Let's Bolt
Contrary to my worries, Aria seemed to be holding up just fine. She had been barking at people until only moments ago, after all.
"Big brother...? Is that really you?"
"Yes, well, I'm just glad you don't seem to be hurt anywhere—"
I tried to add that last part—that it was a relief—but unfortunately, the words never made it out of my mouth.
"...Hic..."
"...Aria?"
Tears were spilling from her jewel-like eyes, one glass bead at a time. Without the slightest warning.
"Why are you crying, Aria? Are you feeling sick somewhere—"
She still showed no outward reaction whatsoever, but by then I was nearly certain: something had gone wrong with her body. Otherwise there was no explaining why she—always so level-headed and full of spirit—would suddenly break into tears.
Never in my life had I been more thankful that I'd gone to the trouble of bringing the Saintess along despite Charlotte's objections. The instant I turned to call her over and ask for her help—
"Saintess, could you take a look at my sister, just once—?"
—something behind me tugged at my clothes. No, tugged wasn't the right word. The force was far too faint to deserve the name.
It was the sort of grip strength only a newborn could produce. My head turned of its own accord, and there was Aria—
"I'm... sorryyy..."
—still weeping in sorrow, tears falling one by one. And as if that weren't enough, she kept pouring out apologies, over and over.
I didn't know what she was sorry for. I didn't know why she was suddenly acting like this. But my hand moved anyway—to soothe her, still crying so mournfully even now.
"Aria."
"Hic... I'm... I'm sorry..."
"I'm fine. Really."
"Hic... hic..."
"It's okay."
I stroked her hair, whispering again and again that everything was all right. Truthfully, I had no idea what she thought she'd done wrong.
Not that she was ever capable of doing anything all that terrible to me in the first place...
"Hic... sob... I'm sorry..."
"What are you so sorry for? You haven't done a single thing wrong."
"I..."
"...All right. Take your time."
At my words, her lips began to quiver—faintly, but unmistakably. As if she were debating whether she was even allowed to say it.
I went on stroking her hair, gently, a little at a time. No particular intent behind it—just a wordless way of telling her to relax.
"..."
The way she flinched at every pass of my hand reminded me, strangely, of a cat. One of those strays that prowled the back alleys.
"...What do you suppose those two are doing, Lady Shino?"
"Haha... I was wondering the same thing."
And so, just for a moment, in the middle of stroking her hair, a pair of thoroughly sulky voices drifted over from behind us—the voices of the two people I'd been too absorbed in Aria to spare a single thought for.
"Ah—Saintess, could you perhaps treat my sister—"
"There's no need. Your sister is perfectly fine right now."
"...Could something be the matter with you as well, Saintess—"
"Now, now, it's lovely that everyone wants to chat, but... we don't exactly have time to spare, do we?"
"...Huh? What's that supposed to mean, big brother...?"
"We forced the door open to get in here, you see~ Someone's bound to catch us before long."
Fair enough. There was no counting how many servants were wandering this estate, and the odds that at least one of them would head for this room were extremely high. And when that happened, we would be caught red-handed.
"...Let's get out of here first. We can talk later."
"Okay—so how do we—"
CRASH—
Most unfortunately, the rest of her sentence never reached us. Because I had just smashed the window beside us to pieces.
"Wh-what—?!"
"Well, we've already rescued Aria, after all."
"No... no matter how you look at it, this is just—brutish...!"
The way they looked at me shifted, as if I'd gone completely insane, but I couldn't have cared less. I was used to looks like those—and I had no desire to stay in this place a second longer.
Besides, this estate was as good as the Duke's property. Surely it wouldn't hurt to break a little of it? We were his children once, after all.
...Let's bolt.
Even so, scared was scared all the same.
When my brother first appeared, for a moment I was sure it was a dream. An illusion spun by my own heart, born of how desperately I wanted out of this place.
But it wasn't. He had truly come. He had come to save me—me, who had been kidnapped without warning.
Why?
I... I've never done anything for him...?
The moment that thought flashed through my mind, my tears finally broke free.
He had fought his way into this house, wearing himself out, all for my sake. He had always been like that—striving for me, ever since we were young. And I had never given him a single thing in return.
Worse, I had ignored his advice, gone to see Father, and been disillusioned all over again. I had spread rumors on my own and landed myself in this mess. And now, at the very end, here I was leaning on my brother's hand yet again.
I felt so guilty I thought I might die.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, drop by drop, of their own accord. I tried my best to stop them, but these tears, falling however they pleased, showed no sign of ever ceasing.
And to me, in that state, my brother said he was fine.
"I'm fine. Really."
...Liar.
As if. He clearly had no idea why I was even crying.
"I'm sorry..."
I truly was sorry. Because right now, those words were all I had to give him. Even in this very moment, as we left the estate behind.
Allen Reinhardt. Among the countless young knights of his generation, he was hailed, without dispute, as a genius of the sword.
He was forever asking himself a question—a question that remained an unknown to all who donned armor and bore a blade.
It was not a question with a settled answer. It had not been crafted to single out any one thing, and every swordsman who gripped a hilt offered a different reply. In other words, it was of precious little use to one's growth.
And yet nearly every knight carried the question buried deep in their chest.
That was the question to which every knight gave a different answer—and the words now shaking Allen's heart to its core.
...Why did I ever want to become a knight?
At first, it had been duty. The duty of following in my father's footsteps.
After that, a measure of satisfaction. Once I took up the sword in earnest, my skill soared—enough to effortlessly crush the blades of everyone my age.
If I simply kept on like this, surely one day I would reach my father. Surely I could draw near to that colossal blade that had once cut down dozens of monsters single-handedly.
With that thought, I honed myself without pause.
Then one day, I saw him.
Today, let's start with horizontal slashes... Jenison?
Nothing out of the ordinary—except that the boy who always slacked off from sword practice was out on the training grounds first thing in the morning.
At the time, I thought it mere caprice. A child picking up a sword on a lark. That was all he looked like to my eyes then.
...Give it a little while and he'll quit on his own...
"..."
In that instant, the boy swung his sword. No—more precisely... he danced.
A dance of feints flowing into one another like water, lethal killing blows threaded between them. A sword dance such as I had never once seen—so beautiful I could have applauded right then and there.
...Still not good enough.
And even so, the boy walked away. Flung down the wooden sword and left without a backward glance.
Only when he had completely quit the training grounds did I notice the blood trickling from my own lip.
...Not good enough? That... that was...?
How could that be? A boy who had never once held a sword properly, who was forever shirking his training—how could he stand ahead of me, who had devoted everything I had to the blade?
If... if this went on, even Father... he might pass the seat of family head to that boy...!!
I could not accept it. No—I did not want to. The moment I acknowledged that truth, all the time I had spent felt as though it would dissolve into nothing.
...Did I want power, then?
I threw myself into training with even greater spite. Even when every muscle in my body brimmed with pain, even when the training grew so brutal it felt as though my nails were being torn out, I did not stop.
Because I had to prove it. That my time had not been wasted. And that I was superior even to that boy.
But it had all been for nothing. The boy had brought ruin upon himself, all on his own.
...What mess did he go stir up this time?
...
Tch. Pathetic.
Nothing could have been more pathetic than the sight of a boy courting his own destruction.
And at the same time, superiority surged through my entire body.
As I thought... I am far better than you.
The thought that the boy who had once gifted me my inferiority complex now lay crushed beneath me made me feel as though I could take flight. So much that I doubted whether it was even a dream.
"How could you... do that to your own brother?!"
"...It was necessary. For the family."
And as it always did, the dream shattered.
...Father was the one who made him act that way? Deliberately?
The hideous underside of the man I had worshipped as an idol lay bare, and with it, confusion began to flood my mind.
Then... that boy...
The boy I had always looked down on had, in truth, been sacrificing himself for his family? And on none other than Father's orders?
From the moment I learned that truth, the hand that gripped my sword had begun to tremble—because of some vague feeling that this was wrong, somehow.
A knight was a swordsman before anything else. And to think a swordsman could not grip his blade because his hands were shaking.
I had to find an answer. However I could.
"Th-the young lady has disappeared!!"
"S-someone's outside the window!"
"Is... isn't that the second young master?!"
"The second young master is carrying off the young lady!!"
Do you know the answer?
Whatever the case, right now, I had to move. If only for the sake of everything.