71

Inside a restaurant in Muria.

"Kyaaa!!"

A large knife slammed down onto the table. The tavern filled with the screams of startled customers.

A rough-looking man glared at the fairy waitress in front of him, bloodshot eyes full of rage.

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I-It's true. We've run out of wine…"

"Then make more! You fairies are known for all sorts of little tricks, aren't you?"

The man kicked his chair back with a loud thud.

The commotion caused other patrons to whisper nervously and hurriedly leave the tavern.

Soon, only the man's group and the staff remained.

The young waitress, who looked no more than fifteen or sixteen, trembled as she spoke.

"Only the owner knows how to make the wine. I can't do it…"

"And where is this so-called owner?"

"He should be back soon. If you'd just wait—"

"Fine. I'll wait. In the meantime, bring us something to eat."

The man's group consisted of five equally drunken companions. They laughed, drank, shouted, and even started singing loudly.

The waitress hurried off and soon returned with round, brown items that looked like meatballs.

The men poked at them with forks and took a bite—only for one of them to spit it out.

"Blegh! What the hell is this?! Damn it, this isn't meat!"

"Hey, brat! What the hell is this garbage?"

A scar-faced man asked threateningly. The young fairy girl replied in a barely audible voice,

"It's made from ground beans…"

"Damn it, who eats this crap?! I said bring meat! Meat!"

"We don't have meat. Fairies are all vegetarians…"

"What?!"

At that moment, the door creaked open.

A tall man stepped inside, his face hidden beneath a deeply pulled hat, his body wrapped in a black cloak. There was something formidable about his presence.

"Welcome!"

The waitress, relieved by the chance to escape, rushed over to greet him.

The man sat down with a heavy thump and glanced around the tavern.

"What do you have to eat?"

"We have a meal set with cheese bread, fruit, fried chickpeas, and milk."

"I'll have that."

The man said and placed his hat on the table. The waitress flinched.

As she'd suspected, this man was clearly from Sibareth. Grumbling to herself inwardly, she hurried to the kitchen.

"Hey, brat! Are you deaf?! I said bring me meat!"

The rough group's shouting resumed. Then, the door opened again—this time, it was the owner of the tavern.

His arms were full of grocery baskets.

"Well, well, the owner's finally back. Now hurry up and bring us some booze and meat."

The men barked, and the owner looked them over with an exasperated expression.

Sibareth men, no doubt. Lately, Muria had been plagued with ruffians from Sibareth.

The owner forced a strained smile and bowed his head, muttering to himself with contempt.

"I'm sorry, sirs, but we don't serve meat here, and we don't restock wine once we run out."

"Watch your attitude, old man. Don't you know the customer is king? If we ask for something, you bring it. No backtalk!"

"Jack, let's just leave. What a lousy place. Tch."

The group of thugs scraped back their chairs with a loud screech and prepared to leave.

The owner rushed after them.

"You'll need to pay before you go."

"Pay? You call this service? Here!"

One man, who looked especially weaselly, threw a single copper coin onto the floor.

A pathetic amount, considering how much they'd eaten and drunk.

"You owe at least three times this amount."

The owner didn't back down.

"Oh, for crying out—!"

Just as a large man grabbed the owner by the collar—A greatsword suddenly pressed against his throat. It was the cloaked man.

Right then, the door opened and a group of fairy customers were about to enter—but screamed and fled at the sight.

"W-Who the hell are you?"

The startled thug stammered as the sword approached his neck.

The cloaked man answered with a voice cold as death.

"I'll say this nicely—pay up. Enough with your nonsense."

The thug signaled with his eyes, and one of his companions quickly handed over a silver coin.

Only then did the sword retreat. The gang spat on the floor and fled with their tails between their legs.

"Th-thank you, sir… I don't even know how to begin to thank you…"

The owner bowed deeply, but the cloaked man only gave a small nod in reply.

He returned to his seat, ate his meal calmly, paid in full, and left the tavern without another word.

As he exited, the owner turned to the waitress and said with a weary sigh,

"Ruby, close the door and hang the sign."

"What? But it's nowhere near closing time…"

"We're done for today. This is the second time something like this has happened recently. As long as those Sibareth bastards keep showing up, I don't think I can keep this place running."

"But… there are good ones too, like that man just now…"

Ruby scratched her head, thinking of the cloaked man.

"Good or bad, the best kind are the ones who don't come at all. Tell me—who else but Sibareth folk cause this kind of chaos in other people's businesses?"

"That's true…"

The owner and the waitress sighed in unison.

"Ten drachmas. I can't offer a single coin more."

The head of the Naizman labor office looked at the ragged-looking woman standing before him.

Her nine-year-old son clung fearfully to her skirt.

She protested,

"But ten drachmas a day isn't enough to live on. And I heard locals here earn fifty drachmas a day…"

"If you don't like it, go back home. You think a foreigner should earn the same wage as a native?"

"What makes me different just because I'm a foreigner? It's not like we don't even speak the same language."

"That's exactly why I said go. There's a line of Sibarethn folks begging to work for ten drachmas."

The woman looked sorrowfully at the long line of poorly dressed Sibarethn workers behind her.

Many of them were from her own homeland. She bit her lip in frustration.

"…Fine."

The next day.

She cautiously looked around the place she was assigned to work. It was the estate of a noble from one of the great houses.

From today, she would be working there as a laundress.

Just as she stepped out carrying a large pile of laundry from what appeared to be the head maid, her foot caught on something.

She stumbled and fell, the mound of laundry crashing down with her. Her view had been completely blocked.

As she began to gather the clothes from the dusty ground and looked up—

Four women with curly black hair were glaring down at her.

As she tried to get up, one particularly fierce-looking woman shoved her back down by the shoulder.

"So you're the new Sibarethn bitch."

The woman pushed back with all her strength. But a sharp slap landed on her cheek.

Then another. And another. Four in total. She collapsed to the ground.

"Did you come here to seduce our men and live easy, like the rest of your kind?"

"I bet you did. Everyone knows Sibarethns are loose."

The women snickered. As she tried to rise again, another woman stomped on her back.

"If you came here to work, then work until your bones break. But if I hear even a whisper that you've gone after one of our men…"

"You'll be fired on the spot. And I'll make sure you'll never find work in Naizman again."

With that, they walked off.

The woman slowly got to her feet. Blood trickled from her lips. The laundry was now covered in dirt, and it would take a long time to rewash it properly.

She let out a bitter laugh. She hadn't come here expecting comfort.

As she thought of the villagers coughing up blood and dying from a mysterious illness, she renewed her resolve once more.

Then she remembered her friend Misha's words:

—Suffering becomes bearable over time. Think ten years ahead.

One day, you'll realize our decision to emigrate was the right one.

By then, even if you want to leave, you won't be able to.

Misha had never been wrong in her predictions. She was a respected witch and medium.

The woman thought of the son she'd left behind. She rubbed soap into the laundry and began scrubbing with her feet.

Late at night.

The Foreign Minister and Julius were still in the council chamber.

"So, it's true… the two nations have sent a joint delegation?"

"Isn't that an overreaction?"

Julius shook his head.

"No. If anything, it's overdue. They already asked us to send Mia in exchange for overlooking that issue before."

"But Lady Mia…"

"Exactly. And since the Nakil incident, the number of refugees has only grown.

It's not surprising they would respond this way."

"But surely we can't just give them whatever they want. It's obvious they're trying to take advantage of the situation."

"Of course. I have my own plans."

A confident expression spread across Julius's face. Seeing it, the Foreign Minister felt a flicker of unease.

"You're not planning a hardline approach… are you?"

"They say diplomacy should be soft on the outside, firm on the inside.

Let's call it… a profitable offer disguised as appeasement."

"You are wise as always, Your Grace. I had been thinking along the same lines."

At that, Julius smiled brightly, his beautiful peridot-green eyes gleaming.

But suddenly, a sliver of doubt crept into the Foreign Minister's mind.

Can we really trust this young man to be our next king?

He found himself recalling the voice of Jakiel, describing what Leca had seen—the red-tailed comet.

—Whenever a red-tailed comet appears, disaster befalls Sibareth.

It is the harbinger of a curse…