“…I-I was only…”
The young aristocrat, now sweating profusely, suddenly found his talent for insults failing him. His gaze darted around nervously.
Seeing Venti looking back at him with calm amusement only stoked his frustration. He pointed an accusing finger at Venti, scrambling to explain.
“Please, hear me out, Lady Bronya. This so-called bard has been spreading content strictly forbidden by Belobog’s laws.
“I warned him repeatedly, but he had no respect for us, the Architect heirs. So, yes, I had to invoke the Silvermane Guards’ authority. I beg your forgiveness, Lady Bronya!”
The brazen lie earned scornful looks from onlookers, and several noblewomen who had been charmed by Venti’s performance appeared ready to speak up on his behalf.
“If he really has done this, I will investigate,” Bronya replied, her gaze fixed coldly on the man. “But until then, should I interpret this as the Stepan family’s attempt to undermine the Supreme Guardian’s authority?”
Bronya’s words sent a chill through him, as the weight of her gaze struck him full force.
Her poise held a hardened edge, a chill earned through countless battles against Rift creatures, a bearing not easily endured by most.
Only now did he realize the full extent of his mistake—bringing up the Silvermane Guards in front of the Supreme Guardian’s heir, the very faction that held unwavering control over them.
To invoke the Guards’ authority in front of her was foolish. At best, he’d be accused of bullying, and at worst, he might find his family’s skeletons unearthed. This was no idle threat.
The young noble grew paler, cursing his own foolishness. With Bronya now questioning his motives, even his family wouldn’t be able to protect him. Prison time would be inevitable.
A future tainted by prison, marked by crossing Belobog’s future leader—such a fate was all but sealed.
After staring him down, Lady Bronya finally turned to the bard.
“Bard. Is what he says true?”
It was clear to everyone that she had already seen through his lies and was simply following protocol.
With a single accusation from the bard and a few witnesses, the matter would be swiftly resolved.
Lady Bronya would then order the Guards to escort the man away, and the incident would go down as a celebrated tale of justice served by the successor.
The hero of the tale would be a humble bard defending himself against a spoiled aristocrat—an act sure to win the favor of the common people. The scene itself proved this, as the crowd eagerly awaited Bronya’s judgment.
Even the elderly nobleman who had accompanied Bronya sighed quietly. Her skill and cleverness far outstripped that of his foolish young relative. This next Supreme Guardian was truly worthy of her title.
But the bard’s response stunned everyone.
“Well, his words were a bit harsh, but he isn’t entirely wrong about me sharing forbidden tales.”
Bronya’s brow furrowed. Had the bard simply misspoken in his nervousness?
She had heard his music when she entered. The tunes, though unfamiliar, had a soothing quality that could lift the spirit, pure and fresh like mountain spring water.
With skill of that level, she could easily vouch for him—the music was far from crude noise or treachery.
His admission, however, changed everything. She couldn’t ignore a confession of spreading banned material, even if it ruined the entire scene.
Tension thickened as onlookers grew uneasy. The aristocrat’s face flashed with hope, while others watched the bard with disbelief. Even the elder noble seemed bewildered, struggling to understand Bronya’s intentions.
Perhaps, he thought, this was a calculated move, a ploy by the Guardian’s heir.
After all, this was a critical stage for any heir—establishing a reputation through symbolic acts of justice, paving the way for future authority.
Finally, Bronya spoke again.
“…Bard, I’ll allow you to clarify your words. There’s no need to feel pressured. Under the Supreme Guardian’s rule, no citizen is subjected to unjust persecution or baseless retaliation.”
The crowd murmured, briefly astonished by her clear defense of him. Though there was justification, her directness hinted at a profound mistrust of the aristocracy.
But Venti held firm.
“Yes, I’ve shared tales of beautiful things long forbidden here, and I don’t see anything wrong with it.
“Even now, I want to continue sharing them—so others may know there is more beyond endless snowfields. There are rabbit-shaped valleys, trains that travel among the stars, and forests that never fade.”
Bronya’s face fell, her gaze hardening as she retracted her brief compassion. With a nod, she signaled for both men to be taken away.
Through it all, Venti kept his easygoing smile, while the young aristocrat, overcome with hysterical relief, wept and laughed as he was led off.
As they passed each other on the way to the cell block, Bronya caught a fleeting glimpse of Venti’s expression.
He didn’t seem angry or resentful.
Instead, he looked at her with something close to sympathy.
It was as if their roles were reversed—that she was the true prisoner, confined by invisible bars, while he was a bird soaring freely under the open sky.
What kind of inner world gave him such an expression?
As much as she disliked admitting it, Bronya felt a pang of curiosity. Her subsequent investigations revealed that his stories were less about the world outside Belobog and more like glimpses into an imaginary world.
Was he merely a poor soul, lost in his own fantasies?
But then again, how could a fool create such clear, pure melodies?
Her questions only multiplied until she finally decided she had to confront him.
She walked through the cold, dark hallways to his cell, located in the frigid depths of the prison where even the geothermal warmth couldn’t reach.
She found him lying on the ground, legs crossed, chewing a blade of dry grass and humming a lively tune, utterly unaffected by his imprisonment.
The moonlight through the window cast a faint glow over his face, adding a hint of mystery to his androgynous features. Hearing her footsteps, he looked over.
She would always remember his greeting: “Hello there, dear Bronya. Have you come to be my new cellmate?”
A more insolent taunt would be hard to find—but from him, it sounded as if no honor could be greater.
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