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Translated by 64990022

Prologue

The night escorted a storm. To this land, a curious weather.

The assailing raindrops made the window pane rattled clamantly.

The wind growled and roared as if to mow down the hut the man lived in.

Inside the hut, the man lived alone.

In the black window glass, the man stared back at himself. From appearance, he was around thirty. The white apron he wore matched his hair. The time-worn paintist concentrated.

His eyes were blue.

Inside the cramped room, there were few pieces of furniture. The fire at the hearth lit them all orange.

In front of the man was a canvas.

There, a picture he drew.

He continued to look outside. Black, nothing visible. Again and again, the rain incessantly assailed the sable window.

Nevertheless, he continued to look. What did his physical eyes see, and what it didn’t, didn’t concern him.

Looking through the window. The action set his creativity to work.

What he was drawing was a dazzling sky and a grassy lea, and a girl standing in the middle. Immaculate, pure white one piece dress flowing with the wind.

The pencil continued to scratch the surface of the canvas. It was as if the scene was projected in front of his eyes.

Bang.

Something smeared the glass.

Red, as if a clod of blood had clung on to the window. Or so the man thought.

But when he took a better view, it was a girl.

A woman in a red military uniform clung to the side of the window.

Time stopped.

There was no way I mislooked, he thought.

Her mouth moved up and down repeatedly. What was that she said was all but lost to the windstorm, never reaching the man’s ear.

Again, a bang.

She was pounding on the glass

Then finally, time resumed.

She was probably asking the man to let her in.

God, should I take her in? He prayed.

A moment passed before he shuffled for the door.

Seeing that, the girl too, headed to the entrance.

Getting the door open was a lot of work. The howling wind was buffeting the door back, as if an invisible hand was pressing the door close.

When the door was wide enough to slip in, the girl immediately ducked in. A large amount of rain too, got in with her, soaking the man’s clothes.

“Sorry. Thanks for the help.” She brushed up her hair.

By estimation, she was nearing twenty.

Her shining white hair stole his gaze. As she swung her hair, more water puddled at his feet.

She was white, as if the concept of pigmentation was alien to her. Probably because of her exposure to the rain, her lips were pink.

However, her eyes are red.

“I knocked on the door, but it seems that that wasn’t heard. I am aware of the impoliteness, but let me knock on the window.”

Studying the uniform she dressed in, the man said. “It’s not every day seeing an officer coming all the way out here.”

It was as if he knew nothing about the girl.

She let out a troubled laugh. “I guess it is.”

“I’ll get you something to wipe dry, please wait by the fireplace.”

The girl said her thanks.

He grabbed two folds of hemp cloth and returned to the fireplace. The girl was sitting on the carpet, a pace away from the fire grate. Her high-class cashmere uniform was left around hazpazadly like a shedded skin.

Only the lace camisole clung to her body now. Her hair took in the light of the fire, and was gleaming crimson.

Her lips too, returned to a healthy pink.

Her face dissolved into a grin.

“Sorry for piling unsightly things like this. But, forgive me. I’ve had enough of that soaking wet uniform. And it’s getting heavier. The number of military decorations I have is baffling.”

He passed her the hemp cloth.

“I don’t mind, but don’t do this in other men’s houses. Lust and lechery are sin. What if you have to go to hell because of it?”

“I appreciate your concern, but it was not needed. Lechery or not I’ll go to hell anyway.”

“Being in the army and all.”

“Yeah, I’ve killed many, toyed with hearts. Besides…”

She took a breath. “Besides, I’m a dragon slayer.”

The man’s eyes were wide.

“You, a dragon slayer…”

“My name is quite well known in Norveland, actually. Name’s Brunhild Siegfried.”

“I’m sorry, but that doesn’t ring a bell.”

The girl’s– Siegfried’s claim was truthful. House Seigfried was a lineage of dragon slayers, and she herself had led many successful campaigns too.

However, where the man lived was all but separated from the human world. He would go on foraging in the woods, played with the animals, and talked with flowers, that was his life.

“Well, it is understandable why you wouldn’t know”

Her face was a troubled grin once again. But there was no mocking in her expression.

“Will the rain cease by dawn?” she asked.

“Only God would understand such a thing,” he replied.

The man who lived far away from human civilization held a slightly different belief.

“That you have come here is by God’s will too. The god had permitted you to take refuge in this humble hut,” he added.

The man pulled the round chair close and sat down. He contemplated a little before continuing.

“If you don’t mind, can you tell me your story?”

He glanced at the canvas once. The walls of his hut bore his paintings, every of them a scenery and a motif of a young girl in a white dress.

“I am hoping to find inspiration from your story.”

She studied the paintings too.

“The girl in the paintings, she’s…”

The girl excelled in reading what people felt at the bottom of their hearts

“She’s your…”

“Yes, you look like my daughter.”

The man conceded.

Her long lashes fluttered as she blinked.

“‘Look like’, so she’s…”

“Ahaha, no, no. She’s still alive. Surely, somewhere. Although I don’t want her to go by in military uniform.” He looked the girl up and down. “I don’t want her work to be about spilling blood,” he admitted.

Ever since knowing her identity, the man had decided so. Was that a denunciation of a religious person or him not wanting to admit the truth, the man wasn’t sure.

Silence fell.

The officer girl was troubled about her next words.

And the religious man had nothing more to say.

“My story has nothing but blood spilled, do you mind?” she spoke.

“If that’s so then it can’t be avoided.”

She was silent for a while before her mouth parted, her expression resigned.

“…I’m not someone good. I’ve killed many, defenseless included. Had deceived many, kind people, some were. It wasn’t in the name of justice nor greater good, it was all for myself, to fulfill my own needs. Nonetheless, I have no regrets, even now, in this room.”

From the carpet, she looked up toward the man on the chair

The tale she told from now.

To the girl, it was a repentance without retrospect.

To the man, it was a story so malicious it was painful to hear.

[Even if God give me a chance to start over, I would still choose the same path]

With that preamble, she began her tale.

*

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