Volume 2 Chapter 5-2 The Genderbend Female Traveler, Entering the Black Forest
"In the end, you followed me all the way here."
The group trailing the army had grown over several days. It was a strange crowd—men and women, young and old. Sometimes, the soft wail of a baby carried through the trees like a weak wind.
A soldier looked toward them with narrowed eyes.
"Are they refugees?"
Another voice answered, unsure but sharp.
"Were they driven out of their village and had everything burned?"
He thought hard about what to do. Refugees, in most places, were not treated like people.
They had no land.
They paid no tax.
And to live, they often had to steal.
To rulers, they were no better than wild beasts.
If found within any lord's land, they would be hunted like animals.
So the refugees stayed in wild regions—places where no real kingdoms ruled and law was just a rumor.
A low voice broke the silence.
"Should we bring them in?"
The man next to him blinked.
"Huh?"
The first man continued, his voice steady but tired.
"It's hard to always be on guard. Besides, we need people to work the land at our base."
The refugees had been chased by the army, used as bait to scare off bandits.
In the old story, they were supposed to be wiped out by nearby tribes.
Those tribes, afraid of the army's steel, had gone into hiding instead.
But now, a new chain of events had begun.
Old wheels of history had broken, and new gears were turning.
A voice rang out—strong, loud, and commanding.
"You lot! This will be our camp!"
It was Eleonora.
Her soldiers cheered at her call, the sound bouncing off the tall trees.
Elodia and Johanna rode past in a bumpy wagon, its wheels groaning, their backs sore and aching from the rough path.
Eleonora stood tall as she called out again, her voice clear and powerful.
"And to those who have followed us! Do you not wish to settle down!?"
The refugees froze.
They hadn't expected anyone to speak to them.
Eyes shifted left and right, but no one replied.
Their faces showed doubt and disbelief.
Eleonora stepped forward, her expression firm.
"Will you keep walking, never knowing if you'll eat tomorrow? Will you live each day in fear—afraid of being stabbed in the dark? Will you keep crying, knowing the child in your arms may have nothing tomorrow?"
Her words echoed through the cold green canopy.
The refugees moved closer.
They listened now.
Their worn-out shoes scraped across dead leaves.
Eleonora raised her chin.
"I do not care why you became refugees. What matters is what we can offer each other!"
A voice from the crowd, young and hoarse, rose up.
"What do you want us to do?"
Eleonora turned and pointed to a stream nearby.
"I will give you farmland. Grow food and live. I will protect you. In return, you will give me thirty percent."
People murmured.
Thirty percent?
Too low.
Too kind.
Most lords took half, even more.
A gentle noble took fifty percent and was still called "mercy."
Some greedy rulers took ninety.
They ruled by fear, until their people rose up and burned their manors down.
A whisper passed through the camp.
"They say seventy percent tax is what keeps people barely alive."
Someone asked, carefully.
"Is thirty percent really enough?"
Eleonora nodded, her eyes sharp.
"To be honest, we are building a new country here in Magelun. We need soldiers. We need farms. If you agree to become farmers, we will treat you well—for now."
That "for now" was important.
It was a door half-open.
Miss this chance, and nothing would be left.
Now was the moment to give all they had—to sell themselves at their best price.
The refugees fell to their knees.
They lowered their heads to the dirt.
A voice shouted in panic.
"Wait, wait, wait! This makes no sense!"
It was Georges.
He looked pale, his jaw tight.
He had come from the Empire, where refugees were less than pests.
To him, this offer was madness.
François also did not trust the ragged group.
But he looked at Eleonora, then slowly nodded.
Her logic was sound.
He spoke, his voice low and slow.
"Let's convert them. We need something we can share."
Georges crossed his arms.
"Convert them? I don't like it."
Eleonora flinched.
She was still shaped by her past life—where freedom of belief was normal.
The thought of forcing people into a new faith left a bitter taste in her mouth.
She shook her head, calm but serious.
"To support them, thirty percent is enough. And for them, if they keep seventy percent, there is no reason to rebel."
François frowned.
"I can't believe they agreed so fast."
Georges answered with a shrug.
"Doesn't mean they really mean it."
The argument spun in circles.
But then, a young woman stepped forward, holding a baby close to her chest.
Her eyes were red, but her hands didn't shake.
She bowed deeply.
"I will convert. Please let my child live, grow up, and know peace."
One by one, others stepped forward.
They bowed.
They spoke.
They agreed.
Their faith had been one of ancestor worship.
But it wasn't strict.
They were willing to accept a new god if it meant food and safety.
Eleonora blinked.
She hadn't expected this.
But to the refugees, saying a few holy words was easy.
Their bodies were thin, but their spirit was strong.
They could bend to survive.
Johanna stepped forward with a small silver cup.
She knelt by the stream, scooped up clean water, and dipped her fingers in.
She let the drops fall on the baby's forehead.
Her voice was soft as she traced a cross with her finger and whispered a holy verse.
She wasn't a priest.
Not truly.
Not yet.
But this small act became the spark.
It was the beginning of the faith of the Holy Cross in Magelun.
The ceremony continued for the rest.
One by one, they came forward.
And far beyond the edge of the camp, hidden in the trees, many red eyes watched.
They blinked from the shadows, silent and unseen.
Character Notes:
• Johanna - Silvia's new name.
• Elodia - The second princess of Loriengita. She has shown favor to Georges, who aims to marry her by achieving military merit.
• Magelun - A dangerous and barbaric land, but a potential refuge from the East Clanf Kingdom.
• Georges - A rugged-faced knight and the only lower noble among the Twelve Sacred Blades. He volunteers to lead the cavalry, seeking promotion and recognition. He harbors ambitions to marry Princess Elodia.
• François - The fourth son of Baron Lanramoncie of the Loriengita Empire. The one who join the tournament before.
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