Guildmaster Dieta (2)
Dieta moved with purpose.
She bathed, combed her hair smooth, and though she had already decided the night before what she would wear, she deliberately spread dozens of outfits across the bed and fretted over the choice for a long while.
Someone might call her fussy. Someone else might ask if they weren't all more or less the same…
What of it? Dieta was enjoying this moment. She was faithful to that instinct every person possesses—the desire to look good in someone's eyes. She turned a full circle before the mirror and nodded.
Yes. This one.
Only after she had dabbed on a perfume of the lightest fragrance did she finally set out. The meeting place was the same reception room as always. Seated on the sofa, sipping black tea, Dieta glanced sidelong at the clock. Roughly ten minutes until the appointed hour.
How long had it been since she waited for anyone like this?
Merchants and nobles formed queues, thrusting money at her just for ten minutes of conversation. Her appointments were packed solid for months ahead; for a woman who lived by the minute, time was gold itself.
A commodity nothing else could buy.
And yet there was someone who could freely purchase that time of hers… no—was "purchase" quite the right word? Dieta revised it in her mind. Purchase was one-sided. This was not one-sided.
There was someone with whom she could share it.
With her heart thudding, Dieta kept looking from the clock to the door and back again. Ears sharpened, she strained toward every sound from the corridor. When footsteps drew near only to pass the reception room by, she even let out a small sigh of disappointment.
Then—tap.
Footsteps. The instant she heard them, Dieta knew. He's here. That man. His stride was always like that: light, yet full of strength.
Three. Two. One.
She counted down inwardly and steadied her breath. She knew perfectly well that her composure would shatter the moment they exchanged a few words—or simply met each other's eyes—yet she drew a deep breath all the same. She always wanted the first impression to be flawless.
A few knocks. The door swung open.
Dieta looked at Najin standing in the doorway. Her heart hammered, but thankfully the first words came out without her tongue twisting.
"Welcome. It's been a while, Najin."
Sweet black tea and a spread of confections.
Tasting something that actually deserved to be called food for the first time in ages, Najin felt a flicker of genuine emotion. Ah—so this is what food tasted like. Living so long in the Outer Land, where food was unnecessary and nearly impossible to come by, had made the very idea of a meal feel foreign.
"As I was saying—"
Najin told Dieta of his adventures in the Outer Land.
"You saw it in the papers, right? How I toppled one of the biggest trading houses…"
Dieta, in turn, told Najin of the politics on the Continent and how she had swallowed the Rocktide Trading Company whole. They talked without holding anything back, and both of them laughed often. Simply sharing stories was enough to make them happy.
"You said you'd seize the Empire's purse strings—looks like you're nearly there. On the way here today I saw nothing but your company's banners."
"Only Cornellhild is left, really. And the groundwork on them is already finished. If things go smoothly, three months? Even if it runs long, I expect to have them by the end of the year."
The casual way she spoke of swallowing yet another great trading house made Najin smile. If he was climbing toward the pinnacle as a warrior, the girl before him was already brushing against the absolute peak as a merchant.
Different fields, each walking their own road—Dieta had been the one who said they should meet again at the summit.
She was keeping that promise. She might even reach the top before he did.
"At this rate, Dieta, you might plant your flag at the summit before I do."
"What are you talking about?"
Dieta tilted her head.
"I told you back then. Holding the purse strings is only the first goal. The next one is that place."
She pointed toward the tower that ringed the Imperial capital.
"There's no law that says only archmages and Sword Masters can enter that tower, is there? In a thousand years of Imperial history it happened only once, but a merchant was once named a candidate for the Pillar."
A certain great merchant of the Empire's past. He had seized control of logistics, monopolized the waterways and shipping lanes, and amassed a fortune so vast that he had been put forward as a candidate for Pillar. He never became one in the end—but he had proven the possibility.
"When you become a Sword Master, I mean to climb that Pillar myself. It's my dream, yes—but there's also a reason I have to."
As she spoke, Dieta glanced sidelong at Najin.
"A reason? You mean revenge?"
"Revenge? Ah—against House Arvenia? That's already underway. I've wiped out about twenty of their trading partners; they should be getting in touch any day now… Anyway, that's not the reason I mean."
The chilling remark slid past as if it were nothing; Najin simply nodded and waited. So what was the reason?
"Because only then can I stand beside you."
"You don't need any qualification just to stand next to me…"
"I have no intention of becoming a burden to you. Even less of becoming your weakness. I want to be useful to you—not drag you down. Not ever."
And then, Dieta smiled.
"Because only then can I stay by your side for a long time."
At last Najin understood what she was saying.
"You're talking about lifespan."
"Yes. Exactly that."
Najin was still growing, so he continued to age for now—but the moment his body finished maturing, he would stop growing older. Even at his present realm he had already grasped agelessness.
Dieta was different.
She was no warrior. No matter how many gold coins she poured out, the best she could do was mask the signs of age. Time would make her grow old and, eventually, die. As it did for most humans.
"But if I obtain a Star, the story changes."
And Dieta had no intention of remaining most humans. A Star—if she claimed one, she could seize the same agelessness Najin possessed.
"If I become an Imperial Pillar, if I leave behind an achievement of that scale… wouldn't they grant me at least one Star? I'll be the first in a thousand years, after all."
"Well… I suppose they might."
"Your reaction's awfully lukewarm. As if collecting five Stars yourself means one more is nothing special…"
Dieta's sulky look made Najin laugh and shake his head.
"That isn't what I meant."
"Then what?"
"Even without that, I think you would still obtain a Star."
Najin's eyes narrowed.
A man approaching transcendence could not count the exact number of Stars another person held, but he could at least sense a new star on the verge of birth.
Starlight was already dwelling in Dieta's body.
It had not yet cohered into a single Star, but streams of light that would soon become one were flowing through her—visible to Najin's eyes.
"What? What does that mean?"
"It's nothing. We're running short on time. Didn't you say you reserved a table at seven? Let's go."
"Wait—Najin. What do you mean by—"
The high-class restaurant they had visited together once before, when he came to the Imperial capital. Seated by the window, Najin and Dieta continued their meal and idle talk.
"That window table…"
"Those two…"
Yet several things were different from the past. One of them was the way every gaze in the room had fixed on them. In a restaurant whose clientele was almost entirely noble, there was not a soul who failed to recognize the pair.
Any noble who lived and breathed in the capital knew the face of the great trading company's guildmistress. Any citizen of the Empire knew Najin's face.
They had heard he was back briefly from the Outer Land, but no one had expected to see him here. While the nobles murmured, one man sat wearing an expression as if he had bitten into something foul.
"My appetite is ruined."
Agesio Arvenia.
The eldest son of House Arvenia let out a sigh and set down his cutlery. He flicked a glance at the table that held every eye in the room—at that detestable face seated there—and clicked his tongue.
After failing to seize the Dieta Trading Company in Cambria, he was currently rebuilding his position in the capital. By rights he should already have been receiving the education of the next head of House Arvenia… but a single failure had shaken his entire foundation to pieces.
He had failed spectacularly, and that failure had even been preserved as a farcical little play. He had left an indelible stain on the family name.
If only that girl instead of you…
The moment he overheard his father mutter those words, Agesio had been unable to contain his irritation. Dieta had once been, to him, nothing more than an eyesore of a blemish. Now he felt inferiority toward her.
Wasn't that window table supposed to be impossible to reserve?
The staff had clearly said it was reserved for VIPs only and could not be booked. When he had pressed them—if the firstborn of a ducal house was not a VIP, then who was?—they had refused to answer to the end. So it had been that woman's table all along.
Grind.
Agesio rose from his seat, jaw clenched. He had gone to considerable trouble to reserve this restaurant, but under the circumstances he would not taste a single bite. Face twisted, he gestured.
"Get up."
The knights accompanying Agesio rose as well. Among them was Griffin, once the knight commander of House Arvenia.
Sword Seeker Griffin.
Epithet: the Knight of the Thorn Tree.
Under the duke's order to watch over his son—and because he had to answer for the failure of a critical mission—he remained at Agesio's side in the capital. A knight who carried out orders in silence, he had begun to leave with his master when, without thinking, he turned his gaze.
There sat a young man looking straight at him.
The youth he had once crossed blades with.
The instant their eyes met, Griffin stopped walking. Agesio, who had been leading the way, stopped as well. Even as he frowned at Griffin's rigid stillness and urged him on—"What are you doing, Sir Griffin? Come along already"—Griffin did not move.
…If their eyes had not met, it would have been fine.
But once eyes had met, there was a protocol that had to be observed between Griffin and the young man seated over there. It was the etiquette of knighthood.
Clank.
Griffin approached Najin. While Agesio tilted his head in confusion, Griffin came before him, slowly lowered his waist, bowed his head, and offered a salute at nearly the same angle he would use for his own lord.
"Sir Griffin, what in the world—!"
Agesio's eyes flew wide.
Griffin was a knight of House Arvenia. To leave his master and salute another? Agesio was already drawing breath to shout when Griffin spoke first.
"I present myself before Sir Najin, Free Knight."
He kept his head bowed as he said it.
Free Knight.
A title that could be granted only with the consent of both the Emperor and the Atanga Knights. The last time it had been bestowed in Imperial history was in the age of King Arthur—fully a thousand years without a single recipient.
When word spread that the title had been conferred upon Najin, the public had merely nodded and said, "Ah, if it's him, he deserves it." Among knights, the conversation was different.
What is a Free Knight?
It was the rank held by the noblest knights who had walked beside Arthur, the King of Knights. A thousand years might have passed since that age, and the word "knight" itself might have been worn thin… but Free Knight remained the exception.
Exception. Outside all ordinary reckoning. Immutable.
A Free Knight is the knight who protects knights.
The most honorable of knights, the proudest of knights, the one to whom every knight must pay respect.
That is the unwritten law among knights.
An unwritten law that has existed for a thousand years. Had Griffin been an ordinary knight, ignoring it would have cost him little more than a few curses and a ding to his reputation. But Griffin belonged to a ducal house; he had been that house's knight commander.
If such a man broke the unwritten law—if he met a Free Knight's eyes and failed to show respect…
It becomes a problem.
If no one made an issue of it, it would not be one. But if the other side chose to press the matter, they could find any number of grounds. And over there sat not only Najin but a cunning woman who knew every petty clause of such etiquette by heart.
Eyes that shone like a serpent's were fixed on Griffin.
Add the stares of the watching nobles, and Griffin had few choices left.
Najin was a Free Knight, and at the same time a man who held the attention of the entire Empire, the protection of Gerd of the First Peak, and even the Emperor's backing. The fact that House Arvenia had once clashed with so great a figure was already a weakness; they could not afford another.
Griffin chose.
A man who had survived noble society for long years knew exactly what he must do. He stepped before Najin, bowed his head, and offered the salute.
"I present myself before Sir Najin, Free Knight."
Glory to the knight who protects knights.
Under the eyes of countless nobles, Griffin lowered his posture. The bitterness of bowing to a presence he had once looked down upon filled his mouth. Even if it was for his master's honor, Griffin was still human.
Yet he ordered his feelings cleanly away. He did not allow any greenhorn display of emotion to show on the surface.
"This—"
But.
"What kind of impropriety is this, Sir Griffin!"
His master was not so restrained.
Furious, Agesio Arvenia strode toward them with eyes wide open. Griffin felt the nape of his neck tighten.