“We’re in the Northern Knights’ medical tent. You were thought dead by Medea’s blade, but you didn’t die. I found you in Rahel Forest, still breathing, and brought you here. We came here for our survival. The Duke of the North has taken us in.”

“…”

The Caterpillar looked confused and then reached for his tongue, realizing it was cut. His eyes slowly filled with shock.

I knelt beside him.

“They cut your tongue, Yellow Caterpillar. So you couldn’t say you weren’t the culprit. We were just tools to them. You understand, right?”

After a moment, the Caterpillar began to sob. I gently embraced him, struggling to keep himself together.

“You survived. So don’t do this. Okay?”

“Uuuuu…”

“It’s safe here. Don’t worry.”

I comforted the weeping Caterpillar and looked at Arcadia.

He had sheathed his sword and was watching me. Behind him stood the Duke of the North, Zion Belphast, his blue eyes flickering as he gazed at me.

I spoke.

“He was momentarily confused from the shock of being nearly killed, thinking this was the South. Please, Vice-Captain, show some mercy.”

Arcadia thought for a moment, then resheathed his sword. He spoke.

“Your movements are very agile.”

He was referring to how I had blocked him earlier.

“Yes, I’m a bit agile.”

Arcadia’s eyebrow twitched at my response.

“You can’t just walk away from causing such a disturbance. Being a refugee from the South doesn’t automatically make you a Northerner. You said you’d prove your usefulness, didn’t you?”

“Yes, anytime.”
“Seeing your movements today, I think it’s not a bad idea to give you a chance to prove yourself. Are you prepared?”

“Yes.”

I straightened my posture and knelt on one knee before Arcadia.

‘If it means being accepted, I’ll do anything you want.’

“The method will be a tournament. Three rounds of sword fighting. I will choose your opponents from among the soldiers.”

I nodded in agreement.

Then, Duke Belphast spoke.

“For the third and final round, would you consider a knight as the opponent, Arcadia?”

“What?”

Surprised, Arcadia turned to look at the Duke.

“If you cannot defeat the first and second opponents, you won’t make it to the final round anyway. So, how about it? The last opponent being a knight, and a very strong one at that. Our Northern Knights are the strongest in the Empire, after all.”

“Understood.”

Arcadia bowed, and the Duke turned away. For a moment, our eyes met. His gaze was inscrutable.

Then, suddenly, the Duke stopped and turned back towards us, addressing the Yellow Caterpillar.

“I heard you’re from the North, is that correct?”

He remembered what I said.

The Caterpillar, somewhat calmed down, hastily wiped his tears and nodded vigorously.

“Is your name Caterpillar?”

The Caterpillar shook his head.

“No.”

“He says no.”

I translated for the Caterpillar.

“Caterpillar… it’s just a name they use to call us, like him and me.”

The Duke asked.

“Do you have a name? If not, may I give you one?”

The Caterpillar looked up at the Duke with a touched expression, tears welling up again.

I told the Caterpillar, now named ‘Yora’, about Medea as much as I could. Yora, a year younger than me, hails from a remote village called Bern in the far north of the Duke’s territory. Fortunately, there was a wounded soldier from near Bern who reached out to Yora.

Slowly, the soldiers’ wariness towards Yora turned into sympathy.

Yora, a northern orphan boy who had wandered until he was sold to the South and treated like a bug within the walls of the Rahel Castle.

Thanks to Yora, the soldiers’ perception of me softened significantly.

However, Arcadia’s gaze on me became even sharper.

That evening, the Duke didn’t ask me to serve him dinner.

The sword duel was scheduled for the following afternoon.

If Yora and I prove our worth in tomorrow’s duel, we will be able to go to the North with the Knight’s Order.

“Be strong.”

That night, at the medical tent, Yora quietly encouraged me. We had unknowingly grown close. He looked at me as if I were his older sister.

On the way back to my quarters, I ran into Arcadia. He stood up from leaning against a large tree as if he had been waiting for me.

“Estelle.”

“Yes?”

I stopped.

“I have a question.”

“Ask me anything.”

“…I heard from Mobie that you are clumsy in cooking and laundry. In reality, you’ve never really cleaned properly, have you?”

His direct question made me tense. I deflected the conversation, fearful of what he might say next.

“…I’m sorry. Even in the South, I was clumsy and often scolded.”

“It’s understandable if you’ve never done it before.”

“…”

“It’s better to be honest. Really, what was your role in the South?”