Chapter 85
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Youngest Young Master
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It's burdensome.
Protecting the youngest young master up close wasn't the issue in itself.
The real problem was that this position originally belonged to someone else, and I'd essentially driven him out.
When a new person sits in an empty seat, no one bats an eye. But when you oust the original occupant and take their place, people don't look kindly on it.
Unless the original owner had a rotten personality or something.
From what I'd gathered by keeping an eye out all day, that didn't seem to be the case.
"But I couldn't just let it slide..."
If he hadn't let his guard down, I could've at least traded a few blows with him.
Instead, he'd dropped his guard completely upon seeing my appearance and got crushed without even managing a proper exchange.
Self-inflicted, sure, but being the direct bodyguard meant he had a solid position within the caravan.
Considering that position, and the fact that I'd be working with the caravan for a while...
I should've given him just enough face to save his pride, even if I could overwhelm him.
That was common sense.
Social common sense.
But having survived nearly half a year in the demon realm had sharpened my instincts over society's rules. And those instincts screamed to strike when the opponent was off-guard—when they were at their weakest.
So my body had simply obeyed.
The backlash? My nape stung a little. No... a lot.
But what could I do about it now? Grit my teeth and bear it.
As I let out a sigh, a voice came from beside me.
"...You, Ellie, was it?"
A small boy who hadn't even lost all his baby fat poked his head out from the carriage.
Fourteen, maybe.
I wondered if Torri would've ended up like that if he'd grown a bit more, but unlike that grubby, smelly kid, this boy was neat and smelled faintly of perfume.
Anyone could tell he was from a wealthy family. And this young master looked up at me with curious eyes before speaking again.
"You look younger than me... How did you beat our caravan's... bodyguard?"
"He let his guard down too much, mostly."
Not empty words.
I would've won anyway, but not like that.
Even in defeat, exchanging a few blows would've kept him from being demoted all the way to guarding the supply wagons, far from the youngest young master's side.
"That's not it. You look eleven, maybe twelve at most—thirteen if I'm being generous. How did you beat a grown man?"
"The world doesn't run on appearances."
That's what the world is—full of things you can't judge by looks.
Helen and the witch, for starters.
Appearances alone don't show a person's strength.
Helen looks like a noble lady, and the witch like a kid younger than me.
Judging anything in this world by sight alone has to be the height of folly.
"Can I... get as strong as you?"
I turned to look at the young master.
Before taking the job, I'd heard the protectee had a frail constitution.
Recalling that info, his face stood out—skin not just pale, but ghostly white.
I'd just thought you can't judge by appearances, but this young master looked fragile even at a glance.
Answering if he could get strong? Hard to sugarcoat.
But exceptions like me exist, so it's not impossible—just extremely difficult.
Look at me.
Talent?
None.
Good health?
Hardly. The absolute worst.
Six months rolling in the demon realm had honed my skills beyond recognition, but my stamina hadn't budged.
Sure, I'd gotten absurd support, but I'd earned it through effort.
So...
"Depends on the effort. It'll be tough, though."
That was the best I could offer, and though not exactly positive, the young master seemed pleased, giving a slight smile.
"I like that you don't just say nice things."
"If you like this, I can be harsher."
"...Pass."
His attempt at a stern, adult tone—awkward like a child playing grown-up—felt both funny and cute.
The young master pulled his head back into the carriage.
I wanted to chat more, but his face had gone green—probably motion sickness.
No real cure for that. Just sleep it off.
Confirming he'd quieted down, I turned to glance at the supply wagons.
The bodyguard I'd beaten and the six hired adventurers were guarding them, following along.
Their glares burned with hostility, but given their skill level, they wouldn't be much of a threat even if they tried something.
"What can you do... They're the weak ones."
Stuck in the safest center of the caravan, getting paid the most—envy was inevitable, but oh well.
Blame their own weakness.
Tsk.
Right after leaving the city, I'd overheard them calling me a sneaky ambusher, a temptress after the young master—every insult in the book. Looked like trouble now and then.
I clearly look like a cute, pretty girl, yet I just couldn't win people over easily.
My Gloomy Aura should've been masked by the witch's help.
Maybe it's the lost connections. Or maybe I'm just unlikable at my core, aura or not. Who knows.
How many hours passed like that?
The sun dipped low, and before full dark, the caravan bustled to set up camp.
They pitched simple tents, lit fires, and circled the wagons into a wall.
Even as the adventurers and workers hurried about, I had nothing to do.
My job was protection.
Staying by the youngest young master's side.
Nothing else assigned—or should be.
That probably fueled the envy, but I ignored it.
"Ellie, your request history is impressive for your age."
The young master, now out of the carriage, approached and spoke innocently.
Was he oblivious to the hostility around us, or pretending?
Either way, he was my focus, so I looked straight up at him.
"The record... is pretty good, yeah?"
For a rookie adventurer under a year in, my request completions were absurdly solid.
Especially the bandit subjugation—I'd contributed massively without a guardian angel watching over me, back when I barely knew how to fight. Still vivid, and thinking back still sent chills down my spine.
Everything after was tough sells for my level too, so my record outshone most veterans.
I'd never bragged, but since my client—the young master—brought it up, maybe a little pride was fine.
"All built crossing death's door dozens of times. Thanks for noticing."
"...You live rougher than you look."
"...Honestly, yeah, it's rough. But how do I look, anyway?"
I knew my image, but tossed it out casually to keep talking. He answered without hesitation.
"Like an adorable girl."
"......Huh."
I'd half-expected "girl." Even figured "little" or "cute" might tag along.
But "adorable"? Caught me off guard. I stared up at him, wide-eyed, and he shrugged innocently.
"It's true. You look adorable, so I said so. Why so surprised?"
"...First time hearing it."
Shan and Marcel treated me well, but they're not the type to compliment looks.
Same for Helen and the witch.
Everyone else? Disdainful stares and words. This was my first real compliment on my appearance.
It tickled... but creepily. Not bad, not good—just weirdly ambiguous.
The sun fully set, campfires crackling.
As people shared rations and rested, the young master spoke again.
"I've never done physical work—my health's poor—so your stories feel like another world."
His eyes held a hint of sadness.
He met my gaze evenly.
"Could you tell me about that other world you've lived through?"
"Sure, no problem."
My tales weren't cheerful, but if he wanted, I could share.
"...It's getting cold. Let's listen inside the carriage."
"Mm, okay."
Not sure if it was cold, but a frail person says so, so it is. I climbed in obediently—and didn't emerge till next morning.
"......I'm exhausted."
The stares around me had gotten weirder overnight, but I was too drained to care.
One word from me sparked two or three questions. Answering took triple the story time.
"Throat's scratchy... Body feels heavy..."
My skills had grown, but stamina? Zero progress.
Pulling an all-nighter talking was burden enough.
"...Y-You okay?"
Someone from the lead carriage—guarding the caravan master—approached as I stumbled out, concerned. All I could muster was curt.
"Is the young master really frail...? He was buzzing all night, full of energy..."
Just sharing stories, and his face lit up variably, immersed till dawn. Not what I'd expected from "frail"—dozing off midway.
As I fixed my messy hair and clothes, he apologized out of nowhere. "...Sorry about that."
Whatever. Apology accepted, so despite exhaustion: "It's fine..." weakly.
A yawn brought tears; stretching drew a groan.
"Urgh..."
The stares around me softened—just a bit. Hostility eased.