SALP Chapter 1

1. Prophet Fiarelle

The gates of paradise open in the coldest season. These were the words left behind by Jibril, the great prophet of Oden.

Though they were a prophet's words, they were likely not prophecy. They must have been comfort offered to the people's hearts as they endured that cold and hungry season. Like the countless poems and songs he left behind during his lifetime.

A peculiar prophet who revered romance and such things had lived and passed away. He was a man who was nothing like the practical-minded people of Penmark. Even so, he received excessive respect from the people and enjoyed the glory of earning the title of Oden's first 'sage.'

A sage...

Fiarelle wiped her forehead, damp with summer heat, with her wide sleeve as she thought of the old prophet.

When will the day come that I am called Oden's second sage?

With sharp eyes surveying her surroundings, it was the very next moment that she discovered a pale woman standing before a worn-out door.

"...Princess."

Lightning-like foresight crashed into her, sending tremors through her body.

She could recognize her at a glance.

A princess. The last daughter of the Entridhal royal family. The seed of restoration from the ruined paradise of the northern Mediterranean lands—the heir who would revive the thousand-year kingdom and place the shining golden crown upon her head...

She really did exist. In such a place.

The fruit of ten years of labor was before her eyes. Ten whole years of searching every corner of the land, determined to find the village where survivors of the foreign tribe Raphlang, who had crossed the Mediterranean, were hiding—sifting through uncertain information and rumors.

"Your Majesty, that young lady over there is—"

It was just as she opened her mouth in excitement.

"Ah!"

The woman screamed and collapsed to the ground. One of the soldiers searching the village had grabbed her by the hair and thrown her down, now hurling curses at her.

"Move quickly, woman!"

"Don't dawdle. Everyone come out you lowly rats!"

"Every last one of you come out and kneel!"

"Your Majesty Derek, it's that young lady right there."

Fiarelle urgently sought out the king to report. Having achieved her objective, she wanted to leave this place quickly. There was no reason to remain longer in this land of carnage where dirty foreign commoners wailed and bled. The soldiers of Newbella, rampaging like butchers, reeked just as disgustingly.

"That is the princess. I'm certain of it."

At that, Derek, who had been leisurely stroking his beloved horse until then, moved his languid gaze.

His expression upon discovering the princess changed in an instant. Bright red flames seemed to spark in his mineral-gray eyes. A flame of passion that bloomed in a flash. No, it could be called a flame of destiny.

"You."

When Derek's voice rang out low, the soldiers shut their mouths and stopped their kicking.

"State your name."

The princess, who had been lying prostrate on the ground, raised her unfocused eyes.

But she only stared at Derek as though his words were foreign to her ears.

"Why do you not speak!"

An impatient soldier grabbed the wretched princess by the hair and forcibly made her lift her head. If she could have seen through foresight the scene where his brutish hand would rise to slap her cheek, Fiarelle would not have just stood there quietly waiting.

Crack! The silence was torn. The princess's head snapped helplessly to the side.

At the same time, the metallic sound of a blade scraping against its sheath rang out.

"Y-Your Majesty...!"

Derek leaped from his horse and rushed forward in one bound, bringing down his sword.

Without even a death rattle. The moment the sword that had lain dormant in its sheath, honed for today's undertaking, gleamed with razor-sharp light, the soldier's neck was cleanly sliced and his head rolled to the ground.

Only meaningless screams filled the air. Even seeing the enemy's blood, the foreign commoners didn't know how to rejoice and cowered in fear.

Derek, who had actually cut down his own subordinate, calmly returned his sword to its sheath.

"It's alright now, Princess."

He knelt gracefully on one knee before the princess.

"What is your name?"

It was a slightly husky, beautiful voice that went well with his masculine physique and handsome looks.

"...Lanthe."

The princess moved her jaw stiffly as if frozen by the cold. Her gaze remained directed only toward the ground.

"Lanthe Entridhal."

When her tender voice flowed out in a whisper, Derek's eyes grew deeply flushed.

"Lanthe Entridhal... A name that suits the lovely you well."

A gentle smile spread across his face.

His cheek, spattered with red drops of his subordinate's blood, swelled softly.

"I am Derek, King of Newbella. I have come to save you. Come with me."

"I-I'm not really a princess or anything..."

"Don't be afraid and follow me. It's alright now. You will receive the treatment you should rightfully receive and rise to the position you should rightfully obtain."

Though a knight of high status and fine appearance politely extended his hand, the princess remained prostrate without moving an inch.

"I'll help you, Your Highness."

Fiarelle quickly stepped forward to support the princess. She took hold of her slender shoulders as she staggered to her feet and led her to the carriage.

"Lanthe!"

"No! Where are you taking our Lanthe, you filthy demons!"

The foreigners who charged forward shouting were cut down and kicked by soldiers. At the wretched sight that naturally made one frown, Fiarelle blocked Lanthe's view with her own body.

The princess neither wailed nor struggled. She only glanced back hesitantly, searching the village with empty eyes. No sound escaped from her lips.

"Tsk tsk. How pitiful. It seems she lost her nobility and lived mixed among lowly things."

When Derek's sigh could be heard, Fiarelle also looked at the princess with sympathetic eyes, thinking 'I agree.'

Did she even know such a life was miserable? One needs at least minimal education and wisdom to understand that the life of an ignorant commoner is wretched.

"It's dangerous here, so please get in the carriage, Your Highness."

When Fiarelle coaxed her, the princess finally turned her head slowly to meet her eyes.

But what did it mean? There was a strange light floating in the princess's eyes as she stared quietly. It was oddly irritating, but she couldn't understand why.

Even as a prophet, there are extremely few occasions when one can know hidden answers in reality, so there are times when it's not easy to read even something like a young woman's gaze.

However, watching her lips move silently, Fiarelle guessed.

Dangerous?

It seemed she had simply repeated Fiarelle's words. She must have become absent-minded from the shock, powerlessly mimicking others' words.

With such a weak spirit. What a waste of royal blood. She clicked her tongue inwardly.

"Withdraw!"

After Derek mounted his horse and took the lead, he added quietly.

"Leave nothing behind on this land. Find and burn everything living and written."

At the gesture of the knight commander who received his lord's command, soldiers hurled burning torches in all directions. The shabby houses made of straw and wood caught fire and blazed up in an instant.

The foul smell of death followed the carriage leaving the village.

Fiarelle glanced through the carriage window at the gruesome scene for a moment, then withdrew her gaze with a shudder.

"Don't worry, Your Highness."

She comforted the dazed Lanthe, stroking her hand.

"His Majesty Derek will protect you. He will also restore the position you should have inherited from your ancestors."

The revelation that Fiarelle had received upon awakening as a prophet consisted of two things.

First, King Derek would obtain the 'Fire Dragon,' Raphlang's weapon, as he desired.

Second, the day when Eründel's angel would open her eyes again and sing was not far off...

'Revelation' was high-order prophecy that would surely come to pass. Unlike ordinary prophecies that could sometimes go astray or be fulfilled depending on the situation, the revelation that prophets read when they first awakened was bound to come as absolute future.

Indeed, heaven is on King Derek's side.

Fiarelle smiled contentedly.

When Eründel's angel sings, the paradise kingdom shall be reborn.

Because the ancient Raflang revelation that Derek had pursued as if his life depended on it was connected to the revelation Fiarelle had received.

The world dismissed those words as nonsensical lyrics composed by wandering minstrels, but Derek believed it was a true revelation. And Fiarelle believed in Derek. In the end, they found the princess according to their faith.

It would be fulfilled just as foretold. The ruined paradise kingdom would be revived, and the story from within the old song lyrics would come to reality.

"Everything will be fine, Your Highness."

She smiled, anticipating the future when her lord's ambitions would be fulfilled.

When that day came, her lord would become the new master of paradise and, as the hero who created a new era, would rule that land forever with the beautiful princess and receive praise... and she herself would defeat her old teacher Haloren and be called Oden's second sage.

"Trust me. Everything will be alright."

She grasped Lanthe's trembling hand and smiled brightly.

Of course it would be alright. Even this pitiful princess, once she lived in a luxurious palace, would quickly forget such a gutter-like life that she had accepted without criticism out of ignorance.

Watching Lanthe, who didn't say a word for days and only cowered in the corner of her room, Fiarelle lamented. Disappointing days continued for several weeks.

How can she be so weak? Her situation is perfectly clear, so why can't she act wisely? Can she become a queen of a nation like that?

Of course, she had to take into account the environment of having lived as a commoner, but she grew increasingly uneasy as she couldn't ignore the possibility that the princess might be naturally lacking in character.

But after three months passed.

"Have you finished praying, Your Highness?"

Fiarelle's worries completely disappeared.

"Yes. I'm sorry for taking so long, Lady Fiarelle."

Lanthe smiled, lifting the corners of her lips faintly. The princess had recovered her reason and health considerably during this time.

"Not at all. How could I, a mere believer, begrudge the time when Your Noble Highness converses with God?"

So Fiarelle could smile generously and warmly as well.

The great undertaking was proceeding smoothly. She was particularly pleased that Lanthe's rustic dialect was changing to Penmark's capital accent. She was steadily learning imperial refinement and even receiving education for conversion, so it couldn't be better. Thanks to her different bloodline, perhaps, her pace of learning was beyond expectations.

She was adapting well to the life of a noblewoman who studied until night and woke up late, having escaped from the lazy commoner's life of sleeping when the sun set.

Well, what reason would there be not to adapt? Rejecting a superior and comfortable environment would be nothing but proof of barbarism. Fiarelle smiled with satisfaction.