Chapter 18

The next morning, I was awakened by a knock on the door. Still drowsy, I opened the door to see Ophelia standing there. She was wearing a deep purple cloak, a fitted riding outfit underneath, and neatly pinned hair.

Seeing me open the door, she smiled and said, “I’m here to say goodbye, Rosa.”

Having stayed up late playing fetch with Lambert, I was slow to react, “Leaving now?”

“I snuck out, and if I don’t return soon, my brothers will worry.” She thought for a moment, then took a golden lion emblem from her collar and handed it to me, “This is the Lancaster family emblem. If you ever come to the capital, just show this, and you’ll have no trouble. My power is limited. This is all I can give you.”

The emblem was heavy, and I could tell it was valuable just by holding it. The lion was intricately carved, with every whisker and hair detailed. This item was not only valuable but also symbolic of the family. I quickly returned it to her, “I’m happy to be your friend… this is too precious, I can’t accept it. Besides, I might not go to the capital.”

A deep, cold voice interrupted, “Take it. You will go to the capital someday.”

Hearing this, Ophelia stiffened. I turned to see Lambert. He had returned to his normal form, his height, neck, and limbs all human-sized again. He wore gold-rimmed glasses on his high nose and a dark coat. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching us.

Ophelia bowed her head, “Your Highness.” Her voice was hoarse and rough, “About yesterday… I’m sorry.”

“No need.” Lambert glanced at her, raising a hand slightly, “It’s not your fault. Fear of the unknown is human nature.”

Because of Lambert’s appearance, Ophelia became unusually silent. She must be regretting and blaming herself again. To lighten her mood, I accepted the golden lion emblem, hugged her shoulder, and walked her out of the castle.

Lambert stood at the castle gate, his chin slightly raised, looking at us with a cold expression. Lightning occasionally struck, breaking through the thick black fog. His tall and slender figure was like a sculpture, strong and stern.

As we walked out of the rose garden, the temperature rose significantly, and the sunlight became bright and warm. The breeze carried the scent of flowers, and the green grass swayed. A four-horse carriage was parked ahead, the coachman dozing off. Ophelia coughed lightly, and he immediately woke up, kneeling and saluting, “Miss.”

“I’m really leaving, Rosa.” Ophelia put on her hood and smiled back at me. “Yesterday, when I wished you happiness, I was somewhat reluctant. After all, I had loved him for over ten years. But I truly wish you peace.” She hugged me. “Goodbye. I’ll be waiting for your good news in the capital.”

“Goodbye, Ophelia.” Although I had only spent a day and a night with her, her noble and generous demeanor left a deep impression on me. Since my father and I moved here from another place, I had hardly any close friends growing up. She should be considered my first good friend.
Watching her board the carriage and wave at me through the curtain, my eyes felt warm.

Parting was indeed melancholic. I wondered if we would ever meet again. Given the difference in our statuses, it was unlikely. I lowered my head, sniffled, wiped my eyes, and walked towards the castle gate.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. I stopped and looked around, but the feeling disappeared. However, as soon as I started walking again, the feeling of being watched returned.

Who is it?
Ulysses or someone else?

I took a deep breath, clenched my fists, and continued walking, glancing around with my peripheral vision. Finally, I spotted a pair of black boots in the bushes on the right. They were small, clearly a woman’s feet.

Why was she spying on me?

Sensing my gaze, the black boots turned and walked away. I hesitated for a second but decided to follow. After all, the castle wasn’t far, and if something went wrong, I could run back. But as if by magic, even though the black boots weren’t far, I couldn’t catch up. A few minutes later, she ran into the rose garden and disappeared without a trace.

The vast rose garden was a sea of crimson, stretching endlessly. I remembered that the roses here had a mind-bewitching effect, so I didn’t dare to go in. I planned to return the way I came, only to find the path covered by blooming roses.

What was going on?
Was that person deliberately luring me here to get lost in this garden?

My heart suddenly felt cold. I told myself to stay calm and remember the way back, but my nose was filled with the rich scent of roses, and my mind became foggy, unable to think clearly. Gradually, I lost control of my legs and started wandering aimlessly in the garden. Suddenly, all the rose petals fell, spun, and formed a violent whirlwind that came at me. Cold sweat ran down my back, and I couldn’t even turn to run. At the moment of being hit by the whirlwind, it felt like my soul left my body, drifting to an unknown place.

In front of me was a strange and bustling city, with an elegant and magnificent church standing in the center. The black cross on the top of the tower pointed straight to the clouds, and the sacred and solemn sound of the organ echoed in the sky. In the square in front of the church, tens of thousands of people stood with their hands clasped and eyes closed, seemingly praying for something.

I walked through them and entered the church. Colorful mythological murals adorned the dome, and thousands of golden pipes stood at the front. The musicians, dressed in white robes, looked solemn. A pair of lavishly dressed man and woman stood below, the man wearing a crown and the woman lovingly holding a baby, looking expectantly at the bishop in purple robes on the stage.

Holding a scepter in one hand and a crystal ball in the other, the bishop was meditating with his eyes closed, muttering words. After a long time, he suddenly opened his eyes and looked at the baby in the woman’s arms:
“God bless him. He will possess extraordinary wisdom and noble virtues. The people will live long because of him. The country will prosper because of him. He will be the supreme king of the northern kingdom…”

The king sighed in relief, and the woman showed a comforting smile, shaking the baby’s tiny hand. At that moment, the bishop in purple robes suddenly trembled violently, his pupils turning a terrifying crimson, his lips moving uncontrollably: “He will be cursed by his kin, by malicious magic, His beastly nature will awaken, A demon will inhabit his body. He will possess the cunning of a snake, the cruelty of a lion, overwhelmed by madness, anger, greed, and jealousy, drowning his clear mind.”

As the last word fell, everyone present was stunned, their mouths agape. After a long pause, the king asked heavily, “Do you mean this child will become a heinous criminal?”

The bishop put down his scepter and crystal ball, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and shook his head, “He will become the greatest king of the northern kingdom.”

“And the latter part of the prophecy means…?”

The bishop sighed, “I cannot determine its exact meaning. However, as long as he remains detached from familial bonds and keeps his mind rational and clear, he should be able to avoid the foretold fate.”

After saying this, he turned and left. The king hugged the woman’s shoulders, gently comforting her. The woman looked at the baby, then at the king’s face, covered her face, and sobbed softly.

The king’s appearance was about seventy percent similar to Lambert’s, and the woman’s eyes and lips were exactly like Lambert’s. Were they Lambert’s parents? Why was I seeing his parents?

As this thought flashed through my mind, the scene around me suddenly changed: the church collapsed, and a magnificent palace rose in its place. What I was seeing must have been Lambert’s past. Sure enough, young Lambert was standing beside me on the endless colonnade. He was about seven or eight years old, but his demeanor was exceptionally mature. He wore a dark coat that reached his knees, standing tall and straight like a pine tree, gazing indifferently at the distant lawn.

Following his gaze, I saw a group of children about his age rolling and playing on the lawn. He watched for a moment, rubbed his nose with his knuckle, lost in thought. At this moment, an old man in a white robe approached, bowed, and said, “Your Highness.”

Lambert came back to his senses and raised one hand slightly, “Teacher, no need to bow.”

“What is Your Highness thinking about?”

Lambert took out a pair of gloves and put them on meticulously, calmly replying, “Mother asked me to learn to control my instincts. I was just practicing.”

“How is the practice going?”

“Instincts are nothing much.”

The old man laughed, “Even at my age, I dare not underestimate instincts. If Your Highness truly finds it easy to control instincts, then you are a born king.”

Lambert smiled faintly and changed the subject, “Teacher, tell me about today’s lesson.” As he spoke, I saw him glance at the children playing on the lawn again, then calmly look away and continue talking with the old man.

It turned out that his rationality was not innate but shaped by the archbishop’s prophecy, the queen’s teachings, and constant reminders and surveillance from those around him, slowly molding him into a rational person, a rational emperor.

Ophelia was confined by rigid doctrines, and he, in his high position, under the gaze of the people, was also a kind of confinement.

I wanted to follow them to see what he was learning, but the scene around me changed again: yellow sand filled the sky, and under the gray-black city walls, the enemy’s soldiers and horses were like dense black ants. A witch in a black cloak stood at the front, her lips moving slightly, chanting an ancient and eerie spell. As her voice grew louder, the eyes of the enemy’s horses glowed with a terrifying red light; they raised their heads and neighed long, and the soldiers’ muscles swelled exaggeratedly, with inexhaustible arrows in their quivers.

At this moment, a voice shouted in horror: “Oh no… the queen is also in their hands!”

“What should we do? We had some chance of winning, but now we are sure to lose!”

“I don’t know what decision His Highness will make…”

“Trust His Highness!”

At the same time, the witch’s voice echoed like a ghost: “Your Highness, if you want to save the queen, it’s simple: agree to our two demands. As long as you do, we will immediately return the queen unharmed.”

Only then did I see Lambert. He stood on the city wall tower, his white military uniform sharp, his cloak billowing in the wind, and the golden tassels on his epaulets trembling in the breeze. He looked coldly at the witch and slightly parted his lips: “Speak.”

“First, give up the 16 border towns and incorporate them into our territory,” the witch said. “Second, sacrifice three thousand ordinary soldiers. Three thousand worthless lives in exchange for the queen’s noble life—this is a very cost-effective deal.”

These two conditions are undeniably vicious. If Lambert agrees, he will lose his military prestige and the people’s trust. But if he refuses, he will lose the mother who gave birth to him.

I wanted to walk to his side but could only watch his back from afar. Even from a distance, I could feel his pain and struggle. He closed his eyes, veins bulging on his forehead, his hands clenched into fists. Humanity and reason were battling in his mind. After several seconds, the witch urged, “Your Highness, time waits for no one. Make your decision quickly!”

I saw him pick up a crossbow, surrounded by a faint blue magic, and aim it at the witch in front of the enemy army. The witch sneered, “I didn’t expect Your Highness to play such childish tricks. Your magic crossbow can only be used once. Kill me, and our general will make your mother wish she were dead!”

As soon as she finished speaking, Lambert’s steady hand shifted direction and aimed at the queen in front of the formation.

The queen’s noble and clear face showed no resentment or fear, only a faint smile as she faced death.

“Whoosh—” The crossbow fired.

A direct hit.

The entire field fell silent, with only the neighing of warhorses and the sound of yellow sand rising.

Lambert threw the crossbow aside, put on white gloves, and hurriedly walked down the tower. His voice was cold and emotionless as he ordered, “Bring me the witch’s head.”

The queen’s blood dispelled the soldiers’ worries and ignited their deeply buried courage. In an instant, the battlefield situation turned from a certain defeat to a certain victory.
…

Until the battlefield scene disappeared and the scenery of the rose field reappeared, my nostrils filled with the rich fragrance of flowers, I still hadn’t recovered. Whether it was Ulysses, Ophelia, or me, none of us truly understood Lambert. He was not rational to the point of being cold-blooded. At least, the person Ulysses described, who would rather sacrifice his mother than retreat, was not him.

Was all this deliberately shown to me by the woman in black boots? Or was it the magic of this rose field itself? If it was the former, why did she show me this?

I had a headache. I turned to look behind me, and the roses that had blocked the way were gone. I should go back and ask Lambert who that strange woman was. If she was an enemy, that would be bad. After walking for a while, just as I was about to return to the castle, my wrist was suddenly firmly grasped by a large, hot hand. I turned around in surprise—it was Lambert. His breathing was heavy, and his voice was gloomy and hoarse, “Are you trying to escape?”