“Ren, send a message to the informants.”

“Understood.”

As soon as I returned from the tea party, I called for Ren.

Knowing what I was about to say, Ren nodded grimly. Eric, who had accompanied him into the room, also seemed nervous.

“Has it come to that?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Eric was about to say something, but decided against it. After mulling about it, he spoke once again.

“There’s no going back, it seems.”
He stared straight at me, determined to share my fate.

“She’s going to war against Elda.”
Eric’s face twisted at my words.

“Why?”

—Painfully, he spat out those words. It was as if the festering pain within him throbbed once again.

I spent three years rebuilding my territory. However, the house I had been born in, where I had fond memories of my family, remained in ruins.

Every time I was asked, “Aren’t you going to repair it?” I’d just nod, without giving a clear answer. I didn’t understand it myself. Although the idea to rebuild it occurred more than once, in the end, I just couldn’t do it.

I finally understood why.

To not forget, be it what I’d lost or the horrors of war. Humans were forgetful creatures. Hence why I wanted to preserve it so that I would remember.

“Eric, did you know? The Queen’s trusted aides are nothing more than lowlifes who amass their fortunes by smuggling and selling weapons.”

“They’re going to risk so many lives over profit?”

“That’s right.”

Not like they knew any of the victims. Nor would they shed any blood or get their hands dirty.

I looked at my hands. My wretched, bloodstained hands.

Even after three years, I still sometimes dreamed about what happened on the battlefield. Sometimes, I was jolted awake by nightmares in which I was about to be killed. Although the frequency of my nightmares had decreased, that didn’t mean they had disappeared. Surely, I’d continue to be plagued by nightmares for the rest of my life.

—That’s what it means to kill someone.

I had the mercenaries I came across in the battlefield train the people from the slums. Although if possible, I’d like to keep from having them from take up arms.

I know I’m being wishful.

“Do know what a stampede is?”

“It’s a phenomenon where a lot of monsters suddenly appear, right? I’m sure it only happens once every ten years.”

“Correct. The place and time of the outbreak are determined ahead of time, so when that time approaches, the surrounding villages can be evacuate to another location. Many of the evacuated villagers will then earn a living by helping in the vineyards, the specialty of Paides.”

“Certainly, Paides has a lot of vineyards.”

“Yes, and for some reason, the quality of the grapes that can be harvested in the year of a stampede is high. That’s why Paides produce such fine quality wine.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“However, there was a year when the stampede didn’t occur, around five generations ago. As a result, the quality of the grapes remained the same, rendering us unable to produce the once-in-a-decade, high-quality wine. There also wasn’t enough manpower to harvest them, as villagers hadn’t needed to evacuate. In the end, the wine didn’t sell very well. The king of that time lamented it.”

The previous king was an infamous heavy drinker, and was very fond of the high-quality wine.

“Eric, the lives of the people are lighter than wine.”

“…”

Once the war began, the queen and other high-ranking officials would receive letters containing the number of casualties and the progress of the battle on a daily basis.

Yes, at the end of the day, it’s just a number.

For them, the knights and the people who perished in battle weren’t individual with names. Just a number. Therefore, lamenting was simple.

Sending them to their deaths was easy.

---

The final arc is upon us. Read ahead on Patreon~

***T/N: This chapter is truly a calm before the storm.

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