Crime and Catastrophe

Chapter 29

The voices calling my name echo softly—my kind father, my radiant mother, my cherished sister. Under their tender gazes, I find a fleeting peace, a memory from a distant past, a fading fragment of what once was.

Yet, even knowing this, I cannot stop myself from dreaming this dream.

Why do we only grasp the true value of those we love after they are gone?  

The serenity of that clear, blue-skied day.  

The warmth of a hand that steadied me on that cold night.  

Days of peace that will never return. All I can do is yearn for those etched in my memory, loving them like an unchanging doll frozen in time.

In these dreams, I am always my younger self.  

My father and mother beam with joy, watching my sister and me play together.  

When something brushes my head, I look up to find my sister gazing at me with gentle warmth.

『　　　　　　　』

Her lips move, whispering words I cannot hear. As I try to ask what she said, her hand lifts from my head, and the world plunges into darkness.

Ah, it’s that scene again.

Even knowing this is a dream, I am trapped within it, unable to wake. If noble blood carries the weight of sin, then all royalty and aristocracy are stained with blood, iron, and death.

I have sinned, and peace will forever elude my soul. The cherished images of the past twist into blades that pierce my heart, wounding me deeply.

Something drips onto my upturned face—thick, foul-smelling. It seeps from my sister’s face.  

Her eyes, mouth, nose, ears—every opening weeps dark red blood. The moment I realize what it is, a scream rips through me, silent yet throat-tearing.

Blood pours from her hollowed face, unending. Terrified, I turn to where my father and mother stand, only to find them collapsed on the ground.

Their bodies, swollen and purple, are lifeless. Closer, I see white shapes writhing across their skin.  

Squinting, I recognize them—maggots, feasting on their corpses. Fury surges within me.

『Get away. Don’t touch them. Don’t defile my father and mother.』

As if mocking me, the maggots morph into black flies, swarming the air. I crawl away, pitiful and desperate, until two slender legs block my path.

『Help me… Sister…』

I think I whisper it, but no sound escapes my throat. My sister’s face twists into a kind smile, as if to comfort my wretched state.  

I reach for her outstretched hand, but just as I graze it—her body erupts in flames.

That’s right. I remember now.

『Sister… Father… Mother… They’re gone.』

My family is gone. Loneliness consumes my heart. No matter how I scream or chase their shadows, I am alone.  

In dreams, I am shattered by solitude. In reality, the weight of my sins crushes me.

There is no salvation. Peace will never come.  

Burdened by such sin, I linger here.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

The two wars between the Duchy of Fanoss and the Kingdom of Holfort ended with the kingdom’s victory.  

The cost, paid in blood, was the dissolution of the Fanoss Duchy.

Most of its lands, wealth, military, technology, and people were absorbed by the kingdom.  

What remained was pieced together into a new ducal house within Holfort, stripped of power.

Survival brought no peace.  

War reparations to the kingdom will take over a century to repay. Though a ducal house, we are barred from politics.  

Many nobles of the former duchy were punished or ruined, and while the citizens escaped slavery, their freedoms are heavily restricted.

I, a direct descendant of the ducal house, was spared execution—not out of mercy, but for the kingdom’s convenience.  

Holfort lacks the strength to suppress internal rebellion, or rather, the royal family does.  

Wars devour resources.  

They burn through years of budgets, consuming lives and wealth in a frenzy of destruction.  

Even victory demands time and twice the cost to recover.  

Two wars in five years leave scars too deep for the royal family to mend alone.

The kingdom’s nobles, battered by losses, have lost faith in the crown.  

Executing the last of the ducal line would ignite unrest among the duchy’s former people, spark rebellion, and plunge the land into chaos.

My survival divides opinion—some support it, others oppose. The royal family, desperate to avoid further strife, kept me alive as a tool.  

I feel no gratitude for this. Only rage burns within me, for they deny me even the freedom to end my life, holding me in virtual captivity.

Death would be simpler.  

I am kept alive for the victor’s convenience, bound by the faint pride of a fallen monarch and my sister’s final words.  

'A ruler’s life and death are not their own' but to be forcibly kept alive by enemies is a bitter torment.

I am neither naive nor foolish enough to dream of rescue.

※ ※ ※ ※ ※

“His Highness Julius is coming.”

A young attendant delivers the curt announcement and leaves, his gaze dripping with contempt.  

I cannot blame him. I am the defeated monarch, my fate in the hands of my enemies.  

If I were a citizen of Holfort who lost kin to the war, I too would wish me dead.

During my transfer to the capital, I faced multiple attacks. My meals were poisoned on several occasions.  

I wouldn’t mind if they succeeded, but whether by cruel luck or divine punishment, I survive.

My role now is to endure in disgrace, kept alive by those who vanquished me.  

This room, adorned like a royal guest chamber, is a prison for criminals too prominent to execute openly.  

Its lavish facade hides a ruthless purpose—confinement.

For the crown prince to visit such a place is unthinkable, a stain on his honor.  

Yet the kingdom’s attendants excel at tarnishing their master’s dignity.

“His Highness Prince Julius approaches!”

The voice booms, laced with menace, as if to cow me. The door opens, and a man enters.  

His striking features and bluish hair could charm many, his physique honed beneath fine clothes.  

But none of that matters to me.

Who would praise their sister’s killer? Who would thank the one who stole their freedom to die?  

I bury my churning emotions and offer a stiff bow.

Having sworn never to open my heart again, Julius’s frequent visits only deepen my irritation.

“...How are you feeling?”

“Wretched. Forced to wear these shackles, kept alive against my will, and compelled to face the person I despise most. Is this the kingdom’s idea of torture?”

“Your conditions could improve if you cooperate. Do you even recall how many times you’ve tried to end your life the moment we turned away?”

“Then execute me and be done with it. The kingdom seems fond of squandering time and resources on futile endeavors.”

I rattled the chains binding my wrists as I spoke.

After my summoned beast was defeated, I attempted to re-summon it at the cost of my life, only to be thwarted and captured by the saintess and her allies. Since then, I’ve been confined to this palace room.

Having lost all attachment to life, I’ve tried countless times to end it. I attempted to slit my throat with a dining knife, fork, or shattered ceramic plate—each time stopped. I tried to hang myself during brief moments of lessened surveillance in the bath or restroom—always interrupted. I even smashed my head against furniture or walls—only to be restrained.

Now, everything I use is made of wood or resin, and I’m watched without reprieve. After meals, they force me to take drugs that dull even my will to die.

If I must endure this humiliating existence at the whim of an enemy nation, I’d rather face execution—a far more dignified end for the last sovereign of the duchy.

“...The fate of the former duchy’s nobles has been decided. I need you to review it.”

Julius handed me a document listing names.

Glancing over it, I saw the names, titles, crimes, and punishments of the duchy’s nobles, with mine at the top. Contrary to my expectation of mass executions, few faced death.

Corrupt nobles who abandoned me to flee, or officers who embezzled supplies, were stripped of titles, their assets seized, and sentenced to execution. Most others received lighter punishments—demotion, dismissal, or fines.

A faint relief washed over me. I would have accepted dying alongside those who manipulated and murdered my father, but I couldn’t bear the thought of loyal patriots of the ducal house facing the same fate.

Yet the suffering of the people, misled by a foolish ruler, far outweighed my personal guilt.

“I have one objection. My punishment is absent. As the instigator of this war, I demand execution.”

“His Majesty and the Queen seek to avoid further bloodshed. And I, who captured you, would find no satisfaction in your death.”

“How arrogant. If I’m to be forced into marriage with a Holfort prince, my dignity as a sovereign trampled, I’d rather hang myself. It would be a more fitting end.”

My fate was sealed long ago. The Duchy of Fanoss will be annexed, transformed into a ducal territory under Holfort. Whoever marries me will become the new Duke of Fanoss, a title reserved for those of royal blood.

Thus, a Holfort prince will wed me, and our child will inherit the duchy. By claiming the child carries both royal and ducal blood, the kingdom will absorb Fanoss as a direct domain.

The likely candidate is Julius Rafa Holfort. His engagement to the Redgrave duke’s daughter was annulled, dropping him low in the succession line. Yet his wartime achievements make him too significant to sidelined. Unfit for the throne but too valuable to waste, making him a duke preserves the queen’s honor and secures alliances.

To them, I am merely a vessel for heirs. Once I’ve borne enough children, they’ll have no reason to keep me alive. The royal court’s transparent scheming sickens me.

“I didn’t come only to discuss your future. There’s something I need to hear from you directly.”

“If you want to interrogate me, drag me to the torture chamber. Rip out my nails or flay my skin—I still won’t speak.”

I’ve already revealed all I could. Whatever Julius knows likely came from my interrogators. He should ask them—it would be faster.

Julius raised his hand, and all eyes in the room turned to him. “Everyone, leave us until I say otherwise.”

“Your Highness, with all due respect—”

“I said leave. Was I unclear?”

His tone was firm, unyielding. The attendants and my minder exchanged uneasy glances, but I met their stares without flinching. Reluctantly, they filed out, leaving us in silence.

“Most of the duchy’s hardliners will face punishment. Many who clamored for total war tried to flee and will now be executed.”

“Then I should be executed too. Sparing me because of my birth and title isn’t justice.”

My survival serves Holfort’s convenience. If punishment hinges on utility, it’s not justice. If judged by responsibility, I, as sovereign, should be the first to die.

“Many in the kingdom demanded your execution. But my mother explained the complications and quelled the unrest.”

“If the 'Last Sovereign' of Duchy is executed, the duchy’s people—young and old—would rebel. It would also provoke international outrage. With the Alzer Republic already unstable, Holfort can’t afford to give other nations pretext to interfere.”

[T/N- this dialogue is by Hertruda, although it might seem like it's by Julius due to wording but it's not, her hertruda refers herself as 'LAST PRINCESS'/'RULER' as such]

“…Precisely.”

I didn’t guess this. Queen Mylene stated it during my interrogation. By keeping me alive, the kingdom projects mercy while using my marriage to make Fanoss a royal territory—a cunning, ruthless plan, so characteristic of that shrewd queen, it almost made me laugh.

Had Holfort’s royal family not been weakened, I’d have been executed as a war criminal. Living like this is no stroke of fortune.

“Our investigation revealed the Duke and Duchess of Fanoss were moderates. You and your sister opposed the war until the end. Is that true?”

“You mean the assassination of the duke and duchess by hardliner nobles? Yes, it’s true. I only learned the full truth after losing my entire family.”

The Duchy of Fanoss was born from the first duke’s rebellion against Holfort. Its history is one of constant strife with the kingdom—border skirmishes that claimed lives and drained resources.

My parents fretted over this. They sought to end the cycle of hatred and bloodshed, striving for peaceful coexistence with Holfort. But to the hardliners, their efforts branded them weak.

Despite their work to mend ties with the kingdom, they were betrayed by their own retainers. My sister and I lacked the guile to oppose them, and because we could wield the ducal family’s magical flute, our parents became expendable.

In the end, my father and mother were killed in a staged accident.

Few nobles in the duchy were willing to aid us, the sisters left behind.

"Our parents sought to mend ties between our nations through diplomacy. I was too young to grasp their efforts fully, but you dismissed them as a trap without hesitation. The duchy's nobles branded them traitors and killed them. Those who yearned for peace above all met untimely ends at the hands of warmongers. The peace the Saintess once championed should have been forged long ago. It was you who first spurned the outstretched hand."

Prince Julius listened, absorbing every word with a clenched jaw. Those with true power and influence would have already explored the simplistic solutions a mere student might propose.

"We were respected only superficially," I continued. "In truth, we were little more than puppet monarchs. Even if we wished to rule as true sovereigns, we couldn’t defy the war-hawk nobles who held the real power. When nobles and citizens clamored for war, even monarchs couldn’t ignore them. Besides, we were hostages to each other from the start. Defiance was never an option."

"Hostages?" Julius asked.

"To me, my sister was the hostage. To her, I was."

The consequences of disobedience were painfully clear. They had already taken our father’s life. What was one more girl to them?

"To the war faction, I was merely a tool to control my sister. Even if we opposed the war, both of us could wield the Magic Flute. If one resisted, they could use the other. If one disobeyed, they could threaten the other into submission. Who truly held the throne then?"

Looking back, I can only laugh bitterly. We were monarchs in name only—two young girls manipulated by those beneath us, burdened with duty and responsibility but stripped of power or wealth.

That was our reality.

In hindsight, my sister must have been desperate to free me from that prison. She believed that victory in the war against the Kingdom of Holfort would secure our freedom. It was a naive hope, but we clung to it.

"I think my sister knew, deep down, that the war with Holfort lacked justification—that it was meaningless. Yet she believed that if we didn’t win, the ducal family would be discarded, and we’d both be killed. Our father, the reigning duke, had already been murdered. The war faction wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate us."

Julius remained silent.

Did he see the duchy as nothing more than a villainous aggressor, unworthy of sympathy?

If so, how absurd.

No member of the ducal family had ever desired war—not our father, our mother, my sister, nor I.

"Day by day, I watched my sister’s hatred turn toward the kingdom. I pleaded with her, ‘Please stop. This is futile.’ Laughable, isn’t it? She was desperately trying to save me, yet I didn’t understand her heart. I thought she had joined the war faction and hurled cruel words at her repeatedly."

I was blind. I knew nothing.

She was only trying to protect me—her only remaining family.

Even as I lashed out, she bore it, shielding me.

"That day, five years ago, she didn’t flee the sinking ship. She must have known what awaited her if she returned to the duchy. She feared being held accountable and becoming the next hostage, forcing me onto the puppet’s throne. She entrusted the Magic Flute to a loyal subordinate and put me on an escape boat. Her final words were, ‘I’m sorry, Rauda. I’m so sorry for being such a pathetic big sister.’ I refuse to accept that this is how her story ends."

A fire kindled in my heart, one I thought had succumbed to resignation.

I will never accept it.

"Though I inherited the Magic Flute she left behind, her body was never found. Only in death did she escape her burdens. It wasn’t until I became the sole survivor of the ducal family and stepped into leadership that I understood what our parents had hoped for and how fiercely my sister had fought."

Learning the truth ignited a flame of resentment that burned even at the cost of my own life.

I will not tolerate my sister being called a foolish girl or our parents being mocked as naive dreamers.

The people of Fanoss Duchy and Holfort Kingdom will never cease their conflict. They kill endlessly, branding those who seek peace as heretics—the brutes of Holfort who took my sister’s life, the fools of Fanoss who murdered our parents.

Let them do as they please—let them slaughter each other until none remain. I will ensure it.

Ironically, I possessed the talent and power to make it happen. My mastery of the Magic Flute surpassed even my sister’s. Had I taken her place in the first war against Holfort, we might have won—and she might still be alive.

Only after losing everything did I realize my potential. What a cruel jest from the gods.

As a tragic princess, I garnered sympathy. As a ruler, I fueled the flames of war. With my Magic Flute, I played a dirge leading the world to ruin.

That, too, made me a monster.

Though I dealt a devastating blow to Holfort, I was ultimately stopped by the Saintesses and captured once more.

"Why didn’t you tell the truth?" Julius asked. "If I had known, I might have helped."

"You expect me to beg for aid from those who took my sister’s life? Don’t insult me!"

I’m sick of it.

No one listened when we needed help most. Now that it’s over, you feign wisdom and compassion, claiming there was a better way, calling us fools.

Every solution you think you’ve devised? We already considered them.

We had no other choice. This was our only path.

"You saw my sister only as the mastermind of an invasion! And now you expect me to believe you when you say, ‘We want to save your little sister, please help us’? You think I’d trust that you rescued me, a hostage kept far from the battlefield in the duchy? Don’t flatter yourself, Julius Rafa Holfort! Being hailed as a hero doesn’t make you omnipotent!"

Her words of hatred poured forth like a breached dam.

Of course.

They were heroes, celebrated for defending their kingdom.

To her, they were merely murderers who stole her last remaining family.

"‘This is pointless’? ‘Your sister wouldn’t want this’? Pretty words, cherished by your precious saint. Can you say the same to those who lost their families because of you? No one in the ducal family ever wanted war. You speak so nobly because you won. Had the duchy prevailed, I’d have severed your heads and displayed your skulls until they crumbled to dust."

"It’s true we killed Hertrude," Julius admitted. "There’s no denying that. But please, don’t insult the Saint. Olivia only wanted to end the fighting."

“My sister died to stop that fighting—killed by your so-called saint. Spare me your hollow lies. They’re sickening.”

Politics was never a simple matter of right and wrong. Raised as royalty, she had known this truth from childhood. Yet the man before her, spouting naive idealism, grated on her nerves.

“I’ll take my leave for today,” she said, her voice cold. “But answer me this: What role did the Duchy play in the Saint’s rise to power?”

Julius’s question caught her off guard.

The Saint, Olivia, had been the greatest anomaly in the war between the Duchy of Fanoss and the Kingdom of Holfort. Her presence had saved the kingdom and sealed the Duchy’s defeat. No one in the Duchy’s war faction would have been foolish enough to nurture their own enemy.

“Why would the Duchy have anything to do with Olivia’s rise?” she retorted. “If we had known of her, we would have targeted her as a threat from the start.”

“Marquis Frampton was one of Olivia’s key supporters,” Julius said. “That’s why some suspect she was a pawn planted by the Duchy to destabilize the kingdom.”

Answering this former enemy prince might have been noble, but his lack of political acumen irritated her. More than that, malice fueled her words. Tormenting him brought her no pain—only a bitter satisfaction.

“I see,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “So it was all the Duchy’s doing—the broken engagement, the disinheritance of the first prince, the rift between House Holfort and House Redgrave. All part of our grand scheme. And the Holfort royal family? Mere victims, pure and blameless. How convenient. You twist the truth and pin every fault on us. That’s the true face of the Kingdom of Holfort.”

Julius’s expression softened slightly, as if relieved. “So the Duchy wasn’t involved…”

He seemed oblivious to her intent to wound him, to twist his earnest face into something as ugly as her own heart felt.

“In fact,” she continued, “it was your own Marquis Frampton who first approached the Duchy. He left records with my sister’s secretary, boasting, ‘I have a plan to topple the Redgraves. If it succeeds, we’ll oust the duke and seize control of the court.’ He even mocked you, saying, ‘That foolish prince is so infatuated, he’s begun mistreating his fiancée.’”

Julius’s brow furrowed, but facts were facts.

If the kingdom wished to bury the truth, she would unearth it, exposing the Duchy’s role and the kingdom’s failures.

“While the marquis orchestrated some of the tension with the duke’s house, most of it stemmed from the royal family and their loyal nobles,” she said. “The Duchy isn’t foolish enough to hinge its plans on something as absurd as a prince breaking his engagement. So congratulations—the Holfort royal family’s current misery is entirely your own doing.”

“That’s—” Julius began, but she cut him off.

“You ignored your fiancée. Fell for a commoner while still betrothed. Fabricated false charges. Judged her unjustly. Provoked the duke’s retaliation. Embraced a traitor as your ally. Created vulnerabilities for foreign powers to exploit. All of it was your doing. And now you dare blame me while basking in praise as a hero? How utterly spineless.”

Julius paled, his composure crumbling under her onslaught.

Her words pressed on, relentless.

“You were simply born with strength and a noble title—a fool propped up by brawn. Your queen mother, your powerful allies, your beautiful fiancée, your loyal friends—they all shielded your idiocy. The Holfort royal family’s crisis is merely your stupidity laid bare. I won’t shoulder your failures. I’m no saint. If I must endure this humiliation, I’d rather take my own life and let it spark the Duchy’s rebellion anew.”

She struck harder as Julius faltered, but no amount of venom could bring her peace.

All she wanted was one thing.

“Give her back!” she screamed. “Give me back my sister! I don’t care what happens to me—just give her back!”

Her fury overwhelmed Julius, and he collapsed to his knees.

The sound alerted the guards outside, who burst into the room. To an outsider, it might seem the proud prince of a victorious kingdom had fallen before the disgraced princess of a defeated nation. They might not understand the context, but they sensed the threat to their prince.

The towering guards glared at her, but she stood unflinching, unafraid of their menacing stares.

“Go ahead!” she challenged. “Kill me! You wouldn’t hesitate to strike down a woman who insulted your prince, would you?”

Her defiant glare met theirs, yet the guards wavered.

Why? Why did they hesitate now?

She was ready to end this farce of a life, yet they faltered. She was a captive woman, stripped of any means to take her own life. Killing her should have been effortless for Holfort’s proud warriors.

“Stop!” a trembling voice rang out.

She looked down to see Julius, still on the floor, desperately restraining the soldiers. The sight of a prince groveling before a fallen princess left everyone bewildered.

With a weak gesture, he pointed to the door. The guards supported his unsteady steps, helping him out of the room.

“I’m sorry… I’ll come back,” he whispered hoarsely just before the door closed.

She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined his faint apology or what he was even apologizing for.

As silence reclaimed the room, the attendants quietly began to tidy up. Usually, their glances carried scorn, but now their eyes held pity.

She didn’t want their sympathy.

She was damned to suffer eternally in her own hell. No amount of regret could atone for her sins. She had no right to grieve for her father, her mother, or her sister.

Catching her reflection in the windowpane, she saw a ghost staring back—pale skin, emaciated frame, lifeless black hair, and crimson eyes gleaming like a beast’s. She no longer resembled her beloved sister.

The reflection was a specter, hideous and broken.

Overwhelmed by the reality that she would never find forgiveness, she wept aloud.

A panicked servant summoned the physician. As the sedative took hold and her consciousness faded, she let out a silent scream, trapped once more in nightmares of her lost family.

┳⁠━━━━⁠━⁠⁠━⁠━⁠━━━⁠┳

Authors Note

┻━⁠━━━━⁠━━⁠━━━⁠┻

The contrast with the lovey-dovey previous chapter is brutal (sweat). This is a buildup chapter meant to develop the growth of Olivia, now a saint, and the five who became heroes—but the content is heavy. This story is not hate fiction (really).

Olivia and Julius are criticized simply because they stood in opposition to the protagonist Angie and were victorious in the war against the Duchy.

This chapter is from Hertrauda’s perspective, and I worried whether it was okay to make it this dark.

Hertrude’s postwar treatment in the original series and the Marie route's Hertrauda were reference points, but this version is still milder than many historical accounts of defeated royal families. The next chapter will focus on Olivia, and besides her new attendant Marie, some original characters will appear.

Illustration credits (commissioned by the requester):

Ichisama: Skeb (R18 Warning)

Rielilu-sama: Pixiv

Fenao-sama: Pixiv (R18 Warning)

I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback to help guide future chapters.