Chapter 21: The End of a Thousand Years

What awaited me after surviving the New Year was the preparation for the Founding Festival.

There was a mountain of things to do, but since the officials of our nation were highly competent, there was little room for me to intervene.

Or rather, whenever I did intervene, the results were rarely good. So basically, all I had to do was go through the documents brought to me, ask questions if anything stood out, and then sign them.

As a result, most of my work revolved around handling letters and keeping track of which nobles would be attending.

Among nobles, all are considered equal in principle. Whether a lowly count or a great duke, as long as they are part of the "lords," my father—or I as his representative—must serve as their table partner.

If I responded to everyone with dictated letters, it would be fine, but if I handled some with my own handwriting and others through a scribe, I would end up insulting the pride of certain nobles.

That’s why I have to write heartfelt letters to each and every one of them.

Still, it’s a golden opportunity to show the world that "Princess Roselia is officially confirmed as the next head of House Budoudarl," so there’s no room to slack off.

That said, even on a family-by-family basis, the number of invited guests easily exceeds a hundred.

It’s a letter-writing hell.

By the way, barons are to be responded to via a scribe.

Barons are treated more like prominent knightly families, or at most, nobles who are not part of the “lords” class, so their status drops significantly.

So, the basic class hierarchy in this world, from highest to lowest, is: Duke, Count, Baron, Knight, Commoner (which includes freemen and serfs).

There are exceptions—titles like Archduke, Margrave, or Marquis—but since they’re rare, it’s better not to overthink them.

“Ahh...!!”

I let out a cry as I stretched.

My stiff muscles loosened, sending a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

“Princess, perhaps it is time for a short break?”

“Hmm, I’m almost done though...”

“Pushing yourself too hard will affect your health. Your schedule has plenty of room...”

Managing my health and schedule is Delawear’s job.

Normally, I would follow her advice. But I really am almost done...

“In that case, how about inspecting your dress for the social events?”

Taking work away from a workaholic princess means giving her different work instead.

...Or at least, that’s probably her line of thinking.

“Very well. Please summon the tailor.”

“They’re already standing by.”

...So well-prepared.

Less than five minutes after I set the letters aside, the tailor arrived.

“How is it, Princess? Any tightness or places that restrict movement?”

“U-Um... it might be a bit tight... around the chest.”

I answered somewhat gloomily.

Right now, I was trying on one of the dresses the tailor had brought.

It was for the Founding Festival.

The purpose this time was to check the size and design.

From this process, they’ll consider designs that suit me, incorporate political messaging, and create a custom-made dress. It’s like the pre-preliminary stage.

“Oh my... I thought I brought a slightly larger size.”

The tailor hummed thoughtfully while poking around my chest.

Growth itself might be something to celebrate, but as someone who used to be a man, it’s deeply complicated.

Moments like this forcibly remind me that I’m a woman.

And that alone is enough to make me feel down.

I wish I had been born a man...

I’d rather be the one doing the groping than be groped. I’d rather be the one thrusting than being thrust into.

No matter how much I brood over it, my small and weak little thing will never become a proper one.

No matter how hard I try, I’ll never be able to get a woman pregnant.

...It makes me want to cry.

“At this rate, in another six months, it may grow even larger. Let’s make the dress with some extra room. Now, how about the design?”

“I... feel like the back is a bit too exposed.”

I looked at my back reflected in the three-panel mirror, feeling slightly embarrassed.

A beautiful rose was drawn on my pale back.

It was a tattoo.

In this world, there is a culture among nobles of tattooing their bodies.

This ties into how they acquire magical power.

As I’ve explained before, magical power is gained by consuming miasma stones extracted from the bodies of magical beasts.

The more you consume, the stronger your magic becomes.

This process takes place during the growth period—roughly between the ages of three and eighteen.

Outside of that window, your magic won’t increase.

The issue lies in the method of intake. These days, the common approach is to inject it directly into the body using a needle, like a shot.

The miasma stone is crushed and mixed with various substances to create a compound solution, which is then injected.

Oral consumption makes it harder to control the dosage.

Since magical particles are highly toxic to living beings, overdosing can cause serious health issues—or in the worst case, death.

With oral intake, there’s a delay as it’s absorbed through the digestive tract, the toxicity is filtered out, and the effects are diminished. It also irritates the stomach.

That’s why injecting it directly into the body is considered safer and more efficient.

Well, it’s the same logic as injecting morphine or anesthetics (or narcotics).

That said, while it spares your stomach, it’s bad for your skin.

It leaves behind sketchy-looking injection marks.

That’s... not a good look.

So, to cover them up, people get tattoos.

And once you’ve gone to the trouble of getting a tattoo, you naturally want to show it off.

That’s probably why women often wear dresses with boldly exposed backs—to flaunt the tattoos inked there.

Until now, I was still a child, and my tattoo wasn’t finished, so I hadn’t shown my back.

But now that I’ve taken on the role of co-ruler, it’s time to bare it.

As a side note, possibly because of this custom, back fetishism—specifically for back tattoos—seems to be a major kink in this world.

If your tattoo and back are beautiful, you’ll be popular, apparently.

That might be normal here, but to me, it feels like a deviant fetish.

I already hate having tattoos carved into me, and now I have to expose them too? It’s depressing.

“However, without this level of exposure, we won’t be able to showcase your beautiful magic seal,” said the tailor.

“A lovely magic seal is a testament to your divine presence and remarkable endurance, Princess. Hiding it would be a waste,” Delawear added right after.

What embarrasses me isn’t baring my back—it’s showing this tattoo. But that part doesn’t seem to be getting across.

In this world, tattoos aren’t shameful.

On the contrary, they’re seen as proof of bravery and strong mental fortitude—worthy of praise.

That’s because having the magic seal engraved hurts like hell.

Probably due to the miasma stone being toxic.

It’s like having habanero paste rubbed into an open wound, or hundreds of lit cigarettes pressed into your skin.

And the more miasma stone you use, the worse it gets.

So, the fact that your tattoo turned out beautifully means you stayed still and endured the pain—proof of incredible grit. And a massive magic reserve is also a sign of perseverance.

If your magic capacity is low, you’ll be mocked as weak-willed—like Count Couranbell.

Which means I have to endure this torture for another six years, until I’m eighteen.

Carving tattoos into the backs of teenage girls after torturing them... that’s not just child abuse—it’s way beyond that.

I mean, it’s a bit late to complain now, but still...

“If you cover it poorly, people may start speculating,” Delawear said.

“...You’re right.”

People might assume the hidden area is actually ugly or messed up.

That would make all that torture pointless. In the end, I had no choice but to agree to bare my back and tattoo.

“Do you have any preferences?” the tailor asked.

“No, not really. I’ll leave it to your judgment.”

After that, I was made to try on dress after dress, paraded in front of various people, and subjected to all sorts of opinions...

In the end, I ended up with a rather revealing gown.

“The princess has a mature look and aura beyond her age, so something like this suits her better,” the tailor had said.

Honestly, I was embarrassed—but the atmosphere didn’t allow for saying no.

Not being able to wear what you want, and being forced to wear what you don’t want—what a pain.

Thus, my dress fitting came to an end. Next up was Delawear’s turn.

“Ohh… it suits you well. Just as I imagined.”

“You seem happier than when you were looking at your own dress.”

Delawear gave me a snarky comment as I clapped my hands in delight.

That said, it seems she liked it too. Rarely for her, a smile crept across her face.

What she was wearing was, so to speak, a maid outfit.

Fantasy settings often bring the image of maids to mind—but unfortunately, this world didn’t have anything resembling maid uniforms.

So, what do the servants wear? Dresses. Apparently, everyone dresses up however they like.

I used to envy the idea of having the freedom to choose your own outfit, but it turns out this isn’t such a happy situation for the servants themselves.

First, they have to buy the dresses themselves. That’s a financial burden. Clothing expenses are included in their wages, but in recent years, prices have been rising while salaries haven’t kept up. Unlike Japan, wages here aren’t frequently adjusted.

Second, selecting designs and materials is hard. As servants of a ducal household, they can’t wear shabby dresses. This demands a sense of fashion—not that everyone has one. Plus, there’s the unspoken rule that you must not outshine your superiors. It’s apparently a source of workplace tension.

Third, choosing dresses for social events becomes an added problem. Naturally, you’re expected to wear something a class above on such occasions. This issue stacks with the previous two.

What is this… like that “freedom of dress code for job hunting (which isn’t actually free)” nonsense? Just hearing about it makes me itchy.

I mean, no matter what you wear—or whether you’re naked—it doesn’t affect your job performance. Worrying about this kind of stuff feels downright stupid.

Honestly, why not just introduce uniforms?

I decided to float the idea to my father, not expecting much.

I say “not expecting much” because not just my father, but most people in this world are pretty conservative.

Creating something new might fly, but trying to change existing rules or customs usually faces heavy resistance—even if it makes perfect sense.

Yet surprisingly, my idea passed without a hitch.

Apparently, the line in my proposal—“By establishing a dress code, excessive luxury will be curbed,” and “Designs will vary based on position, making rank immediately visible”—struck a chord with my father.

The two things people in this world love most are, first, tradition, and second, order.

My father had already been concerned that “the female staff’s fashion has been getting too unruly.” (Too flashy, in other words.)

As a man, he hesitated to say anything—but here I was, a woman, offering a concrete solution. It was like a gift falling into his lap.

Well… I am a man on the inside, but anyway.

Still, an abrupt and complete change would face backlash. And there are surely people who want to enjoy fashion freely.

So we decided to limit the standardization to formal occasions like social events.

Uniforms will be mandatory for social events, but outside of that, it’s up to the individual whether to wear their issued uniform or their own dress.

By the way, this round of uniform distribution doesn’t include the men. That’s because most of their outfits already look more or less the same.

Apparently, the whole clothing headache is a uniquely female problem.

“Please show me your back as well. Ooh...!”

The design was black and white. From the front, it looked neat and modest, a classic maid’s outfit—but the back was boldly exposed.

On that white back was a beautiful floral tattoo—most likely nasturtium.

Seeing it made me think: when it’s someone else’s... it’s kind of sexy. That thought slipped in, and now I might be joining the ranks of perverts.

For reference, the open-back design is reserved for women of knightly rank like Delawear and Sheik—those who possess magic and have tattoos on their backs. Lower-ranking commoner servants wear more modest clothing.

Also, ribbon color varies depending on rank.

Delawear’s ribbon is purple, but Sheik will be issued a red one.

“I shall continue to serve with utmost effort, worthy of this dress.”

Delawear offered me her thanks with a satisfied expression.

It seemed she was the type who didn’t want to think too much about dresses. Unexpected... or rather, not really.

The dress fittings were done, but that didn’t mean things had settled down.

Preparing for the Founding Festival was important, but there was still regular work to handle as well—mainly, legal trials.

The city of Budoubell has a large population, and its languages, cultures, and interests are all tangled together. Naturally, the number of lawsuits is high too.

And while I was dealing with that, replies to my letters began to arrive.

I had to check their contents, and depending on what was written, I might need to write back again.

“...‘I look forward to the day we dance,’ huh.”

Letting out a sigh, I finished reading the letter from Thor-kun.

I didn’t mind dancing with him, per se—but the thought of him seeing the magic seal on my back filled me with dread.

We're both about the age of a first-year middle schooler, and—well, if a girl I liked in class had a serious tattoo carved into her back, how would I feel?

If it were me, I’d probably be freaked out.

Then again, if he complimented it, I don’t think I’d be happy either. My magic seal is a source of insecurity for me. I’d probably just feel embarrassed.

“Princess… you seem troubled.”

“Huh? Ah, yeah… I suppose I am.”

Delawear spoke up, and I reflexively folded the letter.

It’s not like it was anything I’d be ashamed to be seen reading, but...

“About tomorrow… how would you feel about taking the day off? Your schedule has some flexibility, and rest is important. More importantly, tomorrow is your birthday.”

“My birthday…? Ah, right. It is.”

On the Western Continent, birthdays aren’t treated as particularly special occasions. There are no presents, no parties.

It’s simply a day when people offer you a “congratulations.”

“Still, for only me to rest…”

“We take turns with our days off. Besides, if the princess doesn’t take a break, the staff beneath you can’t rest either. Most importantly, unlike the rest of us, Your Highness only has one body. Please take care of it.”

“Ah... right…”

I’d been thoroughly defeated by her logic.

---

"Happy birthday, Princess."

"Congratulations!"

Early the next morning, before sunrise and just after finishing breakfast, I was greeted with birthday wishes from all my attendants, including Delawear.

I’ve always been the type who doesn’t really care about birthdays, but when people take the time to celebrate, I can’t help but feel happy—and think, Ah, I’ve grown a bit.

So now that I’m thirteen, the real question is: how do I spend the day?

My hobbies include reading (ancient texts, the diaries of past dukes, administrative documents full of old decrees and precedents), writing (translating ancient or foreign books, keeping a diary, compiling a personal dictionary), and studying languages (currently, I’ve been working on Garzaarth). But if I do any of that, Delawear gets upset and says, “Please don’t spend your day off working or studying.”

If I argue, even Blanche shows up to scold me. So all of those hobbies are off-limits.

Not even being able to enjoy your own hobbies… being a noble is truly stifling.

Which means I’m left with only one option.

"Princess, how do you like the view? You can see all of Budoubell City from here."

"It’s beautiful. Let’s stay here, then."

We had climbed a small mountain just outside Budoubell City, to a viewing platform at the top.

From there, I could see the snow-dusted ground, marble buildings, the emerald-green sea, and countless ships floating in the harbor.

Just as the sun was rising, the sea lit up with a shimmering brilliance.

…It’s beautiful.

While I admired the view, the servants brought over a chair, a canvas, and paints.

As you’ve probably figured out, the only hobby I’m allowed is painting.

In this world, realistic landscape painting doesn’t really exist. Maybe it does somewhere, but I’ve never seen it.

And while I do have the skill to paint this kind of scenery (well, I wouldn’t say it’s praise-worthy…), I thought, why not preserve this view—one that may vanish in the future—as a painting?

Now, the reason realistic landscape painting doesn’t exist here isn’t just due to lack of technique. More than that, I think it’s because there’s simply no demand.

Here, “art” usually refers to either family crests or magical tattoos—mana inscriptions.

What matters most in those is not intricate, precise imagery, but symbols simple enough that even a layperson can immediately recognize them.

A goat and a pinecone staff—that’s the crest of House Budoudarl. And next to it, the rose symbol indicates the family’s eldest daughter. So if you see a carriage flying that flag, you can assume Princess Roselia is riding in it… something like that. Even if you’ve never seen her, you can guess.

Art is a form of “play” that grows from practical needs; it doesn’t just come from nowhere. That’s why no one thinks to paint realistic scenes, and why the skill never develops.

So when someone does try, the result tends to be flat, with muddled perspective and no depth—just a mess.

On the other hand, magical tattoos, which are highly functional, deserve genuine praise. I’d say their quality rivals—even surpasses—Japanese irezumi.

As for portraits… I’d call them passable. Not bad, not amazing. There’s some demand for them—for arranged marriages or wanted posters, for example.

"I’m going to take a short break."

When the sun was directly overhead, I set down my brush.

I’d finished the linework. All that remained was the coloring.

As I sipped the hot wine the servants prepared, Delawear leaned over to peek at my painting.

"…You’re very skilled, Princess. It’s a shame you don’t display your work."
"With something this odd… who knows what kind of rumors it might spark."

My paintings are kind of like one of those street performances that make people go, “I don’t really get what I’m looking at, but it seems impressive.”

Even if you don’t understand the technique, you can still tell it’s cool. You might even toss them a tip. But honestly? You’re not that interested. Seeing it once is enough. And then you wonder, “Why’d you even learn to do that? What’s the point?” …It falls into that category.

My father, Delawear, and Blanche all praise my work. But how the other nobles might react—I have no idea.

Either way, someone like me—someone with social influence—would never receive an objective evaluation of her art.

So I just keep them in my private room.

I’m kind of hoping that, someday, a future historian will say, “Princess Roselia wasn’t just highly educated—she had real artistic talent too. A brilliant, beautiful girl!” or something like that.

Let me be summoned as a Caster-class, please.

After my break, I returned to painting and began coloring.

Of course, you need pigments for that—but the paints in this world aren’t nearly as vibrant as the ones in modern Japan.

Green, in particular, was a nightmare to create.

Making a vivid green artificially is actually really hard.

And even when you can, it usually involves things like arsenic… and I’d rather not poison myself. I want to live a long life.

Fortunately, cobalt blue does exist here, and I managed to mix it with zinc to create cobalt green.

Father seems to want to use cobalt green–dyed silk as part of some diplomatic strategy, but… will that really work?

Feels like the color will fade super easily.

I painted the sea, then the buildings… and before I realized it, evening had arrived.

The sea, bathed in the sunset, glowed gold.

…Maybe I should’ve painted that instead. I kind of regret not doing so.

"…It’s beautiful."

There are many things I hate, many things I’d rather not face.

Even so, I love this nation—the Principality of Budoudarl.

"The view my forefather Burks once saw… must have looked nothing like this, I imagine."

A long time ago—what is now called the Classical Era—

There existed a vast, powerful empire that ruled over the entirety of three continents—West, East, and South. It was known as the Unified Empire.

My forefather was a descendant of its founder, a noble who held a seat in the Senate.

But he lost in the political power struggle and was exiled to this land—Budoubell City—which was little more than undeveloped frontier at the time.

According to historical records, it was just a small settlement with a fishing port.

Had he truly wished, he could’ve returned to the mainland.

But he chose to remain here, and dedicated himself to the growth of Budoubell.

By the time he passed away, the tiny village had grown into a modest town.

"Even a thousand years ago… I doubt the beauty of the sea and sunset was any different."

"Hehe, that’s probably true."

A thousand years have passed since then.

The fall of the Unified Empire five hundred years ago.

The three hundred years of darkness that followed.

Then, two hundred years ago, the rise of Emperor Kartema.

And after his death, the fragmentation of the empire.

The founding of a kingdom.

The civil war within the empire.

We changed our names, endured humiliation, spun schemes and strategies, all to protect this land and our bloodline.

And now, I am here.

"In my generation… the rule of Budoubell by his bloodline will come to an end."

In this world, family trees are drawn through the paternal line.

What matters is the father. The mother is seen as little more than the vessel that bears the child.

Children do not inherit the mother’s surname—they take the father’s.

No matter how noble my lineage may be… it means nothing.

That is the custom. That is the rule of this world.

The husband’s name is what’s recorded.

The husband’s lineage is what continues.

Unless I marry a male from a cadet branch of my own family, my children will no longer be Burks.

Of course, the cadet branch does exist…

But now that the main line is at an end, it won’t last long.

It will dwindle, fade, and disappear into history.

Just like the bloodline of Emperor Kartema—diminished and weakened with each generation.

The thousand-year history that began with Burks here in Budoubell City ends with me.

I will be the one to end it.

No—that’s not quite right. I am the one who will end it.

I will bring to a close a thousand years of tradition and legacy.

I am the final echo of that millennium.

"…Princess."

Delawear must have thought I was troubled by the fact that I was born a woman.

She stepped forward, trying to comfort me—but I gently stopped her with my hand.

"Even so, I will pass on this land and its will to the next generation. That is my duty."

To protect this beautiful land, I would even vow myself to a devil.

That is the burden placed upon me, born as a woman.