#2.
The hand stroking Merriot didn’t stop. As time passed, there was a drowsiness in the touch that made him realize the medicine the girl had taken wasn’t ordinary.
Merriot carefully slipped out from under the blanket so as not to disturb the girl’s mood.
Leaning against the headboard of the bed, Merriot watched her hand still moving as if she were touching his hair.
“Did she take this?”
There was a half-empty medicine bottle on the console. Holding it up to the moonlight, he saw that it was a very strong painkiller.
He remembered it—years ago, when he fell off a horse and severely injured his leg, the doctor had prescribed this same medicine.
The doctor had warned him: the drug was effective but highly addictive, only to be used in emergencies.
‘For her to need this… her illness must be serious.’
Looking down at the girl’s black hair spilling out from under the blanket, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy.
Why was it so hard for people like them to live a simple, healthy, and unscarred life?
As the world quieted, the pain in his side intensified. Merriot pushed away idle thoughts and searched the console for something useful.
Thankfully, there were antiseptics and coagulants.
“Ugh. The wound’s too deep.”
The bleeding was severe. Even after using all the coagulant in the bottle, it barely helped.
‘This is exhausting. Everything is.’
He was torn between the will to live and the desire to throw it all away. Merriot’s face twisted weakly with exhaustion.
Then, he heard a rustling sound beside him.
“Are you going to help me?”
The girl had poked her face halfway out from the blanket and was looking at him. Merriot looked at her and joked lightly.
Her eyes rolled slowly to the side.
He thought he must be out of his mind for trying to talk to someone so clearly drugged. What was the point?
But then, she pulled the blanket aside and stood up. In her thin nightgown, she walked over to the window.
Merriot’s gaze followed her movements.
Then, a dreamlike song began to flow.
“Listen to the song of the stars and whales.
Don’t forget the gentle song of the light that swims quietly.
Surrender to the melody that connects the night and the sea of night.
Forget the treasure you see in the distance.
My song is beside you.”
It felt like a dream. No, it felt like sinking into the depths of the sea.
‘Beautiful…’
The song moved seamlessly from the first verse to the second, as if it would go on forever. But it was never boring.
Merriot no longer worried about his wound. Drowsy, he soon fell asleep.
Into a deep, deep sleep.
Early in the morning, Merriot awoke from a restful slumber. He was still sitting in the same position he’d fallen asleep in.
Stretching with a refreshed feeling, he suddenly winced at the sharp pain in his side.
He remembered the wound and quickly checked it.
‘The bleeding stopped.’
The wound remained, but it no longer hindered his movement. Blood circulated well to his fingers and toes—his body felt warm.
He could even ride a horse without trouble.
Merriot remembered a very old legend.
“So the Winetail family’s song really does have healing power…?”
It was a line from an ancient myth—one no one had ever proven true.
At least, that’s what he had believed.
Merriot looked down at the girl sleeping beside him.
When she sang, she looked ethereal—like starlight swimming through the night sky, like a whale. But in the bright morning light, she was just a skinny young girl.
Merriot then looked at his hand. The sleeping girl was holding it.
“What now…”
He needed to flee, but it wasn’t easy. With a troubled expression, Merriot let out a short sigh.
It would have been nice to at least know her name.
He gently touched her forehead. Thankfully, her fever had broken overnight.
Turning his eyes, he spotted her name written on the medicine bottle.
The patient’s name was:
“Hera… Hera Winetail.”
As he whispered her name, a realization struck Merriot.
“You’re living on the edge, too. Just like me.”
It’s rare to meet someone else standing at the boundary between life and death.
Merriot thought meeting Hera was a blessing. Just knowing she existed gave him the courage to go on.
At that moment, Merriot decided to entrust half his will to live to the girl from Winetail.
And he would carry half of her will to live in return.
If Hera lived, then so would Merriot. And if Merriot lived, then so would Hera.
Twelve-year-old Merriot made that vow.
He found a quill on the console and left a short note on Hera’s pillowcase.
Survive.
I will too.
-M-
Just as he finished the sentence, he heard Count Winetail’s voice by the door.
“Your Highness.”
“Lord Winetail.”
It seemed the Count knew Merriot had been there all night. With a calm face, he continued.
“I’ve contacted your escort. They should be waiting near the outskirts. The knights of Winetail will accompany you there.”
“Thank you.”
Noticing the Count’s gaze fixed on their clasped hands, Merriot carefully pulled his hand away.
He straightened his tousled hair and clothes, then stood before the Count.
“I also apologize for the disturbance I caused last night.”
The Count didn’t respond to the apology but simply guided him outside.
“Let’s go.”
It was Merriot who hesitated. He looked back at the sleeping Hera.
“Your daughter…”
“She’s been suffering from a mysterious illness since birth. The fact that she’s still alive is a miracle.”
“I owe her a great debt. Someday, I’d like to repay it.”
When Merriot turned back to the Count, he wore a solemn expression.
“Would it be all right if I proposed to her someday?”
He didn’t forget to add one critical condition.
“If both she and I survive until then.”
“……”
Count Winetail said nothing, clearly shocked. The silence lasted a long time.
Long enough for his surprise to settle.
It was clearly a refusal.
Merriot let out a faint chuckle, then inhaled deeply. His chest ached.
“Well, at least your silence is the gentlest humiliation I’ve experienced lately.”
His eyes sharpened.
“I’ll ask again someday.”
He had no intention of giving up.
No matter what lay ahead.
***
Nine years and seven months passed.
The final week of December, 937.
At the peaceful southern port of Mozenny, Duke Merriot Laurant raised his sword high.
“You cannot leave through the North Gate! His Majesty Emperor Jerome has strictly forbidden it—surely the Duke is aware— AARGH!”
The North Gate guard—secretly an imperial spy—collapsed under Merriot’s blade.
His chief aide, Shane Darius, flung the North Gate open.
It was the very gate Merriot had passed through when he was exiled from the capital to the South.
And in all those years, it had never once opened for him again—until now.
“You’re ready to return to Central,” said Shane, smiling up at Merriot, who now sat on his horse.
As he calmed the ready-to-run horse, Merriot gave a final order.
“There’s one last thing. Send a letter. To the Count of Winetail.”
“What should it say?”
Gripping the reins tightly, Merriot smiled—bright as sunlight, golden like his hair.
“Tell them I wish to propose to the girl who survived—Hera Winetail.”
The southern city of Mozenny was warm year-round. It had no winter.
From the south to the north, from Mozenny to Central, Merriot charged northward, chasing the long-forgotten chill of Central’s winter.
There was no need for complication.
Like a fierce northern wind, he would unleash cold-blooded revenge upon Central.
And he would enter the Imperial Palace with his one true love, Hera Winetail, to reclaim the name Arista.
Anyone who tried to stop him—
He would cut down without mercy.
