### Chapter 50: Same Old Song, New Fire – Prologue (Part One)
On the 27th of April, 1189 AD, in the northern region of the Ethanbel Kingdom, about thirty miles south of Lagomus City.
Here, in the nearly deserted mountains, the lazy morning sunlight seeps through the fluffy clouds, chasing away the heavy shadows of the peaks and illuminating the winding paths below. The rolling mountains are cloaked in lush trees, their leaves rustling softly in the gentle breeze, creating the illusion of green waves rolling through the landscape.
If one were to gaze along the ridge, they would catch sight of a basin surrounded by peaks. The basin isn’t that large, but it’s more than enough space for a quaint little town.
Nestled at the foot of the northern ridge, two windmill towers lazily spin in the wind. Not far from the bases of the towers, fields of rice sway like ocean waves, sparkling with dew that hasn’t yet evaporated. Nearby, a couple of robust horned horses, freshly liberated from their stables, saunter casually by the rice paddies, while fluffy little critters resembling tiny foxes dart from the vibrant fields, only to vanish into the brush.
Now, don’t get too excited—there isn’t really a town here. Just between the rice fields and those two windmill towers, there stands a somewhat unimpressive three-story wooden house nestled in the lush grass. Around the house, colorful flowers bloom like confetti, and a chirping little bird flits about before landing atop the chimney. The morning light shines through the partially open round window, casting a golden glow against the rich mahogany walls.
This idyllic scene gives the unremarkable wooden house an air of bliss, making it appear as if it’s a hidden paradise.
Though it is still morning, the sun has already been up for an hour. In the humble wooden shed in front of the house, a young maid dressed in servant attire is busy feeding the horned horse that’s attached to a rather plain-looking cart.
Now, if you take a quick glance at the cart, you wouldn’t think it was anything special. It’s white, with silver wheels, and adorned with faint floral patterns on the curtains—not a prestigious family crest or a sparkling gem in sight. If this cart rolled through the busy streets of the royal city, no one would bat an eye. But plopped here, surrounded by the rural countryside, it looks spectacularly out of place.
Clearly, this isolated ‘hidden oasis’ now seems to have received some guests.
Amidst the chirping of birds outside, a steaming cup of red tea is set down on a mahogany table on the second floor of the wooden house. The maid, with a carefully drawn face, removes the plates from the table, crossing her arms elegantly over her abdomen as she stands with proper decorum next to the wooden table, her head slightly bowed, avoiding the gaze of the breathtaking woman seated at the table.
This woman, as beautiful as she was, radiated a chilling aura.
She lifted the teacup to her lips, her ruby-red mouth delicately approaching the cup, only to grimace as the hot liquid touches her tongue. With a slight frown, she set the tea back down and turned her gaze toward the half-open window.
Sitting straight in her chair, her loose silk nightgown subtly accentuated her nearly perfect figure. Without any makeup, her face resembled that of a fairy from a painting, slightly flushed in the sunlight, her eyes squinting like a cat’s. A few strands of her long hair had slipped down from her forehead and rested on her cheek, and anyone would feel an overwhelming urge to just scoop her up and hug her tight.
But, if a brave man were actually here, no matter how audacious he usually was, in this moment, not even a glimmer of courage would grace him to approach her—he might not even dare to meet her gaze.
The kind of ‘presence’ that emanated from her would make anyone, except perhaps that girl far away in Silgaya, feel a primal nervousness just by getting close.
Two years had passed, and the woman was now twenty-five. Her aura seemed to have grown even stronger and colder since the last time. When she decided not to speak, it felt like the very air in the room had frozen.
“…Your Majesty.”
After a moment, the maid—a mirror of the queen’s aura, wearing a similar impassive expression—broke the suffocating silence, “It’s been three days. Little Reikmon has probably already reached the border of the Empire, but without your traveling permit, the royal guards won’t dare cross. Should I arrange the next steps for you?”
Her tone was neither servile nor disrespectful, almost emotionless. If anyone could stand steadfast before the queen’s intimidating presence, it would be her and that Mr. Rect of the Sword of Kanli—barely half a match.
However, the queen didn’t seem to acknowledge her words, still gazing out of the window.
Thanks to the wind, the window was only partially open, but it was enough to see the scene unfolding in the rice paddies below. Early risers were already busy working the fields. In Ethanbel, rice could be harvested three times a year, and right now, the seedlings were growing splendidly—a few muddy figures bent over, wiping sweat as they joyfully pulled weeds and tended to pesky bugs.
These people weren’t the queen’s entourage, and this certainly wasn’t her holiday retreat. The maid, Sharman, knew that the queen’s gaze was fixated on a particularly skinny old man—appearing aged but still full of life—who was working the hardest in the fields.
This was the very man whom the queen had made a detour to meet, even delaying her journey to the Empire.
St. George…
The cardinal of the Holy Church, the head of the Williams Family, the man who established the St. George Currency Exchange and countless trading associations, funding the construction of grand cities and infrastructures including orphanages and monasteries across the Western Continent—he was once the most devoted follower of the people, revered far and wide. Yet in the last two years, during his twilight years, he’d watched helplessly as the fruits of his life’s work vanished into thin air.
If Sharman hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed this old man could escape from the Underground Prison of the Holy City and end up here.
But more importantly…
He hadn’t crumbled under such a crushing defeat. He still had enough strength left to continue accomplishing what he needed to do. While the younger members of the Williams Family had long since given up, this old man alone had yet to truly fall.
“…Looks like someone sure knows how to relax, hmph.”
After a moment, the queen scoffed, retrieving her gaze from afar. Maid Sharman quickly followed suit, lowering her eyes and awaiting her command.
Yet, after a moment, no command came.
“Had I not been invited, I wouldn’t even have known that there was such a perfect hideaway near Lagomus City…”
The queen seemed to be looking right at her, and Sharman felt the sharp gaze that seemed capable of piercing through everything. She had long grown accustomed to such scrutiny, yet she instinctively stiffened at that golden stare, lowering her head even further.
“Surrounded by mountains, there’s only one narrow, hidden mountain path to get in. It’s so obscured that a military troop wouldn’t stand a chance of entering, and if they did, they’d have a hard time leaving. The surrounding mountains teem with venomous beasts; there isn’t even a proper trade route within thirty miles… If no one tipped them off, one could hide here for a lifetime.”
As the queen spoke, she lightly tapped the table with her porcelain-like fingers.
“Sharman… how long do you think he’ll hide here?”
“…I don’t know, Your Majesty,” the maid replied softly.
“Neither do I.”
The queen lifted her teacup once more, placing it to her lips, her pinky finger elegantly raised as she sipped, showcasing her innate grace.
“Let’s just wait and see; we’ll find out soon enough.”
