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“Y’know, I was really surprised, to be honest. Didn’t realize just how adored you were, Princess.”
The voice was unceremonious and carefree, yet muffled and difficult to hear—the reason being a metallic clinking that accompanied it. The speaker wore a jet-black helmet and had a habit of tinkering with the mouth opening while he spoke.
The man was dressed oddly—or bizarrely, rather.
A black helmet covered his entire head, as mentioned previously, but he was only heavily armored from the neck up. His muscled body was dressed roughly like a mountain bandit’s, and his feet were clothed in leather sandals. He wore a rugged cloth draped around his shoulders, and from his belt, a blunt, rustic sword peeked out.
In a way, he seemed to be dressed for some kind of fetish, but from within the strange appearance, there was one point that stood out.
The man in the black helmet was missing his left arm.
Between his strange clothing and obviously missing appendage, the man commanded a unique presence simply by standing there. This was all the more so when he stood beside the red woman—Priscilla Bariel.
“What do you mean by ‘surprised,’ Al? Behold my beauty—it surpasses human knowledge. Just as the baby chicks scramble for their worms, it is only natural that these plebs and fools worship my divinity.”
“Yeah, random assumption on my part, I guess. I just thought you were a hands-off-and-let-the-fish-propagate-themselves type of gal.”
“If I were, why would I give you such a warm reception?”
“Now that you mention it, yeah. My mistake, I guess.”
Accepting Priscilla’s retort without complaint, the man in the helmet—Al—scratched his head with his beefy right hand through his helmet. He gave his surroundings an interested once-over, but his emotion and facial expression were not to be seen.
However, Priscilla had no reaction to his attitude. She strutted on her way without hesitation, the villagers nearby raising their voices as they noticed her.
“Oh! It’s Princess Priscilla!” “Our Princess!” “All hail the Sun Princess!”
It only took one person to notice her and cry out to bring everyone running out of their houses. The villagers, their faces filled with bright smiles, took their turns singing Priscilla’s praises.
“Mm. Quite good. You may praise me as much as you like, foolish plebs. As long as you bow before my glory, you shall receive my mercy. I am not so heartless. Keep up the effort and never falter.”
Priscilla spoke not to anyone in particular, but to everyone who was crying out to her in praise. Though she did not talk loudly, her voice had the power to carry everywhere. Al was a bit taken aback by the arrogance of what she was saying—
“Understood, my lady!” “Anything for you, Princess!” “All hail the Sun Princess!”
Not only were the villagers not offended, but her arrogant performance also actually seemed to be received quite well. The disconnect between his mistress’s impression and the way the peasants responded to it made Al cock his head in constant confusion.
Al had been appointed Priscilla’s knight only a few days prior. Needing to choose a knight for herself, Priscilla held a dueling contest, prioritizing her goals and her own personal taste in the selection process.
A large crowd of hopefuls threw their names into the ring when they heard the baroness needed a personal knight and that pedigree did not matter. The exhibition was a huge success. And Al was the one who caught Priscilla’s eye that day and won the position of her personal knight.
As master and servant, they hadn’t spent much time together yet. While he was permitted to be in her presence, Al watched over her every minute detail, but there was something about her that remained invisible to him.
She seemed deep in thought one moment, then she would suddenly carry out an idea the next. She would seem friendly and kind with her subjects one moment, then she would suddenly show a flash of cruelty in her eyes, cold enough to freeze a man’s spine. And her body, which appeared to be stuffed full with nothing but sultry femininity, seemed to contain a swelling ferocity that suggested she could catch Al off guard, steal his sword, and lop his head off.
And the result, even after spending days with his new mistress: Al still couldn’t get a read on her.
“Come, come, Al, don’t just stand there. The plebs are all brimming with curiosity about you. They wonder, what is this strange cryptid of a man standing beside our beautiful princess?”
“Well, wouldn’t it be faster if ya just told them yourself, Princess?”
“Mind the way you speak to me, Al. Even I am not certain how many more times I can laugh off the nonsensical things you say. Don’t earn a person’s disfavor over trivial matters.”
Just when he thought he had her figured out, she would say things like that. She had been in a good mood only a moment ago, but in a few short seconds, she looked at him like she was scrutinizing a piece of trash.
“Yeah, sorry, I misspoke. It was like, what kind of servant orders his mistress to introduce him? Sorry, my bad, forgive me chonmage.”
“Very well, I shall forgive you. However, you must tell me later what chonmage is.”
His one-liner was an unexpected success. Al heaved a sigh of relief after escaping Priscilla’s wrath. Then he proceeded to explain who he was to the peasants—exaggerating, approximating, and humorizing the story of how he came to be under Priscilla’s employ.
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