Baron Bedran’s Territory.
Once a land vibrant and full of life, it began to wither away 20 years ago due to a prolonged war against the Monster Tribe. In the end, defeat crumbled the fortifications and led to the collapse of everything.
Years passed, and it seemed like new nobility sought to claim the land, bringing whispers of reconstruction. However, the land, corroded by time, wore a guise more fitting for ruins than recovery, sinking slowly beneath the earth as if it had been abandoned for two decades.
A land tainted by blood and death.
A land scattered with skeletons.
A thoroughly forsaken land.
In that place, where not a soul could be found, and the only shadows were those of crushed ruins, not even the sound of insects could be heard. Only the cruel moonlight shone down, illuminating a solitary figure taking weary steps beneath its glow.
While her hood obscured her features, the dark shadow she cast appeared precarious, hauntingly hinting that death lingered just behind her like a predator hungry for a feast.
Occasionally staggering heavily, the figure pressed on.
The thin legs exposed beneath the hooded cloak were so frail they seemed as if they might snap, and feet naked of shoes were festooned with injuries and stains.
Stomp, stomp.
Each step was laden with despair, perhaps deeper than anything one could imagine.
Each footfall echoed like the remnants of collapse and destruction.
Was she searching for something?
Or perhaps running away from something?
In an instant, her steps came to a halt.
The shadow beneath the hood lifted its head.
Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the jawline of the face hidden beneath.
The once-glorified skin, akin to the bustling Barony of Bedran, had turned as desolate as an arid wasteland untouched by rain. Those lips that once gleamed in a vibrant red, reminiscent of the Baron’s proud flag, now appeared dull and discolored like the remains of bodies left behind on this forsaken land.
A living corpse.
It was the only word that could define the figure that had returned to this desolate ground.
And then, the living corpse took another step forward.
Crushing underfoot the tattered banner of the Barony of Bedran, it trekked toward what had once been the estate that flew the banner.
So it walked on, as if seeking a grave.
And thus…
It entered the crumbling ruins.
It was a day in October.
It was a snug place.
A place that suited me all too well.
A wonderful spot to put an end to my miserable existence.
Indeed, a fitting end for one who was foolish and selfish.
No, it was more than I deserved.
I felt as if I had finally arrived where I was meant to be.
The figure surveyed the surroundings.
It was once someone’s bedroom.
A chamber belonging to a woman who lay upon the bed.
Hair of uncertain hue, either red or black, splayed around her head, and the bones, weathered by time, lay with hands clasped in quietude.
The sight evoked envy within me.
For even in death, this nameless lady seemed to enjoy peace and rest, something I could never hope for.
I, who could not escape the hell of curses, who endured unspeakable pain and despair before ultimately relinquishing everything, felt a pang of envy for her different fate.
Soon, I too would end my life here—nameless, in this nameless place, just like that unknown woman.
At the end of my life, there was too much bitterness, regret, despair, and sorrow for me to process.
So many cuts, so many breaks, that I had forgotten what emotion even was.
Like having lost my senses to the piercing cold, I had lost my emotions to the hell of despair.
I no longer knew what remained in the emptiness within.
I thought so.
I had vomited so much.
I believed there was nothing left to regurgitate or expel.
“…”
The cold moonlight filtered through the shattered window.
Facing it, the figure looked down at the piece of bread clutched in her hand.
Her hollowed-out insides needed to be filled with something as filthy as that moldy bread.
And with this final piece of bread, she would let go of the stubborn and chewy life she had clung to.
Even without looking in a mirror, she already knew how dreadful her emaciated form must appear.
It must be grotesque.
Truly a sight to behold.
Heh.
With a smirk, the figure placed the last piece of bread into her mouth.
Crunch, crunch.
The bread, dried to the point of hardness, crumbled in her mouth.
The last bite of moldy bread she would eat at the end of her life.
That taste felt sweet, perhaps stemming from the expectation that she might finally indulge in the luxury of death.
For someone who had harmed a cherished person with misguided judgment and had even taken a life, death became a selfish refuge, a petty escape.
Therefore, she had endured, but no longer could she bear it.
Her fading body began to malfunction, food had run out, and there was no device or aid to inhibit her desire to relish in death.
It was time to offer her pitiful soul to the death that had dogged her for so long.
Now, it was all coming to an end.
The catastrophe brought on by a wrong beginning was finally concluding.
The figure who swallowed the bread removed her hood.
Her once brilliant white hair was now dull, and her once vibrant blue eyes lost their luster.
She pulled something from within.
A bloodstained handkerchief.
And it was a keepsake of someone dear.
A handkerchief that had dried her tears while she coughed up blood, providing comfort from someone precious.
A handkerchief belonging to someone who had supported her even in the act of dying, drying her tears.
Every time she saw it, the cries of that moment surged within her, and now, she took out the handkerchief that made her eyes and throat produce something to expel.
In order not to let that final comfort and support be in vain, she would have to flee from death, but her failing body crushed even the faintest will.
“Ugh…”
Tears fell onto the bloodstained handkerchief.
The parched cloth became soaked.
Her withered heart was moistened one last time.
“Whew…”
If only she hadn’t called forth the wicked from her memory.
If only she hadn’t sought revenge during the festival of all times.
She wouldn’t have formed a bond with the instigator.
And on the hundredth day after that bond was formed, her precious one wouldn’t have had to die trying to protect her.
In the end, it was as if she had taken a precious life herself.
Thus she felt the need to utter yet another apology, but ever since that day of cries, her mouth had forgotten how to speak, only producing foolish sobs.
She cradled the handkerchief in her arms.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
And so…
Silently…
She wept.
“Ugh…Hoo…”
Burning the last remnants of her life, she honored the fleeting sacrifice of someone dear.
Please, she hoped that person was resting peacefully in a place different from her own.
Bound with the cursed, she wished that the blessing of life, which should have been prolonged, had not been cut short and that she was enjoying an unfulfilled blessing somewhere else.
Now it was time to bid a final farewell.
I wanted to say something—an apology, a greeting, anything—but my foolish mouth felt completely numb.
Not even the pain registered.
“Aaah… Huh…”
Thud, thud.
In frustration, I pounded my chest with my fists, but the impact was so feeble that I felt nothing at all.
In this final moment, I wished someone would come to my aid.
Due to the curse born from stubbornness, I had hurt those dear to me, leading me to abandon everything and make a hasty retreat.
I left behind nothing more than a letter to my father.
I didn’t want to hurt those precious to me anymore.
The curse of the chieftain had already begun, and I now understood it was something I couldn’t resolve or escape.
I realized that a cursed person could never truly know love.
And so, I set out alone to conclude this lonely life, yet at this very moment, I wished for help.
My dull mouth ached with a desire to leave my last goodbye and apology for my loved one, yet it felt truly cunning and wicked to think of such things.
“Haaah… Ooo…”
I tried to move my mouth to speak as my life waned, but all that came out was primitive mumbling that no one would ever understand.
Still, I didn’t give up and continued to mumble.
An apology for betraying the comfort and support.
A goodbye that was now eternal.
And a final apology for not dragging that coward who fled from that day’s outcry into the flames of hell.
Yet, all I could do was to express it was through the useless sounds my broken mouth could muster.
I could feel my strength gradually waning.
I sensed my hand that clutched the handkerchief loosening.
My consciousness began to drift away, and the end felt as though it were approaching.
And then it happened.
Creak.
I heard the sound of a door opening.
I thought it might be the arrival of the reaper eager to consume my filthy soul.
I imagined it was the death that had been trailing behind me all along.
The sound I had been waiting for…
I opened my eyes.
My vision, submerged in tears, swirled so much I couldn’t see clearly.
A broad smile broke over my face.
Death.
It came as a relief, graciously visiting me after all the endurance I had put forth thinking it a cowardly escape.
It was hard, oh so hard.
I just wanted to rest now.
I turned my head to look at the death that had come so close.
The swirl of distortion began to fade.
My vision grew clearer.
A reaper, true to its title, was now visible with dark hair.
A reaper with bright red eyes, indicative of his calling.
And then, when that reaper called my name…
I lost consciousness.
“Lu…Lumia…?”
The voice of the reaper, the sentinel of death, echoed.
Why was it…
So bewildering.
Why did it feel so familiar?
Unaware of the reason,
Just like that, Lumia Winterfell collapsed.
Thud.
It had been six months since the Grand Ducal Betrothal Contest concluded.
It was November in the Northern Regions.
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