The Fallen Noblewoman Grasps the Future with a Merchant Woman - Vows Within the Trap

The morning light filtered through the thin window cloth of the cheap inn "Tabigarasu," warming Klara's eyelids. She had barely slept the night before. The story Marta had told her—the warning that there might be something shady behind this deal—had been swirling endlessly in her head. She remembered how her chest had gone cold the moment Friedrich's name came up. Klara sat up on the hard floor and looked at the simple bed next to hers. Marta was already awake, leaning against the wall and polishing her pipe. Her silver short hair gleamed coldly in the morning light. "[serious]Are you ready?" Marta's voice was lower and harder than usual. "[whispers]...Yes." Klara nodded and draped her worn shawl over her shoulders. Unconsciously, she rubbed the ring finger of her left hand. The mark where her ring had been ached terribly this morning. "[serious]Listen. If anything happens, leave me behind and run." Marta looked straight at Klara as she tucked her pipe into her pocket. Her narrow blue eyes were cold as ice, yet something hot seemed to swirl deep within them. "[whispers]You..." Klara started to speak, then stopped. (*Why would you go that far?*) Marta had already turned her back and was walking toward the door. The two left the inn in silence. --- The warehouse district of the old town was shrouded in morning mist. Stone buildings crowded together, and the narrow alleys were still empty. Even the cargo wagons loaded with supplies were nowhere to be seen this morning. It was quiet, as if the entire city were holding its breath. Klara and Marta walked side by side over the cobblestones. Marta glanced behind them from time to time, checking to see if anyone was following. Her profile was so deadly serious that Klara hesitated to say anything. The faint tenderness Marta had shown last night in their room at Tabigarasu was already gone. Now she wore the cold face of a merchant. Even so— (*I'm with this person.*) Klara clenched her right hand tightly. She was scared. But she didn't want to run away. If the alternative was going back to those days of being spat on in the marketplace and crawling on the cobblestones— "Here." Marta stopped walking. Before them stood an old stone warehouse. There was a heavy wooden door at the front, with a small service entrance beside it. Soot clung to the walls, and the place had a desolate air, as if it hadn't been used in years. Marta glanced at the service entrance. *If it comes down to it, that's our escape route*—her silent gaze conveyed. But Klara, too tense, didn't notice the look. "[serious]We're going in." Marta pushed open the heavy door. *Creeeak—* The rusted hinges let out a grating noise. Inside, the warehouse was dim, and the musty air stung their noses. Stacks of wooden crates lined the walls, old ropes hung from the ceiling, scraps of straw littered the floor— And in the center of the warehouse, a long table had been set up. Iron ore samples were arranged on the table. The black, gleaming lumps of stone shone dully in the lamplight. A man stood on the other side of the table. Johan Berger. A merchant in his mid-forties, his thin frame dressed in expensive-looking clothes. But this morning, something was different about him. His face was pale, and greasy sweat beaded on his forehead. His hands trembled faintly, and he wouldn't meet Klara's or Marta's eyes. "[whispers]Ms. Greta... you've come." Berger's voice was shaking. Just then— *Clank.* From a dark corner of the warehouse came the sound of metal scraping against metal. Marta's expression froze in an instant. Her blue eyes swept rapidly across the surroundings. "[cold]...Berger." Marta called out in a low voice. It was far colder than usual. Three soldiers now stood in front of the warehouse door, as if they had materialized out of nowhere. All of them wore armor. On their breastplates was the crest of the Duke of Brennhardt—a silver iron ring. Soldiers of the Eisenring. They stood silently, blocking the door. As if sealing off any escape. Klara still hadn't noticed the anomaly. "[whispers]Mr. Berger, thank you for giving us this opportunity to trade today." With the ingrained manners of a noble, she bowed deeply. In that moment— "Stop." Marta grabbed Klara's arm tightly. Startled, Klara looked up. Marta's gaze was piercing Berger. "[cold]What is the meaning of this?" Berger, trembling, slowly lowered his head. "[crying]I'm... so sorry..." His voice was wet with tears. "[crying]This deal... was a trap from the very beginning. I was simply... ordered by Lord Friedrich... to lure the two of you here..." The color drained from Klara's face. *A trap—* The word repeated itself over and over in her head. "[cold]...I knew it." Marta spat the words out curtly. More than anger, a coldness akin to resignation seeped into her voice. Then— *Clatter, clatter, clatter!!!* The back door of the warehouse burst open, and five more soldiers came pouring in. All of them drew their swords and surrounded the two women. The metallic clang of armor echoed eerily through the dim warehouse. They were completely surrounded. Klara's breathing quickened. Her legs trembled, and cold sweat ran down her back. (*We can't escape—*) Despair welled up from the pit of her stomach. Just then— *Creeeak...* The large front door slowly opened. The morning light cut through the darkness of the warehouse. A man stood silhouetted against the backlight. His white-gloved hand touching the doorframe lightly—he stepped into the warehouse, one step at a time. Bright blond hair that seemed to gather the sunlight. Cold, gleaming blue eyes. Refined features that always bore a gentle, perfect smile. Friedrich Aschen. The legitimate son of the Duke of Brennhardt, and Klara's former fiancé. He was there. Klara caught her breath. Her heart—no. Something deep in her chest pounded violently. Cold. Hot. A sensation that was neither pierced through her entire body. (*Lord Friedrich—*) The night from a year ago resurfaced in her mind. The grand hall of the luxurious ducal mansion. As she knelt trembling on the floor, he had said just one thing: "I am breaking off my engagement to you"—coldly, without the slightest trace of emotion. He had been smiling then, too. The exact same perfect smile as now. "[gentle]Klara." Friedrich spoke quietly. His voice was sweet as honey, yet cold as ice. "[gentle]I'm surprised to find that a woman whose engagement was annulled is still conducting business within this territory." He glanced at Klara. His eyes were filled with indifference and contempt—as if looking at an insect. Klara's throat made a faint, strangled sound. She couldn't say anything. Her voice wouldn't come out. Her entire body stiffened like stone, unable to move even a finger. Her legs trembled. Her breathing grew shallow. The edges of her vision began to blur. "[gentle]And as for you," Friedrich shifted his gaze to Marta. "[gentle]—the survivor of the Weiss family, was it? Marta Grace." Marta's shoulders tensed slightly. On the back of her left hand, the burn scar stood out starkly white. Her habit of unconsciously tracing it with her thumb now trembled with anger and tension. "[sarcastic]The daughter of a merchant house crushed in the Kleinhandel Incident—you've grown quite remarkably. Though this is where it ends." Friedrich snapped his white-gloved fingers. "[cold]Arrest that woman. Unauthorized commercial activity, and breach of trust against the ducal house. Confiscate her assets and send her to the mines." The soldiers moved all at once. A large man in armor reached out to grab Marta's arm. "Don't touch me!" Marta shouted sharply and twisted away. But another soldier raised a club. —That was when it happened. Klara's body moved before she could think. "Stop it!!" She threw herself in front of Marta. Arms spread wide, shielding Marta with her whole body— *Thud!!!* A dull impact. The club struck Klara's left shoulder directly. The sensation of bone grinding. A searing pain blazed from her shoulder to her neck, to her back, all at once. "—Agh!!" Her vision exploded into white. The strength drained from her legs, and she collapsed onto the stone floor. Her left shoulder wouldn't move. The pain made it hard to even breathe. The taste of iron spread through her mouth. "Klara...!" Marta's voice sounded distant. A stunned voice, as if seeing something unbelievable. The next instant— *Boom!!!* White smoke burst through the warehouse. Marta had slammed the pipe she'd taken from her pocket against the floor. "[cough]Cough...!!" "[cough]W-what is this?!" The soldiers coughed, thrown into confusion within the smoke. Their vision was completely blocked, and no one could move. "Can you stand?! We're going!!" Marta's hand grabbed Klara's right arm tightly. She forced Klara to her feet, supported her shoulder, and began running toward the back door she had scouted beforehand. "[angry]Seize them! Don't let them escape!!" From beyond the smoke, Friedrich's furious roar echoed. His rough, commanding tone—the one that only came out when he was cornered. It was the first moment the mask of the elegant nobleman had slipped. "[angry]You incompetents! Hurry up!!" "Ngh...!" Marta gritted her teeth and pulled Klara even closer. She kicked down the back door, and the two burst out into the alley. --- They ran desperately through the maze-like alleys of the old town. Marta held Klara's shoulder, turning down narrow paths, climbing over piles of garbage, ducking under laundry poles. Behind them, the footsteps and angry shouts of the Eisenring soldiers pursued. Klara, on the verge of losing consciousness from the pain, desperately moved her legs. Her left shoulder had gone numb; only her right arm felt heavy. She was out of breath, her throat burning hot. (*It hurts... it hurts...*) Tears blurred her vision, making it hard to see ahead. Even so—she ran. If they didn't escape, everything would be taken from her again. This time, absolutely everything. "Here!" Marta dragged Klara into the shadow of an abandoned house on the border with the new town. The walls were crumbling, and half the roof had collapsed. Any sign of human habitation had long since vanished. The two slipped into a gap in the broken stone wall and held their breath. After a while, the soldiers' footsteps faded into the distance. "[angry]Tch, where did they disappear to?!" "[angry]Over there! Search!!" The voices vanished beyond the alley—and silence descended. Marta leaned her back against the wall and let out a long breath. Then, seeing the blood seeping from Klara's shoulder, she narrowed her blue eyes. "[serious]...The bone might not be broken. But the swelling is bad." Klara, her face twisted in pain, gave a small nod. Marta was silent for a moment, checking the wound on Klara's shoulder. Then she looked straight into Klara's face. Her narrow blue eyes fixed intently on Klara's dark brown ones. Those eyes held—not anger. Bewilderment. And something else, a suppressed emotion. "[serious]...Why did you shield me?" Her voice trembled faintly. Klara slowly drew a breath. It hurt. She was scared. But— "[whispers]...I don't know. Even I... don't have a reason." Klara's voice was barely a whisper. But it wasn't a lie. "[whispers]It's just... my body moved on its own. In that moment, if you had been taken from me—I would have... I couldn't..." The words wouldn't continue. (*I didn't want to be alone again.*) She thought it in her heart, but couldn't say it out loud. Marta said nothing. She just quietly, gently narrowed her cold blue eyes. —That was when it happened. Her left hand touched Klara's right hand. Klara looked up in surprise. Klara's left hand had been unconsciously rubbing the mark of the ring on her finger. The proof of her broken engagement. A mark like a curse of the past that she touched whenever she felt fe

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Episode 3

Name: The Fallen Noblewoman Grasps the Future with a Merchant Woman
Author: Novelia

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