Date (3)
Hildegard had few memories of spending time with her grandfather as a child. Creak, creak… But the ones she did have served as sturdy milestones in her life.
One frigid winter, Hildegard huddled tightly in her grandfather's arms by the roaring fireplace. He recited a poem in time with the creaking of his rocking chair.
"With a brave heart, I take up the sword and walk the path of justice,
Protecting the weak and speaking only truth.
Honor is dearer than gold, courage stronger than steel.
A kind heart is the greatest weapon—this is the true way of the knight."
"I shall not retreat before fear, nor lose light in the darkness,
Extend a hand to the frail, show respect to all.
Today I swear once more: to live by the knight's spirit,
To be the light of the world with justice, courage, and kindness."
As he sang with his eyes closed, her grandfather slowly opened them. Young Hildegard didn't understand the words, but she was awestruck anyway. Even without grasping the meaning, the sincerity in the poem struck her heart.
"Wow."
"What do you think, Hilde? Grandpa made it up himself."
"It's awesome! I wanna be a knight too! I wanna wield a sword. I wanna kill demons!"
"Hilde, that's not a knight—that's just a swordsman."
"They're different?"
The young Hildegard couldn't yet comprehend the poem's depth. She just thought being good with a sword made you a knight.
Hildegard remembered her grandfather's kind smile as he bestowed those words. Wrinkles crinkled around his eyes. It was the most genuine, righteous smile in the world.
Hildegard tugged and fiddled with his beard playfully. He chuckled heartily and stroked her hair.
Shing.
"Can you read this?"
A blade of pure white appeared. In the firelight, letters gleamed on its polished surface.
"A sword for justice and courage, for truth."
Of course, Hilde couldn't read it. But her grandfather didn't mind, caressing the letters as he spoke.
"Don't pay heed to what others say—do what you want. What did our Hilde say she wanted to do?"
"Punish the bad guys!"
"That's right. Give those bad guys who torment good people what they deserve. Cheer on the frightened, shout the truth at liars."
"Is that what a knight does?"
Her grandfather nodded.
"That's what a knight is."
It was around then. Torches were gathering outside the window. Gazing at them, he stroked her small, pale forehead.
"You know Grandpa loves you, right, our Hilde?"
"Yeah!"
"Soon, Grandpa's going far away."
"Far where?"
"To the sky. I'll watch over you from there always. So don't be sad if we can't meet. Got it?"
He patted her shoulders and handed her the sword. Hildegard clutched his longsword tightly.
After that, he left with the crowd.
And was burned at the stake.
A heavy silence like sin itself fell over the room. Guests who had been glancing sidelong now fixed their stares, finally piercing Hildegard with their eyes. Amid gazes mixed with fear and contempt, her broad shoulders shrank cautiously. But her lips remained firm.
"Sir Maximilian… was no butcher."
She spoke clearly, enunciating each syllable.
"He was a knight who slew demons and saved the weak. Not some murderer."
"Hah, say that to the victims' faces and see."
Someone sneered.
"I could say it a thousand times."
Her voice trembled, but her resolve didn't break.
"Something's wrong. Grandpa upheld justice and peace, never knelt to lies. He never ignored the weak."
The restaurant was no longer ordinary. It felt like a courtroom judging a sinner. As her quiet words spread, a chill settled over the faces around her.
"You still gonna keep seeing her?"
Drüber elbowed Leo's shoulder and whispered.
Hildegard glanced cautiously at Leo, fearing his contempt yet hoping. His face was calm—no disdain, no fear. That enigmatic expression only made her more anxious.
Leo turned to Drüber.
"You knew all that—why'd you meet Hilde?"
"You asking 'cause you don't know?"
Drüber snatched Leo's fork and pointed it at Hildegard—face, chest, hips, thighs. Down it went, point by point. Leo knew exactly what he meant.
"Too good to pass up."
"…"
Scrape— Leo rose quietly.
"Hilde. Let's go."
He grabbed the wrist of Hildegard, who hung her head like a criminal, and pulled her along. She followed with her gaze still down.
"Hey, you think she'll put out just 'cause you do? Fat chance—that girl's gone four years without a kiss! Waste of time."
"Doesn't matter. I'm not meeting her for scum like you."
"…Hah, what family you from?"
"Valentine."
"Commoner, huh?"
Drüber strode over.
"Don't like looking down on me."
Leo was tall, so he naturally looked down on Drüber. Frowning in annoyance, Drüber kicked Leo's shin.
Thud.
The pointed toe of his shoe was hard. Even a casual kick stung the sensitive shin.
Leo furrowed his brow. But it wasn't the reaction Drüber wanted. He'd hoped Leo would crumple weakly—proving superiority—or lash out in anger, earning a jail term for assaulting nobility and violating military law.
Thud, thud, thud.
Drüber kept kicking Leo's shin.
"Stop it."
Hildegard said.
But Drüber didn't.
"What're you barking for, butcher's blood? This is nothing compared to what your grandpa did."
With that, he swung his palm at Leo's cheek.
Snap!
That was when Hildegard seized Drüber's wrist.
"Guh!?"
"I said stop."
Crack…
Hildegard growled low and feral. The sound of Drüber's wrist bones shattering rang out.
"Agh!! You crazy bitch… I'm a lieutenant colonel. A mere major like you—!"
Unlike Hildegard, who'd risen to major on pure merit, Drüber had his family's backing. Had her family been normal, she'd be a colonel by now. He harbored an inferiority complex toward her.
Having her crush his wrist in front of everyone snapped his reason. He clenched his fist with all his might and swung at Hildegard.
Smack!
As all eyes turned upward, Leo swiftly kicked Drüber's shin.
"Eek!"
Drüber hopped, clutching his shin instead of punching.
"You bastards…!!"
"Young man, why not call it quits?"
A dignified voice spoke up. It came from an old man seated at the best spot by the window, with its stunning night view. He was gazing outside.
"…What?"
The old man spoke while looking out.
"First meal in Lenz in ages—mind keeping it quiet?"
"Just ignore it and eat."
"Heh, with you squawking like a chick, how's the food going down? So shut it."
"Freak."
"Sigh."
The old man rose slowly and turned.
Leo's pupils shook.
Why's that old man here?
The old man strolled leisurely to the eye of the storm and fixed Drüber with his gaze. Someone gasped. Others paled or marveled.
Only then did Drüber recognize him. How could he not? Honorary professor at the Imperial Academy, one of only five 9th Circle mages in the world.
"…Schvalier?"
"Mm, good you know."
Even non-mages knew the legend.
Faced with such a titan, Drüber's face hardened.
"Wh-what're you doing here?"
"None of your business. Point is, heard the night view here's great, come to find squabbling brats ruining my meal. Ruined appetite—time to go."
"…"
"That said…"
Schvalier stared at Leo. Crackle. He sent a mana message.
⟐ Mana Message ⟐
Tomorrow, 10 a.m., Lenz Grand Park. Come, you disciple.
Schvalier vanished from the restaurant. Though gone, his presence lingered powerfully.
Drüber glared at Hildegard, grinding his teeth. But that was all—he couldn't act as before.
I led Hildegard out.
All the way down the dark street, Hildegard kept her eyes downcast. I held her wrist and walked. She followed, led by my hand.
Anywhere was fine—as long as no one scorned her.
I arrived at a quiet park with few people. A small streetlamp cast a dim glow.
I sat Hildegard on a bench and joined her.
"…Sorry."
She said, eyes lowered. Her voice dripped with guilt.
"For not telling you. Sorry."
"About what."
"…My family. Quyrhalstein. That's my family."
I stayed silent.
She continued.
"I planned to tell you someday. Never meant to hide forever. About my grandfather too."
"…"
"But… I couldn't bring myself. Feared you'd hate me, look at me with disgust. Sorry. For deceiving you. Wasn't knightly."
Hildegard rose weakly. Bowed to me, about to leave.
I grabbed her hand.
She stopped, looking down at me with guilt and bewilderment.
"What do you think?"
"…"
"About your grandfather. Maximilian von Quyrhalstein—what do you think of him?"
"…Sir Maximilian was no butcher."
"Why?"
I asked, stripping all emotion.
Hildegard answered.
"…He drew his sword first for the weak. For slaying demons, for justice."
"…"
"Never… to slaughter the innocent…"
She affirmed it, but her voice quavered with doubt. Too much irrefutable evidence of the massacre for her to deny it outright. Of 50,000, 30,000 died. The surviving 20,000 all branded him a killer. A photo snapped mid-massacre clearly showed him cutting down civilians.
Hildegard remembered. At the Lenz Square pyre, her grandfather turning to ash. Knights gripped her family's arms, forcing her to watch. Eggs and stones hurled by the crowd pelted her. The acrid stench burned, her body ached. But more painful was her grandfather's calm face as he burned.
A former sword master's aura-wielding body didn't burn easily. Suns set and rose, set and rose again. Four cycles. Crowds went home at night, gathered at dawn before the vividly blazing pyre. They laughed and cheered at history's worst murderer's end.
He burned long. On the fifth sunset, he crumbled.
Gone from the world.
"That day, cheers filled the square… but for me, it felt like the end of everything."
"…"
"To the end, he never admitted it. I still believe him. Or… want to."
Drip, drip.
Tears fell. Hildegard sniffled, hastily wiping them. Her stiff gloves wouldn't cooperate, so she yanked them off.
For the first time, I saw her hands. Knuckles thick with calluses. Faint scars where thumb met index from guard clashes, scratches and burns on the back from sparring.
Yet those long, pale hands were elegant, like a finely honed blade. Not for beauty's sake, but for honor and conviction.
"Ah, sorry. Showed you these ugly hands."
She fumbled to glove them again.
I removed my right glove. Held up my mangled hand with a grin.
"Prettier than mine?"
"…!"
Her sharp eyes widened. Objectively, my hand was far worse—burns atop blade scars.
I continued.
"So you took up the sword because of your grandpa."
"…Yes. The grandfather I remember was a great knight. I wanted to be like him."
"But he opposed your father becoming a knight because of it."
"Our house faced extermination then, but the king showed mercy. Quyrhalsteins guarded the royals for generations. Likely considered that loyalty."
King Siegfried had ruled for 50 years. Folks praised him as Ehenwalt's greatest—'the Wise King,' 'the Good King.'
"So that's why you joined the military?"
"Yes. Family glory matters, but we owe fealty to the king who spared us."
"I see."
"…What now?"
"?"
"…If you keep seeing me, you'll get bad looks."
"So we break up?"
"…If it's best for you."
"What do you want."
She countered.
"…Me?"
"Yeah. Wanna break up?"
Hildegard looked at me with trembling eyes.
"No… I don't want to."
"Then we're good."
"…What?"
"Oh, almost forgot."
I pulled a small case from my pocket and handed it to her. She eyed it questioningly; I nodded to open it.
Click.
"…A necklace?"
"That answer your question?"
It was gold with an amber gem.
Hildegard froze. As if birthday gifts were the last thing she expected.
"You said it was your birthday. So… bought it. Hate it?"
"No."
Tears streamed as she shook her head.
"Why cry?"
"It's been so long since anyone's given me a birthday gift."
Hildegard smiled, wiping joyful tears.
"C-can I… hug you?"
"Sure."
She leaned in. Her black hair carried a sweet fragrance. I patted her back.