# "Oh my, Miss Einarsdottir. I see you got a new violin?"
"Ah, y-yes..."
"My goodness! This is from the Frauschulitz line, isn't it?! Such an expensive one... Wait, wasn't your previous violin like that too?"
"Y-yes... My uncle bought it for me."
"I'm so envious!"
Eyes filled with envy—no, jealousy—and beyond jealousy, contempt.
For Asidis, these were familiar and sorrowful gazes.
Attitudes that seemed to have completely forgotten how she had defended the new Knight Department students, even sacrificing Clanger the Third.
In the Orchestra Department, Asidis was always treated this way.
Perhaps it was inevitable. While Droan was a powerful nation in the United Kingdom, it wasn't one that had earned its position through culture and arts.
Uncivilized brutes with nothing but strength. That was about the extent of the country's reputation.
And in the midst of this, she had entered the Orchestra Department with talent that wasn't particularly impressive.
Yet despite this, she always carried top-quality instruments, which she frequently managed to break.
She wasn't articulate, and that mysterious "uncle" of hers kept visiting since he enrolled as a freshman.
Asidis had always been a beloved girl. After all, her father was the king, and one of the strongest warriors across the entire continent.
For someone like her, this environment was far too harsh.
"Ugh... sniff... sob..."
For the next class, she locked herself in the empty ensemble room and sniffled.
Since no one had informed her about the changed lecture hall, she was left alone, trembling and sobbing.
Her hand, which had been holding Clanger and drawing the bow across the strings a few times, fell limply.
"Daddy... Uncle..."
She clutched her violin tightly while whimpering, then with trembling hands, placed it in its case and lifted it.
It was a moment when she wanted to give up.
In truth, every moment had been like that. Every moment she held an instrument and sang.
For Droan citizens, the violin was quite an unfamiliar foreign instrument. Moreover, to obtain a proper one was absurdly expensive, and despite that, it was fragile and easily damaged.
Droan was a dry place. Just brief exposure to the outside air would warp the fingerboard and body, ending its life as an instrument.
Daily tuning made no difference. String instruments were luxury items that inherently required delicate care from skilled hands.
The Huskarls thought the king's daughter was being extravagant, and the teachers they managed to find were nothing more than ignorant minstrels.
Because of this, she had struggled to teach herself with barely obtained sheet music.
How happy she had been when she finally succeeded in entering the Orchestra Department of St. Yansk University, a world-renowned music school.
"*Sniff*"
Asidis gently stroked the bag slung over her shoulder.
All her life, she had always wanted to give up. She thought it wouldn't be so bad to put everything down and quietly live the life of a princess.
But living as the king's daughter meant being displayed like a high-priced item preserved in silence.
Weaving cloth for better product value, singing for a beautiful tone, and occasionally learning martial arts.
The result would have been marriage to the warrior most suitable for continuing the royal bloodline. That would have been her fate.
She didn't want to live like that.
She wanted to learn an instrument. She wanted to master music. Especially the violin.
It all began with a conversation in front of a campfire ten years ago.
From a story told by a man whose face was now just a blur.
Einar was a logical man. Though his logic was that of Droan, he was nonetheless an excellent father who employed rational thinking.
Therefore, he brought all his children to the battlefield. There were several reasons for this.
First, as his children, they should directly face the air of battle.
Second, the jarls of Droan could not be trusted.
The latter reason was more important. Einar was a great warrior, and even then, he was already a man without equal within Droan.
If he returned safely from war, any of the jarls might take his children hostage.
So Asidis knew war.
And she knew the Hero Party from that time.
She remembered the backs of heroes who always returned injured. With limbs broken, sometimes losing parts of their bodies, or returning crushed.
People who wiped away blood, wrapped bandages over wounds, and sat exhausted in front of campfires sharing drinks.
So in those days, she asked this question to the man who was always the most severely injured in the party.
"Uncle, why don't you run away?"
"Hmm?"
He was perhaps a dozen years younger than her father, but still at least ten years older than her.
Except for the Saintess, he was the youngest among the party members, so Asidis often spoke to this stoic man.
The man gazed at the campfire for a moment, then smiled faintly and said:
"Where would I run to? The world is turning into hell."
"Still, it's better than going to fight. Always, every time, to a place where you might die at any moment."
"This isn't something I need to give early education about."
This man occasionally used terms she couldn't understand. That seemed so impressive that Asidis secretly admired him.
After all, young children tend to find difficult words cool.
"Asidis. The reason your father and I wield axes, why Maximillian and Gil Ber carry swords, why the Saintess somehow keeps us alive, and why Enrique risks her life infiltrating enemy lines—there's only one reason."
"What is it?"
"Because we hope we'll be the last."
The man examined his axe blade in the campfire light. The teeth were dangerously worn, on the verge of breaking.
"Living a life where you must kill an enemy's day to live your own day with a weapon in hand. We hope such a life ends with us. We hope that you, your siblings, and the many children after us—and their children too—will hold plows instead of weapons."
The war couldn't go on any longer. The United Kingdom's national structure couldn't bear any more war.
No war should last beyond one generation. Even if victory comes after that, it's not a true victory.
Their generation was the final boundary line where people could still have lives, where nations could still function as nations.
With that meaning, the man quietly put down his axe.
"So don't be like your father."
"Um... what should I do then? I'm, uh... good with an axe!"
"I know. When you grow a bit more, it'll be surprising. Still, if possible, try holding something other than an axe."
"I'm not very good at sewing..."
"You don't necessarily have to sew. Hmm."
The man looked at Asidis with perplexed eyes. Due to his lack of eloquence, he wasn't confident in giving this little one appropriate guidance.
He stroked his chin for a moment and said:
"If you must hold something, an instrument would be better."
"An instrument?"
"Weapons kill people, but instruments save them."
Beyond borders, cultures, and languages. Great music in itself often serves as a bridge connecting people to people.
If an era of peace arrives, one of the most necessary things would be instruments.
Asidis stared blankly at the man. His ash-gray hair and piercingly blue eyes, those composed eyes quietly gazing at the campfire.
The young girl admired this solid man.
"Which instrument do you like best, Uncle?"
"Well, I don't know much about instruments in this world."
He stroked his chin awkwardly. It was a habit when he was deep in thought.
Ah, but there seemed to be one common instrument. The man tilted his head, thinking. Having been in the battlefield for ten years since being drafted, he hadn't often encountered instruments, but...
Perhaps the instrument he saw when our great king held a celebration. He remembered it was an instrument with the same name in this world too.
"Was it the violin...?"
"Violin?"
"Yes."
Asidis repeated that name over and over, committing it to memory.
Ten years passed after that. During that time, she had gone from being the daughter of a great warrior to the daughter of a great king.
A world had arrived where the great king no longer needed to rule his kingdom with an axe. It became an era requiring eloquence rather than axes, written treaties rather than eloquence, and gold.
As her uncle had said, a world where weapons were no longer needed had arrived.
Asidis took up the violin. Steadfastly, despite her parents' concerns and the criticism of other uncles. Pressing the fingerboard until her hands blistered, pulling the bowstring until her wrists gave out.
With the intention of someday visiting her uncle, who had ultimately died in battle, to leave him the most perfect memorial song.
She heard that her uncle's remains were buried in the Pritzenkaya National Cemetery in Krasilov.
And Krasilov had the continent's finest music conservatory.
Her enrollment at St. Yansk University was nothing short of destiny.
So, she will not give up. Never, ever.
Asidis wiped her tears clean, stood up, and left the Orchestra Department's main building.
She had effectively skipped today's class, but she had plenty of space to practice at home.
She would never give up.
"Instruments are bridges connecting people to people..."
Never.
"Mord."
"What."
"You can stop now."
"...What?"
Ivan quietly spoke while looking at the numerous laundry items Mord had destroyed.
"While you've been volunteering at my orphanage, there has been a significant increase in financial losses."
"...Urgh!"
"Are you aware that laundry refers to the act of washing clothes, not tearing them apart?"
"Grrrr..."
Mord bit his lip and avoided Ivan's gaze.
But he had something to retort.
"I... I've never done laundry in my life!"
"Even someone who's never done laundry before could have managed to wash children's underwear after two months."
"Grrrrr!!"
Ivan ignored the wounded Mord and walked away.
He was canceling his plan to keep this guy around to monitor the movements of spies that Droan might have dispatched.
Now that he had obtained information that among the "spies dispatched by Droan" there was someone targeting Asidis's life, there was no reason to keep Mord around.
Mord was a foolish fellow, but at least he genuinely cared for Asidis. He was one of King Einar's loyal servants.
For Asidis's safety, Mord should return to his role. After all, he hadn't really enrolled in the university to attend classes in the Knight Department.
His role was to guard Asidis.
'And if Mord is by Asidis's side, someone will surely approach him.'
As long as Mord is protecting her, Asidis should be safe. Someone from Droan will attempt to contact Mord, if only to separate him from Asidis.
The plan is to watch Mord and, when such a person is discovered, follow that trail to eliminate the source.
Ivan stared for a long time at the middle-aged man leaving the orphanage with a sad expression, then turned away.