A Knight Does Not Forgive the Golden Sun (3)

In a single breath, the star of the stage seemed to change.

The thought rose unbidden. The little mage chick's presence outstripped anything he had imagined.

Well, damn. She's devouring the whole stage with her face.

Lee Han, to be honest, had never taken much interest in the chick's looks. He could admit she was pretty, but when he looked at a person he began with bone and frame, not the face, so the skin stretched over a skull had never been much of a fascination. Only lately had a certain maid started to stir anything in him. Aside from her, women simply did not.

This was different. Not a flutter of the heart. And yet—

So this is what they mean by a work of art that walks.

The awe came whether he wanted it or not: the feeling of standing before a beautiful statue, or a painting. Even in his past life, they said the sculptures famous for their beauty could drag a gasp out of you and leave you staring blank. The chick's face and air gave off something of that same finished art.

"Bear-Girl. I'm starting to feel like I don't know her."

"I—I feel the same..."

A bewitchment that could snare even another woman. If he had never seen a true Dream Fiend, he might have had to wonder whether the magic chick was one herself.

Half-elf, they said. Her mother's blood runs thick in that chick.

He alone knew that Irene was Duke Blake's true daughter, and that the girl had inherited the fairy blood in full strength. From ancient times, the beauty of the fairies had been set beside goddesses and angels; more than one myth had raised it into a goddess of beauty itself.

Now I see why they said it.

He had thought himself used to that face, and still, once she dressed with intent, he understood exactly why the ancients had gone so far as to worship fairies. So that was why they said a woman's transformation was a crime.

The frightening part is that she isn't finished growing.

Astonishingly, the chick's growth was not over. It was only just beginning. Once she came fully into it, people might finally learn why the words Kingdom-Toppling Beauty existed. She was already this much. The years ahead would only be more terrifying.

Lee Han had no idea who would lead her off someday. He devoutly hoped it would not be him.

I don't want to be that duke's son-in-law. And more than that—

A prickle crawled over his skin.

I don't want to get tangled up with a pack of jealous males, either.

Even with Bear-Girl at his side, the looks had stung a little. With the mage chick circling nearby, the jealousy gathering on him belonged to another order entirely. If a glare could kill, he might have died a few hundred times. That was how raw it was.

Hm.

So that's why the brave man gets the beauty.

Without the nerve, you could never endure jealousy like this.

Even so.

"...This is annoying."

Tch.

Displeasure settled in, and Lee Han clicked his tongue. Jealousy itself was not the crime. The rain of stares was simply in the way. He muttered the one complaint under his breath, already tired of all of it.

"...Huh?"

Why had the whole place gone so quiet?

The hush dropped all at once. Lee Han blinked and looked around. The males—the same ones who, a moment ago, had been cutting him with murderous looks—had gone still as dead mice and turned their faces away.

What had gotten into them?

He was still blinking, the question plain on his face, when a voice cut in.

"...Instructor. Why you get farther from human, more and more?"

"What are you talking about?"

Kunta was staring at him as if he had lost his mind, and Lee Han only tilted his head. He genuinely could not see the reason.

The men who had turned their eyes on him, though, must have felt a chill in that instant—no. Their very marrow must have gone cold.

Lion's Roar, was it?

A cold sweat traced down.

Lion's Roar. The art of loading one's voice with martial pressure. Arno, and Garand with him, had already been crushed by it once—at the sparring held on the very day they first met their instructor.

The memory was still vivid: a presence like a lion or a tiger roaring in their faces, pressure pouring off him. For them, it would be a shock they would not forget for the rest of their lives.

But the Lion's Roar of that day and the one just now were not the same thing. He had not consciously loosed his pressure. He had simply carried it, naturally. Irritated, the instructor had thrown a wordless warning at everyone pouring hostility toward him, and he had done it without knowing.

Those who had been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠glaring at him in jealousy had surely seen the hallucination: an elephant-sized tiger snarling right in front of their eyes.

The trio had borne him no hostility. Unfortunately, their skill was high enough that they read an opponent's momentum whether they meant to or not, and so they shook like people who had only been standing near a campfire and still caught the sparks.

"I'm losing my mind. My body was paralyzed for about five seconds just now."

"K-Kunta was ten seconds..."

"...That is already not a person, I think."

The three of them, briefly locked in place, looked thoroughly sick of it. This was no longer the realm of technique. Anger alone was enough to draw out a Lion's Roar, as naturally as breath. Which meant—

"Instructor became a beast."

"...The wording is a little..."

"He's not wrong, but still..."

"A wild beast would be closer."

"That is rather better. ...Hm? Young Lord Roen? When did you arrive?"

"Just now. The moment I stepped in, I thought a monster had appeared. What happened?"

"...Haha."

The young lord of Lionel himself had arrived, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still his presence was forgotten. That was how fierce the pressure had been. Arno swallowed an empty laugh. Garand looked plainly fed up. And Kunta—

"Mm, ah! So that is what they mean by Beauty and the Beast!"

Without meaning to, the barbarian had spoken the title of a fairy tale that did not exist in this world. The day Kunta understood he had just given a story its spark would come much later.

Unaware that he might just have witnessed the historic birth of a Grimm Barbarian in place of the Brothers Grimm, Lee Han was simply pleased that the crowd around him had thinned.

Finally. The surroundings are a little less irritating.

Every time their eyes were about to meet his, people turned away. Why were they doing that?

"What's wrong with those people?"

"I know, right?"

Those who had not been caught in his threat were still only cocking their heads when, all at once—

Instruments stole in. Violin and cello, piano and euphonium, and a whole gleaming company of brass lifted into a splendid piece. It was the students of the wind faculty.

"That's one of the reasons they hold balls and parties inside the academy. It's also the day the music and art students show what they can do. Put on a good showing here, and sometimes a noble offers to take you on."

"Yeah? First I've heard of it."

"Mmm. You really do leave everything to Assistant Instructor Damian, don't you? A notice asking the faculty to cooperate should have gone out, too."

"...Why didn't that bastard tell me something that important? Delinquent."

"......"

If he did not know something this basic, it was the fault of an irresponsible assistant instructor. Lee Han tore into him with a brazenness that knew no shame. Had the man himself been present, he would have been furious—he had clearly reported it, so why pretend not to have heard? Unfortunately, the assistant instructor had worked the night watch for three days straight and was home taking an afternoon nap, quite unable to dream of the unreasonable scolding bearing down on him.

Chewing out an assistant instructor could be done whenever he liked. What mattered now was this.

He offered his hand with the courtesy the floor required.

"I'll be counting on you."

"Y-yes..."

One had to show the manners proper to the place.

As the music swelled, men and women paired off and danced, as if by nature. To an outsider it looked almost like a play, a scene blocked out in advance. And, surprisingly—

It is a staged scene. That's exactly what this is.

Anyone who felt that way would be right. To treat this party as nothing but a place to enjoy oneself was a serious mistake. In the end it was also an extension of the exams for the students of the cultural faculties, a trial version for those who would later have to survive high society. From a third person's eye, the whole thing was slightly unnatural, and it was correct to say it moved like a scripted scene.

Except.

"I-is this how you do it?"

"You're doing well. Yes, just like that, Mister Little Bear No. 8."

"...Miss Chick No. 12. Could you please stop with the little bear?"

"Then Mister Baldy No. 8?"

"...Just call me Bear."

"Ufufu."

For the students of common birth who had never stood in such a place, and for the lower nobles as well, all of it was fresh, and it was fun. Simply keeping company with a partner was already a considerable pleasure, and a considerable experience.

Well. What isn't fun, in your school ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠days?

Wasn't youth the season when the mere sight of a leaf could set you laughing until you folded? A fortune that went by the name of memory and experience. What came to mind were acquaintances from his past life who had gone to university: no matter how many years passed, they could not forget. Over drinks, over coffee, they recited their school days, laughing, chattering, getting angry. They told those stories with pleasure.

So this was not merely a party, nor merely a stage for an exam. For these young men and women, what they were living now would still be a memory they could not forget in ten years, or in twenty. A romance you could only have while you were young. However endlessly clumsy, however like a badly blocked play, that romance was present in this room. It was there.

The disciple dancing with him was no different. Color high in her face, she danced, and she laughed as if she were enjoying herself. As if this moment were happiness with nothing left to add.

"Having fun?"

"...No."

"?"

"I'm happy."

"...Right."

At his disciple's words, Lee Han simply danced on in silence. He did not drive the steps too hard. He only did his best, in his own way, so that she could enjoy it. There was plenty about it that was clumsy. Even so, being able to dance this much after only four days was something he wanted to praise himself for. Every bit of the credit belonged to the maid whose honey-colored eyes suited her so well.

......And that was precisely why.

...The kids are out here playing. Why are there so many worthless bastards around?

A page of youth was about to be ruined, and Lee Han, as an adult, did not think he could stand by and watch. He suspected Geomdung and the trio had already noticed.

A few shady ones in the mix.

Men with a temperament he had no wish to associate with. And then, to him—

"......"

"...Hm."

More surprising than that was the speaker himself.

Secret Voice Transmission. The lips moved, but the voice never left into the open air. It reached ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only the one meant to hear it. Geomdung had just performed that art, and Lee Han was frankly dumbfounded. How in the world did a person do a thing like that?

He set the question aside for the moment, how the boy managed the transmission. Instead—

"Bear-Girl. I've got a bit of work. I'll be back."

"Yes?"

"Too many rats."

"......"

"Sorry. I'm a sorry excuse for a partner."

"...Hehe. No. It's exactly like you, Master."

"Right. Thanks for understanding."

He had decided to discipline the worthless men who meant to spoil the children's play. Obviously.

So long as the kids don't catch me at it.

Gently, Lee Han let go of the hand he had been holding. Regret showed plainly on Levi, and still—

"Please be careful."

"Thanks."

She let him go without a fuss. Lee Han shaped words at Geomdung with his mouth alone. He could not manage a secret voice the way the boy could.

Getting the meaning across was not difficult. He lifted a fist: if you fail to keep them safe, I will not let it go. And Geomdung—

A satisfying answer.

A rush of air—and Lee Han slipped in among the crowd and vanished in the same instant, as if he had never stood there at all.

"......How in the world do you do something like that?"

Roen searched for a figure that was already gone, and the question escaped him anyway. If Lee Han had found his secret voice astonishing, Roen, for his part, found the man's movement nothing short of unbelievable.

Truly.

"No matter how I look at it, you are the stranger one."

It was the honest remark of a regressor.