Chapter 132: In Whitewatch City

Chapter 132: In Whitewatch City

Stella paused beneath a tree, lifting her head to gaze at the treetop.

A long-dead corpse hung there, swaying with the wind. A crow perched on the corpse's shoulder, letting out a triumphant caw.

A wooden placard hung around the corpse's neck, scrawled with crooked letters—"Thief."

Stella averted her gaze, pulled her hood tighter, and hurried forward with her head lowered.

After leaving Seven Lamps City, she had traveled along the main road for several days, then followed a small rat's guidance into the desolate wilderness, crossing streams and hills, pausing now and then, before eventually returning to the main road.

According to the signposts, she would soon reach Whitewatch City. That city was the westernmost outpost of Moltalia's border. Beyond Whitewatch City, crossing the border further west, lay another country entirely.

At the thought of Whitewatch City, a wave of nostalgia washed over Stella.

Many, many years ago, when she was six or seven, she had traveled with her father, the King, and her mother, the Queen, on a tour of the realm, and they had visited Whitewatch City.

The city thrived on border trade and was one of the largest cities in the west. Though her memories were hazy, Stella still recalled the towering white walls of Whitewatch City, which in her young eyes had seemed almost as mighty as the great fortress of Starfall City.

When the royal party arrived at Whitewatch City, they were greeted with great enthusiasm by the governor and the entire populace. The streets the carriage passed through were strewn with flowers. Gazing out the window, Stella could see rows of quaint, tightly packed buildings lining both sides of the streets.

Whitewatch City was most famous for its fountains. The city was built around natural springs, and the governor had hired skilled dwarven craftsmen from the southern continent to design aqueducts and build over a dozen fountain basins.

The one that stuck with Stella the most was the Lion Fountain in the central square. It was crafted from pure white marble, rising three tiers high, with a majestic lion statue perched at the very top. Clear water gushed from the lion's mouth, scattering like countless pearls dancing in the sunlight, with a rainbow arcing through the air.

Many people came to the fountain to make wishes, tossing in coins. Over the years, a thick layer of coins had built up at the bottom of the pool. Every year, the city hall would shovel them out and donate the proceeds to the orphanage.

The King and Queen held court while traveling through Whitewatch City, where anyone with a grievance could come and seek the King's arbitration. Stella had initially found the court fascinating, but after a full day of listening to two landowners argue over which tree belonged to whom, or nobles debate whether ancient customary laws should be upheld, anyone would get bored. Aster had straight-up fallen asleep in court.

So the King and Queen let them go off to play. With the governor as their guide, they rode in a carriage out of the city. That was a day Stella would never forget for the rest of her life. All her other memories of Whitewatch City had faded and blurred, but she still remembered that day when the carriage left the city, she pulled back the curtain and looked out, letting out a delighted cry:

"Aster, look! It's the sea! A sea of gold!"

Stella had seen the blue sea before—Starfall City was a port city, and from the tallest tower of the royal palace, one could see the docks, the ocean, and the white specks of sails. But a golden sea—she'd never seen anything like it. The sight was so beautiful it felt almost unreal, like she was dreaming.

Aster leaned over, smiling, and said, "That's not the sea. It's wheat. It's harvest season now."

Stella squinted and saw that it was indeed an endless sea of wheat fields! The ripe stalks stood tall and full, every ear of wheat drooping heavy, the awns glinting with fine golden light in the sun. As the wind picked up, the wheat rippled slowly with the breeze, wave after wave, layer upon layer.

Sunlight pierced through the clouds and spilled across the wheat fields, making every wave shimmer. The golden expanse stretched from the field's edge to the horizon, merging with the azure sky and distant villages.

Farmers working the fields sang folk songs about harvests, celebrations, and weddings. Seeing the procession of luxurious carriages pass by, they all doffed their hats in greeting.

Aster remarked to the governor, "The harvest looks excellent this year."

"Yes, Your Highness. This is a bountiful year. In past harvest seasons, the rains were relentless, and many fields went unharvested, the wheat rotting in the ground. This year's weather has been quite favorable..."

They went on to discuss whether the bountiful harvest would drive grain prices down and other such topics. Stella couldn't understand any of it, but she was still thrilled by the beautiful sight.

To the east of the world, in the direction of sunrise, lay an endless blue sea. To the west of the world, in the direction of sunset, lay a rolling golden sea. For young Stella, that was the shape of the world.

Now, Stella once again trod the same road, but the scenery along the way was vastly different from back then.

The fields lay barren and desolate, wheat stalks broken and toppled, sprawled haphazardly across the muddy ground—some scorched into black clumps, others ground into pulp by wheels and hooves.

Thick plumes of smoke frequently rose from the fields, and a pungent odor hung in the air. Stella couldn't tell whether the farmers were burning wheat stalks or something far worse.

—The golden sea of the west had dried up.

Ragged, barefoot children wandered aimlessly through the fields, with no one watching over them. Passersby hurried along, pulling their hoods low, afraid of being seen—or of seeing others.

Corpses hung from every tree along the roadside. After passing the tree with the thief, Stella came to another tree bearing two corpses—one with a placard reading "Robbery," the other "Rape."

Further ahead, another great tree loomed. This time, the placards around the corpses' necks read "Heretical Teachings," "Assault on the Holy Order," and "Blasphemy."

Stella kept her head down and hurried past beneath the tree. The crows cawed loudly above her, as if in mockery.

At the fourth tree, a few people had gathered, pointing and gesturing at the two corpses hanging there.

"F-fled..." an old man stared at one of the placards, struggling to make out the words, "I reckon it says 'deserter'!"

"Clearly it says tax evasion," a younger man said.

"Pah! How many years of schooling have you had?"

"You can't even write your own name!"

The old man grabbed the young man by the collar, and the young man jabbed a finger at the old man's nose. The two began shoving each other, trading insults in their local dialect, spit flying into each other's faces.

Stella walked over and stood at the back of the crowd, looking up at the swaying corpses. Judging by their clothing, they were ordinary farmers—one burly, the other thin and wiry.

"It says 'Harboring a Fugitive,'" she corrected quietly.

The old man and the young man froze mid-action. Everyone turned in unison, staring at Stella with surprise and curiosity. Noticing the burned face beneath her hood, they awkwardly looked away.

Stella was used to that kind of reaction by now.

"Miss, you can read?" the young man asked, surprised.

Stella nodded. "My father was a clerk."

That was what Cornelis had taught her. A clerk was a civilian official employed by the city hall—not highly paid, but with respectable social standing, a proper and honorable profession in the eyes of the common folk, most of whom couldn't read.

"From now on, claim to be a clerk's daughter. That explains why you can read, and why your mannerisms, dress, and bearing aren't like those of an ordinary person."

Hearing this, the crowd beneath the tree looked at her with newfound respect.

The old man asked, "Then what does the other one's sign say?"

Stella's gaze shifted to the second corpse. Her breath caught involuntarily.

"The Griffin Legion," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The crowd turned in shock toward the two corpses, falling silent for a long moment. The air beneath the tree was as quiet as a grave, save for the crows cawing loudly, their cries strange and mournful.

Some shook their heads regretfully, muttering about "what chaotic times," and turned to leave. A few passersby, drawn by the commotion, joined the crowd. Others simply stood there, saying nothing.

"I know this man!" a middle-aged man in the crowd pointed at the one who had harbored the fugitive. "His name's Otto. He's from Greywater Village!"

"How did he get tangled up with the Griffin Legion?"

"I heard one of Otto's neighbors saw a stranger at his place and reported him to the knights..."

"These days there are wanted posters for the Griffin Legion everywhere. Word is a lot of the stragglers are hiding out in the countryside. There's a decent bounty for each one caught."

Stella's eyes dimmed. She quickly lowered her head and hurried away, afraid that if she looked any longer, the sight would stir her emotions and she'd break down crying.

She reached Whitewatch City just before the gates closed. Though she noted with a bitter smile that it hardly mattered whether the gates were open or closed.

The Holy Nation army marched north from White Spring Valley, and most cities surrendered without a fight, but Whitewatch City put up a brave resistance before finally falling after three days.

The once-majestic white walls were now battered and scarred. The battlements were incomplete, with broken stone crenellations piled haphazardly on the wall tops. The walls were riddled with holes of various sizes, the edges of the stones charred black—whether from the work of advanced siege engines or the hands of superhumans in the Holy Nation army was unclear.

The holes in the walls rendered the city gates useless. Stella simply crawled through one of them.

The streets of Whitewatch City were desolate. The once-bustling square was nearly empty, save for patrolling soldiers and a few hurried citizens who kept their heads low as they passed the troops.

Wanted posters for remnants of the Griffin Legion were everywhere. But Stella saw no posters for the black-haired woman. Occasionally, black-haired women passed by on the streets without being stopped by soldiers—whether the Duke of Cold Mountain had given up the chase or his influence had yet to reach Whitewatch City was uncertain.

Stella picked a reasonably clean and decent-looking inn to stay at. The room rate was cheap, but the food prices were shockingly high.

"That's how it is in wartime," the aging innkeeper said listlessly. "And this year's harvest is ruined too. The farmers were so afraid the Holy Nation soldiers would burn their fields that they harvested the wheat before it ripened."

The next day, Stella rose early and went to the market to buy supplies. She had thought about asking around for where to hire a bodyguard, but seeing the patrol soldiers on the streets, she abandoned the idea. A lone woman traveling with a group of sturdy bodyguards would be far too suspicious.

Passing through the central square, she noticed the lion fountain was gone. The spot where the Lion Statue once stood was empty. Garbage clogged the drain, leaving only foul, stagnant water in the basin. The coins at the bottom had vanished too.

"The Holy Nation soldiers smashed the statue," a cloth vendor in the square told Stella. "They hate lions. Thank goodness they didn't take the scales too, or none of us could do business anymore!"

After buying her supplies, Stella crawled back through the hole in the wall and left Whitewatch City. She headed south along the same road she had come, and as long as she turned west at the first fork and kept walking, crossing a mountain, she would be over the border.

She passed the tree where the Griffin Legion deserter and the harborer had been hanged. Unlike yesterday, only one body remained on the tree. A group of Holy Nation soldiers gathered beneath it, with curious onlookers hovering at the edges.

Stella approached out of curiosity, pretending to be one of the gawkers.

The soldiers formed a circle, staring helplessly at something on the ground. Stella stood on her toes and saw it was two wooden plaques—one reading "Griffin Legion" and the other "Harboring a Fugitive"—the very ones that had hung around the corpses' necks yesterday. Someone had smeared blood all over them, nearly covering the writing.

The body on the tree was fresh, the blood on its clothes still wet. Around its neck hung another wooden plaque, with a crooked word scrawled in blood—"Informer."

"Are you all idiots? Someone stole the criminal's corpse, murdered a man, and hung him on the tree, and you didn't notice a thing?!" a low-ranking officer who looked like a squad leader barked at the soldiers.

"It was fine during last night's patrol, but by this morning it was like this..." a soldier mumbled in explanation.

"I don't want your excuses!" the squad leader fumed.

Someone in the crowd whispered, "Well done—that's what informers deserve!" The remark drew faint murmurs of agreement.

The squad leader shot a sharp glare at the crowd. The onlookers scattered like birds, and Stella hurried away with them. After running a short distance and seeing no one chasing, she slowed down, panting.

When the pale sun reached its zenith, she arrived at the fork and turned west.

The sun drifted slowly from her left to directly ahead. In the late afternoon, dark clouds suddenly gathered in the sky. Faint thunder rumbled through the clouds. Soon, rain poured down in sheets.

Cornelis had taught Stella that when it rained, it was best not to sleep outdoors—try to find an inn. If she truly couldn't, she should seek shelter at someone's home.

"Of course, that carries risks. The farm owner might kill you for your money or take advantage of you. Would you rather risk catching a cold or pneumonia from the rain, or take your chances staying with strangers? Think it over carefully."

Stella wiped the rain from her face and pulled her cloak tighter. She was willing to take the risk. Alone as she was, falling ill would be a death sentence. Staying with strangers was risky, but at least it would keep her out of the elements. If she did encounter a host with ill intentions, she had her dagger and the little mouse to keep watch. As a last resort, she could stay awake all night, ready to flee at any moment.

A two-story farmhouse appeared ahead. A faint firelight glowed from the windows. Stella dashed toward it, reaching the eaves just before the rain turned into a full torrent.

She pounded on the door. "Is anyone home? Please open up!"

A few seconds later, the door creaked open a crack. A tall, burly man stood behind it. One hand gripped the doorknob, the other was hidden behind his back, as if concealing something. A middle-aged woman holding a candlestick stood behind him, looking wary.

"Who are you looking for?" the man asked.

"I'm just passing through. The rain is too heavy—could I stay for the night?" Stella said, then added, "May the Scale Lion bless you, kind sir."

Perhaps seeing that the visitor was a young woman traveling alone, the man relaxed his guard. He opened the door wider to let Stella in, setting down the shovel he had hidden behind his back.

"Oh, you poor child, you're soaked through! Come warm yourself by the fire!" The woman with the candlestick led Stella to the hearth.

Stella took off her soaked cloak, and the woman hung it by the fire to dry. Like everyone who saw the scars on Stella's face, she awkwardly turned away, pretending to hurry to the kitchen to bring out some black bread.

"Have you had dinner? Eat something, miss. By the way, you haven't told us your name yet! Who are you, and where are you from?"

Stella's hand, reaching for the black bread, paused. Yes, who was she? In the past, she would have said she was the princess of Moltalia, daughter of King Baldwin and Queen Ivna, sister of Prince Aster, the jewel of Starfall City, the pearl of the Northern Kingdoms.

But she was no longer any of that.

"My name is Stella, and I'm from Seven Lamps City," she said quietly.

"That's quite a distance!" the woman remarked. "I've never been farther than Whitewatch City!"

A door inside the house opened, revealing two curious faces. They were two girls—the older one around Stella's age, the younger about ten.

"Go back to sleep, Wilhelmina! Clara!" the man called out. "Haven't you seen a guest before? Poking your heads out like that—how rude!"

The two heads retreated, and the door closed quietly. Stella could faintly hear the girls' voices but couldn't make out the words.

"Those are my two daughters," the man said apologetically.

The woman began probing into why Stella was traveling alone. Following the script Cornelis had taught her, Stella said she was fleeing the war to reunite with relatives abroad, had gotten separated from her family on the road, and they had agreed to meet at Windharbor Port on the west coast if they were scattered.

She also asked about the farm's background. The couple's surname was Kipper, and the nearby village was called Greywater Village, with over thirty households—one of the largest villages on the border.

Stella ate some black bread. Taking free room and board would surely displease the hosts, but offering money wasn't a universal solution.

"Better to say you're penniless," Cornelis had advised. "That way they won't kill you for your money. Tell them you can help with chores as repayment. You can't do ordinary farm work, so offer to write letters for them. There are plenty who can do manual labor, but few who can read and write."

Stella said, "Thank you, kind sir and madam. If I had money, I'd certainly pay you. But my money was all stolen on the road. Could I do something to repay you? I can write—would you like me to write any letters?"

"You can write!" Mr. Kipper was astonished.

He glanced at his wife, and the two seemed to make a silent decision together. Then Mr. Kipper said, "Miss, would you be willing to sleep in the attic? We country folk don't have spare rooms."

Stella said she would. After finishing the bread, Mrs. Kapper led her up to the attic. It was a storage space, with slightly moldy straw piled in the corner. Stella took a blanket from her luggage and lay down on the straw.

The little mouse crawled out of her pack, its nose twitching and whiskers trembling. It slipped into a crack in the wooden wall and vanished in an instant.

Stella was utterly exhausted. Though she warned herself not to sleep too deeply, the moment her eyelids closed, she fell into slumber.

She didn't know how long she slept before being awakened by murmuring voices.

Rain still drummed on the farmhouse roof, and the light outside the window was dim—dawn had not yet arrived.

From downstairs came the voices of Mr. Kipper and his wife.

"She can write! And look at her clothes! She's definitely from the city—a proper lady from a respectable family!"

Mrs. Kapper said something in a low, muffled tone. Mr. Kipper suddenly cut her off: "No! She absolutely cannot leave!"

Then a younger female voice spoke up: "Father, forget it. This isn't right, and we don't lack for that sort of thing..."

"I don't care! She has to agree!"

A scraping sound of furniture moving. Mr. Kipper seemed to stand up, heading toward the attic ladder.

Stella was instantly wide awake. Did the Kipper family find out who she really was? Were they eyeing her stuff and planning to force her to give it up?

She pulled a dagger from her boot and slid it into the back of her belt, then crept silently to the middle of the attic. If Mr. Kipper tried anything, this spot would give her an easy escape route.

The ladder creaked, and Mr. Kipper's head popped up.

"Up bright and early, Lady Stella!"

The man's beard twitched, and his lips stretched into a weird grin.

Stella tensed up, her right hand behind her back, clutching the dagger.

"Yeah, the rain woke me. What do you need?"

Mr. Kipper climbed up into the attic. His bulky frame looked even more intimidating under the low ceiling.

"Lady Stella, you said you can read and write—is that true?"

Stella casually edged another step away: "My dad was a clerk in Seven Lamps City, and he taught me how to read and write."

"Oh, that's just great!" Mr. Kipper's eyes gleamed with intensity, and an unusual flush spread across his cheeks. "Missy, you live in my house and eat at my table, so you owe us, don't you?"

"I said I could write letters for you..."

"Just one? That's not enough! I want you, I want you..."

Stella tightened her grip on the dagger, ready to strike—

"I want you to write a hundred letters!" Mr. Kipper exclaimed.

Stella: "..."

Stella: "Huh?"