Chapter 110 - Auction - 3

Late that night, in his room at the manor, Bera sat with his arms folded, glaring at the dagger on the table.

It was the shabby dagger he had won at the auction and brought back. He had bought it because it resonated with the energy that had settled within him after he consumed Aedrin’s fruit, but his expression was grim as he examined it now.

'It reacts, but...’

That was all it did: react. Aedrin’s energy within him merely resonated with the dagger, producing no other effect.

'... It’s the same even when I hold it.’

A faint vibration spread through him, but that was the extent of it. Neither prodding the energy with divine energy nor stimulating the dagger produced any response.

What in the world was this dagger?

If it resonated with Aedrin’s energy, it had to be connected to the ancient species. Yet he had no idea what that connection might be, and his frustration only grew.

A sigh escaped him, and a frown began to form. As he tapped the dagger with his forefinger, another approach occurred to him.

'... Ask someone who might know.’

If he could not figure it out himself, he could ask someone with the relevant knowledge. Fortunately, he knew someone who was extremely knowledgeable about blades.

'Master Dovan.’

It was late now. He would have to seek him out as soon as the sun rose tomorrow.

* * *

“For a start, it wasn’t made for practical use.”

Dovan spoke as he examined the dagger. Turning it this way and that, he continued, his eyes intent.

“I don’t know its precise purpose, but it was probably used for ceremony or ritual offerings. Do you see the angle of the curve here? Usually, a curve this sharp throws off the balance and quickly damages the edge. It would be difficult to use even for butchering, let alone combat.”

Bera nodded at Dovan’s explanation and examined the dagger alongside him.

“Can you tell how old it is? Even a rough idea of the period when it was used?”

“No. How well iron objects survive depends on how they’re stored. I can’t tell from a single blade like this.”

Dovan scraped the blade’s surface with a fingernail, dislodging a little of the thick rust.

“I heard it was found in canyon ruins at the western edge. Considering that the ruins there were built at least two thousand years ago... we can at least say it was made a four-digit number of years ago.”

An object from at least twenty centuries ago.

Bera’s expression darkened.

“... There won’t be any proper records, then.”

“Indeed. If it’s from the Age of the Gods, even finding reference material will be difficult.”

A fallen age.

Since the dagger came from the era called the Age of the Gods, whose records had now almost entirely vanished, few people would know anything about it.

If he had to name someone who might know, it would be an elf—a member of the only race from that age that had not died out. Friede in particular, perhaps, but...

'... Going to the Great Forest is out of the question.’

Retracing their journey for this one dagger would be far too inefficient.

While Bera was still thinking, Dovan noticed his downcast expression and continued.

“Well, if you’re determined to find documents about it, I think it would be worth visiting Telon Academy’s scholarly institute. The scholars there ought to know something.”

“The scholarly institute?”

“There are plenty of eccentrics there, aren’t there? I understand some of them study the civilization of the Age of the Gods.”

Bera’s eyes lit up. Dovan’s words had reminded him of something.

'Miller.’

The shaman Miller, and the grimoire he had recovered, The Dream Demons’ Whispers.

'That was definitely from the Age of the Gods, too.’

It concerned a race from that fallen era, and Miller had clearly said the academy was studying it.

'If I visit the researchers...’

Might he learn something?

It was not just the dagger’s origins he wanted to know about. Fingering the short dagger at his waist, Bera continued thinking.

'... Life Devourer.’

The dagger he had retrieved from Gilli, imbued with the Demon King’s power. There might be people who knew about this object as well.

“Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

“Not at all.”

Dovan waved away his thanks and returned the dagger, then broached another subject with Bera, whose expression had brightened somewhat.

“... I hear you’ve been teaching Aisha lately.”

“Ah, yes.”

“How is she doing? Is she keeping up with the lessons?”

There was a hint of worry in his words.

Was this what it meant to be a parent?

For some reason, seeing Dovan show such concern despite not being her biological parent warmed Bera inside. He answered in a gentle tone.

“She’s exceptionally talented. If she keeps growing at this rate, she may become one of the Holy Empire’s finest holy knights.”

“Ho ho! Is that so? That’s wonderful news. Mm, whatever else you might say about Aisha, she’s certainly quick on her feet, isn’t she? She’s been so nimble since she was little that once she started causing trouble, she’d turn the whole smithy upside down...”

His face suddenly brightening, Dovan began to chatter. He was boasting about Aisha, his words brimming with unmistakable joy and affection.

Bera quietly nodded and offered words of agreement, a small smile on his lips.

* * *

Late that afternoon, in the manor’s backyard, Bera was once again sparring with Aisha as part of her training.

“Guh!”

“Your sword’s path is obvious. Sloppy. If you want to attack quickly, abandon those pathetic feints. If you want to deceive your opponent, focus entirely on that. You’re being greedy, trying to do both, and that leaves your swordplay neither one nor the other.”

Aisha’s face twisted into a scowl at Bera’s indifferent words.

Seeing her exaggerated pout, he folded his arms and continued mockingly.

“Don’t like it? Try hitting me.”

It was an undisguised provocation. Aisha’s eyes narrowed sharply.

TAP-TAP!

Aisha charged. Bera turned slightly, hooked her foot, and tripped her.

“Guh!”

“Better than last time. Yes, you’re too dim to use deceptive swordplay, so focus on speed like that.”

Aisha trembled with rage.

“... Old fart.”

She spat the words angrily, apparently attempting a taunt of her own.

Naturally, that was never going to work on Bera.

“Little shit.”

He taunted her right back. Her face turning scarlet, Aisha charged again.

“Yaaaaah... Gah?!”

And went flying again.

Bera snorted as he watched her flail and right herself in midair.

“If you’re going to taunt someone, observe them carefully and say something that can shake their composure.”

Landing safely, Aisha began racking her brain at Bera’s words.

Something that would catch him off guard. Something that would let her land a punch on that insufferable face.

She recalled what Renée’s attendant had called Bera while she was spending time with Renée the other day, and hesitantly spoke.

“Love... dunce?”

Bera flinched, then froze, his eyes widening. Somehow, he felt he knew what that meant—and why she had said it.

Had Renée been calling him a dunce behind his back? The thought abruptly shattered his composure, and Aisha’s eyes gleamed when she saw it.

She had thrown out the words without even knowing what they meant. Seeing Bera so visibly flustered filled her with delight.

Without missing her chance, Aisha charged again. Flustered, Bera belatedly adjusted his stance.

Grinning, she hurled another insult at him as he raised his hand.

“Totally clueless!”

Bera’s face clouded.

Aisha thrust out her fist. Thinking, 'Did the Saintess truly say such things?’ Bera swept his arm around and tossed her clean over.

“Gaaah!!!”

As she flew into the air yet again, Aisha swore inwardly.

'It didn’t work!’

He had told her to catch him off guard with a taunt, and she had done just that. The fact that it had not worked at all infuriated her.

Of course, Bera had no way of knowing this. He was busy feeling an ache inside as dejection welled up in him.

* * *

Four more days passed.

Today was the day of Albrecht’s coming-of-age ceremony and ball.

As Renée was being made up and dressed in ceremonial robes for the blessing at that evening’s ceremony, a strange feeling suddenly arose within her.

'A ball...’

Born a farmer’s daughter on a rural estate, she had never dared imagine attending such an occasion.

'I really am going somewhere like that.’ The thought felt strangely unfamiliar. It also made her nervous.

Not about the ceremony or all the eyes that would turn toward her. She had grown accustomed to those things throughout her time in the Holy Empire; there was no reason to be nervous about them now.

Rather, she was nervous about wearing a dress for the first time in her life. What if it did not suit her?

What if Bera did not like her in a dress? The thought sent her stomach fluttering.

'... No.’

Renée made an effort to suppress the anxieties rising as her thoughts continued.

'Lady Mari said it was pretty.’

Annie, Hella, and the other novice priests had said so too. Even Aisha, who had never shown the slightest interest in dressing up, had told her she looked pretty.

Showing so little confidence would only be an insult to them.

“Just the veil, and we’re finished. Saintess, could you lift your head for a moment?”

Annie’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Renée raised her head slightly.

She felt a very thin fabric settle softly over her head. The veil covered the back of her head completely and fell forward to partly obscure her eyes. Feeling somewhat confined, she asked in a slightly petulant voice,

“Do I really have to wear this too?”

“Well, it is a formal occasion...”

“They’ll all see my face once I change into the dress anyway.”

“It’s about the atmosphere. When people hear ‘the Saintess’s blessing,’ they tend to imagine something mysterious. Nobles in particular go crazy for that sort of thing.”

Annie’s hands kept moving busily, smoothing and adjusting the fabric even as she spoke.

“Besides, this can be a weapon too.”

“A weapon?”

“Against Sir Bera.”

Renée flinched.

At the mention of Bera, her face warmed slightly. Before she knew it, she had leaned toward Annie, betraying just how closely she was listening.

She had seen firsthand how effective Annie’s advice had been on their previous date.

Annie giggled at her reaction and offered another piece of advice.

“Imagine how surprised Sir Bera will be when you go from being all bundled up like this to suddenly wearing a dress that shows off your figure! The greater the contrast, the greater the effect. Men are susceptible to visual stimulation.”

Renée pressed her lips tightly together. The mention of showing off her figure had made her stiffen with nerves when Annie continued,

“And then, if you sway a little and lean against Sir Bera!!!”

A sly grin spread across Annie’s face.

“Game over. You remember, don’t you? You need to emphasize your collarbones and the nape of your neck. Look delicate! Create the kind of mood that makes him want to protect you and hold you!”

The longer she spoke, the more her characteristic energetic inflection crept into her voice.

“And then, one little drink...!”

“No alcohol!”

Renée cried out in alarm. Feeling her face flush with embarrassment of a different sort than before, she stammered out an excuse.

“I-I’m still underage, so alcohol... yes. No alcohol.”

A parade of mortifying memories had ambushed her without warning, leaving her scrambling for words. Annie smacked her lips in disappointment.

“Oh, right. That’s a shame. Then we’ll do it without alcohol.”

Renée nodded rapidly in agreement.

“I-I can do this...!”

Aloud, she offered herself encouragement.

'Nape, collarbones, pretend to fall over!’

In her head, she kept repeating Annie’s words as though she had received the teachings of a sage.

This was the final engagement of their long, long stay in the Empire. Renée was steeling herself, determined to make a major move at this ball.