A Brother’s Vengeance and a Sister’s Dilemma

As all present bear witness, it is these two exquisite young ladies who have reclaimed the sacred relic of the Moonscar Church.

This very finger bone of our first bishop now, at last, sees the light of day once more, destined to continue blessing our devoted congregation!

Amidst a swell of cheers, Saranya, cloaked and hooded, ascended the platform.

Kaelan, though a head shorter, stood proudly beside her, the witch’s chin lifted with an air of defiance.

With the trial now concluded, the proceedings shifted to the notarization meeting, its central focus, naturally, the rightful ownership of the Redwater Tavern.

Grimm’s wails echoed as he was led away to prison, his head covered by a hood.

The youthful committee member who had conducted the interrogation settled back into their seat, while several church officials from the audience rose and approached the platform.

“Brother…”

“Hmm.”

On the platform, Saranya’s voice was barely a whisper, her mind struggling to reconcile the man beside her with her brother:

“How did you become… this way? And what led you to associate with Lucius?”

“Those things aren’t important. You just need to know that soon, we can be reunited…”

A smile touched Mejga’s lips, the dark mole at the corner of his eye quivering almost imperceptibly.

His voice was a gentle murmur, his expression soft as he extended a hand towards Saranya.

It was a gesture reminiscent of their childhood, when, weary of their father’s grand banquets, he would reach out, beckoning her to slip away from the bustling hall.

“Brother…”

Saranya brushed away the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, her hand instinctively reaching for Mejga’s.

She recognized that familiar touch; these were the very hands that had once fastened her cloak before a long journey.

“Good girl, that’s right, my little snowflake… Let’s start with this city, cleansing the sins of the imperial people… taking back everything they owe us…”

“Hmm… huh?”

“Excellent, I knew you’d understand me… hehe… wonderful… With you… everything I’ve sacrificed will be worth it…”

Saranya’s arm froze in mid-air.

Mejga’s ice-blue pupils blazed with an unnatural fire, a tyrannical, twisted, and utterly alien emotion surging through his veins, utterly eclipsing any semblance of joy at their reunion.

“We now have the ability and the money, Saranya, help your brother… Brother has become stronger, brother will protect you.

Whatever you want, brother can fulfill it…”

“No, that’s not right…”

The brother before her, however, yearned for vengeance.

This was the same brother who once apologized even when felling prey, yet now, he seemed to crave mountains of corpses and oceans of blood.

‘The Empire owed the Kerfen family a blood debt, and my brother’s sole objective, he claimed, was to reclaim it…?’

“Little snowflake, come back, come back to your brother’s side… Without you… brother will have nothing…”

“Mmm… no…”

Saranya recoiled a half-step, her heart seized by a sudden terror.

‘My brother is insane,’ she thought, a tremor of fear running through her.

She understood her brother’s sentiments; he harbored a deep hatred for the imperial people, a hatred she, too, shared.

In those days, the Olavi imperial family and the Kerfen house had been united by marriage.

Both parties had readily agreed to incorporate the northern tribes into the Empire as a united principality, fostering thriving trade and close civilian ties between the two regions.

Emperor Olavi VI had even conducted himself as though he and her father were blood brothers.

Consequently, they had naively offered tribute and consistently answered the call to arms whenever war arose.

The people of the North could, with clear consciences, declare that they had truly regarded the imperial citizens as their own kin.

Yet, what had their spilled blood and forfeited lives truly earned them? Nothing at all.

When crisis had struck, the Empire had dispatched not a single soldier in their defense.

The imperial people had ruthlessly exploited the northern warriors’ fierce determination to protect their homeland, transforming their homes and livestock into defensive walls, their women and children into desperate bait, and their fervent blood into a protective moat – all merely to impede the invading forces and the terrifying monstrous hordes…

The imperial people had succeeded, indeed.

Using the people of the North as sacrificial lambs, they had merely prolonged their own precarious existence.

Saranya did not deny that the Empire was due a reckoning for its betrayal, but such retribution should never be exacted through indiscriminate, large-scale violence.

The Empire itself was already fractured and decaying; its broken corpse festered and reeked, breeding an ever-increasing multitude of evils.

To ignite the flames of vengeance now would yield nothing but a desolate heap of ashes, steeped in despair…

A particular saying of her father’s still resonated within Saranya’s memory:

“Mejga, Saranya,” her father had imparted, “the philosophy of governing a nation is exceedingly intricate, its methods so myriad you could never hope to master them all.

Yet, there exists one remarkably simple principle I can reveal to you now.

It is akin to a lantern guiding one’s path through the night; you must grasp it firmly.”

“And what is that, Father?”

“The fundamental impetus for all your actions must be to improve this land, to ensure that everyone may lead a better life.”

Invasion, vengeance, holy war… these were not her true calling.

Her sacred mission was to halt this impending descent, to safeguard as many souls as possible within this teetering world.

Saranya could not fathom Mejga’s true intentions, but one truth remained certain: if her father were still alive, he would undoubtedly stand with her.

Therefore, whatever scheme her brother might be orchestrating, it absolutely could not be permitted to come to fruition…

‘But… could she truly accomplish such a feat?’

Her palm was suddenly enveloped in a firm grip, sending a jolt of surprise through Saranya.

“Don’t worry.”

Kaelan leaned in, whispering into her ear, her translucent lace glove gently covering Saranya’s fingers.

With a subtle shift, she exchanged places with Saranya, interposing herself between her and Mejga.

“It’s nice to meet you…”

Mejga’s hand instinctively tried to follow Saranya, but Kaelan’s grip was swift and firm.

Kaelan first offered a loud greeting, deliberately attracting the attention of those nearby, before lowering her voice and spitting four words at Mejga with furious contempt,

“Whore. Miss.”

Veins pulsed visibly on Mejga’s forehead, his facial muscles spasmed uncontrollably, and his expression twisted into such venomous malice that Saranya’s very hairs stood on end:

“My little snowflake, when did you descend to such depths as to grovel before a mere witch?”

Saranya averted her gaze, her eyes tightly shut as if seeking escape.

In that moment, her sole instinct was to cling tightly to Kaelan’s palm, their shoulders pressed together, their fingers secretly entwined behind their backs.

“May divine grace, like silver sand, permeate your souls.

When the dark night descends, the pure Moonscar will tear apart the mists before you.”

Bishop Doron murmured a blessing, elevating a sand bowl from which he sprinkled glistening silver grains upon Saranya and Kaelan.

The moon, perfectly full, cast a precise beam of light through the courtroom’s skylight, causing the falling sand to shimmer brilliantly.

A devout chorus of prayers rose from the assembled crowd below the stage.

“Ladies, the Church thanks you for your contributions.”

Doron descended the platform with unhurried steps.

Paresha, meanwhile, gracefully brushed past her father and approached Saranya and Kaelan, clutching the deed to the Redwater Tavern in her hands.

“Upon the Church’s recommendation, the committee has collectively decided to grant ownership of the Redwater Tavern property to the esteemed Lady Hillburg!”

As the young committee member’s pronouncement faded, Paresha pivoted to face the two women:

“Lady Kaelan, Sister Saranya, here you go~”

The girl exuded cheerfulness, her eyes flitting between Kaelan and Saranya, clearly eager for commendation.

Kaelan accepted the deed, her fingernail tracing the committee’s seal.

A satisfied smirk played on her lips as she delivered a reply laden with hidden meaning:

“Exceedingly well done, Paresha.

I have every confidence that your brother will make a full recovery.”

The court was adjourned.

The wicked had been punished, the virtuous rewarded – a classic resolution for the evening.

Saranya watched the dispersing crowd, exhaling a long, weary sigh.

Massaging her aching shoulders, she descended the platform, only to suddenly catch the sound of Kaelan humming.

She turned her head, her gaze falling upon Kaelan, who remained on the platform, and her movements stilled.

The witch cradled the deed to her chest, her head tilted back ever so slightly, her eyes lost in a distant reverie.

From her lips came a soft hum, the melody of a familiar church nursery rhyme:

♪Silver boat, silver boat, float, float, float♪

♪Carrying good people past the reef’s woe♪

♪Goddess winks a secret eye♪

♪Bad people all tumble and fall low♪