At my request, we were allowed to bury Sora in the palace cemetery.

  Only knights and noble ladies of the highest honor could be laid to rest there. The rest of the servants had to be buried in the local graveyard or cremated.

  Funeral customs in this world were not so different from those in Mexico. The dead were buried, and gravestones were placed to commemorate their brief—or long—journey through the world. Of course, since Christianity did not exist here, they did not use the cross. Nobles bore their personal heraldry, while commoners were given a symbol that had held meaning for them in life.

  For Sora, we chose to engrave a book and a broom beneath her name.

  The book, for her deep love of reading despite her humble origins.

  The broom, for the profession she carried out masterfully throughout her life.

  “We are gathered here to bid farewell to Sora Clemente—friend and exemplary worker.”

  Mother stepped forward, dressed in a long black gown that covered her entirely, a dark veil hiding most of her face. Even so, I could see the thick, ugly bruise still staining her left eye.

  Few people attended the funeral: Alda, Ingrid, Mother, myself, Gonzalo, Sir Marte and his wife and children. Sora’s fellow servants and the head butlers also came to say goodbye to the woman who had been their chief of operations.

  The air was heavy.

  The shock of her death had not left this place. Most of us—myself included—were still unable to comprehend such an unpunished murder.

  I didn’t want to see her body again. Mother told me they had placed her in the coffin wearing a white dress embroidered with flowers along the lace. She had died in her servant’s uniform, but we didn’t consider it right to bury her in that attire.

  She had served her entire life.

  Now she was free to walk into the afterlife—or wherever the dead go.

  For a fleeting second, a foolish thought crossed my mind.

  What if Sora reincarnated in my original world?

  No.

  I stopped consoling myself with fantasies and faced reality.

  Sora died.

  And I will never see her again.

  “Daughter of humanity, may your remains return to the earth and your soul rise to the heavens. May our God show mercy upon you in the final judgment.”

  The castle priest scattered silver pebbles around the grave. According to Gonzalo, these offerings severed the bond between the earthly and celestial worlds.

  It didn’t convince me, but it left a bitter weight in the hearts of those present.

  After the ritual, Mother stepped forward again.

  Ah.

  The final part.

  Gonzalo had told me that before lowering the coffin into its final resting place, the closest relative would say a few words. But since Sora had no husband, no children, and no living parents, that duty fell to Girasol.

  “I met Sora when she was only ten years old,” Mother began. “Back then, she used to hide in the library to read without anyone noticing. She always dreamed of the mythical era—where even a servant could aspire to greatness through the miracle of magic. I grew interested in those stories as well, and together with Guadalupe, my other best friend, we would gather every afternoon to discuss our favorite novels. Guadalupe and Sora loved romance stories. I preferred comedic adventures and tales of extraordinary journeys to the farthest corners of the world.”

  She paused, drawing in a breath.

  “Those were dreamlike days. Social classes didn’t matter. We were just three silly girls enjoying life together with smiles. You were a wonderful friend. I remember when you married, and I held your bouquet of flowers. You looked so happy… Then your son was born. If he had lived, he would be the same age as my Ulric.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Mother wiped away the only two tears that rolled down her cheeks.

  Alda kept sobbing. The rest remained silent.

  “I only hope Sora has found her husband and son in the afterlife. Perhaps one final reunion will let them rest for all eternity. My dear friend… thank you for being part of my life.”

  There was no applause. Only sepulchral silence and the whisper of wind.

  Moments later, the butlers lowered the coffin into the earth and covered it with soil. Finally, they placed the cold gravestone:

  “Sora Clemente, good wife, mother, and worker. 1205–1231.”

  I remained silent for several minutes. One by one, the attendees began to leave—heads lowered, hearts heavy.

  I felt the same.

  No—worse.

  One of my first friends in this life was no longer among us.

  I lifted my gaze and saw Ingrid standing stiff as a doll. Her honey-colored eyes—like Mother’s—were red from crying.

  Worse still, I saw guilt in them.

  If I had been more immature—if I had truly been just a child—I might have blamed Ingrid for this tragedy. After all, her arrival had triggered Vlad II’s visit… and Sora’s execution.

  But I didn’t think that.

  Ingrid Wall was not guilty. She was just another victim in this twisted scheme.

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t read my mind. If I didn’t speak now, she would carry that guilt forever.

  “Ingrid, I understand what you’re thinking.”

  “Huh?” the white-haired girl whispered.

  “This isn’t your fault. I will never blame you for this crime. The only ones responsible are Vlad and Manius.”

  “B-But my father—”

  “I said.” I patted her head gently and turned back toward the grave. “You will never be guilty of something you did not do yourself.”

  “S-Yes…” she murmured, still unsure.

  “Lady Girasol… do you think Sora is truly with her husband and son?” Alda asked, clutching Mother’s skirts without daring to look up.

  “Of course she is.” Despite the pain etched on her face, Mother smiled. “Sora always did good things. Our God will judge her fairly and allow her to reunite with those she loves.”

  “That’s… a relief…”

  I walked closer to the monument.

  Sora should not have died here. Her life had been turning in a new direction. Her presence made my days brighter.

  Damn it.

  I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help.

  “Alda, Ingrid… could you leave Ulric and me alone for a moment?”

  “Yes.”

  They left the small cemetery.

  Now it was just Mother and me.

  “They’re gone,” she said softly. “You can let it out.”

  “Damn it!” I shouted, dropping to my knees and punching the grass with my injured fists. “I couldn’t do anything, Mom! They killed Sora right in front of me! I don’t understand! It’s so unfair! Such a disgusting end! Why did Sora have to die?!”

  I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

  I cried again—harder than before. My tears fell like a furious storm.

  “Damn Vlad! Damn Manius and the entire Kingdom of Apollo! I’ll kill them all! I’ll get my revenge! I swear I’ll free the Kingdom of Etrica and march on their capital! They won’t see me coming—I’ll burn their cities and crush them until they beg for mercy! I’m sick of this! My kingdom will be avenged! Sora will be avenged! No one will ever take anyone from me again!”

  They were horrible words.

  And I meant them.

  I truly wanted them dead.

  Eye for an eye. Tooth for a tooth.

  To hell with honor. To hell with everything—

  “No, my son.”

  Suddenly, my raging flames were extinguished by Mother’s embrace from behind.

  “Revenge is not the answer.”

  “What are you saying?” I whispered angrily. “They killed Father. They killed Sora. They massacre our villagers. They violated you. Don’t think I don’t know. They defiled and beat you! Don’t you want revenge? Don’t you want to return their pain a thousandfold?”

  Despite my harsh words, Mother simply smiled and stroked my hair.

  “Of course I want revenge. But that will not ease your pain. If you allow hatred to guide you, then you will become no different from the villains who hurt us.”

  Her voice was gentle—so gentle it pushed back the agony inside me.

  “It’s true—we cannot remain passive. Independence will be our long-term goal, Ulric. But our actions will not be guided by hatred and revenge. That path would destroy us all.”

  “Not guided by hatred?”

  “No. We will fight to protect our people—and those we love. Sora always said you would become a great king. Do you remember?”

  “Yes… I remember.”

  She did.

  Sora always believed in me.

  I had promised her.

  “She wouldn’t want you to become a blind avenger. We all suffer her loss. But you still have me. Your sweet sister. Ingrid. Many people cherish you.”

  Mother’s touch slowly dissolved my fury.

  Was this the power of a mother?

  “Yes…” I murmured, tears now soft instead of burning. “I promised her I would become a king capable of protecting my people—and treating commoners with respect.”

  “And you will. You will always have my support.”

  It was incredible.

  With a few words and a warm smile, she erased my thirst for blood.

  She was right.

  I had to fight to protect—not to destroy.

  “I’ll win independence for this country, Mom. I’ll work harder than ever. It will be difficult… but I’m not alone. Will you help me? I’m only a child. I can’t move properly until I reach adulthood.”

  “Of course I will. I want to save our homeland too. Isn’t it a mother’s duty to support her child?”

  She helped me stand and bowed once more to Sora’s grave.

  “For now, I will improve as a ruler and a warrior.”

  “And I will maintain contact with the kingdom’s dukes and remove Apollo’s spies,” Mother said, her energy returning. She even raised her left hand toward the sky like a young girl. “Let’s work hard together!”

  “Yes!”

  As we left the cemetery, I made a new vow within myself:

  I will protect my family and save my kingdom without becoming a slave to hatred.

  Only then…

  …will I become the monarch Sora and Mother believed I could be.

  END OF VOLUME 1