The simple act of sleeping at night, something so ordinary. The commonplace happiness of dozing off warmly in bed, however, is quite a challenge when outdoors.
Once the sun sets, even as spring approaches its end, the air grows cold, and the winds that sweep through the open space are mercilessly frigid. The ground absorbs and dissipates heat endlessly, refusing to retain warmth, making it impossible to lie down casually. There are even nights when I can’t so much as nap, left to merely gaze at the moon above.
It’s not something where you can expect to gather around a crackling campfire to chat and joke either.
After all, lights can sometimes attract unwanted things as well.
“Master, everything’s quiet over here,” came the report.
“Thanks for your work, you can rest now. There’s still the day ahead,” I said.
The Sword Friends Association, currently operating under a three-shift system to maintain a vigilant watch, had just begun the second night since setting out from Marsheim.
This precaution was taken because one of our members with good long-range vision, who volunteered as a scout, had spotted a lone horseman earlier in the day.
The scout reported seeing a solitary cavalryman riding at the very limits of their field of vision—pressing the boundaries of visibility from a distance. With that in mind, I decided to heighten our alertness.
This period is typically busy with caravan traffic, and with that, plenty of patrol officers too. But these officers focus mainly on hunting bandits or gathering intelligence on them. They never ride alone, as it is practically impossible to fully guard against ambushes even on a swift horse when alone.
Does this mean that a lone rider automatically draws suspicion?
A wry smile played on my lips as I shook my head.
It could very well be that some estate had sent off an urgent messenger to the deputy. It might also be a scout from a different caravan. There’s even a chance it’s a hobbyist enjoying a ride due to the fine weather. But when sightings of this lone rider repeat several times a day, the specter of bandits scouting for targets becomes significantly more worrying.
Truly, the world is in decline. We’re only two days out from Marsheim, for crying out loud. Whatever happened to the authority of the Baron of the Frontier?
While unpleasant coincidences may play a role, we cannot dismiss the potential danger. Thus, we negotiated with the carriage owners to adopt a strict state of readiness tonight. We avoided the usual camping spots designated for caravans alongside the road and instead set up camp deliberately near the woods to stay out of sight. The cooking fires were established far from the actual camp, and a strict blackout was imposed during the night. Though it is still chilly, enduring a night without an external source of warmth is a small price to pay for our lives.
In case of an attack, tents are not pitched, and we either take shifts resting in wagons or lay down mats on the ground. The pragmatic merchants seem to understand that it’s better to avoid being burdened by property like tents and be ready to abandon them for an easier escape. The negotiation with the merchants was quick; the reputation of our group lending itself without much effort due to our status. If we were beginners or unknowns, it surely would have taken much longer to explain our precautions.
Truth be told, the most troublesome incident arose when the hired adventurers of the caravan called us cowards due to our caution. That almost led to a physical confrontation with some of our members.
Well, they might call it excessive, and honestly, so do I at times. Such precautionary measures generally pertain to treacherous lands or along the borders where bandits run rampant. Nevertheless…
Knowing how precarious the current state of this area is, I’d rather be cautious and squelch even the minutest of dangers.
Life is fragile. I don’t want my members to die due to laziness. And besides, considering we’ve taken on the role of escorts, we can’t allow any harm to come to the caravan crew either.
It’s just right to be overly cautious.
In a predetermined pathway RPG, we wouldn’t have much choice, but we’re fortunate to have the freedom to act. Let’s eliminate every possible glitch and avoid letting the GM make a single dice roll if at all possible.
If they’re determined to attack despite all our preparations, then we’ll welcome them with open arms and a grin, dispatching them with a “Thanks for the experience points.”
While waiting in the center of the encampment to respond swiftly to any attack, Margit approached me on reporting duties. Clad in black attire that blended into the dark night, her spider-like movements were eerily silent. She looked like a shadow with depth.
“Ah, it’s so cold. Please let me warm up inside your coat,” she said.
Without hesitation, Margit plopped down onto my knees and snuggled into the coat. She clearly understood that this coat, enchanted with water-repelling and heat-insulating spells from the Imperial Capital, was the warmest place in the camp.
“There was some sort of deliberate movement not from a beast… possibly probing for opportunities,” Margit reported.
“Ah, so keeping watch was the right decision,” I replied.
“Yes, there has been no movement for the past hour, so perhaps they’ve given up. Or they’re waiting for us to let down our guard as dawn approaches…”
A chilling suggestion followed: “Shall we hunt them?” Though tempted to consider her proposition, I shook my head. If these bandits are skilled enough to notice our watchfulness and abandon their attack, they must be a tightly-knit group. Killing one could easily escalate into a situation where we have to dispose of all the others—a messy affair, especially since there’s no special bounty available during this season.
It would be best if they decided to back away willingly. After all, not every form of guarding involves using blades to repel threats. Actually, preventing an attack through martial reputation or precautionary actions is the most effective strategy.
“Should we arrive tomorrow?” Margit mused sleepily while curling up on my knees like a content kitten.
“You remember that estate owner, don’t you?” she asked suddenly.
“Of course. Anything in particular about him?”
It was hard to forget that unique character. For one, he was a rarity in this region—a lepidopteran, a group of settlers who came from near the South Inner Sea. With a hybrid appearance of butterflies and moths, they are humanoid figures adorned with distinctive attributes such as a secondary pair of arms extending from their abdomen and large insect wings sprouting from their backs. Their appearances closely resemble that of humans, but with diverse skin tones ranging from white to brown, black or navy blue, giving them an insectoid segmented texture akin to exoskeletons. They possess both endoskeletons and exoskeletons, and their heads often feature compound eyes and antennae. Adorned with wings of resplendent hues, they resemble dancers in elegant attire even without clothing.
Harnessing their unique form of magic— which affects perceived weight—although they cannot fly at great speeds, they perform a dance characteristic of their race, acclaimed as one of the most graceful dances in the world when combined with their mesmerizing moves.
Within this group, there were those with white wings and fur-like adornments reminding one of silkworms or moths, their ethereal beauty capturing the eyes of nobility easily.
Enchanted by their elegant dances and snow-like beauty, a certain noble swiftly took a liking to one of these lepidopterans. Extracted from a troupe of traveling performers, she was taken in as his favorite concubine, entertaining him nightly with her dances. Naturally, a child was born to them. However, the child of such a concubine, especially being born of an immigrant, couldn’t be openly raised by the noble family.
Yet, fond of both the concubine and her son, the noble appointed a private tutor to provide top-notch education and later entrusted the young man with the establishment of a frontier colony when he came of age. This person became our current client: Lord Wolbuthers Gizebureicht.
Inheriting the white wings and abundant antennae from his mother, with equally splendid white hair, he is not merely for show but also possesses administrative skills that rival those of seasoned deputies.
Despite an advantageous initial investment by a doting father and a favorable location, his ability to stabilize these estates in barely a generation of twenty-five years is truly impressive. While the area is still in development with a rugged texture, his talent for consolidating systems cannot be attributed merely to his father’s connections.
On top of that, Lord Gizebureicht is humble, easy-going, and approachable, making him quite pleasant to work with. Generous and eloquent, he’s unforgettable.
“Surely, you think he hasn’t given up on trying something, don’t you?”
“…What do you mean?”
“Your heir.”
I almost blurted out in surprise: What are you talking about? As I bent my head quickly to look at Margit, she wore the face of a child who had succeeded in mischief.
Still, in the faint moonlight, her golden eyes were not quite laughing.
“Last time it was a young woman from the manor, correct? The second daughter is coming of age, isn’t she? Besides, I saw her looking at you frequently during the banquet.”
“Um, but I…”
“Of course, I understand,” Margit interjected with a quiet chuckle and wrapped her arms around my neck. Supporting the spider-like portion of her body by placing my hand inside her abdomen, her head nestled into my neck.
Breathing coolly against my skin, she added, “But it’s not nice to make a young woman embarrassed?”
“What kind of embarrassment?”
“Offered for the manor’s benefit, perhaps, but if she’s truly desirous, wouldn’t providing the response show some manly initiative? While face-saving is important for men, it’s the same for women. Being rejected outright could leave a negative impression…”
The chilling undertones of her words hit me.
Could I really be hearing that from Margit, advice to take another woman?
No no no, it’s too much to comprehend. Wait, is she suggesting some sort of special preference that I didn’t know about?
“Consider how such rejection might impact her treatment within the estate?”
While struggling with processing the conversation, the implications were gradually sinking in. Far away, I had witnessed the drama of romance and heartbreak in my hometown.
Perhaps, Margit was concerned both for the woman’s plight and the potential impact on my own reputation due to such rejection.
“I’ll get back to patrol now. You can count on me to take care of things until morning,” she said, leaving me deep in thought while retreating to continue her watch. The warmth her small body had brought quickly dissipated, leaving a chill that mirrored the calmness of the night.
Why leave me with such a complicated dilemma in the middle of the night?
Groaning with frustration, I resisted the urge to clutch my head.
Unexpectedly, Margit returned briefly as if remembering something. Before I could question her, she leaned in and placed a feather-light kiss on me, murmuring, “An apology?”
Perhaps this small display was enough to ease my spirits. Men can be so simple in their gratification.
However, it seemed the apology was not her sole intent. In the lingering proximity where another kiss could have happened with minimal effort, she smiled softly and whispered.
“If it still bothers you, it might be fine to ‘enjoy’ with me included?”
“Wha–?”
Her next words completely shut down my brain.
Was she really suggesting what I think she was suggesting?
Unlike a shallow RPG scenario where characters jump and celebrate obtaining permission, this was not an easy joy to revel in.
I honestly have no idea what she’s suggesting here.
Before I could pursue further clarification, Margit disappeared into the night’s shadows, leaving me alone. My outstretched hand only brushed the cool spring air, unable to capture even the slightest trace of her presence. Despite tracking subtle movements, the faintest of her presence, and signs of intent, catching her when she puts her full effort into escaping is nearly impossible—like trying to hold onto mist.
“Ugh, give me a break,” I groaned under my breath, feeling like the guard against bandits had become less of an issue compared to this emotional complexity. Honestly, it felt like solving the problem of possible bandit attacks had become a much simpler task than processing these personal dilemmas.
Maybe I’m the problem here?
Yet, while Margit had been watching me from the sidelines, amused at seeing me flustered—though another baffling behavior—I couldn’t imagine her urging me to become stricter or more rigid.
So is this… “night” the trouble?
No, it’s not the night, right? Surely not. I don’t want to vocalize it loudly now, but our relationship has been, overall, satisfactory. I’ve even heard jokes suggesting I couldn’t manage alone otherwise—implying I’ve received decent evaluations from her side too.
Perhaps my thoughts are spinning too fast, and I can’t even sleep through this.
I had wanted to reprimand her first thing tomorrow for her playful but troubling behavior, but the sun rose, and Margit never came to me. Instead, later, I noticed a note left behind.
“Good night,” the note read, alongside detailed reports from her scouting duties. Peering into their wagon, I found Margit wrapped in a blanket, fast asleep.
Unable to disturb her after a night without rest, I resolved to go without sleep, lighting my pipe to prepare for a sleepless night ahead. There was no prospect of finding rest within the moving wagon during the day now.
Ah, in contrast, handling the bandits through simple action seemed so much easier. Truly, work felt so much simpler now…
