Free Web NovelPavela followed Eleanor through the corridor, returning once again to the bustle of the banquet hall.
Her heart had not yet fully settled.
That woman from just a moment ago—the woman who had appeared from the shadows and vanished in the blink of an eye.
Who on earth was she?
The system's warning was still echoing in her mind.
High-sequence Wayfarer.
A term she had never heard of before.
"Little Pa?"
Eleanor's voice pulled her back from her thoughts.
"Hm?"
"Are you really alright?" Eleanor tilted her head to look at her, a hint of worry in her eyes. "You've been distracted since just now."
"I'm fine." Pavela forced a smile.
"Make sure to perk up when you see Mother later," Eleanor said. "She doesn't like people who are distracted."
Pavela nodded.
Right.
There was also this.
Marquise Schwartz.
Eleanor's mother.
Her nominal... adoptive mother? Or some other title?
Pavela wasn't quite sure what the rules for noble adoption were.
But she knew that the upcoming meeting might be even more difficult than dealing with that group of noble misses.
After all—
"Does she know about my background?" Pavela asked, lowering her voice.
"She knows part of it." Eleanor also lowered her voice. "I told her you were an orphan from the battlefield, your parents were both dead, and I found you while retreating."
"That's not entirely a lie."
"I try to tell the truth as much as possible." Eleanor shrugged. "I just omitted a few details."
Such as the detail about being a soldier from the enemy Punishment Camp. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
Or the detail about potentially having killed many Victorians.
"Did she believe it?"
"Mother is a smart woman," Eleanor said. "She won't ask too many questions she shouldn't."
That didn't sound much like "believed it."
It sounded more like "chose not to pursue it."
Pavela sighed.
Whatever.
Let come what may.
She could handle the battlefield, so surely she could handle one noble old lady?
...Alright, maybe she really couldn't.
But she could at least try.
...
The two of them wove through the crowd to the other side of the banquet hall.
There was a relatively quiet corner there, where a few sofas formed a small seating area.
Pavela spotted the woman at a glance.
She was sitting in the very center of the sofa, her posture as dignified as a statue.
She was around forty, but she was extremely well-preserved, with almost no wrinkles on her face.
Her dark brown hair was styled into a complex bun, adorned with pearls and silver ornaments.
She wore a deep purple gown, exquisitely tailored, which highlighted her slender figure.
But what left the deepest impression on Pavela was her eyes.
Those eyes were exactly like Eleanor's—ice blue, sharp, as if they could see through everything.
No.
They were sharper than Eleanor's eyes.
Eleanor's gaze was like a drawn sword, its sharpness fully exposed.
But this woman's gaze was like a sword hidden in its sheath—you knew it was sharp, but you couldn't see where the edge was.
"Mother."
Eleanor walked forward with Pavela and bowed slightly.
"I've brought Pavela."
Marquise Schwartz's gaze shifted from Eleanor to Pavela.
That gaze held no emotion.
Neither cold nor warm.
Neither friendly nor hostile.
It was just... appraising.
Like she was examining a piece of merchandise.
Or a horse.
Pavela felt as though she were being looked over from head to toe—her hair, her eyes, her figure, her posture, her dress, her stance...
Then, that gaze stopped on her eyes.
It stopped for a full three seconds.
Pavela did not look away.
She quietly met that ice-blue gaze, wearing the polite smile she had practiced countless times.
Three seconds later, the Marquise spoke.
"Come here."
Her voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority.
Pavela took two steps forward.
And then—
A hand reached out and gently pinched her chin.
Pavela's body tensed instinctively.
But she forced herself to relax.
The Marquise turned her face from side to side, as if checking a piece of porcelain for flaws.
"Small frame."
She said, her voice betraying no emotion. "Malnourished, but a good foundation."
Why did this assessment sound like she was evaluating livestock?
"And her teeth?" the Marquise continued. "Open your mouth."
Pavela froze for a moment.
Was she really going to open her mouth?
"Mother," Eleanor's voice came from the side, carrying a hint of helplessness. "She is my sister, not a horse you just bought."
"I just wanted to confirm her state of health."
The Marquise released Pavela's chin, her tone still flat. "A child picked up from the battlefield—who knows what diseases she might be carrying."
"The military doctor has already checked her," Eleanor said. "She is very healthy."
"A military doctor."
The Marquise scoffed. "That bunch of butchers who only know how to saw off legs?"
Pavela stood silently where she was, feeling as if she were being treated like air.
No.
Even worse than air.
At least air wouldn't have its chin pinched for inspection.
"Sit down."
The Marquise pointed to the sofa opposite. "Let me get a good look at you."
Pavela sat down as instructed.
Eleanor sat down next to her, seemingly trying to show support with her body language.
"The name is Pavela?" the Marquise asked.
"Yes, my lady."
"Call me Mother."
The Marquise corrected her. "You are a member of the Schwartz Family now. Although only an adopted daughter, you are still family."
Pavela was taken aback.
She hadn't expected it to be so direct.
"Yes... Mother."
Saying those two words felt strange.
How long had it been since she had used that title?
In her past life?
Or even earlier?
"Eleanor says you are an orphan from the battlefield," the Marquise continued. "Your parents are both dead?"
"Yes, Mother."
"How did they die?"
Pavela fell silent.
She didn't know how "Pavel's" parents had died either.
In fact, she knew almost nothing about this body's past.
"I don't really remember," she chose a safe answer. "I was very young back then."
"Don't remember?" the Marquise raised an eyebrow. "Or don't want to say?"
Pavela raised her head, looking directly into those ice-blue eyes.
"Both," she said. "Some things are only painful when remembered too clearly."
The Marquise's gaze shifted slightly.
Not softening.
But... some kind of approval?
"At least you are honest," she said. "I don't like children who lie."
Pavela did not answer.
Every word she had just spoken was a lie.
But at least they were sincere lies.
"Your accent is very strange," the Marquise said again. "It is not an accent from the south of the Empire, nor the north. It sounds like..."
She paused, her gaze becoming sharp.
"Like it comes from the east."
Pavela's heart skipped a beat.
The direction of Usar.
"I..."
"Mother," Eleanor interjected at the right moment. "Little Pa spent a long time on the battlefield and came into contact with all sorts of people. A mixed accent is normal."
The Marquise glanced at Eleanor.
"You certainly are protective."
"She is my sister," Eleanor said. "Of course I must protect her."
The mother and daughter stared at each other for a few seconds.
It seemed like some silent confrontation was taking place in the air.
Then, the Marquise withdrew her gaze.
"Whatever," she said. "No matter where you come from, since Eleanor has acknowledged you, you are a member of the Schwartz Family."
Her gaze landed on Pavela once again, this time with a bit more seriousness.
"But I hope you understand one thing."
"The Schwartz Family does not raise useless people." The Marquise's voice was steady, but every word was like a nail driven into Pavela's ears. "Eleanor entered the Royal Knights Academy at fourteen, graduated first in her class at sixteen, and became an ace of The Order at seventeen. Although Aileen is still at the academy, her grades are also at the top."
She paused.
"What about you? What are your specialties?"
Pavela fell silent.
Her specialties?
Killing.
Arson.
Laying mines.
Infiltration.
Assassination.
Do these count as specialties?
"I..."
"Mother, Little Pa just arrived," Eleanor helped her out again. "Give her some time."
"Time?" the Marquise scoffed. "I gave your «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» sister seventeen years, and she still doesn't want to graduate from the academy. I don't have that much time for every child."
There was more to those words than appeared.
Pavela keenly sensed that there seemed to be some conflict between the Marquise and her youngest daughter.
"Speaking of Aileen..." Eleanor seemed to want to change the subject. "Where is she?"
"Over there," the Marquise lifted her chin toward a certain direction in the banquet hall. "With those friends of hers. I sent someone to call her."
No sooner had she finished speaking than Pavela heard a voice coming from the crowd.
"Sister!"
The voice was crisp and loud, carrying a certain unmasked enthusiasm.
Pavela turned her head and saw a figure walking quickly through the crowd toward them.
It was a girl.
About sixteen or seventeen, about the same as Pavela's actual age.
She had the same long, dark hair as Eleanor, but it was warmer than Eleanor's hair color, gleaming with a slight brownish-red luster under the lights.
A pair of...
Pavela was stunned.
Those eyes.
They were not ice blue.
They were amber.
The golden-brown pupils sparkled under the lights, like two gemstones illuminated by sunlight.
They were completely unlike the cold, icy temperament of Eleanor and the Marquise.
Instead, they carried a certain warm, bright feeling.
"Sister!" the girl trotted over, the hem of her gown fluttering behind her. "Why did it take you so long to come find me! I've been waiting for so long!"
"Irene." Eleanor stood up, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, "Mind your manners. This is a banquet."
"Who cares."
The girl—Irene—threw her arms around Eleanor, "I haven't seen you in so long! I heard you were injured? Is it serious? Are you better now? Does it hurt?"
"Just a minor injury."
Eleanor patted her younger sister's back, her tone much softer than before, "It's already healed."
"Liar!"
Irene let go of her and looked Eleanor up and down, "Your right leg was still trembling slightly when you walked! Did you think I wouldn't notice?"
Eleanor's expression stiffened for a moment.
"...Since when did your observation skills become so sharp?"
"I am a student at the Royal Knights Academy, after all!" Irene puffed out her chest proudly, "Observation is a fundamental skill!"
Pavela watched this scene silently from the side.
This was Eleanor's sister.
A completely different type from Eleanor.
If Eleanor was a cold, sharp sword, then Irene was like a burning flame.
Bright, passionate, and unreserved.
"Oh, right!"
Irene seemed to suddenly remember something, her gaze turning to Pavela, "Are you the new sister that big sister adopted?"
Before Pavela could answer, Irene had already walked up to her and leaned down to examine her.
"Wow, so tiny." Irene exclaimed, "How old are you? You look like you're thirteen or fourteen?"
"I'm not too sure." Pavela answered honestly, "Maybe fifteen or sixteen?"
"You don't even know how old you are?"
"The records were lost." Pavela shrugged, "A lot of things get lost on the battlefield."
Irene's expression changed.
"I'm sorry."
Her tone softened, "I shouldn't have asked."
"It's okay."
"Then I'll ask something else." Irene's eyes lit up again, "Do you like mechs?"
Pavela was stunned for a moment.
"...Mechs?"
"Yes! Mechs!" Irene said excitedly, "I'm studying mech piloting at the academy! Although I haven't officially been on the battlefield yet, I've passed all the simulation tests! My instructor says I have great talent, and maybe in the future, I can become a Royal Knight like my sister—"
"Irene."
The Marquise's voice came from the side, as cold as a winter wind, "Do not keep bringing up the battlefield. You are a young lady of the Schwartz Family, not a vulgar soldier."
Irene's expression instantly fell.
"But sister is a soldier too..."
"Your sister is a knight." The Marquise corrected, "That is different."
Pavela saw Irene's lips move, as if she wanted to retort, but ultimately, she didn't say anything.
The atmosphere suddenly became somewhat awkward.
Eleanor seemed to want to say something, but the Marquise raised her hand to stop her.
"I am tired." The Marquise stood up, "You sisters chat. I am going to greet the Duchess of Greenwood."
She looked at Pavela one last time.
"Pavela, welcome to the Schwartz Family."
Then, she turned and left, her figure quickly disappearing into the crowd.
Pavela watched her retreating figure and breathed a sigh of relief.
The first hurdle... barely passed, right?
Although she couldn't tell at all what attitude the Marquise had toward her.
"Don't worry."
Eleanor sat down next to her, "Mother is just like that. She is uniformly cold to everyone."
"Does she not like me?"
"She doesn't really like anyone." Eleanor shrugged, "Including me and Irene."
"Sister!"
Irene called out indignantly, "How can you say that about Mother!"
"I am just stating facts."
"You..."
"Alright, alright."
Eleanor pulled Irene to sit down on the sofa, "Stop arguing. It's rare for us to be together, let's talk about something happy."
Irene pouted, but she quieted down.
Her gaze fell on Pavela once again, this time with a certain curiosity and scrutiny.
"Pavela, right?"
"Mm."
"Are you really picked up from the battlefield?"
"Irene!" Eleanor frowned.
"I'm just asking!" Irene said aggrievedly, "It's not something shameful. There are so many orphans on the battlefield; it's not embarrassing."
Pavela looked at this girl who was about her own age.
There was no malice in her eyes, only pure curiosity.
"Yes." Pavela said, "Your sister picked me up from the ruins."
"Ruins?" Irene's eyes lit up, "What kind of ruins? The kind that was shelled? Or the kind collapsed by mechs?"
"...The kind that was shelled."
"Then have you ever seen mech combat on the battlefield with your own eyes?"
"I have."
"Really?"
Irene leaned in excitedly, "What was it like? Was it shocking? When the steam engines of the mech clusters started, did the whole ground shake? When the knights charged together, was it as cool as written in books—"
"Irene." Eleanor's voice carried a hint of warning, "Little Pa just returned from the battlefield, don't ask these things."
Irene's words came to an abrupt halt.
She looked at Eleanor, then at Pavela, seemingly realizing something.
"I'm sorry."
She lowered her head, "I said the wrong thing again."
Pavela shook her head.
"It's okay."
She actually didn't mind these questions very much.
Compared to the Marquise's calm scrutiny, Irene's straightforward curiosity actually made her feel it was easier to handle.
"Then..."
Irene asked cautiously, "Would you be willing to chat with me later? About the battlefield? I don't mean to pry into your privacy, it's just... I've always longed for the battlefield, but Mother and sister won't let me go. Mother says girls should stay in the rear, waiting to marry into a good family..."
Her tone became dejected.
"But I want to be a knight. A knight like my sister."
Pavela looked at her.
This girl...
Was different from those noble misses who only knew how to discuss dresses and desserts.
She had a dream.
Although that dream seemed a bit naively ridiculous to Pavela.
What kind of awe-inspiring glory is there on the battlefield?
There is only flying flesh and blood, corpses everywhere, mech wreckage, and the smell of gunpowder that never washes off.
But Pavela did not say these things.
She just nodded gently.
"Sure." She said, "If there's an opportunity later."
Irene's eyes lit up instantly.
"Really?"
"Really."
"That's great!"
Irene was as happy as a child who had received candy, "Then you must call me Irene from now on! Don't call me 'miss' or anything like that! We are sisters!"
Sisters.
Pavela silently savored the word.
She had sisters now.
One was Eleanor, who had picked her up from the ruins and given her a new identity.
The other was Irene, with her head full of knightly dreams and speech like a rapid-fire cannon.
This feeling... was strange.
But not bad.
"Okay." She said, "Irene."
Irene smiled even more happily.
Then she grabbed Pavela's hand and started talking endlessly about the Royal Knights Academy—what training, what instructors, what exams, what mock battles—
Pavela was thus dragged along to listen to stories of academy life for nearly half an hour.
Eleanor drank champagne on the side, occasionally interjecting a sentence or two, with a faint smile on her face.
Pavela noticed that the way Eleanor looked at Irene was different from how she looked at others.
Softer.
Warmer.
It was like looking at a treasure that needed to be protected.
Is this what family feels like?
...
It was already late at night when the banquet ended.
Pavela said goodbye to the new noble miss friends she had made today one by one. Victoria couldn't help but pick Pavela up and spin her around twice, finally watching reluctantly as Pavela followed Eleanor and Irene out of the Duke of Greenwood's mansion.
In the night sky of Victorian, the moon still hung high.
The Marquise had left earlier in another carriage, and Pavela sat in the carriage with the two sisters of the Schwartz Family.
The carriage moved slowly through the night, the wheels making a slight sound as they rolled over the cobblestone road.
Irene leaned against the carriage window, already starting to doze off.
Eleanor looked at her, sighed softly, and took off her own cloak to cover her.
"She's just like this." Eleanor said softly, "Once she gets excited, she can't stop, and then when she's tired, she just falls asleep."
"She is very energetic." Pavela said.
"Too energetic." Eleanor smiled bitterly, "Sometimes I really worry about her."
"Worry about what?"
Eleanor sighed.
"She really wants to go to the battlefield." She said, "But she doesn't know what the battlefield is like. She thinks it's a romantic story from knight novels, with heroic knights charging into battle, defeating evil enemies, and then returning in triumph."
Her gaze became somewhat distant.
"She doesn't know how many people die there. She doesn't know how many of those 'heroically charging' knights never return. She doesn't know..."
She stopped.
Pavela watched her quietly.
"You don't want her to go."
"Of course I don't." Eleanor said, "But I also know that I can't stop her, and Mother can't stop her either."
"Why?" freēwēbηovel.c૦m
Eleanor turned to look at Pavela, the corners of her mouth pulling into a somewhat helpless smile.
"Because she is my sister." She said, "She is just as stubborn as I am."
