I was with the crown prince when the news came in and was reshaping the barriers in his office.
I was about to try a new technique, holding a book of magic in one hand and the other hand above me and had begun chanting.
I heard a few footsteps clattering in the hallway and the place suddenly became noisy.
Unable to concentrate on the art, I went out into the corridor to see what was going on, only to find that the ladies had abandoned their work and were gathered on the balcony.
They were leaning on the balcony railing, shouting and pointing to the distant sky.
Wondering what was going on, I followed them and saw a large localized orange flame rising under the dark blue sky at sunset. Scattered with thick, white, cloud-like smoke, there’s a fire somewhere – a big fire, no doubt about it.
“A fire! Oh my… that area must be the center of the city!”
The ladies make a commotion and soon the crown prince’s office is filled with attendants running to warn him of the situation.
The chamberlain, upon spotting the crown prince, reported in a rising voice
“The ballroom in the capital is on fire! The fire has spread to such an extent that it is no longer feasible to extinguish the building.”
When I heard the news, I felt dizzy on my feet. I had never known a fire like this.
(Even though we had prevented the big fire at the opera house! So why is the ballroom burning down this time!)
This was a fire I thought I had prevented.
And yet, it’s as though the fire had to happen.
As if God were saying that this was a necessary sacrifice.
The ballroom in the royal city was a historic building, a large cream-colored stone structure.
It was a social gathering place for the people of the city, where not only the nobles but also the dressed-up commoners would go and dance.
The time was just evening, which must have been a busy time for the ballroom. There must have been many people in the building.
Because the fire was so intense, the king was concerned about gathering information and didn’t want to go to the scene of the fire so as not to interfere with the firefighting work. This was a good decision for the sake of the firefighters.
However, it was the Saint who ran out of the royal palace.
“I’ll help the injured immediately!”
Of course, we could not let her go to the scene alone.
A rescue team was hurriedly organized, but she couldn’t wait for even that and tried to head for the scene with her maidens.
The guards hurriedly followed her to escort her, but the crown prince ordered me to go and escort the Saint as well. He didn’t think the guards would be able to protect her from the fire.
I followed the horse the Saint rode on with my horse.
The Saint rode through the night on a white horse. The long hem of her pure white dress trailed like a painting by a master.
Most of the horses in the stables would have been chestnut, but it was a little hateful that they deliberately chose a white horse at this time of emergency. It must be a form of self-direction.
As we left the palace and approached the center of the royal city, smoke began to fill the area. In order to protect the Saint and the guards from the smoke, which was likely to contain harmful poisons, I devised a technique on horseback and used a wind shield to block the smoke.
The Saint was in a hurry. She urged her horse to gallop and by the time she realized the danger, it was already too late. She had just rounded a sharp bend in the night road, where visibility was poor.
Her horse almost hit a wagon coming from across the road and it neighed violently. She was able to hold on to the reins and escaped falling off her horse, but the wagon was unable to avoid the collision and overturned.
The guards hurriedly dismounted from their horses and rushed to see if the Saint was injured.
I got off my horse and went to the side of the overturned wagon.
(Oh no.)
The elderly man piloting the wagon had been thrown onto the road and was trapped between the overturned body and the ground. He was also bleeding from the forehead and moaning in pain.
I tried to lift the wagon on top of his body to help him out, but it was too heavy and wouldn’t budge.
“I need help over here…”
I looked up to tell the Saint and the guards to give me a hand and couldn’t believe what I saw.
The saint had adjusted her dress, sat back on her horse and was hand-combing her hair.
(Is that really necessary right now?!?).
She’s about to gallop away without looking at the wagon.
“Stay close to the Saint!”
The guards also mounted in a hurry and seemed to be on the verge of departing when they recovered their whips.
“Wait, there is a wounded man here!”
I appealed to get her attention, but the Saint took one look at me and the man and would not move.
Her honey-colored eyes, which glanced at me, were void of any emotion. They looked as if they were looking at a stone lying on the ground. I was horrified.
“The big stage is waiting for me. I must go quickly.”
The Saint then turned to face forward.
“Please wait.”
I rushed to her and held her reins to stop her from running off. The horse startled, stamping its foot high in the air and the saint frowned.
“Hey, kingsguard mage! Don’t do anything dangerous!”
After the guards chided me, the Saint hit me on the shoulder with the whip in her hand.
“Get out of my way!”
I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, but I didn’t have time to worry about it.
My hand leaves the reins and the Saint’s horse starts to run. The guards rush to follow.
“Wait!”
(Why? A little help wouldn’t have been a problem for the Saint!)
Returning to the wagon, I bend down, put my shoulder on the edge of the wagon and exert myself to somehow lift the body of the wagon. However, it was loaded with furniture and the weight was so heavy that it would not budge even slightly. If I don’t do it quickly, I’ll be crushed to death!
“It’s so heavy! Please, lift quickly!”
I clenched my teeth and put all my strength into it, but it still didn’t move.
In this situation, I had no choice but to use magic. I meditate and focus my attention on the wind.
The only thing to do is to gather the wind on my cheeks, turn it into a blast and hit the wagon.
My voice trembled because I was in a hurry.
“Wave of wind, send the wagon flying!”
A gust of wind that raises a cloud of dust blows over me and I shield my eyes with my hands.
The next moment, the weight on my shoulders disappears and when I open my eyes, the wagon is completely upside down, falling a short distance away. Wood chips fly and the furniture it was loaded with would have been broken, but that’s not the point.
“Are you okay!?”
I kneel beside the man exposed under the wagon and shake his shoulder.
His legs are bent in the direction of the day after tomorrow and the largest amount of blood I have ever seen is beginning to seep into the ground.
I don’t know what to do and my hand on his shoulder begins to shake.
The man’s lips, trembling slightly, move.
“He…lp.”
“Wait, I need a healer now…”
I would say so, but where is the healer? The hospital is already closed.
Meanwhile, his eyes, which were fading, were losing their light and closing.
“Grandpa, no. Pull yourself together.”
I called out to him, but his lips were no longer moving at all.
“Oh, no. What am I going to do?”
When I removed my hands from the man’s shoulders, they were covered in blood.
I gasp for air, almost hyperventilating.
(He’s dead. ……! I couldn’t do anything!)
“I’m sorry.”
I put my hands together and apologize to the man.
When I look up, trembling with shock at not being able to save him, I see that the Saints’ horse has gone very far away and I cannot even see their backs. Only the faint flickering light of the torches held by the guards can be seen at the end of the road.
Beyond that is a huge fire.
The Saint probably has no idea about the safety of the guards she is leading.
With a sense of resignation, I turn my back on the man and climb up on the back of the horse I have been riding.
As I rode at full speed, I shouted over and over in my head, “I’m not going to let them get away with this”.
(Iris, wasn’t he worth saving for you? You mean you don’t help people who don’t mean anything to you?)
I can’t forgive it.
I cannot tolerate a Saint who takes full advantage of her position and status, yet shows no mercy to the weak and kicks them down with impunity. How can she not understand that we are all the same living people and feel pain in the same way?
The blood on my parched hands complains. He must have had someone important in his life, too, as he was hurrying somewhere with furniture in his wagon.
It was the Saint who overturned the wagon. I wanted her to feel guilty, at least a little bit.
Is the saint’s healing technique a show for Iris?
I cannot forgive what she said about the “big stage”. For the old man pulling the wagon, that was his only stage. No one should be able to belittle his stage.
With hands trembling with anger, I gripped the reins and gritted my teeth.
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