Chapter 77

"It's a drawing."

Leandros handed over a single sheet of paper.

Unable to move on his own, he had to wait until Leandros returned, but Leandros fulfilled his request without much comment.

The paper he showed was literally close to a doodle.

Not an illustration or a formally composed drawing, but a playful sketch made by someone.

However, the portrait of a white butterfly drawn on it caught his eye.

"Butterfly. Moth..."

"Are you referring to that monster? It certainly resembled one."

There was a white butterfly drawing in the Margrave's bedroom, and the Margrave had metamorphosed into a white moth.

There had to be a connection between them.

"Help me, get up."

"You cannot move in that condition. As I told you before, it's a miracle that you didn't die."

"Quickly."

Leandros stood still for a long time as if he really didn't want to do it.

But when he showed no sign of yielding, Leandros finally sighed and came to support him.

"Five minutes only."

Five minutes was enough time to gather mugwort in the mountains, mill rice, steam it, pound rice cakes, and even open a rice cake shop in the village.

Limping while leaning on Leandros, he headed to the Margrave's study.

All noble families strictly managed their studies, but there was no one of sound mind in this castle now.

Thanks to that, the study they easily infiltrated was... quite large in scale.

Though not as much as the ducal residence, there were maps, parchment scrolls, books.

To him, who was gazing at the study distantly, Leandros added.

"I'm not sure why you came all the way to the study, but in the north, it's known that the dry climate and lack of light make it an optimal place for storing books."

"So that's why there are so many books?"

"Yes, there are so many. Since fewer books get damaged or become unstorable."

What should he do about this?

Just walking here felt like it would kill him.

If he had to search all of this, he might just die.

Leandros took him to a corner and sat him down.

"Is there something you're looking for?"

"White butterfly."

"Do you think it's an actual insect?"

"...It could be."

If he assumed that the white butterfly was related to the Margrave, there would be some connection between the two.

Wouldn't the Margrave have found butterflies impressive?

For instance, perhaps his wife liked butterflies. Or there might be a family story related to butterflies.

"The Margrave's, personal story. Or something related to the family, as detailed as possible."

"I understand well."

Leandros immediately went between the bookshelves.

Even stories related to the Margrave family might amount to several thick books.

But if he could just grasp even a tiny clue.

Watching Leandros carefully read several selected books, he also thought of various credible speculations.

As time passed, the layer of books piled at Leandros's feet grew higher.

"It seems that butterflies are particularly rare in the north. It's mentioned that long ago, it was fashionable for northern noble ladies to wear accessories symbolizing spring."

"Is there any connection to the Margrave?"

"It's from about 200 years ago."

"The Margrave wasn't even born then."

But compared to that, he hadn't gained anything.

At most, there were mentions of accessories that were briefly in fashion, or cloaks embroidered with butterflies.

It was unlikely that the Margrave would have cared about such things.

Just where did the connection with the white butterfly come from?

When he made a sound like an old person with aching joints from cold and fatigue, Leandros closed the book he was reading and supported him.

"Your Grace should go back and rest. I'll look further into other areas."

"Alright... and it's cold."

"I'll find more firewood."

It also seemed to be because he was bleeding.

Eventually returning to the bedroom, he lay down on the bed again.

Leandros, who must have been cold himself, gave up his cloak to him.

"I'll check the wardrobe just in case."

"If it's fur, I'll be crushed to death by its weight."

"I've heard that northern nobles wear clothes that are lighter and warmer than fur."

They'd do well to manage that in such severe cold.

In the villages they had visited earlier, people wore clothes stuffed with feathers or animal fur, which wasn't much different from winter wear in the capital.

How specially could northern nobles dress?

It wasn't like silk clothes worn by aristocrats.

The moment he thought that, he felt a dull, blocked sensation.

Silk.

People hanging from the ceiling.

White lumps.

Gleaming white cocoons.

The form into which the Margrave had metamorphosed.

Why hadn't he realized it earlier?

He felt like hitting his own forehead.

"It's not a butterfly."

"Pardon?"

"It wasn't a butterfly. Not a white butterfly. It's a silkworm moth! Look up information about northern silkworm moths!"

Butterflies cannot survive in cold climates.

But silkworm moths certainly could.

They endure winter inside cocoons and are reborn in the spring of the following year.

Finding information about northern silkworm moths wasn't difficult.

An explanation immediately appeared in the insect encyclopedia that Leandros had urgently brought.

"Silkworm moth. Unlike individuals in other regions, northern silkworm moths form clusters and even establish a kind of society..."

They have fur all over their bodies to withstand the winter cold, or though called moths, they can commonly be found in rotting meat.

At the end of the bland explanation, a phrase was added.

"...Also, despite their appearance, their violent nature has given rise to many folktales. Folktales? What folktales is it talking about? I've never heard of them."

"It seems to be referring to northern folktales. Since they're geographically isolated, wouldn't these tales be passed down only among them?"

"That makes sense. Are there any folktale collections in the study?"

As with other oral folklore, there weren't properly compiled books about this.

What Leandros brought was a loosely bound bundle of parchment that wasn't even properly bound.

However, even in that one bundle, various stories were written with several illustrations.

"The Tale of the Winter Witch, The Tale of the Northern Silver Wolf, The Never-Extinguishing Flame. So northern folktales have this kind of feel."

The silkworm moth we were looking for appeared as 'The Butterfly That Weaves Winter Clothes'.

The illustration accompanying the folktale was drawn quite intricately and dreamily.

The story about the butterfly that weaves winter clothes goes roughly like this.

Long ago, a child got lost in the deep mountains while looking for their parents.

But in the winter snow storm, it was impossible to find a way out of the forest.

Just before freezing to death, the child found a snow cave.

Upon entering the cave, the child met a giant butterfly.

The butterfly had thick, shining white fur all over its body, and was constantly spinning thread from its mouth.

[You're a lost child. I'll keep you warm with my thread, so sleep here.]

The butterfly wrapped the child in a cocoon, and the child could rest comfortably in the warm cocoon.

And in the spring of the following year,

The child could not escape from the thick cocoon and became nourishment for the larvae the butterfly had laid.

[Never wear the winter clothes given by the butterfly, the cocoon.

If you wear it once, you won't wake up even after spring passes.]

"Basically, it's scaring kids not to wander off on their own."

"For children, this kind of warning might be more effective than ordinary cautions."

"That's true, but."

Wasn't it an ending without any dream or hope?

He turned a few more pages to see if all other northern folktales were like this.

Other stories flipped by, and the illustration of 'The Never-Extinguishing Flame' caught his eye.

Flames that freeze everything white, drawn on yellowed parchment as if with charcoal.

A picture of frozen wild beasts and wolves standing beside it.

The corner of the page with the illustration was folded.

He inadvertently turned the page again.

There was another page with a folded corner.

It was just paper left unbound, not even compiled into a book.

Why were only a few pages folded?

Counting, there were a total of five pages marked.

Five illustrations, and five stories.

'The Never-Extinguishing Flame.'

'The Giant Wandering Through Blizzards.'

'The Larva That Sprinkles Ice.'

'The Summer Old Man Who Awakens Life.'

'The Butterfly That Weaves Winter Clothes.'

"Leandros."

"Yes."

"Fairy tales are something you've been hearing since childhood, right?"

"Wouldn't it be harder not to hear them if you're not an adult?"

Oral legends passing from mouth to mouth is a characteristic of folktales.

From childhood, people would be scared of the larvae and old men, ice flames and giants in the stories, thinking they were real, and develop habits of fearing and being wary of the harsh nature.

And when they grow up, they would tell those stories to other children.

"Leandros... I think I know why the Margrave turned into a moth."

The cycle of continuing stories.

The mythical beings appearing in legends take stronger root as time passes.

For children, fear is the same as an existing phenomenon.

Even if they no longer believe in the existence from the stories when they become adults, it remains true.

Because the fear and dread they felt as children remains true.

The winter butterfly,

Must have been a god that instilled fear in the young Margrave.

There was no way for humans to completely escape from the influence of folklore.

Likewise, the Margrave probably still held onto the fear he felt as a child.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Northern folktales, there are five of them. One of them was the Margrave's story. That's why the north was divided into five pieces."

Five stories.

Five gods.

Five zones.

Leandros blinked.

"Are you saying there are five such monsters? Why?"

"I don't know either. But there's something that occurs to me."

"What is it?"

"There are many stories in the north. So the people of each region might have summoned monsters from different stories specific to their regions."

"But why? For them, the monsters would have been poison. This can't be understood with normal logic."

I had questions about that part as well.

The north without people.

A snow plain where only bizarre entities and monsters wandered.

Working backward, there must have been people before these monsters existed.

The people were most likely used as sacrifices to summon these monsters.

Just like the merpeople of the south.

But for what reason?

Why was the north divided into five pieces?

The merpeople knew they were being offered as sacrifices, so it was impossible that the people here didn't know.

Then wouldn't there be a reason that made them accept the sacrifice?

"In my opinion, the north."

He recalled the villages.

Villages made of tents that could be moved at any time.

Fish frozen solid, caught who knows when.

Furniture and necessities that were sparse to the extreme.

Cheeks and hands stinging as if about to freeze.

That must have been the ordinary life of the northern residents.

"...The north is harsh. It's an environment where it's uncertain if people can properly live. Due to the cold, there are difficulties in supplying materials, and they can't properly manage villages. Naturally, people can't settle. Even if they cultivate crops, it would only be for one season in summer."

A life where starvation and frostbite became daily occurrences.

A life that couldn't be easily escaped.

What must the Margrave have thought there?

And what did his vassals think?

"Yurik did something to them."

"Are you certain?"

"It's clear."

Because Yurik was good at such things.

He would have dug a pit, searched for something to put in it, and then devised a plan to use it.

He could make as many excuses as he wanted.

Even if he had said that people needed to be sacrificed, in the end, everyone would have agreed.

"If a few sacrifice themselves so that everyone can live, anyone would make such a decision."

Of course, what awaited at the end were only monsters that exploited even the remaining people endlessly.

One couldn't blame the people who were deceived.

Only the person who planned this deserved to be condemned.

Silence fell in the bedroom for a moment.

Eventually, the first to speak was Leandros.

"What will you do? With the map, it shouldn't be too difficult to return immediately. If we can find a way out, that is."

Leandros was right.

Returning as it was would be the safest.

How long could they last in the north where five gods were prowling around?

Strictly speaking, the north was already a finished story.

So even if he intervened, there was little chance of change.

What could he do in a place that Yurik had swept through?

"..."

"Your Grace?"

"I was just thinking. Isn't our current state because Yurik thoroughly exploited the north?"

"Please continue."

No matter how much he thought about it, this was all he could do now.

"Conversely, I wonder if we could exploit Yurik in return."

Leandros's eyes widened.