Chapter Four: The Melody
Outside the window, the sounds of the bustling square gradually faded away.
I rummaged through my bag by the bedside and pulled out a spare inner lining and dress to put on.
A white pleated dress, the kind you wear for everyday non-combat situations because, let’s be real, it doesn’t get cold standing around in a dress! All I threw over it was a black linen cloak, and I slipped on some cozy cotton knee-highs.
Those black-and-white striped long socks? I vaguely remember buying them on the way to Baihao City, during a pit stop in some tiny town. There was this rickety tailor shop, and as I walked past with the Sword Demon, they caught my eye, so naturally, I had to go in and snag them.
No special reason, really—just a bit nostalgic.
Once I got dressed and put on my leather boots, I bunched up my somewhat dirty old clothes and tossed them into the trash bin in the corner of the room.
My hair was still a bit damp.
I strolled over to the window, pulled back the curtains, and flung the window open, letting the sunlight pour in, illuminating this dreary space once more.
Outside, a loud “bang” resounded as I squinted at the square, where a cart was repeatedly hauling away corpses. I couldn’t help but wonder where they were taking those poor souls to bury them. The onlookers had mostly dispersed, leaving behind a few bloodstained execution platforms that were anyone’s guess.
Just outside the square, it looked like a band of Workshop Hunters had just exited the palace, headed west, their iron hooves clattering along the distant streets, vanishing behind red-tiled white walls. Among them, I caught a glimpse of Uncle Hoover, looking quite cheerful from afar. They seemed to be headed to the Church; perhaps my parents had rested there last night and had a mountain of business to tackle today.
This left the area around the palace feeling unusually deserted.
It’s over…
I thought to myself.
The northern region had the most intense smoke rising, with many buildings already collapsed. Under the sunlight, the scene was a chaotic disaster; amidst the wreckage, shadows of people slowly emerged, rushing towards a certain point—probably one of the Northern Army’s food distribution posts, or maybe a city granary, who knows? It seemed the townsfolk were truly starving, and from afar, this turned into a scene straight out of a tragic movie.
Following this was an endless feast of chaos and conflict.
Regardless, the ongoing civil war between the Valen Empire’s Winter Moon royal family, which had persisted for two long years, was about to come to an end in the next few days—or maybe a couple of weeks—in this bustling, chaotic city, amidst the warriors’ mix of spirits, and in the hopeful yet confused stares of the Empire’s citizens.
Suddenly, I was reminded of the very beginning.
I recalled the first grand feast at Shanter Castle, where I had gotten a bit tipsy, babbling nonsense that made everyone burst out laughing, along with my mother’s soft, choking voice mingled among their laughter.
[Did you hear that… Skarlij, she called for me…]
I remembered long ago, playing the piano for my father. The familiar piano, the melodious tones, and suddenly images from the past rushed back—some painful, some warm. The swift return made me momentarily short of breath; right before I passed out, I heard my father’s furious roar echo through the castle.
[Edward—]
[Your royal brother has a well-educated son!]
I recalled that this war was actually started because of me.
And now, it was coming to an end.
Yet, I could no longer feel those emotional ups and downs.
I…
As I turned back to the room, I vaguely realized there was an old piano sitting at the northwest corner, right by the window.
I had never even looked over there before.
Tilting my head, I ambled over.
The piano seemed like it had been sitting idle for ages; the original owner might not have even known how to play. The prized silk cover was spotless, but the lid was stuck tight, like mortals needed some serious elbow grease to pry it open. When I finally managed, the creaking sound revealed a faint, odd smell inside. I had to search high and low to find the missing prop for the lid, which was buried under a pile of junk in the corner.
I pulled out the piano bench, made a few adjustments, and gently dusted off the top before sitting down.
Do, re, mi…
Pushing the pedals, my fingers danced nimbly, testing out a few notes.
…The tuning was definitely off.
Clearly, it hadn’t been tuned for ages.
Such a shame…
What a magnificent piano, trapped with an owner who treated it like a mere decoration.
But I wasn’t exactly an expert at tuning, and frankly, I wasn’t in the mood. Let’s just give it a whirl.
Do—
The sound fell, a drifting melody with just a hint of discord, filling the room.
Ah, the very familiar “Clair de Lune” by Debussy.
Though the notes weren’t exactly precise, the sound was soft and silky, each note like pearls dropping onto a tray, clear and bright.
Outside, the Northern Army, transporting the corpses, suddenly paused, heads cocked.
“…Huh?”
“Who on earth is playing the piano at a time like this…”
The soldiers shook their heads helplessly: “But you know what…”
“It actually sounds pretty nice.”
“Kind of sad and lonely, huh…”
“I’m thinking of my wife back in Erin Castle.”
“She must be missing me…”
Before long, their figures faded into the distance.
Even further away, in the parish, the leader Hoover was meandering through the streets when he suddenly looked up and gazed toward the palace.
His expression seemed a little dazed.
“What’s up, boss?” one of the Hunters asked.
Hoover stared for a moment, then shook his head. “Nothing, probably just my imagination.”
The piano’s sound didn’t reach him.
Nor did it reach Duke Skarlij and Lady Catherine, who were still in the southern church.
But inside the palace, the lonely sound of the piano continued, one piece after another.
Sitting at the piano, the young woman had her back straight, her fingers dancing like the wind, the beautiful melody flowing like water, pouring from her fingers. In this world’s music scene, every piece she played was like celestial music.
Just applause—
That might not come again.
She was playing just for herself.
But even she could no longer grasp the emotions that slipped through her fingers.
Only the action of the hammers striking the strings remained, muted and calm, echoing the piano’s own emotions.
…………
Before I knew it, a long time had passed.
Creak—
The door behind me was suddenly pushed open by someone unknown.
I heard footsteps approaching.
They were soft, tiptoeing as if afraid to disrupt my performance.
I didn’t turn around or stop playing.
My ten fingers, as delicate as green onions, danced effortlessly across the keys, weaving through the vibrant intensity of “The First Narrative,” where the fierce melody cascaded down like a gushing waterfall, grand and expansive. Someone slowly stepped behind me and came to a halt.
After a moment, the melody ended.
“Phew—”
I tilted my head back, pressed my hands on the keys, and let out a long sigh.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
A crisp applause rang out from behind me.
“I never knew you could play so many pieces,” she said.
I turned around to see the only woman in the world with an eternally frosty demeanor, the uniquely stunning Viki.
“…Viki.”
