Chapter 63 - Old Ways Carried On (1)

A city enclosed by walls. Sturma.

Its master, Peter Bayezid, was stroking his chin as he looked at the fine suit of armor before him.

"According to Lord Joseph's report, Sir Lamund has arrived in Soara. He says Sir Lamund seems to have taken an interest in the squire there."

"I see."

Remembering the first time the knight Lamund had returned to Sturma, Peter nodded.

Lamund, who had been a knight of the previous Family Head, was not a man even Peter could treat lightly.

And yet a man like that had seen the state of the squires here, sighed, and left, so even Peter had been left with a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Should I say we at least saved some face... or should I lament that this is all we can manage?"

Ragmus held his tongue as he watched Peter's gaze grow sharper by the moment.

Bayezid had originally been a family with a knack not only for raising knights, but promising squires as well.

Lamund, who had supposedly left with a sigh, was someone who had started as a squire in those days and gone on to become a knight, so seeing the current squires' level must have made him feel as though the old Bayezid he knew had crumbled.

The Bayezid he had seen would not have been like this.

"Have the times not changed?"

"Even if the times have changed, there are things that must not."

It could have been dismissed as nothing more than an old man's grumbling, but Lamund's stinging advice had clearly struck a chord with Peter as well.

"It seems I have neglected the North's promising talents too much."

Because he had expanded recruitment from outside, the quality of the knights had risen, but the level of the squires themselves had been falling.

That also meant Bayezid's own color was fading, so it was certainly something Peter needed to think about.

"..."

Armor gleaming in the sunlight.

Peter's contemplative gaze naturally turned toward it.

It was armor sent by San Rosino, the northern diocese.

The short letter that had come with the armor explained the circumstances behind sending it and included the name of a familiar boy.

"He must have made quite an impression."

"He even received recognition from an outside source like San Rosino. There is nothing that lends credibility quite like corroboration, is there?"

Peter nodded at Ragmus's words.

The holy knights of San Rosino, and even the choice of Sir Lamund, a knight from the old era.

"We should send it to Soara."

"Yes."

Thankfully, Bayezid's old tradition was still being carried on.

Watching that, Peter was greatly relieved, though he did not show it.

Because Sturma's sturdy walls had been built up together with traditions like those.

* * *

"Ugh..."

Vlad opened his eyes on the bed with a pained groan.

At the faint headache that still lingered, Vlad's brow furrowed on its own.

"How did I get here?"

Judging by the damp towel draped over his forehead, someone seemed to have nursed him while he was unconscious.

'I got into it with an old man I didn't like...'

Vlad sat up on the bed with a grimace and tried to recall what had happened yesterday.

His memories were broken in places as if he had been drunk, but there were still vivid impressions that surfaced in Vlad's mind.

A shining forehead.

A forehead that had glittered and sparkled, yet possessed vicious power.

"... I can't believe that worked."

People said the world was wide and full of strange people, but experiencing it himself made him laugh in disbelief.

The old man's forehead, reinforced with aura, had been so hard that it would have been better to crash into a wall.

"You can use it like that too?"

["A person's talent reveals itself in many forms."]

Since the voice did not say it had watched to the end, it seemed even the voice had never seen something like that before.

Or perhaps it had been in its memories and it had simply forgotten.

"... Well, I guess if he could do that much, it makes sense he's still treated well."

["That is true. He is surely someone you can learn from."]

Vlad quietly nodded at the voice's words.

The old man would not easily tell him his name or identity, but Vlad could make a rough guess from context.

An old knight of Bayezid.

And now someone who had retired and wandered from place to place.

It was probably some kind of rite only knights could perform, but as Vlad was still only a squire, it was hard for him to guess exactly what the man was doing.

"What are you muttering to yourself about?"

"... Knock before you come in."

No sooner had Vlad come to his senses and gotten out of bed than someone roughly opened the door and came in.

It was a girl who was already short, and because she was carrying a heap of clothes, even her face could barely be seen.

"I'd knock if I had a hand to knock with."

Zemina irritably dumped the armful of clothes she was holding onto the bed.

They were all clothes Vlad had been wearing.

"If you left them alone, I would have washed them myself. Why are you meddling?"

"Guest, this is all part of the service our inn provides."

Zemina looked up at Vlad with a fierce smile that tried to seem friendly.

For some reason, Zemina's teeth looked especially white today, and the boy found them ominous for no reason.

"After all, our guest is an honored guest staying on the expensive fourth floor. This much is something we should naturally do for you."

"..."

Vlad knew that what Zemina was saying now was not simply a joke.

Rose's Smiles, practically Marcella's other self, was being transformed by her will from a brothel into an inn.

At the crossroads in life created by Jorge's absence, Marcella was doing her utmost to survive.

"I don't have that kind of money yet."

"She said you're free. Just having you here helps."

Marcella gave the boy a comfortable place to rest, and the boy lent Marcella the value of his name.

"Will I be enough by myself?"

"That's for Marcella to decide."

As someone who had watched conflicts between organizations for a long time, Vlad worried whether he alone could restrain them, but in Marcella's eyes, it was more than enough.

Because he was a talent protected by the mayor of Soara and the second son of the Bayezid Family, so even if nowhere else, within this city, the weight of his name would be more than sufficient.

"Come to the dining room. Marcella said she prepared lunch."

Zemina, who had been leaving the room as if she were busy, turned back with an oops expression and held out her hand to Vlad.

"I almost forgot this. Take it, Sir Knight."

"I told you I'm not a knight yet. Don't go around saying that kind of..."

Vlad had been about to say something to Zemina, but when he saw the handkerchief she was handing him, he closed his mouth.

It was a handkerchief made of luxurious silk, with someone's name embroidered on it in gold thread.

"As far as I can see, you are definitely Lady Alicia's knight."

"This... couldn't be helped."

Vlad wanted to explain in detail if he could, but when he saw Zemina's forced smile, he stopped talking.

There was a time for everything, and this was not the situation to clear up a misunderstanding.

"Looks like it was worth cutting your hair and sending you off with a sword. You've really made it in life."

"I am grateful for that..."

SLAM!

Watching Zemina leave and shut the door before he could finish speaking, Vlad raised both hands and shrugged.

"... I always have been."

Vlad scratched the back of his head as he looked at the door the girl had left through.

Zemina probably did not know that Lady Alicia was the baroness of Deirmar, or that the handkerchief he had received had been given through complicated political calculations.

Perhaps even if she did know, her reaction now might not have changed.

"She even ironed them."

Remembering the devotion the girl had shown him on that cold winter day, Vlad looked at the clothes placed on the bed.

Over the clothes sent by the noble lady, the touch of the red-haired girl felt warm.

"..."

As Vlad changed into the clothes Zemina had brought him, he did not pull his head out for a long while.

The feeling of the fabric against his body was different, but the warmth the girl gave him was no different from before.

It was good that I came back.

Thinking that, Vlad pulled his head through.

* * *

"I said I'm sorry."

"..."

"I'll buy you one. A decent-looking one."

"There are things in this world that money cannot buy..."

Vlad sat at the table where Jorge had always eaten breakfast, spooning up soup.

But even though he was eating the soup of Marcella's that he had longed for, the boy could not easily smooth out his expression.

The ruined leather armor he was deliberately wearing, as if staging a protest, made the boy look that way.

"I liked this armor."

"... That's right. It was fine armor."

The old man, fully understanding the boy's feelings, merely stirred the soup before him.

The leather armor the Bayezid Family gave only to promising squires was, just as the boy had said, something that could not be replaced with money.

The old man himself still vividly remembered the emotion he had felt when he received that armor in his youth.

"Then come with me to city hall later."

"Why?"

The old man wanted to hurl the bowl of soup he had been eating at the boy's curt reply, but he held himself back.

It was true that he had picked the fight first, he had failed to properly control his strength and injured the boy, and on top of that, he had even burst Bayezid's armor, so it could be said that his sins were great.

"You need to show the young master your usefulness again, don't you? Do you think your evaluation will recover after you made a mess right after finishing one week of confinement?"

Vlad, who had been grumbling, began to fall into thought after hearing the old man's words.

Certainly, there would be no better way to raise a fallen evaluation than to bring in results.

Besides, judging by how respectful Joseph was toward the old man, even if Vlad followed his words, Joseph would likely say he did well, not that he had done poorly.

"So do one job with me. I'll write you up generously in the report."

"What kind of job?"

"If I ask Jager or that bastard Vordan, they'll probably give us at least one."

"... Would you like me to cut your bread?"

Seeing the boy instinctively grasp when to back down and when to step forward, the old man was left speechless.

"But why did you do that back then?"

"When?"

"... Just cut the bread."

Looking at the boy, who widened his eyes as if he had no idea what the old man meant, the old man merely clicked his tongue.

'He won't be easy to handle.'

Thinking of the trouble Joseph would suffer because of this boy, who was even cunning on top of everything else, the old man felt pity for him.

"But you still have to pay for the armor you burst."

"..."

However, since the person currently holding that cunning boy in his hands was himself, the old man had to pay the price for it.

* * *

Because of his confinement order, Vlad could not bring himself to enter city hall and instead found a place at the stable outside.

"Is your body all right?"

"It got better after I rested a bit."

"You were groaning so much on the way here that I was worried."

There, Got, who had now become Soara's stable keeper, welcomed Vlad.

"How are you holding up?"

"What's there to complain about? They give me plenty of money, plenty of food, and a good place to sleep. Besides, there should be a special bonus this time."

"... How much are you getting?"

At Vlad's question, Got wagged a finger and said,

"Even between us, that's not something you ask."

"You damn swindler."

At Got's words that he was getting paid well, irritation pointlessly surged up in Vlad.

Vlad's official status was that of a squire, and in the Bayezid Family, the position of squire was something like an assistant and trainee to knights.

In other words, aside from the occasional pocket money Joseph separately gave him, Vlad had never received anything like a salary.

"But you got all kinds of things, Boss. Armor and clothes and stuff."

"..."

However, just as Got said, Vlad did not really have anything to say.

The tangible and intangible support Oksana and Joseph had given the boy was of a value that could not be measured by mere gold coins.

Even the position of Sir Jager's squire alone was an opportunity some families might come carrying hundreds of gold coins to obtain.

"Has anything unusual happened lately?"

"How many days has it even been since I started here?"

Got, who had been brushing a horse's back as if the question was nothing special, checked that no one was around and then quickly turned his head to whisper in Vlad's ear.

"There is a rumor."

"... Really?"

The relationship between the two, like a crocodile and a plover, was still in effect.

The corners of Vlad's mouth began to rise as he listened to Got's whisper.

"They say the guards standing watch at night saw something strange."

"Tell me."

Got said it was an uncertain rumor, but there was clearly something familiar in what he was telling him.

"They say a pitch-black horse keeps staring at the city gate from far away. When they go closer to see what it is, it disappears before they know it."

"A horse?"

Vlad felt as if he knew why Got had whispered.

One scene he had seen in the fog-thick village began to come to mind.

"You said that headless man was riding something like a ghost horse back then."

"... He was."

A pitch-black horse watching Soara in the dark night.

And a horse so quick that even when they tried to check, they could not approach it.

Got's guess certainly had reason behind it.

"That might be it."

"Be careful. You're still under confinement."

Hearing Got's words, Vlad brushed off his seat and stood up.

"I am, but it looks like I'll be working anyway."

"Huh?"

"You get ready too."

"Huuuh?"

Vlad planted both hands on his hips and looked at the old man approaching from ahead.

The afternoon sunlight was shining on the old man's almost completely bald forehead.

"Let's go, you little bastard!"

"Call me by my name."

The old man was smiling, saying he had picked up a job.

On the paper the old man was gripping, a single pitch-black horse was drawn.

"Good for you. You'll get even more special bonus."

"No..."

Looking at the boy's mischievous expression, Got threw the brush he was holding into a bucket.

"I barely got any rest!"

"Same here."

Vlad, who had shattered Got's sweet rest, smiled brightly.

If he could not ride a horse, he could ride the person who drove one.

That was the decision the boy had made.