On the day when imperial forces crushed the capital, Princess Selena of Altia Kingdom faced an inevitable choice amid despair. Her father fell pierced by arrows on the throne, her siblings scattered in flight. With her mother's ring in hand, she abandoned the castle.
On the road, when a swarm of monsters attacked, a single man appeared. Dressed in ash-grey cloth with an old scar across his face, the taciturn mercenary's name was Galen. Without hesitation, he cut through the beasts. Selena hired
The Princess's Sword - Night of the Moss-Covered Roof
I couldn't sleep.
The campfire at the encampment burned thin and steady. The small crackling sound of dry conifer branches echoed sparsely through the silent forest. Serena lay on the ground, gazing up at the sky. Through gaps in the trees, the twin moons were barely visible, tilted slightly. The large moon, just beginning to wane from fullness, and the small moon shining beside it as if nestled against it. The two moons that the people of Altia called the Twin Moon Goddess Lunaris and offered prayers to—tonight, Serena could only stare at them without any feeling.
Galen's coat lining wouldn't leave her mind.
In that instant when the flames flickered, she'd seen it: the scorched emblem mark. The half-collapsed remains of a shape. She'd thought it was the kind of insignia used by an organization. Not a personal crest, but proof of belonging to someone—that proof, now turning to ash.
What was that?
The question yielded no answer. Tonight, Galen stood at the night watch position, looking beyond the road. His back stood quietly at the edge of the firelight. Serena couldn't determine whether this man thought she was asleep or knew she wasn't and remained silent. Either possibility seemed equally likely.
As the night deepened, the pursuers' beacon fires flickered one by one in the distance. Patrol units of the Imperial Northern Conquest Legion heading north from Eldencia. There was still distance between them. But they were moving. The margin was shrinking.
Serena closed her eyes.
Sleeping and losing consciousness were different things tonight.
──
Dawn came.
As the sky changed from ink to indigo, indigo to pale ash-gray, the two of them silently packed their belongings. Galen covered the remaining fire with soil and confirmed it was out before standing. There was no wasted motion in the sequence of movements. The way of someone accustomed to breaking camp.
When they reached the northwest mountain path, the southern foothills of the Volg Mountain Range came into view. Conifer forests covered the slopes, and beyond them, rock faces gleamed white. Snow still remained near the peaks, visible even in the thin morning light. The road to Lavaria's capital city of Vilnest couldn't open without crossing this mountain range.
Galen walked ahead.
Serena followed three steps behind, maintaining an even pace. Her feet felt heavy. The fatigue accumulated since last night seemed to seep upward from her ankles this morning. She didn't want it noticed. Not because there was no point in revealing it—but because there was an inexplicable resistance within Serena to showing weakness to this man.
Galen stopped.
It was a place slightly below a fork in the mountain path, where rocks lined the roadside, forming a natural screen. He looked ahead. He looked left and right. He tilted his face slightly as if checking the wind direction. Serena observed the movement of his gaze from behind.
"Krenof."
Just the place name. No explanation. Serena nodded.
Krenof—a small village nestled in the rocky terrain of the southern foothills of the Volg Mountain Range. About one hundred eighty kilometers north of Eldencia, according to the geographical records she'd once read in the royal library—a mountain settlement where people made their living collecting timber and medicinal herbs. Located on a mountain path separate from the main roads maintained by the Empire, it had no connection to the major routes where imperial tax collectors and military checkpoints were stationed. The only entrance to the settlement was a single mountain path, making it difficult to monitor human movement from outside. That geographical isolation effectively thinned the Empire's surveillance network. For that reason, those crossing the mountains—whether fleeing or wanted—sometimes stopped there to use it as a foothold for their next destination, the geographical records had noted. Now, the meaning of that description rose up in a different form: a place that could become a waystation for fugitives in a mountain village beyond the Empire's reach.
Galen started walking again. Serena followed.
They walked on. As the sun rose and the mountain's shadow retreated from the path, the wooden buildings of Krenof gradually became visible through the trees. Smoke was rising. Morning cooking smoke. The smell of life.
When they reached the village entrance, Galen stopped. He didn't turn around. Keeping his gaze forward, his voice came.
"We'll pass as a mercenary couple."
His tone was short and definitive. "Don't say anything unnecessary."
Serena's words caught in her throat for a moment.
A mercenary couple.
The First Princess of Altia.
Words of protest began to form—but what stopped her from speaking them wasn't royal pride, but logic. In this situation, revealing her identity was dangerous. If a fugitive was stopping at a mountain village, she needed the most inconspicuous identity possible. A traveling mercenary couple seeking work near the northern border, moving along the roads by the Volg Mountain Range, was common enough. Two armed people wouldn't draw suspicious eyes or much questioning—that was the kind of identity needed. Galen's judgment was correct.
She knew it was correct. But knowing that "herself as princess" was useless in this situation, the fact sank quietly yet surely into her chest like a blade.
"...I understand."
Galen was already walking.
──
The inn "Moss-Covered Roof" was in the middle of the village.
A wooden board serving as a sign had the shop name written in faded letters. The name apparently came from the moss growing on the roof, and indeed, thick, bluish moss covered the thatched roof from end to end. The door hinges were slightly warped, creaking when opened.
Inside, the smell of burning wood mixed with the aroma of some stewed dish, and warm air hit her face.
For the first time since the flight began, Serena was under a roof.
Her body knew this before her mind could put it into words. The tension in her shoulders, just slightly, released itself independent of her will. That sensation frightened her. When tension eased, one had to sharpen one's guard all the more.
A woman emerged from the back. A woman in her fifties with a sturdy frame. She approached, tying back her hair and wiping her hands on her apron.
"Will you be staying?"
"One night. Two of us."
Galen answered. He placed a silver coin on the counter before his words were even finished. The innkeeper confirmed the coin and nodded, leading them upstairs to a room.
The room was crude but clean. Wooden floorboards, a small window, two straw-filled mattresses arranged side by side. A water stain on one wall, otherwise nothing particularly noteworthy—just an ordinary traveler's room found anywhere.
Serena stood by the window and looked outside. On the village street, people were going about their morning tasks. A man carrying firewood, an old woman feeding chickens, two children running across the stone pavement. It's peaceful, Serena thought. Then she thought about how long this peace would last, and stopped thinking about it.
The innkeeper told them that supper would be served in the village's common dining hall at dusk. Until then, Serena tried to sleep in the room. She couldn't. Galen seemed to be checking something outside and didn't return for a while.
──
Several village residents had gathered for supper.
Bean and root vegetable stew and dark bread were laid out on a long table. A simple, hearty meal typical of a mountain village. Serena took a spoonful of the stew. The salt was strong, the bean skins tough. Not the kind of food served in the castle. Yet it was warm.
Galen handled the conversation with the villagers. Where they came from, where they were going. A mercenary couple seeking work heading north. Short, direct, without a single unnecessary word. There was nothing false about his responses.
Serena remained silent and ate.
Yet even in silence, something seeped through. The choice of words, the placement of her gaze, the quality of her silence—it wasn't that of a common traveler. Serena herself knew this, and knowing it, couldn't suppress it. Twenty-two years of bearing cultivated as a princess couldn't be consciously shed.
An elderly man with white hair sat at the end of the table.
Probably in his late sixties. His posture was still straight, his hands marked with old scars. The village headman, Daul, Serena realized later—the innkeeper had called him "old man Daul" when speaking to him.
The old man's gaze touched Serena mid-meal.
It was only a moment. Just a glance, but its quality was unusual. Not appraisal, not curiosity. A gaze trying to discern something. A former Altian border garrison soldier who had served for years—he was clearly sensing something. Serena instantly read the meaning in that gaze.
Serena lowered her eyes and spooned up more stew. No pursuit came. The old man said nothing, simply began tearing his bread.
After the meal, old man Daul quietly called Galen outside.
Serena couldn't hear from where she was. The two had a brief conversation outside the dining hall, and only Galen returned. The old man's expression was unreadable. Galen's expression was unchanged. Galen told Serena nothing.
What had they discussed?
Serena didn't ask. She already understood that this man wouldn't answer even if she did. He answered when the time came to answer. That was how Galen Raizen operated. So she could only wait.
──
Night fell.
Alone in the room, Serena sat in the thin light of the candelabra. Galen was on night watch. He said he'd confirm the village's outer perimeter. That was all he said before the door closed.
Serena removed the ring from her left ring finger.
The silver circlet left by her mother. Since the night of the flight when she'd left the castle, she'd never removed it. Tonight, for the first time, she placed it in her palm.
Moonlight came through the window in a thin line. When she placed the ring in that light, the metal surface gleamed faintly. A simple silver band, no jewels, no engravings. For proof of royal legitimacy, it was remarkably plain.
Why this? Why not the royal scepter or crown, but this ring?
Her mother had left no answer. Her last words before her voice failed were only "don't let go."
A presence came.
Not a sound. Just the density of the room changed. Galen had returned. Serena hadn't heard the door open—leaving no sound seemed natural to this man. He sat down against the wall. Not facing Serena, but choosing a position with his back to the wall where he could see the entire room. That was probably habit. Wherever he was, he unconsciously took positions where he could monitor exits and entry points—the habit of someone long pursued and long pursuing.
Silence continued.
Serena looked at the ring in her palm. In the moonlight, the ring's material seemed for just an instant to have a texture different from ordinary silver. It might have been how the light appeared. A matter of the angle of illumination. Yet for that moment, she sensed something else's presence.
"Why did you become a mercenary?"
The words came out.
Serena herself hadn't expected them to. But tracing the roots of the question, the answer emerged. The scorched emblem on the coat lining. The strange familiarity with imperial military patrol patterns. These accumulated to form this question. Not simple curiosity. The possibility that this man's past was connected to their current situation—a coldly calculated realization had shaped the question into words.
Galen didn't answer.
The silence stretched long. Wind sounded outside the room. The sound of swaying conifers. The candle flame flickered slightly.
Galen's gaze fell on Serena's palm.
On the ring.
Serena noticed his gaze. Her hand, about to close around the ring, paused for a moment.
"Is a keepsake heavy?"
His voice was low. Not a command. Not sarcasm. Something else entirely—the kind of words a person who had carried something he
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.