Chapter 17

Are they playing war?

Children naturally love war. Even during wartime, I've encountered such situations several times, so it wasn't particularly surprising.

"What? I don't want to be Andert. Then I have to die at the hands of the Great Mage Mephisto. I'm Raphaelo!"

However, my two hands, which had been transplanting the rice seedlings, suddenly stopped.

'I did die once. But hearing it with my own ears feels strange.'

Yes, Andert is dead. But somehow, I am still alive.

I am not Andert now, but the Andert inside me is still not dead.

The gap that arises from this sometimes feels eerily unfamiliar. Not sometimes, but often.

Even though the children were gone, the area was noisy throughout the time I was transplanting the rice seedlings.

'Is there a festival or something?'

The scent of delicious bread wafted from the backyard.

After finishing my work, I moved to the kitchen window, which was wide open, and received a cup of tea from the butler.

"It's noisy outside."

The butler, who had been leaning on the window frame, looked at me with a surprised expression.

"Miss Daisy, you really are indifferent to the world. Today is Peace Day."

"Peace Day?"

What is that?

"It's the day to commemorate the victory in the Magic War. It's the fourth anniversary today. It's common knowledge, so you should know it."

The day of the end of the war.

So today is that day.

'So that's why I had such a creepy nightmare this morning.'

Leaning against the wall and sipping tea, I noticed the daily newspaper spread out on the kitchen table. The headline on the front page was in large letters.

"4th Anniversary of Peace Day Celebration, Duke Raphaelo Absent"

"This year, Duke Raphaelo Jenail Pen Rota will not attend the 4th Anniversary of Peace Day Celebration. According to the Jenail family, the Duke's overseas schedule is packed... "

Duke Raphaelo.

I entered the kitchen, sat down in a chair, and opened the newspaper.

It was a rather impulsive action, and when I saw my old friend prominently displayed on the front page, I regretted my impulsive action.

'Same as always.'

From his head to his toes.

Exactly the same as the image from four years ago, which is etched in my memory like a nail.

'After all, four years isn't that long a time.'

Raphaelo.

His name left a bitter taste in my mouth when I repeated it.

In fact, since I opened my eyes on Queen Island, I have intentionally avoided news about my old comrades.

Not because of simple likes or dislikes, but because it plunges me into a complex and negative state of mind.

'Wings are clothes, they say. Wearing such a splendid suit makes him look like a nobleman to the core.'

The Raphaelo in the newspaper hadn't changed much from the first time we met 14 years ago.

This is one of the changes that occur when a person who wields magic reaches a distinguished level. The aging process slows down dramatically.

Blond hair as dazzling as the sun. Dark red eyes that shimmer with a crimson hue when they catch the light. Always straight, rigid eyebrows and eyes that show no trace of a smile, a nose that is appropriately large and high.

In the middle of his well-defined cheeks, a deep dimple often appears, like a well.

Is it because of that dimple? When he rarely burst into laughter, he exuded a soft and clear atmosphere like a boy.

And those high, round cheekbones.

It was a smile that was the complete opposite of his solemn and elderly-like tone.

"I can't entrust my back to anyone but you, Andert. You are the only one I can trust. It might sound silly, but I often think that if I had a lost brother, it would be you."

On nights when we were drenched in the blood of demons, Raphaelo would sometimes indulge in such embarrassing sentiments.

Brother, friend, partner, family, half.

He had many affectionate names for me, but I sometimes found his affection overwhelming.

Because I felt that if I took off the mask of Andert, his affection would also be stripped away.

"Stop it, Andert! You can't die! I won't let you die like this!"

That desperate cry was our last.

I remember not being able to turn my back for fear of weakening.

'No matter how many times I recall it, it's a terrifying memory.'

Reflecting on the past, I missed Raphaelo a little.

I was also curious.

How did the war end after I died? Did you resent me for leaving without a word? If you did, would you forgive me?

Do you, like me, have nightmares about those days? Would even meeting through this piece of paper make you break out in a cold sweat? The illusion of my breathing quickening and my heart feeling heavy...

Thud.

I took a deep breath.

Steam from the stew I was eating fell onto the newspaper.

A shadow that had risen and disappeared behind me said, as if passing by.

"Only eat during mealtime."

Was there ever a time when Lu's voice sounded so pleasant?

'...There's meat in it.'

I absentmindedly thought this as I lifted the spoon.

The butler was already sitting at the head of the table, and Lu was sitting across from me, dipping bread into the stew.

"Ugh."

It's scalding hot.

I looked at the butler, soothing my burned palate from the hot stew.

"What do you do on Peace Day?"

"Peace Day is a public holiday. At home, people eat Peace Day bread, and at the cathedral, there is a public blessing prayer. In the square, a flea market is held, and the proceeds are donated to the Magic War refugee shelters. Market vendors also donate part of their profits."

What a good public holiday. I should take this opportunity to visit a pub.

After finishing my meal and the dishes, I ran to the butler, who was smoking in the backyard, and held out my hand.

"Errand."

"..."

"Please."

"You're just thinking about slacking off. But it's true that the sewing kit was just about to run out."

Good. I can pretend to visit the market and secretly go to the pub.

The market was a little quieter than usual.

Perhaps because it was a public holiday, I couldn't see the potato old man. I need to check if he has collected his stall fees properly.

I loitered around the general store, looking at various items, and then stood in front of the counter.

"One 'Cost-effective Sewing Kit for Maids'."

The general store owner, as if waiting for me, took out the item and said while receiving the money.

"Is this all you're buying today? If you have time, visit other stores too, miss. All the market stores are having big sales this week. Fresh fruits, vegetables, and meat are all on sale. It's a good deal to buy them."

"Peace Day sale?"

"Huh? Oh, it's because of Peace Day. You see, the guys who had been tormenting us for years suddenly repented."

The tailor from the building next door, who was chatting with the general store owner, chimed in.

"Yeah, yeah. They returned four years' worth of stall fees all at once, right?"

"Many people had to close their businesses because of those guys. I heard that a righteous person caused a commotion at 'Pub Peace of Land' a few days ago. It seems he gave those guys a good scolding. Who could it be?"

It was me.

"He's a hero, a real hero! To us, a real hero is such a righteous person. Who could it be? Is he from our neighborhood?"

It was me.

"I'd like to see his face. Everyone would want to buy him a meal."

"I'd like a very nice custom suit..."

"His brother, the photographer, can take pictures too. How about we pool our money and put an ad in the newspaper? What do you think?"

I pretended not to hear and left the general store.

While walking towards the pub, I casually let slip a word.

"Oh. Lost item at the pub. I forgot."

Good, it was natural.

'...But isn't the pub only open in the evening?'

I stopped, checking the sign on the door as I was about to step back.

"Open for lunch"

'Is the pub serving lunch?'

Is it the butler assassin's style?

'Well, if it's open during the day, it's not strange for maids to come and go, and more information would come in.'

Ding.

The pub was surprisingly empty, despite the sign on the door.

Given that it was the headquarters of the people who used to extort stall fees with violence, it would be difficult to attract customers overnight.

"Lost item."

I leaned on the bar and held out my hand.

The bartender, who was wiping glasses, took a chocolate from the display cabinet and handed it to me along with a note in his pocket.

"Here. It's a note left by the butler, Miss Head Maid."

His whisper was quite solemn.

The butler assassin must have trained them thoroughly. As expected, experience is the best teacher in such matters.

At that moment, the officers who had been sweeping the floor gathered and naturally passed by behind me, whispering.

"You'll be surprised. We've laid out a network of informants in the area."

"We are a covert guild that operates in the shadows. Hehe..."

These kids seem a bit off.

I warned them as I moved away from the bar.

"Don't call me 'boss'."

The officers bowed their heads.

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

You've got a taste of it, haven't you?