🌐 Language / 言語
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🇯🇵 [日本語版]
The sweet aroma of sugar and baked wheat filled the air.
For Palzea’s fourteenth birthday, her father, Woland, had baked a cake for her. Since her mother had passed away from illness during Palzea’s early childhood, this had become their annual tradition. Her father was always kind, taking time off from his job as a confectioner to ensure his daughter never felt lonely.
“I think I’ve baked it particularly well this year,”
Woland said, smiling gently as he decorated the cake with cream. His smile was a perfect reflection of his mild-mannered nature. However, a large, dark bruise marked the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you, Father… Does it still hurt?”
In response to his daughter’s question, Woland looked down slightly. “Only a little,” he replied.
Palzea’s homeland had once flourished alongside the Fidea Empire, thriving through trade via the canals. But that prosperity ended the day the Fidea Empire launched an invasion, led by their Magic-Armor Giants.
After their surrender, Fidea’s soldiers were stationed throughout the land, and a brutal oppression of the citizens began.
Woland had been struck by a Fidea soldier while trying to intervene in one of the frequent riots. “The war is supposed to be over,” Woland sighed, continuing to decorate the cake.
“I wonder how long they intend to keep hating each other.”
He worked tirelessly at his craft with a single wish: to bring smiles back to those who had been burdened by the sorrows of war.
“I wish everyone were as kind as you, Father,”
Palzea sighed, twining a strand of her long red hair around her finger. Sitting in her chair, she watched the cake near completion.
“I’m planning to submit a petition to the Fidea garrison soon. I want to ask them to grant us autonomy. We are all human, after all. If we talk openly, I’m sure we can understand one another.”
Woland straightened his back, his chest swelling with pride. His clear eyes held a sincere belief in the inherent goodness of humanity.
“There, it’s finished! Happy birthday, Palzea. Today is a celebration!”
It was a chiffon cake piled high with cream and fruit. To an adult, it might have been a bit too sweet. But for Palzea, growing up in such turbulent times, it was the perfect sweetness.
The body of her father, wrapped in a brown burlap sack, was only half there.
“I am so sorry… I never thought it would come to this…”
The man, a friend of her father, knelt on the floor and sobbed. Palzea couldn’t process what she was seeing. In the middle of the rain, a blood-stained man had knocked on their door, carrying her father’s remains.
“—Why…? What happened?” Palzea whispered, her eyes vacant and unfocused.
Slumping weakly, the man began to recount the massacre at the garrison.
“Grant us autonomy in exchange for stopping the riots against the Fidea soldiers”
—that was what the petition had said. Woland and the man had gone to the garrison to deliver it, but they were turned away at the gates.
“We are not slaves! You should at least provide a place for dialogue!”
Woland had shouted, refusing to back down. A scuffle broke out with the guards. The Captain of the Guard, a massive, muscular man, appeared after hearing the commotion. Seeing their red hair, he struck them without even asking for a reason.
“Scum. A petition? Don’t make me laugh! You think you’re in a position to negotiate? You’re lower than livestock!”
the Captain spat. He proceeded to beat Woland and his friend mercilessly with an iron mace. But even with his face swollen and battered, Woland did not retreat.
“Please… listen to me. If we continue to hate each other like this—gh!”
Before he could finish, the Captain kicked Woland in the stomach.
“Stubborn rat. Pathetic losers,”
the Captain spat in disgust and turned his back to them.
“Are you… afraid?”
Woland called out, wiping blood from his nose.
“Can you not even manage a conversation? The soldiers of Fidea are nothing but cowards.”
The Captain spun around, his face flushed deep crimson with rage. He unsheathed the broadsword at his hip and swung it down upon Woland as he tried to stand—
Even after hearing the whole story, Palzea could not understand. Why her kind father? He had done nothing wrong. Weren’t people supposed to be able to understand each other? They hadn’t even tried to listen.
Palzea clung to her father’s lifeless remains and wailed. No matter how much she cried, the tears flowed without end.
Kindness and righteousness could not resist unjust violence. To be weak was to die.
In the depths of her despair, Palzea realized the truth: In this world, power is everything.
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