Four Heavenly Kings: Ashumar (2)
“Really, how can I ever repay this kindness...”
The village chief bowed deeply to Sisilia and her group as they prepared to depart.
“We just did what needed doing. Luckily, our party has a very capable priestess.”
“Oh, priestess.”
The chief grabbed Beatrice's hand, his eyes welling up. A plague had swept through, yet not a single soul had perished. It was nothing short of a miracle, and he couldn't help but revere the one who had wrought it.
...It was Sisilia's potions that saved everyone.
Beatrice forced an awkward smile, unable to voice the truth.
“Forgive us. To deceive even our benefactor and try to scam you—I'm too ashamed to lift my head.”
The chief sniffled, gazing at Sisilia. She rolled her eyes dramatically.
...Scam?
“Please, let us offer something in return! Anything you desire, just name it!”
“No need, really...”
Sisilia shot Beatrice a side-eye as the priestess poked her ribs. She jingled her empty gold pouch.
Sisilia always ate the priciest food and stayed only in the finest inns. Before long, their mission funds had run dry.
Trust me, Betty.
Sisilia turned to the chief with resolute determination.
“Then, could I have that dragon doll you couldn't give last time?”
And so, Sisilia acquired a tiny dragon doll, beaming with joy as they headed to the next territory. Beatrice could only seethe with resentment.
* * *
Sisilia's group pressed on toward Greyslam.
“This is your final training, Aiden. Ready?”
“Of course!”
“Confident you won't disappoint me?”
“I will never let you down, Master!”
In truth, the “Dragon's Curse” incident had left Aiden mortified. With so much debt of gratitude to Sisilia, how could he lie helplessly in bed like a fool? He couldn't forgive himself, so he poured everything into meeting her expectations.
“Alright then. Hell march to Greyslam—no breaks, not even a second.”
“Yes, Master!”
Thank goodness Aiden's such a fool.
Sisilia sighed in relief at toasting another naive newbie.
“Beatrice, why the deflated look?”
“...Oh, j-just... old memories.”
“Old memories?”
As Raoul tilted his head, Beatrice smiled awkwardly.
“I had a similar superior once.”
“Haha, knight order days, eh? Makes sense. If Miss Sisilia were my superior, it'd be a nightmare.”
Raoul gazed warmly at Sisilia. They didn't know her true status yet, but her travels had proven her an exceptional knight.
“With such a kind, good-hearted commander's orders, I'd stake my life even on the pettiest task.”
“...”
Beatrice's face turned ashen, of course.
And so, the group took the shortest path to Greyslam. But soon, Aiden's pace began to lag.
...Weird.
He wasn't tired. Aiden trusted his stamina above all.
Why me?
Yet as Greyslam drew nearer, his steps grew heavier.
“Aiden.”
“...!”
“No need to tense up. You'll surely avenge your family once we reach Greyslam.”
No, that wasn't it. This felt more like...
“Heh heh, thank you kindly. What a sweet girl.”
Even en route to Greyslam, Sisilia always helped those in need, no matter how trivial.
“Can't just leave after helping this far without something in return.”
“Helping a retired grand mage is only right. You must've aided Liannen greatly in your time.”
“Eh? Grand mage?”
She'd spout utter nonsense to justify her aid.
“Sisilia... she looks like any old granny to anyone.”
Beatrice often grumbled in exhaustion, but to Aiden, it was different.
She's saying wild things on purpose to ease their burden.
It made sense. She acted every bit the knight yet insisted she was an adventurer. One had to wonder if she even tried hiding it.
“Ooh, taking down an ogre in one hit... Who are you?”
“Adventurer.”
“?”
She never hesitated to use force, spoke and behaved with impeccable noble etiquette.
“She's a handful, your master.”
“Pardon?”
“Always claims commoner adventurer roots, yet follows etiquette to a fault.”
“...Me?”
“Doesn't chew noisily, never spills. Always uses a fork, never hands. And calls herself a commoner? Haha! Charming joke.”
“...Do eastern folk skip etiquette training?”
“Most families lack the means.”
“...”
Even hiding her status was likely to spare Aiden discomfort. Back in the Dragon Knight's Village, feverish and delirious, he'd glimpsed her tireless care without sleep.
After all that toil, she'd joyfully accepted a worthless tiny dragon doll from the grateful chief.
Sisilia was truly warm-hearted.
And profoundly beautiful.
“Greyslam's not far now. We'll arrive tomorrow.”
Atop the hill, Sisilia murmured softly, staring blankly at the sunset. Its glow filled her eyes—the most breathtaking sight Aiden had ever witnessed.
She glanced at him with a faint smile.
“Enjoying the adventure?”
Then it hit Aiden why his steps toward longed-for Greyslam had dragged.
Once there, he'd part ways with Sisilia. Become strangers again.
It ached terribly.
“...Thanks to you, an unforgettable experience.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Sisilia turned back to the sunset. Unbelievably beautiful. Unbelievably powerful.
What was she thinking now? Aiden yearned to share, even briefly—but couldn't ask.
Her sunset-gazing expression was too wistful.
He slipped away, watching her from afar.
Of course—
Would a slash split the sunset?
Sisilia pondered something utterly deflating to Aiden's awe.
* * *
“Greyslam admits no vagrants. Merchants or other territory folk—turn back.”
“Adventurer.”
“Adventurers too. Show ID... Wait. ...S-Sisilia?”
The guard's face turned grave.
“Cleared!”
“Master, what'd you whisper to him?”
“Just vouched for my honest adventurer creds.”
“...Really? That simple?”
“Sincerity always wins, Aiden.”
I see...
Aiden nodded, convinced despite himself.
“Well, take care—”
As Sisilia waved goodbye, Aiden blurted,
“Master, a favor.”
Before Greyslam, he'd pondered one thing: how to extend ties with Sisilia.
Solve everything, then ask properly.
Conclusion: Recruit her.
If things go well here, I'm Hofen head. I can stand tall before her. Even rejection's fine—just ask her to be my knight.
One crucial step remained.
“Wait till afternoon. I have something vital to say!”
“Afternoon?”
“Sisilia.”
Beatrice tugged her hem, but Sisilia couldn't refuse her star newbie's final plea.
“Sure. Understood.”
Aiden strode to Greyslam's heart with Raoul, resolute—to meet Greyslam's overseer, Sword Sovereign William.
What if denied? But word spread, and he was ushered right in.
“Best of luck.”
At the grand doors, Raoul bowed, eyes misty.
“End of the long road, young master. I've awaited this since pledging my sword.”
“...I'll fulfill my duty.”
Aiden entered. Memories flashed: family massacre, twists to Greyslam. Nights of despair. Endured, met master, reached here.
No retreat.
None.
Like master's teachings.
The door creaked. Beyond quiet air lay a serene office. There sat an aged lion of a man, fierce aura undimmed.
Sword Sovereign William. Aiden's uncle.
Aiden bowed, spilling his tale. Lancaster and York plots severed info, delaying him. The eastern giant's aid would restore all.
But—
“Refused.”
“...!”
Aiden's eyes widened.
“Well done reaching here. But that's my answer. Leave.”
Cold rejection. Unimagined, Aiden reeled.
William eyed him impassively.
“My duty: Greyslam's peace. No interest in civil war—nor should there be.”
Aiden's dream shattered. He'd scripted scenarios, rejections, persuasions.
Words stuck. Futile against those eyes.
Never once met his gaze since entry.
“At least grant the title. Recognize me as Hofen head—”
“Go.”
As despair gripped—
“That's a bit tricky, Sir William.”
A whispery, beautiful voice from behind. Familiar.
Aiden whirled. White-dressed girl: Sisilia.
She approached with odd smile, hands behind back before William.
“He's my party member. And my direct disciple.”
“Hm. You.”
Impenetrable William looked up, staring piercingly.
“Vouching for my nephew's skill?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled faintly, closing papers.
Gazed at Aiden.
“Aiden. I appoint you Hofen head. Once settled, some troops too.”
Aiden gaped at the abrupt shift.
“Th-thank you.”
Even exiting with Sisilia, it felt unreal. How'd she sway him with mere words? No persuasion—pure faith in her word over blood kin.
“Sorry, meant to wait till afternoon, but my contacts bailed.”
Nearing the gates, her words snapped him back.
“If convenient, that vital talk—now?”
Sisilia half-opened the door.
“Well...”
As Aiden spoke, doors swung wide. Blinding sun. Knights knelt uniformly, one knee ground.
“Full complement: 58.”
Front boy saluted lightly, smiling. White uniform, Windsor cape behind.
“Windsor Knights assembled. Vice-Captain Sisilia—your orders.”
Sisilia fidgeted wildly.
Why now?!
These folks she'd never obey for her—perfect timing to blow her adventurer cover. She glared at Aiden tensely.
Whoosh—
Other Windsors glared murderously at him.
...Ah.
Aiden clenched fists under their scorching stares.
Suspected, but Windsor Knights? Vice-Captain, no less.
High rank expected, but this lofty?
Impossible, Master. At your age, a mere knight order's—no, the strongest's vice-captain. Too vast to follow.
Yet unbroken.
“Hm?”
He approached flailing Sisilia, who schooled her face blank.
“Master.”
“Yes.”
Resolute.
One day, he'd reach her.
“That promise—if I win a duel, you'll reveal your status...”
And hear it straight from her lips.
Their first meeting: then.
Sisilia grasped his meaning, beaming radiantly.
“Always waiting, same spot.”