30 Years Have Passed Since the Prologue

48 – 10. Stalker vs. Stalker (3)

*

“Oh, my, Miss Einarsdottir. Did you get a new violin?”

“Oh, um… yes.”

“Goodness! This is a Stradivarius, isn’t it?! This expensive? Or wasn’t your previous violin like that?”

“Yes… m-my uncle bought it for me.”

“Really envious!”

More than envy, it was a gaze filled with jealousy, even contempt.

Familiar to Esidisi, it was a gaze that was both poignant and bitter.

The days when she had defended the freshmen in the Knightly Studies Department even at the expense of herself, those days were almost forgotten, treated as if they never existed.

Esidisi, of the Orchestral Studies Department, always received such treatment.

Perhaps it was natural. Droan was a powerful kingdom within the Union, but not a country known for its cultural arts.

Savage and uncultured beings. That was the kind of assessment the country received.

Amidst that, she entered the Orchestral Studies Department, with talents that weren’t particularly outstanding.

The instruments she carried around on this subject were always top-of-the-line, and even those were easily broken.

Her surroundings weren’t friendly, and the ‘uncle’ figure constantly appeared, a giant figure among the freshmen.

Esidisi had always been a beloved girl. Not only was her father a king, but she was a force to be reckoned with, not just within the country but across the entire continent.

Such an environment was excessively harsh for someone like her.

“Ugh… Ueup… Sigh….”

In the next class, she was locked in the practice room, sniffling alone.

Since no one had informed her of the changed class venue, she was shivering and sobbing alone.

The hand that had pulled the bowstring several times with the violin in hand fell weakly.

“Dad… Uncle….”

She clutched the violin tightly, choked back tears, and with trembling hands, placed it in the instrument case.

It was a moment when she wanted to give up.

In fact, every moment felt like that. Every moment she held the instrument and sang.

To the citizens of Drona, the violin was a strange foreign instrument. To obtain a proper one, it was absurdly expensive and delicate, easily breaking in such conditions.

Drona was a dry place. Even a brief exposure to the outside wind would warp the plate and body of the instrument, shortening its lifespan.

Daily tuning didn’t change anything. String instruments inherently required the delicate care of a skilled individual.

The Huskals considered it an indulgence of the king’s daughter, and the teachers she managed to find were nothing more than inexperienced novices.

So she struggled to find sheet music and taught herself for a long time.

When she successfully entered the world-renowned music college, the Sengsk University Orchestra, how happy she was.

“…Sniff.”

Ecydis cautiously touched the bag wrapped around her shoulder.

She had wanted to give up her entire life. Quietly living the life of a princess wouldn’t have been so bad.

But living as the king’s daughter meant being exhibited as a quietly preserved, high-priced commodity.

Weaving for a better commodity value, singing for a delicate tone, occasionally learning martial arts.

The result: marrying the most suitable warrior to continue the royal bloodline. That must have been her destiny.

She didn’t want to live like that.

She wanted to learn the instrument. She wanted to master music, especially the violin.

It all started ten years ago, from a story shared in front of a bonfire.

Now, it was a story heard from a man whose features were barely recognizable.

*

Einar was a logical man. Even if it was the logic of Drona, he was a great father who employed rational thinking.

Therefore, he took all his children to the battlefield. There were various reasons for this.

Firstly, if they were his children, they had to face the air of the battlefield directly.

Secondly, the rumors about Drona’s wilderness were unbelievable.

The latter reason was more critical. Einar was a great warrior, and even then, there were no enemies within Drona at that time.

If he safely concludes the war and returns, anyone among the knights could consider his children as hostages.

Therefore, Essidis understood the war.

And she knew the warrior parties of those times.

She remembers the backs of the heroes who always came back injured. Limbs broken, sometimes returning with some limbs lost or twisted.

People wiping blood away, wrapping bandages over wounds, sitting tired by the campfire, sharing drinks.

So, during those times, she would often ask the man who always seemed to be the most injured outside the party.

“Why don’t you run away, uncle?”

“Hmm?”

He was a man younger than her father, but still at least ten years older than her. Except for the saint, he was the youngest among this party, so Essidis often approached this gruff man.

The man looked at the campfire for a moment, then faintly smiled and said, “Where would I run to? The world is turning into hell.”

“But still, it’s better than going to fight. To a place where you never know when you’ll die, every day, every time.”

“This is a story that doesn’t need early education.”

This man sometimes used terms that were hard to understand. Because it looked so cool, Essidis secretly admired him.

Children always think difficult words are cool.

“Essidis, the reason your father and I wield axes, Maximilian and Jilber wield swords, the saint somehow keeps us alive, and Enrique risks his life to infiltrate the enemy, there’s only one.”

“What is it?”

“We hope it’s our last.”

The man illuminated the axe blade with the campfire. It was dangerously extended, about to break.

“Living a life where you have to kill the enemy’s day to survive your day with a weapon. We hope that life ends with us. You, your siblings, many children behind us. And the children of those children, we hope they wield plows, not weapons.”

The war shouldn’t last any longer. The structure of the Allied Kingdom can’t bear any more wars.

No war should extend beyond one generation. Even if they win after that, it won’t be a true victory.

Their generation is the last limit where life can exist for people, where the nation can still function as a nation.

With that meaning, the man quietly put down the axe.

“So, don’t resemble your father.”

“Well… um. Then what should I do? I, uh… I’m good with axes!”

“I see. You’ll be surprised when you grow a bit more. Still, if possible, try holding something other than an axe.”

“I’m not good at sewing…”

“You don’t have to sew. Hmm.”

The man looked at Esidus with puzzled eyes. Due to his lack of eloquence, he didn’t feel capable of providing the little one with the proper education at eye level.

After a moment of stroking his chin, he spoke.

“If you have to learn something, it’s better to choose a musical instrument.”

“Musical instrument?”

“Weapons kill people, but instruments can save them.”

Beyond borders, cultures, and languages, excellent music itself serves as a bridge connecting people to people.

In an era of peace, one of the essential things needed would be musical instruments.

Esidus stared blankly at the man. Charcoal-colored hair, intensely blue eyes, and the neat gaze fixed on the campfire.

The young girl admired this robust man.

“Uncle, what’s your favorite musical instrument?”

“Well, I don’t know much about instruments in this world.”

He awkwardly stroked his chin, a habit he had when lost in thought.

Ah, but there seemed to be one common instrument. The man chuckled, contemplating. Due to ten years spent on the battlefield since conscription, he hadn’t come across instruments often, but…

Maybe it was the instrument he saw when our king held a celebration. It was an instrument with the same name in this world.

“Was it a violin…?”

“Violin?”

“Yes.”

Esidus rolled the name on her tongue several times, committing it to memory.

Ten years had passed since then. During that time, she had transformed from the daughter of a great warrior to the daughter of a great king.

The era had come when the king no longer needed an axe to rule the kingdom. It was an era where eloquence, treaties, and gold were more crucial than weapons.

As her uncle had said, a world where weapons were no longer needed had arrived.

Esidus picked up the violin. Despite her parents’ concerns and the criticism from other uncles, she persisted. Gripping the fingerboard until her fingers became calloused, pulling the bow until her wrist ached.

She vowed to visit her uncle, who perished during the war, and leave behind the most perfect requiem.

She heard that her uncle’s remains rested in the Krasylopf National Cemetery.

And in Krasylopf, there was the continent’s finest prestigious music academy.

Her enrollment in the University of Sanzk was nothing short of destiny.

So, she would not give up. Never, ever.

Esidus wiped away her tears, stood up, and left the concert hall.

Today’s class counted as an unauthorized absence, but she had plenty of space to practice at home.

I will never give up.

“Instruments are the bridge connecting people…”

Never.

*

“Mord.”

“What.”

“You can stop now.”

“…What?”

Ivan quietly spoke as he looked at the numerous pieces of torn fabric that Mord had scattered around.

“While you were volunteering at my orphanage, the financial losses of the orphanage significantly increased.”

“…Argh…!”

“Do you know that laundering clothes doesn’t involve tearing them apart but rather the act of cleaning them?”

“Argh….”

Mord bit his lip and avoided Ivan’s gaze.

But he had a retort.

“I… I’ve never done laundry in my entire life!”

“Even someone who has never done laundry in their life could have managed washing a child’s underwear in two months.”

“Argh…!!”

Ignoring the wounded Mord, Ivan moved on.

The plan to keep him detained to monitor the movements of the spies sent by Dronan was now canceled. There was no reason to keep Mord captive once they had information about someone among the “spies sent by Dronan” targeting Esidith’s life. Mord may be a foolish guy, but he sincerely cared about Esidith. He was one of King Einarr’s loyal followers.

For the sake of Esidith’s safety, Mord had to fulfill his role again. After all, he hadn’t enrolled in university to study knightly arts.

His role was Esidith’s guard.

“And as long as Mord is with Esidith, someone will definitely approach him.”

As long as Mord was guarding her, Esidith’s safety was assured. If anyone from Dronan tried to contact Mord to separate him from Esidith, Ivan planned to trace that contact back and eliminate the threat.

With a sad expression, Ivan watched the middle-aged man leaving the orphanage for a while before turning away.

*