ran, eyes rolling back in shock, to catch the collapsing Ivan, Rochelle quickly slipped into a quiet side alley.

***

Rochelle had never lived a life like this before.

Her ten fingers were grimy, and her dress—never of good quality, even in jest—was now tattered at both ends like a bedsheet.

Yet what was hardest to endure was the memory of the blood’s metallic scent rising from her hands.

The smell of misfortune.

Pulling her thin collar tightly around her, Rochelle settled into the deepest corner of the carriage. Her face, escaping from that hellish trap, was calm and composed.

Before long, the carriage jolted and began to move.

A faint warmth emanated from the elderly woman sitting with her back to Rochelle. As the old woman quietly hummed an unrecognizable tune, she peeked over at Rochelle—then shrieked in alarm.

“Oh my goodness, miss! Your face, there’s blood! My word, what happened? Did you run into robbers on your way here?”

The commotion drew brief attention. The few other passengers also looked up in surprise.

“It was something like that, but no, ma’am.”

“What do you mean…?”

“I tripped over a stone and fell.”

Rochelle shook her head with a cheerful smile, as if it was nothing.

“It was my own carelessness.”

Most people let their curiosity go, seeing her reluctance to say more, but the particularly kindhearted old woman clicked her tongue in disbelief and pulled a small handkerchief from her bag, handing it over with a look reserved for a troublesome child.

“Here, use this to wipe yourself off first.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Rochelle whispered, delicately cleaning each finger. But the blood, hardened and tangled in her hair above her forehead, wouldn’t come off easily, and she struggled for a while.

The old woman, quietly observing her, soon turned away and settled deep into her seat for the long journey.

Watching the old woman close her eyes and rest, Rochelle also shifted her body, searching for a comfortable position.

As her tension eased, drowsiness crept in.

Just before falling into a deep sleep, the last thing she saw was the small square window and the vast fields beyond.

The ground, covered in fallen autumn leaves, looked like a sea of brilliant colors. It was the warm landscape she had loved most of all the seasons. Now, she would never enjoy any of it again.

She was now headed to Castiya in the north, notorious for its harsh cold.

Long ago, it was where the defeated revolutionaries had gathered to regain their strength, a land believed to be a paradise where everyone lived in promised equality, free of discrimination.

Perhaps Rochelle, too, could leave her past behind and start a new life there.

As her vague imaginings ended, the carriage left the paved road and began to speed down a narrow forest path.

***

“Miss, miss.”

“……”

“Excuse me, miss!”

A persistent voice rang in her ears.

Rochelle opened her eyes a little and straightened her disheveled clothes. The air felt colder now, and she shivered.

“……”

She glanced toward the window and saw deep, dark clouds swirling across the sky, with bright beams of light occasionally breaking through.

Was it already dawn? The passage of time felt unreal. Blinking drowsily as if in a dream, she felt someone shake her arm.

“Miss? Sorry, but could you pick up the paper you’re stepping on?”

“Oh, of course.”

Flustered, Rochelle hurriedly bent forward. She spotted a stiff card and carefully reached out for it.

[We have always been victorious, and we will continue to win.]

Her gaze naturally fell on the slogan printed in large, bold font—a propaganda card used by the revolutionaries.

Rochelle quietly sat up and turned the card over to see the front. On a black background with red accents, a handsome man in a military uniform stood confidently next to a long matchlock rifle, grinning.

A familiar face.

At the same time, an unbearable headache swept over her. Rochelle closed her eyes. The hand holding the card trembled slightly.

“This time it’s a photo of Sir Ivan Beneff.”

The old woman, taking the card from Rochelle’s hand, smiled brightly.

“He’s the hero of our Brittany.”

“…Yes.”

Rochelle wanted to change the subject, but the look on the woman’s face made it clear that wouldn’t be easy. So, reluctantly, she added a few words to the conversation.

“I see. But he’s a foreigner, isn’t he?”

“Oh my, a foreigner! Didn’t you know? Sir Ivan is the eldest son of General Alexander, who led the early revolution! The two of them only fled Brittany for Castiya to save their lives, you know.”

Beaming with happiness, the woman continued, her eyes sparkling.

“You like Sir Ivan too, don’t you? Of course, I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t… Oh, there is one. General Alexander’s illegitimate son, the second son. What was his name again?”

“……”

“Anyway, I suppose you haven’t heard the unfortunate news that arrived from headquarters last night. Actually, Sir Ivan—”

Rochelle looked up and met her gaze.

“Is he dead?”

……

The air turned cold at the sudden, pointed question.

Rochelle blinked her blue eyes in confusion. Her vision blurred in an instant. No, in truth, it had been that way since she’d seen the face of the man in the photograph.

“…Pardon?”

“……”

“What kind of question is that? It almost sounds like you’re hoping something bad happened to Sir Ivan.”

The old woman frowned, rubbing her hands nervously on her skirt as she sharply questioned Rochelle, as if she couldn’t believe it.

Suddenly on the spot, Rochelle swallowed dryly and gave a harmless smile.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I truly didn’t mean anything by it.”

“……”

“I just… I’m so terribly worried about him, that’s all…”