NOVEL WEB Chapter 9: Second Encounter with the Princess
[You arrive at the Kremlin Palace's garden, where the court banquet is held on an exceptionally clear day. The sky is a deep blue, like a painting brushed clean by angels.]
[Wearing the same pitch-black priestly robe from the day you first stepped into the palace, you stand before the garden gate.]
[Inside, you can hear the sound of clinking glasses and cheerful chatter. Before the entrance, Emperor Nicholas II and Empress Alexandra greet you. The Tsar wears a resplendent white formal uniform, trimmed with golden feathers on the shoulders, his beard neatly groomed. At the sight of you, he drops to one knee, reverently expressing his admiration for the sage.]
[Empress Alexandra's eyes also light up when she sees you. Clad in an off-shoulder Victorian gown, her silver hair coiled up to reveal her slender neck, she bows elegantly. As she does, the soft curve of her bosom subtly shows, a hint of charm beneath her grace. She praises you as a refined sage—and the most handsome of youths.]
[You respond mildly, "You are both beautiful as well, Your Majesty the Emperor, and dear Empress. May God bless you with eternal youth."]
[Oh, that damned translation-speak, you think.]
[Nicholas II escorts you into the garden. The scent of food mingles with the fresh fragrance of flowers. Sunlight filters gently down like dust across the tables, dishes, and golden-silver ornaments. You see the empire's most elite nobles—princes, dukes, counts, and at the very least, marquises. Lesser nobles cling to greater ones, groveling with flattery.]
[This, you think, is the top floor of the crumbling imperial edifice.]
[They think themselves safe by standing high—but the building beneath them is teetering on collapse.]
[Having spent years among the commoners, you remember the suffering below.]
[You don't see yourself as a true sage—just a false one wrapped in the sage's skin. If this great structure is doomed to fall, then there's no harm in salvaging a few things from it.]
[You don't need to flatter the nobles—because even the Emperor and Empress must flock to your side.]
[You only need to 'step' on the Emperor and Empress to prove your presence.]
[Then, all others will scramble to curry favor with you.]
[Even if you wear a cold, distant expression, they will only praise your 'holiness.']
[Such is the nature of people.]
[All you have to do—is show up. And your goal is already achieved.]
...
"How boring," Lucan muttered, swirling the wine in his glass.
He stood apart from the flocking crowd, alone among the lush flowers. In his black priestly robes, he watched the court banquet with quiet indifference.
From a distance, nobles bowed in respect—but none dared approach without permission.
Lucan truly was bored. He thought it might be better to gather some friends at home for a thrilling game of aeroplane chess!
Still, he couldn't deny that the graceful figures of the noble ladies made for a pleasant view.
"So boring..."
Just then, a soft and familiar voice floated over, mingling with the rustling leaves in the wind.
Lucan tilted his head. In the shaded corner of the garden banquet, he saw a petite silhouette with silver-white hair. He paused.
Anastasia—
"You find it boring too?" Lucan approached casually.
"Very boring..." the small figure replied instinctively without turning, her clear blue eyes watching the crowd clinking glasses and socializing.
She mumbled, "Why do my sisters look forward to this so much? And Father and Mother too—"
"They must've tricked me. Said the banquet would be so much fun. When I get back, I'll prank them good... Yes, I must!"
"Mm... Huh!?"
The girl froze, suddenly realizing someone was talking to her—and the voice was very familiar.
She turned.
She saw Lucan standing beside her.
"L-L-Lord Lucan!?"
Startled, she stepped back, tripping over a vine and nearly falling—
But she steadied herself after two staggering steps.
Lucan had caught her hand.
"Seeing me again already has you so excited, Your Highness?" Lucan smiled.
Still recovering from her shock, Anastasia stood upright, her chest gently rising and falling. Her more lavish dress today accentuated her curves, trembling subtly.
Then—she blushed.
Just like last time.
"No, that's not— I—"
Lucan thought she was about to turn into a steam engine!
But…
Was this really Anastasia's personality?
As a transmigrator, Lucan had a distinct impression of her—cool, aloof, wary. She didn't trust easily, but once she did, she would embrace others without reserve.
But that version of her wasn't the living girl.
It was the legendary figure summoned as a Heroic Spirit from the Throne of Heroes.
Right now, in 1912, Anastasia was still alive—still pure, adorable, and untouched by tragedy.
Maybe this playful, flustered nature was simply the innocence of a girl who hadn't faced disaster yet.
"Lord Lucan's hand..." she whispered.
Lucan felt the softness in his palm and casually released her wrist. "What's wrong? Twisted your ankle again?"
"There's no cane this time, you know!"
"I don't need a cane!" Anastasia blushed harder—not just from embarrassment over today, but from remembering last time too.
So humiliating!
She thought.
"No cane, then what? A wheelchair?" Lucan teased. Watching her reactions really was fun.
"I don't need anything!" Anastasia puffed her cheeks, realizing she was being teased again. In that moment, she forgot the identity of the young man before her—forgot her nervous awe.
"Feeling more relaxed now?" Lucan asked. "I'm not a monster, you know. No need to be so tense."
The princess let out a tiny hum, then replied under her breath, "Lord Lucan is a bad guy..."
"You didn't say that before," Lucan said with a side glance. "Didn't you say I had thirty-six wings or something? Hey, can that even be called a 'person'?"
Anyone else making such blasphemous jokes would be scolded—but Lucan, hailed as a sage by the Emperor and Empress, was simply witty and humorous.
Anastasia couldn't help but laugh. Her lips curled into a bright smile, eyes narrowing slightly.
With that—
All her tension disappeared.