Chapter 212

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 212
Chapter Title: The Yield
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The knights murmured amongst themselves for a moment before surrounding Greta.

“Squad leader, should we take her to the main unit for now?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just take the grain and chase her off?”

The knights muttered to one another. Though she couldn’t understand their words, Greta could read the situation and raised her voice to shout.

“I know where they’ve stored the grain from the harvest! Please, take me to your commander!”

The squad leader looked around at his men and asked.

“Does anyone here speak Etruscan?”

“Not well, but… I think she said something about… grain… commander?”

Upon hearing the knight who had caught a word or two, they exchanged glances. ‘Grain.’ The word struck a chord.

“She’s just a young girl. What’s the harm in taking her with us?”

“But didn’t the Knight Commander order us to avoid contact with the locals as much as possible? We don’t know what diseases they might have.”

“But she’s talking about food! If we can make one good haul, we won’t have to go scrounging anymore. What’s become of the knighthood’s honor? Instead of fighting, we’re split into small units, just sniffing around for something to eat!”

The squad leader ended the debate with a sigh.

“Let’s just take her. The Commander can make the final call.”

* * *

Led before the Commander of Gallico’s Montpellier Heavy Knights, Greta swallowed hard at his imposing presence.

A large, middle-aged man clad in immense silver armor sat surrounded by other men of formidable size.

A cold sweat broke out. A fever was slowly setting in. She couldn’t tell if the sweat was from her fever or her nerves.

She pulled the hood of her cape down a little further to hide the sweat. *Just a little longer. I just have to hold on a little longer.*

“So, you were kicked out of your village?”

The interpreter relayed the Knight Commander’s question.

“Yes, yes! Those damn people! They deserve what’s coming to them! After my father died, they took all my mother’s property and threw us out!”

Greta poured out a completely fabricated story, sneaking a glance at the Knight Commander’s face.

“They deserve to be thrown out in their underclothes too! I’ll tell you gentlemen where the village grain silo is!”

The Knight Commander narrowed his eyes, staring at Greta.

“What do you get out of this? Revenge?”

Having struggled on the streets, Greta knew very well how to deceive people. In times like these, you had to tell a grand lie for it to stick.

“Take me to Gallico!”

Greta cried out, feigning a passionate expression.

“I’m so sick of the people in this country! I heard Montpellier is a huge, bustling new city. I want to go where the action is and start a new life!”

In truth, it was a strategically crafted plea designed to play on his vanity, but to an onlooker, Greta truly seemed like a young girl who knew nothing of the world.

The Knight Commander stared at Greta, his expression unchanging, but the interpreter beside him looked at her with a conflicted, pitiful gaze.

Following an army was no easy task for a young girl. The moment the reins loosened, an army could turn into a mob that reveled in plunder and arson.

This was especially true since it wasn’t just a disciplined order of knights, but also infantry.

The Knight Commander had the same thought as the interpreter, but he didn’t bother to correct Greta’s misconception. Food was right before his eyes.

He’d promise to take her safely to Gallico, and after he got the grain, well. After that, she’d have to look after herself.

“How much grain is there?”

*He’s hooked!*

Greta bowed her head to hide her triumphant smile.

It was a game of mutual deception. And the winner of this round wasn’t the Knight Commander in silver armor, but the innocent-faced Greta.

“It’s at least 50 cantaros worth!”

It was enough to keep the entire Gallican army from worrying about food for three weeks.

To acquire it without a single battle, without paying a single coin—it was an offer too good to refuse. A flicker of greed crossed the Knight Commander’s eyes.

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Riding on a donkey’s back, Greta led the five hundred knights from the front.

The Grade A warhorses, the destriers the knights rode, were three times the size of Greta’s donkey. It created a rather ridiculous scene, but no one was laughing.

Greta led them to the place she had arranged with Ariadne beforehand.

It was an abandoned warehouse that a nearby village used to use during harvest time.

Overnight, Duke Cesare and Lady Ariadne’s people had filled it with grain, and the skilled nurses of the Rambouillet Almshouse had made their own preparations.

“This is the place.”

Seeing the wheat piled high in the warehouse, the Knight Commander licked his lips. A full 50 cantaros of untouched new wheat filled the silo.

“Take it all!”

There were even sacks prepared in the warehouse, making it easy to carry. It looked as if someone had been trying to move the grain but had left in a hurry.

The Knight Commander folded his arms, grinning from ear to ear at his unexpected windfall as he watched his men work.

The knights, too, were in high spirits at the thought of not having to scour the countryside for food for a while.

Just then, a panicked shout came from a corner of the warehouse.

“Commander!”

“Hm?”

“You need to see this…”

As the Commander of the Montpellier Heavy Knights started toward the source of the voice, another urgent cry stopped him.

“No, don’t come any closer! Get the Commander out of the warehouse, now!”

Sensing something was wrong, the Knight Commander hastily exited the warehouse.

“What is it!”

“A body… there are bodies here.”

Was it really necessary for an army to make such a fuss over seeing a body in enemy territory? Just as the commander was about to scold them, the report was completed.

“Their fingertips and toes are blackened. … They look like victims of the Black Death.”

“There isn’t just one or two! There are more than thirty bodies piled up!”

“They’re hidden among the grain!”

“!”

Realizing the situation, the Knight Commander turned with a furious face to look for Greta.

Greta, who had been leaning against the warehouse entrance, met his gaze and smiled, her expression one of pure ecstasy.

*I’ve been had…!*

Greta stood her ground, not even trying to hide her expression. She seemed to have no intention of running away.

Paradoxically, that was how the commander knew her role was complete, and the trap was sprung.

“You little rat…!”

*Thrust!*

It was too late, but he had to vent his anger.

The longsword drawn from the commander’s hip silently pierced the chest of the giggling girl.

“Ugh!”

With the blade embedded in her chest, Greta coughed up a mouthful of blood.

The commander once again realized something was wrong. The blood a person coughed up after being stabbed in the chest was usually bright red.

The blood this Etruscan girl was spitting up was a deathly, dark color. This girl… she was a human weapon herself.

“Damn it! Everyone, get out!”

The commander pulled his sword from the girl’s chest and, with a grimace, wiped her blood on a nearby mound of dirt.

Losing its support, Greta’s body slumped, first kneeling on the dirt floor before collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Burn the warehouse down!”

They hastily set fire to the grain warehouse riddled with the corpses of plague victims, but the Gallican army didn’t know how to deal with the Black Death.

The problem was the people who had been exposed.

And among those exposed, the one who had come into closest contact with the strain was the army’s supreme commander, the Commander of Gallico’s Montpellier Heavy Knights.

* * *

“My lady!”

At the end of the west corridor of the de Mare Grand Manor, Ariadne’s chambers were dark. Though it was broad daylight, curtains were drawn everywhere, blocking out any trace of sun.

A canopy was even drawn over Ariadne’s bed, shutting out the last sliver of light that managed to seep through the crack in the door.

“My lady, I’m opening the canopy!”

*Swish!*

Sancha pulled back the canopy over Ariadne’s bed, grasped her hand tightly, and exclaimed.

“I have wonderful news! The heavy knights of the Kingdom of Gallico have begun to retreat!”

Ariadne, dressed in indoor clothes rather than a nightgown but otherwise completely unkempt, looked at Sancha without a flicker of emotion.

“It seems the entire army is moving north! They’re retreating so fast, they’ve already reached Manfredo!”

Manfredo was a city in north-central Etruscan. They had already retreated a third of the way from San Carlo to the border.

“After holding their ground on the outskirts of San Carlo for three days, they’ve started heading north, unable to win! Once they started moving, they sure picked up the pace! Just like a knighthood, eh? Tee hee.”

Ariadne merely stared at Sancha with a vacant expression.

Overcome with joy, Sancha failed to notice her lady’s expression and chattered on a bit more about the glory of Etruscan.

“Oh.”

Finally noticing Ariadne’s mood, Sancha fell silent. She began cautiously.

“And… there’s some bad news. I’m not sure if it’s better for you to know…”

“Greta is dead.”

Ariadne stated it flatly. Sancha’s eyes widened in surprise. *Wait, how did you know?*

“That’s right.”

Sancha decided to just think of it as her lady being exceptionally perceptive.

In truth, it was hard to imagine Greta returning alive after leaving like that, and the only bad news Sancha could possibly deliver so cautiously was about Greta’s death.

“In the village of Narghera, where we set the trap… they found Greta.”

“How was she found?”

“Stabbed with a sword… They burned the warehouse to the ground, but thankfully, her remains were intact. They couldn’t bring her back because of the Black Death… The people who went there buried her in a pit.”

“…That’s a relief.”

If she was stabbed, it would have been an instant death. It meant she hadn’t suffered a terrible fate.

The shepherd had died with the skin flayed from his entire body. Ariadne shuddered. *Sometimes the enemy is more merciful than your own countrymen.*

Sancha gathered Ariadne’s disheveled hair and tied it back, saying.

“I always think this, my lady, but you’re so incredibly perceptive.”

“Hm?”

Sancha wanted to lift Ariadne’s spirits a little. For the past few days, her lady had seemed far too depressed.

“To know what I was going to say just by seeing me walk in! How do you do it?”

Ariadne quietly hid her left hand under the covers.

Four days ago, her left ring finger had burned as if it were on fire. And then a small, bright red dot had appeared.

It was a mark for the sin Ariadne had committed. The moment she saw the red dot, she knew.

*Greta is dead.*

And Ariadne came to another realization.

*Greta wasn’t fated to die from the plague. She was an innocent who had committed no sin.*

Countless people had met their end at Ariadne’s hand until now.

Not to look too far, her dear Lucrezia had died much earlier than in her past life due to Ariadne’s schemes.

But the ‘Golden Rule’ had not punished Ariadne for it.

Was it because she was someone who deserved to die, or was it because Ariadne had the right to exact just revenge?

What was certain was that Greta’s death was neither of those. Ariadne covered her face in self-loathing.

By changing the future, Ariadne had changed Greta’s fate for the worse.

If Greta had lived, with her cheerful personality, she would have found a kind husband somewhere and the two of them would have managed to live well. They would have had children as cute as bunnies.

A life of coming home after a long day, playing with the babies by the light of a newly bought lantern, talking with her husband about their day, and lying in bed feeling the warmth of her family.

Finding joy in a cool summer breeze and smiling for a moment at the warmth of a single baked potato in winter—that kind of peaceful, ordinary life.

What value could possibly exist that was worth sacrificing such a thing?

Could anyone truly say that the continuation of the Kingdom of Etruscan, a nation ruled by Alfonso de Carlo instead of Cesare de Como, was worth that much?

Was Queen Ariadne, instead of Queen Isabella, truly so important that it was worth ending a person’s life and letting the world flow on so arrogantly?

Ariadne closed her eyes in turmoil.

“…My lady? Are you alright?”

Sancha’s gentle voice snapped Ariadne back to the present.

She looked up at her red-haired maid. Of all the people she had now, Sancha was the closest thing to ‘family.’

She leaned her head on Sancha’s shoulder. She needed warmth, the scent of another person.

“Make a careful record of where Greta’s body is buried. After this whole plague situation is over, we’ll retrieve her bones, cremate them, and bring her back to San Carlo.”

Sancha nodded.

“I will see to it, my lady. I’ll take responsibility and make sure it’s done.”

“Send a person to Duke Cesare. Tell him that ‘Greta’ of the Rambouillet Almshouse performed a great service, and ask if there’s a way to have His Majesty the King bestow a medal upon her.”

There would surely be people who would foam at the mouth, saying you couldn’t give a medal to a girl from the slums. But it didn’t matter.

She would see it through, one way or another. Ariadne intended to properly grant Greta’s final wish.

“I should at least leave a record of how this all began.”

The great plague was still raging, and the Gallican army was still within their borders. It wasn’t the time to release information.

But once this whole mess was over, scholars would compile histories.

Ariadne wanted to engrave Greta’s name on parchment that would be passed down for a long time.

“Oh, my lady. Everyone already knows!”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

Ariadne looked up at Sancha.

“The Gallican army has started to retreat, right? Everyone was wondering why they were suddenly doing that, and a rumor spread like wildfire from Duke Cesare’s men and the almshouse staff who took part in the Narghera operation!”

Greta had known a great many people.

Most of them had liked her, and while there were some who disliked her for being a show-off, there was absolutely no one in the almshouse who didn’t know Greta.

And after what had happened, Greta had become an icon representing the Rambouillet Almshouse.

“They’re saying our Greta sacrificed herself to give the Black Death to those Gallican bastards, that the Rambouillet Almshouse, always treated like a nuisance, defeated Gallico’s elite army that even the Royal Guard couldn’t touch!”

An excited Sancha pumped her fist in the air.

“Everyone’s in an uproar, saying a young girl saved the capital! Children are singing songs about it in the streets!”

“There’s a song with Greta’s name in it?”

Sancha replied.

“Oh, there’s one like that. But I think there are more songs with your name in them, my lady.”