In the kingdom of Igrein, where swords and grace decide everything, commoners are trampled by nobles, and the law refuses to protect them. Allen, once a servant in the royal castle, knew Princess Juliana's hidden affection but retreated because of their difference in status. One night, he finally brought shame upon her and vanished from the castle. Carrying that sin and humiliation, Allen reincarnates and now stands on the battlefield as a young soldier of the Liberation Front.
Meanwhile, Julia
Until I Call You My Enemy - The reply sinks into the chalk-white night.
The night air bit into his skin with unusual coldness.
The darkness enveloping the prisoner camp near the White Castle was deep, with moonlight as the only source of illumination. The White Castle of Kaled, towering over the hill of the royal capital Vernika—its white stone walls loomed faintly even from a distance. Allen Weiss sat in his cell, hugging his knees, his back pressed against the cold stone wall. Heavy iron shackles bound both arms. The sensation of them digging into his wrists returned a dull ache with every breath.
*(How long has it been?)*
He had long since lost any sense of time. Day and night were indistinguishable in this dim cell. Through a small iron-barred window set high in the wall, moonlight streamed in a thin line. That alone was the only proof connecting him to the outside world.
How much time had passed since that night, when Yuliana had stood before his cell?
She had said nothing. She had merely traced her fingers along the iron bars, then turned and left, her white cloak billowing. Only that cold, clear fragrance had lingered in the cell, refusing to fade. Allen closed his eyes. Her blue eyes were burned onto the back of his eyelids. The blue after rain. A color transparent, yet harboring a deep murkiness.
*(Yuliana...)*
Even calling her name in his heart felt like a betrayal of himself. The enemy queen. The one the Liberation Front must defeat. A being who shared the sins of his past life—someone he must never touch.
And yet.
He bit his lip. The taste of blood spread.
—It was then.
From far away, a faint sound reached him.
Allen opened his eyes. He strained his ears. The smell of mold and old blood soaked into the stone prison. Through it, soft footsteps approached. Not one person. Several. And not the iron-soled boots worn by the Kingdom Army's military police. Softer footsteps—leather shoes.
*(What is this?)*
His heart gave a single, heavy throb.
The footsteps stopped near the cell entrance. Beyond the iron bars, several figures were visible in the dim darkness. One of them spoke in a low, suppressed voice.
"Allen-san, are you there?"
A voice he recognized. Slightly hoarse, yet desperately trying to remain calm. Allen pulled his back away from the wall and slowly stood. The shackle chains scraped, making a heavy sound.
"...Milos, is that you?"
"Thank goodness, you're safe!"
Beyond the iron bars, Milos Grant's face emerged in the moonlight. A young face covered in freckles, with unruly red hair tied back carelessly with a cord. His burning green eyes shone clearly even in the darkness. The scar on his left cheek twitched with tension.
"I'll get you out now. Just wait a moment."
Milos pulled something from his waist. A thin iron rod. A key. He inserted it deftly into the lock and turned it with a clank. The heavy iron bars creaked open.
"Allen-san, can you stand?"
Another face appeared from behind Milos. Sara Barton. Her rich brown hair was braided over her shoulder and gathered at her collar. Her pale brown eyes glistened with worry even in the darkness. The wooden fragment tied to her medical bag's cord swayed slightly with her every movement. Her "star-gathering"—carved with the names of the war dead.
Allen nodded silently and stood, enduring the weight of the shackles.
"Let's hurry. We need to leave before the military police patrol comes."
She said this and placed her hand on Allen's arm. Her fingertips touched the cold iron of the shackles.
"I'll remove these shackles."
Sara took a small tool from her medical bag. She inserted it into the shackle's clasp and carefully applied force. With a click, one wrist was freed. Then the other. The heavy iron fell to the stone floor with a dull sound.
His wrists felt lighter. But the marks of the shackles remained clearly. Red, chafed skin. And upon it, another heat still lingered.
—The heat of Yuliana's fingers.
That night, she had traced her fingers along the iron bars. She hadn't touched him directly. And yet, even through the shackles on his wrists, he had felt the coldness of her fingers. No—not coldness. The moment she touched, a searing heat had raced through him.
*(It still remains, even now.)*
Allen looked down at his wrists. The shackle marks, and the phantom heat lingering beneath them. He slowly clenched his fist, then opened it.
"Come on, let's go! Our comrades are waiting outside."
Milos led the way out of the cell. Sara walked beside Allen, supporting him. Her shoulder occasionally brushed against his arm. Soft, and warm.
*(This warmth hurts.)*
Allen thought. He had no right to receive this warmth. For a man bearing the sins of his past life, someone's kindness was too heavy.
Outside the prisoner camp, the Liberation Front's raiding unit was waiting. Soldiers with black cloth covering their faces kept a sharp watch on the surroundings. One of them looked at Allen and gave a small nod.
"You're safe. Let's hurry. We need to reach the forest before dawn."
Allen nodded silently.
The unit muffled their footsteps and began moving, blending into the darkness of night. From the direction of the White Castle, the faint light of bonfires was visible. The white stone walls of the royal castle reflected the moonlight, looming pale blue.
Allen stopped for just a moment.
He turned back toward the White Castle.
*(She's there.)*
His heart throbbed again. The loneliness of leaving the place where she was—it was, just slightly, stronger than the relief of escaping the prisoner camp.
*(Even thinking such a thing is betrayal.)*
He told himself. His comrades had risked their lives to rescue him. And yet here he was, thinking about the enemy queen. How foolish could he be?
"Allen-san, what's wrong? Hurry."
Sara turned back and called out with concern.
"...No. It's nothing."
He answered and began walking again.
*(Nothing. It should be nothing.)*
He repeated it in his heart. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the direction of the White Castle.
It was before dawn when they returned to Elda's Fang.
The Liberation Front's headquarters—an abandoned fortress on a cliff at the eastern edge of Hazel Forest, one hundred thirty kilometers southwest of Vernika. Originally a border defense fort from two hundred years ago, it had been repurposed by Levan Holt after being abandoned. A natural stronghold protected by cliffs and forest. A frontal assault was nearly impossible.
The fortress was filled with the bustle of welcoming the returning soldiers. Voices celebrating the success of the rescue operation. Comrades rejoicing in each other's safety. The smell of bonfires and the steam of warm porridge drifted through the cold night air.
Allen separated himself from the commotion.
He walked along the fortress's outer wall and came to the base of an empty watchtower. Beyond the cliff, the black shadow of Hazel Forest spread wide. Wind blew, and the trees rustled.
*(I'm back.)*
He leaned his back against the wall and looked up at the sky. The stars were beginning to fade, little by little. Dawn was near.
The shackle marks on his wrists still ached.
Sara had wrapped them in bandages, but the skin beneath was red and swollen. And upon those marks, the heat of Yuliana's fingers still remained.
*(It won't disappear.)*
He gripped his wrist. Pain shot through it. That was fine. This pain anchored him to reality.
"Allen-san, so this is where you were!"
A voice called out, and Milos came running. In his hands was a wooden bowl. Steam rose from the porridge inside.
"Eat. You couldn't eat properly in the prisoner camp, right?"
Milos held out the bowl. Allen hesitated for a moment, then accepted it. It was warm. Heat traveled from his fingertips.
"...Thank you."
"Don't mention it! I'm really glad you're safe."
Milos laughed. The scar on his left cheek became slightly less noticeable when he smiled.
"Hey, Allen-san. Did the queen do anything to you? When I heard you were being taken to the White Castle, I thought it was over."
Allen took a sip of the porridge. It had no taste.
"...She didn't do anything."
"Really? That ice queen? A commoner prisoner would normally be executed on the spot."
"I said, she didn't do anything."
Allen's voice dropped a notch lower. Milos seemed to sense something and didn't press further.
"I see. Well, that's good then. ...But don't push yourself. You look terrible."
Milos said this and lightly patted Allen's shoulder.
"Sara's worried too. Go show her your face later. She's been restless ever since you got back."
"...Yeah."
Milos smiled once more and left.
Allen brought a little of the porridge to his mouth, then set the rest on the ground. He had no appetite. His body cried out with hunger, but his throat refused to accept it.
*(Sara is worried.)*
That fact lodged in his chest like a small thorn. Her kindness was genuine. Even as the horrors of the battlefield wore her heart thin, she smiled bravely and tried to heal everyone. And all he could do was shake off her hand.
*(I don't have the right.)*
He closed his eyes.
The next morning.
Allen sat in the corner of the barracks, staring blankly at the wall.
With dawn, the fortress had returned to its usual routine. Training shouts. Soldiers maintaining their weapons. The smell of porridge drifting from the kitchen. Another day of the Liberation Front was beginning.
But Allen's heart was still in the darkness of the prisoner camp.
*(The smell of that cell still lingers in my nose.)*
The smell of mold, blood, and excrement mixed together. And within it, the pure fragrance of white flowers that had drifted for just a moment.
"Allen-san, do you have a moment?"
A voice called, and Sara stood at the barracks entrance. Her brown braid shone softly in the morning light. Her medical bag hung from her shoulder, and she held a small bundle in her hands.
"Let me see your wounds. I'll redo the treatment."
She sat down beside Allen. She was close. The scent of medicinal herbs rose from her hair. Bitter, and slightly sweet.
"...I'm fine. It's not a serious wound."
"No. If the shackle marks get infected, that's when it becomes serious. Show me."
Her tone left no room for argument. Allen gave up and held out his bandaged wrists.
Sara's fingers carefully unwound the bandages. Her fingertips were slender, yet strong. Her touch on the wound was surprisingly gentle.
"...These are terrible marks. The iron dug in. It must have hurt."
Her voice trembled slightly. Her pale brown eyes glistened.
"You don't have to endure it. If it hurts, you can say it hurts."
Allen didn't answer.
*(It's not just my wrists that hurt.)*
He murmured in his heart. But he couldn't say it aloud.
Sara took a medicinal herb ointment from her bag and carefully applied it to the wounds. The cool sensation seeped into his heated skin.
"This should help a little. Rest today, okay?"
She paused as she rewrapped the bandages.
"...Hey, Allen-san."
"What?"
"You were awake all night, weren't you? I saw you. Sitting alone under the watchtower."
Allen's shoulders stiffened slightly.
"If you can't sleep, I can give you medicine. You don't have to force yourself to sleep, but you need to rest your body."
"...Don't worry about it."
"I will worry. We're comrades."
Her voice carried strong conviction. Allen looked at her face. Her pale brown eyes stared straight at him. There was no pity or sympathy there—only pure concern.
*(Those eyes hurt.)*
He averted his gaze.
"...Thank you. But I'm really fine."
Sara gazed at him for a while, then let out a small sigh.
"You're such an idiot. You're not fine at all."
She stood and readjusted her medical bag on her shoulder.
"Call me anytime if something happens. I'll come running right away."
With that, Sara left the barracks.
Allen stared at the bandages on his wrists. The warmth of her fingers still lingered there.
*(Sara. Your kindness is too bright for me.)*
He closed his eyes.
That evening, a guard called out to Allen.
"Allen, the
Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.