She Decided Not To Get Revenge

Shaurillin didn’t waste time and immediately talked about something else.

“The current finance minister, Gallois Schurt, felt familiar just by looking at his name; is that right? I thought I should check before visiting him in person, because he might be a child, a grandson, or even a relative.”

“You’ll be 78 this year so I know you’re close. Wouldn’t it be better to buy a present for the reunion before visiting? It’s been a while since we’ve talked, so we should enjoy it, and if you don’t mind, I’ll send Merlin first to pick up a proper gift before we go visit the finance minister.”

Miro was acquainted with Gallois Schurt, the current finance minister. 

If Miro was Schaurillin’s personal assistant, Gallois Schurt was the business assistant. 

Gallois has been with Schaurillin longer than Miro.

When Miro was seven years old he was recruited by Shaurillin and Gallois was Shaurillin’s assistant at the time. He was standing right next to Shaurillin when Miro first saw him.

Gallois Schurt served under Shaurillin for nearly 50 years, then spent another 15 years in Roschodur when Shaurillin was absent. 

After Shaurillin was exiled to Rangvi Island, Gallois then became the prime minister’s representative until Katlena showed up.

Katlena then appointed Gallois Schurt as the finance minister. Shaurillin was then brought back to the capital and then recommended to the Emperor after finishing the formal restructuring announcement.

Obviously, the ministry to which Shaurillin will be allocated once his position as Prime Minister is rendered meaningless has already been established.

From a human perspective, 78 is quite old. Humans usually die before reaching the age of 70 or have a retirement ceremony. 

Shaurillin was once Gallois’s superior. So, if Gallois Schurt stepped down, retired, or served as finance minister until his death, Schaurillin would’ve been his successor as if it were natural.

So, instead of asking further questions, Shaurillin asked if “the Gallois Schurt” was someone he knew, and Katlena confirmed. 

She grinned as if she had planned it herself.

“Oh! it’s a person I know, so let’s do that.”

“Should we sit here?” Katlena asked.

“That’s a good idea. The view from this window is beautiful. The landscape of the city has changed a lot.”

With that said, Schaurillin calmly pulled out a chair for Katlena, and Katlena smiled in return then sat down. 

She asked softly with a tone that sounds like a close call.

“Do you still like peaceful scenery?”

“I thought you still liked this kind of view, Katlena.”

“You’re saying something funny. What I was watching in those days was not a warm and quiet scenery, but a white fairy watching it.”

Shaurillin closed his mouth. Despite the fact that his purple eyes were smiling, he continued to glance at Katlena Agreta as if searching.

Katlena quickly waved her hand and indicated to the seat next to him.

“Merlin, Miro, come and sit.”

“Yes, please sit.”

Shaurillin agreed with Katlena without any delay. Thus, the two assistants sat side by side next to their masters. 

At the table surrounded by four people, the conversation between Katlena and Shaurillin quickly began to flow. The explanations for the seven ministries, excluding administrators and finance officers, were sluggish.

Miro Rosway failed to focus properly on the content of the conversation as each of them was served with food. First and foremost, such an issue was not anything Miro Rosway could be concerned with or comprehend, and he was rather preoccupied.

Katlena doesn’t show much hostility to Shaurillin or to the fairy who was always skeptical while pretending to be calm.

The city of Roshodur stretched far beyond. The conversation was so calm and even friendly, like it didn’t matter what kind of relationship they had in the past. 

The scenery was nothing like the old days, and Katlena was no longer a child, but Miro Rosway’s memories often come back, without him realizing it, over the calm and warm scenery where the sound of bells gently flowed. 

It really wasn’t something Miro Rosway would do. Anyone who watched the garden of Agreta that time would have been immersed in similar memories.

A white fairy with pointed ears sat by Count Agreta, sipping tea and enjoying a peaceful day in the garden, and the chattering sound of little Kat, who ran with her hair that wasn’t yet red, rang like a cheerful bird.

‘How can he forget?’ Perhaps Miro from the past didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary as he listened to the relaxed conversation at the party table. Rather, he must have had odd, suspicious eyes for the future Miro Rosway.

However, the current Miro knows everything that happened in those eighteen years. And it didn’t deserve an ending like this.

In Miro’s memory “Shauri” is a special nickname given by a young girl who couldn’t pronounce the name of the high elf properly. 

Schaurillin held the child in his arms, then stood up with a clear gesture. 

“Lovely ‘Kat’, if you fall while running, your mother and father will be sad.” The fairy whispered. 

“Shauri, aren’t you sad?”

“Is it really necessary to admit the truth that if Kat gets hurt, my heart will be broken?”

 As the fairy whispers to the child, the fairy starts giving in on the child’s whims. 

When the two began to stroll leisurely between strawberry bushes and rose shrubs, Count Agreta, who just joined the tea party, approached his wife and squeezed her shoulders and made a friendly look. 

Miro was also watching the garden with a satisfied and comfortable face that resembled the couple, on a day that seemed to have been dried in the most beautiful spring sunlight in the form of peace and affection.

Holding the child in his arms, the fairy soon talked about the secret story of the world. The race whose ears got longer and got taller for the voice of God, and thankfully, leaving the land of the most noble white fairies in the forest.

The story about the magic and sacred patterns that Shaurillin told had always attracted not only Katlena but also Miro Rosway. 

Schaurillin sometimes shows the back of his hand, explaining the strange pattern that was bumpy like a scar. They call it the ‘mark’ (Lightning scar). 

This is because of the legend that God struck the world with lightning, leaving shining scars on the messenger fairies.

In the end, the ‘mark’ is engraved on every fairy.

In fact, it is also a sign that proves that all origins of fairies actually began in the same place. 

Nevertheless, the fact that the patterns aren’t the same makes them different beings.

It’s a lumpy knife-like gash in the skin’s outline. Perhaps any elf with magical talent has been born with it. It’s a mysterious and reluctant pattern that completely shakes and gives a blue afterimage around it under the moonlight.

There was nothing like that for Half Elf Miro Rosway, who could not use magic, but even among the elves, it was clearly sparkling on the back of Shaurillin’s hand, who was born to be a special person who sacrificed to God and honored the forest.

The elf in the memory whispers, carrying the afterimage of the softened sunlight and the envy of the incarnation wind that flows without curves like long years on her lemon-colored hair.

This ‘mark’ determines the fate of a fairy at birth.

Whether to live in the most miserable place or the most blessed.

Whether to live in a hidden place and leave everything unfinish.

They looked at the sky for a moment as if looking through the memories of a distant place.

They wandered through the sunlight, the grass, and the shadow of a tree.

Looking down with his purple eyes, the fairy then suddenly got mad.

He changed the story, something appropriate for children to listen to.

Very intentionally.

Then he leaves the side of the young half-elf. Only the little girl remained in his arms, with a firm attitude as if he would not let anyone talk further.

“Kat, I have a lot of questions for you. There are still so many beautiful things in the world to teach young children. What is the story that will make you like a fairy?”

As they got farther and farther away, he only hears the sound of Schaurillin reciting in a pure, unchanged voice on the lawn garden where little unknown flowers bloomed like wild flowers. 

The name of the flower is Bartel, and the elves believe that the spirit of dew was born in it. 

“If one weaves the white grass flowers together and makes a crown, it will be in honor of God’s blessing and peace of mind. A crown for me? Oh, Kat. You don’t have to wish God to bless an elf.”

“If one makes a crown and puts it on my head, it’s probably because I’m a human child and you’re a fairy.”

At that moment, there was a terrible craze with a loud noise outside. Miro Rosway’s memory, which was gradually flowing into the distant past, was cut short with no time to recover.

Paper, small wood debris, and acrid dust swept through the restaurant’s terrace window in a second, most likely blown up while rolling down the street. 

In a brief breath, Katlena’s untied bright red hair and Shaurillin’s light-yellow hair were caught in the wind and swayed dizzily.

Miro Rosway jumped from his chair. Merlin Newtide’s hand was already on her waist’s rapier handle. Shaurillin didn’t do anything particularly dramatic, but he did react.

Shaurillin’s grassy purple eyes went silently out to the terrace, then returned quietly to Katlena in front of him.

“Katlena.”

In the memory of Miro Rosway, in front of the garden.

Hiding the ‘mark’ and telling Katlena the name of a flower.

The sweet voice that told her about the wind of time.

The one who has not changed in the slightest, holding up as easily as a cloud.

Whispered in his voice.

“Are you responsible for those things?”

“What things?”

“About the few people who are killed or disappeared, leaving magical scars behind, without a rat or a bird knowing.”

Katlena smiled calmly, as if she couldn’t hear the commotion.

“Didn’t you finish talking about that the other day? Nothing is happening publicly, so there is nothing for you to worry about.”