“Well, it seems our young lady prefers Sir Yevgeny over Sir Ivan.”
A burly man in the seat beside them, who had been quietly observing the situation, let out a forced laugh as if trying to lighten the mood.
“Sir Ivan is certainly passionate, like a flame, but he can be a bit cruel at times. There are quite a few who admire the calm and composed Sir Yevgeny, too.”
“That’s just ridiculous. Even if Sir Yevgeny appears cold and sophisticated on the outside, in the end, he’s still the child of a mistress!”
“I’m just saying there are people like that.”
As he spoke, the man gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Well, in any case, whether someone is a bastard or a legitimate child doesn’t really matter right now. Especially when Sir Ivan’s life is hanging by a thread.”
“That’s true.”
Forcing an awkward smile, Rochelle repeatedly fidgeted with her hands folded on her lap and turned her gaze toward the window, trying to politely withdraw from their conversation.
But the man leaned in closer to Rochelle and continued.
“I heard it was a noble girl who launched a surprise attack from behind. Supposedly the young daughter of the Kotov family. Did you know about that?”
“I heard she abandoned her parents in their time of trouble and ran away. Such a young girl, yet so vicious and cunning.”
The old woman immediately chimed in after the man. As the conversation flowed seamlessly, Rochelle hesitated for a moment, then slowly ran her hand through her tangled hair and swallowed hard.
She had to say something.
“…I see. I must be slow with rumors, I had no idea about any of this. Thank you both for letting me know.”
“Oh, not at all. The more eyes keeping watch, the better.”
“Keeping watch?”
Rochelle tilted her head at the man’s words, expressing her confusion. The old woman, flipping through several documents from the bag slung over her shoulder, pulled out a single white sheet and handed it to her.
“Take a look at this, young lady.”
“……”
“Rochelle Kotov, unmarried, 20 years old. Prisoner number N2779, deep violet hair and blue eyes. White skin and a curvaceous body. A large scar on her forehead. Worked as an employee at the ‘Villette’ tavern in the capital for about two months. Bounty: 32 francs……”
As Rochelle recited the details in a flat voice, she suddenly noticed that two pairs of eyes were staring at her in shock.
“…Should we call this a coincidence?”
With a suspicious tone, the old woman brushed her golden hair aside and looked Rochelle up and down.
“Of all things, you also have deep violet hair and sparkling sky-blue eyes. And that fair skin… Didn’t you have a scar on your forehead as well?”
Her hands began to tremble slightly. Maintaining an expression of ignorance, Rochelle slowly set the paper down on her lap and flashed a bright smile.
“Oh my, it would be so easy to be mistaken for her.”
“Yes, it would be so easy to mistake you… Well, there are plenty of people with blue eyes in Brittany. Of course, hair that color isn’t exactly common… but it’s not incredibly rare either, right?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Rochelle waved her hand, feigning embarrassment. Still, she could feel the many eyes scrutinizing her from head to toe.
“……”
As if on cue, everyone’s smiles faded.
Trying her best to remain composed, Rochelle quickly turned her head toward the window. Her own eyes, reflected in the glass, were easy to read—eyes of a fugitive, trembling and flickering with fear.
Her hands clasped around her knees were white as a sheet. She was parched with thirst. Her toes, pressed tightly against the floor, tingled as if they might cramp.
Even so, she had believed she would be safe at least until she left Brittany.
“……”
“…You.”
Breaking the long silence, just as the man with clear hostility began to speak, the coachman at the very front shouted loudly, “Whoa!” The carriage gradually slowed and then came to a gentle stop.
“We’ve arrived, everyone. It’s raining, so please watch out for puddles underfoot, and may you all have a safe journey.”
No sooner had the coachman finished speaking than people looked out the windows.
From the sky, which had been dark since morning, raindrops began to fall. The sound of rain drumming on the carriage roof was unusually loud.
Without missing a beat, Rochelle hurriedly stood up and dashed outside. Her face was stricken with terror as she began to run blindly.
Before long, she heard people shouting behind her, calling for the constables at the top of their lungs.
Curses flew in all directions. The situation was deteriorating rapidly.
With her mind blank, Rochelle ran toward a narrow alley and spotted a large brown leather suitcase left alone in a remote corner of the dock. A small red name tag hung from its handle.
“…That’ll do.”
Gritting her teeth, she ran straight for the suitcase without hesitation.
Panting, she unzipped it, tossed the clothes and documents inside down the drain, and, almost by instinct, curled herself up and squeezed into the case.
It was like the posture of a fetus in its mother’s womb.
Straining, she pulled the zipper closed over herself, curling her body as tightly as she could. Her thighs and calves, sticky from the humid air, pressed together uncomfortably.
“Hnnng!”
She twisted her body a bit to make more space, but a small sob escaped her lips.
No.
She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth and bit her lips so hard she tasted blood.
She was grateful for the rain. It kept her sobs from carrying far.
***
“She had a very prominent nose, red lips with a plump center. Her face was slender without any sharp angles, and from the way she smiled and behaved, you could tell she’d been taught old-fashioned manners. She looked quite pitiful.”
“What about the scar, ma’am? Did you see the scar on her forehead?”
“She was bleeding! Her bangs came down below her eyebrows, so I couldn’t see the scar clearly… But hey, if she was so innocent, would she have run out of there like a shot?”
After getting the details from the old woman, the constables split into pairs to search for the runaway “rat.”
John, biting down so hard it felt like his molars might shatter, quickly scanned the area. His heart pounded up into his throat.
‘I’ll kill her. I’ll chase her to the ends of the earth and tear her apart.’
‘No, no. The higher-ups said to capture her alive.’
“…Capture. Right, that’s good.”
Still, he could always shoot the fleeing woman in the calf and pop it like a balloon. Her blood spurting high into the air would look just like fireworks over the deck.
With bloodshot eyes, John scanned his surroundings, clenching his hands tightly. The back of his hand, hidden under his collar, twisted into a strange shape.
Then, a frantic voice above snapped him out of his thoughts.
“John, John! Get a hold of yourself!”
“…Sir Kaiten.”
To Kaiten, John—barely an adult—seemed completely consumed by emotion.
‘Not good.’
Muttering to himself, Kaiten gently grasped John’s trembling shoulders.
“I know how angry you are. All your comrades know, and so do your parents and God in heaven. I can guess how terrible the violence you suffered was, even without you saying it.”
“……”
“But you must endure, John. You know how disgraceful it is when a kid loses control, right? Nothing good ever comes from pure hatred and rage.”
John nodded, grinding his teeth.
“…Yes, sir.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Kaiten glanced down at the young man’s hand hanging limp at his thigh, then turned and walked away.
The shaken man let out ragged breaths for a while. His chest swelled and fell. Sometimes, he became far too violent—relying on instinct, losing all self-control.
John squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and looked ahead. His gaze wavered with anxiety. Seeing his own ridiculous reflection in the glass, he bit his lip and turned to follow his superior.
The loud sound of boots echoed across the harbor.
Not far away, Kaiten, waiting for John, praised him, “Well done,” and asked,
“You said you saw the woman running away, right?”
“Yes.”
“Which direction?”
“The east market. Shall we go now?”
Kaiten took a deep breath, hands in his pockets.
“No.”
“…Sir?”
“Think carefully, John. Why do you suppose she came all the way down to the Brittany harbor so desperately?”
“Well… Isn’t it to get on a ship and leave the country?”
John tilted his head, but as soon as he voiced his answer, he realized what a foolish question it was.
“Exactly. There’s no point in staying in the Brittany Empire. Either she admits the monarchy’s past mistakes and is hanged, or she resists to the end, gets caught by the military, and is flayed to death like her parents.”
“……”
“Of course, if she’s lucky, she might die alone, starving in solitary confinement. A very noble way to go, as they say.”
As he spoke, Kaiten stared coldly out at the distant sea.
“She’ll end up crawling back to the harbor. Clinging to false hope, dreaming of escape to a faraway land.”
“…We should check the ships, then. Shall we move?”
John, rolling his eyes, nodded in understanding and bit his lip. Kaiten smiled.
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sahari
¿Que tiene de noble morir de hambre? Es una forma de irse muy lenta y dolorosa. Tu cuerpo te consume y te destruye por dentro, en un intento desesperado por mantenerte vivo, te hace sufrir.
Estos hombres son todos horribles, y cruelmente sádicos.
Tristemente realista a como se comportan de verdad los paladines de la libertad.