Solena’s Forest – Part 01
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Translator: Kell
Interlude: The World Outside
A little while back.
Holy City of Akdios, the Republic of Cleon.
Not long after the collapse of the tunnel in the Kingdom of Wenias, Saint Faelia received a letter from the Church.
“This is some serious matter. The Knights Templar are requesting the participation of the Saint in an all-out war with the Kingdom of Wenias. The Church’s top brass would love to have you inspire their soldiers with miracles.”
The letter, written in high-quality ink on fine parchment, arrived with the Bishop’s seal. If she rejected the invitation, even the saint would get reprimanded.
Sitting by the window and shaking the letter stuck between his vicious claws, the Hawk Beastfallen Cal flicked his wings open and shut.
“Really? Then I’d better get ready,” Faelia said matter-of-factly as she rose from the soft bed.
“Don’t you get it? They’re telling you to go to war.”
“I know that. I’m not that stupid. But I can’t ignore a letter from His Excellency.”
“You can make up any excuse you want. Tell them you’re sick or something.”
“But if I go, I can help the injured. Isn’t that right? There are a lot of talented doctors in Akdios, but I’m sure there’ll be a shortage once a war starts.”
“Still, I can’t agree with this. If they find out that you’re treating the Church’s soldiers, Wenias will do everything they can to kill you.”
“Oh, God, you’re so overprotective.” Pouting, Faelia tucked a strand of pale scarlet hair behind her ear, and extended her hand. “Let me see.”
Due to a miracle she invoked in the past, Faelia’s legs became paralyzed, and she went blind.
Recently, however, her eyesight had been gradually improving. She still couldn’t move without help, but she wanted to see things nonetheless.
She pressed her face to the letter, and let out a groan. “No good. It’s like black lines on a piece of paper to me.”
“Still, it’s a lot better than when you couldn’t see anything. You’re getting better little by little. You should be able to move your legs one day.” Cal sat down beside her.
Faelia reached for Cal’s feathers and stroked it gently. “Lord Torres is in Wenias, isn’t he?”
“Not only him. Bigwigs of neighboring nations have been captured. There are many small countries that are having trouble deciding whether they should side with the Church or the witches.”
In order to determine whether to side with the witches or with the Church, powerful people from various countries attended the founding festival held in Wenias. Ultimately, the Church and Wenias entered into a state of war without them obtaining any information.
Many small countries steered clear of the major nations.
If Saint Faelia answered the Church’s call, it would effectively put the Republic of Cleon on the Church’s side. Would this be in line with Torres’s plans, who was rumored to be the next head of state?
Faelia was not familiar with politics. But she herself was just a Mage who earned the title of Saint.
“Cal, you can fly, right?” she asked.
“Well, I am a bird.”
Faelia smiled. “Then maybe you can go to Wenias?”
“What?!” Cal panicked. “No, no, no! You have no idea how hard it is to fly over mountains! It’s so windy in the skies, and the air currents are so turbulent around mountains. If I’m not careful, I could crash into them.”
“But don’t all birds fly over mountains?
“They’re just good at catching updrafts!”
“So you can’t?”
Cal went silent. The look of disappointment on Faelia’s face made him feel like he was being mean to her.
“I’m sorry for not thinking it through before asking,” she said. “I just thought getting in touch with Lord Torres for a bit would ease my mind.”
At first, Torres disliked Faelia. His gardener and his daughter lost their lives because of the saint.
But once Faelia realized her wrongs and began to behave as a saint—or a Mage skilled with the Chapter of Protection—Torres became her guardian.
She wanted to know if Torres was safe. If she could make contact with him, the information she could obtain from him could determine the future of the Republic of Cleon.
Cal stared at the downcast Faelia and looked at the ceiling. “It’s not really impossible,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m sure the Church will want information on Wenias, and it’s faster and more reliable for me to fly than to cross the mountain on foot.”
“But you said it was dangerous.”
“Not as dangerous as charging into a burning mansion to save a certain someone. If you were a little lighter, maybe we wouldn’t have crashed.” Cal laughed.
Faelia pouted like a child. “You meanie!”
Later that day, Cal flew to the Kingdom of Wenias. He could see many things clearly from the skies.
The Knights Templar surrounding the kingdom totaled eighty thousand.
Plenty of food would be required to feed that many soldiers, but the large number of knights that the Church dispatched to end the battle quickly were not prepared for a long war.
Despite the need to clear out the tunnels as fast as possible, the knights, proud as they were, insisted they could not do the job of miners. It was necessary, then, to hire people from neighboring countries to dig out the tunnels, which in turn would require more food.
Of course, the Church had money and donations from the people. The frontliners would be provided just enough food so they wouldn’t starve, but humans would not be satisfied with mere provisions.
As a result, stores began to gather around the knights’ encampment. Merchants built makeshift houses to sleep in, and inns were built for travelers. This community—it could even be called a village—was called Fulwinesca. It meant witch’s gallows, a fitting name indeed.
Villages had sprung up in all the tunnels. People were making various kinds of equipment to ward off evil in preparation for the upcoming battle with the witches.
Not even a month had passed since the collapse of the tunnels, yet the world was changing at a rapid pace.
On that day, the royal capital of Plasta—no, the entire kingdom of Wenias experienced a tremor.
The night before Zero’s party locked Princess Amnil inside an Etrach.
Just before Thirteenth sent his familiar to communicate the commencement of the operation.
One night, around the time when the town’s bakery was shutting down its oven, the missing prince knocked on the gate of the royal castle in a manner so casual that it was as if he simply went on a little inspection somewhere.
“Your High— I mean, Your Majesty! The king has returned!”
The one who was most surprised about the news was none other than Albus.
How did the prince, who was supposed to be confined by Thirteenth, manage to return? What happened to Thirteenth? If he simply found an opportunity to escape, then they needed to beef up security immediately.
Albus, who was already getting ready for bed, quickly dressed herself—just good enough so she wouldn’t appear disrespectful—and hurried to the office where the prince was waiting.
She sprinted down the long hallway, pushed aside the servants sticking to the door to know what was going on inside, and barged into the “Contemplation Room”—the king’s office, which had not been used since the passing of the previous king.
“Your Highness!” Albus exclaimed.
“That’s Your Majesty to you, Albus,” a voice said in an amused tone. Their figure was out of sight, surrounded by many of his subjects who had rushed ahead of the young lady. “Albus, this way.”
The king’s subjects quickly retreated, and Albus faced the young man head-on. She actually missed him.
“Your Majesty. I’m glad you’re safe. Welcome back…”
As she took a few steps towards the king, Albus suddenly felt a chill run down her spine, and her face froze.
There was a sorcerer near the king. He was the most breathtakingly beautiful man she had ever seen.
His long, waist-length hair was like silver threads, glistening in the moonlight streaming in through the window.
The sorcerer in the reports who was gathering Mages to stage a revolt was said to be a man so beautiful that once you saw him, you would never forget him.
After seeing him, she understood. Anyone who laid eyes on this man would have had the same impression.
Why did the king bring such a sorcerer back to the castle with him? No, there was an even more important issue.
Albus knew the sorcerer. She didn’t need to see the huge staff in his hand. His viscous, creepy, horrifying, hair-raising magical power was more than enough to identify him.
“Why are you here?”
Thirteenth.
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