Chapter 23

To Lydia, Your father has already made the moves he should make. Therefore, do not move now, and wait. People do not move when preached to. They begin to walk only when they can choose for themselves. Make time your ally. —Third Prince

Lydia could not accept it. No matter how many times she reread it, the Third Prince‘s letter was short and vague. Wait. Isn’t that the same as doing nothing? Her father has already proposed it to the people of the territory. He also prepared safe land. Even so, not a single person moved. What more is he telling her to wait for? Lydia placed the letter on the desk and sighed deeply. …I don’t understand.

It was one month later. The long rains continued, and the water level of the river rose visibly. The expressions of the retainers also changed. The bad premonition took on a sense of reality. And then, in the middle of the night. The river overflowed. The lowlands were swallowed by water in the blink of an eye, and the fields and roads became indistinguishable. Even when morning came, the water did not recede, and the muddy stream continued to flow slowly. Lydia stood on the embankment, looking down at the scene. The depths of her chest tightened strongly. As I thought, we couldn’t just wait, could we? Shouldn’t we have pushed forward more strongly? It was at that moment. “Milady.” A voice came from behind. When she turned around, an elderly farmer she recognized was standing there. It was the man who had raised his voice in the plaza before. Still in his wet clothes, he took off his hat. “…Is that offer still valid?” For a moment, Lydia didn’t understand the meaning. “By ‘that offer,’ you mean…” “The talk about getting a share of the land away from the river.” Her heart beat loudly. The old farmer looked at the fields submerged in water. “We’re used to the water. It’s the same as always. But…” He searched for words just a little. “Getting old, rebuilding takes a toll on me. I don’t want to make my grandson go through this.” Those were not blaming eyes, nor resigning eyes. It was simply the face of a person who had reached a conclusion himself. Lydia gasped. “…Of course.” When she answered so, the old farmer exhaled as if relieved. “Is that so. I’m grateful.” His back looked somewhat small. That evening. People coming to ask the same thing began to appear one by one. “Can we still choose that land?” Watching that scene, a sentence from that letter floated in Lydia’s mind. People do not move when preached to. They begin to walk only when they can choose for themselves. —Wait. The meaning fell into the depths of her chest. I wasn’t made to wait. They were waiting for the time when they could choose.

Even so, there was just one. There was a man who didn’t move until the end. The man who had opposed it more strongly than anyone in the plaza. “Are you telling us to throw away the land of our ancestors?” That man who had raised his voice. A few days later. While the water had not yet fully receded, he appeared on the embankment. With feet covered in mud, he stood silently in front of Lydia. “…I won’t say the Lord was right.” It was a low voice. Lydia waited without saying anything. The man continued while staring at the submerged fields. “After the water receded. One person, and then another, decreased.” Lydia listened silently. “None of them had a look of being preached to. They just decided for themselves and left.” He laughed just a little, bitterly. “But, I…” The man shook his head. And then, slowly, he looked at Lydia. “I’ll move. To that land.” There was neither frustration nor anger there. Only a quiet light lodged in his eyes. At that moment, understanding fell clearly into Lydia’s chest. This is it. This is what we were waiting for. “…We have been waiting for you.” The man gave a small snort and turned his back. That back looked strangely light.

It was a quiet afternoon when the letter from Lydia arrived. The moment I saw the seal, I involuntarily put strength into my fingertips. I could tell from a distance that the neat handwriting was hers. I sat down in my chair and slowly broke the seal.

The matter of the retention basin is progressing little by little. It is thanks to Your Highness’s advice. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. That is not all. I have finally understood. What moves people is not words, but their own choice. Of course, there are aspects of the new land they are not yet used to. The road is further than before, and the soil of the fields is hard. Even so, every time I see everyone walking by their own will, my chest becomes hot.

Reading up to there, I let out a small sigh. As I thought, she realized it. The story of the retention basin is not a problem that started just now. Throughout history, measures have been taken time and again, and each time has been accompanied by great difficulties. People cannot leave the land they are used to living in, even if they know the danger. Yet, when relocation was achieved, it was always after losing something. Backlash, confusion, or pain. It has never proceeded easily, not even once.

I carefully folded the letter and placed it on the desk. The letter from that time was not written with the intention of giving advice. …Those who stand above are not there to teach everything. Leaving a margin for realization is also one of their duties. Lydia is not the next feudal lord because of her bloodline. She is the next feudal lord because she can stop for people’s pain. That is why she notices. That is why it reaches her.

Outside the window, a gentle breeze is shaking the trees. While picturing the muddy water and mud-covered fields of a distant territory, and the figure of the woman standing there, I smiled quietly. Well then, on time again today. It was a good day.

From Marc’s Perspective

Around that time. In a corner of the castle, in the room where civil officials were stationed, a single topic was quietly spreading. “About that retention basin matter.” “Ah, that territory.” “I hear it’s proceeding quite well.” They say there was no coercion, no confusion, and yet things are proceeding surely. “I hear it was His Highness the Third Prince‘s advice.” “Has he really changed from before, as I thought?” Eventually, that story reached the ears not only of the civil officials but also of the lords of other territories staying at the castle. I was listening to that from a slightly distant place. I feel proud. That person is not moving to be evaluated by someone. Even so, seeing actual results become words and spread like this makes the depths of my chest warm. However. I have no intention of conveying that to the Prince. Whether he knows or not. Because the Third Prince does not change. —But. Let me be forgiven for grinning in the shadows at least. Because I am undeniably happy that the person I serve is being evaluated.

One night. Lydia was quietly gazing at the letter spread on her desk. She had reread it many times, and the edges of the paper had become slightly soft. Even though the written words did not change, she felt that a different meaning fell into her chest every time she read it. Lydia gently lifted it with both hands. To not damage it, treating it as something precious. She took out a small wooden box from the drawer. It was an unadorned, yet carefully polished box. She gently stored the letter inside. Even after closing the box and returning it to the drawer, Lydia kept her hand placed there for a while and did not move. There is nothing there. However. It certainly seemed to have warmth.