A Date.

A date.

“My apologies. It’s been a while since I’ve ridden horseback…”

“I—I’ll go fetch us something to eat!”

Volmo butted in all at once, a cry half out of consideration for the lady, half out of sheer instinct to flee this awkward scene.

He shot the castle lord a look that said you two look at the scenery quietly and set the mood, and rose from his seat.

Volmo scouted the village and, finding no alternative, headed for the same inn as before.

The only place in this rat-hole village that looks like it sells food is there.

There was no chance the central-kingdom lot would still be inside, but he couldn’t help the tension.

Glancing about like a mouse, he slipped into the inn. Mercifully, they seemed to have already left.

Well, of course they would have.

《Excuse me, I’d like to buy some food. Have you anything like white bread or cheese?》

《Yes, one moment.》

The innkeeper soon wrapped some food into a paper bundle. There was no white bread or cheese, but Volmo managed to buy some black bread and a little dried fruit.

《Er, I’m with the castle lord’s party that came by earlier — might I put it on credit…》

“I’ll pay for it.”

A voice came from behind him.

Volmo whirled around with a start. One of Flower’s servants from before had approached and was handing a coin to the innkeeper.

Damn it, they haven’t left yet.

“You’re not from around here.”

From behind the servant, a man emerged, pressing an ice-pack to his face, and stepped forward.

Flower. The cur of a husband to Lady Sebinya Gobir. A man with no sense of decency.

“…What’s it to you?”

“I heard a little something about you. You — they call you Volmo, do they?”

“No, not that kind of volmo — it’s just my name — no, well, that’s also true, but…”

“What is that in your breast pocket?”

Volmo flinched and reflexively pressed a hand over his inside pocket.

Inside was a scrap of purple cloth. Better to keep it on his person than to leave it lying around in the room he shared with Jack, so he had brought it along without much thought.

When this man with no sense of decency had started spouting on about ruining the north, the object in his pocket had sprung suddenly to mind, and Volmo had slipped his hand inside to fiddle with it.

A defensive instinct, unconscious.

But it had backfired. Flower, sharp-eyed if nothing else, had noticed the something in Volmo’s pocket. No — he had gone further, and concluded that this pitiful half-blood youth was sending him a distress signal.

“There’s something in there, isn’t there?”

“That… is a misunderstanding.”

“You…”

Flower laid a hand on Volmo’s face, pressing hard on his eyelids, and peered into his eyes the way one inspects livestock at auction.

“Mixed blood, indeed.”

Volmo squeezed his eyes shut. His sense of class and the codes of propriety were firmly rooted in him, but even he could not quite conceal the instinctive revulsion.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but you’d do well to get out, and quickly. What exactly do you think you’re going to become by sticking it out in a place like this?”

The man bent his eyes into a broad smile. Had his face not been so swollen and puffed up, it would have been a charismatic one.

With an aristocratic flourish, he pointed at the inside pocket of Volmo’s coat.

“Out with whatever you’ve hidden in there. If it should prove useful to me, I’ll see you rewarded.”

He spoke with the kind, condescending tone of an adult cajoling a child.

“…Rewarded, you say.”

Flower smiled as if he had known this was coming, and went on.

“If you help me, I’ll see to it that you get out of this filthy little backwater. No — you’ll come back with me right now.”

“To the central kingdom?”

“Just so. Not merely go back — I’ll see that our house formally considers taking you on as a knight.”

The man grinned, convinced it was a staggering offer.

“I’ll give you a new name, and a handsome salary besides. Things you’ll never grasp in this lifetime if you let my hand slip now. You’re a bastard, aren’t you?”

Volmo clenched his fist tight, unable to answer.

An insufferable man. And yet he could not quite get the word of refusal out of his mouth…

What Flower had said was true. For a half-blood bastard like himself, a real position was a dream perched up among the clouds. If not for a “chance” like this one.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons he harbored fantasies about the stories of knights and princesses. Out of reach — the stuff of fairy tales, literally.

“…That is so.”

“Then what on earth is there to deliberate over?”

Flower spoke as one exasperated at a man holding back such an obvious answer.

…If I just give up this little scrap of cloth, I can get out of this place.

So Volmo thought.

Leave the north, go to the central kingdom. The moment the thought crossed his mind, all the hardships he had suffered here flickered past like a lantern-wheel.

The bedrooms of the north were cold, and the sheets rough.

The friend he shared a bedroom with was good, though.

The northern wind was chill, and sunlight scarce.

Gathering with everyone in the kitchen to steal, no, to share, some soup warmed one up, though.

The women of the north were, to a one, great big things with filthy mouths.

Pointlessly strong, laughing heartily, teasing him without any sense of ladylike decorum…

If he took that insufferable man’s hand, he could bid farewell to all of that.

If he took that insufferable man’s hand, just once, he himself could become a real knight.

To serve a pretty princess,

to follow a valiant master,

to mingle with loyal comrades—

Wait, that…

The strength went out of Volmo’s tightly clenched fist.

…Am I not doing all of that already?

He finally swallowed the stiff saliva in his throat and lifted his head. An upright resolve shone in his eyes, and Flower smiled smugly, as if he had been certain it would go this way.

“Have you decided?”

“Yes.”

“Then—”

“My apologies, but I must decline.”

Volmo answered in a firm, if slightly trembling, voice.

“Oh ho.”

At the unexpected answer, the man made a sound like a balloon losing air. Like a small puncture opening in that enormous ego of his.

“And why is that?”

“I have a promise I made to the castle lord.”

Volmo held his gaze steady and slowly backed away.

“What position did that barbarian promise you? Even a prime minister in a place like this would be less honorable than sweeping floors for me down south.”

“It isn’t that kind of promise.”

“Money, then?”

Pushing the object in his pocket deeper in, the half-blood bastard answered.

“Language — I promised to teach the castle lord the southern tongue.”

He rubbed his sweaty palms against the seat of his trousers.

“So, my apologies, but I cannot go with you just now.”

“Well, all right. Giving private lessons. That’s important work. These folks do need to learn some civilization, as it happens.”

Flower smiled with a good-natured sort of face.

“Which means — there really is something important in your pocket.”

Oh no.

Sensing the threat instinctively, Volmo seized the wooden chair at his side and hurled it.

“Lord Flower!”

“Whuh…!”

Thud. A heavy sound shook the air.

The piece of furniture, flung without aim, had struck nothing at all and lay on the floor.

Thanks to that, the honorable Lord Flower was not harmed so much as a hair on his head; but his face flushed scarlet with fury in an instant.

“You… ungrateful wretch!”

At that, as if on signal, his four servants drew their swords.

Volmo hurriedly checked on the innkeeper. Mercifully, the man had scurried back into the kitchen and bolted the door.

“This is why mongrels with beast-blood in them can’t find work!”

“Damn it…!”

Volmo, too, moved his hand to his waist and drew his sword.

One of Flower’s servants rushed in, blade leveled. The nimble chunk of steel sang whrrr through the air, but it wasn’t especially threatening.

The half-blood youth’s thick, single-edged northern sword swept upward from below and struck down the man’s thrust-blade.

The thin sword spun in two wide arcs before clattering to the floor.

Thankfully, these aren’t men who usually handle swords.

But there were five of them on that side. No, one was just a lump of lard, face flushed red, yelling at the others to hurry up and be done with it, so really four.

All I need to do is protect this and run.

Conscious of the purple cloth tucked in his pocket, he gripped the pocket of his coat tight. With his other hand he knocked aside another thrust coming at him.

Happily for him, the northern sword had the longer reach.

But it was a heavy sword for that very reason. As the rounds of the fight dragged on, the muscles of Volmo’s arm grew tired.

If I can just hold out a little longer, the castle lord might sense something’s wrong and come for me. Just until then…

He set his legs as wide as he could and reset his shoulder stance.

He had no hope of winning four against one on his own. But if he could just hold out a little, just a little longer, the castle lord might come.

For the first time in his life, he waited desperately for the King of Barbarians. Pouring strength once more into an arm that ached as if it would snap.

[19.]

Aspara and Gus, left behind on the walking path, were passing a very awkward stretch of time. Each for their own respective reasons.

Aspara was at a loss.

No romance novel she had ever read featured an ex-husband showing up to blast one with a confession.

To make matters worse, the kiss that was supposed to have been the day’s highlight had already come and gone, far too early.

Utterly lacking in romantic experience, she had sunk into deliberating what to do from here on, and how.

Gus, too, was at a loss.

His wife had just delivered a startling confession about the knight Jack.

In truth, he had been conscious of Jack for a very, very long time now.