Act Forty-Three: Two Letters VIII

The night air was cool as water. Brando slowly made his way along a silent, deserted path. The quiet forest parted before his eyes, revealing a winding trail that snaked through the woodland. The sound of babbling water reached his ears from near and far. To his right, the woods glittered beneath the woven moonlight—the direction of the Bucci River. As the bushes parted, the road ahead suddenly widened. The dilapidated wooden cabin loomed like a sleeping beast, appearing and disappearing behind the dense branches and leaves.

He already knew this road by heart. For ten years, he had crossed this forest in the morning light every day, following that tall silhouette. A bare tree stump suddenly entered his view. Beside it seemed to stand an old man and a boy. The old man watched the youth, who held a wooden sword and repeatedly swung it through the air with a whoosh. But moss had long since covered the stump, and brown mushrooms had even grown from its roots. The figures seemed to dissolve beneath the moonlight, dragging time back into reality.

This quiet sawmill had been abandoned ten years ago. Its owner had transferred it to a local noble, but that noble had closed the sawmill not long afterward due to poor management. Brando's memories of it began at that time and continued until his grandfather's death.

The peaceful scenery seemed to calm his troubled thoughts, but Princess Griffine's words remained vivid in his mind:

"The other people who knew what happened were the Silver Queen, the First Wind Spirit King, and His Holiness the Pope of Fanzan."

"They weren't merely witnesses. They experienced it firsthand. Only they know what truly happened during the battle at Mount Alqash. There is one more thing I must tell you, Mr. Brando.