Flowers bloomed abundantly around the Estria Castle. The sky was a clear blue, and pink petals fluttered outside the window. Queen Grace, sitting beside the sleeping Diana, adorned herself with flowers she had picked from the garden. Boaz, who sat quietly beside her, also wore a flower on his necklace.
"Even though my hair styling skills are a mess, I'm still pretty good at arranging flowers. Look, there are so many flowers blooming outside."
The Queen smiled sweetly as she offered flowers to Diana.
“You liked flowers too, didn’t you? Sir Vincent brought some of them to the mansion where you lived.”
She placed a yellow flower in Diana's ear. Her daughter's face was pale and bloodless, but she looked calm and untroubled. "I longed to see this face, yet I pushed it so hard with my greed," she thought. The Queen, who had been looking down at the petals and leaves on her lap, slowly raised her head. She took a letter from her bosom and unfolded it. It was Diana's letter, which Noah had given her before leaving. She had treasured it ever since.
The letter contained a map showing the location of a uranium mine, estimated to be worth a third of the world's production, in a federal state on the New World, next to the United States of Eugene.
This was why Diana had previously advised her to ally herself with the United States of Eugene. It was also likely why Noah Rotsilt had steered Eugene's capitalists into acquiring rights to Frogen bonds and military enterprises. Just how far ahead did they foresee? They were two men of extraordinary foresight, as if they were visionaries who knew the course of the world.
On the last page was a pencil portrait of a woman. It was Queen Grace. Her gleaming green eyes focused on the words written beneath the picture. It was Diana's characteristically crooked, childlike handwriting.
“Great Mother, please look after the children who will live in the next era.”
Judging by the fact that she had prepared this letter, she must have been determined to leave this place. Perhaps she even considered the possibility of her own death. As the Queen was feeling bitter, she saw small birds fluttering outside the window.
The Queen, who had carried her regrets and greed with the small flaps of the birds' wings as they moved away, smiled faintly. It was because she realized why they hadn't tried to drag her down or eliminate her in the name of revenge. What Diana sought to change wasn't the situation before her eyes, but the human heart.
"My child, I've given you a chance to right the wrongs you've committed out of the greed of adults. I'll take responsibility and create a world for you to live in. You'll save many people."
Spring has come, and flowers are blooming in the Frogen capital, Effenberg.
People were so consumed by hunger and harsh reality that they had no time or romanticism left to reflect on it. It was the ordinary citizens who suffered from the prolonged war.
Rather than rebuilding the buildings destroyed by the bombing, all the national funds were poured into new military aircraft, armored vehicles, and aircraft carriers, so there was no way the economy would survive.
With taxes rising to the level of exploitation and prices rising like crazy, it became difficult to even buy a loaf of bread, so many people became soldiers and sold their lives to protect their families from starvation.
Nevertheless, the country continued to spread propaganda about the Emperor's greatness and the advantage he had in winning the war, and the people had no choice but to hold on to their hopes.
A few Eugene Army planes zoomed past in the clear sky. People, perhaps numb to their daily routine or resigned to it, trudged along, unperturbed. Countless pieces of paper fell from the sky, scattering across the streets as if a festival were in progress.
“Don’t pick up the flyers! Don’t read them!”
A soldier's stern voice blared through the loudspeaker. People merely glanced at the propaganda materials scattered on the floor.
"People of Frogen, suffering under the weight of war. Frogen is a war-mad nation that sucks the blood of its people and slaughters innocents. It has no concern or compassion for the collapsing economy and the suffering of its impoverished people. We, the Allied Forces, plan to drop a new type of bomb, powerful enough to destroy a capital, on Effenberg. If you wish to survive, leave for the Allied Forces that will guarantee your lives. There, you will find ample white bread, soup, and wine."
The Peace Coalition, which had adopted a strategy of mobilizing all forces to annihilate its opponents without exception, changed its name to the Negotiation Coalition, and civilians from the conquering allies were also caught up in the bombing and fighting. In the past few months, countless people have died from the shelling that has rained down on the city.
The survivors were relieved to be alive, and the anxiety of not knowing when they would die left them too preoccupied with the possibility of someone else's death. Even when they heard news of someone's death, they simply said, "Oh, God," and became indifferent.
A woman, looking down at the propaganda, pulled back the old scarf on her head and asked her husband.
“A new type of bomb? Is it real?”
“I told you not to read it. It’s all nonsense.”
Her husband snorted, kicking away the propaganda flyers that were clattering under his shoes. He wore a coat of decent fabric, but the sleeves were worn, and the elbows were creased.
"Madam, no nation can match the Frogen's military technology. According to a friend who fought in the last battle, even the new tanks of the New Continent's Eugene are no match for the Frogen tanks. This is all just a plot to confuse the public."
"If we're winning, why isn't the war over yet? I don't understand why everyone is starving and becoming poor."
"Isn't it time we poured our resources into the war? I heard the enemy country is overflowing with starvation, the streets are littered with corpses of the starved, and even nobles and high-ranking politicians are begging. We could at least get rations."
“I heard that this invasion of Medea’s mainland failed. Is it true that we are truly winning?”
"Madam, do you think it's easy to succeed on the first try? They barely managed to defend themselves, so they won't be able to stop them next time. The great Frogen Empire cannot be defeated."
"I wish the war would end, at least for the best. I want to feed my child stew with milk. He's always sick because he can't eat properly... The money I earn working all day at the textile mill isn't enough. After deducting taxes, including war taxes, I actually receive less than half."
"It's money for the country that protects us, so of course we should pay, Madam. Otherwise, we should leave this country."
Is it really what will save us from starving to death?
The woman was more desperate to feed her malnourished child than to craft a powerful weapon. She sighed, her face gloomy. She gently tugged at her husband's sleeve and asked.
"Can't I pick this up and use it to make a fire? Logging is prohibited, so there's nowhere to get firewood to make porridge."
"Would you like me to come and investigate? I'll somehow salvage the wood, so just bear with it. I'll dig it up from the bombed-out house."
The couple hurried along, blending into the crowd. Everyone was headed to the distribution center, where a long line stretched.
A heavy horn blared, and a black, open-topped car appeared. The crowd, gathered like a school of fish, parted like the miracle of the Red Sea. The car stopped near the distribution center, followed by a line of military vehicles carrying soldiers, who then stopped.
“Wow! That’s a nice car. I bet someone of high status is driving it.”
“Julian, let’s take a closer look.”
“It’s so shiny. I want to touch it.”
As several boys loitered around a flashy luxury car, a frowning soldier shouted threats and chased them away.
“How dare you? Don’t touch it with your dirty hands and go away.”
The man in the backseat was a young, handsome colonel, wearing a leather Sam Browne belt and a black uniform with medals and badges. Leaning back against the seat, the elegant man scanned the children with an indifferent gaze.
“This is Colonel Rotsilt.”
“Really? I’ve only heard about him, but he's so young.”
In the eyes of the crowd, he was a heartless man who had pretended to be in exile in an enemy country, killed his wife, the Princess, and returned. Furthermore, he was a member of the imperial family, seventh in line to the throne, riding on the ruthless Emperor's favor. He was bound to be an object of awe. His characteristically cold gaze intimidated most people, making them afraid to even meet his gaze. Noah tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Go towards them and stop them.”
The major sitting in the passenger seat looked at his superior with troubled eyes.
“Colonel, they are still young children. They are very curious at this age, so please understand...”
“What do you understand?”
Noah, his chin raised, raised his eyebrows in discomfort. The driver pulled over toward the children, and what appeared to be their parents bowed to him.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?”
Noah asked in an indifferent tone and gestured towards the children.
“Come here.”
The children who had been loitering around the car approached him hesitantly, looking at his parents and Noah, and politely took off their hats and placed their hands in front of their belly buttons.
“Take a look.”
The children's eyes widened at Noah's words. Though his tone was somewhat gentle, they still thought of him as a formidable and impressive officer. Seeing no response, he stroked his smooth chin and narrowed his eyes.
"You like cars, don't you? Want a ride? First come, first served."
“Me!”
The brave red-haired child jumped up and raised his hands in the air, and his mother, startled, grabbed his arm and pulled him down.
"No, Colonel. I'm sorry. The child is immature. We'll just watch from the sidelines."
“I’ve decided on you, Redhead. I won’t let the rest of you cowards ride.”
As Noah took off his gloves and nodded, the major got out of the car, picked up the child, and put him in the backseat.
A boy with a messy head, wearing cheap cotton clothes like a sack, looked around the car, bewildered. Noah frowned, looking down at the boy's dirty hands.
“Boys don’t wash their hands well.”
The red-haired child's mother fidgeted outside the car, her face terrified. The major looked out and offered her a kind smile.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a lift and come back soon. I’ll be back when you get your rations.”
The major rummaged through his pockets, pulled out a caramel, and handed it to the child. A bright smile appeared on the child's face. The major asked carefully.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Grady.”
"That's a great name. I have a son just like you. He likes cars and tanks."
“I like it too. When I become a soldier, I’ll be a B-200 tank pilot.”
The child popped a piece of caramel into his mouth. It gurgled in his mouth, as if he was saving it for later. Noah, who had taken the caramel shell from the child sitting next to him and handed it to the major, chuckled.
“Your future dream is to be a soldier? You can’t do that.”
“I have to protect my mom. She cries all the time.”
“If you become a soldier, your mother will cry twice as much.”
The child rolled the caramel in his mouth with a gloomy expression and lowered his eyes.
"My father went to war to protect us. I'm going to become a soldier, find him, and ride a tank back home."
“Yeah. You miss him.”
“I don’t want to see him. I hate him for not coming back and making Mom cry.”
As the car picked up speed, the child's mouth fell open slightly. The child's red hair blew excitedly in the wind.
“Wow. Is it that fast?”
"Study hard and build a faster car. You'll make a lot of money. That's true filial piety."
“Yes. I’m third in my class. I was originally fourth, but the person in third place died.”
The major's eyes, reflected in the rearview mirror, drooped sadly at the child's calm voice. Noah, sitting with his legs crossed, tapped his boots.
“If 1st and 2nd place die, you will be 1st.”
“I don’t like that. We’re friends.”
“What a good kid.”
The major sitting in front added a word.
“Colonel, the kids are all good.”
“Even Mastiff was good when he was young.”
The major coughed, recalling the handsome man with a cruel disposition. Noah gestured to the child.
As the child leaned closer, he leaned down and asked.
“Do you like airplanes too?”
“I’m a little scared of planes. Why?”
The child asked cautiously, lowering his voice. Noah nodded.
“If you have a chance to ride next time, ride it. You don’t get that many opportunities.”
"I like the car I'm driving now better. I don't have opportunities like this anymore. My dad said it's important to be content with the present moment."
Noah looked down at the child's flushed cheeks. The Duke of Hessen's son also loved cars. He recalled Daniel holding Diana's hand and smiling, and found himself in that moment, smiling involuntarily. Colorful wildflowers bloomed along the road the car drove along. The red-haired child, who looked like one of the wildflowers, spoke.
“Actually, I miss my dad.”
Noah turned his head to follow the child's gaze and muttered.
“I miss my wife.”
Mastiff, waiting for Noah at the Army Staff Headquarters, frowned as he looked down at his wristwatch.
"It's almost dinner time. Why is this guy who's always been so punctual? He's become so strange."
"You're calling me a bastard, Major Argentino. I think your promotion is over."
At the sound of a voice that sounded stern, Mastiff, which had been turning his chair toward the window, slowly turned his head. Noah plopped down on the sofa where the table was placed.
“Why are you so late? Did you come here after playing?”
“Yeah. I went for a drive.”
A question mark appeared on Mastiff's frozen face. He, too, was one of those who had given up on understanding Noah, so he said nothing.
“Are the executives gathered for today’s banquet the ‘Dawn of Lycanthropes’ who will be participating in this operation?”
"Yes."
“You managed to avoid being caught by the secret police.”
Mastiff chuckled. Those coming to the General Staff's banquet room today were officers and officials with the authority to declare martial law and direct martial law forces, including Commander Rockefeller. Noah sipped the black tea Mastiff had personally prepared for him, savoring its aroma.
"Well, you're still good at tea. There's a subtlety to it that doesn't suit us."
"...Is that a compliment? The plan is being carried out during the Emperor's birthday banquet, and that day will be the day of the Emperor's assassination. To think of leaving a bomb at the banquet hall? I know it'll fail, so why bother hanging out with me?"
At the Mastiff's question, Noah shook his head, slowly shaking his teacup.
“That’s their plan.”
The blue eyes narrowed and rounded.
“That day marks the end of the Frogen Empire.”
"Even though my hair styling skills are a mess, I'm still pretty good at arranging flowers. Look, there are so many flowers blooming outside."
The Queen smiled sweetly as she offered flowers to Diana.
“You liked flowers too, didn’t you? Sir Vincent brought some of them to the mansion where you lived.”
She placed a yellow flower in Diana's ear. Her daughter's face was pale and bloodless, but she looked calm and untroubled. "I longed to see this face, yet I pushed it so hard with my greed," she thought. The Queen, who had been looking down at the petals and leaves on her lap, slowly raised her head. She took a letter from her bosom and unfolded it. It was Diana's letter, which Noah had given her before leaving. She had treasured it ever since.
The letter contained a map showing the location of a uranium mine, estimated to be worth a third of the world's production, in a federal state on the New World, next to the United States of Eugene.
This was why Diana had previously advised her to ally herself with the United States of Eugene. It was also likely why Noah Rotsilt had steered Eugene's capitalists into acquiring rights to Frogen bonds and military enterprises. Just how far ahead did they foresee? They were two men of extraordinary foresight, as if they were visionaries who knew the course of the world.
On the last page was a pencil portrait of a woman. It was Queen Grace. Her gleaming green eyes focused on the words written beneath the picture. It was Diana's characteristically crooked, childlike handwriting.
“Great Mother, please look after the children who will live in the next era.”
Judging by the fact that she had prepared this letter, she must have been determined to leave this place. Perhaps she even considered the possibility of her own death. As the Queen was feeling bitter, she saw small birds fluttering outside the window.
The Queen, who had carried her regrets and greed with the small flaps of the birds' wings as they moved away, smiled faintly. It was because she realized why they hadn't tried to drag her down or eliminate her in the name of revenge. What Diana sought to change wasn't the situation before her eyes, but the human heart.
"My child, I've given you a chance to right the wrongs you've committed out of the greed of adults. I'll take responsibility and create a world for you to live in. You'll save many people."
***
Spring has come, and flowers are blooming in the Frogen capital, Effenberg.
People were so consumed by hunger and harsh reality that they had no time or romanticism left to reflect on it. It was the ordinary citizens who suffered from the prolonged war.
Rather than rebuilding the buildings destroyed by the bombing, all the national funds were poured into new military aircraft, armored vehicles, and aircraft carriers, so there was no way the economy would survive.
With taxes rising to the level of exploitation and prices rising like crazy, it became difficult to even buy a loaf of bread, so many people became soldiers and sold their lives to protect their families from starvation.
Nevertheless, the country continued to spread propaganda about the Emperor's greatness and the advantage he had in winning the war, and the people had no choice but to hold on to their hopes.
A few Eugene Army planes zoomed past in the clear sky. People, perhaps numb to their daily routine or resigned to it, trudged along, unperturbed. Countless pieces of paper fell from the sky, scattering across the streets as if a festival were in progress.
“Don’t pick up the flyers! Don’t read them!”
A soldier's stern voice blared through the loudspeaker. People merely glanced at the propaganda materials scattered on the floor.
"People of Frogen, suffering under the weight of war. Frogen is a war-mad nation that sucks the blood of its people and slaughters innocents. It has no concern or compassion for the collapsing economy and the suffering of its impoverished people. We, the Allied Forces, plan to drop a new type of bomb, powerful enough to destroy a capital, on Effenberg. If you wish to survive, leave for the Allied Forces that will guarantee your lives. There, you will find ample white bread, soup, and wine."
The Peace Coalition, which had adopted a strategy of mobilizing all forces to annihilate its opponents without exception, changed its name to the Negotiation Coalition, and civilians from the conquering allies were also caught up in the bombing and fighting. In the past few months, countless people have died from the shelling that has rained down on the city.
The survivors were relieved to be alive, and the anxiety of not knowing when they would die left them too preoccupied with the possibility of someone else's death. Even when they heard news of someone's death, they simply said, "Oh, God," and became indifferent.
A woman, looking down at the propaganda, pulled back the old scarf on her head and asked her husband.
“A new type of bomb? Is it real?”
“I told you not to read it. It’s all nonsense.”
Her husband snorted, kicking away the propaganda flyers that were clattering under his shoes. He wore a coat of decent fabric, but the sleeves were worn, and the elbows were creased.
"Madam, no nation can match the Frogen's military technology. According to a friend who fought in the last battle, even the new tanks of the New Continent's Eugene are no match for the Frogen tanks. This is all just a plot to confuse the public."
"If we're winning, why isn't the war over yet? I don't understand why everyone is starving and becoming poor."
"Isn't it time we poured our resources into the war? I heard the enemy country is overflowing with starvation, the streets are littered with corpses of the starved, and even nobles and high-ranking politicians are begging. We could at least get rations."
“I heard that this invasion of Medea’s mainland failed. Is it true that we are truly winning?”
"Madam, do you think it's easy to succeed on the first try? They barely managed to defend themselves, so they won't be able to stop them next time. The great Frogen Empire cannot be defeated."
"I wish the war would end, at least for the best. I want to feed my child stew with milk. He's always sick because he can't eat properly... The money I earn working all day at the textile mill isn't enough. After deducting taxes, including war taxes, I actually receive less than half."
"It's money for the country that protects us, so of course we should pay, Madam. Otherwise, we should leave this country."
Is it really what will save us from starving to death?
The woman was more desperate to feed her malnourished child than to craft a powerful weapon. She sighed, her face gloomy. She gently tugged at her husband's sleeve and asked.
"Can't I pick this up and use it to make a fire? Logging is prohibited, so there's nowhere to get firewood to make porridge."
"Would you like me to come and investigate? I'll somehow salvage the wood, so just bear with it. I'll dig it up from the bombed-out house."
The couple hurried along, blending into the crowd. Everyone was headed to the distribution center, where a long line stretched.
A heavy horn blared, and a black, open-topped car appeared. The crowd, gathered like a school of fish, parted like the miracle of the Red Sea. The car stopped near the distribution center, followed by a line of military vehicles carrying soldiers, who then stopped.
“Wow! That’s a nice car. I bet someone of high status is driving it.”
“Julian, let’s take a closer look.”
“It’s so shiny. I want to touch it.”
As several boys loitered around a flashy luxury car, a frowning soldier shouted threats and chased them away.
“How dare you? Don’t touch it with your dirty hands and go away.”
The man in the backseat was a young, handsome colonel, wearing a leather Sam Browne belt and a black uniform with medals and badges. Leaning back against the seat, the elegant man scanned the children with an indifferent gaze.
“This is Colonel Rotsilt.”
“Really? I’ve only heard about him, but he's so young.”
In the eyes of the crowd, he was a heartless man who had pretended to be in exile in an enemy country, killed his wife, the Princess, and returned. Furthermore, he was a member of the imperial family, seventh in line to the throne, riding on the ruthless Emperor's favor. He was bound to be an object of awe. His characteristically cold gaze intimidated most people, making them afraid to even meet his gaze. Noah tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Go towards them and stop them.”
The major sitting in the passenger seat looked at his superior with troubled eyes.
“Colonel, they are still young children. They are very curious at this age, so please understand...”
“What do you understand?”
Noah, his chin raised, raised his eyebrows in discomfort. The driver pulled over toward the children, and what appeared to be their parents bowed to him.
“I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry about?”
Noah asked in an indifferent tone and gestured towards the children.
“Come here.”
The children who had been loitering around the car approached him hesitantly, looking at his parents and Noah, and politely took off their hats and placed their hands in front of their belly buttons.
“Take a look.”
The children's eyes widened at Noah's words. Though his tone was somewhat gentle, they still thought of him as a formidable and impressive officer. Seeing no response, he stroked his smooth chin and narrowed his eyes.
"You like cars, don't you? Want a ride? First come, first served."
“Me!”
The brave red-haired child jumped up and raised his hands in the air, and his mother, startled, grabbed his arm and pulled him down.
"No, Colonel. I'm sorry. The child is immature. We'll just watch from the sidelines."
“I’ve decided on you, Redhead. I won’t let the rest of you cowards ride.”
As Noah took off his gloves and nodded, the major got out of the car, picked up the child, and put him in the backseat.
A boy with a messy head, wearing cheap cotton clothes like a sack, looked around the car, bewildered. Noah frowned, looking down at the boy's dirty hands.
“Boys don’t wash their hands well.”
The red-haired child's mother fidgeted outside the car, her face terrified. The major looked out and offered her a kind smile.
“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a lift and come back soon. I’ll be back when you get your rations.”
The major rummaged through his pockets, pulled out a caramel, and handed it to the child. A bright smile appeared on the child's face. The major asked carefully.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Grady.”
"That's a great name. I have a son just like you. He likes cars and tanks."
“I like it too. When I become a soldier, I’ll be a B-200 tank pilot.”
The child popped a piece of caramel into his mouth. It gurgled in his mouth, as if he was saving it for later. Noah, who had taken the caramel shell from the child sitting next to him and handed it to the major, chuckled.
“Your future dream is to be a soldier? You can’t do that.”
“I have to protect my mom. She cries all the time.”
“If you become a soldier, your mother will cry twice as much.”
The child rolled the caramel in his mouth with a gloomy expression and lowered his eyes.
"My father went to war to protect us. I'm going to become a soldier, find him, and ride a tank back home."
“Yeah. You miss him.”
“I don’t want to see him. I hate him for not coming back and making Mom cry.”
As the car picked up speed, the child's mouth fell open slightly. The child's red hair blew excitedly in the wind.
“Wow. Is it that fast?”
"Study hard and build a faster car. You'll make a lot of money. That's true filial piety."
“Yes. I’m third in my class. I was originally fourth, but the person in third place died.”
The major's eyes, reflected in the rearview mirror, drooped sadly at the child's calm voice. Noah, sitting with his legs crossed, tapped his boots.
“If 1st and 2nd place die, you will be 1st.”
“I don’t like that. We’re friends.”
“What a good kid.”
The major sitting in front added a word.
“Colonel, the kids are all good.”
“Even Mastiff was good when he was young.”
The major coughed, recalling the handsome man with a cruel disposition. Noah gestured to the child.
As the child leaned closer, he leaned down and asked.
“Do you like airplanes too?”
“I’m a little scared of planes. Why?”
The child asked cautiously, lowering his voice. Noah nodded.
“If you have a chance to ride next time, ride it. You don’t get that many opportunities.”
"I like the car I'm driving now better. I don't have opportunities like this anymore. My dad said it's important to be content with the present moment."
Noah looked down at the child's flushed cheeks. The Duke of Hessen's son also loved cars. He recalled Daniel holding Diana's hand and smiling, and found himself in that moment, smiling involuntarily. Colorful wildflowers bloomed along the road the car drove along. The red-haired child, who looked like one of the wildflowers, spoke.
“Actually, I miss my dad.”
Noah turned his head to follow the child's gaze and muttered.
“I miss my wife.”
***
Mastiff, waiting for Noah at the Army Staff Headquarters, frowned as he looked down at his wristwatch.
"It's almost dinner time. Why is this guy who's always been so punctual? He's become so strange."
"You're calling me a bastard, Major Argentino. I think your promotion is over."
At the sound of a voice that sounded stern, Mastiff, which had been turning his chair toward the window, slowly turned his head. Noah plopped down on the sofa where the table was placed.
“Why are you so late? Did you come here after playing?”
“Yeah. I went for a drive.”
A question mark appeared on Mastiff's frozen face. He, too, was one of those who had given up on understanding Noah, so he said nothing.
“Are the executives gathered for today’s banquet the ‘Dawn of Lycanthropes’ who will be participating in this operation?”
"Yes."
“You managed to avoid being caught by the secret police.”
Mastiff chuckled. Those coming to the General Staff's banquet room today were officers and officials with the authority to declare martial law and direct martial law forces, including Commander Rockefeller. Noah sipped the black tea Mastiff had personally prepared for him, savoring its aroma.
"Well, you're still good at tea. There's a subtlety to it that doesn't suit us."
"...Is that a compliment? The plan is being carried out during the Emperor's birthday banquet, and that day will be the day of the Emperor's assassination. To think of leaving a bomb at the banquet hall? I know it'll fail, so why bother hanging out with me?"
At the Mastiff's question, Noah shook his head, slowly shaking his teacup.
“That’s their plan.”
The blue eyes narrowed and rounded.
“That day marks the end of the Frogen Empire.”
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