The Journey Ahead

“I am grateful, Sir Ceasar, for accepting our request.”

Helga’s voice was steady, yet laced with a warmth that made Ceasar’s heart falter. He tried to mask his sudden embarrassment, keeping his posture firm and his expression composed.

“It is an honor, Princess,” he replied, bowing his head slightly.

But while Ceasar struggled to control his emotions, Jugo’s mind remained elsewhere. His thoughts lingered on Queen Catherine’s words, on the prophecy. Could it truly be real? The return of the chosen one? He had to see it for himself.

The Strategy

“We will depart at dawn,” Arellano spoke, unfolding a worn map onto the table. “Our destination is Mount Frook, near the border of Egur and Nek-Asrof. To get there, we must cross through Nek-Asrof, and that is where the danger lies.” His voice grew grim. “This land is not suited for slow travelers. We must move swiftly and avoid unnecessary stops. The thief gangs in Nek-Asrof are highly skilled and merciless. We will only camp twice before reaching our destination.”

Ceasar nodded. “Understood. I have brought twenty knights, including Jugo. It would be safer if Your Highness reduced the number of maids accompanying us.”

Helga’s expression did not falter. “There are only four maids, including my lady-in-waiting, Laisa Toga, daughter of Viscount Arellano Toga.” A small, playful smile curved her lips. “And worry not, my lord. I fully intend to test my sword skills on this journey.”

Ceasar froze for a moment, staring at her, before clearing his throat. “I see… Then I will ensure we are prepared for any situation.”

Catherine stood, her presence commanding. “Then it is decided. We depart at first light. We will take two carriages, and the rest shall ride on horseback.” Her gaze swept across the room, finalizing the meeting. “Be prepared.”

With that, she excused herself to her chambers, and Arellano left to tend to the final preparations.

Now, only Helga, Ceasar, Jugo, and Laisa remained.

Unspoken Words

Jugo nudged Ceasar. “My lord, now’s your chance. Talk to her.”

Ceasar tensed. “What? About what?” he hissed under his breath.

Jugo smirked. “Oh, I don’t know… Perhaps how you feel?”

Ceasar shot him a warning glare. “I— I can’t just say that!”

Meanwhile, across the room, Helga and Laisa were engaged in a similar debate.

“Should I ask him?” Helga whispered, fingers twisting the fabric of her gown.

Laisa chuckled. “There’s only one way to find out. Just ask.”

Helga sighed. “But what if he refuses?”

“Then you’ll know.”

They both hesitated, glancing at each other before finally gathering the courage to speak—

“Do you mind taking a walk with me, Princess?” Ceasar asked, shutting his eyes briefly as if bracing himself.

At the same time—

“Would you train with me, Lord Ceasar?” Helga said, her voice hopeful.

They blinked at one another, momentarily stunned.

A beat of silence passed before Ceasar cleared his throat. “I— Yes, of course! It would be my pleasure, Princess.”

Helga’s lips curled into a smile. “Really? I am glad. Thank you, my lord. Come with me.”

As she led him through the grand halls of Maxwell Mansion, towards the inner garden, Ceasar felt his heart sink further into an endless ocean of longing—one deeper than the Amazzi Sea, filled not with water, but with his love for Helga.

A Memory of Steel and Determination

The first time he had seen Helga wield a sword, she had been twelve years old.

Ceasar, fifteen at the time, had been training in the estate’s courtyard, perfecting his footwork and blade control under the watchful eye of his instructor. He had never expected to find a tiny figure clad in an oversized tunic, gripping a practice sword with both hands, her stance unsteady but her eyes burning with determination.

“What are you doing, Princess?” Ceasar had asked, lowering his sword as he approached.

Helga had gritted her teeth, sweat beading her forehead. “Training.”

A pause. Then she added, “I must be strong.”

Ceasar had raised a brow. “And why is that?”

Her blue eyes met his, fierce as a gathering storm. “Because I will not sit idly in a cage while others fight for me.”

Her words had stunned him. He had seen noble girls dabble in swordplay before, giggling as they mimicked the knights, their movements more of a game than a true effort to learn.

But Helga…

She wasn’t playing.

She was serious.

And in that moment, something within Ceasar shifted.

“Very well, Princess,” he had said, stepping behind her. “You’re holding it wrong.”

Before she could protest, he had gently adjusted her grip, his hands briefly covering hers.

“A sword is not a tool to be held like a stick. It is an extension of your arm. If you grip too tightly, you’ll tire quickly. Too loose, and you’ll be disarmed.”

Helga had listened intently, nodding.

Ceasar had moved closer, guiding her arms through the proper motions.

“Step forward. Good. Now—pivot. Keep your center strong. A sword is not swung with the arms alone, but with the whole body.”

With each correction, her movements had steadied.

By the end of the lesson, she had managed to land a clumsy but determined strike against the training dummy.

She had turned to him, eyes shining with triumph.

“Again.”

Ceasar had chuckled, shaking his head.

He had been fifteen years old. And that was the moment he realized—

He was utterly doomed.

Back to the Present

As Helga led him toward the inner garden, Ceasar glanced at her hands.

No longer small and clumsy, but strong and steady.

He had fallen in love with her determination before he had even known what love was.

And now, walking beside her, he wondered—

Did she remember that day, too?

Did she remember him?

Or was he simply another knight in her path, a shadow of the past?

A Shadowed Meeting

While the noble house of Maxwell prepared for departure, elsewhere in the shadows, another force moved.

A hooded figure stepped cautiously through a darkened alleyway, his boots carefully avoiding the filth of the drunken men collapsed in the streets. His cloak concealed his form, shielding him from prying eyes.

At the end of the alley, hidden deep within the shadows, a door creaked open.

A dim light spilled from within, revealing a stone staircase leading down to an isolated wine cellar.

Inside, two men awaited his arrival.

As he stepped into the light, he removed his hood, revealing ashen hair and piercing gray eyes.

“We’ve come far,” he said, voice steady. “Five years of planning, countless losses—but no more. This time, we will succeed.” His hands clenched into fists. “We will win.”

The two men bowed their heads. “Yes, my lord.”

His eyes narrowed. “This is our final chance. If we fail, we die. He is watching us. He knows our every move.”

The air in the cellar grew heavy.

He exhaled. “The beast is waiting.”

And then, the three men parted ways into the night.

Vera & the Old Man

Back in Nek-Asrof, hidden away from the world, Vera sat by a small cooking fire, tending to a pot of stew. The scent of roasted rabbit filled the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of incense.

Banami sat nearby, carefully tying bundles of pressed incense, his old hands steady despite the years.

“When do you intend to leave the mountain?” Vera asked, not looking up. “To Egur?”

Banami didn’t pause his work. “Three days.”

Vera stirred the pot absentmindedly. “I need a few things. I’ll come with you.”

Banami’s hands stilled. “Cover your eyes properly. I will not be imprisoned for keeping you hidden.”

A small smirk played on Vera’s lips. “You remind me that every day, old man.” She reached up, fingers brushing against the fabric of her blindfold.

A shadow crossed her face.

“Perhaps I should remove them entirely,” she murmured. “They hold no power, no worth. Only fear. Every time I see my reflection, I wonder… will I become the nightmare they fear?”

Banami’s voice was calm. “Do what you must. If you wish to see, then look. If you wish to remain blind, then stay blind. Either way… your answer will find you.”

Vera chuckled softly. “Sometimes, it’s hard to believe you’re just a woodcutter.”

Banami laughed, the sound echoing into the night.

And somewhere in the distance, fate continued to move forward.

(To Be Continued…)