Ethan Lowell

When you put your life on the line, you check the reward first.

Ignore the bastard who tells you to slay a dragon and holds out a handful of coins. As for the one who swears he will spend the rest of his life repaying the favor, if you only spare him — take the down payment up front.

Too harsh?

What ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠am I supposed to do? Their situation can be as pitiful as it likes. I still can't die in their place.

That was how I had lived in games, at least. Pull up a walkthrough first, and if the reward looks decent, pack what you need. Fail, and you go back to the save.

By that standard, I did not like the quest floating in front of me one bit.

The reward was Divine Power.

Give it up, and I was out of a job.

So far, an ordinary escort mission. The problem was that I knew exactly what became of the fool who received it.

"Sir Knight. Are you still feeling unwell?"

I lifted my head at the voice from across the carriage.

Silver hair swept past her shoulders. White priestly robes, a blue cloak, and a worried face turned toward me.

Ceria. The main heroine of Paradise for the Saintess.

She had been lovely on a screen. Sitting across from her, I had no idea where to put my eyes.

Answer first.

"I'm all right. It's a little better now—"

The carriage jolted, and something surged up from my gut.

Not all right.

I clamped my mouth shut and turned to the window. Trees crowding both sides of the road drifted past at a lazy pace. Ten minutes ago, I had still been at home.

I had watched the final ending and read the notice that every story had been confirmed. I even remembered pressing the button that appeared beneath it.

I had taken it for an advertisement for the sequel. Wouldn't anyone?

I worked a hand in under the armor, hoping to pry even a little room into it. Two fingers wouldn't properly fit. My ribs had been aching under the pressure for a while.

"Please, have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠some water at least."

Ceria held out a leather waterskin.

I thanked her and took it. Cold water, swallowed a little at a time, settled my stomach. I passed the skin back and looked again at the panel hovering before my eyes.

Right. Ethan Lowell.

A paladin from the game I had been playing. His part was not a large one. He stayed beside the heroines, and when danger came, he stepped in front of it.

And then he died.

On the route where the Saintess was kidnapped, his corpse was dumped beside the well. Brand the captain of the women knights a traitor, and he was executed with her. Help the witch escape, and he burned at the stake in her place.

Collect the endings, and he died so often that toward the end it was almost good to see him.

Ah. So this is where he dies this time.

I was fairly sure I had muttered something like that to myself.

"Sir Knight?"

This time I lifted a hand just enough to show that I was fine. I needed a moment to get my thoughts in order.

A man ought to be capable of something. Who shoves a quest at you the instant you possess a body?

The only thing I had ever killed on my own skill was the mosquitoes that wandered into my room every summer, and I missed them more days than not. On top of that, my Divine Power was sealed. The holy bolted onto holy knight was still nothing but decoration, it seemed.

Even so, the body looked usable. My hand found the scabbard in a grip that felt surprisingly natural. Calluses ridged my palms, and my forearms were solid.

Draw the sword, and maybe the body moves on its own.

For now, stay out of fights.

I opened my mouth with the most untroubled face I could manage.

"Where were we staying tonight?"

"Brennan Monastery."

The hand on my scabbard went still.

"I heard you had been there before, Sir Knight. You said the hot water runs well."

He would have. Not me. Ethan.

I looked out the window again. The light had already begun to slant, and the tree shadows stretched along the roadside were longer than before.

Brennan Monastery. That won't do. That means I die today.

The Abbot of Brennan Monastery sells the Saintess off.

Ceria drinks the drug mixed into supper and collapses, and that same night her escort knight is murdered and dumped behind the well. The player doesn't hear of it until three days later. I was the one who clicked that corpse and investigated it.

The trouble was how much of it the game had never shown. Who killed Ethan. How many of them came at him. Whether he died fighting, or took a blow to the back of the head. I knew none of it.

Would avoiding the well be enough? No. If they couldn't see their target, they would come looking.

My eyes moved to the carriage door. What if I got off now — armor stripped, sword abandoned, into the trees? I ran two steps of that escape through my head and quit. How was a man who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠couldn't even start a fire supposed to survive in a forest? And I couldn't very well ride quietly all the way to the monastery, either.

…Do we actually have to go there?

Strange, once I thought about it. We hadn't even arrived. Why was I fretting like a man already inside? We could simply sleep somewhere else.

I opened the small window that led to the driver's seat.

"There's something I'd like to ask."

A middle-aged man with a thick, bushy beard turned his head halfway.

"Please, speak, Sir Knight."

"Is there a village nearby where we might stay the night?"

"A village?"

"The Saintess is tired. It would be better if we rested early."

Across from me, Ceria blinked.

Sorry. Let me borrow you as an excuse for just a moment.

The coachman glanced ahead, then shook his head.

"There's nothing around here. Better to go on to the monastery."

Like hell there wasn't.

South of the monastery lay a way-station town called Roen. You bought supplies there before going to rescue the Saintess, so I had memorized the name. I just didn't know where we were now. Close on a map could still be a long way in the flesh.

I was about to ask more when a statue by the roadside caught my eye. A goddess with the crown of her head broken off, and the road forking in two before her.

I know that one. The picture on the loading screen every time you entered Roen.

"If we take the left there, isn't that Roen?"

The coachman shut his mouth.

The silence was short — too short to tell whether he was choosing an answer or truly digging through his memory.

"Ah. The bridge that way is out."

"The bridge?"

"It washed away in the last downpour. A carriage can't cross."

He adjusted his grip on the reins as he said it.

I looked toward the fork. Deep wheel ruts cut the road to Roen as well, the edges sharp enough that they weren't old. A carriage might have gone as far as the bridge and turned back, of course. Thin grounds to suspect a man on…

Crack.

The whip cut the thought short. The carriage suddenly picked up speed. I was thrown back, and the scabbard beside my thigh struck the wall.

"Bear with it just a little longer. They'll have supper ready at the monastery."

I wasn't finished. Did it have to be now?

Slowly, I closed the window.

Is the coachman in on it too? If the Saintess went somewhere else along the way, that would be a problem for them. Easy enough to imagine. I wasn't certain. Even so, I had far less reason to stake my life on believing the man innocent.

"Sir Knight."

I turned my head. Ceria had leaned forward a little.

"I'm all right."

"Pardon?"

"You said we should rest early because of me. It's fine if we go on to the monastery."

She studied my face, then added,

"If you're the one who's struggling, Sir Knight, I'll speak to him again."

Is she offering to say that she's the tired one?

The waterskin I had handed back a moment ago still rested on her lap. She hadn't put it away, as if she thought I might ask for it again.

I opened my mouth and closed it. Meeting her eyes was suddenly difficult. Only a little while ago I had been thinking of jumping out ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on my own, and this woman had been worrying about me the whole time.

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

Where do I even start? Tonight you're kidnapped, and I die. How do I know? Because I played this game for over two hundred hours. Oh, she'd believe that. And if I draw a sword without a word, the kidnapper is me.

I lowered my voice so only she would hear.

"The coachman is suspicious."

Ceria's gaze shifted forward.

"He's avoiding the road to Roen. I need to confirm whether the bridge is really out."

"…Right now?"

"Yes. If he was telling the truth, I'll apologize."

Ceria looked from me to the window ahead and back again. She did not nod without thinking.

"If you've misunderstood, you must apologize to him afterward."

"I will."

Only then did she push the luggage at her feet aside, clearing room for me to move.

"What should I do?"

Her voice was calm, but there was strength in the hand closed around the waterskin.

She trusts me.

I was the only one seeing her for the first time today. To her, I was the escort knight who had agreed to go with her to the Holy City.

I took hold of the hilt.

Drop the suspicion here, and this got easy. Sit, and wait to arrive. They had even promised a warm supper. And then die behind the well.

I didn't want that.

I meant to be alive for dinner tonight — and, if I could manage it, to eat it with the woman who had lent me her waterskin.

"Please stay seated toward the inside. And don't get up until the carriage stops."

Ceria shifted her seat.

I opened the window to the driver's box again.

"Stop the carriage, please."

"We'll be there soon."

"There's something I need to confirm."

No answer came. His hand moved for the whip instead.

I drew my sword.

Heavier than I had expected. I got it up in one hand, my wrist wavered, and I caught it with the other at once. Bracing my elbow on the window frame, I pushed the point forward.

Right beside the coachman's neck.

His hand stopped.

"…Sir Knight?"

"We're going to Roen."

The voice came out steady enough.

Good. So long as my hands don't shake. Or would a little shaking be all right? He might even find it scarier.

The coachman turned his head, slowly.

The smile that had lingered at the corner of his mouth was gone. He looked at my sword, then at my face, and asked quietly,

"Since when did you know?"

I held the silence for a moment.

"…Just now."