Chapter 36
A Night of Counting Stars (10)
When Ivan arrived at Counterintelligence Command, everyone—from the guards to the agents manning the front desk—rose to their feet.
“My God, it really is him.”
“Little Ivan…”
Quiet whispers filled the command building.
Whenever Ivan passed, people murmured behind him. When he stood before them, however, they stiffened and bowed their heads in silent respect.
One agent whose eyes happened to meet Ivan’s hurriedly raised a hand in salute and approached him.
“I-It is an honor to meet you, Lieutenant Colonel Petrovich!”
“Do you know me?”
“I know of you, sir.”
The young man trembled beneath Ivan’s gaze and quickly continued.
“I belong to the generation trained using the field manuals you wrote!”
“Ah. Those.”
Ivan nodded.
He vaguely remembered writing them.
They mainly contained methods for infiltrating demon-inhabited territories and his experiences assassinating key targets in the field…
They were, in a sense, something like a diary.
And as was usually the case with diaries, it became profoundly embarrassing when someone appeared who had actually read what one had written.
Ivan turned his head away without changing his expression.
“Have you come to see Lieutenant Colonel Cherkatov?”
“Mm. Inform him that I have a matter to report directly to Minister of the Royal Household kirillonova.”
“…I will escort you to the Eastern Palace. This way, sir.”
Ivan gave a brief nod and followed the nameless agent.
A suffocating silence pressed down upon the surroundings.
A direct report to Her Highness the Princess…?
Just how serious was this matter…?
One by one, the agents stood rigidly behind Ivan, lowered their heads in salute, and returned to their stations.
They had a feeling things were about to become very busy.
They had no idea what was going to happen, but if “Little” Ivan was personally meeting the princess, the consequences were certain to reach them as well.
***
The Eastern Palace of Krasilov was a massive marble structure built solely for the princess.
Due to the princess’s personality, it had been designed with an emphasis on uncompromising practicality rather than the majesty expected of a royal palace.
Even so, its sheer size and symbolism were enough to leave a powerful impression.
Ivan stepped down before the grand front gate, which was adorned with relief carvings.
The agent who had driven the carriage silently saluted and disappeared beyond the street.
As this was directly in front of a royal palace, it would not have been strange for anyone to be watching.
Ivan, however, paid little attention to it.
“Dmitri.”
“Oh, Senior!”
Dmitri looked half-asleep, as though he had rushed out the moment the report arrived.
He swept back his hair and smiled amiably.
“Let’s go at once! Her Excellency is already waiting.”
“She knew I would come?”
“Well, she hasn’t gone to bed tonight!”
Dmitri chuckled as he imagined Elizaveta restlessly pacing back and forth.
If the mission had succeeded, the aerial battleship should have disappeared from the skies over Pritchenkaya.
If the mission had failed, news of Ivan’s death should have arrived.
Either way, it was not a night on which anyone could easily sleep.
Anticipating Elizaveta’s anxiety, Dmitri had also remained awake, handling his duties.
“Her Excellency is in the rear garden. Let’s go!”
The rear garden of the Eastern Palace opened toward the main road within the castle walls that led to Yansk University.
In other words, anyone sitting in the garden and looking up at the sky could see the aerial battleship.
She must have sat there, watching the sky while waiting to learn whether the mission had succeeded.
That thoroughly meticulous woman—
And at the same time, that deeply compassionate woman.
Dmitri smiled faintly as he walked ahead.
‘Our reunion should take place at a more appropriate time and in a more appropriate place.’
In the end, it had not become a particularly romantic reunion.
Remembering Elizaveta’s words, Dmitri chuckled to himself.
***
As Ivan headed toward the rear garden, he sank into thought.
He remembered the last time he had seen Elizaveta.
‘I’m sorry. Forgive me… Vanka. I am so, so sorry.’
She had stood there on a miserable rainy day, struggling not to cry.
She really was a small woman.
Ivan suddenly wondered how someone like her could have been born from the bloodline of that powerfully built late king.
‘You… Of all people, you had the right to resent me and this country. You were entitled to it. Even if you had run away, I would never have blamed you.’
What had he said in response to the princess sobbing in the rain?
Ivan remembered immediately.
‘Do you have any roses?’
‘…What?’
‘Cherenovika liked roses.’
That place had been both a funeral hall and a burial ground.
There were no gravestones.
No mourners were received there.
It was a funeral ground for agents whose final moments no one else would commemorate.
For people who had been forced to disappear from memory.
Before the building known as Counterintelligence Command was later constructed, it had been nothing more than a lonely empty lot in a corner of war-ravaged Pritchenkaya.
There was not even an overhang to shield them from the rain.
Standing beneath the cold winter downpour, Elizaveta had asked with a haggard expression,
‘Do you remember what the others liked as well?’
‘Yes. Every one of them.’
‘Tell me. I will remember.’
Those words alone had been enough.
Ivan had quietly begun to speak.
When he finished, Elizaveta whispered softly,
‘Roses, chocolate cake, musk perfume, silk handkerchiefs…’
Repeating the names of the departed agents and the things they had loved, Elizaveta whispered them again and again.
As the falling rain gradually weakened, she looked up at him with wet eyes and reached out.
Her hand was cold.
Her chilled fingertips trembled faintly, perhaps because of the weather.
Ivan stood motionless as Elizaveta’s slender hand caressed his cheek.
‘Vanka. Please live quietly. Do not draw anyone’s attention. Live in silence, so this country can forget you.’
Ivan was a specialized operative trained in lip-reading.
Because of that, he could read even the words Elizaveta mouthed without voicing.
So that I alone may remember you.
Because no one else in this country has the right.
‘But do not ruin your face. Hmm… Yes. How about growing a beard?’
‘A beard… Your Highness?’
‘Yes. Like my grandfather’s. I think it would suit you.’
Ivan recalled the face of the great late king and gave a small nod.
It truly had been a magnificent beard.
Solemn and strikingly masculine.
Ivan remained standing in the rain for a while longer before turning around and leaving.
That had been the last time he saw the princess.
Four years had passed since then.
Thanks to the princess’s assistance, many people had forgotten him.
Fortunately, because he had once been a high-ranking officer registered with the Royal Guard, his name remained engraved at the National Cemetery.
Beyond the entrance to the rear garden, a vast flower garden came into view.
Flowers meticulously maintained through magic bloomed in profusion beneath the night sky.
Ivan stopped walking for a moment.
Roses, lilies, freesias…
To someone else, the sight of countless different flowers blooming together without distinction might have looked like nothing more than a disorderly flower bed cultivated without any plan.
Ivan understood what it truly was.
This was a memorial garden for those who had died in the last war.
Someone had somehow discovered which flowers each of the dead had loved in life and planted them here.
So that they would remain in bloom throughout all four seasons.
So that they would never be forgotten.
“Your Excellency, your servant Dmitri Cherkatov has arrived.”
“Come closer.”
A cold voice answered.
Beyond the flower garden stood a long outdoor table.
The table gleamed pure white beneath the moonlight, with a simple spread of tea and refreshments placed upon it.
Beyond it sat a small woman sorting through piles of documents.
“Vanka. It has been a long time.”
Her silver hair had been neatly arranged and secured with a vivid blue hairpin.
Instead of the austere, impersonal uniform Ivan remembered her wearing, she was dressed in a royal gown.
Clad in blue, the woman raised her head and looked at him.
While Ivan considered what to say, her eyes widened in shock.
“My… goodness…”
Ivan was, as always, a trained operative.
Through lip-reading, he could infer the rest of the words she had swallowed.
What in the world have I done…?
Her gaze was fixed upon Ivan’s chin.
It took Elizaveta some time to recover from the shock.
She tried not to look directly at Ivan’s face and repeatedly cleared her throat.
By the time Ivan finished his report, she had stopped showing any embarrassment and returned to her usual cold expression.
“Veolgrin appeared in person and said all of that?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Hmm.”
Elizaveta tapped the table as she sank into thought.
After a while, she raised her head and looked toward the sky.
Stars were scattered across the dark night.
“Vanka. My most trusted lumberjack.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You met my father before. What did you think of him?”
“…His Majesty the Great King was…”
Elizaveta gave a faint laugh as she listened.
“The Great King, you say. Was he truly one?”
“He was a foolish man who believed that every problem would resolve itself if he simply kept his mouth shut and remained seated. I am willing to despise my father. I must.”
Her eyes burned fiercely.
“The Allied Kingdoms feared a sharpened blade. Did you know? Had the Hero’s party not disbanded, a second war would have begun—a war history would have recorded as one individual against the collective.”
After the Demon King’s arrival, the rulers of the Allied Kingdoms had fallen into profound contemplation.
Enemy armies were terrifying, but what they feared most was an individual capable of overwhelming entire armies.
The very existence of a person able to oppose a collective was itself a challenge to authority.
Therefore, had the Hero’s party not disbanded and returned to their respective homelands as ordinary members of society, the world would have faced a second war.
“So he said Maximilien had not disappeared… and Veolgrin is searching for my elder brother.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I will personally deal with the ‘false’ brother presently in this city. Do not concern yourself with him. But… yes. Why would my ‘true’ brother have formed a connection with the great mage of the Hero’s party?”
Elizaveta’s eyes gleamed sharply.
“Suppose the Hero’s party had a reason similar to the one that required all of you to disappear in those days. Setting the others aside, if there was one person who absolutely had to be eliminated, who do you think it would be?”
“…Maximilien.”
“Yes. Naturally. Humanity’s strongest. The greatest of all time. Maximilien, the ‘Demon King Slayer.’ It would be him.”
Veolgrin had planned everything in order to determine the true crown prince’s location.
If he had mentioned Maximilien’s seclusion in the midst of that, it was reasonable to infer a meaningful connection between the two.
Then only one question remained.
How?
How could anyone dare make such a mighty man “disappear”?
What method could possibly remove him?
Was such a thing even possible?
Even Ivan, who knew countless powerful figures throughout the Allied Kingdoms, could not easily imagine one.
It might have been possible had every member of the Hero’s party ambushed Maximilien together.
But there was no chance of that.
And barring such an event, Maximilien would never have fallen by human hands.
“You should wait. I will discover the method… and the reason it had to be done.”
“Yes.”
“Sit. I have kept my guest standing for too long. Forgive me.”
Ivan sat in the place prepared for him.
A maid approached and poured steaming black tea into his cup.
Scrape.
Elizaveta pulled her chair over and sat beside him.
“Let us put aside matters of work for a while. For now… yes. Can we simply enjoy this moment?”
“……”
“It has been four years, Vanka. I had hoped our reunion would be more romantic than this, but what can one do? The world seldom unfolds as expected.”
They sat side by side, gazing at the flower garden.
The blossoms shining beneath the moonlight swayed gently in the breeze.
“Do you recognize them?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I did not forget.”
The small woman, whose head still barely reached Ivan’s chest, smiled faintly.
It was a smile steeped in deep exhaustion and pain, yet still retaining traces of the bright, spirited woman she had once been.
“When I step onto the terrace from my office, I can see this garden immediately.”
“Your Highness, I would prefer that you not look at the flowers.”
“Hmm?”
“The late king once said something to me.”
Ivan briefly recalled the old days as he chose his words.
It had been during his service in the Royal Guard.
“He said that war, hardship, and the price paid in blood were burdens he himself was obligated to carry, and that he wished for Your Highness to live looking not toward the earth, but toward the sky.”
“……”
Elizaveta silently stroked her teacup.
Ivan raised his head and gazed upward.
The night sky was scattered with stars like grains of sand.
Perhaps one of the few advantages of this damned premodern fantasy world, with so little light pollution, was the beauty of its night sky.
Ivan spoke in a calm voice.
“Your Highness said that you remember the departed whenever you look at the flowers. But that is not right. Do you remember our doctrine?”
“…Do not mourn those who have departed.”
“Yes. Because we stand in the same formation as they did. Because all of us will someday leave this land.”
At Ivan’s words, Elizaveta closed her eyes.
He poured more tea into her cup and placed it in her hands.
The white porcelain had been warmed by the tea.
It was warm.
“Your Highness, please carry on the late king’s wishes. Walk while looking not at the earth, but at the sky. Whenever you find yourself longing for those who have departed, look instead toward the night sky.”
Elizaveta opened her eyes.
The night sky was not dark.
Beyond the black heavens, starlight spread brilliantly between clouds drifting into view.
“Do not seek the departed among the flowers. Count us among the stars instead. They, too, would wish that of you.”
“Vanka…”
Elizaveta turned and looked at Ivan.
She gazed at him for a long time with tear-filled eyes, then quietly reached out.
Her hand, warmed by the teacup, came to rest upon his cheek.
After looking at him for a moment, Elizaveta softly asked,
“How about trimming your beard just a little?”
“…I ask for your understanding.”
“What if I order you?”
“This subject has already left your service.”
“It seems only your eloquence has improved since then.”
Having said something that would have made Enrique protest vehemently, Elizaveta broke into a bright smile.