The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

Chapter 232: "Folklorist" Mogers (2) - A Guest from a Foreign Land Belastok. The 'barbarians' who lived in the central-southern frozen lands were a great threat to the settled peoples who farmed and lived in the south at that time. With their whitish hair and eyes, they hid themselves in the white snowfields and repeated surprise attacks and plunder. With constitutions extremely resistant to cold, they could walk around untroubled with bare bodies in environments where the people of Ostern shivered even while bundled in fur clothing, and they could also remain active for long periods with less food than others. People said. Those barbarians are ones with monster blood mixed in. No, they might be monsters themselves. Otherwise, there's no way humans could be like that. The holy knight Gilbert Ostern, who was outraged by the voices of the suffering people, cut down the leader of the barbarians at that time, and was recognized for this achievement and became the ruler of the Ostern Palatinate. The bitter relationship between Ostern and Belastok continued across generations, and came to its grand conclusion when the 3rd Count Palatine of Ostern subjugated the stronghold of the Belastok. The Count Palatine incorporated the surviving barbarians as part of Ostern, claiming he would 'civilize' them. This was because it was the dying wish of his grandfather and hero, Gilbert Ostern. "I have fought against Belastok my entire life, but I do not consider them fundamentally evil beings. They are simply those who have not learned God's teachings, the way for people to live as proper human beings." The problem was that massive resistance followed in implementing this dying wish. The people of Ostern could not possibly understand those monster-like white barbarians being treated as the same kind of humans as themselves. They don't even know how to farm properly, and they tear apart monster meat and eat it raw without cooking, or drink its blood. How on earth can that be called human? The voices demanding to immediately drive out these monsters mimicking humans grew larger by the day, but the 3rd Count Palatine did not accept these demands. While he personally respected his grandfather, separately from that, directly denying the founder's dying wish would be an act that would deal a great blow to his legitimacy. Instead, the 3rd generation came up with a different scheme. "The Belastok are excellent hunters and warriors. Since other barbarians and monsters remain in the south, the Belastok will be of great help in the fight against them." If it was difficult for them to engage in farming or commerce like ordinary citizens, they might as well be used as mercenaries fighting against foreign enemies. To put it positively, it was a realistic compromise, and to put it negatively, it was a compromise that ignored the founder's will, but the effect was not bad. This was because the number of soldiers dying for Ostern's defense decreased significantly. The Belastok also fought earnestly, because they believed that only by doing so could they be accepted as fellow people. ...It was truly a futile expectation. *** Having finished her duty, Morana emerged into the center of the palatinate. Those who have learned about the south only through books often misunderstand the palatinate as an extreme region where one must overcome survival crises every day, but this is ultimately still a place where people live. The central avenue lined with decent stone buildings buzzes with the presence and voices of people, and warm light from hearths flickers through the windows. In the lands further north, there is ground that doesn't freeze for about a hundred days of the year where farming is possible, and the smell of soup made from potatoes, beets, rye, and cabbage grown there spreads along with chimney smoke. But instead of mingling into that peaceful scene, Morana quietly moved into an alley. It wasn't so much that she felt an inferiority complex, but rather she knew from experience that there was less troublesome commotion that way. How long had she been walking down the alley, leaving behind the human presence and warmth? Beyond warehouses stacked with construction materials and the like, the Belastok-only residential area revealed itself. While it sounds nice to call it a residential area, it was actually no different from a detention camp built on abandoned vacant land between the castle walls and outer warehouses. Due to its location, the land barely received proper sunlight and was always shrouded in damp cold air, and the buildings made by patching together leather tents and planks couldn't be expected to have proper heating. When Morana entered the area, the gazes of her kinsmen scattered here and there fixed on her. Faces terribly gloomy, filled with resentment and resignation toward the world. To Morana, these were faces more familiar than her own. She had never seen a proper mirror, so in some sense it was natural. As Morana was walking toward her home, the sound of someone arguing reached her ears. What eventually came into Morana's sight was the father and daughter who lived in the neighboring house. The father Bart, with his burly build, was angrily scowling with a hardened face, while his daughter Vanya had her mouth tightly shut with a displeased expression. The problem was that the place where those two were having their conversation was right in front of Morana's house. The two didn't notice Morana's quiet sigh. Rather, they seemed to have forgotten that there were others around them. "Vanya. Why are you being so immature? If something goes wrong while you're associating with such dangerous people—" "—What could go more wrong here? What could get worse?" "What?" While the father was flustered by his daughter's retort, Vanya continued speaking in a growling manner. Her vicious eyes turned upward were filled with anger that had been firmly suppressed. "The only allowed occupations are hunter and soldier, just two. Even then, the meat and hides we hunt have to be sold at ridiculously cheap prices, and if you become a soldier, you have to take on all the work others avoid. No matter how hard you work yourself to death, you can't even get one decent house. The current situation itself is already the worst, so there's no way it could get any worse." "Vanya." "Dad might be able to endure and live like that for a lifetime, but I can't. Why should I live my whole life being ignored and exploited by those pig bastards? Why exactly? What did I do wrong?" "Lower your voice. If someone hears...! Ah." Bart, who had been urgently looking around with a pale face at his daughter's dangerous remarks, now realized Morana's presence and opened his mouth. Vanya also glanced at Morana for a moment, but soon snorted derisively. "Hear what? Those bastards won't even come near here anyway, saying this place is dirty." "This girl, even so!!" "I don't expect cooperation or anything, so just don't interfere." Vanya roughly shook off Bart's hand that was gripping her arm, then turned around and walked away. Then the young people around Vanya's age who had been watching the situation from nearby joined together in a group as if responding to her. Bart watched their retreating figures with a complicated expression, but soon realized that no matter what he said, his daughter wouldn't listen, and let out a sigh while looking up at the sky. After slumping his shoulders for a moment, he looked at Morana and awkwardly offered a greeting. "You saw an unsightly scene. I'm sorry." "No, it's fine. I didn't think it was unsightly." Morana answered with pure sincerity, not particularly out of consideration for the other person. Among the impressions she felt, there was "I wish they would fight somewhere else since this is enough," but there wasn't "a household head being ignored by his daughter is unseemly." Perhaps finding that indifferent attitude rather comfortable, a faint bitter smile appeared at the corners of Bart's mouth. "On your way back from duty? I don't think I saw you leaving yesterday. Our paths must have crossed." The accurate answer was that she hadn't been in the residential area at all yesterday, but Morana didn't bother to explain that part. Complaining to Bart about the unfairness of extra duty wouldn't improve the situation anyway. It was her personal problem, after all. But Bart's thoughts seemed different. He suddenly began to confide in Morana about their family affairs. "That girl Vanya seems to be planning something dangerous with kids her age these days. She doesn't come home at night and seems to be wandering around outside the residential area. I'm afraid she might cause some kind of accident. If she tries to drag you into it too, please talk sense into her and stop her." "Given Vanya's personality, I don't think she'll stop just because I talk to her." "Still, wouldn't a childhood friend's words carry more weight than those of an inadequate father?" Well, Morana inwardly disagreed with Bart's judgment. While the Belastok all suffer from prejudice that they have cold and calculating personalities due to their distinctive appearance, their actual personalities are all different. While Morana was indifferent to everything with little emotional fluctuation, Vanya was truly a flame itself. Clumsy dissuasion was likely to act as fuel to the fire instead. However, since the possibility of persuasion working wasn't entirely absent, Morana decided to nod for now. After storing the neighbor's request in her mind, she entered her own house. The house made by closely layering wooden planks and leather was among the more decent ones in the residential area. This was because it was Morana's father's belief that a person's heart becomes proper when their living place is proper. In the house where only she now remained, Morana quietly continued with her meals and sleep. If someone had seen that scene, they would have thought of the word maintenance rather than rest. And Morana would not have denied that assessment either. For her, who did not expect tomorrow, reality was much like repeated tasks. *** "Foreign Legion soldier, Morana. I will entrust you with an important mission." The next morning. The incident that happened to Morana was strange in many ways from her perspective. First, the location. The headquarters was entirely made up of three-story buildings, but the Foreign Legion was only allowed access up to the first floor. But now Morana was on the third floor, specifically in the Patrol Commander's room. The soldiers and officers who saw her going up tried to stop her, but they all closed their mouths when told it was the Patrol Commander's order. Second, the person. This was the first time Morana faced the Patrol Commander directly, but she knew something about his character. This was because he was a person about whom rumors circulated so loudly among the soldiers that you could hear them even without trying to listen. Greedy, arrogant, and fond of bribes and flattery. A typical corrupt bureaucrat who valued those who immediately offered him pouches of gold coins over hidden contributors who quietly did their work out of sight, and gave them all kinds of conveniences. Unlike his notoriety for finding fault with or disciplining ordinary soldiers who didn't offer bribes even when they did nothing particularly wrong, the Patrol Commander now before Morana's eyes wore a smile across his entire face. It was a smile far removed from just grinning because he felt good, but rather one that seemed to flatter someone. “You are to stay by the professor’s side and thoroughly assist him as both an escort and an aide so that he may conduct his research in safety. You must absolutely, under no circumstances, allow a single hair on his head to be harmed. If something like that were to happen─” "Now, now, Patrol Commander Volgof. There's no need to burden her so much. I simply need a local guide, that's all." "Oh my, I apologize. My enthusiasm got the better of me." "How could I not understand the Patrol Commander's considerate heart toward me?" “Hahaha! For you to say so, Professor, I feel I have saved face.” While it appeared to be just a jovial and harmonious conversation on the surface, it was all too obvious that the Patrol Commander was desperately trying to flatter the other person. Morana looked at the man who was called 'Professor'. His apparent age was around mid-thirties. His gently downward-curved eyes and hearty laughing face were very gentle, but his build itself was quite large. The body visible beneath his loose shirt was thoroughly trained, to the extent that it wouldn't be strange to call him a fighter just by looking at his physique. He extended one hand toward Morana. Morana pondered for a moment what this meant, then soon realized it was a handshake. "I'm called Mogers Weimann. Presumptuous though it may be, I claim to be a 'folklorist'. Would you tell me your name?" She glanced at the Patrol Commander, and at his look that seemed to say "what are you doing not answering quickly," she relaxed her attention stance and clasped hands. "I'm called Morana. Though I'm inadequate, I will do my best to assist you... Professor Mogers."