The Knight Doesn't Want to Be Reinstated (4)
"The Eighth Prince—ah, no, the captain of the First Knight Order was that 'White Lion'? Astonishing."
The rookie who had joined this year blinked, thrown by the new fact. He looked as though he had never dreamed that a royal, of all people, might be serving in a knight order.
A man who had the look of a senior nodded, as if he understood the feeling perfectly.
"Most of the new blood react the same way. Still, it isn't all that rare. More royals slip into the orders than you'd think, quietly and not so quietly. The First Knight Order especially."
"...Royalists."
"Right. The First is where the royalist nobles gather, so if you're going to lead them, you pretty much have to be royalty, or high nobility at the least. That's why the key posts in the First have been held by royals for generations. ...A royal climbing all the way to captain is rare, though."
"He must be extraordinarily skilled, then."
"Why? You want a match?"
"......Once, at least."
"Hahaha! Honest, I'll give you that."
The senior couldn't help laughing at his junior's brazen nerve, that open hunger to cross blades with royalty. He wasn't mocking the younger man's bravado. A will to fight burning that hot was, if anything, worth praising.
And besides—
Bravado from a man with real skill isn't bravado. It's confidence showing itself. This one has earned the right.
As far as he knew, the finest of this year's recruits was the junior standing in front of him. The man never skipped a day of training. Word had already spread that, aside from a handful of exceptions, no one in the Third Knight Order could handle him, and he called for spars so relentlessly that the seniors were the ones scrambling to avoid him. Would you believe it?
It was noisy enough with all the spars and sparring when that other one was here. He leaves, and an identical junior turns up.
Watching it happen, he had to admit that oddities never stopped appearing.
...Of course, an oddity on the level of that one was rare.
In any case, the other seniors seemed to find this overflowing newcomer a burden, but he was inclined to cheer the boy on. A knight, to his mind, ought to be exactly that relentless.
...Unfortunately.
"Sad to say, he won't take you on."
"Why not?"
"The First Knight Order doesn't deign to face the Third."
Reality was cruel sometimes, and a senior had to tell his junior that the world did not always bend to one's wishes.
"Mmm..."
The junior swallowed a groan.
The Third Knight Order of the Silver Lions. Unlike the First and Second, packed with high nobles, this order was full of lesser nobles and fallen houses. Perhaps because of that, the Third was treated inside the orders like leftover goods—something to be ignored.
Remembering as much, the junior's displeasure sat plain on his face.
"Haa... The longer I live in this knight order, the more my teeth grind. I know politics can't be kept out of a palace, but I never thought it would be this vicious. I used to think that if I just had the skill, vice-captain would come easily enough."
"Cocky. You think making vice-captain here is easy? And spare me the whining. You haven't even been in half a year."
"...I find myself respecting you all over again, Senior. Seeing you stay clean even in a place like this."
It sounded like flattery, but he meant every word. As far as he knew, there were two people in the knight order who stayed clear of politics, and one of them was this senior. Living as a royal knight had taught him just how difficult that was, and respect had followed. The man was nothing short of a model knight.
"Enough of that. Respect the people worth respecting. I'm not particularly clean. I just compromise where I have to and do a knight's work."
Jake Parman, on the receiving end of that admiring look, shook his head at his junior, Jord, telling him not to rate him so highly.
"I'm only the heir of a knightly house so ruined I couldn't join the politics if I wanted to. ...And more than that, I made the wrong friend and earned the higher-ups' dislike. I've already given up on rising."
"...Ah."
"Don't look at me like I'm pitiful. At least I didn't waste time on useless things, so my skill went up."
"......Sparring with you is always enjoyable, Senior Jake."
"They always leave me shaking, personally."
Jake gave a bitter smile.
If his station were just a little higher, he'd have risen fast.
He thought Jord's skill a waste. Among the recruits the boy was clearly the best, and yet he was undervalued for no better reason than belonging to the Third. For once Jake had a junior he liked, and it was a shame the boy couldn't fly higher.
A fellow like this ought to be the one representing the Silver Lions...
There were young knights who stood for the great orders. Men like Sir Vale of Tristan, or Sir Maximus of Lionel, represented their generation.
And yet the one representing the royal knight order was none other than the Eighth Prince. Jake had once watched the prince's skill from a distance and judged it decent talent. Nothing in him had thought the word formidable.
Don't misunderstand. It wasn't prejudice born of the man being royalty. He was only saying what he had felt.
To represent a knight order, you have to show overwhelming ability.
People with mere talent were a dime a dozen even inside the orders. If you wanted to represent one, you had to produce overwhelming results, or ability that surpassed all that scattered talent.
But the captain of the First he had seen...
The skill of the man commonly called Pendragon's White Lion was a long way from overwhelming, and Jake—impious as it was—couldn't help offering a few guesses.
...Maybe the royal house is trying to fill in a lack of legitimacy?
The present royal house. That is to say, the present king was a man short on legitimacy. One might argue that a royal is a royal, and ask what legitimacy he could possibly lack, but nearly everyone would agree with the point.
The problem is that his older brother was too great...
The previous king, the great king called the Military God, had unfortunately been unblessed in children. He fathered two, but the eldest had a chronic illness and did not live long, and the second possessed a remarkable gift for rule—only to be chosen by the Magic Sword and inherit the name of Galahad.
So the previous king died without leaving a proper heir, and the one who succeeded him was the Military God's one and only younger brother. It was at least a prince the Military God had trusted who received the throne, but word was that it had caused no end of talk within.
His Majesty isn't incompetent, and yet...
For a mere knight to measure a king's ability was beyond arrogant. It was impious. Even so, in the present situation Jake was surely not the only one who had sized the king up at least once, asking whether he was truly fit to follow the Military God.
The standard of comparison was simply too vast, and set against it the king's ability fell short of what people expected. As if in answer, His Majesty often made his "mistakes," and disaster followed disaster because of them. The present royal house was weaker in both power and justification than at any time before. At least a remarkable heir had appeared in Princess Isis, so the next generation was something to look forward to. But the king was still hale, and the princess inheriting the throne remained a matter for later.
Given all of that, the royal house was trying every means it had to drag its justification and authority upward, by force if need be. Jake's guess was that the Eighth Prince becoming the first royal ever to rise to knight-captain—and being propped up as a great hope—had something to do with those circumstances.
And so, in truth—
The knight worthy of the Silver Lions—no, of the name of Pendragon—is not the Eighth Prince.
Nor, for the moment, was it Jord. The potential was there, but it had not yet ripened.
Which meant the finest knight Jake could call to mind was...
...He'd say he has no use for fame or any of that. Even so, he's the only one who comes to mind.
The one and only knight who, the moment he joined, sent every senior to a sickbed in the temple, and who kept sparring with Sir Baltar for more than three years without his body being ruined. Lately people were even calling him a hero of the Academy...!
Yes. Only a man like him could represent Pendragon—
"—Huh? What are you doing here?"
"......?"
"Well, well. Been a while."
"L-Lee Han...?"
...Why is that bastard here?
Jake blinked, thrown by the sudden appearance of the friend he had been thinking of only a moment before. He was glad to see him. As the man said, it had been a long time.
Glad, however, was not the whole of it.
"Uh... Senior."
"Hm? Who were you again?"
"J-Jord Decker. Before you transferred out, we crossed swords..."
"......Ah! The one who was pretty decent back then. Long time no see."
"...Thank you for remembering. B-but the thing is..."
Jord's reaction was much the same as Jake's, visibly flustered. It was a reunion with a senior he had wanted to meet, and yet he could not bring himself to be glad. Small wonder.
"Wh-what is that?"
Lee Han was dragging some man along by the scruff of the neck, and staying cool about a sight like that was no easy thing.
Asked by the friend and the junior he had not seen in ages, Lee Han scratched the back of his head.
"Just... how about you pretend you didn't see this?"
"......"
"Stick your noses in and I think you'll end up with a headache too."
"......"
"Ahem."
"...Crazy bastard."
Jake decided to revise his opinion. That one was simply a disaster. No question about it.
......It sounded like an excuse, but he had his grievances too.
"He came at me out of nowhere like a madman. What was I supposed to do, just stand there and take it?"
The fault lay with the one who picked a fight with a man minding his own business on the road. What wrong had the man who answered done? Lee Han was merely laying out the logic of power in the style of a medieval romance fantasy, and he rather thought the logic was sound.
However.
"Fine, I get the reason. But why, of all people, did it have to be royalty!"
"......"
"You think that logic works on royalty!"
"...Nngh."
Right. He wanted to push through on the logic of strength, but the other side's power was far too great. It had to be royalty, and he had beaten that royalty, so the disadvantage was his no matter how he looked at it. If the prince woke and so much as said he had been hit, half the Silver Lions would become his enemies, and even if the matter went to trial, he would be the one marked for death without question.
......And so the shovels went in. Thump. Thump.
"...Seniors, is this really all right?"
"Don't ask me. Ask the one who caused the mess...!"
"...Senior Lee Han?"
Jord looked at Lee Han with open suspicion, and Lee Han answered.
"It's fine. I'll take the responsibility. Bury him."
"......"
Jord Decker was dumbfounded. Never in his life had he imagined that becoming a knight would mean climbing a wild hill to dig—and to dig a hole this enormous. Doubt surged up again. Was this really right?
"This is a crime..."
"Haa. If my father finds out about this, he'll try to kill me."
That was Jord muttering. Jake clutched his head and called it the wages of befriending the wrong man. Lee Han, meanwhile, dug in silence, and with three knights moving earth an enormous pit took shape in no time at all.
"What's a human life, anyway? When you die, you all go back to the dirt. This one's day just came a little early."
"......"
"Remember this, junior. If you're going to cause an incident, cause it thoroughly."
"...Not a lesson I'm particularly eager to learn."
The junior's mutter was pure disbelief. Lee Han, however, had decided to be shameless about it.
Burying him is the answer.
A disappearance. Not the worst course—only the next worst. Not that anyone needed to worry. He had tossed the line at Jord like a joke. He was not actually going to kill the man.
A threat only lands if you take it to the extreme.
Leave nothing but the face above the dirt and starve him for about a week, and he would cooperate(?) meekly enough. Jake was probably helping because he knew as much.
"All right. Shall we send him off?"
A flinch.
"...?"
"......"
"...Hm."
Lee Han caught a presence for an instant and tapped the silver-haired man with the shovel. The man flinched hard, his whole body jerking.
Confirming it, Lee Han spoke.
"Hey. You awake?"
"......"
"...Want to open your mouth after you're buried?"
"...Gulp."
"Three seconds. Three, two, one..."
"...I-I shall grant you a chance. Apologize even now, and I will see that every part of this remains unspoken."
"......"
"A special courtesy. If you take it now..."
"Should I start by taking the arms and legs? Not like you'll be using them."
"—You bastard! Do you know who I am, Aren de Pendragon! You think I will yield to a threat like that!"
"......"
"Kill me! There is no reason to live on while enduring a humiliation of this sort!!"
"......"
"Be quick about it...!"
"...Oh."
Lee Han was impressed.
By the man's spirited bearing?
No.
By something else entirely.
"...I didn't even see you kneel. When did you get down there?"
The man had dropped to his knees faster than even Lee Han's eyes could follow, and Lee Han regarded him with a look that said not bad. A royal who had survived the schemes of court, sure enough.
No sense for the room at all, but that survival instinct is overflowing.
If the man had resisted, Lee Han had fully meant to cut off one of his limbs. He was the sort who often told the truth dressed up as a joke.