Chapter 99 - The Farm in Irttat
Chapter 99: Tower of Crows 07
After mastering the law of Life, Lucita turned her attention to putting the seed shop in order.
In the abandoned cemetery behind the house, she cleared a broad open space at its center. The seeds in storage were carried and scattered across it by wandering flocks of birds.
The earth surged with vitality.
All things flourished and faded.
In that overflowing abundance of life, newly hatched chicks high in the trees opened their eyes ahead of time. Autumn cherry blossoms, only just budding, hesitantly unfurled their petals. The inner halves of the maple leaves flushed red all at once.
Crops burst from their seeds, sprouted and flowered, bore fruit, then bent to the earth and rotted back into the soil.
Fresh seeds fell silently to the ground, were picked up in birds' beaks, and carried away into the vast blue sky.
Flocks of doves, travelers of great distances, crossed mountains and valleys as her messengers. Seasonal winds sweeping from northwest to southeast carried news of life with them.
On a silent night such as this, seeds of hope spread outward from Viktori at the center, rippling across the forests and fields of the continent like waves upon water.
When they broke through the soil the following spring, it would mark the beginning of an age of abundance.
The remaining seeds were gathered, packed into bags until they bulged full, stacked onto the shop shelves, and sold at low prices to the farmers who passed through the city.
Customers flowed in like a river.
Among the plainly dressed farmers were merchants from distant regions who occasionally arrived to purchase seeds in bulk. Lucita paid them little attention, and the stock never once ran dry.
Nor did she refuse nobles who came to buy seeds for their private estates. The seemingly inexhaustible supply, combined with Lucita's well-known willingness to use force when necessary, quickly put an end to any schemes to monopolize the market.
After several busy days, Lucita finally found herself with some free time.
The afternoon sunlight was gentle, spilling across the courtyard porch.
It was just after lunch. Lucita sat cutting into a cloudberry tart that had chilled overnight in the frost-box while mentally calculating how much time remained before winter and how best to manage the seed supply.
The seeds had been distributed. But it was far from enough.
How could she prevent the world from collapsing into ruin again? Lucita had searched for that answer for a very long time. Yet it always felt as though a layer of fog hung before her, obscuring the truth.
Was she saving the world? Or destroying it?
The letter had asked her that question. In truth, she did not entirely know herself. For a long time, she had carried a quiet unease, uncertain where her well-intentioned attempts to do what felt right might ultimately lead.
Thinking of the letter, she realized that today was already the third day since she had received it.
Cesar Vivian. A woman who had tried, as an ordinary human, to peer into the secrets of the world. A dying woman who had mailed her reckless soul, blazing with inspiration and a hunger for knowledge, directly to Lucita's doorstep. A woman in whom Lucita had almost seen a reflection of herself walking the same path of inquiry.
Perhaps the one being questioned still stood lost within the fog. But perhaps the one asking the questions already possessed an answer.
Lucita hesitated briefly before deciding to pay her a visit.
The afternoon Viktori was wrapped in a brief and fragile peace. A warm breeze drifted through the city. Fallen leaves shifted softly along the roadside. Everything within sight appeared bright and clear, as though no shadow could possibly exist.
A few vendors rested in the shade, bargaining lazily with passing customers in quieter voices than usual. Baskets hung from their arms and sacks rested against their backs.
During this short and weary hour of the day, Lucita walked through the streets in her silver-buttoned boots, drawing no more than a handful of indifferent glances from the sparse pedestrians.
Bluebell Street in the western district appeared far neater than Briar Street, likely because it was a genuinely middle-class neighborhood. Street vendors were rare. Most pedestrians wore crisp lace shirts and well-maintained leather boots, each carrying the air of someone employed in a respectable profession.
The attractive terraced houses were built of red brick or stone. Small balconies displayed carefully cultivated camellia sasanqua, bellflowers, and cattleya orchids. Every gate was made of wrought iron decorated with scrolling vine patterns, and spherical gas lamps lined the street.
Of course, these beautiful houses generally did not belong to their respectable occupants. Most were tenants paying yearly rent to landlords residing in the upper city.
Lucita checked the house numbers as she walked and eventually stopped in front of Number Eleven.
It was a modest two-story detached house with its doors and windows closed. A sparse Virginia creeper climbed the latticework beside the windows. Half of it was still dotted with scattered scarlet blossoms, while the other half had already dried and withered, swaying forlornly in the breeze.
Looking upward, Lucita spotted a small balcony on the upper left side. Several pots of bellflowers bloomed there like tiny stars. An old easel stood nearby, supporting a portrait that remained unfinished.
A few articles of clothing hung drying from one side of the balcony. The house was clearly inhabited.
Lucita reached out and rang the brass doorbell.
Before long, a second-floor window swung open.
A golden-haired woman in a white silk blouse steadied herself against the window frame and leaned out, and her eyes met Lucita's.
Lucita stood at the gate, looking up calmly while adjusting her thin cloak and quietly studying the woman.
The woman stared blankly for a moment. Then recognition seemed to strike her. Her pupils contracted slightly.
She gave Lucita a small nod before stepping away from the window.
A sound of footsteps on the stairs followed, coming closer and closer. Then the hall door opened with a creak.
Lucita saw Cesar Vivian.
She was a slender woman with pale golden hair swept casually to one side, gold-rimmed glasses, and gray-green eyes. Her complexion was dreadful. Her cheeks had sunk inward noticeably, and dark shadows pooled beneath her eyes.
She wore a light shirt-and-trousers ensemble, buttoned meticulously all the way to the collar. A dark blue striped jacket had been hastily thrown over it, hanging from her frame like clothing draped over an empty rack.
As she had written in her letter, tuberculosis had already ravaged her body. To someone who understood the nature of life itself, the damage was immediately visible. Her body appeared riddled with fractures and decay, like a candle flickering in a strong wind, barely maintaining its flame.
In truth, even without seeing through the lens of Life, a single glance at the way she paused to catch her breath every few steps was enough to reveal how grave her condition had become.
The moment the hall door was pushed open, a draft of wind came in, and the woman began to cough uncontrollably.
It was some time before she steadied herself, and she made her way step by step to the door, confirming in a questioning tone: "You are...?"
She looked so frail that Lucita's voice softened instinctively: "I apologize for coming unannounced, Miss Cesar. I am Lucita Cameron."
She held out her hand to the woman.
A faint brightness entered Vivian's expression. "It's you."
She reached out and clasped Lucita's hand. Lucita felt as though she were holding little more than a handful of bones.
The door opened.
Vivian led Lucita inside: "Please call me Vivian. To be honest, I thought you might come, but I didn't imagine it would happen like this."
Her voice rasped like a worn bellows.
"By arriving politely and knocking on the door like a normal person?" Lucita asked with a faint smile. "Perhaps I possess some manners after all."
"Yes." Vivian followed the joke. "And honestly, that puts me much more at ease."
Vivian gave Lucita the same impression as her letter: bold.
Ever since her elevation to nobility, everyone who spoke with Lucita carried some measure of caution and restraint. Even the king weighed her words carefully. It had been a very long time since someone had treated her so “normally”.
The realization struck her unexpectedly. Unlike Linnea, after entering the human world, she had gone a very long time without making any new friends.
Vivian led her upstairs: "I've been bedridden for a long time. My energy is limited, and the ground floor hasn't been cleaned in ages. My apologies. Let's talk upstairs."
Lucita nodded.
Vivian added, "Honestly, I truly didn't expect you to be so young."
As she spoke, something seemed to occur to her, and a private smile tugged at her lips.
"Though perhaps that was a foolish thing to say. An... existence like yours probably only appears young."
Lucita blinked. "Actually, I'm eighteen. Probably younger than you."
This time Vivian was genuinely startled.
She stared into Lucita's eyes and, finding nothing but complete sincerity there, looked her up and down several times.
After all, despite Lucita's unusual composure and commanding presence, her eyes and mannerisms still undeniably belonged to someone young.
"I find that very difficult to imagine." Vivian let out a breath, looking dazed. "This world is even more extraordinary than I thought."
On the balcony stood a round wooden table and matching chairs. Vivian apparently used it to receive guests.
Although Lucita insisted several times that there was no need, Vivian still fetched a silver teapot from her study and carefully poured a steaming cup of Taran red tea. For a moment, the rising steam fogged her glasses.
This time Lucita got a clear look at the unfinished portrait on the easel. It was Vivian herself.
In the painting, Vivian sat at the round table wearing a brown suit. Tea service and a rough map of the continent rested before her. Her thoughtful gaze was directed toward the empty chair opposite her, as though she could see through the canvas itself and meet Lucita's eyes.
Noticing Lucita looking at the painting, Vivian explained: "A self-portrait. My time is running short, and I don't know if I'll finish it before I'm gone."
"Your brushwork is very accomplished." Lucita said sincerely. "I wouldn't have expected such talent."
"Thank you." Vivian didn't set much store by such compliments. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes to rest for a moment, then asked directly: "Why have you come today? To answer my questions? Or to pass judgment on my impudence?"
Lucita's eyes curved into a smile. "I came for you, Vivian."
"What do you mean?"
"You are genuinely very clever, and honestly, the secrets you asked about aren't anything particularly extraordinary." Lucita said. "I wanted to meet you."
Vivian was taken aback.
She sat up: "Not particularly extraordinary secrets?"
"Mm." Lucita thought for a moment, then said: "I can answer your questions. The unrest in the south isn't really connected to me. I have no intention of destroying any country."
"I'm not a divine emissary."
"And as for your final question: Whether this war will bring catastrophic consequences..."
In the softly rising steam of the red tea, she met Vivian's eyes with complete sincerity.
"If nothing intervenes...Then perhaps it will."
The sunlight was warm and mild. A chill ran through Vivian's entire body.
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