A Breath of Freedom
It seemed she really had been thirsty. Sirien gulped down the water I offered. Perhaps her throat had been dry and scratchy from all the dust. For someone with such a small mouth, she drank a surprising amount before finally letting out a refreshed, "Phew!" The wind caught her hair, sending it fluttering. The accumulated snow sparkled under the sunlight, and her long, soft silver hair shimmered in response. Her crimson eyes took in her surroundings—the vast, sprawling snowfield, the dense forest, and a clear, cloudless sky. Finally, her gaze settled on me. Her tiny head tilted to the side.
"But why are you helping?"
"Helping with what? You mean helping Hena?"
"Yeah."
"Just because. It's better if we finish quickly, right?"
Her question didn't seem to have any hidden motive. It was born of pure, innocent curiosity. That was why I had answered without much thought. Yet, Sirien seemed to have kept pondering it while I was fetching the water. The conclusion she reached was quite unexpected. Her eyes sparkled with a sudden realization.
"It's because the adults aren't here, isn't it!"
"Why bring up the adults all of a sudden?"
"Whenever I tried to do Hena's work, the adults would get angry. Especially at Hena. But there are no adults here right now. So it's okay for me to do it, right?"
"Uh... I guess so?"
"Yeah!"
It went without saying, but we were the only ones in this cabin. And to a child, a time 'without adults' held a very special meaning. This was a universal truth, and Sirien was no exception. Come to think of it, she had never experienced anything like this in her entire life. While I still disliked the shabby cabin itself, I didn't mind this situation where only kids our age were gathered. The prospect of having to do everything ourselves, without any adults around, made Sirien's heart flutter with excitement. There were so many things she was forbidden to do as a high noble's daughter. In a strictly hierarchical society, she had to maintain the dignity of a lady. Now, Sirien realized that the shackles binding her had vanished.
Giddy with excitement, Sirien dashed back toward the cabin, outrunning me. She threw the door open and shouted, instantly becoming the source of Hena's deepest anxiety.
"Hena! I want to help clean too!"
"Heeeeeek?!"
The class system in this world was remarkably strict. Perhaps it was a characteristic of female-oriented romance fantasy novels. Unlike male-oriented novels, which often featured a relatively loose social hierarchy, the class divide in this novel was much wider and harder to bridge. This was especially true because the nobility of this world possessed bloodlines with actual, extraordinary power.
Take her earlier question, for instance. If this had been Leheim, the castle of the Grand Duke of Ilencia, Sirien could never have helped a maid. The moment she did, it would be interpreted as a strong declaration that the maid was incompetent. Because she had allowed the young lady of the house to perform menial labor, the maid would likely lose her position. That was the sheer weight of the divide between commoners and high nobility.
Yet here, the legitimate daughter of the Grand Ducal House of Ilencia—the nobility of nobility, a family second only to the imperial family in this vast empire—declared:
"I think I might have a talent for this."
These were the words of a young lady who, until barely ten minutes ago, had been coughing up a storm after poking around a dusty bookshelf. She was a lady who could easily go her entire life without ever touching a broom.
Hena forced a smile, her face practically screaming with all the things she wanted to say. As a maid of the Grand Ducal house, she looked as though she wanted nothing more than to snatch the wet rag from those delicate hands this instant. Unfortunately, Hena lacked the courage to ruin Sirien's bright mood. The young lady was smiling far too radiantly for that.
"Ah, ahaha. You did a wonderful job, my lady."
Meanwhile, Hena's finger swiped across the table Sirien had just wiped. Sure enough, a faint smudge of black soot rubbed off on her fingertip. For a fraction of a second, the professional housekeeper's brow twitched. It happened so fast that I almost missed it.
"Hmm, I feel like I should give you a reward. Why don't you go on a little exploration with the young master? If you find anything interesting, be sure to let me know!"
"Huh? But when I checked earlier, brother was sleeping."
"Pardon? He's sleeping? Where?"
"On the bed upstairs. I felt bad waking him up, so I just came back down."
For a moment, Hena's brain short-circuited. A bed? What bed? Surely she doesn't mean the abandoned bed in the loft. It was a bed that hadn't even been touched, let alone washed. It was the kind of bed that would cover anyone in dust the second they lay down. Common sense dictated that no sane person would sleep there.
But no. This was Therion. The Therion Hena knew was a young master who had absolutely no need for such common sense. After all, a noble young lord like him had never had to learn the concept of dust accumulating on beds and blankets!
"Young master! Young masteeeer!"
Shouting his name, Hena rushed up the stairs to the second floor. That was the day I learned Hena's face turned beet-red when she was trying to hold back her anger.
"I was sleeping so well. What did I do to deserve this sudden storm?"
"Even you would get sick sleeping in a place like that, brother."
"I was seriously fine. I have a trained body, you know."
"That's not the point."
"Ah, whatever. *Yawn.*"
Therion let out a long, lazy yawn. I walked beside him, and Sirien trotted along behind us. In her indignation, Hena had ultimately chosen to kick all of us out. Her ability to maintain a smile while gritting her teeth was a model for all maids, but even she couldn't keep the fury from showing in her eyes. The moment Therion sensed the wrath of his long-time maid, he beat a hasty retreat. Ostensibly, Hena had asked us to go inspect the surroundings. In reality, her true message was undoubtedly, 'Stop getting in my way and get the hell out!' Sirien seemed to be the only one oblivious to this.
Sirien giggled, pointing at Therion's back.
"Brother, the back of your clothes is all black."
"What? Really? This is one of my favorites."
"Your neck is black too! Ahaha! You look like an idiot."
"Look who's talking. You've got black soot all over your cheek."
"Eek! Liar!"
"I'm serious."
Sirien whipped her head toward me. I immediately sensed the arrow of blame pivoting in my direction.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't see it. You've been walking behind me this whole time."
"Ah, is that so?"
"Exactly."
I couldn't exactly tell her that I had left it there because watching her get dirty was amusing. It probably happened when we stepped out of the cabin anyway, so it hadn't been that long. I smoothly deflected her attention elsewhere.
"There's a stream over there. Let's wash up there."
"Okay."
There were plenty of flat stones scattered near the stream. Therion found a suitable spot to sit down, while I used the stream water to gently wipe Sirien's cheek. The water was freezing, and I didn't want her to have to dip her own hands in it. Even the slight touch of the cold water made her flinch.
"I-is it all clean now?"
"Hold on. There, all done."
"Ugh, thanks. When did I even get that on me?"
"Who knows. I'll wet a handkerchief for you, so wipe your hands too."
In any case, this place really did have everything a safehouse needed. By the looks of it, we could do laundry here, and we could just chop down nearby trees for firewood. Water could be drawn from the well, and there was plenty of food stocked in the pantry. Honestly, we could easily survive here for a month, let alone ten days. Though, if we actually spent a month here, the siblings' faces would probably turn utterly miserable. I didn't particularly want to stay in a place like this forever either, leaving my comfortable room back in Leheim behind.
"Hey, Rajen. Since we have so much time, want to spar?"
"A spar sounds great. My body's been itching for some action anyway, and I wanted to work up a sweat. Shall we start right now?"
"Then I'll watch."
There was no need to prepare separate swords. Back at the castle, we mostly used wooden training swords, but we had also sparred with real blades quite often. Every time we did, Sirien would show her disapproval, worrying that someone might get hurt. But now, she seemed to have grown somewhat used to it and didn't say anything. She naturally took a seat a short distance away. Fearing the ground would be too cold for her, I handed her my coat to use as a cushion.
There was an unspoken rule in the spars between Therion and me. First, the first strike always belonged to Therion. This was because, objectively speaking, I held the upper hand. Just as a sword does not choose whom it cuts, we agreed to treat each other as equals during our matches. This meant that the prideful Therion had acknowledged himself as the lesser swordsman and accepted the right to strike first.
"Here I come!"
Therion kicked off the ground and lunged forward. Snow and dirt kicked up behind him, leaving a trail in the white expanse. A heavy longsword swept in, tracing a clean arc. It was a flawless strike. Therion aspired to become an outstanding knight, just like his father, the Grand Duke of Ilencia. Because of this, he was always dead serious when it came to the sword, putting in blood, sweat, and tears. Even if he ended up utterly frustrated by a defeat, he never let it fester into an inferiority complex. Instead, he used it as fuel to push himself even harder, pouring his entire soul into his training. I highly respected that about him.
Clang! Our two swords collided, ringing out with a crisp, metallic chime.
"What's this? Have you gotten better already?"
"Of course I have!"
The moment our blades clashed, Therion shifted his center of gravity to one side. It was a seamless transition into a low kick. I countered by kicking his shin a split second faster.
"Argh!"
"Hurts, doesn't it? That's what happens when your move is too predictable!"
This was our second rule. As long as it didn't cause an injury severe enough to prevent training the next day, any and all methods were fair game. The reasoning was that we had to treat it like real combat. Consequently, despite being a spar between nobles, our matches descended into a chaotic brawl involving hand-to-hand combat and all sorts of dirty tricks. This was also why Sirien, who had little interest in swordsmanship, watched our spars so often. To any outsider, our duels looked incredibly messy.