DYTDWSY - Prologue

 Prologue

“The only ones who should kill, are those who are prepared to be killed”

In a sacred place... no, a what should have once been a sacred place within the Lionhead Kingdom—a nation of moderate power somewhere in the world of Nāroppa—a ritual was about to be performed.

Though it was midsummer, the sparse sunlight filtering through the dense canopy of the forest should have made it somewhat cool. Yet, due to recent abnormal weather, the place that once held a pure and solemn atmosphere now featured a spring—no, a swamp—completely muddied and emitting an unnatural stench, exuding an eerie atmosphere.

Deep within the heart of a small forest said to lie at the center of the nation—the very place said to be the foundation of this country—there was a single, open spot large enough to hold perhaps ten people. Marked by a massive boulder resembling a dragon's head with its mouth wide open, it had once been a place for solemn rituals.

From the part corresponding to the dragon's mouth, water began gushing forth like a waterfall at some point—whether since ancient times, since spirits and fairies took up residence, or since the nation's founding—forming a small spring where it flowed.

But now, the sacred spring at this place of origin, normally clear, had become a poisonous swamp—dark and murky, spreading an unnatural stench and miasma.

On the stone platform before that swamp, a girl lay bound, her wrists and ankles secured with coarse rope to prevent escape.

She wore a dress that had grown yellowed and dingy, simple and tattered, with not a single ornament. For days, she had been unable to change, wash, or even mend the torn parts.

Her hair, once a magnificent platinum blonde, had not been washed for days. It seemed even the tools to comb it had been taken away. It was matted and tangled, full of split ends and broken strands, looking pitiful. Covered in dust, grease, and dandruff, it had turned a dirty brown, all traces of its former color and luster gone.

Cuts and scrapes covered her body, showing no signs of care or treatment. Some were festering, others nearing gangrene.

For days, she'd been given only one meal a day—watery rice gruel or salty soup... No, in the days leading up to being sacrificed, even the will to eat or hope to live had been stripped away, leaving her barely able to take anything. She was so short and stunted for a sixteen-year-old, emaciated to skin and bones, her cheeks hollowed, dark circles deep under her eyes, her skin rough and cracked.

Had she been given proper meals and received even minimal care for her skin and hair, she would likely have grown into a beautiful girl with slender eyes and a mischievous, endearing face. Yet, having been constantly abused, not a trace of beauty or even a hint of prettiness could be seen in her.

Even coming to the stone stage, she had been dragged here by force by men who looked like soldiers or executioners, unable to walk on her own after her tendons were cut so she couldn't escape, gasping for breath.

Dutiful men bound the helpless girl to the stone stage. A man dressed like a priest, with amber eyes and shoulder-length yellow hair braided on one side, made a shallow cut to her throat. Instantly, the red liquid flowing from her wound began to slowly drain her strength and will.

Haa... It doesn't matter anymore. It's okay as long as it saves everyone... Does this mean I'm finally useful to someone?

The girl, who should have once been named Lilac, turned her hazy, darkening navy eyes upward. She stared at the small bird chirping above her head, mustering her last ounce of strength to ask if she really didn't need to do anything. She shook her head slightly, refusing.

Yet despite her will and strength, lost a decade ago, making escape from the ropes impossible, neither the people with colorful hair surrounding her nor the priest-like figure who had wounded her neck showed any sign of helping her up or untying the ropes.

'If only you weren't here, I could be the marquis house's legitimate heir!'

The stout middle-aged man, whose fiery red hair and orange eyes always flashed with anger whenever he saw the girl, spat out.

“If only you had never been born, my daughter could have become the Saintess and His Highness's fiancée!”

Every time she ordered the girl to run errands or lashed out at her with a whip for something displeasing, the heavily made-up middle-aged woman with lightly tied pink-blonde hair and pink eyes glared hatefully at the girl and grumbled.

“If only you weren't here, sister-in-law, everything—the marquis's estate, his parents, his family, his position as fiancée—it would all be mine!”

The girl, who was about the same age but had a height and appearance befitting her years, sneered at the girl with contempt, as if looking at a lowly insect. She wore a garish hair ornament in a dull, deep peach color, darker than her mother's, and had her father's orange eyes.

“If only you weren't here, I could be united with my beloved Flemish!”

The noble young man with golden hair and blue eyes, who had reluctantly become her fiancé through political maneuvering, declared this each time he slashed at the girl with the former holy sword, now uselessly adorned with extravagant jewels.

“If this one were sacrificed, these calamities would cease, and I could become the next High Priest!”

Looking down at the girl with his orange-tinged yellow hair and amber eyes, the priest—a mere figurehead driven solely by greed—thought this as he wounded her neck.

'If this one were gone and stopped squandering our wealth, our lives as subjects would be so much easier!'

The few people who had slipped in as representatives of the subjects thought this.

But before the life being taken vanished completely, the girl realized that even the people she had believed in and tried to save would ultimately give her neither gratitude nor favor, let alone apology—only malice and hatred. Filled with despair and regret, she looked up at the sky.

Then, she heard the voices of those who had always cherished and worried about her the most gathering, fluttering about, and lamenting. To them, she said,

I'm sorry... I was foolish and stupid...

Closing her eyes quietly, she drew upon her last ounce of strength to shed a single tear before her life slipped away.

And so, all the blood flowing from her neck did not purify the swamp water at all—instead, it dyed it an even deeper, murkier black...

Author's Note

(;^_^A) To those meeting me for the first time, and those I haven't seen in ages, thank you for stopping by. I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I'd be delighted if anyone interested would read it.

ToC - Chapter 1 >