As I sat on the watchtower under the pretense of being on guard, the thought crossed my mind that smoke and fools are overly familiar phrases, to the point that stating them now feels ridiculous.
In fact, I do not deny being a fool.
After all, after over ten years of acquaintance, with three years standing side by side as adventurers, and two years of sharing a body, I still do not understand my partner.
It might be that fundamentally, a woman and a man cannot truly understand each other from the heart, especially when it comes to her, the one I refer to as the lady from over there. That is, unless you exclude my irreplaceable friend as an exception.
Still, I cannot comprehend the mentality that allows a man to permit his woman to play with other women.
Tonight, Margit had said she would visit those who had piqued her interest, leaving the manor with the two usual companions. The two scouts looked back at me with eyes resembling that of a puppy being taken away.
Sometimes I hear complaints from them. When they are chasing after that person, any pride they have gets crushed, and they sometimes feel utterly miserable.
Well, I understand that. Objectively speaking, my childhood friend, who still seems like a child despite being an adult, sometimes makes me feel that merely the act of kissing feels sinful.
To put it in my terms, it’s like being bested by a girl who looks two generations younger than me in swordsmanship. It’s common in this area to speak based on strength, but perhaps it is in such situations that I can begin to grasp their feelings when it actually happens.
Still, as my physical abilities continue to rise, I think it serves as good training, so I let them go.
The conversation strayed somewhat, but as she left, she left behind a chilling longing and a whisper along my spine.
On a night like this, one should never let a woman who asks for company sleep alone.
I understand the meaning.
We protected the manor. However, it does not mean the fear was completely dispelled.
Once there is one instance, there is bound to be another; if a fundamental solution cannot be found, fear is like a persistent unwelcome guest. It lingers in the corner of the mind, even when attempting to think of it as absent.
Perhaps it’s a testament to that: even when the sun sets, signs of human activity do not cease around the manor.
Within the collective housing treated as a refuge, a multitude felt restless through the anxious night. Some exchanged words about their concerns for tomorrow, while others sought to comfort frightened children, clinging to the faint moonlight to stay awake.
Ah, it’s not that they are awake; it’s that they cannot sleep.
Since I became a “fighting human,” I do not understand their fears. The sensations of a calm and ordinary previous life already feel distant; in front of me, my life and the safety of those around me must be guarded with my strength.
If it were my previous self, I wouldn’t even think about it. When it comes to the options at hand, it feels unfathomable that violence would come in to safeguard one’s own safety. Unlike the indulgent stories and hobbies, we lived in a world profoundly peaceful, where such options had been continuously denied by reason.
However, if one must crouch in the shadows of tonight without sufficient means to protect themselves or their family, how terrifyingly unreliable would that be?
We achieved victory. An unassailable, resounding victory.
There were no casualties among the manor residents or the Sword Friends Association; not even a single wound was reported… Oh, there was one, I heard something about an adult who tried to rescue a child strung up naked getting kicked in the jaw by the confused brat, which sounded rather unfortunate.
Yet, practically speaking, it was a complete victory with zero wounded.
However, it is also apparent that the job is not finished yet.
In amidst the voices of unease, faint creaks and sounds reminiscent of sobbing leaked from various places. In an attempt to escape fear, people sought the warmth of the opposite sex through coupling. The desperate need for connection in empty rooms or sparsely populated places, hoping to maintain their sanity, is perhaps an instinct to ensure that future generations endure amidst danger.
I do not mock this. Even I, after traversing a battlefield, sometimes seek the company of my agitated partner as if we were consuming each other. My mind is not mature enough to remain composed even after experiencing such conflicts.
If I were to be told that living for fifty years is shameful, I suppose that’s fair; yet I would like to believe that I still possess my humanity.
That said, I have yet to come to a point where I do not fear battling.
Should I charge in with fear suppressed because it’s necessary, then I find my spirit rising with the unfolding circumstances, leaving that initial fear behind.
What remains is the joy of fully unleashing my own capabilities. The nature embedded in my soul sings with delight.
It’s satisfying to know that those around me are fearful of the statistics I bear.
However, it is not good to raise one’s excitement too high. The saint of swords, standing cold and rational, is still a faraway ideal. It is akin to the God of Night Shadow watching over the pitiable manor from above.
“Stop that, you might hurt your hands.”
Yet, even while gazing vacantly at the heavens, I could not lower my guard.
Since no one is watching, I’ve stretched my “invisible hands” to their limits and spread them thinly around me.
Given my magical capacity, I cannot maintain this consistently, and there are many gaps—yet even so, how can my childhood friend slip through something that should have been invisible? It’s not perfect, but the tentacles of perception tend to catch most approaches.
I saw a shadow attempting to grasp the ladder below the watchtower flinch.
Surely they were trying to startle me. From the outside, it could only appear that I was sitting on the outskirts of the manor, lazily puffing on tobacco under the pretense of vigilance.
Well now, I apologize for keeping a guest waiting, so I extinguished my tobacco and leaped down from the tower. The small scream likely resembled someone being thrown from a height; however, rest assured, I skillfully kicked or grasped an appropriate hold to slow my descent.
Upon landing, a faint cloud of dust rose. If my childhood friend saw it, she would probably sigh softly in disbelief at how careless I had become since childhood.
Though, it can’t be helped. I have grown taller and heavier since those days. Not accounting for my “stealthy footfalls” means there are things I can’t deceive anymore. It’s not the same as when I was a small, lightweight child.
Now, I shall set aside lamenting my shortcomings for later.
“While I condone your nighttime escapades, young lady, particularly on a night following an attack like this.”
First, I need to admonish the young lady for crawling out of her bedding on a night like this.
Standing below the watchtower was Lady Filene, draped in a warm nightgown and a heavy cloak. She had probably panicked, flailing her hands bewilderedly before I even spoke to her.
Upon facing her, it became clear why she had come. While two main arms flailed in embarrassment, her secondary arm tightly clutched a wicker basket as if trying not to drop something precious.
“Um, I noticed you hardly ate dinner…”
“Thank you for your concern, it is very much appreciated. However, it is dangerous to wander out like this on such a night without any company. Plus, the hands of the God of Night Shadow are still cold.”
The night air, the hands of the God of Night Shadow, would still feel quite harsh for a sheltered young lady. It seems she had come out secretly, simply donning a cloak over her nightgown.
However, since she kindly brought me a late-night snack, I couldn’t just turn her away.
Under normal circumstances, I would have accepted the basket and escorted her back home, sharing with the members stationed nearby… but suddenly, my childhood friend’s words echoed in my mind.
Did she foresee this?
After contemplating for a few seconds, I asked her to wait in a nearby vacant house where someone was keeping a watch. It was about time for a shift change.
I replaced the sleepy, but armed members of the self-defense force and quietly slipped into the house where Lady Filene was waiting. By the time I entered, she had finished setting up a late-night snack at the dining table.
“I’m sorry, I could only prepare something simple…”
“Not at all, this is quite the treat.”
Her modesty about the simple late-night snack almost felt biting. Even when cold, the fish prepared in a baker’s style was delicious, complemented by salted white dragon beard vegetables and some cabbage. Even the bread was the soft, white kind not easily accessible to commoners. The assortment of fruits served as palate cleansers seemed to be a courtesy typical of the wealthy. The cheese looked of good quality and smelled delightful enough to pair with wine.
While I felt a little guilty enjoying such fine food while my subordinates could not, I hope to make it up to them at the upcoming celebratory feast.
“Let’s eat.”
It had been quite a while since I had a meal under watchful eyes, making it a tad uncomfortable. The dining table, illuminated by a small candle—again, a fine item used without reluctance—had Lady Filene sitting across from me, watching intently as I ate.
Her facial expression was different from the warm smile my mother bore when I would diligently eat my favorites at home in lovely Konigsstuhl.
I was concerned she wouldn’t space out and drift off. That was the kind of worried look she had.
As a poor warrior, I quickly shoved the food into my mouth. It must have appeared hurried, especially to her who was probably accustomed to a more elegant and leisurely dining style. Nevertheless, I adhered to manners, kept my mouth clean, and managed not to make any clattering noise with the dishes, so she likely didn’t find it unpleasant.
“I’ve been treated well.”
As I finished nibbling on the palate cleanser apricot and expressed my thanks, I noticed she was trembling slightly.
My face felt hot, realizing that my concern for her was inadequate. I see, have I been tense this entire time without realizing?
Rising slowly, I removed my cloak and draped it over her shoulders, as she observed my movements curiously. It was a heavy cloak bestowed with heat-retaining magic from the imperial capital, so it should ease her cold.
However, the hand that I had placed on her shoulder to drape the cloak was captured. Her porcelain-like white fingers, matching in color to her skin, were cold beyond what the night air could account for.
From my long acquaintance with my childhood friend, I was aware that the body temperature of demi-humans, sharing traits with insects, is quite low compared to humans. Yet, this chill couldn’t just be credited to the nighttime cold.
She, too, was haunted by something. An irrepressible fear.
I thought I understood how to behave in such situations with a lady.
Holding her cold hand, I enveloped it with both of mine to share my warmth. It wouldn’t be comfortable if I stood alone, so I lowered myself to sit next to her on the long bench, which could accommodate several family members.
She then pressed the hand I was holding against her chest and leaned her head upon my shoulder.
A faintly pleasant aroma wafted through the air. It resembled a refreshing fruit, yet lacked the strong citrusy sharpness. Only upon closer proximity could one discern it was the delicate fragrance of frankincense.
There are several reasons a lady would wear such a scent that the common folk cannot afford.
While certainly to mask body odor or create an atmosphere, the reason I know a noblewoman would perfume her nightgown is simple.
It is a declaration of her readiness to surrender herself to the arms of a man.
I felt my palms grow slick with sweat, as if my warmth was being absorbed by her soft and small hand, and I almost tightened my grip inadvertently.
What kind of state was she in to have come here?
Surely, her father had urged her on. This may sound odd, but my name carries some weight around here, and I intend to elevate it further. As I mentioned before, while I dislike standing out too much, I do not mind being acknowledged.
The advantages of forging strong connections with an adventurer like me are considerable.
Sure, it may lead to getting jobs at a lower cost, but for anyone, having “children” holds a significant mental position. If there is a child in a manor, parents can easily think of significant conveniences to provide.
Moreover, when introducing bloodlines from elsewhere, a quality lineage is something everyone desires.
Considering the current situation, the lord of the manor would likely have been intensely contemplating this.
Desiring someone with military talent as an heir.
It may seem like a simplistic notion, yet it cannot be dismissed. Humanity has historically sought talents through marriage, imposing similar practices upon livestock and achieving comparable results.
One can witness the effectiveness of this in the nobles of the Threefold Empire.
Those who have continuously interbred with superior blood have many beautiful men and women. Their preference for higher abilities and better appearances has allowed them to refine their lineage without developing the blood distortions akin to the Habsburgs I encountered in my previous life.
Thus, it makes sense within this world why “blood” is sought after with greater intensity and in its correct form.
While it is somewhat embarrassing to be considered worthy by such an influential lord of a manor… it is clear to me that such matters are secondary now.
Trembling hands, glistening eyes, and shallow, rapid breaths.
She is frightened. While it’s caused by the attack on the manor, she is equally shaken by the fact that the “peace meant to last forever” has been shattered.
For everyone, peace is the most precious thing, yet simultaneously it can lose value the fastest.
It is thoroughly difficult to attain peace. Building homes, gathering food, fortifying defenses, earning money—the labor needed to put together what can be summarized in just a few words is immense. It is something worked for over and over again, akin to climbing a staircase that stretches beyond the clouds, loaded with heavy burdens, to finally grasp it, yet people too easily cheapen peace to “just normal.”
If they’ve enjoyed it since birth, with a promised future, it becomes all the more so.
Therefore, people misunderstand. They might stand upon a thin platform held up by slender pillars on an uncertain muddy foundation, believing it to be as solid as a structure resting on concrete bases and steel supports.
Yet with even a mere tremor, they feel the world could end, fearing the natural instability of their situation. What a fickle creature humans are.
As someone who tried to support unstable conditions from a muddy ground, I do not deride them. I had my fill of that in my previous life.
Thus, I understand her unease. I can comprehend the mindset of someone who trembles, feeling that without the embrace of a man they considered dependable, they cannot even stop shaking.
Did Margit understand this? Therefore, did she say such things to motivate me before work began and leave behind words as she departed?
She is a strong woman, yet she also possesses kindness to sense the weaknesses of her own kind.
In this, I feel utterly helpless; I, and everyone else.
Embracing her trembling form, cloaking both of us under the heavy cloak, I repeat my own uncertainties in my heart.
Even so, humans cannot help but confront the issues occurring before them.
With a delicate pressure, I felt her body relax, seeming to go limp as warm breath escaped her. The trembling ceased. The grip on my fingers became stronger, and her previously hidden face gazed up at me.
Her slightly parted lips called my name, akin to a child calling for a parent, or a devotee clinging to a deity.
I still couldn’t tell if this was truly the right action to take.
I likely would never definitively know, even if I met my end here…
