The place Dunker followed Third Princess Schnellia to was her lodging.
The count's house had handed over one entire large mansion for the Lionheart Knight Order to stay in for the duration of the expedition.
As though to flaunt its wealth, it was filled with antique high-class ornaments and framed paintings.
The princess's room was in a corner of the topmost floor.
Snap. The escort knights fell into line before the door.
"Come in."
"Without even an attendant? For me to go into Your Highness's private chambers alone is a little......"
"Shut your mouth and come in. However frail and soft a frog you may be, you will not be harmed without reason."
Dunker had been worried about the prospect of a man entering a lady's room alone, but on reflection it was needless anxiety.
Schnellia was an aura-using swordsman. Her attainment was that of a Sword Master, no less.
One swing of her fist and every bone in the body of an ordinary man like Dunker would be pulverized. A difference in sex meant nothing whatsoever.
'My own safety is the one at risk here?'
The very fact that her escort knights had sent Dunker in alone with her without a shred of concern said as much.
He had to worry about being erased without a trace for ruffling a Sword Master's temper.
"Your Highness, I have just recalled some urgent business. If you would send for me again outside at a later......"
"What was that? I did not hear you."
Clack. Schnellia shut the door and locked it.
She spun a half-turn to face Dunker. Long black hair that reached her waist swayed, glinting with candlelight.
'Needlessly good hair.'
Dunker cleared his throat and spoke.
"Ah, is this about payment for the potions? Since it is Your Highness and no one else, a thirty percent discount event......"
"Hush."
Without warning, Schnellia's long index finger came to rest on Dunker's lips.
Her voice dropped half a tone.
"What is spoken from here on is not to leave this room."
A chill ran down Dunker's spine.
Ah, so that's it. Political maneuvering.
There were the rumors that a noble hostile to the imperial court died a suspicious death in every territory the Third Princess visited during her expedition.
She calls you in like this, checks whether you're on our side or the enemy's, and the moment something displeases her, "So you're the enemy, then?" and she cuts you down.
And she was in fact fiddling with the scabbard at her waist.
'I had better answer this one carefully.'
Dunker tensed and offered his respects.
"A doctor never divulges a patient's medical matters to outsiders. I promise it on my honor."
"A promise of words alone means nothing. This one does not want that kind of empty talk."
It was a somewhat deflating answer. Partly because the Third Princess's voice was half air, so frail it seemed it might scatter on the wind and vanish.
And partly because, to look at her, she was slight, and seemed only a woman of that age.
'Think of an aura user as the same kind of human and you are in serious trouble.'
Dunker recited it to himself.
The only aura users who received the people's respect were knights.
An aura user with no affiliation was most likely a violent adventurer or an outlaw. In most cases they were a menace to ordinary homes.
The territory itself had suffered damage from a band of aura-using brigands before.
Having treated knights recently, Dunker had come to feel the difference in their innate physical durability.
The Third Princess before him was a master strong enough to command an imperial knight order at that age.
'Never defy an absolute superior. That is the wise attitude for preserving one's life.'
Take, for instance, a hairdresser holding a razor.
Even if they butcher your hair, you must answer without fail that you like it. It is not easy to ask for hair that has already been cut to be fixed.
Schnellia brought something out of the wardrobe. Blackmail material? Dunker's suspicion vanished at once.
"A carrier pigeon?"
"Correct."
A pure white pigeon sat obediently on Schnellia's arm.
"However well trained carrier pigeons are, this is the first time I have seen one this docile."
"Yes."
A brief silence passed.
What was her intent?
'If there is a reason she brought me here specifically to show me this.'
Dunker cast a skill internally.
'Diagnose.'
[Pigeon / Female, 26 months]
[Damage to right scapula and soft tissue]
So this was what she wanted to show him.
Having entrusted him with the knight order, perhaps she meant to test his ability as a doctor.
"It cannot fly."
"You can tell?"
"May I handle it for a moment."
Dunker pressed gently near the right wing. When his fingers compressed a particular spot, the pigeon shook its head and jolted upward.
"The wing is not broken. The ligament that moves the shoulder blade has been damaged."
"Does that mean you can cure it?"
"I am not a veterinarian, so I cannot promise. But I can try."
"......Is that true?"
Schnellia's eyes, fixed straight on him, glittered. Dunker, momentarily overwhelmed by the atmosphere, slowly nodded.
"Yes."
"Then I will ask it of you."
Dunker sat at the table and secured the pigeon with cord. It had no strength and offered no resistance.
'Fasciculation response on compression of the scapular contusion site. Soft tissue damage, then.'
The scapula, the wing bone that humans have as well, plays the important role of anchoring the shoulder and holding the center of balance at the upper back.
"How does it look?"
"In human terms, it is a shoulder injury."
"Do you mean it was hurt from flying too much?"
"The opposite. Most joint problems arise from not moving. Or."
Dunker pressed lightly on the wing joint.
The feathers quivered.
"From an external impact."
He put pressure between the humerus and the scapula. The pigeon shuddered and beat its wings hard.
"Got it. There is something inside. A needle...... a dart?"
Having identified the cause, Dunker nodded with confidence.
"I need a thin blade."
"Will this suffice?"
Shk. Before he knew it, a small dagger that looked like a concealed weapon was thrust out in front of Dunker.
'I thought it was flying at my throat.'
Dunker had flinched slightly. He took the dagger.
"It will do."
Dunker brought his fingertips to the pigeon and adjusted the dagger's angle with his other hand.
His expression turned serious in an instant.
At the air that suddenly poured off him, Schnellia found her gaze fixed on him without meaning to.
'Incision site, five millimeters.'
Slice.
Swift and sharp. The dagger's tip made a precise local incision into exactly the part required. It was so small you could not tell anything had been cut.
When he pressed with a finger, something popped out of the gap. The end of a fragment, roughly two millimeters, was exposed.
Dunker did not miss it. He took out small tweezers in place of forceps and gripped the fragment, which was barely visible at all.
Out! He drew it up in one motion.
The pigeon twitched its wings.
"Is that...... a thorn?"
"It appears to be a hunting dart."
Tok. The hunting dart Dunker dropped landed on the table. It was about four centimeters long.
"So this was lodged in it."
"I have heard they shoot darts like this to hunt birds in the north. It must have been struck while carrying a message."
He disinfected the wound lightly and finished by wrapping it in bandage.
When Dunker released it, the pigeon flapped hard, beating its wings with vigor. It hopped lightly into the air and landed on Schnellia's arm.
"It flies well."
"The dart was wedged between the muscle tissue, so it could not spread the wing because of the pain. Inflammation will remain, but leave it be for about two weeks and it will be fully healed."
"Hm."
Schnellia gazed steadily at the pigeon.
The sight raised a question in Dunker.
"But a single carrier pigeon is hardly something for Your Highness to trouble yourself over, is it? Surely the unit has enough carrier pigeons."
"Our eyes met."
"Your eyes?"
"Yes."
Schnellia looked for a long while into the pigeon's small eyes.
She was a princess with a sensibility that was hard to understand.
Dunker nodded.
"And is there some reason the matter of a carrier pigeon must be kept secret from outsiders?"
"A broken carrier pigeon is normally disposed of."
"Well, yes."
In an age with no adequate means of long-distance communication, carrier pigeons were a widely used consumable.
"How would it look if word got out that I, Third Princess of the Empire and commander of the Lionheart, did not keep to the rules?"
"You are exacting. Someone of Your Highness's standing could issue any order at all and everyone would simply accept it."
"This one must be perfect. Not only with the sword. In all things."
Schnellia looked at the large full-length mirror hanging on the wall.
A pure white uniform, neat and without a single wrinkle. Bangs cut to a knife-straight line.
She did not look in the slightest like someone who had spent a year traveling the Empire at the front line of the battlefield.
She stroked the pigeon and opened the window.
"Go."
Schnellia extended her arm out the window.
But the carrier pigeon on her arm only stayed where it was, staring blankly back at her.
"I said go."
"I think it has taken a liking to Your Highness."
"That would be a problem."
"Even a lowly creature knows the benefactor who saved its life, does it not?"
"That was not my intention."
Schnellia looked at the pigeon a moment longer, then turned her head toward Dunker.
"Dunker Grimwald. What should be done with this carrier pigeon?"
"Surely it would be fine to keep one bird. It suits Your Highness's attire, as well."
"It suits me?"
"Of course. It is a fantastical sight, like mist-clouds scattered across the sky with the first light of dawn."
Dunker had not the slightest confidence in his aesthetic sense, but he had decided to flatter her for now.
Schnellia seemed to like the answer, and let out a light snort.
Click. She walked over to Dunker, seated at the table, and bent at the waist.
"Young Master Grimwald."
Her black hair slid from her shoulders like an avalanche.
"About your compensation for the treatment."
Oh, money talk.
The more the better.
Dunker smacked his lips.
"I will make you one proposal."
"Yes?"
"When the dungeon subjugation is over."
But the sentence that came out of Schnellia's mouth missed Dunker's expectations entirely.
"Come to the imperial court. Become my subject. As a Physician."
CRASH. Dunker's heart shattered.
'What is she talking about?'
I have graciously taken you as my subject, so be grateful. Was that the meaning?
He had naturally assumed money would be discussed.
He had forgotten that he was dealing with imperial blood. Their premises were different. The mindset was that being favored by me is itself an honor and a glory.
No, perhaps the problem was that the one he was dealing with was Schnellia.
Oblivious to his feelings, Schnellia tapped his chin lightly upward with her index finger.
"I need the finest Physician. You will stand in that place."
Dunker was flustered by the unexpected proposal.
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Would the finest Physician not be the imperial physician? Or is it called Chief Grand Physician? That is a power-holder who can handle even the four Tower Masters as he pleases."
"You know it precisely."
"How would I ever reach a position like that?"
It was an entirely natural question.
For an instant.
An illusion arose of waves surging in Schnellia's blue eyes.
And she answered as though it were obvious.
"Because by then I will be Emperor."
At her declaration.
'Damn it. I've gotten myself caught in something.'
Dunker broke into a cold sweat inwardly.
[Forgotten Journal]
If you mean to explore the wreckage of the fallen Empire, you will already have passed through countless trials.
Hordes of monsters consumed by the Outer God's Seeds, minions, perhaps even an Apostle.
You are surely a master of martial arts who wields aura, or a mage who has reached considerable heights.
Your reason for setting foot in this land is clear.
In the old imperial court of the Empire, which has hidden countless secrets, mountains of treasure and gold coin still sleep, along with vast forgotten knowledge.
You may have overcome all manner of crises until now, but let me warn you plainly: the old imperial territory is a place where careless entry means facing certain death.
It is no different from a dungeon risen to the surface. There is no former glory left in an imperial palace stained with the black excrement of monsters and minions.
Stop your breathing.
Kill your footsteps.
If you encounter something, get out of its line of sight and pray it does not find you.
You must never fight.
Look into the abyss and you fall into the abyss.
However strong you may be, however high-tier the magic you command.
If "that thing" finds you, it will pursue you until your life is spent.
And an aura of darkness you cannot even resist will fall upon you in an instant.
That thing is a doomsday weapon in human form.
That thing takes the form of a woman with pitch-black hair and red eyes.
And it moves to annihilate every living creature within its sight.
That thing is a weapon of war that the Empire's imperial court once believed, without a shred of doubt, was under their control.
The imperial court was foolish.
The bird they had shut in a cage became a calamity that raised a typhoon with a single beat of its wings.
And the Empire fell, sunk in the arrogance of mistaking that it could steer that thing.
Please do not repeat the same mistake.
Lastly.
If you should hear a voice whispering, "How do I look to you?"
Do not resist. Pray.
That at the very least its blade pierces your heart in a single stroke.
Page 21.
—A Guide for Adventurers Traveling the Imperial Ruins
[A page of fate begins to be rewritten.]