Chapter 15
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 15
I called her name the moment she stepped into the smithy.
My daily routine was, by design, meticulously optimized for encountering the game’s main characters. My course schedule was a direct reflection of these calculations, accounting for each character’s spawn locations, frequency, and even the probability of random events.
Of course, even with all that preparation, meeting Freya here and now was a stroke of pure luck. The probability of her showing up at this specific shop today had been five percent at best.
“Well, well, look who it is. It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Lady Freya?”
“Good day. It has indeed been a long time.”
Without so much as a glance in my direction, Freya bowed politely to the dwarven craftsman. Her posture was disciplined and refined—the very model of a knight.
“Right, what can I do for you?” the dwarf asked.
“Nothing, sir. I came here to meet someone today.”
Only after concluding her business with the dwarf did Freya finally meet my gaze. She gestured toward the exit with her eyes and whispered softly.
“...Let’s take this outside.”
“Sorry, but I’m here to buy a sword.”
When I pointed toward the display, Freya nodded in understanding.
“Then I shall help you choose.”
Freya’s eyes swept over the racks before she pointed to a longsword hanging in a far corner. The entire process took less than a few seconds.
“Please take that one down for him.”
“...Alright.”
The dwarven craftsman retrieved the sword Freya had indicated and handed it to me.
“Have a feel.”
I gripped the hilt. A heavy sensation filled my palm. It wasn’t that the sword was physically cumbersome; rather, the keenness of its gleaming blade felt weighted with the gravity of life itself. Even for a mere practice sword, it had presence.
“How is it?” Freya asked.
I was tempted to swing it around like a swordsman from a movie, but I held back, afraid I’d sprain my wrist. Instead, I opened my equipment window to check the item’s information.
[Training Longsword]
- Classification: One-handed Sword
- Grade: Common
- Description: A work by Ironhand, the dwarven blacksmith of the Academy Union. A steel training sword with good balance and uniform quality, though nothing exceptional.
[2/100]
The number at the bottom indicated it was the second-best sword out of a batch of a hundred mass-produced blades. After reviewing the stats, I looked at Ironhand.
“It’s a fine sword. But where is the first one?”
“...!”
Ironhand flinched for a fraction of a second. Seeing his reaction, I shrugged.
“If it’s already sold, then there’s nothing to be done.”
After a brief pause, Ironhand finally spoke. “Sorry, but that one isn’t for sale.”
“I see. Then I’ll take this one.”
“I’ll pay for it,” Freya interjected.
“It’s fine, I have—”
Despite my refusal, Freya instantly produced a frog-shaped coin purse and settled the tab.
Clink.
“Thanks. Come again,” the dwarf grunted.
Having paid for the sword in my stead, she led the way out of the smithy. We stood idly by the shop’s front door, the transaction having ended in a flash. Evening had descended, casting the world in deepening shadows. Amidst the boisterous crowd hurrying down the street, I turned to her.
“What is this about?”
We were going to see each other in swordsmanship class tomorrow anyway. I hadn’t expected Freya to go out of her way to find me like this. Instead of answering, Freya bit her lower lip slightly and muttered, “...Are you always like this?”
“...?”
I tilted my head, confused, then pointed to a cafe across the main street. “Let’s go inside somewhere and talk.”
I couldn’t make heads or tails of her behavior—neither the reason she sought me out nor the source of her palpable anger. I figured we should find a quiet spot to clear the air.
“No. I don’t have time for that. I suppose it was my fault for ever expecting anything from you.”
Freya flatly refused, her hostility toward me sharp enough to cut.
“I hear you’ve signed up for our Ishtal swordsmanship lecture. You’d best be prepared.”
“...I don’t know about being prepared, but I’ll make good use of the sword you bought me.”
As I touched the hilt at my waist, Freya replied coldly.
“Yes. Please do. Consider that sword the last courtesy I will ever extend to you.”
With those final words, Freya turned and walked away. For some reason, her retreating figure looked strangely desolate.
*
After my brief encounter with Freya, I returned to the Student Council office, leaned back heavily in my chair, and closed my eyes. After a moment of collecting my thoughts, I called out.
“Ciel.”
“Yes, Lord Roen.”
“Do you happen to know anything about Freya?”
“...”
Ciel tilted her head at the question, then brought a finger to her temple and twirled it. “Have you perhaps contracted amnesia?”
“I suppose I have.”
“You really are something else.”
Ciel let out a small, weary sigh, as if I were truly pathetic, and began her explanation.
“I’m not sure if you are aware, Lord Roen, but Lady Freya’s family, the Gunhilds, and the Devalis family have been longtime allies.”
I already knew about the history between the two houses. Devalis of the Western Front and Gunhild of the Northern Front—two great houses that protected the continent from the hordes of demonic beasts. The Devalis family held back the ferocious tides of the West, while the Gunhilds defended against the armies of the slumbering Winter King in the North. Because of this shared burden, they had maintained a steady relationship for generations.
“As such, there were often talks of marriage between the two families.”
“...?”
When I tilted my head again, Ciel sighed softly and added, “In short, Lady Freya was once your fiancée, Lord Roen. Though the engagement was broken off after the former family head passed away.”
“...”
I’d had a hunch, but I hadn't expected it to be true. In the game, there was almost no information on Roen, but Freya’s background was relatively rich. Among those details, there were a few tidbits that hinted at a connection to the Devalis name.
It was open to interpretation, but it did suggest a former fiancé.
Ciel continued. “Of course, it was never a formal engagement. It was little more than a verbal promise.”
“I see.”
I leaned back and organized my thoughts. If what Ciel said was true, Freya’s reaction was somewhat understandable. But the engagement between Freya and Roen had been broken when they were very young. The previous head of the Devalis family, Kaiser Devalis, had passed away when Roen wasn't even ten years old. If the arrangement ended then, it would have been nearly a decade ago.
Would she really react this intensely now because of that?
No, that can’t be it.
If that were the only reason, she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to find me just to act so hostile. Something else must have happened in the interim.
...It can’t be because I nominated her for vice president.
I had used Freya’s name to maintain my position as Student Council President during the last meeting, but that also seemed too minor to trigger this level of resentment. I tried piecing together various bits of game lore, but I couldn't arrive at a satisfactory conclusion.
This is the one area where I struggle.
If there was one game genre that I, the world's greatest gamer, was uniquely bad at, it was romance simulations. I could mechanically select choices and optimize schedules to raise affection levels, but I never truly understood the fundamental human principles behind them. Fortunately, that genre didn't involve competitive rankings, so my reputation remained untarnished.
In any case, I’ll take my time figuring this out.
There was a clear gap between the information I possessed and Freya’s reaction. Until I found the missing link, I shouldn't try to resolve this rashly. My swordsmanship class was tomorrow, but there was nothing more foolish than agonizing over a problem with no apparent solution.
For now, I’ll just show her I’ve changed and react to whatever happens.
She seemed to be on a different track than the other three main characters, but conversely, if I could just untangle this knot, she could become my most steadfast ally.
Having finished my thoughts, I asked Ciel a simple question. “Have you had dinner?”
“Yes. With my fellow students.”
The way she emphasized ‘fellow students’ made it sound like she was asking, You don’t have any friends, do you?
“...I see.”
Looks like I’m eating alone again. It was a familiar feeling, but I hadn't expected to be this lonely here, too. Just as I rose from my seat to head to the dining hall, Ciel stopped me.
“Lord Roen. I have a lunch box I made. How about having this for dinner?”
“A lunch box?”
“Yes. I just came from my Practical Culinary Arts lecture.”
Ciel produced a bundle she had been hiding and spread it out on my table. It was a magnificent spread, far too elaborate to have been a mere class assignment. She might have the [Caustic Critic] trait, but Ciel truly was the best maid.
Gazing at the feast fit for a king, I said quietly, “Her future husband is going to be one lucky man.”
*
After a blissful dinner, I finished the rest of my paperwork and prepared for bed.
Tomorrow would be physically demanding due to the swordsmanship class, and I also had a lecture at Seintea—a place crawling with priests—so I needed to be mentally sharp.
I need to be in peak condition.
Before ending my day, I stepped out of the Student Council office. The hallway was pitch-black, save for the moonlight streaming through the windows. There was no sign of anyone around; it seemed there would be no repeat of yesterday’s fake letters.
Just as I was about to close the door, a thought struck me.
Wait a second...
I stepped back out and checked the mailbox attached to the wall next to the office. Though it was called a mailbox, its real purpose was a suggestion box—a channel for receiving proposals from the student body. I opened it with my key card.
Just as I expected, it was stuffed with a thick pile of letters. I took them inside, spread them on the table, and opened the most conspicuous one—a bright red envelope.
The contents read:
[Hey, you fucking bastard. You...]
“...”
I immediately closed the letter and sighed.
Are the others the same?
Just in case, I peeked at a few more. The contents were largely identical.
[Petition for Roen’s Resignation.]
From letters that opened with visceral curses to formal documents collecting signatures demanding my removal as Student Council President. There was even one that, like Martin Luther’s Ninety-five Theses, listed my predecessor's evil deeds one by one and proposed a plan for my "salvation."
They certainly were dedicated. It was a testament to just how notorious the old Roen had been.
I returned to my desk, turned on a soft, warm lamp, and began reading the letters one by one. Many were filled with insults, but I didn’t feel particularly offended.
It’s not like I’m the one who did those things.
The target of their hatred was the Roen of the past. There was no reason for me to get upset. In fact, these letters were a goldmine of information. They were a valuable way to learn about Roen’s past actions and the specific reasons for his infamy.
Not everything written here is necessarily true, but it doesn’t hurt to know the rumors.
I committed the details to memory, jotting down essential points in a notebook. There wasn’t enough time to read them all tonight, so I decided to go through half of them before sleeping.
I capped my fountain pen and gathered the letters to put them in a drawer. It was then that a single letter slipped out from the middle of the pile.
I picked it up and examined the envelope. The recipient was me, but the sender was unusual.
Izelin Academy Student Council?
I searched my memory and soon recalled the name.
Izelin...
That was the name of the academy that had lost the competitive selection process—the first school to be absorbed and shut down by the Union.