At that moment, Crecyda was unsure how to react, and an awkward silence filled the room. Realizing the discomfort, she hastily performed a formal bow but struggled to find words.
"Prince Galin, it's truly an honor... I am..."
"Are you Crecyda?" Galin interrupted, momentarily relieving her tension. However, as she looked up and saw the man's face, her nervousness returned. There was an unstable aloofness in his scrutinizing gaze, as if she were an exquisitely presented but entirely unsuitable dish. While she could tolerate the former due to his royal status, the obscure intensity in his eyes unsettled her.
"Why have you come to Stromgarde?" he continued.
"I...," Crecyda was puzzled by the question. Weren't you sending someone to pick me up? "I came..."
"I heard your husband died in the Western Plague."
"No, he..."
"Missing for three years, considered dead in battle. You must have suffered a lot searching for him, Lady Crecyda." Galin sat down in a chair at the center of the room. "You can sit, too. This is a country prioritizing victory and rebuilding. Formalities can be set aside."
Though Galin's odd gaze had disappeared, and his tone had softened, Crecyda couldn't ease up. A person who initially displayed superiority and curiosity and then shifted attitudes so quickly left her increasingly uneasy. It wasn't just about first impressions anymore.
"I've heard about your experiences in the Western Plague," Galin said. "Your reasonable requests for information about your husband were met with rude refusals. Isn't that so?"
"Yes. But I don't think I did anything wrong."
"Wrong? Oh no, how could it be your fault? Your actions were understandable, and I believe they posed no threat to the Alliance military in the Western Plague. However, in the chaos of the battlefield... the only predictable thing is its unpredictability. Your misfortune is regrettable, but their reaction toward you, while somewhat harsh, shouldn't necessarily be condemned. In the battlefield, they have the right to temporarily set aside minor issues—resolve them after dealing with more pressing matters. Do you understand?"
"I... I understand." In reality, Crecyda only grasped Galin's subtle message after saying, "I understand."
"I've also visited the front lines in Arathi Highlands to decide whether Stromgarde should send troops to aid in the Western Plague. I have some understanding of how their forces operate. Certain behaviors, such as establishing an adventurer camp, I cannot condone. It not only rejects civilians who genuinely contribute to the fight but also leads to considerable chaos, like planting a tumor in their own base. It's hard to imagine the mastermind behind such a policy is a bishop! From such crude behavior, one can guess how they would treat you. You've just arrived at Stromgarde, and while you may not fully grasp the situation here, the inspiring unity of military and civilians in Refuge Valley must have left a deep impression on you."
"Yes... it did."
"You haven't answered my question: Why did you come here?" After a series of sympathetic lectures, Galin quickly steered the conversation back to the challenging beginning. "Madam, as a leader, I am honest with visitors. I hope you can reciprocate with honesty."
Crecyda took a deep breath, glanced at a small scratch on Galin's breastplate, and then hesitantly raised her eyes. "You know my purpose is to find my husband. Honestly, I gained almost nothing from the Western Plague and Refuge Valley, so I thought about coming to Stromgarde and taking a chance. Therefore, I initially raised this idea purely for personal reasons, but to receive your personal reception is truly..."
"To reciprocate with honesty, madam. I am well aware of your recent notoriety," Galin remarked.
Crecyda realized she had overlooked the most fundamental thing: Prince Galin had been rejecting her entry into Stromgarde precisely because of her investigation into the missing soldiers' bodies. She dared not meet Galin's eyes.
"Your husband is missing. You hope to understand similar incidents to speculate on what might have happened to him from a broader perspective."
The room fell silent for a moment. Crecyda realized Galin was hinting at her stance, so she squeezed out a hesitant, "You are right."
"Your deep affection for your husband is truly touching. If everyone could be like you, many unfortunate and tragic families in the world would be fewer. However, you must remember that what you care about is still personal feelings. If, for the sake of personal emotions, you cause harm to broader and more important matters, I cannot allow it in any way. Do you understand what I mean?"
"...I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"Soldiers sacrifice themselves for the country; that's what I want to say. They don't die for personal reasons but devote themselves to an immense patriotic spirit. Among all the fallen warriors, some are very unfortunate, unable to leave behind their remains. Nothing is more reasonable and heartbreaking than this. Guiding this sorrow is respect. Lady Crecyda, you cannot disregard this due respect for the sacrifices of the warriors just for your personal reasons—to use their sacrifice as a means for your journey to find your missing husband, treating them as a few drops of water for you to drink or a few signs to guide your way."
Galin's words conveyed not so much a moral standpoint as an oppressive tone that made Crecyda feel uneasy. She clearly sensed that Galin wasn't expressing what he truly wanted to convey, and he didn't care about how she perceived these things. He merely wanted to issue a warning—what subsequent actions would prove the authority of this warning remained uncertain.
"Don't be afraid, Lady Crecyda. If I completely resisted and disliked your methods, I wouldn't have invited you here. I do this partly out of curiosity, partly to help you, but under the condition that you must behave properly and be worthy of the trust of the people of Arathor. Because I didn't know you personally before, let's say I once thought you might have many remarks that would undermine the fallen soldiers, relying on such remarks to gain influence—now, it seems you are not that kind of person, so there is less misunderstanding between us. Inviting you here was the right decision, Lady Crecyda. I allow you to continue searching for clues about your husband in Stromgarde, but—with certain restrictions. Perhaps, as time goes on, and you fully gain our trust, these restrictions will no longer be necessary, but at this stage, they are necessary."
"Restrictions... May I ask, what kind of restrictions?"
"Your travel time and range will be arranged by one of my stewards, and there will be an attendant accompanying you each time you go out. Daily life matters such as accommodation and meals will also be taken care of by the steward and servants, as a gesture of respect for your family values. Are you satisfied?"
"I am deeply honored, Prince Galin."
He intends to restrict my movements.
"Then... for now, it's settled. I have to attend to another guest. Jorgen, have you heard of this person?"
"No, Prince."
"Well then... Excuse me."
He stood up, but didn't immediately turn to leave. He walked up to Crecyda, keeping his eyes on her face throughout the process. Crecyda felt she should perform a bow, but Galin had stood too close, and she couldn't move. To conceal her inner discomfort as much as possible, she breathed slowly and controlledly. But at the moment when Galin placed his left hand on her hair, she couldn't help but shiver.
Galin's knuckles lightly touched Crecyda's hair on the right side, then slowly slid down to her ear, the back of his hand gradually turning into a palm.
"Your hair is beautiful," he paused for a moment and continued, "you should take better care of it."
As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly pulled a strand of Crecyda's hair. It wasn't painful, but Crecyda leaned backward, her body tilting. Her previously stable breathing became chaotic.
"So... you shouldn't let these things get close to it." Galin withdrew his left hand, pinching between his thumb and forefinger the small insect that Crecyda had flicked away near the window earlier. The insect circled between Galin's thumb and forefinger for a moment but quickly died in the gap between his fingers.
Once Galin left, Crecyda immediately bounced off the mattress, shaking her wrists continuously, as if she had just crawled out of a quagmire. Suddenly, she felt a bit nauseous, so she returned to the window, leaning out of the upper body. She saw the place where the two maids had been chatting just now, now occupied by a guardsman. She then retreated into the room, sitting back on the bed.
Compared to when she first arrived at Stromgarde, her inner confusion only increased, and there was an indescribable fear added. It wasn't the fear of a criminal facing the gallows; it was the fear of a person lost in a dark alley, afraid of never finding the way back.
After Galin left Crecyda's room, his steps quickened. As he walked through the corridor and approached the stairs, he placed his right thumb near his mouth, the side of his nail against the edge of his teeth, occasionally unconsciously biting down. He raised his elbow to ensure that the guards behind him couldn't see his actions.
"Crecyda... she is Crecyda," he said with a voice that those behind him couldn't hear.
Arriving at the door of a large reception room, he stopped, furrowing his brow as he pushed the door open. However, as the door fully opened, he resumed that condescending look. This time, though, he reined in the blatant scrutiny.
"Mr. Jorgen, apologies for the wait."
Standing in the center of the room, Jorgen turned slightly, his gaze on a large oil painting on the wall. His eyes didn't meet Galin's directly but landed on his side, showing no avoidance, more like he didn't need to fully see Galin to confirm his presence.
"Prince Galin, what is the title of this painting?"
"'Warfare.'"
Jorgen looked at the painting again. Against a backdrop of a battlefield, a human warrior clad in heavy armor was besieged by a Syndicate assassin and an ogre. However, he showed no fear—he had the upper hand, his gaze revealing an almost compelling determination, and the raised longsword was the focal point of the composition. In contrast, the assassin concealed a dagger in her hand, hovering on one foot, as if reluctant to make the next move, while the ogre covered one side of its head in dismay, the front end of its huge axe dragging on the ground.
"The protagonist of this painting is... you, Prince Galin?"
"Yes. Do you have any thoughts on it?"
"None." Jorgen turned completely, facing Galin. "Now is the time to take me to see your collaborator."