Chapter 07
Rentus Castle
Rentus Castle, set in the heart of Danteor, felt less like a beautiful relic and more like a fortress braced for war.
Scorch marks scarred the stone walls, and spears and swords still jutted here and there where eyes might wander.
Before arriving, they had already crossed several defensive lines.
Even with the war over, the north remained taut with the memory of that day.
It’s so dark.
Though it was midday, heavy clouds—thick enough to swallow light—hid the sun.
Gazing up at the sky, Ninia urged her horse forward.
With Zernom’s help she dismounted from the carriage and stood for a moment beside the chestnut mare.
“We’ve finally arrived.”
At her soft murmur the horse flicked its ears.
Normally, on a journey this long, they would have changed mounts at each village,
but this was a fine-blooded horse, and since they stopped every night they had not needed to trade it in—even after the carriage accident.
Perhaps that was why she had grown fond of it.
Once inside the inner walls, the castle’s condition became clearer.
The garden that should have brightened the grounds lay dry and barren as a wasteland.
Servants wielding large shovels tried to push snow toward the walls,
but the heavy flakes kept falling.
Ninia watched the knight lead her horse away with a reluctant gaze.
Seeing this, Zernom seemed to think of something and offered an awkward explanation.
“…It’s a bit desolate.”
It truly was a cold wilderness, so Ninia simply answered with a small smile.
Even accounting for the dark winter and the recent war, the castle’s state was far from welcoming.
This, however, would be her home.
“When spring or summer comes, it will be better,” Ninia said,
her words carrying quiet metaphor.
Time was the best salve for wounds;
time alone could push winter behind.
Zernom looked at her with a trace of awe.
Most people would be in tears. Even for a former Saint, she’s remarkable.
An ordinary noblewoman would have wept to see such a haunted place.
Yet Ninia, who as duchess would be buried in this northern land where three seasons felt like winter and nothing but snow met the eye, remained composed.
And her future husband?
Their first meeting had been shocking enough, yet she kept silent about it.
Her blue eyes, fixed on the castle, looked serene.
Her graceful face and upright posture still made her seem every inch the Saint.
And that stamina…
Through the long journey, Ninia had not uttered a single complaint.
Even with nightly rests, it was a harsh road for any woman—especially one raised in luxury.
Did all devotees possess such strength? Zernom wondered.
Servants opened the doors to the main keep.
It had to be better inside, Zernom thought as he moved to guide her.
“…Lady Ninia?”
As she climbed the stairs, Ninia suddenly stopped.
Zernom called again, puzzled—just as her body pitched forward.
“My lady! Lady!”
Startled, he caught her.
She tried to answer that she was fine, but no sound came.
Her vision wavered.
From the moment they entered Danteor’s domain, her body had burned with fever.
Had she ever felt this ill without someone harming her?
Her head spun; heat smothered her whole body.
This was her first true bout of fever.
“…condi…tion…”
“…yes, but…”
Voices murmured above her, buzzing in her ears.
Even through the haze she thought she should open her eyes, but it was difficult.
Soon someone lifted her arm, and a sharp sting followed.
Ninia’s brow twitched.
The arm was laid back down, and whoever tended her exchanged quiet words with another.
What were they saying?
She strained to listen, unease creeping in.
Ninia had never been indifferent to her fate;
she simply hid it well.
Though she accepted being swept along, anxiety always gnawed at her.
“…Ah.”
“My lady?”
Today that anxiety lent her strength.
She forced her eyes open as if pushed from behind.
Through the blur she saw Zernom, along with an older man and a maid.
“Do you recognize me?”
She tried to speak, but her throat blocked the words.
At the man’s signal the maid touched a cup to her lips.
The wetness cleared her mind little by little.
“Her energy is depleted, and she’s suffering a severe chill.
The fever remains, but with medicine she should recover,”
the man said, removing a stethoscope.
Even in her feverish state, Ninia stared in surprise.
He was no healing priest, but a common physician.
A doctor?
The Holy See had long despised many groups, among them mages and physicians.
Those born with divine power were rare,
but anyone could become a doctor with study.
The High Pontiff had deliberately shunned those who could heal without the church’s blessing.
The most extreme example had been the persecution of mages.
“Exterminate those called mages, the spawn of evil.”
At the command of the 25th Pontiff, the entire temple army—holy knights included—had moved.
The mage purges continued through the 31st Pontiff and ended only in the supposed triumph of the goddess.
That was possible only when most nations still worshiped Kanere as the sole deity.
Some states, horrified by the purges, broke away.
It was the greatest decline in the church’s history,
yet the temple treated it as a passing trial and clung even more blindly to the goddess.
Physicians were among the few who remained—
and in countries ruled by divine power they were vilified as servants of demons,
along with oppressed minorities.
“Then… is it safe to give her medicine?”
The doctor glanced at Ninia’s pale lips.
He seemed aware she was once the Saint.
But his question was pointless—
a needle already pricked her arm.
She gathered what little voice she had.
“It’s fine,” she whispered, her words hoarse.
The doctor’s expression shifted oddly at her raspy tone.
After a pause, he handed prescriptions and medicine to Zernom, not to her.
It was natural that doctors, persecuted by the church, carried some bitterness.
Perhaps he had half expected her to refuse treatment, so he could mock her for it.
After the doctor left, the maid undressed Ninia and wiped the sweat from her body.
Her touch was practiced but purely professional,
and her face held a subtle chill.
Dressed in fresh clothes, Ninia felt physically lighter, though her heart seemed heavier.
When the maid departed, leaving medicine and a bowl of thin porridge,
Zernom returned.
“You gave me quite a scare, my lady.
If you were feeling ill, why not tell me?”
The comment sounded almost awkward.
Ninia set down her spoon with a faint smile.
Do all devotees have such endurance?
Zernom’s guess at the gate was not far off:
the stronger one’s sacred power, the greater the stamina.
Sacred power shielded the body.
It was thanks to her strong divine energy that Ninia could spend days in charity work by day,
attend social gatherings until dawn,
and then ride to another region at sunrise.
But now her sacred power was drained,
and she was an ordinary woman again.
A body forced to expend that power was already weakened,
and the grueling journey would have taxed even a healthy traveler.
It was a wonder she hadn’t collapsed sooner.
It’s been so long since I was sick, I didn’t recognize it.
Since coming of age as the Saint, she had never fallen ill.
She had mistaken the loss of strength for mere fatigue,
and the rising heat in her body for lingering side effects of holy rites or travel.
How absurd that someone who had healed so many could be so blind to her own health.
“Lady Ninia.”
“Yes? Please speak.”
Zernom hesitated for a long moment before finally offering her a thick envelope.
His face was grim.
Ninia studied the envelope, then slit it open with the letter knife on the nightstand.
“…I’m sorry to trouble you so soon after you’ve awakened,
but I’m afraid we need your signature,” he said.
Her eyes fell to the top of the document.
Inside the brown envelope lay the papers for Ninia’s marriage contract.
