Princess – Part 11
“My mother was just a commoner who caught the emperor’s eye by chance, received his affection by chance, and gave birth to me by chance.”
“The emperor kept my mother and me a secret from the royal family for eight years,” she continued indifferently. “But eventually, the truth came out, likely exposed by one of his other wives. My mother and I were banished from the Imperial City. Out of guilt, pity, or maybe some lingering affection, the emperor gave us money. But I was more grateful for the attendants he assigned to us than the gold. They’re good people, and I’m thankful for them.”
By “attendants,” she likely meant Doris, Margot, and Penelope. The girls continued organizing in silence.
“I received extensive training in etiquette from Penelope, swordsmanship from Doris, and lessons in ladylike behavior from Margot. Life was hard, but my demeanor is fitting for my station now.”
“Where’s your mother now?”
“She passed away a year ago.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s just small talk. Nothing to worry about. You must have your own burdens too, working at a smithy at your age.”
Lisa couldn’t possibly tell her that she was a demon. If she spoke too freely, Luke would give her an earful.
“Why are you after the Infernal Blade and Luke, then? It sounds to me like the Empire is an enemy. Why go after something that benefits them?”
“It’s true that I feel anger, and I hate them. But my personal grievances are of no importance,” Charlotte said, running her fingers over the cold surface of the armor. “I want to restore my mother’s honor. That is my only wish.”
“…”
“A man told me that the Empire seeks the Infernal Blade and the blacksmith, both of which are in this city. That if I offered them to the Emperor, I’d be acknowledged and eventually welcomed into royalty. My mother was picked up like a toy and discarded just as easily. In her final moments, she was pitifully thin, passing away as if she were simply tired and falling asleep. What was my mother’s life worth? I want to give it meaning. I want to find value in her giving me life. By being recognized by the Emperor, I can honor her.”
Speechless, Lisa could only stare at Charlotte’s profile. The way her lips pressed together revealed her noble intent and strong will. All of this was for her mother.
Though Charlotte’s actions and plans were difficult for Lisa to accept, she couldn’t help but respect the emotions concealed within that small frame.
“Though in the end, I found myself relying on the Empire’s name. I never thought such a aggressive negotiation would succeed. I hoped it might serve as a starting point for future negotiations, something that could benefit the Empire down the line. Initially, my goal was to seize the sword, but that can’t be helped now. My only hope rests on the treasured sword.”
“You mean the small sword that signifies royal lineage?”
“Yes. The Emperor gave it to me when my mother passed away. It was likely his way of honoring her memory. Once the treasured sword is verified, I believe the Empire will take us in. I don’t know what will happen afterward, but perhaps the Emperor granted me that sword for this very moment.”
Lisa noticed Margot and Penelope watching Charlotte, their eyes filled with worry for their mistress.
“I don’t know what will happen afterward.”
Either she would be celebrated for creating an opportunity for future negotiations or punished for acting independently. From what she just said, there seemed to be little hope.
What a strong person.
A sliver of hope to fulfill her wish. The Empire might help her or abandon her. It was a faint prospect, but Charlotte E. Firobisher had taken a chance.
Charlotte embraced the name ‘E,’ symbolizing her right to the throne, because she believed in it. She trusted that the Empire, that the Emperor, would save her. It was a reflection of her faith in her own bloodline.
How much anxiety was hidden in that small body of hers? And where did she find the strength to believe in such a fragile future?
Gently, Lisa placed her hand on Charlotte’s. She turned to look at her, blinking in confusion.
Lisa smiled softly. “I pray for the best outcome—not to God, but to your beloved mother.”
Charlotte smiled in return. “Thank you. You’re a good woman.”
“Hehe.”
“Good girl.”
“Are you treating me like a child?”
“Aren’t you a child?”
“S-So are you!”
“What did you say? Are you mocking me?!”
The two started bickering. Given the topic, it was nothing more than a petty squabble, like something girls their age would do. Margot and Penelope finally relaxed.
Meanwhile, outside the storage room, Cecily was leaning against the wall by the entrance, arms crossed. She had finished Fio’s errand a while ago but still stood there, eyes closed, thinking about Charlotte’s past.
Everyone had their reason to fight, reason to protect people, something they couldn’t relinquish no matter what.
This is getting complicated.
It was becoming harder to hate her. Chuckling, Cecily stepped into the storage room.
“Oh, you’re back—ah!” Lisa shrieked the moment she saw her. “Cecily? There’s blood on your hand!”
“Hmm? Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s just Luke’s blood.”
“That doesn’t make it better!”
The Third District government office’s dungeon was a dim, cold space faintly lit by jewel steel lamps. The floor, walls, and ceiling were all covered with square stone tiles, while bars sectioned off the cells, each holding its own criminals.
Inside one of these cells was a lady in black.
Among the four Infernal Blades retrieved after the incident, Evadne was the only one with a will of her own. She was kept here for now, while the other three swords were stored in a separate cell. An Infernal Blade could do nothing without a wielder, and Evadne was no different. She remained motionless.
The prison was quiet. There were no windows to let in light from outside or circulate the air. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and soon, a figure appeared before Evadne’s cell. She turned to face her visitor.
“I need to ask you something,” Aria said, gazing tensely at her kind through the iron bars.
“What exactly are Infernal Blades?”
Evadne’s eyes were calm and emotionless.
“I never knew there were others like me. I’ve wandered for so long, thinking I was the only one. But today, I found you. And not just you—three others. But unlike us, they can’t take human form. Why? What makes us different? Are there more of us out there? Please, tell me.” Aria grasped the bars and leaned in closer. “I want to know my roots.”
“Infernal Blades are demons,” Evadne replied coolly, her monotonous voice echoing like a whisper through the underground prison. “Demons are born through contracts. That is the Demon Pact.”
“I know that. But I’m asking why Infernal Blade demons are born. Do you know? Or don’t you?”
“Why was I born?”
Aria fell silent, watching as Evadne’s lips moved in a mechanical rhythm.
“If this is my fate, then why was I ever brought into this world?”
“…”
“The hatred a contractor feels for their creator—God—when forming a contract is what gives birth to Infernal Blades.”
Demon Pacts are completed by reciting the death spell engraved on one’s heart. In doing so, a part of the body is sacrificed, feeding the Aetheria in the air. This is how demons are born.
To become an Infernal Blade, a few conditions had to be met: the death spell, flesh, Aetheria, and one more thing.
“Why did you create me? Why did you make Demon Pacts? If I hadn’t been born, if there had been no such thing as pacts, I wouldn’t have to suffer this painful torment. I hate you, God.”
Evadne recited the curses flatly, voicing the feelings of others. Her words dripped with a loathing aimed at an extraordinary being. She was saying that the other requirement for the birth of an Infernal Blade was the contractor’s hatred for God.
Aria’s hands on the bars began to tremble. “So… we’re just embodiments of hatred?”
“Yes. You and I are the physical manifestations of negative emotions. Our blades symbolize hostility and hatred toward God.”
Things started to click. Aria finally understood the meaning behind the incantation that transformed her into a sword. The incantation had been with her since birth, and she had always recited it without much thought.
“Slay God.”
She was born to kill God. Literally.
“And the intensity of that hatred creates the differences among Infernal Blades. Ordinary Infernal Blades don’t speak, walk, or eat. But you and I are different. We speak, walk, and eat because your hatred is profound, waiting patiently for the right moment—transforming into humanoid Infernal Blades and acquiring names.”
Aria had stopped listening. Her body shook uncontrollably.
She stared at her palm. Was this hand, this body, this blade, made from hatred? A puppet that contained feelings directed at something that might not even exist, neither human nor non-human. Was that her?
“That’s absurd.”
A bitter smile crept onto her face. It felt utterly ridiculous. Hatred for God? So stupid.
Evadne’s gaze remained unchanged, deep and dark.
A dry laugh escaped Aria’s lips. “Where is God anyway? There’s no point in hating a fictional being. And now we have to suffer—”
“You must have an inkling. At least, you feel it.”
She knew.
“The direction of that hatred.”
Evadne had hit the mark.
Aria slowly lifted her gaze, turning it toward a specific direction. Before her stood a silent stone wall, but her eyes were fixated on what lay beyond. A volcano spewing ash.
The trembling wouldn’t stop.
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