Ciel: <>
Voice of the World: <<>>
******
After wrapping up his meeting with the royal couple of Blumund, Rimuru made his way back to his office. He had barely settled into his chair when a familiar presence appeared before him.
Moss, kneeling respectfully with one hand over his chest. "Lord Rimuru," he greeted, bowing his head deeply.
Rimuru leaned back in his seat, letting out a soft sigh. "Good afternoon, Moss. Judging by your timing, I'm guessing you have some good news for me?"
"Indeed, Rimuru-sama," Moss replied, lifting his gaze slightly. "The target you instructed us to monitor has begun to move. They're currently passing through the forest that borders the Kingdom of Siltrosso and the Kingdom of Falmuth. As expected, they are heavily guarded, but nothing beyond what we can handle."
"I see..." Rimuru hummed thoughtfully, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. "And what of the other matter? Are the preparations complete?"
"They are," Moss confirmed with a small nod. "The merchandise you requested has already been assembled and is ready for immediate delivery. All that remains is your signal."
"Excellent," Rimuru said, rising from his seat. "In that case, I'll make my way there now. Have the merchandise brought to my location."
"As you command," Moss said, bowing once more.
In the blink of an eye, Rimuru vanished from the room, followed by Moss, who gave a respectful nod to the empty space his master had just occupied before vanishing as well, off to fulfill his orders without delay.
******
Meanwhile, deep within the dense forest stretching between the Kingdom of Siltrosso and the Kingdom of Falmuth, a lavish caravan wound its way along a narrow, twisting path. Three ornate carriages, each adorned with gold-trimmed panels and reinforced with subtle magical wards, moved in steady procession, flanked by a squad of mounted soldiers riding in tight formation beside them.
In the center and the most heavily protected carriage of the three, Genevieve Rosso sat, gently holding her infant daughter tenderly in her arms. The baby, barely a month old, rested peacefully against her chest as Genevieve looked down at her with a soft smile, eyes full of maternal warmth. With slow, rhythmic motions, she gently rocked her newborn, completely absorbed in the moment.
Seated across from her was Anna, Genevieve's lifelong maid and most trusted confidante. The woman held a large, well-organized travel bag on her lap, its compartments filled with everything a new mother and her baby could possibly require.
"Lady Genevieve, I hope you don't think I'm overstepping," Anna began softly, "but... are you certain this journey is wise? Especially so soon after giving birth? The terrain is rough, and...," she hesitated, then glanced out the carriage window at the dense, twisting woods surrounding them. "A seven-hour ride through a forest like this... it hardly seems fitting for the Young Lady Mariabella," she added with concern as she glanced nervously at the infant, who remained blissfully asleep in her mother's arms.
"Anna, you don't need to be so hesitant to speak your mind," Genevieve said with a gentle smile. "We grew up together. Your mother did more to raise me than my own ever did, if anything, that makes us sisters in all but blood." She glanced down at the sleeping baby in her arms, then back at Anna. "And I know how deeply you care for Mariabella. You love her as if she were your own. So please... never hold back when you think your advice is for her sake or mine."
Anna's heart swelled with emotion, and tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't help but be deeply moved by Genevieve's words, feeling as though her years of loyalty to the girl she had grown up with had finally been acknowledged in the most meaningful way. Her gratitude only deepened from knowing how so many servants like her were treated with indifference or even contempt by nobles, no matter how devoted they were. Yet here was her lady, one of the rare few who truly valued the people around her. Nobles like Genevieve were few and far between, and Anna knew just how lucky she was to serve her.
"And as for my decision..." Genevieve's voice grew quieter, her smile fading as a troubled frown took its place. "I know traveling with Bella so soon after her birth might not have been the wisest choice, but truthfully, Anna, I didn't have any other choice. I'm at my wits' end."
"My lady... are you speaking of Master Granbell?" Anna asked gently, choosing her words with care so as not to sound disrespectful toward the head of Genevieve's family.
"Yes. It's about my father-in-law," Genevieve replied with a weary sigh. "His fixation on little Bella is getting worse. He pinned all of the family's hopes on her before she even drew her first breath... and now, he's convinced she's the reincarnation of his late wife. And just recently, he told me that once she turns three, he expects me to hand her over so he can begin grooming her to become the next head of the Rosso family, and it's not a request, Anna. It's an order... one, he accepts without any question."
Her hands trembled slightly, her frustration and helplessness rising to the surface. "And the worst part is... I know that there is nothing I can do to stop him. When the time comes, I'll be expected to stand aside and keep my mouth shut, to watch as my daughter is taken from me and shaped into some idealized version of the woman he lost... molded into whatever legacy he's decided she must fulfill," she said through gritted teeth. "He's the current head of the family. I have no authority to challenge him."
"And what does Master Julian think of all this?" Anna asked gently, as she reached out and placed a comforting hand over Genevieve's.
At the mention of her husband, Genevieve's expression darkened. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and her gaze dropped to the floor of the carriage. "Do you really think that spineless man would ever dare stand up to his father?" she scoffed, the bitterness in her voice slicing through the silence. "He's thrilled that the head of the family has taken such a strong interest in Bella. He thinks it reflects well on him, that it proves he's raising a child worthy of the family name, and that it'll raise his standing in the household."
She paused, her voice lowering. "He's too blinded by ambition to see what's really happening. Or worse... maybe he does see it and just doesn't care." Her words lingered heavily in the air. "Like I told you, Anna... I have no allies in that house."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by the soft rhythm of hooves outside and the faint rustle of leaves brushing the carriage.
"That's why I had to leave," she said at last, her voice quieter, raw with emotion. "Even if just for a little while. I needed space to breathe... to think... to be away from all those watching eyes. And most of all..." she paused, cradling Mariabella closer. "...to savor what little time I have left with my daughter," Genevieve finished softly, her lips curling into a smile that was equal parts sad, helpless, and resigned.
Suddenly, a distant shout echoed through the trees, cutting through the steady rhythm of hooves and rattling wheels. Genevieve's head snapped up, her body going rigid. Across from her, Anna stiffened as well, her eyes wide and alert. A second cry followed, closer this time, louder, and edged with panic. Then came the unmistakable sound of steel clashing against steel, a metallic ring that sent a chill straight down their spines.
Without thinking, Genevieve clutched Mariabella tighter to her chest, her arms instinctively shielding the baby. The infant stirred at the sudden tension, letting out a tiny noise, but remained asleep, nestled against her mother's heartbeat. "What was that?" Genevieve whispered, though the question seemed more directed at the gathering dread in her own chest than at Anna.
Anna, already moving, rose carefully to her feet despite the rocking of the carriage. She shifted the travel bag aside and stepped lightly to the narrow window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peer outside. Her voice was low, tight with unease. "It sounded like fighting… up ahead. The front guard, maybe."
The sounds outside quickly escalated, hooves thundering across packed earth, more shouting, the telltale crash of something heavy breaking. A heartbeat later, the sharp crack of splintering wood cut through the chaos, followed by a scream that ended too abruptly to be natural.
Then, suddenly… silence.
Not the peaceful kind, but a heavy, suffocating stillness that settled over the forest like a shroud that made Genevieve and Anna exchange a glance, with fear flooding both their faces.
Suddenly, the carriage door was wrenched open with such brutal force that it slammed against its hinges with a deafening crack, nearly tearing clean off. In the very next breath, a wave of foul air rushed in, metallic, acrid, and thick with the unmistakable stench of fresh blood.
It hit them like a physical blow, and both women recoiled instinctively. Anna gagged and clamped a hand over her mouth and nose, eyes watering as she fought to keep from retching. Genevieve turned her body, shielding Mariabella as the baby let out a soft, confused whimper, disturbed by the sudden shift in the air and her mother's racing heartbeat.
As the moment stretched and dread swelled in their chests, their eyes rose slowly to the figures now filling the open doorway. Five men stood there, hulking and silent, their armor spattered with crimson.
Then one of them stepped forward, clearly the leader. His face was blank, devoid of rage or cruelty, as he regarded them in silence, casually wiping blood from his blade.
At last, he spoke. "Out," he said flatly, his tone cold and uninterested.
Genevieve didn't move. Couldn't move. Her entire body had gone rigid with terror, every instinct screaming at her to protect the child in her arms. She clutched Mariabella tighter, trying to make herself small, invisible.
Unfortunately for her, the man's patience wore thin. "I said, out," he repeated, stepping closer as he raised his bloodstained sword and leveled the edge at Genevieve's throat.
Seeing the blade pressed against Genevieve's throat, Anna sprang into action without thinking. Fear surged through her, but she forced her limbs to move, even as they trembled. She carefully set the travel bag down on the carriage floor, then stepped out slowly, hands raised in a clear gesture of surrender, positioning herself between the man and her lady.
"P-please," she said, her voice shaking as her feet touched the forest floor. "We're not soldiers. There's nothing of value here, just a noblewoman and her newborn daughter. We have no weapons. No coin worth stealing. Please… don't hurt the baby—"
The man didn't respond. Instead, one of the other men stepped forward and seized her by the arm, with a bruising grip. Without a word, he yanked her roughly the rest of the way out of the carriage and shoved her toward the others waiting behind him. Anna stumbled, barely managing to keep her footing, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
She looked back over her shoulder, panic rising, her eyes locking onto Genevieve's, still frozen inside the carriage, still clutching Mariabella with desperate, white-knuckled arms.
Meanwhile, Genevieve shivered as the cold edge of the blade pressed against her neck. Her eyes dropped to Mariabella, who had begun to fuss, clearly unsettled by the tension and noise. Every instinct in her screamed to run, to fight, to protect her child, but there was nowhere to go.
Reluctantly, still cradling Mariabella tightly in her arms, Genevieve rose to her feet and stepped out of the carriage. The moment her feet touched the ground, a wave of nausea hit her. She nearly doubled over at the sight before her. The guards… the mounted escort… all gone. Their bodies lay scattered, lifeless, in pools of blood.
But then Genevieve took a deep breath and steeled herself. The fear was still there, but she forced it down. She had to survive this. Not for herself but for Mariabella.
Drawing on every ounce of composure she had, Genevieve straightened her posture and slipped into the imperious demeanor she usually reserved for those outside of her close family.
"Listen," she said sharply, her voice ringing out with unexpected strength. "You may think you've proven something by slaughtering our guards, but don't fool yourself. You have no idea who you're dealing with."
The man's face remained unreadable. Cold. Empty. But she met his eyes and held his gaze, refusing to look away.
"I'm not bluffing," she continued, her tone colder now, every word laced with authority. "We belong to House Rosso, the ruling family of the Kingdom of Siltrosso. I am Genevieve Rosso, wife to the First Prince. If you so much as lay a hand on me, if you even touch my daughter…" She paused, her grip tightening around Mariabella, her voice lowering into a deadly whisper. "My family will find you. And when they do, they won't just execute you, they'll erase you. Your name, your home, your entire bloodline. Burned from the earth."
At last, after a long and suffocating silence, the leader of the attackers finally spoke.
"It doesn't matter who you are," he said flatly. "Lord Granbell has already marked you for death."
Genevieve stared at him, the words not fully registering at first.
"…Wait," she said, voice faltering. "Did you just say—?"
But even before she finished the question, realization struck her like a hammer. The color drained from her face. Her breath caught in her throat. Everything inside her, the defiance, the composure and the carefully controlled mask of noble arrogance, crumbled in an instant.
"My father-in-law sent you?" she whispered, stunned. "But… why? Why?"
The man tilted his head slightly, as if her confusion genuinely puzzled him.
"Lord Granbell believes your continued presence in Lady Mariabella's life will hinder her potential," he explained in an eerily calm and emotionless voice. He says your influence is sentimental… weakening. That you will fill her with softness when she needs discipline. Attachment, when she must embrace duty. And so—" he took a step forward, raising his blade slightly—"for the future of the Rosso family, and for the good of all the West, your sacrifice is necessary, Lady Genevieve."
Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Genevieve saw Anna lunge toward the leader. With a sudden, desperate motion, Anna pulled a small knife from her hair bun and drove it toward the man's neck, aiming to kill.
But the leader was faster.
In one swift motion, he slashed his sword across her torso. A heartbeat later, a deep, gushing wound split through Anna's body, and she collapsed to the ground.
"Lady… Genevieve… I'm sorry…" Anna gasped, her voice barely above a whisper as blood poured from the grievous wound and her life began to slip from her. "I… I failed you…"
"Anna…" Genevieve whispered, her voice barely audible as tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Her gaze flicked briefly to where her dearest companion had been taken—roughly torn away, powerless to stop any of this. The grief hit her like a stone to the chest, but she had no time to feel it, no space to fall apart, because the next moment, the leader approached her.
"I will say this once, and nicely, please hand Lady Mariabella to me," he began in a disturbingly calm voice, but noticed that Genevieve had no intention of doing so and let out a quiet breath through his nose, as if disappointed but not surprised.
"Lady Genevieve," he said, almost patiently, "you're intelligent enough to recognize the truth of your situation. You are outnumbered. Outmatched. And by all accounts, already marked for death. So why make this harder than it needs to be?" He tilted his head slightly. "Why force a struggle that will only frighten and endanger Lady Mariabella?"
"In fact, you should feel proud," he added. "Your death isn't meaningless. It is the first step toward the future. A future where Lady Mariabella will grow into a ruler strong enough to lead the entire West. Isn't that what any mother would want?"
Still, Genevieve said nothing. Her lips trembled, her tears flowing freely now, but she still did not yield... still refused to give away her child.
"Oh well… I tried," the leader said, dropping all pretense of politeness as he reached out to snatch little Mariabella from Genevieve's arms.
Genevieve resisted, holding on as tightly as she could—but suddenly, a sharp, searing pain tore through her back. One of the men behind her had slashed her without warning. The shock and agony made her arms falter, and in that moment of weakness, the leader ripped Mariabella from her grasp.
"Bella! No!" Genevieve cried, reaching out desperately. But for a noblewoman raised in comfort, the pain was overwhelming. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, her trembling hand still outstretched.
Her teary eyes remained locked on her daughter, now fussing and wriggling in the arms of the stranger, disturbed, as if sensing the unfamiliar and unfriendly presence that now held her.
"No… no… no… why? Why?" Genevieve's anguished sobs echoed through the forest, her voice cracking under the weight of grief. The pain in her back was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the agony in her heart, the crushing despair of having her daughter torn from her arms.
And just as Genevieve was about to give in to the weight of her despair, a voice echoed in her mind.
'Do you wish to be saved? '
'Yes,' she answered at once. She didn't know where the voice came from or whether it was real or just a figment of her imagination, but in that moment, it didn't matter to her. She needed a miracle, and she wanted to believe in one.
'I can help you… but it comes with a price.
'I don't care!' Genevieve cried out in her mind. 'I'm willing to pay anything, just save me and my daughter!'
'Very well. You and your daughter shall be saved.'
Then, in the very next moment, Genevieve's eyes widened as everything around her fell into utter silence... everything except the soft, joyful giggle of a child.
Heart pounding, she looked up and gasped. "...God," she whispered.
Standing before her was a captivating figure, serene and radiant, with long, flowing blue hair. He smiled down at her gently, cradling her giggling daughter in his arms.
"It's okay, Genevieve. Everything is all right now," the figure said in a soothing voice.
Genevieve didn't know why, but the moment she heard him speak, she believed him. Something deep within her soul trusted him completely. Her pain faded, her breath slowed, and she let the darkness take her, comforted by a single thought:
'Bella is safe… in his hands.'
To be continued...