Interlude
Mornings in Beaden started early. To be precise, the farther you went into the countryside, the earlier mornings were. Since agriculture was the primary industry in the area, it was common to see villagers out and about the moment the sun peeked over the horizon—or even before that.
Similarly, nights fell early too. Unlike in urban areas, where there was entertainment available after-hours, a remote village had problems even securing proper illumination. It made sense that villagers would go to sleep once the sun had set.
Currently, it was just around sunset. Pretty much all of the village was getting ready to settle in for the night. That was when the head of the house, Mordea Gardenant, paid a visit to the young man who’d accompanied his son on his homecoming.
“Henblitz, do you have a moment?”
“Mr. Mordea? Is something the matter?”
“I just want to chat.”
The one to answer the door was the young lion of the kingdom’s elite Liberion Order, Henblitz Drout. He wasn’t exactly dressed for battle, but he held himself as if he were ready to go at any moment. Mordea wasn’t overly impressed by this, though he did admire such mental conditioning. However, Henblitz’s behavior was also proof that he didn’t see this space as somewhere he could relax. After wondering what to do about this for a short moment, the good-natured old man decided on a course of action.
“If it’s not a bother, could you come with me for a bit?” Mordea asked.
“It’s not a bother at all. I’ll gladly accompany you.”
Henblitz didn’t hesitate over the sudden invitation. He’d unreasonably asked to come along on this trip, so there was no way he would insist on having everything go his way. He’d decided that, during his stay in Beaden, he would do everything in his power to cooperate—much like when he’d agreed to clean the dojo. It didn’t matter whether it was manual labor or anything else. If the head of the house was asking for his presence, Henblitz would gladly go along as long as there was no other urgent business to attend to.
Upon entering the living room, the two men were greeted by Mordea’s wife and Beryl’s mother—Frenne Gardenant. She appeared to be preparing for tomorrow and was in the middle of stirring a large and worn-out pot.
“Oh my, what is it, dear?” asked Frenne.
“Nothing serious. I was just thinking of getting better acquainted with our guest.”
“Mrs. Frenne,” said Henblitz, “if there’s anything I can do to help, please do not hesitate to ask.”
“My, my, there’s no need to worry about that.”
Henblitz smoothly offered a hand, but he was refused with a cheerful smile. Incidentally, he’d been referring to her as “madam” before this, but Frenne had told him he was being too formal. She’d felt like he’d been putting too much distance between them, and there’d been no reason for the Liberion Order’s lieutenant commander to act that way around her.
“You’re technically a guest here,” Mordea said. “You can relax a bit more.”
“While I appreciate the consideration, I am technically the one imposing on you.”
“Well, I won’t force you...”
Henblitz called it imposing, but from Mordea’s perspective, this was one of the leaders of the organization that was looking after his son. Mordea wasn’t going to ask Henblitz to speak frankly or anything like that, but he believed Henblitz could afford to be a bit more selfish. Henblitz had enough strength and social status to allow for that. On the other hand, it was precisely because he acted with such courtesy—despite his title—that Mordea and Frenne had assessed him highly.
“Do you happen to be a drinker, Henblitz?” Mordea asked, pulling out a bottle of wine.
“I enjoy it to an extent.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Henblitz could hold his drink very well. He was still no match for Allucia, but few knights could compare to his stamina. If he wanted, he could drink most people under the table. Still, he had enough self-restraint to avoid heavily drinking in someone else’s home when he hadn’t, strictly speaking, even been invited to visit in the first place.
Mordea’s house was one of Beaden’s landmarks, and it possessed considerable authority and assets. The dojo had a significant history, and the villagers saw it in a good light. However, even with considerable wealth, it was hard to procure goods in the countryside. Beaden wasn’t on any trade routes, so very few merchants came out this way. Daily necessities like food were one thing, but acquiring luxury goods like alcohol was difficult, and there was very little of it to go around. Also, unlike in Baltrain, you couldn’t expect any chilled ale in a village like this. That was why they favored relatively cheap drinks that could be preserved for a long time without affecting the taste.
“Wanna keep me company for a few cups?” Mordea asked.
“Yes, I’ll gladly accept.”
Mordea poured wine into two tankards, and they knocked them together heartily. Henblitz wet his lips with a small sip, while Mordea gulped his wine down.
“It might be a little crude,” Mordea said. “I’m sure the stuff in Baltrain is far beyond comparison.”
“No, not at all.”
This certainly couldn’t be called first-class wine. The liquid was cloudy, the taste thin, the alcohol content low, the sweetness faint, and it was quite bitter. However, sometimes the quality of the drink didn’t matter. The mood was important, in which case there wasn’t a problem as long as the drink wasn’t so horrible you wanted to pour it out. On that point, this wine passed the minimum qualifications. Henblitz managed to drink it calmly without the slightest grimace.
After drinking in silence for a while, Mordea muttered somewhat timidly, “Is he doing well...?”
Henblitz could only think of one person he could be referring to. “Of course. He treats us all very well.”
This was his honest and frank impression. Henblitz would be the first to admit that he’d been extremely rude during their initial meeting. My doubts concerning Beryl and Allucia were utterly disgraceful. However, looking at it in hindsight, Henblitz believed it hadn’t been a bad thing. It’d still been a shameful act, but the results had been worth it.
At first, from the perspective of the order as a whole, they’d not had a particularly favorable impression of Beryl. If they’d let that drag on, it could’ve led to more serious problems. Just maybe, all of the knights with rasher temperaments would’ve challenged him one after the other, only to be beaten repeatedly. Had that happened, the knights’ opinion of Beryl would probably be different. Instead of letting things deteriorate like that, having the lieutenant commander—someone all the knights knew was strong—challenge him first had been a good thing. That was only in hindsight, of course.
“Is that so? He has a strange lack of confidence, you see...” Mordea said.
“That, well... That might be the case.”
Even to Henblitz, Beryl had far too little confidence for how capable he was. With such mastery, no one would complain if he was domineering about it, but Beryl never acted like that. That did, of course, come across favorably as a lack of arrogance, but it was still questionable whether that was the right mindset for a swordsman to have.
Henblitz never went out of his way to ask about it, though. Beryl could just be a genuinely softhearted soul, or maybe some incident in the past had made him that way. Because it seemed to be so deeply ingrained, Henblitz had judged it wasn’t something for him to pry into. He believed it would be nice to hear about it one day, but wasn’t going to rudely bring up the topic himself.
Not even Allucia knew the reason for it. If the person who’d brought Beryl to Baltrain didn’t know, then of course those beneath her wouldn’t either. That was how the lieutenant commander saw things, at least.
“I’m a father. I want him to have a good life.”
Somewhat red in the face from the wine, Mordea began speaking from the heart. Henblitz didn’t say anything in return. He didn’t have a wife or child, so there was no way he could understand a parent’s distress. However, he could at least understand a parent’s care. His parents had shown him plenty.
“So, I wanted to consult with you about something...” said Mordea.
“Yes?”
Henblitz had been expecting this. Mordea had chosen a time when Beryl, Curuni, and Mewi weren’t around. The wine and any conversation before this had just been a greeting. Henblitz assumed this was some kind of request regarding Beryl, but he didn’t have enough information to be sure about what it could be.
“Do you know any nice women out there who could be his wife?”
“Hmmm...”
This was the conversation they’d had at the door on the first day. Henblitz had thought it was a joke at first, but it seemed Mordea was serious. However, this was a somewhat difficult request.
Henblitz was extremely popular among women. He had status as the lieutenant commander of the Liberion Order, the abilities to match that title, good looks, and a stellar personality. There were plenty of women out there who saw him as an example of the ideal man.
However, Henblitz himself wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about the topic. After all, he was too busy walking the path of swordsmanship. He didn’t consider a lover or spouse to be a hindrance to his art—nothing like that—but he devoted everything he had to reaching that summit, and he questioned whether he had time to pay any attention to a significant other.
Humans were incapable of showing unconditional love. Maybe someone out there could manage it, but that was practically the realm of a saint. Henblitz didn’t wish for someone else to devote themselves to him when he had nothing to give in return, and this was why he’d never really gotten close to the opposite sex.
“That sounds difficult...” Henblitz said. “I’m not particularly well-versed in that field either.”
“Huh? A man like you must be used to having women talk to him.”
“Well, they do approach me regularly, but...when it comes to love, I’m not really...”
“Hmm...”
Mordea sank into thought. He was considering whether the lieutenant commander truly had no interest or if he was being humble. It was possible that Henblitz was acting in a way to avoid being dragged into his son’s troublesome issues.
Mordea was indeed trying to force this issue on someone else, but there was no helping it at this point—it wasn’t going to be solved without outside interference. He truly wanted his son to have a happy life. He wasn’t going to claim that it was impossible to find happiness without a spouse, but having a partner definitely added color to a man’s life.
“Should I just try setting up a marriage interview...?” Mordea muttered.
“I wonder about that...”
Mordea could set one up if he wanted to. The reason he hadn’t yet was because he was respecting Beryl’s will. He could solicit help from bachelorettes in the nearby villages or go to Baltrain and search there. Beryl was getting a little old, but he had a splendid title as special instructor for the Liberion Order. Naturally, Mordea would have to look into any candidate’s nature and background, but he was sure he could entice one or two women.
Henblitz, meanwhile, disapproved of Mordea’s idea. Considering Beryl’s personality, it was possible he would accept just to avoid being a bother to the other party. That could lead to an undesired marriage.
However, the bigger issue in Henblitz’s mind was the knight commander he respected so much—Allucia Citrus. He’d touched upon her feelings slightly before. He’d chosen a time when Beryl hadn’t been around, and he’d asked what she thought about him. She’d told him about her yearning, longing, and regret. Unfortunately, she couldn’t honestly express her feelings. From what Henblitz could see, her emotions were in a really complicated place. So knowing this, he couldn’t react positively to a marriage interview.
If Beryl did get married to someone Allucia didn’t know, she would honestly give them her blessings. She might resort to heavy drinking and maybe take a short break from work, but she was capable of giving her blessings. She also wished for Beryl’s happiness, and she didn’t believe she was an indispensable part of it. She did want to be with him, but she didn’t think it had to be her. To push it to an extreme, Allucia was Beryl’s passionate fan. It was too much for Henblitz to understand though—he just had the relatively shallow understanding that his commander would be greatly saddened if Beryl started looking to date.
“If only someone whimsical like Frenne was out there,” Mordea grumbled.
“Are you asking me to hit you?” Frenne said from the side.
“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”
“Ha ha ha. Well, Mrs. Frenne is a wonderful wife,” Henblitz remarked.
“Aah, you too?!” Frenne exclaimed. “The kingdom’s knights certainly have clever tongues.”
Henblitz knew that there was already at least one whimsical woman out there. He was reluctant to mention it, though. Actually, there was definitely more than one. To put it bluntly, Beryl was past the suitable age for marriage. Nevertheless, even from the perspective of another man, Beryl had plenty of charm. Henblitz doubted Allucia was the only woman who saw him in a favorable light.
“There’s no need for concern,” Henblitz said. “I’m sure he’ll one day be blessed with a suitable partner.”
“Hmm? What makes you say that?” Mordea asked.
Mordea didn’t know what Beryl was like in Baltrain. He figured his son was still the same as when he’d holed up in Beaden, showing no interest in anything but swordsmanship. Mordea hadn’t been present for lessons in the dojo after handing it over to Beryl. He hadn’t even known Curuni, who’d been a pupil during Beryl’s era. That was why Mordea believed Beryl’s love life was impossible without outside pressure.
Henblitz didn’t know what Beryl had been like before coming to Baltrain. He knew the man had taught at this dojo, but what kind of life had he led? Henblitz didn’t even think of trying to find out such minute details. However, given the degree of perfection of Beryl’s swordsmanship and his good character, Henblitz was sure a suitable candidate or two would come tumbling Beryl’s way. He knew of one very accomplished woman who just had to perform that tumble, but for some reason, she didn’t think it was a good idea.
“No, well, I’m only guessing...” Henblitz said.
“Oooh, you mean things like that have been happening to him too?” Mordea asked.
“I believe it’s entirely possible.”
“Ha ha! Very good!”
These two had somewhat disparate views of Beryl, and in the end, those views remained as they were.
“Well, if only we knew his tastes,” Mordea said. “He never talks about that stuff, though...”
“Aah, I understand what you mean.”
Everyone found it embarrassing to talk about their taste in the opposite sex. This was especially the case when speaking to your own parents, so it was perfectly reasonable that Mordea had no idea.
“Ah...”
“Hm? Ooh, Mewi. What’s wrong?”
And just as the conversation regarding Beryl hit an end and the two men went back to drinking wine, another figure entered the living room. It was the little girl with blue hair, Mewi Freya. Mordea was the first to notice her and called out in a gentle voice. His tone was several times gentler and more considerate than when he spoke to Beryl or Frenne.
“Uhhh... Um...”
“Ha ha ha, I guess you have more time than you know what to do with out here in the sticks,” Mordea said. “C’mon, over here. Frenne, get something for her.”
“Yes, yes. Mew Mew, take a seat.”
“Sure...”
Several days had passed since Mewi had arrived in Beaden with Beryl. However, that hadn’t been quite enough time to melt away her wariness. She wasn’t hostile or anything, but she still didn’t feel comfortable here. Mordea, Frenne, and Henblitz could all see this. They’d tried to help her loosen up, but things hadn’t progressed very well.
Mewi also believed it would be wrong to bluntly refuse an invitation. However, that only came from being reserved and nervous—she didn’t feel carefree around this family. Actually, she didn’t consider anyone but Beryl family to begin with. Beryl’s parents were nothing more than kind strangers to her.
“Here, you go. I’m sorry, but this is about all we have.”
“Thanks...”
Frenne placed a cup of hot water in front of Mewi. There was no way they could give her any wine, so this was the only thing that could be prepared at a moment’s notice. Mewi timidly took a sip. Naturally, it lacked any taste, but it helped her calm down a little.
“Hmm. How do you find life here, Mewi?” Mordea asked after watching her for a little while.
“I think...it’s nice...”
It would definitely be too awkward to continue the conversation with Henblitz. After all, Beryl getting married would mean Mewi getting a new stepmother. Mewi had opened up considerably to Beryl, but Mordea decided it was too sensitive a topic to suddenly bring up.
Mewi had come out of her room because she’d been thirsty, and she hadn’t expected to be invited to take a seat. She was full of anxiety over how to weather this storm.
“She must be nervous with so many adults around her,” Henblitz said. “I’ll excuse myself.”
“Sure, thanks for keeping me company,” Mordea told him.
Henblitz finished his wine with a gulp. He wasn’t the type to leave anything he’d been given behind. Mewi didn’t actually seem more at ease now that he was gone, though. She’d gotten slightly more comfortable with him during the carriage ride here, and she’d heard from Beryl that he was trustworthy—Mewi had spent more time with him than with Mordea, if only by a slight margin. Mewi could also more easily get used to someone around Henblitz’s age. Her nervousness came from the simple fact that she was dealing with someone who was even older than Beryl.
“I won’t ask you to stop being so tense, but... Mewi, am I scary?” Mordea asked.
“Erk... Uhhh...”
“Ha ha ha ha! I guess I am! Sorry for being scary!”
Despite asking the question, Mordea arrived at an answer on his own and started laughing. Most people would see him as having a frank personality, but he was nothing more than an inexplicable grandpa to Mewi. How could she not be scared?
Mewi had a dry throat, and anxiety welled up inside her. The cup of hot water was empty in no time. Her eyes wandered for a few seconds before settling on Mordea’s tankard.
“Hm? Curious about this?” he asked. “Well, it’s still too early for you to try some. You’ll learn of the taste one day. Just wait until then.”
“Sure...”
Mordea knocked down her meager desire for a drink with a teasing laugh. She didn’t actually want alcohol—she just had a slight interest. She’d seen the person closest to her look so satisfied every time he knocked back an ale, so she couldn’t help but be curious.
“Oh yes, I won’t let you have any yet, but...”
“Hm?”
Mordea’s teasing smile deepened a little before adding, “Beryl might let you try a sip if you ask him.”
Mewi looked a little surprised by the suggestion. He had a point. Beryl was very kind to her. He could be called soft or even overprotective. As long as she wasn’t being utterly unreasonable, he was very likely to listen to any of her requests. She’d opened her heart to Beryl enough that she’d unconsciously come to that conclusion. You could say she relied on his kindness, though she wasn’t really self-conscious of that fact.
Now that Mordea had brought up this topic, she felt her wariness toward him wane just a little. She could sense he wasn’t a bad person. However, he was an old man who didn’t show the same softness that Beryl did, and that was enough reason for her to not want to get involved with him.
Mewi was far warier toward strangers than other children her age. This instinct had been fostered by the environment she’d grown up in. However, from another perspective, this meant her threshold for wariness could change with her environment. Unbeknownst to her, she had already relaxed a lot since moving in with Beryl and starting at the magic institute. That was because, on top of her new lifestyle, she suddenly didn’t have to fear the people closest to her. That was why it’d only taken her half a day to stop being nervous around Curuni and Henblitz, who were practically complete strangers.
She’d simply not spent enough time with Mordea. But if she continued talking to him face-to-face, her wariness would come undone sooner than later. Now just so happened to be that time.
“Ummm... Mister...Mordea...”
“You can call me gramps.”
“Now, now, none of that,” Frenne said reproachfully.
“Ha ha ha ha ha, sorry!”
The old man seemed to be in great humor. Mewi had never met someone she could call gramps before, so despite putting his proposal immediately on hold, she found herself a little less nervous than before.
“Sorry, sorry. So, did you want to ask me something?” Mordea asked.
“Mm... You’re...a fighter, right?”
“Well, yeah. I’m a swordsman, to be exact.”
A fighter—such a vague word could be applied to adventurers, knights, or wizards. She wasn’t technically wrong, but Mordea corrected her. He was a swordsman. He couldn’t use magic and had no idea how it worked. However, when it came to the blade, he was in his wheelhouse.
“Between you and the old guy...who’s stronger?” Mewi asked.
“The old guy? You mean Beryl?”
“Yes...”
“Hmmm.”
Mordea’s expression suddenly changed. The eyes of the carefree old man looking at a granddaughter were replaced with the sharp gaze of a swordsman.
Mewi knew that Beryl was strong, but she didn’t know exactly how strong he was. The scale she possessed in her mind was incapable of measuring him. She simply saw him as “very strong.” However, she couldn’t even begin to quantify that. That was why she’d asked Mordea.
After thinking it over for a while, Mordea gave his answer. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope.”
Those weren’t his true feelings, of course. His senses as a swordsman had been honed for decades. There was no way he didn’t know how strong he was relative to another, especially his son. He’d watched Beryl closer and longer than anyone else.
However, this old man had both his pride as a swordsman and his consideration for his granddaughter. He couldn’t plainly claim to be stronger, nor could he admit his own defeat and say Beryl was stronger. If father and son were to have a match, they could find out in an instant—that was how big the difference was now. Mordea hadn’t yielded the dojo to Beryl while still being in his prime because of a simple whim. No, he’d done so after acknowledging his son’s abilities.
“Are you curious?” Mordea asked.
“Well...yeah.”
However, ever since yielding the dojo, Mordea had intentionally chosen to decrease the number of direct contests between them. There were several reasons for this. Mordea knew that Beryl viewed him as the ultimate swordsman. A part of Mordea didn’t want to break down this image, and his obstinacy refused to allow him to lose so easily. Just maybe, there was a risk of his son becoming arrogant if Mordea bent a knee too quickly. Mordea was also spurred by a desire not to destroy a son’s admiration for his father. In other words, he was hopelessly a swordsman while also being hopelessly a parent.
“I see. I suppose that makes sense...”
As a result, his consideration as a father and his petty pride as a swordsman had considerably delayed Beryl’s realization of his own abilities. Beryl hadn’t found a wife yet, and he was getting old—he’d aged a bit too much. Nevertheless, even if it was just on paper, he was finally looking after a daughter. So Mordea now had a granddaughter. This conversation didn’t really have any deep meaning, but as a parent, it made Mordea feel like one of his roles had already come to an end.
“Dear, isn’t that enough already?” his wife said, her voice full of affection.
“Frenne...”
He didn’t have to ask what she meant—her intuition was right on the mark. She’d chosen her words precisely because she had a perfect read on Mordea’s thoughts and emotions.
“Heh... Ha ha ha! You’re right! Let’s go with that!”
“Hwah?”
Mewi was puzzled by Mordea’s sudden laughter. She was somewhat less wary of him now, but he was still an inexplicable grandpa.
“Yeah! It’s about time to teach him which of us is stronger!”
Mewi noticed the contradiction—earlier, he’d claimed not to know who was stronger, but he seemed to have some idea now. She couldn’t figure out the reason for this, though. After all, she was incapable of telling which of the two was stronger. She could at least see that there was an air of resolve behind Mordea’s hearty laughter.
“Mewi. Thank you.”
“Hm? Ah, uh... Sure?”
She had no idea why he was thanking her. There was an accumulation of time between this father and son that she could never imagine. In the end, her curiosity on this topic wasn’t that great—it was just a small question in her mind. Beryl was strong, so his father had to be strong too, and that was about as far as her thought process went. She didn’t show much interest in Mordea saying he would teach Beryl who was stronger. She was curious, certainly, but not enough to say anything.
“Whew... Looks like there’s one more thing to look forward to,” Mordea muttered as he gulped down the last of his wine.
“Hm?”
Mewi couldn’t understand his state of mind, so she couldn’t parse the meaning behind those words. What was there to look forward to? In the end, she just couldn’t figure it out.
“Ummm...”
“Oh my, sorry about that. Here, a refill.”
Mewi gave up on thinking about it. The important thing right now was her dry throat. Frenne had noticed Mewi’s mumbling, and she’d quickly refilled her cup with hot water.
As expected, it didn’t taste of anything either.
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