Episode 12 – Fate (2)
“Whew, what a crazy trip this turned out to be.”
A cheerful man dropped his large backpack on the floor of a shabby inn room and stretched his arms as far as he could.
It was Darion.
“Who would’ve thought we’d run into a whole group of trolls on the way back from trading with the Border Count? Good thing I insisted on tagging along with you.”
He tossed his outer coat onto the table and sat down on the barely decent bed. Still smiling, he added:
“And running into the Tindalos Young Lord at the Mercenary Guild? That was lucky too. Still don’t know why he was there, though.”
Darion chuckled to himself, but when the hallway outside went completely silent, his smile faded.
“…So? What’s your impression of him? Seeing him up close.”
As if in answer to Darion’s quiet words, someone slipped silently in through the window.
They were wearing a black hood and a robe trimmed with black feathers.
Their voice was hard to place—neither clearly male nor female.
“…A monster.”
“Hah, you’re calling him that?”
“…He knew exactly where I was and what I was doing.”
“From that distance? Since when?”
“…Probably from the start. If he had wanted to, I’d be dead already.”
Darion scratched his head.
“Then why didn’t he kill you?”
“…The Border Count.”
“Ah, I see. Because I said I came with the Border Count, he didn’t want to embarrass him.”
Going after Darion would be the same as saying he didn’t trust the Border Count.
Darion sighed.
“Well, looks like I lost a round before we even started negotiating. That doesn’t happen often.”
“…The one the Meeting Hall spoke of—it’s him, isn’t it?”
“Looks that way. My stomach was already in knots talking to the Border Count, and now I meet another ‘monster’ right after. That’s too much for a regular guy like me.”
Darion rubbed his stomach as if in pain, then quickly returned to his easy-going smile.
“Still, I think it’ll work out. He didn’t seem like a bad person.”
“…A rash judgment.”
“Hey, people who know a lot about monster behavior aren’t usually bad guys. The only one I can really talk to about this stuff is the Guildmaster, and even that’s good enough to publish a paper at the Magic Tower!”
“…Weirdo.”
With that, the black-robed figure slipped out the window again.
Darion flopped back on the bed and stared at the old ceiling.
“I look forward to meeting him again.”
This time, his smile was genuine.
“Wait… I fought her for that reason?”
“Her? Young Master, that’s rude.”
“Sigh…”
Yesterday, we’d exchanged quick greetings and left it at that.
But this morning, while doing my usual dawn training, I suddenly thought of it and asked Emma—and got a shocking answer.
We’re the same age, our houses are allied, and from my sister’s reaction, they seem to know each other…
‘An argument over whose ancestor was stronger? That’s such a childish fight.’
‘…Shut up.’
‘Heh heh heh.’
Aris’s voice in my head was full of laughter.
“Should’ve never asked. Would’ve been better to just forget it.”
Thanks to Emma’s explanation, I vaguely remembered it now.
‘Damn it, that’s embarrassing.’
If Emma knew, then my sister and the Border Count probably knew too.
“It was when you were really little, so it’s understandable you forgot. The only other thing I remember is… Lady Rena really liked your sister.”
“My sister?”
“Yes. The Count lost his wife early, and Lady Rena’s an only child. I suppose that’s why.”
…Yeah, I think I get why she hates me.
‘I’ve been the biggest reason my sister’s suffered these past five years.’
When I saw her come to the training grounds this morning with the Count’s knights, I thought she wanted a sparring match.
But she just bowed politely and practiced with them instead.
Still…
“At least she doesn’t seem like the type to harm my sister or the twins. I can leave it alone.”
I don’t have the energy to worry about people outside my family right now.
“If she wants to dislike me, that’s her problem.”
“You’re the same age. Why not try being friends, Young Master?”
“…We’ll see.”
If it’s Emma asking, I can’t really say no.
But that side doesn’t seem interested at all, so what can I do?
When breakfast was ready, they came to fetch us.
At the table were the Border Count and my sister.
We ate quietly, exchanging only brief pleasantries.
“Did you say you inherited Sword Saint’s blade? Directly from him?”
Near the end of the meal, I took the chance to tell them my prepared story—minus anything about magic or Aris—so I could also ask my sister’s permission to attend the festival.
“I know it’s hard to believe. But as you know, Count, I didn’t inherit the sword from my father.”
“…True. The late Sword Saint was close to our family.”
“So who else could have passed the Tindalos sword to me? If you need proof, I can call in Hector.”
The Count studied me for a moment, then shook his head.
“No need. You have no reason to lie, and I’ve heard of others having sudden breakthroughs. Also…”
He glanced at my sister and gave her a polite bow.
“If Lady of Tindalos says so, even if it were a lie, the Chepelli family would believe it.”
His eyes were honest and resolute.
‘Doesn’t seem like he’s lying.’
‘Yeah, I thought the same.’
So this is what they mean by the “oldest, most steadfast ally.” Even with nothing left but our name, he still treats us like this.
“My thanks, Count Chepelli…”
Before I could stand to return the gratitude, my sister stopped me with a hand and bowed herself.
She wanted to thank him as the head of the family.
“And, Young Master,” she said with her usual calm voice and gentle smile—but there was a hint of unease in her expression.
“I’ve always wanted you to join us, but I can’t help feeling a little anxious. Please… always put your safety first.”
“I told you, I won’t make you worry.”
I tapped my chest confidently.
“I’m not so weak that I’d get beaten up anywhere.”
She chuckled softly.
In truth, I’m more worried about her. I intend to deal with anyone who’s been giving her a hard time—permanently.
“All right. Then let’s go together. And… I have something to give you. Come to my room tonight.”
“…Yes, of course.”
Something from her room? Probably not a sword or armor.
She smiled at the timing.
“It’s just right. Both you and Lady Rena are old enough to participate in the festival this year, not just watch.”
The Count nodded.
“And with the Young Lord here, you won’t need extra guards.”
“I’m honored, Young Master,” Rena said politely.
Then she turned to me.
“I have a request. A light spar after the meal?”
The Count smiled.
“Didn’t you two once argue about swordsmanship as children? Why not settle it now?”
“Fine. But if I win, you’ll spar with me too, Count.”
“Deal.”
A short while later, we met at the training ground in light gear.
When I saw Rena’s stance, my eyes narrowed. I knew that form.
“…Do you have an ancestor named Caesar? A one-armed man, former gladiator?”
Her eyes sharpened. “Do not speak my ancestor’s name so lightly.”
It was him. My company’s vice-captain. My oldest comrade from the Ten-Man Unit.
And that meant… Rena was his descendant.
From there, the spar began.
Her opening rush was Caesar’s signature move—straightforward at first, then twisting into a sharp pivot slash that used his unbalanced stance as an advantage.
She even followed with his favorite chained left-right cuts, keeping the attack flowing like a single, unbroken strike.
“…It’s good to see you again like this, Caesar,” I thought, parrying.
And then I pushed her to go faster, stronger, striking and countering in a rhythm that felt almost nostalgic.
