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Volume 2: The Forgotten Kingdom
Chapter 1: The Burning City
Let us return to the early hours of June 2nd, in the Year of Blossoms and Summer Leaves.
Guided by Su, the daughter of a tavern owner, Freya soon arrived at No. 51 in Bonneau Market. She glanced outside; even at this late hour, Ridenburg’s largest trading hub was still bustling with activity. Scattered braziers cast flickering light across the scene, providing faint reassurance amidst the chaos.
Freya took a step forward, but Su suddenly grabbed her arm. “Don’t go. There are people hiding in the alley.”
The girl with braided pigtails stood at the edge of the light, one hand resting against the wall as she warily scanned the surroundings.
“Are they guards?” Freya asked, startled.
“I don’t know,” Su replied quietly, shaking her head. “But there are two unfamiliar faces out there. They definitely don’t belong to this district.”
Freya pressed the hilt of her sword against her lips, hesitating nervously. By now, most of the people lingering around Bonneau Market were likely soldiers from the White Mane Legion. As Brandon had predicted, they’d found Hood—but had they already met? Should she knock on the door or not?
The future Valkyrie furrowed her brow, recalling Brandon’s words: "If you notice signs of the army, don’t worry. Before they understand our connection, they won’t tip their hand. They’re waiting for an opportunity to catch us all at once."
Taking a deep breath, Freya turned back to Su. “Can I ask you something?”
“What is it?”
“How do you tell if someone is lying?”
Su, her dark-skinned face breaking into a knowing smile, tilted her head slightly. “Is this because I help out at the bar often?”
Freya flushed, caught off guard. She couldn’t deny that she admired Su’s far greater experience and insight compared to her own. During their earlier conversation, while others—including herself—had naively believed the nobles would save them, Su had cut straight to the heart of the matter with just a few sharp words. To Freya, this aloof yet perceptive girl seemed remarkably astute and self-assured.
“It’s fine,” Su said lightly. “I occasionally lend a hand too. Freya, look at me.”
“Huh?”
“That friend of yours who said Ridenburg would fall—he has a name, doesn’t he?”
Freya froze, unsure why Su had brought this up so suddenly. Her heart raced, and her eyes darted away involuntarily. “Br-Brandon.”
Something shifted in Su’s gaze. “You like him, don’t you?”
“No! No, Brandon… he likes Roma.”
“Look at me, Freya,” Su insisted, leveling her deep brown eyes at the flustered girl. Her gaze was calm, like still water. “And who is Roma?”
Freya felt her cheeks burn. She avoided Su’s piercing stare, her mind scrambling for an explanation she couldn’t quite articulate. In that moment, she felt utterly foolish—a bumbling idiot without redemption—and wished desperately for a hole to swallow her whole.
“Understood?” Su asked.
“Y-yes,” Freya muttered, bowing her head and nodding emphatically.
She exhaled sharply, gripping her sword tightly before turning toward the alleyway. But then she spun back around and grabbed Su’s arm. “Su, can you wait here for me?”
Su blinked, surprised, but nodded nonetheless. Freya felt a strange sense of comfort having Su nearby—it reminded her of Brandon, whose presence always bolstered her confidence.
With newfound resolve, Freya stepped out of the shadows, pretending not to notice the subtle glances directed her way. She approached No. 51 in Bonneau Market, raised her hand, and paused. Though she sensed several pairs of eyes boring into her back, she steeled herself and knocked firmly.
The sound echoed through the tense silence. After a brief pause, the door creaked open, revealing a stooped, balding man whose age was impossible to determine. He visibly stiffened upon seeing Freya, his eyes darting anxiously behind her.
"After finding the wool merchant named Hood, don’t reveal your identity right away. Give him a time and arrange to meet him at the tavern. Pay attention to his reaction—that will tell you whether he’s trustworthy."
"Freya, look at me."
In that instant, Freya caught the slightest flicker of unease in the man’s expression. Both Brandon’s and Su’s advice flashed through her mind, sending a chill down her spine.
“Who are you? What do you want?” the diminutive man finally managed to ask.
Freya remained silent for a full second, staring coldly at him. Just as the man began to retreat instinctively, she swiftly drew her sword and pressed it against his throat, her gaze hardening.
In the blink of an eye, the situation shifted. From her vantage point in the shadows, Su noticed several figures on the street twitch ever so slightly. But almost immediately, they returned to their previous states—their movements imperceptible to anyone except the observant girl hidden in the corner.
Unaware of what transpired behind her, Freya kept her composure, her voice steady. “You’re that witch’s accomplice?”
“Don’t kill me! They forced me—they made me…” The terrified man collapsed onto the ground, only belatedly realizing what Freya’s icy glare implied.
“W-witch?” He asked in confusion.
Freya thought of Chael, Brandon’s wizard apprentice, and his earlier words: "Your aunt knows quite a bit. It’s a secret passed among wizards—an ancient book called The Dark Epic. It chronicles events from countless ages past… But it’s not exclusive to wizards. Some rural witches also know fragments of these tales."
Before drawing her sword, Freya hadn’t considered how quickly she could adapt—or perhaps her mind had been eerily clear. With steely resolve, she spoke: “Her name is ‘Jenny.’ But that’s irrelevant. First, let me teach you a lesson.”
As she lifted her blade, the textile merchant, Hood, began to wail in terror. “Wait, wait! I’m not involved with her—I mean, we’re not allies! We’re distant relatives, nothing more!”
“Oh?”
“I swear, I swear! Believe me! She only comes to town occasionally to collect goods—that witch, yes, a witch! She does gather strange things, and she lives in Buchi with her niece!”
Freya studied the man, suppressing her disgust. Grabbing him by the collar, she growled, “My informant tells me she entered the city a few days ago. Don’t lie to me—I’m a wizard, and I can extract your memories anytime!”
Terrified beyond reason, Hood stammered, “I-I’ll tell you everything! She left Ridenburg two days ago and headed north!”
Freya scrutinized his eyes, then shoved him away in disgust. Taking a steadying breath, she heard Su whistle softly from the alleyway. She knew her actions had drawn unwanted attention and that she needed to leave immediately.
But Aunt Jenny wasn’t here? She’d gone north—to Braggs? What business did she have there? Still, the man didn’t seem to be lying.
Biting her lip, Freya hesitated.
……
The afternoon sunlight streamed through the arched windows of the castle, bathing the room in warm hues. A young woman dressed in a flowing silver princess gown sat at a Rococo-style table, holding a teacup with perfect posture. Her delicate hands cradled the cup while the other held a silver spoon motionlessly. Her soft, silvery-gray eyes stared ahead, lost in thought—as if entranced by a story.
She had beautiful silvery curls framing her pointed ears, which peeked out subtly from beneath her hair. This was the beloved daughter of Obergu VII, the acknowledged beauty of Eruin.
In Brandon’s era, both players and NPCs referred to her as the Princess Regent. If anyone in Eruin rivaled the prestige of the Valkyries, it was this young princess, who still carried an air of youthful innocence.
“Quite the clever girl, isn’t she? The Evertons truly produce extraordinary individuals,” the princess murmured, setting down her teacup. “And then, Lord Orville?”
Standing before her was a stern-faced middle-aged man whom Brandon would have recognized instantly. This was none other than the man Brandon had slain—the one known as Earl Duane. However, within the capital’s noble circles, he was better known by another title:
Lord Orville, the “Wolf Knight,” a close advisor to the king and one of the core leaders of the royalist faction. He shared close ties with the Everton and Woodrow families.
Orville appraised the princess, aware that she was no ordinary figure. However, as she was the cherished jewel of the current monarch, he dared not treat her lightly.
He had traveled to Ridenburg under the guise of Duane of Lyles Bulman family, a connoisseur whose interests aligned closely with him. While their appearances differed, in an age of limited communication, such discrepancies mattered little. His mission was a secret task entrusted to him by Obergu VII.
Realizing the princess awaited his response, he cleared his throat. “Naturally, the daughter of Lord Everton appears to be every bit as capable as her father. Pity…”
He almost added, pity she’s a woman, but caught himself just in time, swallowing the remark when he remembered whom he addressed.
The princess understood perfectly but chose not to press the issue. Instead, she changed the subject. “Lord Orville, I must admit, I found part of your story puzzling. Why trouble that young man unnecessarily?”
Orville inwardly scoffed—she wouldn’t understand—but outwardly maintained his respectful demeanor. “I merely worried about his intentions. A Highland Knight appearing in Ridenburg alongside his squire, associating with Lord Everton’s daughter… Your Highness, you know the White Knights of Karasu aren’t aligned with your father.”
“I know. But neither do they oppose him.”
“Precisely. That’s why testing him seemed harmless. After all, he’s merely a shadow. Compared to Karasu, I know where priorities lie. For His Majesty, risking myself personally is no great sacrifice.”
“I thank you on behalf of my father, Lord Orville,” the princess said thoughtfully. She suspected her father and Orville intended to provoke unrest in Karasu Province—but would it succeed? Their scheme reeked of baseless provocations.
She pondered adding more slots to Bastar Royal Cavalry Academy’s recommendations. Yet, mindful of her position, she refrained from voicing her thoughts aloud.
Finally, she simply said, “Continue, Lord Orville. I’d like to hear the rest of your tale. I still have time for two or three chapters before my history lesson begins.”
“Of course, my pleasure,” Orville replied smoothly.
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