CHAPTER 12
From early morning, the staff of Silentium were bustling about.
Today was the day the Crown Prince—and his friend, the King and Queen of the Kingdom of Pantreon—would arrive.
Rosnelli went with Natasha to the main gate of Silentium, standing at the path leading toward the central hall. All the employees of Silentium were gathered there, waiting to receive the royal guests.
Before long, a luxurious imperial carriage entered through the gates of Silentium. Behind it came carriages carrying ministers, followed by their escort knights dismounting from their horses.
And soon, a massive, extravagant imperial carriage came to a stop in front of Rosnelli.
The escort knights dismounted and opened the carriage door of the Crown Prince. Leonhardt slowly stepped out.
The employees of Silentium knelt in reverence. Rosnelli also immediately performed a formal greeting, lifting her skirt slightly and bowing deeply.
“You may raise your head.”
At Leonhardt’s words, Rosnelli straightened and looked up.
“It is an honor to welcome the great Crown Prince of Robea. Please enjoy your stay here at Silentium de Rose. We will serve Your Highness with utmost sincerity.”
Leonhardt looked down at her.
She was smiling politely—the kind of professional smile used in business.
She looks well.
Leonhardt raised one eyebrow slightly—his habitual expression when something displeased him. But Rosnelli paid no attention to his change in expression and remained perfectly courteous, treating him purely as a guest.
He then looked away and scanned the grand exterior of Silentium.
It was vastly different from Robean architecture. The building was enormous and majestic—so much so that one might mistake it for a castle or a temple.
So this was the place she had risked everything for—enough to demand a divorce, enough to change her entire life overnight.
“It is even larger than I expected.”
“It’s not exactly a neighborhood bathhouse, is it?”
“A neighborhood bathhouse?”
“Ah, right. A world without bathhouses in every neighborhood.”
From behind Leonhardt, the ministers also looked around in amazement at Silentium’s unusual architecture. Unlike Robea’s stone and marble buildings, this structure was made of wood.
Leonhardt began walking, then suddenly stopped and turned around.
Why wasn’t Rosnelli personally guiding him? Why was she standing behind, like a staff escorting another guest?
When he looked back, he saw her already greeting another set of VIPs—the King and Queen of Pantreon—with perfect courtesy.
A polished, professional, businesslike smile.
“Your Majesties of Pantreon, I hope your journey was not uncomfortable. We are honored by your visit to Silentium de Rose.”
Without thinking, Leonhardt muttered to himself:
“She’s good at talking.”
“Your Highness?”
“Nothing.”
His expression remained deeply displeased.
Terius, observing from a distance, immediately understood his mood. Even without words, it was obvious—anyone would notice the sharp, piercing glare.
The Queen smiled brightly and spoke first.
“What a beautiful place. I wondered who could have created such a place like this, and it turns out it was Lady Rosnelli. As expected, a beautiful person creates beautiful things. It is said that beauty remains even in the place one has stayed, and I see that it is true.”
Terius added smoothly,
“As my wife says, those words are quite right. Surely, someone who once stayed here must be longing for it, eagerly awaiting the day they can return?”
Rosnelli, however, did not understand what they were implying. She simply smiled her “capitalist customer service smile.”
Honestly, she had no idea what they were talking about—but they were important guests, so she smiled anyway.
At that moment, Leonhardt cleared his throat lightly, as if to announce his presence.
“Shouldn’t the guide be the owner herself?”
“Ah, yes. I will personally guide you.”
“Then would it not be better for you to begin immediately, Rosnelli?”
The ministers all turned toward Leonhardt.
Their faintly raised lips suggested amusement: Oh? Look at this?
Leonhardt quickly realized what he had done and corrected himself.
“I mean—I would like to begin the tour quickly. I am fatigued from travel.”
“I apologize for the delay. Let us proceed inside. I will guide you.”
If anyone was unaware of the situation, it was only Rosnelli.
She bowed politely and led the way. The staff opened the massive gates of Silentium.
Even though it was just the entrance, a strange warmth flowed out from within, causing Leonhardt to hesitate for a brief moment.
As if sensing it, Rosnelli stepped aside slightly, waiting for him to enter.
Then Leonhardt stepped inside.
Rosnelli smiled faintly and nodded.
At that moment, Leonhardt felt his chest tighten.
He suddenly understood—instinctively—that something had gone terribly wrong.
And once he had stepped inside, there was no turning back.
Rosnelli walked in front, explaining the facilities of the hot spring complex.
Behind her followed Leonhardt.
Behind him came the King and Queen of Pantreon.
And behind them, the ministers.
It looked almost like a long chain of people following one another.
As they moved from the main building toward the annex, Leonhardt saw a vast open hall with no doors, completely exposed to view.
He had assumed the structure was a single floor—but inside, it was completely different.
Instead of stacking floors upward, the design dug downward, creating the illusion that the first floor was also the second.
From the high-ceilinged main hall, a massive waterfall—part of the water system—flowed down into the underground level.
Below, people gathered casually wearing only white cloth loosely wrapped around their bodies.
Men and women mixed freely without any shame.
The ministers who saw it for the first time gasped in shock and quickly covered their eyes.
“Good heavens!”
“W-What are those women doing?!”
“Men and women together like that?! And dressed like that?!”
“Your Majesty, look at those clothes!”
“Oh my… how avant-garde! It’s simple like flowing water, yet so beautiful!”
Leonhardt also turned to Rosnelli in shock.
“Is this… allowed?”
What kind of place are you running? his expression said.
For men of this era, even seeing a woman’s ankle was scandalous—so seeing this was enough to shock them.
Rosnelli herself normally wore tunics, but since today was a formal visit by the Crown Prince, she had dressed more conservatively by local standards.
To her, they were fully covered—far from indecent. But to them, it was outrageous.
Rosnelli then began her explanation calmly, still wearing her professional smile.
“This is a place for rest. We prohibit all restrictive clothing that interferes with breathing and comfort. Everyone is provided with garments in the form of chitons or tunics. The way they are wrapped and tied determines the shape, allowing the body to feel free.”
The Queen of Pantreon clapped her hands in delight.
“Oh my! Then you don’t even wear undergarments inside?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You are truly revolutionary, Lady Rosnelli.”
“Thank you.”
Unlike the enthusiastic royal couple, Leonhardt still looked unconvinced.
“…So you also wear those tunic-like cloths?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“…This is the end of civilization.”
“You wouldn’t say that after trying it.”
“…You’re saying I have to wear it too?”
“Of course. When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
“Rome? Where is that?”
Rosnelli ignored the question and continued walking.
She explained that the male and female baths were separated, and that unauthorized entry would result in immediate removal—quite violently.
“Does that mean anyone can use it if they pay? Nobles, servants, commoners—everyone?”
“Yes. And of course, with additional payment, private services are available. That is the annex.”
Here, everyone is equal before the hot spring.
Rosnelli spoke as if she were a priestess of a sacred temple.
Everyone has the right to heal. Everyone has the right to rest.
