The Fallen Noblewoman Grasps the Future with a Merchant Woman - Father's letter

The night was deep. Through the small window of the cheap inn "Tabigarasu," not even a sliver of moonlight entered. Only the flame of a candle flickered unsteadily in the corner of the room. A thin blanket laid over the old floorboards. Upon it, Klara Wilhelm tossed in a feverish sleep. Sweat beaded on her forehead, her reddish-brown hair clinging to her cheeks. Her breathing was shallow, and occasionally, her brow furrowed in pain. Beneath the bandages on her left shoulder, the wound burned with heat. The spot where she had been struck with a club was swollen and red. Marta Grace soaked a cloth in a bucket of water and wrung it out tightly. She placed the cold cloth on Klara's forehead. Klara's eyelids fluttered slightly. Marta watched her silently. Her narrow, blue eyes were as cold as ever, but deep within them, something wavered. (*Why did you...*) Marta thought to herself. In that back alley, Klara had shielded Marta. The moment the club was swung down, she had used her own body as a shield. Marta still didn't understand her motive. It was an action she, who always acted out of calculation, couldn't comprehend. Marta's left thumb unconsciously traced the burn scar on the back of her hand. Outside the window, the wind howled. The walls of the cheap inn were thin, and the draft made the candle flame flicker. Hans, the owner of Tabigarasu, believed the two of them were "a sick younger sister and her older sister." That was how Marta had explained it. Hans was a good-natured man. He didn't pry deeply; as long as the room fee was paid, he asked no further questions. That was the way of this inn. Marta cooled and wrung out the cloth once more, placing it on Klara's neck. It was then— "...No... that's not true..." Klara began to murmur in delirium. Her voice was small and hoarse. Fevered, she wandered the boundary between reality and dreams. "...I am... a daughter of the Wilhelm family... such a thing is..." Marta's hand stopped. "...The engagement... Lord Friedrich, why... the reason..." Klara's left hand trembled atop the blanket. Unconsciously, she rubbed the mark of a ring on her ring finger. Over and over, she rubbed that pale mark. Marta tossed the cloth into the bucket. "...Are you awake?" Her voice was low and quiet. Klara's eyes slowly opened. But they were unfocused. Whether she was looking at the ceiling, or at the past from a year ago— "[whispers]...That night, Lord Friedrich said with a gentle smile..." Klara's voice was like a soliloquy. "[whispers]'I have decided to annul our engagement'... When I asked for a reason, he only said, 'incompatibility of character'..." The candle flame flickered again. "[whispers]The next morning... I was made to stand outside the mansion gate. My father, my mother, no one... no one defended me. Rather, they told me to leave quickly..." Klara bit her dry lip. "[whispers]The daughter of Viscount Vogel... no longer exists. I, as a person, am already... to my family, to the territory, I am someone who does not exist..." Marta, leaning against the wall, closed her eyes. "[whispers]For a year since then... selling cloth at the market, drifting from one cheap inn to another... I have no one left to rely on. No one..." Tears spilled from the corner of Klara's eyes. It wasn't just the fever. Things she had kept bottled up alone, for so long. Things she couldn't tell anyone. Now, in her fevered state, they were overflowing into words. "[whispers]...But you..." Klara's eyes turned towards Marta. Her focus was still hazy. Even so, she was definitely, surely, looking at Marta. "[whispers]You... told me I had worth... Not my family pedigree, but that you wanted my education..." Marta didn't answer. She just kept her blue eyes fixed on Klara, still leaning against the wall. "[whispers]For me... that alone is..." Klara's voice gradually faded. "[whispers]That alone is... the thread I cling to..." Before she could finish, Klara's eyes closed. She had fallen asleep again. Quiet breathing returned to the room. Marta didn't move for a long time. The candle flame made a soft, sputtering sound. "[cold]...I also have things I can't speak of." Marta's voice fell quietly, meant for no one's ears. "[cold]You're not the only one carrying a past." Saying just that, Marta walked over to the window. Outside was darkness. The wind rattled the old wooden frame. Marta placed her hand on the window frame and stared into the darkness outside. Her short silver hair swayed slightly. She remembered the night she lost her family, eight years ago. But now—it was not yet the time to speak of it. Marta stood in that spot until dawn. --- The next morning, Klara was awakened by a knock on the door. Her head was heavy. Her body felt sluggish, too. But her fever had gone down a little. A cold cloth rested on her forehead. Had Marta been changing it throughout the night? "Sorry for the early hour." Hans's voice came from the other side of the door. Marta opened the door a crack. "[serious]What is it?" "This was delivered for you two." Hans held out a single letter. Marta took it and immediately turned it over. The seal. The vice-seal of the Duchy of Brenhardt—a silver iron ring crest stood out within the wax. Marta's blue eyes narrowed sharply. "[cold]Who did you receive this from?" "Who knows? An unfamiliar man brought it early this morning. Just said, 'For Lady Klara.'" With that, Hans tactfully left. Marta returned to the room, letter in hand, and looked down at Klara. "[serious]Can you get up?" "[whispers]...Yes." Klara slowly sat up. Her left shoulder throbbed with pain, but it was better than yesterday. "It's addressed to you. Sent under the name of the Viscount Vogel family steward." A cold tension ran through Marta's voice. "But the seal is the vice-seal of the Brenhardt family." The color drained from Klara's face instantly. With trembling hands, she broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of paper from inside. It was stiff, expensive-looking parchment. On it, only a single line was written. —My daughter Klara is a person with whom I have already severed ties. You may banish her upon discovery within the territory. A signature. Viscount Vogel, Ernst Vogel von Wilhelm. It was her father's handwriting. Her hands trembled. The paper made a faint, rustling sound. "...Father..." Klara's lips moved slightly. But no voice came out. Her eyes traced the words on the missive. Over and over. *You may banish her. A person with whom ties have been severed. Father's signature.* It was no longer just a broken engagement. It was a denial of her very existence. Klara's left fingers began to rub the mark on her ring finger. She rubbed that pale mark with the corner of the paper. Rubbed it. "...Ah..." A small, breath-like voice. "...Ah..." Not even tears came. Just a coldness seeping into the core of her body. (*The place I belong... is gone.*) When her engagement was annulled, when she was driven from her home, even then—somewhere in her heart, she had thought: *Perhaps, someday, Father will come for me. Perhaps I can be forgiven.* But, no more. That very father had signed it. Stating that his daughter no longer existed. Friedrich must have applied pressure. Forced the Viscount Vogel family to cut off their daughter. Made the father kill his daughter with his own hand—socially, completely. Klara leaned her back against the wall and slid down to the floor. She hugged her knees. She hung her head. The missive fell to the floor. Marta picked it up. She ran her eyes over the words once more. Traced the vice-seal with her thumb. "[cold]...Friedrich, how far will you go." A small, spat-out voice. Then, Marta stood beside Klara. She said nothing. She just stood there. Beside Klara, who trembled, stifling her voice. Marta's left hand tightly gripped her own burn scar. Time passed slowly. How long had it been? "[whispers]...It's over now." Klara's voice was hoarse. "[whispers]Nowhere... there is nowhere for me..." Klara spoke, her face still downcast. Her shoulders trembled slightly. Marta searched for an answer. But she couldn't find the words. She, too, was someone who had lost her family eight years ago, robbed of every place she belonged. The Kleinhandel Incident. Her family was ruined by a false accusation, her father died, and her mother and younger brother went missing. She knew all too well what the feeling of "having no place to return to" was like. But revealing her own past now was different. That past was for her own revenge. Revealing it here and now wouldn't support Klara. Rather, it would only cause more confusion. Marta swallowed her words. Just— "[gentle]...Can you stand?" She said only that, shortly. Klara didn't answer. "[gentle]We leave here when night falls. Get ready." Saying just that, Marta sat down in the corner of the room. She didn't take out her account book, nor did she polish her pipe—she simply chose to be in the same space as Klara. Silence enveloped the two of them. --- That night, Marta went outside the inn alone. The alley was dark. There was no moonlight, and the wind howled through. Marta pulled her hood low, muffled her footsteps, and checked her surroundings. The west corner of Tabigarasu— There, an unfamiliar man stood. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching the street. But his eyes were fixed intently on the front of the inn. His boots had iron soles, and a faint sound of scraping metal could be heard whenever he moved. *Eisenring.* He was in plain clothes, but she could tell. (*Friedrich, you've tightened the net this far already.*) Marta held her breath and quietly retreated back down the alley. When she returned to the room, Klara was still sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall. She didn't raise her head, just stared fixedly at the missive on the floor. "[serious]We leave before dawn tomorrow." Marta spoke in a low voice. "[serious]There's an Eisenring lookout outside. They've sniffed us out here. We have no more time." Klara slowly raised her face. Her eyes were hollow. "[whispers]...Where to?" "Wasserburg. I have a childhood friend there. She runs a tailor shop—I can arrange for her to hide us temporarily." Klara said nothing for a while. Then, she nodded slightly. "[whispers]...I understand." Her voice was still trembling. "[whispers]But how? With a lookout, how do we leave the city?" "Before dawn, we'll blend in with a freight wagon. I'll talk to Hans. He's a man of obligation, despite appearances—if I explain the situation, he'll hide us in the cargo." Marta walked to the window and peered outside through a gap in the thin curtain. The street was quiet. But that quiet was a lie. "[serious]The problem is during the journey. Eisenring has eyes on the highways too. It's half a day by wagon to Wasserburg—whether we can make it safely through that time." Marta's voice was flat, as if calculating. "[serious]If we're caught—it's truly over this time. Your father's letter has made you a complete stranger. There is no one in the territory who will protect you. If you're caught, it won't end lightly." Klara looked at the missive on the floor once more. Her father's signature. —*You may banish her.* (*Father... killed me.*) Klara bit her lip. She bit down hard, and tasted blood. But no tears came. Even her tears had frozen somewhere, now. "[whispers]...But, I must go." Klara said in a hoarse voice. "[whispers]Even if I stay here, I'll be found eventually. If that's the case—I'll go with you, to the very end." Marta didn't turn around. But it felt as if her back moved, just a little, just a tiny bit. "[gentle]...Sleep. I'll wake you before dawn." Saying only that, Marta took out her pipe. But she didn't light it. She just traced it with her fingers. Klara closed her eyes, still leaning against the wall. Th

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Episode 4

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

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