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Traveler – Part 04

Before her was a young man with golden hair flowing in the winter breeze, narrowed green eyes, and exquisitely handsome features. His beauty was as otherworldly as some mythological figure. He scrutinized her face closely, his face tinged with a touch of bitterness.

Dazzling, he seemed to have stepped out of a dream world, his rugged khaki uniform a disguise of some sorts.

“Oh, Grevil, is that you?” Jacqueline asked, surprised.

A crying Marion and a pale-faced Luigi rushed over, throwing their arms around Jacqueline. Calming them down, Jacqueline turned her attention back to the young man in military attire—Grevil de Blois. An odd, handsome young prince, freed from the curse cast by the little witch.

Frowning, Grevil swept his golden hair back with his right hand. “Is there something wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Um, your outfit… So you really did volunteer for the Free Sauville Army?”

“Yeah. I left my father’s side, escaped from the shackles of the past, and decided to live on my own. This is the first step…” Grevil raised both hands proudly.

Jacqueline, Marion, and Luigi fixed their gazes on Grevil’s left arm. No one said anything.

Noticing the strange stares, Grevil looked at his left arm. It had broken when he rolled on the street, bent in an awkward direction.

Jacqueline, coming back to her senses, shrieked. Marion, astonished, kept silent.

Luigi, representing the group, solemnly stated, “Your arm looks broken, man.”

Grevil’s expression soured further. In a calm yet slightly trembling voice, he replied, “Ah, it would seem so.”

“And in case you haven’t noticed, your leg’s looking weird too. Look, it’s dangling.”

“Huh? I see. I have to admit, you’re right.”

Another military truck carrying soldiers passed by as the childhood friends stared at each other, one looking shocked, the other wearing a face twisted in displeasure.

---

“So that beautiful little girl was your sister?”

Later that evening.

On the top floor of Saubreme’s largest hospital, Grevil lay on a spacious bed, wearing a thoroughly displeased expression. Casts fixed his leg and arm firmly in place. His brand-new military uniform had long been replaced by a white nightgown.

Young nurses gathered around, giggling as they peered in. Despite Grevil’s disapproval, Jacqueline regularly allowed the nurses entry, filling the private room with a clutter of gifts—flowers, records, alcohol.

“A lot happened. Because I defied my father’s orders and let my sister escape, I could no longer stay in the Ministry. So, trying to get a fresh start, to step forward on my own, I headed to city hall this morning, and in an ironic twist of fate, I ended up with a broken arm and leg.”

“It’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

Seeing Jacqueline genuinely crestfallen, Grevil turned his face away, saying, “Protecting an old friend is a gentleman’s duty. Jacqueline, you’ve probably already forgotten. Right before Christmas two years ago…”

“No, I remember.”

Grevil snickered. “On that snowy day, you were a strange white queen, and I was dressed even more oddly as a rook. We were wearing cardboard tiaras and boxes made by students at the academy.”

Jacqueline chuckled softly. “Those were good times. It feels like a long time ago, when the war hadn’t started yet. When the kingdom was at peace.”

“Don’t worry. Peace will come again,” Grevil said in a gentle tone.

Jacqueline raised her head with a start. Then slowly, Grevil put on a smile as bright as the sun, a smile that she secretly adored when they were younger.

“You’re right,” she said.

“I wonder, though…”

Resting his chin in his hand, Grevil gazed outside with a melancholic expression.

Anti-aircraft balloons floated in Saubreme’s overcast skies. Planes roared as they flew by. A faint light softly spilled onto the city through the rifts in the clouds.

Golden hair rippled, creating a divine halo around Grevil’s face. Jacqueline observed with a mix of amazement and nostalgia, remembering his past reputation as a beautiful youth rumored to enchant the hearts of even noblewomen in high society.

“Will my sister survive?” he muttered to himself, letting out a deep, sweet sigh.

Birds chirped. Gray clouds hung high in the skies.

Anti-aircraft balloons floated above like jellyfish adrift at sea.

---

“Sans Dieu. A world without gods is coming,” Brian Roscoe muttered low.

Victorique, together with Brian, ambled down the narrow corridor towards the second-class cabins of the ship. The vessel, recently boarded, buzzed with activity, and as one would expect from a ship bound for the Far East, among the large Westerners were people with jet-black hair and black eyes, citizens of their destination.

Carrying minimal luggage, the tall red-haired man and the small girl attracted attention on the ship. The girl’s cheeks matched the paleness of her dress, and with each step, her thin frame tottered. The man, too, appeared unnaturally pale, keeping his head down.

“As you head to the New World,” Brian continued, “the Old World will be besieged by modern weaponry: flamethrowers, rocket artillery, tanks, and mass-killing chemical weapons, erasing all traces of ancient magic. This place, too, will transform into a new world—a mundane place void of gods, mysteries, and creatures like us who walk the night.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Victorique asked, her voice weak and lethargic.

“What?”

“You say ‘you’.”

“Hmm…”

“Why don’t you ever say ‘we’? I thought we were going to the New World together.”

Brian Roscoe said nothing.

Suddenly, men in khaki uniforms from the Free Sauville Army rushed down the corridor. From their conversation, they were inspecting all the ships just before departure. Suspicion marked their faces as they glanced at Victorique and Brian. As they passed by, Brian wobbled, leaning against the wall. The soldiers observed him closely.

Under the influence of drugs, Victorique rested against the wall, watching the scene vacantly. Brian, too, seemed incapacitated, struggling to move for some unknown reason, despite being fine moments ago. The soldiers continued their scrutiny.

Victorique, gifted with astounding intellect but lacking in instinctual self-preservation, watched the unfolding crisis with wide green eyes, devoid of panic or fear.

Then, a sudden thought crossed her mind: what would he do in this situation?

Recalling the face of the boy with black hair and eyes, she pondered, That’s right. Kujou, how would you handle this? Use your wit to save Brian and also value your own life, right? You, the third son of an Imperial soldier, a fearsome plebeian, and a mediocre prodigy with a small, pumpkin-shaped head. Hehe, did I hit the mark?

Such thoughts swirled behind her cold, impassive façade.

She approached Brian. Despite the awkward, mechanical movement, likely due to unfamiliarity, she managed to convey concern through her expression and actions.

“Big brother, are you okay? You must have gotten motion sick from the car ride.”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Now, let me lend you my shoulder.”

Leaning on Victorique for support, Brian walked unsteadily. The soldiers, their suspicions allayed, briefly observed the pair before continuing down the corridor.

Brian’s shoulders were shaking. He was chuckling softly.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“That was creepy as hell, squirt.”

Glancing at him sourly, Victorique noticed Brian’s terrible complexion. Despite the cold winter day, sweat dripped from his forehead.

Victorique turned away. “Hmph. Is it wrong to act?”

Brian kept chuckling.

Victorique addressed Kazuya in her thoughts. I see. I understand now, Kujou… In this way, little by little, I am becoming like you. A faint smile played on her lips. When we first met, I was nothing more than a mechanical doll, a weapon of the occult kept in the secret armory that was Saint Marguerite Academy. Victorique de Blois, oblivious to human emotions, cold as ice. And you found me. A lot of things have happened since then. Kujou, you always fought to protect me, but in being protected by you, I also gained strength.

Her surroundings gently swayed along with the waves.

And even when alone, that strength persists.

She touched the gold coin pendant swinging at her chest. It was bone-chillingly cold.

Victorique glanced at Brian’s profile. He still appeared distressed.

“Are you injured somewhere?” she asked.

“No, it’s not that,” Brian shook his head and fell silent.

The ship’s whistle blared, echoing deafeningly.

They stumbled into a small second-class cabin. A small window offered a glimpse of the deep blue sea as the ship left the port and sailed into open waters.

Despite her weariness, Victorique managed to lay Brian on one of the beds. She stretched to turn the faucet at the washstand and filled a cup with water, handing it to him. Brian, shaking, drank the water in one gulp, then gazed outside the porthole with a troubled expression.

Waves roared, and the floor swayed.