Reborn As A Maid

Chapter 159: Chapter 159 - Battle Between Enemies ( Part 5 )

Peace settled over Rosario like the soothing tide reclaiming its battered shore.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity—

No screams tore apart the air in the mountains.

No metals clashed.

No demon shrieks reverberated through the narrow valley.

Only the sounds of chirping birds returned to the mountains, timid at first, but gradually growing louder as the morning sun spread its golden light over the war-torn landscape. Slowly dissolving smoke revealed the village, heavily wounded but not falling down.

Broken walls looked like skeletal ribs in the sky.

Crumbled houses lay on the ground, in piles of smashed wood and broken rocks.

Burning earth stretched in sharp strips, in places where the flames danced its cruel dance.

But people survived.

It was this sole fact which made all sufferings bearable.

Jennie stood high on the hill from where one could look upon Rosario village, her crimson hair swaying in the cold morning wind. The air smelled of pine trees and of fresh earth, the smell of burying and rebirth.

In front of her there were two graves, next to each other under the huge cedar tree.

One was for Deressa.

The second one, built only hours ago, belonged to Luka Manjero.

The villagers honored his last wish with profound respect. They buried him next to his dear wife, under the same cedar tree, where they used to drink tea, in the days before everything had happened; on the same hill where each spring the white flowers would appear, as if scattered like stars across the emerald grass.

People worked in silent unison even now.

Former robbers carried heavy stones with the rough hands, once grasping stolen treasures.

Mercenaries inscribed names on the gravestones with the precision of countless battles.

Children wandered between graves, silently laying white flowers with the tender care of those who knew very well what the loss was.

No arguments arose.

Nobody gave orders.

All just knew what was needed to be done.

Roxy kneeled in front of the graves, her silver hair covering her head. She silently laid out her bouquet of mountain lilies between the two gravestones, their pale petals looked like the rays of the moon, fragrant as prayers.

"They’re together again," she whispered, her voice not more audible than the sound of the wind.

Snow stood behind her in his smaller form, his perfect white fur dancing in the wind. Even Divine Beast, usually so unrestrained, was silent, with lowered ears, showing respect.

"They earned their peace," Jennie said softly.

"They did," Snow replied without any mischievous note in his voice.

The village elder came limping towards them with the old trembling hands which held two wooden rings. Time had aged them, and fire had touched their surface, but they were still whole — symbols of love which had remained unchanged.

"We found these," he whispered, his voice sounding frail as autumn leaves. "They have survived the flames."

The rings of Luka and Deressa’s marriage. One had some scratches after years of hard work. The second ring was intact, being worn by loving hands which cared about others.

He put them side by side on the common grave, wood touching wood in an eternal embrace.

"No one should be left alone," he whispered.

And several villagers wiped tears from their cheeks.

A young boy stepped forward from the crowd. His innocent eyes asked a question which was bothering him since the end of the battle.

"... Was Chief Luka a robber?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of confusion.

Jennie’s face softened. She kneeled in front of the boy, looking at his innocent face with her crimson eyes.

"He was."

"But..."

"He saved everyone," Jennie continued gently. She pointed at the grave with her head, her voice filled with the quiet conviction of those who saw transformation.

"Men aren’t defined by what they were. People remember what they became."

The boy thought about it, trying to comprehend the truth which was much older than he was. Finally, he nodded slowly and the new light appeared in his eyes.

"I want to become like him."

Snow snorted softly from behind Jennie’s back.

"He’d say you shouldn’t do this."

Several villagers laughed amid the tears, which still clung to their eyes. It was the first time since the end of the battle when the gloomy atmosphere slowly changed into the warmth of memories.

Near the graves Tempest was planted into the soil, standing eternal guard over the dead. The Divine Sword silently raised above Luka and Deressa’s resting place, its blade reflecting the morning light with the mourning shine.

Gentle wind constantly circled the hill, as if the sword didn’t want to leave its master.

Jennie approached slowly and carefully. She put one hand on the handle of the sword, sensing the familiar flow of energy, emanating from it.

"You can stay," she offered quietly.

Tempest’s voice sounded in her mind, gentle and filled with the ancient grief.

"Just for today. I would like to say goodbye properly."

Jennie smiled sadly. "I understand."

Excalibur said from her side, her voice carrying the weight of the millennial existence.

"He was a worthy wielder."

Leviathan said .

"His heart never wavered. Not once."

Tempest’s voice softened even more, and the wind circling the sword turned into the caress.

"He never believed he deserved me." A pause. "That’s exactly why I chose him."

And later that day, in the center of Rosario, where formerly the battle cries echoed, the villagers gathered.

A big wooden monument was erected during the night, its surface shining from the varnishing and carved with hundreds of names. Names of those who died defending the village — former robbers, hunters, blacksmiths, farmers. Men and women who once were dismissed by the outside world as criminals, now became the heroes.

Village elder stepped forward, his old body somehow standing straighter than ever before. His voice echoed over the square.

"For many years," he started speaking, "the kingdoms called Rosario the Village of Bandits ."

Many lowered their heads. Some were burdened with the shame of the lives that they used to lead—the stealing hands, lying lips, broken trust.

The elder gave them a warm smile of understanding and experience gained. "They were not completely wrong."

Laughter spread among some people. Nervous at first and then became genuine.

"But," he continued and pointed to the hill on which Luka’s grave was located under the old cedar tree, "when darkness came, did bandits protect this village?"

Silence.

"No," he gave an answer to himself. "Heroes did."

Hope found fertile soil again.

The villagers started nodding, one by one raising their heads and looking towards the grave of their chief.

One of village kids raised a small wooden sword crudely carved by their own hands but holding it with fierce determination.

"Chief Luka protected everyone!" she cried out loudly.

"So did Miss Jennie!" – another kid joined in.

"And Miss Roxy!" – a third one added.

"And Mister Snow!" – a fourth one made Mister Divine Beast puffed with pride.

Voices started filling the square, dozens of them. The atmosphere changed completely—from despair to determination, from grief to gratitude.

That evening when the sun was going down behind the western mountain peaks, representatives of neighboring villages appeared. They knew about the battle. It was mentioned by travelers that had passed this place. They expected to see the ruins and dead bodies. Instead, they saw a village that was being resurrected, rebuilt by people with determination bordering on defiance.

One of travelers addressed the elder of the village and looked at him with the expression that could be described as "skeptical".

"Is this Rosario Village?" he asked doubtfully.

The elder smiled. And the smile of his was full of endings and beginnings at the same time.

"It was."

The traveler frowned. "...Was?"

The elder looked towards the hill on which the evening wind was playing with the branches of ancient cedar. Its white flowers were starting to close the petals to prepare for the night’s rest.

"Our village got a new name," the elder announced and everybody in the square was waiting for his words.

"Starting from today this place will be called the Village of the Storm’s Promise."

These words echoed through the valley and were carried by the constant wind.

Nobody objected.

Nobody disagreed.

Because everyone understood the deeper meaning of these words.

Promise of Luka that he will protect his home till his very last breath.

Promise of Deressa to live and smile even in spite of cruelty that she experienced.

Promise of Jennie to cover up with herself everyone that could not protect itself.

Promise of Tempest to honor the hearts of every worthy bearer.

All of a sudden, the warm breeze blew through the village. It was gentle, even tender. It smelled of cedar and wildflowers and something else – something that could be felt only.

The villagers smiled at each other, raising their faces to the wind.

"It feels like..." one of them whispered, "...Chief Luka is still watching over us."

Snow looked towards the sky with his golden eyes and a grin spread across wolfish features.

"He probably does," he whispered.

When the sunset painted the mountains with amber and rose colors, Jennie stood before Luka and Deressa’s grave for the last time.

She bowed her head, letting her crimson hair to fall down like a curtain of fire.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for showing me what it means to be strong."

And she stood silently for a long while, listening to the wind’s song.

And then she turned and walked away towards the village, her steps were sure and strong.

Behind her, the breeze raised the white lilies that were growing on the grave of these two people. And for a few moments it seemed that the wind had materialized in something else—the silhouettes of a man and a woman were visible against the golden background of the sunset.

These people were standing and watching over the valley that they loved so much.

And then they disappeared, returning to the wind, the element from which everything comes and in which everything goes back.

From that day the travelers ceased to fear Rosario Village. On the contrary, they went there to listen to the legend about the former bandit who became the hero, about the gentle girl who was always smiling despite all the cruelty and suffering she was experiencing, about the promise that now was breathing in every breeze.

Generations later the story was known by children of western kingdoms by heart.

Not the legend of thieves.

The legend of the Village of the Storm’s Promise.

The wind is blowing through the valley.

Gentle.

Steady.

Eternal.

It carries the promise that will never fade.