Princess – Part 04
Flap.
Lisa snapped a freshly washed shirt against the wind. Drops of water sprayed, dampening her cheeks.
“So white. Pure white. If there’s a better word for it—yeah, it’s just really white!”
She spread the laundry wide in front of her, inspecting its condition. Satisfied, she nodded and hung the coat on the drying pole. She then pulled the rest from the piled-up basket, hanging them one by one—work clothes, undergarments, and everything else.
It was already past noon. The warmth of the day and the fullness from lunch left her feeling a bit languid. Normally, she’d have finished the washing early in the morning, but today she was trying out her homemade laundry liquid—a product she had made with some women from the Seventh District, using natural oils. It took extra effort with all the trips to the well and frequent water changes, but the results made it worthwhile. Everything was so clean.
Above, the sky was a mix of gray and blue. The air gradually warmed, and even just staying still during the day brought beads of sweat to the skin. This was true even in the open, breezy grounds of Atelier Liza.
Once she finished hanging everything, Lisa placed her hands on her hips and stretched her stiff back.
“Excuse me.”
“Ah!” She jumped, startled.
A face peeked through the flapping laundry. A girl with smooth skin, brows furrowed. Lisa didn’t recognize her.
“Wh-What is it?” Lisa asked, flustered.
“Is this Atelier Liza?”
“I-It is.”
The girl nodded and stepped out from behind the laundry.
She was a blonde, blue-eyed girl. Compared to Lisa’s own blonde hair, dulled by the ash from her work, the girl’s was smooth and well-combed, each strand swaying gently in the breeze. Although she had removed her hood, she still wore a heavy cloak that looked uncomfortable in the warm weather, with a simple set of clothes underneath. Standing at roughly the same height as Lisa, she puffed out her chest and crossed her arms, exuding an air of self-importance.
She had great bravado for someone short. Her noble appearance contrasted sharply with her shabby attire, leaving a confusing impression. Her eyes scrutinized Lisa, who instinctively took a step back.
“And you are?” the girl asked.
“I’m Lisa, the assistant here. Uh… are you a customer?”
“Yes. I’d like to meet with the master. Is that all right?”
“Yes, that’s fine—wait, what?!”
As she glanced to the side, she was startled to see a tall, slender figure clad in black standing there.
It was a woman. Lisa had mistaken her for a tree, as the hem of her dress spread out on the ground like roots, trailing through the dirt and gathering dust.
The woman was entirely dressed in black. Her long hair cascaded down like a mass of jet-black snakes, shimmering darkly. She stared at them with unblinking black eyes. Her lips were a sickly shade of dark purple, pressed tightly together. She stood rigidly upright, her thin body resembling dry wood, and wore an eerie, expressionless face that was undeniably unsettling.
“Uh, I-I’ll show you in,” Lisa stammered.
A haughty girl and a quiet woman. The strange combination bewildered Lisa, but she led them both to Luke anyway. The master of Atelier Liza was working in the outbuilding.
“Luke, we have customers,” she called out.
“Just a moment. I’ll be done soon.”
In the forge, Luke sat in front of a long piece of wood, focused on the katana he was crafting. Lost in concentration, he didn’t glance their way. Lisa pulled out a chair from the corner of the forge for their guests and told them to wait. The girl nodded, while the lady remained standing for some reason.
When Lisa returned with tea for the two, she found the girl watching Luke’s work with keen interest. “Here you go,” she offered, presenting the steaming cups, but the girl was too engrossed to notice. The lady accepted her teacup gracefully.
“Ah. Be careful. It’s hot,” Lisa warned.
The lady nodded softly, holding the cup carefully with both hands as she took a gentle sip. For the first time, the muscles in her face shifted. She smiled.
“It’s delicious,” she remarked.
With a perfect smile that embodied beauty itself and a soft voice that gently caressed the ears, Lisa couldn’t help but blush and smile back shyly.
“Lisa, was it?” the girl asked, still fixated on Luke’s hands. Her gaze was serious and intense. “What kind of work is the master doing now?”
“Oh, um. He’s doing the final polish.”
“Final polish?”
“It’s the last stage of polishing. Kudakijizuya to refine the blade’s surface. Nugui to add luster, hadori to polish along the blade’s temper line, and finally, boushinarume to finish the tip. Those four processes comprise the final step of polishing the katana. Right now, Luke is on the last one, the boushinarume.”
Luke placed a hazuya stone on a specially designed block of wood called a narume-dai and began to carefully polish the sword’s tip. The precise sounds of his labor quietly filled the forge.
As he had mentioned, he was nearing the end of his work when Lisa and the others had peeked in. Soon, Luke took out a polishing rod and engraved several lines at the tip of the blade, on the ridge side. He held the sword up to inspect it, running his fingers along the surface. He exhaled.
Then, with practiced ease, he attached the tang, blade collar, guard, and fittings, before wrapping precious sharkskin around the grip. He hammered in pegs to secure the blade and applied a non-slip wrap to the handle, finishing with reinforcing fittings—completing the tsukaosame. Compared to the beautifully gleaming blade, the guard and handle appeared somewhat simple.
“Normally, he would engrave his signature before mounting the hilt.”
Signatures would be inscribed on the hidden part of the tang. Luke, however, didn’t do this. He wouldn’t name the sword until he achieved the desired weapon. Lisa understood the significance behind that.
Her heart tightened painfully. She never got used to the feeling.
“Are you customers?”
For the first time, Luke turned around, laying the katana on the table. He glanced between the girl with sparkling eyes and the unmoving lady, furrowing his brow. Lisa sensed his irritation.
“From the looks of it, you’re not from around these parts. I take orders for small knives, farming tools, and household items. If that’s not what you’re after, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“This place is cramped,” the girl remarked, glancing around the forge. “Let’s talk outside. And don’t forget the katana.” She stepped outside with the lady.
Lisa and Luke exchanged glances. Luke raised his right eyebrow, looking annoyed.
“What’s her deal?” he grouched.
“I thought they were customers.”
Sighing, Luke took the sword in hand and stood up.
Outside, on the grass where the wind blew beneath the split sky, the four of them faced each other. Luke and Lisa stood opposite the girl and the lady. Under the tense atmosphere, Lisa anxiously glanced back and forth between both parties.
The girl crossed her arms with an air of arrogance. “My name is Charlotte E. Firobisher.”
Luke’s right eye widened slightly. “Did you say ‘E’?”
Charlotte’s lips twisted into a grin. “I’d like to test your skills first,” she said, raising her right arm to the side. “Come, Evadne.”
Gently, the woman—Evadne—took her hand.
“Unshackle from slumber. Cloak yourself in darkness. Bring forth the end.”
Lisa clamped a hand over her mouth in shock. A familiar incantation.
“Slay God.”
From beneath Evadne’s feet, darkness erupted, swirling upward like black flames. The edges of her dress dissolved, the dark tendrils climbing her body until they engulfed her completely. The shadows twisted up Charlotte’s outstretched arm, forming a towering black pillar.
“An Infernal Blade,” Luke scoffed. There was both scorn and awe in his voice.
Charlotte’s grin widened. “Yes. This is the Infernal Blade Evadne.”
The black pillar expanded briefly before exploding outward in a flash of light and a powerful shockwave. Lisa stumbled back, falling to the ground. As she groaned and sat up, she saw it.
It danced. The blackness danced.
“A flamberge.”
The dark flames swirled around Charlotte, tracing arcs in the air as they wrapped around her. She shifted the heavy sword that had materialized in her right hand into both hands. It was a double-edged longsword, but its silhouette was unusual—wavy, like undulating flames, mirroring the flow of Evadne’s hair.
Even with her limited knowledge, Lisa recognized the sword type. A flamberge. More commonly used as an ornamental piece in ceremonies than in actual combat. In the post-war era, it was little more than a decorative relic.
“I’m warning you: don’t underestimate the sharpness of a flamberge,” Charlotte said softly, running her fingers along the flaming blade. “Its jagged edge tears through flesh, and the fire sears the wounds.”
She gave the blade a light sweep. The black flames rippled through the air, pulsating as if alive. She had the flames at her command.
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