3. Love Letter (7)
'I want to learn how to protect myself.'
It was a suggestion I brought up first while I was in the middle of my training. Ethan, dragging his exhausted body down to the dining room, widened his eyes at my words.
'Hmm, usually you'd have guards, but learning how to protect yourself isn't a bad idea.'
With that, he told me about things that would be good to learn, such as swordsmanship, martial arts, spearmanship, and archery.
'Is there anything you want to learn?'
I hesitated for a moment before spitting out a reply.
'Marksmanship?'
The next day, Ethan added marksmanship to my training curriculum. The instructor who came to teach me was a former hunter. He carefully taught me how to hold a gun and what precautions to take.
After finishing those preparations, I held a training gun loaded with live ammunition for the first time. The gun was heavier than I had thought. I gripped it tightly, assumed the posture the instructor had taught me, and pulled the trigger. The recoil from the shot made my body lose its balance and fall over. The live round fired from the gun didn't even come close to the target. I forgot the pain from falling on my backside and savored the bewildering feeling of my first shot.
'Once you get used to it, you'll be able to shoot proficiently.'
The instructor gave me that advice. I gripped the gun firmly again and aimed at the target. As I kept practicing as he said, I was able to keep my balance even after pulling the trigger.
When I became somewhat proficient at shooting, Ethan gifted me a self-defense gun. He said it was small enough to hold in one hand and light in weight, making it a gun mainly used by women. On the table lay other kinds of self-defense items as well. Among them was a very small knife. The reason I realized that the cord hanging around a woman's neck was a self-defense knife was because I had seen it then.
I carried that gun in my bag every time I went out. Sadly, however, I didn't bring that bag when I left the party venue. I never expected to go through something like this.
I gripped the gun tightly with both hands and aimed at the man. The man, alternating his gaze between the gun in my hand and his own empty waist, faltered and stepped back.
Watching the distance between us widen, I pulled myself together. My choked throat stung, and it was hard to breathe, but I couldn't take my eyes off the man for even a moment. Both the man and I knew that if I let my guard down even once, the situation would reverse.
The man raised both hands and stood far back. I also stood up, still aiming at the man, and leaned against the wooden post again. I pretended to be calm on the outside, but I couldn't hide the fine trembling of my body. It was a tremor caused by the sudden shock.
I readjusted my grip so the gun wouldn't slip. The gun I had taken from the man was unfamiliar to me. Its heavy weight, making it difficult to hold with one hand, felt burdensome. I visually traced the structure of the gun.
But suddenly, the man burst into laughter.
"Hey. Can a noble young lady who's never even killed an ant shoot that?"
You definitely can't shoot. The man sneered at me. Even though I was the one holding the gun, the man exuded composure. This was arrogance born from the belief that his opponent could never kill him.
I calmly parted my lips.
"Think again."
The man furrowed his brow.
"What?"
"Do I look like a typical noble young lady to you?"
I took a step to the side. At the same time, I shifted the slightly misaligned muzzle back to aim at the man. My body's trembling had stopped at some point. The pain constricting my breathing also vanished in an instant. My mind was calmer than ever.
"Can I really not shoot you?"
"……."
"Think again. Do you really think I can't?"
When I asked back, the man, who had been staring at me for a moment, scowled.
"You're planning to shoot me."
"That's right."
'What should I do when I don't want to kill a person?'
It was a question I asked my instructor during a break in class one day. He narrowed his eyes in dissatisfaction. Learning marksmanship meant leaving open the possibility of shooting someone someday. But I had no desire to kill anyone. The instructor looked like he wanted to ask if I was learning it so frivolously without such an intention, but perhaps thinking it was a question a noble household's young lady might ask, he soon relaxed his face and said.
'Then…….'
"I'm not a typical noble young lady."
Saying so, I pulled the trigger toward the man's leg, just as my instructor had once advised. A loud gunshot scraped my eardrums. The recoil from the shot made my body lose its balance slightly, slamming my back against the wooden post. Gathering my momentarily dazed senses and raising my head, I saw the man collapsed on the floor, screaming.
"Argh!"
The man grabbed his shot calf. Seeing his bloodshot eyes, I fired the gun at his other thigh as well to ensure he definitely couldn't follow me. Then the man grabbed his other thigh, where the bullet was embedded, and let out a breathless scream. Blood streamed down from the bullet wounds.
I stumbled backward, keeping my eyes on the man thrashing in pain. Then I soon turned around and plunged into the bushes. They must have heard the gunshot, so the man's comrades would surely come looking. I had to put some distance between us before that.
My body felt more exhausted than before. Even so, it wasn't a situation where I could stop running. My panting breaths were so loud they reached my own ears. It felt like running alone in an endless maze. From somewhere, a rustling sound could be heard. Was I hearing things, or was it the sound of the men chasing me? An invisible fear was pursuing me.
I was so out of breath that I felt like I could die at any moment. A metallic taste of blood rose in my throat. The wounds from falling here and there, and my neck that had been choked by the man, hurt, but I endured it.
Running like this, I felt as if I had come to a moment in the past.
I was always running like this. I was suffocating, my legs were numb, and I wanted to collapse at any moment, but I only knew how to look forward and run. Sometimes, I ran holding onto the hope that I might eventually reach that long, distant road. What I realized while running like that was that the world doesn't go my way and that I must endure. When stealing bread, when running away from my father. My life, struggling with poverty and always having death nearby, seemed to have been an endless continuation of running and enduring.
Nevertheless, whether I wanted it or not, I couldn't settle down anywhere. Having to run without stopping. That was the life I had lived, and the future that lay ahead of me.
But I had long given up crying and hoping for help. I never learned how to cry for myself. Instead, I decided to become shameless. Since coming here, I had received all sorts of disregard and uncomfortable attention, but I hadn't lost. Because I was always confident in running.
It was the same at the salon I happened to be invited to. The host of that salon was the only daughter of a very prestigious family, so much so that she had ties with the royal family. She invited nobles of similar age every month to exchange greetings and build friendships. It was practically a small social circle.
Not long after my debut in high society, I too received an invitation to that salon. Ethan said I didn't have to attend if I didn't want to. He was worried, knowing I would struggle. However, since it was a salon hosted by a family for generations, I couldn't just flat-out refuse. I thought it was polite to attend at least once.
So I attended the salon. But Ethan's worry was spot on. The salon was more blatant than the parties. They sent invitations out of courtesy, but it was closer to a gathering where other young ladies and young lords, who hung out with the young lady of that family, evaluated each new attendee one by one to decide whether they would associate with them in the future. Furthermore, they feigned ignorance while giving looks to those they didn't like, telling them not to attend anymore. In particular, they openly showed their dislike as they scanned me up and down.
Honestly, I almost stormed out of my seat several times. But I couldn't do something that would harm the family because of momentary emotions. It was clear that if I showed my displeasure and left, they would spread bad rumors about me, whether intentionally or not. Perhaps that was exactly what they wanted. If so, I couldn't play along.
So I kept my seat with a very bright smile. Out of stubbornness, I attended the salon once more after that. Even though they made it clear I shouldn't attend, I acted shamelessly, pretending not to notice. I decided not to care deeply about anything—people's curiosity or their criticism. Maybe it was because I knew I wasn't alone in the world, but a sense of relief grew in one corner of my heart, knowing there was someone who would protect me.
I was no longer a child running away after stealing bread. Nor was I in a situation where I wouldn't receive any help even if I was caught and beaten by the bread owner. There were people who worried about me now.
I wanted to stop my difficult steps, put down roots, and have a place to rest. I had finally found that. My own sanctuary, enclosed by a round fence. The reason I acted shamelessly and held on no matter how hard it was, was because it was the place I had so desperately longed for. Therefore, I couldn't die like this.
'Because I want to live.'
Because I now had a place to return to.
I thought of Ethan and Vincent, who would be looking for me. I wanted to go back to them quickly.
Running without rest, I tripped over a protruding rock and fell. My legs gave way, and I scraped my knee on the ground. I groaned, rubbing my face against the cold floor, before forcing my body to move and hiding in the nearby overgrown bushes. I tried to keep my gasping breaths from ringing out too loudly. I wiped the sweat flowing down my sand-covered face with the back of my hand and buried my body deeper. Then, I gripped the gun in my hand even tighter. So that I could shoot if it came to it.
At that moment, footsteps were heard. I stopped breathing and focused on the sound. The footsteps paused for a moment, then the sound of steps moving slowly again could be heard. The sound gradually grew closer. I held the gun with both hands and assumed a stance. I swallowed a dry gulp.
And the moment the footsteps reached right in front of my nose, the bushes were pushed wide open. At the same time, I thrust the muzzle forward and confirmed the opponent right before my eyes.
The surroundings were too dark. The only thing I could rely on was the faint moonlight. However, even in the darkness, the sparkling eyes were familiar. The opponent in front of me was also aiming a gun at me just the same.
I slowly lowered the hand holding the gun. It felt like my breath would stop.
"Vincent?"
I stared up at him blankly. Vincent also recognized me and made a blank face. Then, his gradually contorting face looked as if he was crying.
A strong force immediately pulled me into an embrace.