“I’m sorry.”
Drenched in sweat, Frey stood before the Little Prince and offered her apologies. She explained that she had been so engrossed in practicing the Song of Stars for her upcoming performance that she had lost track of time and forgotten their promise. The Little Prince looked at Frey as she gave an awkward smile.
The boy knew it was a lie.
The Little Prince had seen Frey laughing and drinking beer late into the night. He had seen her lunching with a wealthy merchant and spending her evening with a man as radiant as a gemstone. Late at night, he had seen three men kneeling before her, vying for her affection until their jealousy erupted into a quarrel. The Little Prince didn’t know why Frey was lying to him, but instead of confronting her, he simply gave her a bright smile.
“It’s okay.”
Frey seemed relieved by his cheerful response. She sat down beside him and watched the sunset for a moment. Without her even asking, the Little Prince began to tell her how he had spent his time waiting. He spoke of watching the people coming and going through the day and night in Antoine.
The senile old man who claimed to be a king, the middle-aged man wandering the streets telling unfunny jokes, the drunkard staggering through the alleys, the man who loved nothing more than counting his coins… Frey knew every person the Little Prince described. She had lived her entire life in Antoine; she knew them, and she knew their stories.
“You really did wait here the whole time.”
Frey realized then that the Little Prince’s words were true. After a brief silence, she spoke.
“I lied to you, Little Prince.”
“I know.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I saw you walking around yesterday, Frey.”
“I suppose it would be hard not to see me from here. This city is small, after all.”
“Why did you lie?”
To his innocent question, Frey replied, “I didn’t think you would actually wait. I thought that even if you did, you’d leave soon. Most men are like that. They can’t stand even a moment of boredom. They approach me for my beauty, seeking to satisfy their various desires… but they never try to look at what’s truly important. I thought you would be the same.”
“I see.”
“You’re not going to scold me?”
“Frey, what is this ‘important thing’?” The Little Prince looked at her. “Beauty, desire. What is more important than those things?”
Frey found herself at a loss for words.
In that moment, the Little Prince’s eyes shone with a startling clarity. Faced with a purity that was utterly untainted, Frey felt strangely exposed, as if she were standing naked. After a moment of frozen silence, she finally spoke.
“It’s the heart. The kind of heart that can look into a person’s soul.”
The Little Prince followed up with another question. “And how do you see the heart?”
“The heart is…”
A cycle of questions and answers followed, one leading into the next.
After six or seven exchanges, Frey found she could no longer answer him. Only then did she realize that she didn’t truly know what a person’s inner self was, how to look at it, or how to see past outward appearances. In less than ten questions, she was struck by how much she didn’t know.
“It’s funny.”
“What is?”
“I said that men can’t see what’s important… but I didn’t even know what was truly important myself, or how to see it. In the end, I was just throwing a tantrum, demanding that others find something within me that I didn’t even understand.”
“Why do you think you did that, Frey?”
“I think it was my pride. I’m the most beautiful woman in Antoine and a beloved Star Priestess, so I thought I deserved to meet someone special. I think I read a sentence in a book once: ‘What is truly important is not the appearance, but the inner self. Inner beauty never fades.’ Even though I didn’t understand it, I think I went around repeating it just because I felt that, as the most beautiful woman in the city, I had to find someone that special.”
Frey laughed.
As she did, the Little Prince asked her, “Do you want to know what’s important?”
“Do you know, Little Prince?”
The Little Prince answered her question with another. “Frey, do you know what a sheep looks like?”
“Of course I do.”
“I don’t. I don’t know what kind of animal a sheep is or what it looks like. At first, when I heard the name, I didn’t even realize it was an animal. An old woman was the first to tell me about them. She said that if you follow the sun south, you’ll find a prairie where sheep graze on grass.”
“Why are you telling me this now…?”
“I was so curious about sheep. So, while I was waiting for you, I asked the people passing by to draw one for me. But everyone drew them differently. One person drew a fluffy animal, another drew an animal eating grass, and another just drew a cute face. I couldn’t tell which one was a real sheep.”
“…”
“And yet, I can draw a sheep for you, Frey.”
“How?”
The Little Prince began to draw something in the sand. It was a simple, rectangular wooden box.
“But that’s a box.”
“The sheep is inside this box.”
“What do you mean…?”
“Imagine it. The inside of the box is very wide. Maybe even wider than this desert. Inside the box, green grass stretches out, and a sheep runs around and grazes. Oh, look, the sheep has fallen asleep now!”
Frey couldn’t understand what the Little Prince was saying. As she stood there looking puzzled, he spoke again.
“I can’t see it, but just now, you imagined the sheep, Frey. You imagined the inside of the box, and you pictured the prairie and the sheep within it. You drew the right things in the places I left blank.”
“…”
“Frey, no one truly knows if it’s the appearance or the inner heart that matters most. No one knows how to see it, either. Do you know why?”
The Little Prince smiled radiantly.
“Because what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
It sounded like a child’s whisper.
“Frey, is the richest man in the world a special man? Is a man as beautiful as a star a special man? Is a man who can make everyone laugh with a single word a special man? No one knows. Because ‘specialness’ is invisible.”
“…”
“There is much I don’t know. But I know one thing. Specialness is born of responsibility and connection. No one is special from the beginning. Specialness is forged through time and bonds. When I first saw you, Frey, you weren’t special to me. But the moment you spoke to me, and I shyly replied, and I told you that you were special—that was when you became special. When you promised to meet me, and I waited for you through the day and night, you became even more special.”
Frey listened to his words in silence.
“That’s what specialness is. There are many things in the world as beautiful as flowers. But if you don’t speak to them and tell them they are beautiful, they remain just flowers. When I said you were special, you became special to me. And if you ever tell me that I am special, I will become special to you, too. Then…”
“Then?”
“Then you become the only one in the world to me, and I become the only one in the world to you, Frey. That is what true specialness is.”
Frey looked at the Little Prince again. She found him difficult to comprehend. While showing a child-like innocence, he spoke like a philosopher. His words pierced through her heart, making it difficult for her to respond.
“Shall we meet here again tomorrow?”
“I’d like that.”
“What time?”
“Four in the afternoon.”
Frey wanted to know more about the boy. Perhaps, from that moment on, the Little Prince had already become someone special to her.
“To be tamed is to risk shedding tears.”
After that, Frey was never late for her meetings with the Little Prince. At the same time, she began to understand his words: that if she were to come at four o’clock, he would begin to be happy from three o’clock. Frey looked forward to their meetings, and that anticipation became happiness—a small joy that gradually swelled. That special time began to color her entire day with light.
Of course, old habits die hard.
Frey still met many men and felt a sense of fulfillment from their sweet words of courtship. Yet, she never accepted a single proposal. She had no intention of accepting a proposal from the Little Prince, either. To her, he was a peculiar boy, but still just a boy. Though he was handsome, he seemed plain compared to other men, and he possessed very little. Frey had changed slightly, but she had not yet realized what was truly important.
Then, the day came for Frey to sing the Song of Stars.
“Ah…”
All the citizens of Antoine gathered before the observatory, lost in ecstasy as Frey and the other Star Priestesses sang. From the very front, Frey saw the Little Prince cheering with shining eyes. She was certain he would court her again—this time, more passionately and fervently than ever.
“Frey.”
But she was mistaken.
“I have to go back now.”
“Go back? Where?”
“To where I belong.”
Moments, it seemed, were never meant to be eternal.
“The Song of Stars you showed me was more beautiful than the sunset. But while watching the most beautiful thing, I recovered a few of my lost memories. I have a place to return to, Frey.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I am a spirit, Frey.”
While watching the Song of Stars, the Little Prince had recalled his past from the depths of his dark memories. The dance Frey performed reminded him of the festivals of spirits. Remembering the festival, he realized he was not a human, but a spirit who had briefly crash-landed in the Mortal Realm. And a spirit must dwell in the Spirit Realm.
The Little Prince smiled brightly. “You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. I have a responsibility to return to my friends.”
“Was I not your friend? You said I was special.”
“We are friends, Frey. But you don’t think of me as special. I must return to where I belong.”
Frey stood speechless before him.
Just as the Little Prince said, Frey did not know the value of what she had. She felt a complex, subtle emotion in her chest that was hard to describe, but she felt that showing it would make it look like she was begging him to stay. So, she hid her heart. She put on a brave face and waved to him, acting as if she weren’t sad at all.
The next day, when Frey went out to the streets, the Little Prince was nowhere to be found in front of the observatory. He had vanished without a trace. Thinking that just one of many men had disappeared, Frey went about her daily life as usual. But even though only one hour of her day was gone, she felt an emptiness incomparable to anything she had felt before.
Frey told herself: The Little Prince just got tired and ran away. Since I didn’t accept his courtship, he got exhausted and left, just like the others. A spirit? What a ridiculous lie. How could a spirit wander the Mortal Realm looking like a human? He’s just an ordinary man. Yes, an ordinary…
“Oh.”
Then one day, Frey suddenly found herself in tears. Only then did she understand his words. To be tamed is to risk shedding tears.
By the time she realized it, it was already too late.
Frey, who had been spending her days in a daze, began walking to the observatory every day at four o’clock. As if she had a promise to keep with someone.
*
“…What in the world.”
The Captain found it hard to believe what was happening before his eyes.
‘A single strike. She killed Rabbit in a single strike.’
The woman holding a sword as slender as a needle had taken Rabbit’s life with a single thrust. It was an attack that could only be described as a ray of light rather than a mere thrust. The strike, launched like threading a needle, pierced a small hole in Rabbit’s neck—a hole more than sufficient to end a human life.
‘How is this possible?’
Furthermore, Eagle had also lost his life.
The Orc that Eagle faced fought in a completely different manner than the woman. While she had killed Rabbit with a single, concise, and rapid attack, the Orc fought with boisterous, heavy strikes.
“An Orc! Does not! Flee!”
A blade far too large to be called a sword. The Orc, wielding a sword of grotesque proportions, charged forward, taking every attack Eagle threw at him without dodging. As he charged, the blade he swung with wild savagery grew faster and heavier with every strike. Eagle had taken a defensive stance, but the Orc’s blow was powerful enough to crush both the sword held up in defense and Eagle’s body simultaneously. The blood-soaked Orc let out a guttural laugh and glared in this direction.
“There is no paradise for those who flee.”
The Captain couldn’t wrap his head around it. These beings that appeared like mirages had to be some kind of summoned creatures. But what kind of summon in the world possessed such overwhelming combat power as a single entity? Summons were supposed to be tools used to overwhelm with numbers or to gain an advantage through elemental counters—not to crush opponents with such pure martial force.
Moreover, it was a swordsman who had called forth these summons. It made no sense for a blade-wielder to summon other beings, and for those summoned beings to be this powerful was even more absurd. Furthermore, each of them had a distinct personality. A very diverse set of personalities.
“…Much has changed.”
While the Captain stood frozen in disbelief, a Ronin approached him. He was a wandering swordsman wearing the wide-sleeved robes of the Eastern Lands and a bamboo hat. In his hand, he held an old, worn sword.
“I thought the warriors of the plains only pursued the strong.”
The Ronin’s footsteps were silent. Like the wind.
“To think you would come to this land of absolute peace.”
The Captain met the Ronin’s eyes. They were dry, hollow eyes. The moment their gazes met, the Captain felt a cold breeze brush against his cheek. Having realized this was a kind of Mystery, he knew he couldn’t stay where he was. The Captain lifted his foot to take a step back.
And then.
“I despise your kind—warriors without honor.”
The moment he stepped back, the Captain saw a fountain of red blood spray upward. Wondering why blood was splattering, he looked down and saw his own two feet lying on the ground, severed. The Ronin hadn’t even swung his sword. Only the wind had blown, yet the Captain had been cut without even realizing it.
“You have trampled upon too many brilliant things.”
It was as if he had been sliced by the wind itself.
Dazed, the Captain collapsed to the ground and watched the Ronin approach. The Ronin’s face remained chillingly expressionless, but a whirlwind was surging around his body.
“You do not belong in this peaceful land.”
“Wait…”
“So, I shall blow you away.”
The Ronin made a single horizontal stroke with his sword in the air. A faint breeze blew, and as he struck down again, the faint breeze became a gale. Amidst the howling gale, the Ronin swung his sword as if painting a picture in the air. With every swing, the wind gathered until it became a full-blown storm. As the storm lifted the Captain’s body into the air, he felt something other than anger or defeat.
It was awe.
“Help the guests from the East!”
“Crusaders! Hurry!”
“Any help at all, just…!”
The scattered Crusaders began to gather to lend their aid in this fierce battle. As the ground shook beneath the footsteps of the armored men, the Ronin continued his work without a hint of panic. His sword created the wind, the gathered wind became a gale, and soon the fierce wind blew with a speed that no one could catch.
“Uh—”
The onslaught of wind became a tornado, sweeping away everything in the direction the Ronin was facing. Thick clouds of dust exploded, and the screams that had been heard nearby instantly grew distant. The distant screams soon vanished, and as the wind died down, a chilling silence settled over the battlefield. In the quieted field, the Ronin returned his sword to his waist with a sharp clack .
Looking at the desert landscape that had been cleared in an instant, Mary spoke.
“…Let’s not bother ranking ourselves.”
The Orc Great Warrior Berik spoke as well. “That would be for the best.”
It was a rare moment of agreement between the two.
In the midst of that, the Ronin spoke. “Save the idle chatter for after the work is done.”
At his words, Mary and Berik raised the swords they had been lowering. He was right.
“Our master has not yet finished his digestion…”
Their work was not over.
“…And the enemies are still there.”
In the swept-clean desert, figures were rising from beneath the mounds of sand. They were those who had been lucky enough to escape the Ronin’s storm, or perhaps those who had survived through skill rather than luck.
“Do not let your guard down until the very end.”
