Virgin Knight Who Is the Frontier Lord in the Gender Switched World - Chapter 137

Have you ever seen three suns?

It seems my grandparents have.

During the War of Roses, she and her soldiers saw three suns at dawn.

Faced with three suns before battle, my grandparents boasted, “Those suns are honoring our three commanders,” and inspired their fellow commanders and soldiers, leading to a magnificent victory.

Hence, she incorporated the “Sun” into her own coat of arms.

It’s an old tale.

The War of Roses, a story from before I was born.

Ah.

Yet.

It seems I am undoubtedly inheriting that emblem, the “Sun,” that blood.

I am just a baker’s daughter, but my mother tells me this.

My grandparents’ son was terribly lascivious and promiscuous.

An extreme pleasure-seeker, he would spend nights with anyone, even commoners, apparently not hesitating to sleep with anyone, even a baker’s daughter living in a land just taxed and not even of his own country.

“My country’s nobleman was a wonderful man,” my mother says, though clearly he was just defeated by his desires.

Well, that part doesn’t really matter.

The point is that I, a mere baker’s daughter, have inherited the blood of the former royal dynasty.

It’s troublesome to be told such things.

Strangely enough, even the priest of our town believes in this absurd story.

“You are the daughter of that wonderful man. Be aware of it,” she nonsensically claims.

Perhaps the priest also had her share of experiences with him.

I doubted it, but I cannot scorn the priest who teaches me to read without accepting any money.

—Thinking about useless things.

My mother, the priest, they are all gone now.

“The Sun.”

That’s all I utter.

I hardly know about my grandparents.

After all, such tales of noble vagrancy are only acceptable because they are stories.

It’s just a fantasy to distract from a painful life.

Being of blue blood means nothing to me, a baker’s daughter.

I’ll end my life as The Shadowed One.

That’s what I always thought.

Life is always hard.

Not only does the bread hardly sell, but the wheat we grow to make it is entirely taken away.

The land that rules us takes everything as taxes from the absent nobility of that country.

Moreover, the land capable of agriculture has been taken by the nobility of that country, and we rarely eat the wheat we grow.

My family being bakers is just a remnant of wealthier times.

What we always eat is this.

I pull out a potato.

A crop brought into our country as a souvenir by sailors who reached distant lands.

A crop that can grow even in lean soil, lime rock beds, and even crushed stone.

Everyone in the country was delighted.

With this, we could barely get by.

No, it was different.

We used to be able to get by.

“We can’t get by anymore.”

Everyone says so.

One day, cold rain fell— and the potato leaves withered and blackened.

That year’s potatoes all rotted.

Simply put, our main food, which we couldn’t even eat as bread, was nowhere to be found.

We had three options.

First, join the sailors and flee to distant countries in our last hope.

Second, fight the ruling eastern island nation to reclaim the wheat we had paid as taxes.

Third, die of starvation.

None of these options were particularly good.

It’s uncertain if we can really reach distant countries, and with little food available, even if we miraculously make it, it’s unclear what will happen to us without any property.

And while fighting seems futile, everyone would be killed.

Well, the conclusion is that we are going to die either way.

A futile conclusion.

Nothing can be done.

We are trying to do something about what can’t be done.

Because otherwise, we will die from famine.

That’s why we must do whatever it takes.

The priest made a sorrowful request to me.

“Please become a sacrifice. Die with us.”

The priest didn’t mince her words.

She knew better than anyone that I was educated enough by her to understand this.

No need for flowery words.

She wants to use me as a figurehead, proclaiming me as the legitimate heir of the previous dynasty to incite rebellion.

Let’s show our last resistance.

By taking as many as possible with us, let them regret.

Perhaps, just perhaps.

Those who no longer have the power to resist like us may be spared out of fear of us.

That’s what the priest conveyed.

I was at a loss for words.

“I will consult with my mother.”

If we are to die anyway, I don’t mind fighting to death.

If everyone chooses to die that way, I think it’s acceptable.

But at least, I should consult my mother.

I told the priest I would reply by the end of the day and went home.

My home, a mere semblance of a bakery, part-farm.

There, my mother was arguing with the nobles’ soldiers.

I stopped them and asked what was happening, and the soldier said if we can’t pay the tax, we must leave the house.

It was an eviction order because we couldn’t pay the land rent.

In essence, we were to lose not just our food but even our home.

“This is my house. My ancestors have lived here, and I raised this child here!”

My mother tried to resist.

It was futile.

If I were a superhuman, I could easily beat these soldiers to death.

But killing this soldier would only bring more soldiers.

“It is no longer your home from today. Cling not, filthy second-class monkey,” the soldier said, disregarding our pleas and spitting out these words.

“What even is a baker to you? You have no right to taste bread. Just gnaw on potatoes, that’s enough for you. Wheat is meant for humans to eat. And if your potatoes have rotted,” she pointed at the blackened dead leaves of potatoes in the small stone-built kitchen garden my mother tended as a semi-farmer baker.

“Eat those potato leaves then. If you die from that, it’s your own fault,” she said, laughing and pointing her spear at me.

“Understand this. We don’t care if you starve to death a bit. You’ll just breed more anyway,” she continued, her expression one of pointing and laughing at a starving animal whining before being slaughtered.

I fully understood then the values of the Eastern island nation; they saw us as less than slaves, merely tools to increase their wealth.

I felt a loathing for the blood of my grandparents that supposedly flowed through me. And if it could be of use, why should I hesitate any longer?

On the spot, I gruesomely killed all the soldiers, tearing off their heads with my bare hands. The townspeople who came to see what happened heard my plea.

“Many of you know this, but I am a descendant of the former royal dynasty of that country,” I had no knowledge of how to give a speech.

Perhaps the priest could have done it more eloquently, but these were the only words I could muster.

“We will rebel. Let’s head to the tax collector’s house right now, kill them all, and fill our bellies with wheat. I can bake bread!”

It was a direct and somewhat foolish thing to say. My lack of tact was embarrassingly evident, and I felt like covering my face with shame.

I had no talent as a commander, merely serving as a figurehead.

But everyone responded as if they had nothing left to lose.

“Let’s do it!!”

They replied with expressions of having discarded everything. They clung to the worthless tale of noble vagabonds.

I hated the prospect of being mercilessly killed as mere rebels. At least we should die as proud soldiers, taking our enemies with us.

With that vow, our rebellion began.

◆

The priest’s hands were longer than I had thought.

In a place called the Temeraire Domain, which I only knew from the priest’s lessons, a powerful lord from the sacred Gusten Empire offered her support.

I wondered why someone would come all the way from a distant country, but it turns out my lineage has value.

They have been supporting us because they were part of the previous dynasty during the War of the Roses.

We started a rebellion, killed a disliked tax collector, and stole food and weapons, but it wasn’t enough.

Only with the support from the wealthy Temeraire Domain have we managed to wage this war.

But, well.

We are going to lose.

Everyone understood that.

Everyone will die.

My mother, instead of just baking bread in the rear, chose not to embarrass me, the commander.

She fought bravely on the front lines more than anyone and was quickly killed in battle.

All the friends I studied with at the priest’s also died.

The priest herself died of the plague.

I still remember her last words.

“We who have died of hunger, who have died on voyages to the New World, who have died on the battlefield, have all equally ignited our souls. Among these, we chose not retribution for all insults, not a path of survival. Our flesh and blood will return to the soil and nourish the crops of this land. I have no regrets, but… to you, who became our banner and sacrifice, I truly apologize. Be as free as the sun now. I have asked Lord Temeraire to ensure your escape.”

What is the sun?

What does it mean?

The three suns don’t matter.

My grandparents’ coat of arms doesn’t matter.

The sun doesn’t matter.

I’m just a baker’s daughter.

I’m nothing but the daughter of a part-time farmer and baker who laughed until the end.

They say I was a sacrifice, but I understood everything and decided to commit fully, prepared for everything.

I decided to die with everyone.

In the end, I sent an apology letter to Lord Temeraire, who had arranged everything, and decided to end it all.

This will probably be the end of my life.

Now that they are few in number, I distributed muskets that had been sleeping in the Cologne Sect church to everyone.

As for me, I dressed in unfamiliar armor and rode the most impressive horse.

This time, although not as much as the priest, I must accomplish my role as a commander.

I want to take at least one enemy with me in death.

That was my wish.

If only she hadn’t appeared.

“I am Charlotte Le Temeraire.”

Lord Temeraire appeared, leading a superhuman unit of crazed training level, equipped not only with guns and horses but also with movable cannons.

As the final battle approached, the soldiers of that island nation became too frightened to come near.

“Are you merely the daughter of a baker? Or are you a superhuman, unfortunately made a sacrifice for the ridiculous desires of a wandering noble tale?”

Lord Temeraire muttered as she scrutinized me carefully.

“I am a descendant of the former dynasty—”

As I began to announce myself, Lord Temeraire raised her hand and stopped me.

“You are the daughter of a baker. You were merely a tool manipulated by a now-dead priest. No arguments.”

What does she want? I am not very smart.

Trying to understand her true intentions—

“It turns out that all this was a plot between me, Temeraire, and the priest who raised you, aiming to take over that island country. Complaints via the Empress will be ignored. Obviously, harboring the orphan of a dynasty is problematic, so you will be treated simply as the daughter of a baker, a mere pretender.”

What is she talking about? I am at a loss for words. I cannot understand her motives or what benefits Lord Temeraire.

“This is a secret, but I am destined to become the Empress of the Holy Gusten Empire.”

Despite calling it a secret, there are many people around me and Lord Temeraire. The surroundings might only be her close advisors, but around me, there are mostly uneducated commoners who are practically slaves, some of whom do not even know the name of the Holy Gusten Empire.

She is talking nonsense.

“I plan to gather many superhumans and soldiers and seize everything within the empire. If you cooperate with me, I might even give you one or two island countries, claiming in the future that ‘actually, you were truly a descendant of the dynasty.'”

This is absurd. What she wants. What she has done. I simply cannot understand.

So, I asked plainly.

“What do you want? You don’t seem sane.”

“I am sane. I am speaking my true intentions. As I’ve already stated, I intend to become the Empress of the Holy Gusten Empire. As the Empress of everything, I could even make you the Queen of an island country. I plan to take you and your last soldiers to my Temeraire Domain as excellent superhumans and soldiers.”

The last standing superhumans, me and my soldiers who are not even afraid of death. Our lives still have value. But…

“Right now, the Holy Gusten Empire is in turmoil as the Empress’s relatives are usurping the throne. Now is our chance. We need to gather as many superhumans and soldiers as possible. Follow me.”

Ignoring my distress, Lord Temeraire continued her speech on her own.

She is advancing the preparations for the ship’s departure. It’s no use; we are meant to die with our already deceased comrades.

There might be no meaning left in this. I owe her for the weapons she provided, but I no longer feel the will to survive.

I was about to say this, but…

“Look, there are three suns in the sky.”

There were indeed three suns in the sky.

“This signifies that a single sun is not enough to honor me, Charlotte Le Temeraire. Thus, God has adorned the sky with three suns to praise me. It might not be an exaggeration to say that I myself am the sun.”

What is this woman talking about?

“Only me. It’s only me, destined to be the Empress of the Holy Gusten Empire, who has added to her followers the orphan of the former dynasty of that far-flung island nation, only I am worthy of such honor.”

After much deliberation and confusion about what to do next, honestly, I was troubled. Facing such excessive foolishness leaves one unsure of what to say or do.

“Let’s go,” someone said, foolishly dragging along “The Shadowed One” by the hand, a figure with a gloomy disposition.

I was confused. Lord Temeraire’s aides smirked. My soldiers simply waited for my command, some even looking anxious, questioning whether we were really going to proceed. However, “The Shadowed One,” the pretender to the throne of this island nation, ended up following the pretender to the “sun.”

In the struggle for the imperial throne of the Holy Gusten Empire, I found myself repeatedly saving Lord Temeraire from assassination attempts by Lord Reckenber. If it weren’t for me, that “sun” would have been dead by now. I often caught myself grumbling about this, and here I was, facing terrible circumstances again.

I was being nearly killed by a monster named Faust von Polydoro. I’m not very good with weapons; one wouldn’t expect a baker’s daughter to be skilled. The only thing I could boast was my endurance, repeatedly blocking lethal blows from the frenzied Lord Polydoro.

I simply endured, much like the times I rescued Lord Temeraire from Lord Reckenber. But this time, it wasn’t about dying to save and end it all. If I were defeated, it felt as if Lord Temeraire would lose as well.

Lord Polydoro was saying something. I couldn’t hear him over the intense pain, but I assumed he was demanding whether I would surrender. I muttered to myself,

“I want to be the sun.”

I had a memory of saying something similar, dazed while being beaten nearly to death by Lord Reckenber. What did I want? My feelings were complex. I was just a baker’s daughter, truly a descendant of a dynasty, merely existing as a comforting noble tale for everyone. I felt like I had never saved anyone in my life.

I never became anyone’s sun. I couldn’t save my mother, the priest, my friends, or anyone. I couldn’t even become a sacrifice.

Lord Polydoro did not respond to my words and swung down his greatsword without hesitation. I sprawled onto the cobblestones.

“I am…”

I wanted to be the sun. I understood that I was the miserable “Shadowed One.” No matter what words I put together, I was a loser. We, under Lord Temeraire, were nothing but a gathering of losers who had thrown everything away once.

Most of us had led lives of continuous defeat until we found our way to Lord Temeraire. But,

“Are you losers? Have you thrown everything away just because your lives are hopeless? Are you nothing more than losers!?”

Lord Temeraire’s harsh scolding seared my back. Yes, I was a follower of that foolish, stupid, despicable, yet endearingly dear Lord Temeraire. I tried to stand up.

Lord Polydoro did not intend to give me a chance. Every time I tried to rise, he would deliver a potentially fatal blow from above. But,

“I want to be the sun.”

“The Shadowed One” dreamed of being the sun, acting brightly and hopefully somewhere as brightly as that fool.

With all my strength, I parried that blow. My hands were bare; Lord Polydoro had kicked my sword far away. My robust body was all the weapon I had left.

The Shadowed One stood up, extending steel-toed boots forward. It was a simple kick, using the rebound of bending and extending my leg to leverage my body weight.

My first counterattack struck Lord Polydoro’s torso. Yet, he seemed unbothered, swiftly raising his sword again and striking down with force. It was the eighty-seventh blow. A superhuman who had faced Lord Reckenber five times, escaping with Lord Temeraire four out of those times.

“The Shadowed One,” receiving that strong blow, sprawled to the ground again, uttering not a word of surrender, sinking into complete silence.