Chapter 98: As Summer Ends

Swish, the sound of paper turning was heard. Swish, swish. The sounds followed in short intervals. It was the sound of newspaper pages turning in Philius’s hands.

Seeing the pages turning quickly, one might wonder if he is looking for specific content, but he was just turning pages he finished reading. I also read quite fast, but I couldn’t keep up with Philius.

When I was a servant, I once stared blankly at him signing documents.

“Why? Does it look like I’m just signing without reading?”

I, the impertinent servant, nodded to him.

“Yes, and it’s worrisome too.”

“Are you worried I might not be able to pay the amount on the statement I gave you properly?”

“I haven’t thought that far, but should I worry about that much?”

“Good. You don’t need to worry about that.”

“So you sign after reading everything. Indeed, amazing.”

“Do I need to add another line to the statement?”

Even while exchanging jokes, he continued signing the documents. When there were no more documents to sign, he let out a long sigh.

“Because during the Rut period, I have no choice but to stop everything. Besides, my Rut is irregular and I can’t even predict how long it will last. I just learned speed reading because I have to do as much work as possible when I can.”

The face of the boy saying his ability wasn’t that great looked painful.

“This newspaper is worth reading.”

Philius’s voice pulled me out of the past.

“…Is that so?”

“Tired?”

The belated reaction made Philius examine my complexion.

“No, it’s not that…”

Seeing his slightly furrowed brow showing concentration, I shook my head.

“Just thinking you grew up well.”

“Who, me?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps sounding random, Philius opened his eyes wide and then curved his eyes roundly. As if saying it’s thanks to me. Even though what I did for him wasn’t much. Rather, I only tried to draw a line in my relationship with him.

Unable to find words to return, I picked up the newspaper he put down.

“This…”

The King’s side is still clinging to the Linton case, but actually makes no further mention of the shantytown forming on the bank of the Gratia River. As if they are people who will disappear soon anyway. Even though more and more bonfires are gathering there.

The Prime Minister’s side was passionately arguing about the tremendous economic value of synthetic diamonds. Explaining in detail how long a distance one 1-carat synthetic diamond can light up, and how cheap the cost is. Countering the Linton incident the King’s side is clinging to, they also covered how much the crime rate is dropping with newly installed streetlights. At the end of the series of articles, stories about our couple rings didn’t forget to appear.

However, the Prime Minister’s side also didn’t mention the mercenaries’ shantytown in detail. Because the Prime Minister came out strongly saying absolutely not this one. It seemed to be in the same context as trying to hide shantytowns when international events were held in 20th-century Korea. The high-ups seemed to share similar thinking regardless of the era.

But the newspaper in my hand right now was the result of focused coverage on that very shantytown. Compared to ordinary newspapers issued with about 4-6 pages including advertisements, the page with only one sheet, just two sides, was at a level embarrassing to even call a newspaper, but the quality of the articles was excellent.

From illustrations depicted much more explicitly than the scene I saw only after sunset, to articles analyzing in detail the cause of them being driven to the riverbank. The early send-off for Linton, whose death sentence was already confirmed by the King before the trial even started, and their situation unable to return home because they didn’t receive the combat allowances promised by the King were listed factually.

Among all the articles I’ve seen in this world, it was written most based on facts and principles. Although I was involved in several articles, actually I was the one with a clear purpose.

“The reporters are Ben Tarp and… Scott Joyce?”

When I checked the names of the reporters, my eyes widened automatically. Ben Tarp is a person who could write such an article. Since he was the reporter who nitpicked most strictly when we published articles using newspapers on the Prime Minister’s side.

But I couldn’t help but be surprised by the name Scott Joyce. He was the King’s most faithful trumpeter. He was also the person I designated to give the first question opportunity at the press conference announcing the completion of synthetic diamond technology. To me, he was a person to whom the name reporter didn’t fit at all. He was someone who just wrote as dictated, enough to be understandable if he were a spokesperson.

“Look at the very last sentence.”

As Philius said, I read the very last sentence.

‘We thank the many people who helped write and distribute this article. Please forgive us for not being able to reveal names one by one due to lack of space.’

It was content informing how this one-sheet newspaper without even an obituary column, let alone advertisements, could be published. Only after reading that sentence could I know why Philius was making a satisfied expression.

“You invested in them.”

“Scott Joyce sent a very persuasive letter. The investment cost requested was reasonable too.”

“Would there be others among people I know who invested in them?”

The feeling was strong that they hid names so they couldn’t be identified rather than really lacking space. While emphasizing that they are already receiving support from many people.

“I know John gave 1 Heni to them out of the money I lent him for gambling.”

It was an unexpected name. No, not really. Considering the reason John went to the Gratia River, it was rather strange that I didn’t think of him first. I just didn’t recall his name because he is a Beta.

“I think there are more names I know hidden.”

Philius smiled quietly.

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know all the names either, but.”

“……”

“Paul and Nathan. I know they each contributed 1 Heni.”

“1 Heni wouldn’t have been a small amount for them.”

“Probably.”

Stories no one tried to know were being known. By Betas who didn’t know how to raise their own voices.

It was a strange feeling. I only just started dreaming of the future, but reality was already changing. As if the air that seemed stagnant was actually circulating endlessly.

Like colorful flowers blooming in a field that was only green.

“Summer is ending now.”

The season was changing.

Soon autumn will come.

Beep. Beep. The short message transmitter rang a signal tone. It’s a regular communication informing where the ship carrying the generals is located. Those who will announce that Henia won completely in the New Continent war were coming.

Just as Philius’s Rut is approaching.

****

“A painting is indeed a painting.”

Standing side by side on the Tranche Bridge, we looked at the shacks on the riverbank.

“Indeed. John seems to be really trying hard.”

The shantytown under the bright sun wasn’t as gloomy as we saw in the dark, nor did it exude a tense atmosphere as depicted in the one-sheet newspaper.

“This f*cking bastard is trying to ruin all the ingredients? Did you not hear properly what the kids said? Why can’t you even do as told, you f*cking bastard.”

“Damn bastard! If you’re just going to nag from there, you do it yourself!”

Shouts mixed with curses are loud enough to be heard even on the bridge. The smell riding the smoke is suspicious enough to doubt if they are cooking edible food. But even while exchanging curses, they looked quite happy.

The shantytown in broad daylight was unexpectedly lively. As if each had assigned roles, some were doing laundry, some were cooking.

Although there were some just basking in the sun blankly.

“Those must be the ones shocked by the pouring shells.”

At Philius’s explanation, I nodded. He seemed to mean shell shock syndrome.

“Aaaaaah!”

Among them, someone suddenly ran toward the river. Screaming as if terrified. The water level of the Gratia River, dredged periodically to float ships, was quite deep. In that state of losing reason, it was obvious he would fall into the water just like that.

“Hey, catch that bastard!”

“Ah, f*ck! Why having a seizure again and making a fuss.”

But before he fell into the water, a couple of people ran and caught him. The caught person shouted wildly and flailed his limbs, but those who caught him, even while being hit by reckless hands and feet, brought him back to a safe place.

“Hampton, you bastard, why were you just staying still! Aren’t you going to sing quickly?”

“I’m dying of exhaustion too!”

“This bastard, if you can shout, sing! Won’t do it? I’m gonna just!”

Shouts went back and forth again, and soon singing started. It was the song for martial luck heard in the dark.

“Hey, that bastard really won’t do? Change to another bastard, my ears hurt I can’t listen!”

Someone scolded loudly. Even to my ears, it was a messy singing voice. But clear laughter was contained in the complaint. No matter how messy the pitch and beat were, since it was a song everyone knew, it soon turned into a chorus. Even those cooking, those doing laundry sang along loudly.

The person who had a seizure due to shell shock syndrome rather seemed to find stability in this noisy song and relaxed his limbs. Those who caught him so he wouldn’t fall into the river laid him down in a sunny spot.

Laundry began to be hung by the riverside. They were all camouflage uniforms.

“Arrived.”

Only after hearing Philius’s voice could I turn my eyes away from this terrible yet peaceful scene.

The appearance of a ship rising from the end of the horizon was faintly visible. A ship approaching toward the port across the Tranche Bridge. Having run a long way from the New Continent.