Noelle’s court was located in Monarch City, which was much like a modern metropolis such as Shanghai—crowded, sprawling, and densely populated.
But from what she remembered, the descriptions went something like ‘a city surrounded by tall mountains, split by a great river.’ In that sense, maybe it was more like Chongqing or Sichuan? Ah, I’m not a geography expert; I can’t quite recall the details.
Still, with her limited vocabulary, the girl tried to add a little more color—actually, it resembled Luoyang in the late Eastern Han Dynasty more than modern Shanghai.
Outside the clean central district where the elite lived, there weren’t many tidy streets to be found. This was Monarch City: teeming with the poor, bandit gangs, all sorts of swindlers, and proselytizers from cults.
On her days off, the girl liked to wander around the city—from the neat central avenue to the filthy outskirts, she enjoyed exploring every corner.
While feeling the wind on her face, she sought out things worth knowing. And if you really wanted to understand the people and their troubles, nothing beat a walk through the marketplace yourself.
“Hey, look over there! A Hero just passed by!”
“Oi, is that the legendary Divine Weapon on his back? It looks pretty strange.”
A Hero?
With her hood pulled low, Erika walked along the muddy road, and at the words, she instinctively whipped her head around. In the bustling crowd, a particularly conspicuous man caught her eye.
He was tall and lanky, his gray-white beard a wild mess—at first glance, it looked like he’d strapped a broom to his chin.
“A peasant Hero? Go ask him, maybe he’ll just say, ‘I’m just a farmer.’”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself! By the way, it just looks like a regular plow—how did that thing become a holy relic?”
“Don’t underestimate it. The number of bandits killed by that thing—you couldn’t count them all with two hands. I bet the last fool who dismissed it, the weeds on his grave are already taller than you.”
Just as the onlookers gossiped, the man ahead seemed more like a burly, disheveled middle-aged peasant with a farming plow strapped to his back. But if this guy really was a Hero chosen by a Divine Artifact, then even an ordinary plow could split mountains and topple cliffs—and if he was in a bad mood, he could rip a regular person in half with his bare hands.
Because in this world, ‘Heroes’ were that overpowered—world correctors, the body’s white blood cells, if you needed a metaphor.
Sorry, but a Hero could do whatever he wanted.
Luckily, he wasn’t the one. Under her cloak, Erika let out a sigh of relief, gathering her robe tighter around her. She gave a regretful sigh, too, since he wasn’t the Hero she was looking for.
All that effort for nothing—just like how a butterfly’s wings flapping on the other side of the earth could trigger a storm over the Pacific, any variable in this world might become a Damocles sword dangling above the girl’s head.
Just in case, she made a mental note to remember the term ‘Plow Hero’ for future reference.
“My, what a peculiar fellow. But what is a Hero, anyway?”
“What a hopelessly ignorant question, so embarrassing. But actually, I don’t know either. Maybe it just means someone really impressive?”
The distant conversation made wandering Erika recall the concept of ‘Heroes’—some among the chosen lived in this land for years, and then one morning woke to find an item they treasured suddenly brimming with mysterious power.
It could be a sword or knife, a broom or spatula. Incidentally, there was even someone who had a forbidden book hidden under their bed evolve into a Divine Artifact and became a great sage thanks to it. Anyway, the Church of Light and Flame called these items Divine Artifacts, and those who possessed them were called ‘Heroes’, then pressed into service as free labor to run errands.
That man with the plow—most likely, the plow in his house suddenly became a Divine Artifact, and so he was forced to become the Plow Hero. Probably… he used to be a farmer?
By now, there was no point in hiding it: honestly, the person the girl sought was also a Hero of sorts—the protagonist of the novel “The Flower of Evil,” a story uncannily similar to this world.
Did she make another wasted trip today? Those ghost-like folks had no news at all. The person she sought wielded a very unique weapon, so rumors should have spread quickly.
“A Hero who uses a crossbow? Never heard of one!”
“There’s no such person here. Oh, right, you want to buy a weapon?”
Not only did she waste valuable time and some coins asking for directions, she didn’t get even a single lead about that person. Wasn’t it just all for nothing?
He must exist in this world, right? Surely he’s hiding in some corner, sharpening his claws, getting ready to appear as Erika’s greatest enemy!
But as things stood, even after exhausting every option, news about the protagonist of “The Flower of Evil” was still nowhere to be found. Perhaps this world really was different from the novel—maybe that guy didn’t exist at all—this thought haunted Erika’s mind.
It wasn’t impossible, but she decided to visit one last place before sunset.
The place was a tavern far from the central avenues of Monarch—a spot in the western slums. The tavern was called [The Elf’s Stream], which was a strange name, but it was a proper three-story inn and the most popular spot for travelers in the neighborhood.
Yes, it was also a dumping ground for all sorts of odds and ends. As expected, a place so full of all types of people would be full of interesting rumors and wise sayings.
Gossip and slander always followed close behind, so you had to be alert at all times.
“Clink, clink.” The bell rang as the sliding door was pulled open. From dusk, the crowd inside had already been drinking hard, gulping down liquor in huge mouthfuls. Broken cups and spilled beer soaked the floor. A little mouse with a chunk of dropped cheese in its mouth darted back to its hole.
“Ugh, that smell—”
The hygiene was downright abysmal, but she wasn’t delicate enough to be bothered by it right now. Erika found a seat in an inconspicuous corner and ordered something like pork belly from a freckle-faced waitress.
The girl sat quietly, listening to the rowdy clamor. She, Witch Erika, had a peculiar ability—even in such a noisy tavern, she could keenly pick out any information she wanted.
“Darling, I came out today without wearing anything underneath.”
“Perfect, after we eat, let’s play a round. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”
What did “play a round” and “good time” mean? It sounded interesting, but not what the girl cared about right now.
Heroes—were there any rumors about Heroes?
Ears perked up, Erika sifted through the cacophony until one conversation caught her attention, her brows knitting.
“Did you hear? Lord Zionov knelt before the Queen and swore fealty.”
“Heard it already. Never thought that thick-browed, big-eyed Zionov would betray us. Erika, that demoness, she really is something else. To make a woman like that submit—what a queen, what a trickster.”
“Why use that skill to bring disaster to the realm? Sigh.”
This group seemed to know about the Zionov execution that had just taken place in the court. Even though orders had been given to keep it a secret, the story had already become a rumor—truly, gossip travels faster than tigers.
“So, is the rumor true? Erika the demoness, that devastating beauty, is really the Queen’s favorite consort…”
“Heh, with looks like that, even a woman would fall for her at first sight. No wonder the Queen dotes on her, huh? Bro, hey, she may be bad news, but man, I’m jealous.”
“Jealous of who? The demoness or the Queen? Hahaha…”
Evelyn and I share a bond forged in revolution, okay? How could she be up to anything with me?
“Once, I caught a glimpse of Evelyn parading down Middle Street—she really was a knockout. Then I saw the demoness next to her, wow, you could tell she had a bit of succubus blood! Suddenly, my wife started to look like an octopus…”
“That much?”
“Of course! Listen, those folks all rant about wanting to kill the demoness, but I bet if Erika crooked her finger, they’d hand over their underwear!”
Stories about Evelyn and the girl could often be heard in taverns. Erika’s part was mostly insults and wild speculation, while Evelyn’s was a blend of hatred and envy.
Just as she’d overheard, Evelyn was called a tyrant but not without reason. Surprisingly, there were many diehard fans of Evelyn and Erika even on this street.
Erika was once again reminded that for politicians, outstanding looks were also a major asset.
Evelyn might not know how to use this, but if she helped out at her side, things might turn out fine. No—she had to make sure of it, no matter what. Oh yeah!
“Crash!” Something shattered, snapping her out of her thoughts. Erika looked up to see the freckle-faced waitress, the one taking orders, sitting on the ground, biting her lip in silent distress.
“Ah!?”
“What’s going on? What happened here?”
In front of the waitress, a goateed man with a scoundrel’s air was snarling at her. The chess-piece brooch on his shoulder marked him as a low-ranking kingdom official, and the yellow armband probably made him a tax officer.
The man slicked back his greasy hair, puffed himself up, and ranted, “What, I can’t admire you? Is it wrong to like you? I was trying to be kind, give you a little encouragement. I only meant to pat your shoulder, my hand just slipped and landed on your butt!”
The man stretched his bony hand and violently grabbed the waitress’s arm, hauling her up. The girl shrieked in pain, her face twisted in grievance as she fought back tears.
“P-please don’t, please, sir, let me go…”
“A mere tavern girl from the slums, how dare you talk back! Do you know who I am?”
“I’m not—I’m not a tavern girl, I’m just a waitress, sob.”
“Shut up! Sophia, I’m truly sincere about you. If you stomp on my pure, innocent heart, you’ll really end up a tavern girl for real!”
Tch, just another tavern farce. This sort of thing was all too common.
Soon, the burly men managing [The Elf’s Stream] would show up and thrash this blustering fool, since the inn’s proprietress was not someone to cross.
“Isn’t—anyone here! Someone, help me!”
“Come back to my manor, eh? Quick, I’ll take care of you! Heh heh, aren’t you lucky?”
But no matter how long she waited, the expected bouncers never appeared. Looking around, Erika saw a few inn staff and other folks frowning in the distance, just watching, doing nothing.
Hey, if she gets dragged out that door, it’ll be too late! You’ll only embarrass your inn!
Confused, Erika decided to ask the tongue-clicking old man nearby. She roughened her voice: “Hey, why are you all just sitting here?”
The old man, as if waiting for someone to ask, instantly shouted, “How could we dare! That bastard’s got someone powerful backing him!”
“Someone powerful? Who?”
“Who else could it be but that damned woman? Erika, the Queen’s bedmate—she actually took that guy as her right-hand man! No wonder nobody dares stand up to him!”
“Oh~”
Now Erika realized, apparently Erika had such a right-hand man.
Well, isn’t that something.