A week later.
In the inner district of Vindia City stood a small, plain pinewood building, rising quietly amid heavy snowfall. Warm light spilled from its windows, a gentle promise of shelter against winter's cruelty.
Inside, I, the ruler of these lands and his personal maid were teaching a group of children dressed in ragged, dirty clothes. They sat close to blazing, coal-powered heating stoves that drove back the cold like guardian angels warding off evil spirits.
"What does A stand for?" I asked warmly, smiling as I slowly raised an apple in front of them.
"Apple!" the children shouted in unison.
Daisy immediately began handing out apples from the sack behind her as a reward, while I clapped my hands and praised them.
"And what else does A stand for?" I asked again, my hand reaching behind my back for an ant-shaped cloth doll, ready to give it to the first child who answered.
What followed, however, was unexpected.
"Angel!" a boy sitting at the back shouted, his finger pointing straight at Daisy.
I covered my mouth and laughed quietly, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face.
Daisy, on the receiving end of that answer, flushed red as the apples we had just handed out. She lightly smacked my shoulder in embarrassment, clearly flustered.
I praised the boy for his cleverness, then asked once more.
"And what else does A stand for? Here's a hint, it's an insect," I said with a grin, gently squeezing the ant doll in my hand.
Just as the children were about to answer, the door slammed open with a loud *thud*. A blast of winter air rushed into the room.
I turned toward the door to see John and several knights in heavy winter gear, their expressions steeped in panic.
"Sir, one of our villages has been attacked!" he said loudly.
I looked to Daisy, who stood frozen in shock. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I leaned in and whispered softly.
"Please, take care of the children."
Her panic faded instantly, replaced by a serious yet gentle expression.
"Understood. Divine bless you," she whispered back.
I nodded and turned toward the door.
Behind me, Daisy slipped a blue jay hand puppet onto her hand and smiled at the children, trying to draw their attention back to the lesson.
"Does anyone know what B stands for?" she asked warmly, the puppet gently flapping its wings.
---
"Where?" I asked John as we stepped out of the temporary schoolhouse and into my personal carriage. Three knights followed close behind, taking their places as our escort.
"The northern edge of our territory," he answered, settling into the seat opposite me. "A small village called Farville."
"Who?" I asked.
"According to the survivors, it appears to have been a beastmen tribe. Specifically, a snow leopard tribe," he said, his expression grim.
"Beastmen?" I repeated, genuinely taken aback. I hadn't expected that answer at all, even though I probably should have. Half-human, half-beast races were practically a staple of medieval fantasy worlds.
John paused, then gave a small cough. "Ah, right. Your amnesia. Forgive me, sire. I'll explain."
He straightened slightly as the carriage began to move.
"They are a group of savage peoples bearing animal traits. Tails, ears, altered eyes, claws, and the like. They raid border settlements every few years, targeting villages with little or no protection."
His expression darkened further.
"And yes," he added quietly, "those defenseless villages are exactly the kind we have in abundance."
"When?" I asked.
"A couple of hours ago. We only know the attack happened because they left a single survivor," he answered, reaching out to pull the carriage door shut.
"And where are we going next?" I asked.
"To question the survivor," John replied. "The church is sheltering him. Poor man."
With that, the carriage lurched forward. The wheels began to roll, turning away from the school and toward the church. It wasn't far, but the heavy snowfall slowed our progress, the streets muffled beneath layers of white as we made our way through the city.
---
The Church of Vindia
Calling it a church was generous. It was little more than a modest pinewood structure, its walls weathered and plain, standing quietly beneath the falling snow. Above the front door hung a four-pointed star, the symbol of the Divine of Light, the kingdom's main religion according to the scriptures I had read. It was simple, almost austere, as if faith here survived on devotion rather than grandeur.
Inside, the building was divided into several small rooms. A handful of wooden pews lined the central chamber, facing a humble altar dedicated to the Divine. No gold, no marble. Only polished wood, candlelight, and the faint smell of incense struggling against the cold.
On one of the pews sat a young man.
He was uninjured, yet utterly broken.
His body was still, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, his vacant eyes fixed on the wooden wall as if staring through it. Shock clung to him like frost, his expression frozen in a silent scream that had already burned itself out.
Beside him knelt a mature woman dressed in white and gold, a nun by her attire. According to scripture, she was an priestess of the Divine, holding the same rank and spiritual duty as a priest in the Christian faith of my former world. Her movements were gentle and practiced, offering water, murmuring soft prayers and burning incense censer, her presence the only thing anchoring the man to reality.
I signaled my bodyguards to secure the doors and the carriage, then John and I walked toward the priestess.
Her golden eyes, paired with silky silver hair and pale yet warm skin, radiated an indescribable aura that somehow felt… divine. It was not overwhelming, nor theatrical. It simply existed, quiet and undeniable.
When she noticed our approach, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the man's forehead.
"May the Divine be with you, my child," she said in a warm, motherly voice.
The man did not react. His expression did not change in the slightest.
She straightened and turned toward us.
"His mind must heal before any questioning can take place," she declared, crossing her arms firmly.
John surprised me by bowing deeply and falling completely silent.
I stepped forward instead, meeting her gaze directly.
"Forgive me, Mother," I said. "But I need to question him now. The sooner we have answers, the more lives we can save. I ask for your permission."
She let out a heavy sigh, her gaze drifting briefly back to the shattered man.
"You may try," she said at last, "but look at him. He is still in shock. I doubt you will learn anything beyond what he already told your… rude knight."
Her eyes flicked toward John, sharp enough to draw blood. So he had already tried and failed.
"I still must try," I said, my voice steady. "Please, Mother. My people are in danger. Allow me to ask him a few questions."
For a moment, she studied my face, searching for something beyond rank or authority.
Then she relented.
With a small nod, she stepped aside and gestured toward the man, granting me access.
I thanked her, then quickly walked toward the man to study his condition.
He was young, dressed in ragged, filthy clothes. His face was as pale as Arctic snow, drained of blood. His eyes were empty, save for dried tear tracks that suggested he had cried until nothing remained. His expression was frozen in a blank mask of horror. His bare hands and feet were caked with dirt, dotted with small scratches and wounds.
The first thing I did was take his hand.
"Cooperate please," I said softly, watching for any reaction.
There was none. Not even a twitch.
That silence pushed me toward an unorthodox choice.
I pulled him into a tight embrace, the way a father would hold a broken child, and raised my voice.
"Cry, my son! Cry! Let it all out!"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then his eyes swelled, and the dam broke.
Tears poured down his face once more, accompanied by a torrent of curses and broken words, all hurled at the monsters who had destroyed his village. Rage and grief tangled together as his body shook in my arms. Slowly, the flood eased. The sobbing weakened. The words faded.
In the quiet that followed, clarity returned to his eyes.
He looked up at me, suddenly alert.
"Wait… who are you?!" he shouted, shoving me away in panic.
My body jolted back, and in an instant John drew his short sword halfway from its scabbard.
"Don't!" I barked, stopping him cold.
I turned back to the young man, keeping my voice calm.
"My name is Victor," I said. "I am your baron."
"Huh?!"
His face twisted into shock as his gaze darted between me, the furious knight in half-plate, and the priestess watching with deep concern.
Realization struck him like a hammer.
He dropped to the floor at once, kowtowing at my feet in frantic apology.
I immediately reached out and pulled him back up.
"I don't need apologies," I said firmly, my eyes burning with resolve. "I need information. Tell me what kind of hellspawn attacked your home."
The young man swallowed hard and slowly sat back down on the wooden pew.
Then, at last, he began to speak.