“That’s exactly your problem, Claude. You ought to be more considerate of other people’s feelings. Imagine how heartbroken they must be, being compared to me. How could you say something so cruel when Alexander, the one they keep in front of the tavern, is so clever!”
“……”
“What’s with that face? Don’t tell me…”
Kyle, who had arbitrarily renamed Kiki—the dog kept in front of the tavern—Alexander, covered his mouth with one hand.
“Did I hit a sore spot? Ah, right. You’d need friends to go to a tavern in the first place… Sorry. Slip of the tongue. You’ll forgive me, won’t you, Claude?”
“It was my mistake for engaging with you.”
Apparently, this was simply how Kyle spoke to everyone.
As though thoroughly exhausted by yet another torrent of slander, Claude stepped aside without the slightest reluctance.
If Kyle had been born with an extraordinary gift for getting on people’s nerves, Claude possessed an equally impressive talent for ignoring nonsense altogether.
He strode toward Ian, who had been watching the exchange with an expression that made it clear he could not care less about whatever was being babbled behind him.
“I received a report yesterday that there had been a minor misunderstanding with some of our knights.”
It had not seemed particularly minor, though neither was it serious enough to call major.
Ian, who did not especially care either way, gave a perfunctory nod after a moment.
He had no intention of making an issue of it. Ostracizing anyone who failed to fit into a group was probably the same in any age.
“It was something I should have paid attention to.”
A lie.
There was no possible way Claude had been unaware of Fred’s antics when they had caused such a commotion for over a week.
Ian took the words for mere lip service and was about to nod again when Claude continued.
“To be honest, I didn’t.”
“……”
Is he bragging about it?
It was difficult to tell whether Claude was trying to provoke him or simply being brutally honest.
Under Ian’s silent stare, Claude continued without so much as a change in expression.
“If you wish for the knights involved to be punished, say so. I will include everyone—from the instigator to those who merely stood by and watched.”
He looked ready to convene a trial on the spot if Ian so much as nodded.
Ian could not understand why Claude had suddenly appeared after an entire week only to say this.
Still, the answer to the question Claude had posed was simple.
Ian slowly raised one arm.
Claude’s gaze followed the movement.
“……”
For a moment, Claude fell silent as Ian pointed at him with one finger.
There was only one possible reason to point at Claude when asked whom he wanted punished.
Claude’s neatly shaped brows rose slightly.
Only for a moment.
He had found it strange to hear that Ian, after going through all the trouble of entering the knights, was allowing himself to be pushed around by the likes of Fred.
He’s got some nerve.
Recalling the Ian he had seen during the procession, Claude slowly opened his mouth.
“…Very well. I will include myself as well.”
He, too, had been a bystander.
If punishment was to be handed down, then it had to be fair.
Seeing Claude accept that without excuse or protest, Ian lowered his hand and remained silent.
He now had a rough idea of what kind of person Claude was.
Swallowing a sigh, Ian shook his head.
He was not a child, and he had no interest in running to others to tattle.
He waved a hand as if to say it was unnecessary, then turned away.
There seemed little chance of meeting that man by remaining here.
Since that had been his sole reason for joining the knights in the first place, staying any longer felt pointless.
Ignoring Shu, who was staring blankly in his direction, Ian started toward the entrance.
He had just decided it would be better to return to his room.
“Ian.”
Looking back, Ian should have run then.
Without asking anything else.
Without trying to learn anything.
If he had simply fled, refusing to look back at the man he had killed, perhaps this time he might have reached the peaceful death he had wanted.
As for the memories he had lost, he could have simply glimpsed them in fragments during the final flashes before death.
But Ian knew none of that.
At the sound of that stiff, distinctly articulated voice, he turned around without hesitation.
For the briefest moment, several unreadable emotions flickered across Claude’s otherwise impassive face.
“The Commander wishes to see you.”
It was a condolence.
“Welcome!”
Ian stepped into the neatly arranged room and blinked as the man before him sprang to his feet.
The man extended a hand the instant their eyes met.
He was exceptionally tall, even among the people here, where men and women alike tended to be well-built regardless of age.
He has to be well over two meters.
Ian was hardly short himself, yet for some reason, he often found himself having to look up at people in this place.
Thinking that the man’s booming voice suited his enormous frame perfectly, Ian accepted the offered hand.
A hearty laugh immediately followed.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
The man shook his hand with such enthusiasm that Ian briefly wondered whether his arm might be torn from its socket.
Rather than resist, he simply let his arm be jostled until the man finally released him.
“Ah, my apologies.”
It was rare to encounter such a friendly gaze among people who usually greeted Ian with outright hostility.
There was not the slightest hint of malice in the man’s broad smile.
Wide shoulders.
Closely cropped hair.
Dense, taut muscle standing out against dark skin.
That alone made for an imposing sight, but something else drew Ian’s attention far more strongly.
It looked as though some enormous beast had raked its claws across the man’s entire face.
Ian slowly studied him.
A black eyepatch covered his right eye.
He tilted his head slightly.
A bear?
For scars spaced that widely apart, the animal responsible would have had to be at least that large.
The wounds were clearly old. New flesh had long since grown over them, leaving only pale scars behind.
Even so, they made for a terrifying first impression—enough to send a child bursting into tears.
“I injured my arm during the last expedition. The wound refused to heal even after treatment. Because of that, I was away from the knights for quite some time. Claude worked hard, but… there must have been matters he simply couldn’t attend to.”
“I apologize.”
“No. You were carrying my duties on top of your own. The fault was mine for being careless.”
Claude, standing behind Ian, answered as though he had been waiting for the opportunity.
The man waved dismissively and shook his head.
There had apparently been a risk of further infection, which meant that for several weeks he had been unable to meet anyone besides the physician and the Grand Duke.
Knowing that Vice-Captain Claude had been forced to take on his responsibilities as well, the man shook his head again.
Then, as though suddenly remembering something, he turned toward Ian.
“I’ve left my guest standing. Please, have a seat.”
At his invitation, Ian walked over to what appeared to be the guest chair.
Only then did he realize someone was already seated across from it.
The commander’s presence had been so overwhelming that Ian had failed to notice anyone else in the room.
As he sat down, he glanced up.
A pair of neat fingers lifted a teacup.
It was Aily.
Unlike the last time Ian had seen her, she was dressed neatly and sipping tea with perfect composure.
“……”
Wasn’t she the head of the handmaidens?
Perhaps sensing Ian’s stare as he confirmed that her chin-length brown hair was no longer drenched in blood, Aily glanced toward him.
Her expression was strangely complicated.
“We meet again.”
Ian had no way of knowing it, but this was the very Aily who had wagered three months’ salary that he would not last even a week.
Fortunately, she had only made the bet in her own head.
Otherwise, she would now have lost three full months of precious, hard-earned wages.
For Aily, to whom money ranked first, second, and thirty-fifth among the most important things in life, the mere thought was enough to stop her heart.
She really needed to cure herself of her inability to resist a wager.
But if it had been that easy to cure, it would never have become a problem in the first place.
Who could possibly have predicted that a royal would wash clothes in a fountain?
And for an entire week, at that?
Reflecting on the foolishness of judging him by his soft, delicate appearance, Aily broke into a cold sweat without realizing it and raised the corners of her mouth.
Ian gave no particular reaction to her clean, professional smile.
“By the way, Kyle, I don’t recall calling for you as well.”