Chapter 152 The departing travelers seem to say—there's still time. ...
哢哒.
The car door opened, and a young man with golden-red hair stepped out.
She rested her right hand on the hilt of her sword, stood on the edge of the field, looked around, and finally her gaze fell on the old man.
They were only a few dozen steps apart, and now—she was walking toward her.
McGonagall had assumed that those past experiences were long forgotten and would simply be buried in the earth with her decaying body.
She was just an ordinary, unremarkable, and unlucky person, completely unrelated to the heroic legends of those warriors... But why, why did I have to meet her here today?!
The old man involuntarily straightened his body, tensed all his muscles, and stretched out his neck like a deformed monster, gathering the strength for a roar.
Why did you come here?!
You—this is my home…I finally gained my freedom, even if it was only through the pity of a benefactor…
She tried to draw her sword, but her hand grasped at empty air.
There were only hoes by the field.
And her former sword... her former sword...!
A gentle breeze suddenly arose, and the warmth of spring seemed tinged with the scent of blood, pulling her back to the twilight of that year.
A boy with golden-red hair rode on horseback, gazing at another boy with black hair from afar.
Their gorgeous dresses fluttered in the wind, and the black-haired boy shouted something about a bet, saying that she would definitely win.
They drew their bows and arrows from behind them and aimed at the open gate.
The slaves were still basking in the ecstasy of their impending freedom when, in the next second, an arrow pierced Salin's heart.
Much later, McGonagall learned that they were princesses of Norlana and Hetuya.
Why were they there that day? She didn't know.
The many years that followed, with their whips, wars, and famine, taught her one thing: the weak can only drift with the tide and die quietly in the waves.
"Hoo... Hah..."
McGonagall opened her mouth wide, wanting to shout, wanting to call for help, wanting to beg.
Her legs were trapped in place by her memories, afraid to move forward, but her will drove them one step, two steps toward the blinding sunlight.
Even as the last vestiges of reason screamed, "King Andra couldn't possibly have come here specifically to kill me! Impossible!!"
But the despair and pain lashed at McGonagall's back time and time again.
The boy she once was has grown into a young man, and that vibrant and handsome man is like a cold sun entwined with a blood-red serpent in her eyes, with death always at her side.
"Hello."
McGonagall sensed someone speaking, uh, it was Andra King—she, she was talking to me?
The old man froze, sweat dripping down his hunched back. His once robust body shrank in fear before the young man's sun-god-like physique.
"Are there any hotels in your village? We need clean bathtubs and beds, and please boil plenty of hot water; my wife needs it."
The golden-red sun stopped before her eyes, but as she spoke, it transformed into a young man.
She wasn't burning hot, her voice wasn't scary, and her tone was even somewhat calm.
"...without."
There are no hotels in the village; it's just a tiny village.
The instinct for survival allowed McGonagall to regain some of the cleverness she had in her youth.
A nobleman doesn't need a reason to kill; the young man's gaze is as sharp as ever, and his sword must still be sharp.
The old man swallowed hard and said respectfully, "We don't have any hotels around here. Why don't you stay at my house? My young wife just washed and dried the quilts, and we can use a new bathtub."
The young man with long, golden-red hair frowned, and with just that one glance, a strong pressure gripped McGonagall's heart.
Just a second before she was about to kneel or erupt, a clear, spring-like voice flowed by.
"Don't be afraid, old man, we will pay as usual."
McGonagall strained to lift her neck, and a gentle smile appeared in her eyes.
A dark-haired woman took the young man's arm and smiled at him in a friendly manner.
Then a few silver coins slipped through the young man's fingers and fell directly into the old man's basket.
......
Although they kept saying "we need to buy people, we need to buy people," the two of them still walked hand in hand for the rest of the journey.
They passed through snow-capped mountains, bought wishing slips at the foot of Mount Eros, and strolled through the world's largest night market... eventually reaching the border between the former Norlanda and Belly.
This area used to be Ophelia's territory, but in recent years it has been incorporated into Hetuya's territory.
Eleanor, arm in arm with her lover, entered the old man's small home.
It's not entirely accurate to say "small." This old woman has three daughters, and even her youngest daughter has had children. Several thatched and wooden houses on this land near the forest belong to her family.
The old man led them into the only brick house, where a thin blanket and a rolled-up quilt covered a newly built bed, which looked sturdy and clean.
The old woman introduced her wife and daughters with a reserved air, but refused to let the children meet the guests, saying that "the children are too young to understand."
Eleanor probably knew what she was worried about; perhaps the children had already been sent to a neighbor's house during this time.
She pretended not to realize any of this and sat down with Andra at the table to enjoy the farm-fresh food.
The long-lost stewed beans and black bread reappeared before her, and the familiarity almost made her laugh out loud.
However, even farmers now have eggs to eat. In fact, to better entertain their guests, they would specially kill a chicken and stew it with eggs, which would never taste bad.
Eleanor took a bite and put down her spoon with some delight. "Salt, oil, mushrooms, and a little bit of aromatic herbs—they can eat all this in this newly reclaimed frontier. They'll get better and better off."
"Oh, I'm glad you like it." Andra, seeing how much she enjoyed her food, leaned closer and insisted on being fed a bite by Eleanor before happily pulling her neck back.
Her decrees encouraging the freeing of slaves were not without opposition from nobles.
Knowing the nature of the wise, their objection was not that "nobles need servants to save precious time and better utilize their talents," but rather that "slaves cannot enjoy freedom and will be in a mess after leaving the protection of nobles."
How could that be? The people of the Moonlit Continent have better physical constitutions than the people of Blue Star.
A person who gains freedom and takes responsibility for themselves and their family is always stronger than someone trapped in a cage.
A free spirit is what distinguishes a man from a domestic animal.
As night fell, Eleanor took a long-awaited hot bath, and the family even got bath beans from the village chief.
If Andra hadn't insisted on squeezing in to join us in the water, she could have gotten a much cleaner wash... although she did get a thorough wash tonight anyway.
Although the old man brought an oil lamp, she blew it out early and embraced Andra in the blankets.
*Smack*
Eleanor slapped away her lover's restless hand and said with her eyes closed, "Be careful in someone else's house."
"Okay~" Andra wrapped her arms around her waist, and the two drifted off to sleep in the scent of sunshine.
......
The old man next door stared wide-eyed at the knife in his hand.
That was a kitchen knife, the one we used to kill the chicken today.
An iron knife, a fine knife that requires saving up a lot of money to buy... It was a knife that the village chief gave to his daughter, a hunter.
Thinking of his daughter, the old man's back became even more hunched, but he continued to ponder.
The one with the golden-red hair must be King Andra!
McGonagall was unaware of Andra's departure from the court, nor did she know of the dramatic changes that had taken place in the upper echelons of Hertuya. All she knew was that she would never forget those burning eyes—eyes that seemed to care about nothing.
Does she really not care about anything?
Before today, McGonagall's answer was yes.
She could swear on her heart that the golden-red devil, whether in the beginning or later, never cared about anyone.
How could someone who has even the slightest love for the world allow the entire land to be scorched by war?
She smiled.
Wang smiled.
Queen Andra loved that feeling, something everyone who had seen her was absolutely certain of.
But Andra is very different today.
McGonagall could sense her affection for that dark-haired, seemingly ordinary yet very gentle woman.
That must be love.
Even disregarding the monster's former coldness, the warmth that lingered between them was enough to move onlookers.
McGonagall couldn't imagine who that hand, which held the bow and arrow and the longsword, would meticulously wipe their body, wring out the towel, or even carry the wooden tub to wash them with hot water before and after their bath—and that was a newly washed wooden tub!
Judging from the young man's movements, he had clearly done this many times before. He was not only very skilled, but he also didn't feel embarrassed when his daughter saw him.
Was that really King Andra? If it weren't for the fact that eyes and appearances can't be faked, Mag would have really thought she had just run into one of King Hetuya's illegitimate daughters.
Ugh.
She swallowed hard, putting Andra aside, and began to think about the black-haired girl next to her.
King Andra called her "my wife," could she be the queen?
It's unlikely.
All the rumors about King Andra's queen say she is "an unparalleled blonde beauty." Even if being unparalleled is a lie the king made up for his beloved wife, blonde hair cannot be faked.
...Was that a concubine?
Whether she was a concubine or not, she must have been someone Andra loved.
McGonagall suddenly had a dangerous thought.
She couldn't kill Andra, a lament both rationally and emotionally.
But the black-haired girl was different; she was someone who had never taken the secret medicine, and could be killed in one blow if the opportunity was right.
She, Salin, and many others had everything destroyed by Andra. What a just revenge!
But... but she still has children.
Meg's dry eyes welled up with tears.
If she were still that penniless war slave, she would be willing to give anything for her old friends. She would even be willing to spend her whole life wielding a knife, tracking them down for a fleeting chance.
But now she has a family, and has only just gained her precious freedom...
As dawn broke, Andra went to the courtyard to practice his swordplay, a habit he maintained since childhood.
Eleanor leaned against the door frame, scribbling in her notebook with a pen in hand.
The young woman, carrying a basket, was smiling as she prepared to deliver the food when her mother-in-law grabbed her shoulder.
"I'll do it."
"Yes, Mother."
The young woman obediently handed the basket containing the baked flatbreads to the old woman. Looking at her mother's back, she felt that her mother's walking posture was a little strange today.
McGonagall, carrying a basket, slowly approached the girl who was painting.
She could almost smell the scent of the girl's hair, but felt no tenderness in her heart.
She didn't sleep all night, countless thoughts tormenting her exhausted soul.
McGonagall has already abandoned her plans for revenge.
Why bother? It's pointless. She's moved on and can now lead her wife and children to a wonderful new life.
But the spirits of the dead still howl in my ears.
Do something, do something! You can do it! McGonagall—McGonagall!!!
I can do it!
A desire for revenge that transcended reason made her press down on the kitchen knife hidden in her bosom.
Just once, just once...!
I used to be a very strong warrior, I could—I was certain I could sever the head in front of me with a single strike.
At this distance, even if King Andra flew, he couldn't reach it.
This young lady won't be in much pain... but King Andra, King Andra will surely feel the pain we felt when we lost Salin! I hope it's even more excruciating than that!!
"Eleanor, don't sit in the sun to paint, it'll hurt your eyes." Andra turned her head to the side, the sword light in her hand easily slicing through the fallen leaves in the courtyard.
"Okay, I'm in my room," the woman replied sweetly.
Eleanor
This name drained all of McGonagall's strength.
So... so it was the Sage.
She knelt down on the ground without thinking, spilling the baked goods from her basket all over the floor.
So close—just a little bit more...!
The old woman covered her face; she had almost committed an unforgivable crime.
Not only did he kill countless sages, but he will also drag his entire family and even the whole village into the abyss of hell.
"Ugh."
McGonagall couldn't help but sob.
As soon as she cried out, Andra, who was practicing swordsmanship nearby, frowned and rushed to the door, gripping his sword hilt. "Hey!"
Andra's outstretched hand was blocked by her lover's body.
Eleanor supported the old man's arm and picked up the basket from the ground with her other hand, placing it in McGonagall's arms.
She laughed and said, "I wasn't sure when I saw you yesterday, but you must be McGonagall, right?"
"..."
Why—why did she hear her own name spoken by the sage?
McGonagall looked up in disbelief. Even King Andra couldn't possibly remember the code name of one of the countless slaves beneath his horse.
Eleanor pursed her lips, her gaze distant, as if looking through her aged face at the face of someone different yet the same.
McGonagall and Salin met several times and even had a few relationships that eventually led to marriage.
How could I forget you, you who yearn for freedom?
She said softly, "I am Salin's friend, and I will say hello to her in the future."
After saying that, he turned around and took his lover's hand, asking her to accompany him to the river to see the wild ducks.
McGonagall gazed at their departing figures, tears streaming down her face without her noticing.
You're lying! Salin is dead!!
She wanted to shout that, but for some reason, a new hope arose in her heart.
It seems, it's as if—there's still time.
-----------------------
Author's note: McGonagall can't kill Eleanor here, after all, she has the ability to rewind time, and Andra is 99.99% likely to come to her rescue in time.
However, if there really is a timeline among countless worldlines where Eleanor doesn't have the ability to rewind, and Andra misses her chance... then Mag will have to start a hellish challenge.
McGonagall, who killed Eleanor (without a chance): I am guilty, I have implicated my family...
Andra: It's not that easy.
People of this continent: How could you be so selfish!
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