3 bar menu

The Black Female Warrior Races Through – Part 05

A winter bird chirped. Melting snow on the iron bench, the branches, the small roof of the gazebos, glittered in a dazzling silver hue. Joyful voices of students rolled in from the distance.

Avril blinked. “Wait, what?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. Well within expectations, of course. I didn’t even need to reconstruct the fragments of chaos to know. You’re a good person, but unfortunately dumb. Fine.”

“Why are you acting all high and mighty? Do I need to remind you that you’re stuck in a hole?”

Victorique’s icy expression, almost unchanging throughout the conversation, shifted slightly.

“If you know that, then help me already.”

“Only if you explain it to me. Why was the Moscow Station in Leningrad? That’s just weird. Leningrad is not Moscow. It’s as strange as having the Saubreme Station in London.”

“It’s actually not that strange,” Victorique replied with a yawn. The bright red petals of her floral crown rippled gently in the winter wind. “You see, in Russia, they refer to the station in Moscow as Leningrad Station because trains bound for Leningrad depart from there. Conversely, in the city of Leningrad, there is a station called Moscow Station where trains bound for Moscow depart. It’s obvious to the Russian people, but it confuses foreign visitors. I knew about this, so as soon as that pointy-headed Grevil started speaking, I immediately understood.”

“Understood what?”

“The doll maker’s son fell down the stairs and died in the early afternoon. On the other hand, the doll maker left Leningrad in the morning and was scheduled to arrive in Moscow in the evening. He passed away at Moscow Station. But remember, Moscow Station is actually in Leningrad. Therefore, we can estimate his time of death to be around morning.”

“So that means Grafenstein died before his son,” Avril concluded, brandishing her bow.

“That’s right.” Nodding, Victorique put the pipe back in her mouth and took a puff. “In short, the doll maker’s granddaughter was the rightful heir, not his younger brother. As soon as he realized this, Mr. Pointy Head quickly shaped his hair according to my instructions and left in a hurry.”

“What happened next?”

“All of Grafenstein’s dolls became the granddaughter’s possessions. As a token of gratitude, she gifted the doll maker’s final creation to Mr. Pointy Head. Surprisingly, he loved it, and so he became a doll enthusiast. He started buying expensive dolls worth entire mansions at Saubreme’s auctions, then put them on display on the shelf in his office.”

“I see. And that’s the doll he always carries around with him.”

“Yes. And as for the granddaughter, I heard she was a shy and very quiet woman. She had been assisting her father with her grandfather’s work from a young age and had a genuine love for his creations. Eventually, she managed to gather enough funds to open a small museum in Saubreme. The museum showcases the lovely and sorrowful dolls modeled after Grafenstein’s late lover, jewels embedded in their eyes, whispering sweetly from beyond the grave. Anyone who visits the museum can admire those priceless masterpieces.”

“Wow. So she worked hard to preserve her grandfather’s legacy. That’s incredible.”

“Indeed. That farmwoman once described her as a little warrior, someone with a quiet demeanor but a passionate flame burning within her heart.”

“I see…” Wearing a faraway look, Avril gazed up at the clear, bright winter sky. “Fighting isn’t just about wielding bows and swords. Hmm. I wonder if one day I can do something for my grandfather too. Like sharing the thrilling adventurers of the world’s greatest adventurer, Sir Bradley.”

“I forgot. You’re a grandfather’s girl, too.” Victorique set her pipe aside. “Now, then.”

“Oh! That’s right!”

Glancing at Victorique, Avril instinctively reached out and began pulling her little friend out of the hole.

On the count of three, Victorique emerged from the hole, falling face-first onto the snow from the momentum.

“That hurt…” she muttered on the verge of tears.

“No, it doesn’t!” Avril denied. “The snow cushioned your fall. Stop being so dramatic. We’re already fifteen years old.”

“I’m still fourteen… No, wait. I’m turning fifteen soon. Huh…”

“What is it this time?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Hmm?” Avril inclined her head curiously, then picked up her bow and stretched.

The snow sparkled. It was a fine and pleasant day, perfect for a game of human chess. The sun shone with the ideal brightness for a winter festivity. The jolly voices of students resounded in the distance.

A day without a hint of shade. Almost like the calm before the storm. Like a flash of lightning, blinding but gone in an instant.

“I’m so fired up today,” Avril casually remarked. “So is everyone else. Oh, by the way, Grandma called me and my cousin Frannie on the phone and insisted that we come back home as soon as winter break starts. She was unusually persistent. My roommate apparently also received a similar order from her father, to not waste any time and return quickly to their home with her brother. Other students were also told the same. I wonder why.”

“…”

“That’s probably why everyone’s wilder than normal today.”

“Hmm…”

Victorique placed the pipe back in her mouth and exhaled smoke slowly.

Her red satin dress stood out amidst the black-and-white winter garden, a small anomaly that glimmered strangely, like a distortion in the fabric of space-time.

She resembled a giant rose that bloomed out of season, fallen from the dark skeletal branches.

A subtle tension flickered across her cold face.

“That, too, is another fragment of chaos. I see. Students of St. Marguerite Academy are hurrying back home.”

“Yeah, everyone is. Kinda weird, huh?”

“Certainly. And their guardians are either nobles or political and business moguls.”

“What about it?”

“…Nothing.” Victorique shook her head slowly, dismissing the matter.

“Okay,” Avril said cheerfully, adjusting the bow on her back and tying the laces on her boots.

Then, she bolted away along the snowy path towards the yard in front of the school building, where the human chess tournament was taking place.

“See you later, bossy little wolf!”

“Don’t shoot yourself in the head, farting newt! Oh, by the way.”

“Hmm, what is it?”

Avril stopped, turned around, and cocked her head with a smile. Her short blonde hair glistened under the bright sun. Her slender legs, resembling those of a deer, extended from her medieval warrior’s outfit. The bow on her back looked like a lovely bard’s harp. Her smile exuded energy and genuine joy.

Victorique’s face darkened slightly as she chose her words carefully. “Enjoy this day to the fullest. Run around in the yard with everyone.”

“Okay!”

“And when tomorrow comes… No, tonight you pack your things. Don’t forget Sir Bradley’s heirloom, the Penny Black. Follow your grandmother’s instructions and leave the academy immediately. Take a train from the village station, meet up with your cousin Frannie, then go as far away as possible.”

“Go far away? What’s all this about?”

“Oh, right. You’re going home for the holidays. Return to your precious family and stay safe with your grandmother.”

“I will. But what about you? Winter break is short, but are you going somewhere?”

Once again, Victorique’s expression clouded slightly.

“No. I’m staying here,” she replied in a chilled tone. Her low, raspy voice remained steady and calm. “Like a ghost that has haunted this place for a hundred years.”

“I-I see. Okay, then. I’ll see you after the break! Goodbye, little Gray Wolf!”

“…Bye.”

Avril waved her hands and took off.

Victorique stood stock still for a while. Then, she raised a small hand and gave a slight wave to Avril’s retreating figure. A silent farewell to a friend.

A faint shadow, like wisps of smoke, lingered on her face.

“I hope my worries are unfounded,” she murmured softly. “The children of Sauville’s nobility all returning home tomorrow. The businessman and his son coming to a snowy village from Saubreme. Come to think of it, no incidents occurred today, and there was no particular reason for my brother to be here, yet he came so early in the morning.”

Clumps of snow fell, gleaming silver under the sun. The gardens were wrapped in a blinding, otherworldly light.

It felt like witnessing a beautiful and distant daydream with eyes wide open.

“Am I overthinking it?” Victorique murmured once more. “I hope so. There are not enough fragments of chaos. I still need more!”

From above, it appeared as if a lone crimson flower had fallen in the middle of the snowy, black-and-white St. Marguerite Academy.

Victorique de Blois, a Gray Wolf, stood alone in the middle of the monochromatic world.

Faint voices of students enjoying themselves rang high in the distance, like ghostly voices echoing from the joyful days of the past.

A chilly wind blew, gently carrying the voices away to some distant place.

And thus ends the third event of the day.