Chapter 2
As they approached the Emlyn Mountain Range, which bordered the desolate barbarian lands to the north of Amast, Tristan raised his hand.
When his black horse, Kaiser, came to a halt, the twenty knights following behind pulled their reins as well.
The knight captain, Simon, rode up beside Tristan. Tristan, clad in silver armor, gave a slight nod and pointed toward the mountain.
“They spring up from beneath the earth. From here on, we move on foot.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
When Simon stopped short of saying something, Tristan turned his gaze toward him.
“What is it?”
“It is strange for the Dedrin to cross the border during a season when food is plentiful.”
“Indeed.”
With those words, Tristan leaped down from Kaiser. He whispered something into Kaiser’s ear, and the horse, understanding, led the other horses into hiding.
It was around the time Tristan’s party began climbing the mountain. Suddenly, he stopped.
Something was wrong. He couldn’t feel the presence of the enemy anywhere.
Sticking the Holy Sword of Amast into the ground, he dropped down onto one knee.
—Zzzzzing
After the ringing cry of the Holy Sword echoed, Tristan stood up.
There was no sign of them anywhere beneath the earth.
Soon after, his sharp, red eyes turned toward Simon.
“They aren’t here. What is the meaning of this?!”
“The beacon tower at Emlyn sent out a warrior team.”
They had ridden a full day to reach Emlyn. Yet there was no trace of an invasion. Could someone really have been brave enough to falsely summon the Grand Duke of Amast and his knighthood?
Visibly displeased, Tristan sheathed his Holy Sword and stepped back down the mountain.
“Find out whose doing this is. If they lured me all the way out here, they surely had an intention.”
It was already too late at night to turn around and ride back for another day, so they entered the Emlyn military base. Upon seeing their king, Tristan, and his party arrive, the soldiers guarding the base were terrified and rushed forward.
“Your Grace, what brings you here?”
Dismounting indifferently, Tristan lied that they were in the middle of training and stated they would be staying for the night.
Because the enemy could launch an attack during the night, Tristan did not take off his armor, entering his tent and lying down on the bed instead.
Though his eyes were closed, his thoughts drifted toward the south.
“Hmph. Have I gone mad?”
At the end of those words, he let out a short, scoffing laugh. Gripping the Holy Sword tightly in his hand, he sat up briefly before lying back down and forcing his eyes shut.
In just one month, will I be holding Chloe Montfier in my arms? My bride, whose face I don’t even know?
With the wedding just a month away, even he—a man who had zero interest in women—found himself tossing and turning at night from time to time.
Chloe Montfier.
From what he had heard, she was an absolute tomboy. Completely different from the daughters of noble families who put on airs of high dignity and elegance.
Once, when his secretary Romero brought him a gossip sheet—the kind women secretly read written on parchment—Tristan had crumpled the paper up after reading it.
Of course, he knew that the contents of gossip rags were entirely fictitious. After all, they spewed countless rumors about him having a scar on his face, limping, or having a disabled arm.
Even so, it had been quite a shock for a knight who was supposed to marry this woman once in his lifetime.
[The Ugliest Woman in the World, Chloe Montfier]
The article concluded that there was no uglier woman on earth, and that she covered her face whenever she walked around Montfier Castle because she was so hideously unattractive.
Thinking back on it, Tristan chuckled to himself.
“So, just how ugly is Chloe Montfier?”
Does she have the natural Montfier golden hair, but—just like in the article—a flat chest, a square butt, and broad shoulders? Rough skin and a hideous face with hair like straw?
He rolled over onto his back again. Even while entertaining such ridiculous thoughts, he acknowledged that he had no other choice. A woman was merely a means to continue his lineage, nothing more.
The woman of Tristan Stark, who possessed the sacred blood of Amast, was not chosen by him, but determined by divine oracle. Before Chloe Montfier was even born, the oracle had already been delivered: Take the daughter of Duke Montfier as your wife.
If Tristan were to mix his body with another woman and bear a child, the sacredness of his blood would vanish that very instant. His power, his holiness—and even God himself would turn his back on him.
Accepting it as his fate, Tristan fortunately had no desire for women, so it had never been a problem. Whether she was ugly or not, he simply had a woman he was to marry soon, and that was all.
Closing his thoughts on the “ugly Chloe” for the moment, Tristan fell asleep.
For the first time in a long while, he had a dream.
He saw Montfier Castle. The castle, which should have been overflowing with roses, reeked heavily of blood. Instead of the flag bearing the dolphin crest of Montfier, two severed heads were impaled on iron pikes.
They were the heads of Duke Montfier and the Duchess.
He saw the Emperor’s army. Soldiers wildly brandishing their swords slaughtered everything in sight, as if intending to kill every living thing inside Montfier Castle.
An old man collapsed; a woman beside him fell. As blood spurted toward the sky, soldiers marched forward, stepping over the corpses.
‘That’s…!’
Even though it was a dream, he couldn’t comprehend it. Soldiers wearing armor engraved with the gray wolf seal of Amast were participating in the slaughter. A groan escaped the sleeping Tristan’s lips.
More cruelly than the Emperor’s soldiers, his own troops swung their swords.
Yet, while the armor belonged to Amast, the faces wearing it were not people he knew.
What kind of dream is this?
What in the world am I dreaming right now?
Far off in the distance, atop a spire, he caught sight of golden hair fluttering like a flag.
Is that woman… my fiancée?
From then on, he couldn’t seem to reach her. His eyes could no longer see her up close. All he could see was that golden hair, shining brilliantly even in the pitch-black night.
After clashing swords with six soldiers, a blade was plunged into her side. And then, again, and again. The woman’s knees sank to the floor. He could see her lifting her head as she staggered.
“Chloe.”
Frowning in his sleep, he called out her name.
The woman pushed herself up off the ground, swung her sword, and brought down a few soldiers. But that was short-lived; several arrows struck her body sharply.
“Chloe…”
His sleeping hand reached out into the empty air.
Staggering backward, the woman took a step back and plunged a thousand feet down from the spire into the ocean.
The impact of her falling into the sea transferred entirely to Tristan.
“Ugh!”
Gasping, his hand clutched at his chest as he opened his eyes, his face distorted in agony. A sudden, overwhelming pain assailed him in every exact spot where she had been stabbed by swords and pierced by arrows. Clenching his teeth through the excruciating agony, he forced himself upright.
Something was wrong.
As his body slowly recovered, he stepped forward. Gripping his sword tightly, he exited the tent.
Soon, the knights who received his summons gathered.
“We are heading to Montfier Castle.”
“Pardon?”
When the knight captain looked at him with wide, startled eyes, Tristan blew a sharp whistle to summon Kaiser.
“We move immediately.”
Struggling to lift her eyelids, Chloe was hit by a wave of unimaginable, crushing pain.
Her cold green eyes blinked, unable to even face the blue sky above.
Skin stinging from contact with salt water.
Nausea-inducing agony.
The pain of iron arrows piercing her body.
The wounds from the sword stabs were torn wide open, bringing on pain so intense that her consciousness faded every time the wind blew.
—Splash, splash…
Seawater crept up against Chloe’s body and receded again and again.
Her ears, which had been buzzing with trapped water, slowly cleared, and disjointed sounds began to filter through.
“—Miss!”
“Lady!”
When someone gently placed a hand on Chloe’s body, she flinched and opened her eyes wide.
“Lady, can you recognize me?”
Chloe gave a slow nod.
It was Redmon, her swordsmanship master.
Behind him, she also saw Mary, whose face was pale with fright.
“…Mary.”
“Sobbing… Miss… I thought you were dead.”
Trembling violently, Mary finally came forward and helped Chloe sit up.
—Cack, cack
From behind them came the clicking sound of webbed feet walking over gravel.
“…Ali.”
Her hawk, Ali, waddled over and rubbed its head against Chloe’s face.
“When I fled outside the castle and made it to Master Redmon’s house, Ali flew in. He broke all the windowpanes. I’ve never seen Ali so agitated. We followed Ali here.”
Chloe painfully raised her hand and stroked Ali’s beak.
Wrapping Chloe’s body in a blanket, Redmon scooped her up in his arms.
“I have sent word to a physician in Maese. Please hold on just a little longer. There will be checkpoints, so I will cover you with straw.”
Redmon poured medicine down Chloe’s throat. Soon, total darkness came rushing in.
