Chapter 31: A Grand Escape Towards the Future

Dong, dong, dong.

The chimes rang out from the tower of the bastion. Ophelia unconsciously gripped the hem of her dress, unable to bring herself to look at her own reflection in the mirror.

Perhaps she was beautiful.

She wore a wedding dress tailored by the royal court’s seamstress, and on her head rested the Millennium Pearl Tiara. Everyone said she was the most beautiful bride.

But only Ophelia herself knew the true face that hid beneath that calm mask.

Anna… Where are you.

Save me.

She cried out in her heart to the gods.

“You all may leave. I’ll help Miss tidy her gown.”

A damp voice suddenly sounded behind Ophelia, followed by heavy footsteps that were different from the click of high heels.

A pair of hands brushed past the side of her neck from behind and came to rest on her chest.

“Miss Ophelia.”

Ophelia jerked her head around, instantly meeting those clear red eyes at close range.

Soft lips drew nearer from the side, finally pressing against her cheek—warm and reassuring.

“You are truly beautiful today, Ophelia.”

“Anna…”

Her throat was frozen with snow, which melted into clear water and slid from the corner of her eye.

A month’s worth of sorrow and longing, built up in separation, turned to tears in an instant.

Anna gently wiped away the teardrop at the corner of her eye, her movements almost devout in their tenderness.

“Don’t cry, Ophelia.” She gently hooked her finger around Ophelia’s. “Your makeup will smear, little bride.”

“What does it matter…”

Ophelia tilted her face up, her hand climbing to the back of Anna’s neck, pulling her close, seeking a kiss like a fish leaping for the surface.

“Will you be my bride, Ophelia?”

Of course, silly. Ophelia wanted to say this, but her body acted before her thoughts could catch up.

Before the words left her lips, she pressed hungrily to Anna’s lips as if needing air.

“Then you must protect me, ‘dear.'”

Hearing the deliberate emphasis in Ophelia’s voice, Anna couldn’t help but laugh.

Footsteps grew noisy outside the door. Anna tightened her grip on the sword hidden behind her, wrapped in oil paper.

“We have to go, Ophelia.”

Without another word, Anna took Ophelia’s hand and broke into a run. In her other hand, she held the sword—intact and unbroken.

Seeing that familiar shape, Ophelia’s heart clenched tight.

Mother… are you helping us?

The stone in Ophelia’s heart finally crumbled to dust.

“Anna, you… you went there after all.”

Without saying it aloud, Anna still knew exactly what Ophelia meant.

“If there’s a chance in the future, play it for me, Ophelia.”

She had seen it.

If it was Anna, then those ciphers written by Mother at the end of the sheet music…

“And, your mother said, she loves you.”

Soldiers and servants constantly barred their way, but Anna threatened them aside with her sword.

They pressed forward along the corridor, and at the end lay the wedding hall.

Ophelia covered her mouth, fighting to keep her tears from falling.

She tossed aside the Crystal Shoe that was hindering her, stepping barefoot onto the carpet, just like the playful girl she once was, always running about shoeless.

The Rehearsal for the wedding had not been halted by the chaos. In the grand hall, the Priest draped in robes was softly chanting the Wedding Vows.

“Do you accept Ophelia Castellan as your lawful wife? From this day forth, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, you will remain by her side…”

Before the Priest finished his words, Anna’s voice cut in abruptly.

“I do.” She couldn’t wait.

Anna turned to Ophelia with a smile, not looking at all like a fugitive. She seemed more like the true groom today.

“Do you, Ophelia?”

There was no need to confirm the answer.

“I do.”

The hand hooked around Ophelia’s fingers tightened.

“Then hold on tight and don’t let go.”

Anna clasped Ophelia’s hand firmly, leaping up the steps in one bound.

Brazenly, she ran past the Priest and Otto, holding Ophelia’s hand, proud and defiant.

The rush of wind, cries of surprise, Otto’s furious roar, and the sudden clatter of metal behind them—all the noise and chaos blended together, becoming the most rousing movement in their Private Runaway symphony.

“Stop her!”

At that moment, Otto was seething with rage. Under the lights, his hair looked even darker green, his face twisted into a mask of pain. The northern Soldiers circled around him.

On one side was the grand duke’s honored guest, on the other their own lady. They closed in, but not one dared to provoke Anna’s wrath.

That sword in her hand did not look like something easy to deal with.

“Where do you think you can run, Ophelia!”

The grand duke’s lion-like roar echoed through the hall.

Everyone instinctively turned to the source of the voice. The Sun of the North was descending the spiral staircase at a measured pace.

The hem of his dress uniform fluttered with each furious step. His cloudy blue eyes locked onto Anna.

For a moment, he deeply regretted not killing this moss-like hero right from the beginning.

Then he noticed the sword in Anna’s hand. In that instant, his gaze nearly solidified.

The Stained Glass of the bastion shattered in the snow and ice. A cold wind howled through the castle, whipping up everyone’s hems and skirts.

“Fine, very fine, Ophelia. You’ve really found yourself a good lover!”

Ice rose up from beneath Anna’s feet, but was blocked by another patch of frost.

A longsword fell from above, slashing toward Anna’s neck, forcing the two—whose hands were still tightly joined—to separate to opposite sides of the hall.

On one side, sword light as fast as lightning; on the other, ice and snow that could freeze time itself. On one side, instructor and private; on the other, father and daughter.

The four of them each claimed a corner of the hall in its original state. A clash was now inevitable.

Otto tried to order the Soldiers to close in, but a senior Sergeant Major—held in high esteem among the troops—stepped in to stop him.

The Sergeant Major understood that this farce deserved an end.

They were not characters in this song, and he would not let the uninvolved interfere in this final act.

“I’ve told you before, Private.” Yegor’s sword was fiercer than ever in any past sparring match. “If you want to take our young lady away, then use my blood as your bride price!”

“What nonsense.” Anna gripped the holy sword, utterly unafraid. “Let’s find out, Instructor!”

Sword clashed against sword, sparks flying.

Yegor looked into the eyes of the Sword Hero before him, gripping the holy sword, overlapping with the back he had so fervently followed ten years ago.

Clang—his sword was knocked aside, his guard wide open.

He lost, just as he had ten years ago.

Once again, he was defeated by the Sword Hero. But this time, he was content.

“Treasure her well, Anna.”

Yegor met the blade head-on, neither dodging nor retreating, allowing the very sword he had once brought back to pierce through his chest.

He kept his promise, and marked the first full stop for this final act.