Moonlit Escape (6)
Wulfhild, knight of the Trevache Marquisate, sat astride the top of the walls as he always did, gazing down over the domain. It was one of the few pastimes he allowed himself. The territory lay as peaceful as ever; nothing seemed amiss. He was lost in thought, feeling the wind on his face, when someone approached the gate.
An unannounced visitor—a girl whose appearance struck him as peculiar. She limped toward the gate as if something were hard on her heels. The soldiers on duty spotted her as well. Sensing something wrong, they went to her, supported her, and asked why she had come seeking the marquisate.
Wulfhild watched in silence. The moment the girl drew something from her breast, his eyes narrowed. It was a letter. The distance between them was considerable, yet Wulfhild’s sight had long since left the realm of ordinary men. He saw the seal stamped upon it—the crest of the Trevache Marquisate, a mark only the master of this land could set. The instant he confirmed it, Wulfhild leapt from the wall. He dropped from that great height without a sound more than a soft thud on landing.
Acknowledging the salutes of the soldiers who recognized him with a slight nod, he approached the girl, then lowered himself and offered her a formal bow. That letter was one the marquis sent only to the most valued of guests. That alone was reason enough for courtesy.
“You are a guest of His Lordship the Marquis. I shall escort you to the manor. The letter, if you would give it to me—”
“I’m not the one.”
She cut him off. Wulfhild’s eyes narrowed as he regarded her. The girl drew a steadying breath and forced the words out clearly.
“Ivan. The adventurer from Cambria.”
The name lived in Wulfhild’s memory as well. The marquis had taken note of him, remarking, To think such a man still existed—truly astonishing. And he was the one who had shared a comrade’s final moments.
“He’s the owner of this letter.”
“Where is he?”
The girl answered. For all her urgency, her account was concise and enough to make the situation plain. Wulfhild frowned as he summed it up.
“So the Knight Commander of the Arvenia Ducal House attacked you and that adventurer while you were on your way to visit the marquisate. That is what you are telling me.”
Abridged and stripped bare. She had not told him everything—only the bare bones of the moment, leaving the details for later. Even so, it was nothing that could be lightly set aside.
A guest of His Lordship, threatened near Trevache lands by a knight of another domain?
It was a slight against the name of Trevache itself. That the offender was a ducal knight-commander changed nothing. Wulfhild felt the insult keenly—yet he also knew mere displeasure was not grounds to act.
Inform his lord. Discuss the matter. Move with care.
That was the proper, ordinary course. If the man before them had committed some grave crime against the ducal house, the right of the matter would rest with Arvenia. But the situation was too urgent for weighing every angle.
“Tell me the location.”
So Wulfhild chose.
“I’ll hear the rest on the way. Guards—bring warhorses. Summon the knights nearby. Then report this to His Lordship.”
He chose to act first without waiting for his master’s word. He held authority enough to do so, and he was certain that if the marquis himself had stood here, he would have judged the same.
Discern without being told. Move first. Always counsel your lord toward the right path.
That was what Wulfhild meant by loyalty. He was the Knight Commander of the marquisate, a knight granted autonomy by Marquis Edelmar—who respected and trusted Wulfhild’s judgment.
With a sharp tug he settled the greatbow across his back. At his hip, in place of a sword, hung a quiver packed with a dozen arrows each nearly the length of a longsword. The girl—Dieta—realized only then who stood before her.
The Knight Commander of Trevache. The knight who wielded the greatbow: Wulfhild.
That he had been sitting astride the gate wall was, for Dieta, pure fortune.
With Dieta mounted behind him and knights at his side, Wulfhild’s eyes went wide as her story unfolded.
“...You are Lady Dieta?”
He had recognized the girl speaking to him.
The young lady of the Arvenia Ducal House. Called a discarded child, yes—but still of the ducal blood. To Wulfhild the name of Cambria’s great merchant was more familiar, yet if this girl truly was Lady Dieta...
The matter was far more tangled than he had first thought. Wulfhild frowned and drove his warhorse on.
“Why would the ducal knight-commander turn on you, my lady?”
“The circumstances are complicated. Even so, once we reach our destination the right of the matter will rest with me. If we can just get Ivan out first—”
Listening, Wulfhild could only wear a bitter look. He was sorry for the lady, but the only truth he could offer was that it was already too late.
The Knight Commander of Arvenia. The Crimson Thorn-Tree: Griffin.
Wulfhild knew the man well. A Sword Seeker who even commanded the war-hero’s Arta Trigardian swordsmanship—Griffin was a formidable opponent even by Wulfhild’s measure.
That adventurer Ivan is a Sword Expert. Skilled, yes, but...
He could never hold long against a knight-commander of that caliber. By now he would be a corpse, or left unable ever to lift a sword again. The thought pained Wulfhild.
A youth who had laid a comrade’s spirit to rest. A youth who still carried a rare “knightliness” in this age. To see such a man broken in a place like this would be no sight worth witnessing. Wulfhild swallowed the bitterness on his tongue and spurred his mount. Racing along the forest path, he suddenly narrowed his eyes.
Thoom. Thooom. Thoom...
The ground was trembling. Sound carried through the trees—the aftermath of battle. Wulfhild swung down from his horse, sent the trailing knights ahead, and climbed a tree to a high vantage.
Bracing his feet against a thick trunk, he opened his eyes wide. In an instant his field of vision expanded. What filled it was the forest, and in its midst an artificially cleared glade. At the center of that glade a crimson thorn-tree was growing.
...The fight is still going?
The thorn-tree had already climbed to roughly five meters. Knight Commander Griffin was taking the battle seriously. That the outcome was still undecided startled Wulfhild—for only a moment.
A flash.
The light from the youth’s blade as he faced Griffin cut across Wulfhild’s sight. A pure white bloom of radiance. Aura like a star—pure white sword-light. The instant that aura seized his gaze—
the pure white sword-light sheared through a crimson branch.
Wulfhild’s eyes went wide. To cut even a portion of a Sword Seeker’s aura—he knew exactly what that meant. A dry laugh escaped him as he reached for the greatbow on his back.
He gripped it and planted his boots hard against a thick limb. Steadying his breath, he drew the string to its limit—taut as it could go.
Watching the fight, Wulfhild loosed at the perfect instant. Even as the string left his fingers, he could not tear his eyes from the presence the youth projected.
“Quite the specimen.”
Wulfhild smiled. With his own two eyes he had confirmed it: the renown of the man who had cut down a demon knight was no exaggeration at all. If anything... it might have been understated.
“Hold.”
A line of knights. Naked steel leveled at him. Griffin exhaled a long breath and raised both arms above his head.
“This is the territory of the Trevache Marquisate.”
“More precisely, the outskirts, is it not? I am well aware this place falls outside the domain proper.”
“You know that is not the point. Outskirts or not, this is still land that feels Trevache’s breath.”
Griffin surveyed the knights arrayed before him. The knights of Trevache were strong. Marquis Edelmar poured his heart’s blood into the raising of knights. Facing all of them would be a hard fight—and he must not face them at all. That would mean war with the marquisate in earnest.
“This far—”
He was still choosing his words when a voice carried from deep in the woods. The knight who had arrived late astride a warhorse—Wulfhild—spoke.
“What business brings you here, Sir Griffin?”
Griffin’s expression hardened. Behind Wulfhild’s horse sat Dieta. The situation had slipped entirely beyond him. Griffin let out a long breath.
“His Grace Duke Osman commanded it. Enter the Arvenia family’s villa, punish the criminal who abducted Lady Dieta, and bring the lady home.”
“Is that so? What I heard differs somewhat.”
Wulfhild’s eyes narrowed. With his help, Dieta dismounted.
“The reverse, I should think, Sir Griffin.”
Dieta spoke the moment her feet touched the ground.
“It was the Arvenia Ducal House that abducted me, and that man is the escort I hired. Everything he did was to free me. The damage to the villa is no light matter, true... but there is something that must be settled first.”
She enunciated every word. Wulfhild, already briefed, took up the thread.
“That man is a guest of the noble Marquis Edelmar. His Lordship ordered that whenever the man should visit the domain, he be received with every courtesy. Can the matter of the villa not wait for later discussion?”
The charge of abducting a ducal daughter was false. All that remained against Najin was the lesser offense of damaging a villa while carrying out a bodyguard’s duty. Griffin realized he had lost the high ground of justification.
“That is—”
“Sir Griffin.”
Wulfhild spoke.
“I have a duty to receive His Lordship’s guest. I have standing. Of course you could not have known of that, so we can overlook the disturbance thus far.”
But—Wulfhild’s hand brushed the arrows packed in his quiver.
“If you mean to continue the discourtesy of snatching His Lordship’s guest from under the noses of Trevache’s knights, then we will have no choice but to act. Each of us has a position to keep, after all.”
“Is that Marquis Edelmar’s will?”
“It is my judgment.”
Griffin’s eyes narrowed.
“I am the Knight Commander of the Arvenia Ducal House.”
“I am aware.”
“This is a matter His Grace commanded in person, and one he stressed must be carried out without fail. So I ask you: can you bear the weight of it? What will Marquis Edelmar make of this affair—”
Shing!
The knights of Trevache ripped their swords free. The air around them turned sharp in an instant. Wulfhild was no different. Eyes blazing, he clenched his greatbow hard.
“Do not dare presume to read His will.”
To discern the marquis’s intent—that was the work of those who served him, not of outsiders. No knight of another domain had any right to insert himself. Wulfhild’s warning was plain.
“...I was discourteous. I apologize.”
Griffin stepped back with a sigh.
“I merely meant to advise that this incident could swell into a complicated affair between our houses.”
“I accept the advice with thanks, but my mind is unchanged.”
Wulfhild’s reply was short.
“I must ask you to leave this place.”
Griffin dragged a hand down his face, then turned and walked. Prolonging the standoff here would change nothing. Mid-stride he glanced back once.
Najin was watching him.
The youth who had refused to yield his will to the end, and who had finally wrung out a victory in his own way. Looking at him, Griffin thought absently that they would meet again before long—and that when they did, the youth would stand not as an adventurer but as a knight. A talent he coveted, yet one he could never claim. Griffin smiled wryly.
“Lady Dieta.”
He looked at her.
“You have secured yourself an excellent escort.”
He had no choice but to concede defeat. With those words Griffin turned his back on the knights of Trevache and walked away.
“Hah... haaah...”
Najin expelled ragged breaths. Mana far beyond his capacity had torn through his insides; after driving it to the limit, his vision swam. It was the same bone-deep exhaustion he had felt only once before—facing Ivan in the underground city.
If he let go even a fraction, he would collapse. So he kept the thread of tension taut until the situation was truly over. Only after Griffin turned and left did Najin sink down where he stood, as if his legs had simply given out.
I feel like I’m going to die.
-Of course you do. You poured your mindscape into the blade and swung it wild when you weren’t ready. What did you think would be left of your body?
You said earlier the trigger had already come.
-That’s one thing. This is another.
Merlin grinned.
-You just learned to walk and you tried to sprint. Not falling would have been the strange part. Still...
She whispered to him.
-It was pretty cool— I mean, not bad.
So she had almost said it was cool. As ever, she was terrible at being honest. Najin gave a bitter smile and let his head drop. His mind was fogging. He would need rest for a while.
Still—Trevache’s knights had stepped in, and Dieta’s safety was assured. He could close his eyes for a bit.
Through the blurring edges of his sight he saw someone running toward him. Limping, stumbling—Dieta.
“You... are you all—”
Her choked voice reached him in broken fragments. Between those fragments, Najin closed his eyes. He could no longer fight the exhaustion.
“...! Wh-what do I do?!”
The tearful voice seemed to grow a little louder near his ear. That was the last thought Najin had before he lost consciousness.