SOTBW - 229

One day, Popin was involved in an unfortunate minor carriage accident. He was thrown off after being hit by the carriage, but since he didn’t feel any pain, he continued on with his life as usual. However, a month passed and his menstruation still hadn’t stopped. Thinking it strange, he visited a healing priest, only to be told it was already too late.

Apparently, his uterus had been so damaged that even medication couldn’t help. Popin couldn’t believe what he had just heard. His mother burst into tears, while his father, in anger, began talking about marriage. Everyone acted as though his life was over.

Even the Marchioness Rochelle pitied him and granted him a month’s leave. Popin spent his days staring blankly at the crystal-clear water of the lake in the forest as it flowed somewhere far away.

The idea that he could no longer have children was shocking. Popin had always imagined himself living a life similar to his mother’s—working in the Rochelle household, marrying someone, and raising children.

How could he come to terms with having the ordinary life everyone else lived stripped away from him? And how would he live once he grew old? While lost in these thoughts, Rachel suddenly appeared and plopped down beside him.

Rachel handed him a sandwich she had made, saying:

“Having children isn’t everything for a woman. You have your own life to live—not as a maid of the Rochelles, not as someone’s wife or mother, and certainly not as someone who is pitied for being unable to bear children. Live as Popin Solgano.”

At that moment, Popin looked at the ingredients inside the sandwich. The ham slices were uneven, likely cut by an unskilled cook; bits of eggshell were mixed into the mashed eggs; and the diced apples were so large they’d be difficult to chew.

As far as Popin knew, there wasn’t a single maid in the Rochelle household with such poor cooking skills. It was obvious who had made it. Without a word, Popin ate the sandwich.

Every time he bit into it and crunched on a piece of eggshell, tears welled up in his eyes—not out of sorrow or frustration, but because it felt unbearably poignant.

“I’m on your side, Popin. Never forget that I’ll always support you.”

No one else had ever said such words to him except Rachel.

Rachel was the only one who treated him as if nothing had changed.

She was the only one who could roll away the heavy boulder lodged in his heart.

“…Hmm, this feels kind of rough around the edges. Next time, I’ll make it better.”

Thinking back to that sandwich, Popin cried—and then laughed like a fool. Though he resented Rachel for sleeping for so many days without waking, he still believed in her, the young mistress of the Rochelle family whom he had always trusted and followed.

After finishing his prayer, Popin wiped away his tears. He gently stroked Rachel’s forehead, now covered with a hat made of yarn due to her hair falling out, before rising to his feet. It was time to change her bandages again.

As Popin began unwrapping the bandage from his finger, he froze upon hearing a long sigh from beside the bed. Worried he might have been too careless with the bandage, he looked up to see Rachel gazing at him with cloudy eyes.

Startled, Popin froze in place. Rachel blinked slowly, still half-asleep, before furrowing her brows in irritation.

“…I’m starving. How long have I been asleep?”

“…My lady.”

Tears burst forth from Popin’s eyes. Rachel stared at him, bewildered by his sudden laughter through tears, and smirked faintly.

“What happened to the bandits?”

At Rachel’s question, Popin’s expression shifted from awe to dismay.

“My lady, how can you ask about that the moment you wake up?”

“Well, I’m curious. Of course, the suppression must have gone well, right?”

“It went perfectly! Sir Luamars is still waiting here, refusing to leave until he escorts you personally back to the fortress.”

Popin set down the bandage he had been unraveling and stood up.

“I’ll tell the maids to prepare food. Please wait just a moment!”

Wiping away his tears, Popin ran out of the room with a bright smile. The previously quiet house suddenly erupted into commotion.

Rachel glanced down at the blackened bandages before gently pulling back the curtains that had been drawn to block the draft. Outside, the streets appeared peaceful. The faces of the passersby were free of worry. Likely, the successful eradication of the long-feared bandits had brought relief to everyone.

As Rachel quietly observed the residents of the Elbision territory, she absentmindedly fiddled with the sunlight streaming through the parted curtains. Her body felt unbearably heavy. She knew her body would never fully recover. She could sense that her time was running out.

But Rachel neither succumbed to fear nor regret. She simply gazed at the people leisurely strolling under the dazzling sunlight and smiled faintly, calmly accepting her reality.

With a slightly trembling hand, Rachel opened the window. Sunlight and cold winter air rushed into the room together. As she savored the crisp, unique scent of what might be her last winter, the distant streets suddenly grew noisy.

Rachel tilted her head out the window, puzzled by the commotion.

In the distance, Daniel Luamars was being chased by several large men.

---

Daniel had already prepared the report on the bandit suppression in advance. Writing it after arriving at Noctis Fortress would have been meaningless. He needed to hurry so he could deliver a copy to the lord of Elbision and show it to the commanders of Noctis Fortress.

Reports like these were truly exhausting. Even the slightest numerical error could not be tolerated. Though he already knew how many soldiers had been mobilized from the Elbision territory, Daniel double-checked the documents just to be sure. He hated this kind of work so much that when Jacob had asked for help with similar tasks, Daniel had shamelessly fled.

In truth, writing about how they fought wasn’t particularly difficult. The real problem lay in the financial reports.

Normally, when more than a thousand soldiers were mobilized, there were designated individuals responsible for meticulously recording and calculating every detail. Commanders only needed to focus on battle and troop management—but this time, no such personnel were available.

In other words, Daniel had to handle everything himself: movement routes, tax expenditures, troop management, treatment of captured prisoners, and more. Frustrated, Daniel slammed his pen back into the inkwell and sighed deeply, clutching his head with both hands.

Now he had to record every single expense incurred during their journey from Noctis Fortress to Elbision—down to the smallest detail. It wasn’t enough to simply note how much money was spent; he had to specify exactly where, how, and why it was used. Any miscalculation could lead to serious trouble later on.

Jacob and Belshua were accustomed to helping Maximón with such tasks, but Daniel, who had a lazy streak, was utterly inept at meticulous paperwork.

Slumped over his desk, Daniel absentmindedly flipped through the papers.

Ideally, he should have cleaned up the camp near the Elbision territory and returned to Noctis Fortress by now, but dealing with the captured bandits had delayed him. There was no facility in the Elbision territory capable of holding thousands of criminals.

Executing all of them was out of the question. With the shortage of soldiers capable of fighting the Serith, execution was unthinkable. Beheading the ringleaders and transferring the rest to Noctis Fortress seemed like the best solution, but some of the bandits included fugitives from nearby territories, and sorting them out was taking time.

Though Daniel wanted to return to Noctis as soon as possible, considering the fatigue of the soldiers, resting for a bit before departure didn’t seem like a bad idea. Most of the soldiers deployed for the suppression were injured, so this break gave them a chance to recover.

The soldiers, relieved at the prospect of not encountering the Serith for a while, were in high spirits. As long as no one deserted, leaving in four or five days seemed reasonable.

Leaning back in his chair, Daniel reviewed the nearly completed battle report. Rachel’s name appeared frequently in the document. Without her, capturing the citadel would have taken far longer.

Setting the report aside, Daniel fell deep into thought. After the suppression, he had tried to visit Rachel but was repeatedly told by Popin, the maid, that Rachel’s condition wasn’t good and that he should come back later. Using Qi powerful enough to collapse part of the fortress walls in her frail state must have caused significant strain.

Surely, she wouldn’t die like this…? Daniel grimaced and clicked his tongue. His feelings were complicated. Thinking of Najane, it made sense to leave Rachel behind—but still…

Daniel stretched his legs onto the desk, leaned back in his chair, and tilted his head back. The image of Rachel using Qi was still vivid in his mind. To possess such talent yet be unable to fight due to an incurable illness—it was almost pitiful, even to him.

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

Daniel, who had been leaning back, froze and quickly straightened himself.

“Come in.”

As soon as permission was granted, a familiar face entered. At first, Daniel assumed the visitor was sent by the lord of Elbision, but upon seeing the affable old man, his expression turned serious.

The old man was the steward of the Luamars household. Predicting Daniel’s reaction, he rubbed his temples in irritation. Unfazed by Daniel’s demeanor, the steward politely greeted his young master, whom he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“It’s been a while, Master Daniel. Have you been well?”

“I’m not going.”

Before the steward could finish speaking, Daniel cut him off.

“You haven’t even said anything yet…”

“You’re here to tell me to return to the duchy, right? I’m not going. I won’t.”

“The king himself understands that a household with only one heir isn’t obligated to fulfill all noble duties. Considering your years of dedication, it’s perfectly acceptable for you to step away from the knights now. His Majesty is aware of how precious male heirs are to the dukedom…”

“Do you really think it’s fitting for someone born out of rape to inherit the dukedom? That’s just low and filthy.”

Daniel sneered. The steward was flustered. Every time such words came out of Daniel’s mouth—this young man he had raised like a grandson—he didn’t know how to respond.

Like most stewards, this elderly man cherished and respected the family he had long served. But no matter how experienced a steward might be, he wouldn’t know how to console or guide a master who rejected his own origins.

One thing was clear: Daniel had been deeply wounded by the circumstances of his birth.

The depth of that wound was unfathomable even to the steward. For Daniel, who had lived his entire life as the heir to the Luamars family, to abandon everything and disappear to Noctis Fortress—a place tantamount to the brink of death—it must have been an abyssal wound with no bottom in sight.

Carefully choosing his words, the steward tried to soothe Daniel’s pain.

“My lord, that wasn’t rape but…”

“Are you trying to sugarcoat it again by saying my father was repaying unrequited love? People call that obsession—or maybe possessiveness.”

Daniel mocked him, fully aware of the steward’s usual rhetoric.

“My father raped that knight out of obsession. I appreciate your loyalty to the Luamars family, and I’m truly grateful for how you’ve cared for me since I was a child. But trying to dress up that disgusting act is where I draw the line.”

At Daniel’s harsh criticism of the Duke of Luamars, the steward’s expression darkened.