Volume 4: The Former Territory of the Kingdom of Poln
Chapter 45: The Ducal House of Newsbeck
The House of Newsbeck.
One of the most prestigious noble families in the Kingdom of Lunoa, its lineage stretching back through a long and storied history. The mansion it maintained in the royal capital was so grand, so imposing in both scale and design, that it could easily be said to rival the royal castle itself—second only to it in sheer majesty.
“Am I alright!? I don’t smell, do I!?”
And yet, within a corner of that dignified residence, the very head of that illustrious house—Newsbeck herself—was engaged in a thoroughly undignified act: raising one arm high into the air and sniffing her own armpit with intense, almost desperate focus.
“My lady, you have already bathed twice today. There is nothing more that can be done.”
Responding calmly to her mistress’s near-obsessive concern over her scent was a maid of the same age, a woman who had served Newsbeck since childhood. Her tone was composed, though not entirely devoid of exasperation.
“No, but still… ah!”
“If you are worried about your scent, shall I apply some perfume? Given the current times, we cannot use anything from the Kingdom of Friez, but we do have fragrances produced here in Lunoa.”
“No… I’d rather not use anything that leaves a noticeable smell.”
“Honestly… just how much are you worrying about this?”
The maid let out a quiet sigh. At this point, her mistress’s behavior bordered on the pathological.
“Well, you see… someone told me I smelled.”
“My lady, whenever you become absorbed in something, you forget even to bathe and remain immersed in it entirely. It’s hardly the first—or second—time someone has pointed out your scent, is it?”
“Well, yes, but… this time is different. It’s special. The reaction I got—from a boy who’s exactly my type—really hit me hard.”
Thus, the woman who had first appeared as a somewhat comedic figure—an almost-thirty noblewoman teased for her lack of hygiene—now went on to add an even more dangerous trait to herself:
a fondness for young boys.
“…My lady. Please, I beg of you—do not commit any crimes.”
Having long since grown accustomed to her mistress’s more alarming tendencies, the maid nevertheless offered a silent, heartfelt prayer that at the very least, her actions would remain within the bounds of the law.
“W-What are you implying!? He’s fifteen! He’s already of age!”
Her rebuttal, however, was painfully weak.
“My lady… please consider your own age. He is more than a full generation younger than you, is he not? A boy who has lived barely half your life.”
“…Hnnngh.”
Or rather, the maid’s response was simply too devastating.
“Besides, how exactly do you intend to meet a fifteen-year-old boy?”
“Where else but the battlefield?”
“That is hardly convincing. There is no fifteen-year-old in a position high enough to converse with you.”
“Have you been ignoring all public information!? Surely you’ve at least heard the name Brigadier General Willard!?”
“N-No… it cannot be… The savior of the nation, falling prey to your clutches… Oh dear… to think the worst nightmare I prayed would never come true has become reality…”
“You—!? Keep this up and I’ll have you thrown out of this house!”
“Perish the thought.”
The maid brushed aside Newsbeck’s teary protest with effortless ease.
“So then, my lady… what is this young man like?”
“He’s exceptional. I don’t know what it is he sees, but the world as he perceives it… surpasses even my own.”
“…Surpasses you? Is that even possible?”
“It is. He seems to understand this war more deeply than I do.”
“…Impossible…”
“However, there are also serious concerns. He stood on the front lines and was wounded. It seems he lost his left eye.”
“…Is he alright?”
“No… not truly. It’s not about the eye itself. Something more fundamental is off. He’s… unstable. Or perhaps, too kind. His heart hasn’t fully adapted to the battlefield… no, it hasn’t caught up to it yet. And yet, he possesses the strength to pull the trigger when necessary. A tragic contradiction. The stronger he is, the more fragile he becomes. He’s dangerously brittle.”
Newsbeck’s assessment was precise—piercing straight through to the truth.
“That left eye… it feels like self-inflicted punishment. As if he believes someone like him—a killer—deserves to die. You can almost see that thought beneath the surface.”
She had, with unsettling clarity, grasped Noah’s current state.
“What makes it worse is that he apparently has family waiting for him back home. He continues to turn away from his own desire for death. It must be painful… Perhaps he could move forward if he could let go—but people like him are not capable of such clean breaks.”
“…My lady.”
“I know what you’re about to say. I am a veteran of the battlefield. I will guide him properly.”
“…You can act as cool as you like, but you are not to lay a hand on him.”
“Silence! I know that already! I’ll restrain myself to merely admiring him from afar!”
“…That is hardly an improvement.”
“Enough! I’m leaving now! I entrust the house to you!”
“Of course. Please, take care, my lady.”
“Mm! …Honestly!”
The place Newsbeck was about to head toward was a veritable den of intrigue—a palace where countless ambitions, schemes, and desires coiled and writhed like unseen serpents.
And yet, she felt no tension, no hesitation.
Instead, as she departed her grand estate, her thoughts were occupied entirely by the boy she had left behind in the eastern front—
the one who, against all reason, had captured her interest.