When the Moonlit Night Ends (1)
His consciousness sank beneath the surface of the water.
It was the backlash of having drawn his mana to its absolute limit, the price of swinging his blade with abandon the moment he had barely grasped a fragment of his mindscape. Feeling his body slip under like a man drowning, Najin closed his eyes.
How much time passed after that?
Chirp, chirp.
On a bed flooded with bright sunlight, with sparrows singing outside the window, Najin opened his eyes. A servant who had been cleaning the room met his gaze, startled, bowed hastily, and bolted out the door.
Before long, a knight stepped into the room.
"You're awake?"
It was Wulfhild, Knight Commander of House Trevache.
"How long was I asleep?"
"About a night."
Najin blinked a couple more times and lifted his arm. Bandages were wrapped around his shoulder, and the lesser wounds that had covered his body had nearly all closed. That much recovery was not something Excalibur's regenerative power alone could explain.
"You ought to thank Marquis Edelmar for his kindness."
Wulfhild briefly explained that his lord had summoned the estate's priests and physicians to aid Najin's recovery, and that the favor had been freely given.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Deliver your gratitude to the Marquis yourself."
"I will."
"Good."
Wulfhild smiled with satisfaction. Then, still smiling, he suddenly stroked his own chin.
"That said, your recovery was unnaturally fast, wasn't it? The physicians and priests examining you were quite flustered. They had only given you emergency treatment, yet the wounds were already closing."
Najin remained silent at the murmur. Telling him it was thanks to Excalibur's restorative power was not an option.
"They said it was the kind of injury that would keep a man bedridden for at least ten days, yet you opened your eyes in a single night looking fine. Truly remarkable. It wasn't a light wound, either..."
"I've always been rather sturdy."
"Always, is it?"
Wulfhild narrowed his eyes. But a moment later he gave a short snort of laughter and shrugged.
"Must be some special constitution, then. Not my place to pry. I've got a peculiar constitution of my own."
He tapped the corner of his eye with a fingertip. Just as he himself did, there were people in this world born with unusual traits. Wulfhild said he would simply file Najin's abnormal recovery under that same heading.
"Anyway, I put a gag order on everyone who saw your condition, so don't worry about it."
"That's... very kind of you."
"You're the Marquis's guest. This is the least you deserve. Trevache never does anything that would bring harm to a guest."
He pointed proudly to the Trevache crest embroidered on his uniform and smiled.
"Once you can get about on your own, go see the Marquis. The servants will show you the way."
"Ah," Wulfhild added with a short breath, as though this part simply had to be said. He cupped a hand beside his mouth and whispered with a playful look.
"Your lady is in the guest room right next door. You might want to show her your face. She's been worried sick."
"Pardon? My lady?"
"Oh? Not that kind of relationship yet? You two looked rather close, so I assumed you were... involved."
Involved? What did that even mean?
Najin tilted his head, thoroughly lost, while Wulfhild muttered under his breath, "Lady Dieta is going to have her hands full with this one."
"In any case, Lady Dieta was terribly worried about you."
"Was she?"
"She was. After you collapsed, she wept so bitterly. 'Don't die, don't die,' she kept saying, burying her face against your chest..."
Wulfhild scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish.
"In that atmosphere, how were we supposed to just say, 'Actually, he's only unconscious'? We were sweating bullets ourselves."
What else had Lady Dieta said?
He was muttering that and about to continue when a knock sounded at the door. Without waiting for permission, the door creaked open.
Dieta stood there, her face flushed scarlet, looking for all the world as if she had been eavesdropping from the other side.
"Sir Wulfhild."
Her voice trembled slightly. Ears burning red, Dieta glared at him with a look of pure betrayal.
"You clearly promised you would keep it a secr—"
"Oh dear."
Wulfhild was on his feet in an instant.
"I mustn't interrupt the conversation between the two of you. Please, talk amongst yourselves. I'll go on ahead and wait."
He offered Dieta a brief bow and slipped out of the room with remarkable speed. However sharp the embarrassed girl's glare might have been, it was never going to catch a knight who had reached the realm of Sword Seeker.
When the haze cleared, only Najin and Dieta remained in the room. An awkward silence stretched for a long while.
Hesitantly approaching, Dieta sank into the chair beside the bed. Her face was lowered and hidden, but the ear peeking through her fallen hair was flushed a deep red.
"A-are you... feeling a little better?"
Her voice was stiff with awkwardness. Najin simply nodded.
"I'm fine. I can move without any trouble."
"I'm so relieved."
"Are you all right yourself?"
Najin glanced at her ankle. It was still bandaged, but from the natural way she had walked earlier, she seemed to have recovered a fair amount.
"I can walk well enough. They say even the scar should be gone within a week at most."
"That's good to hear."
Najin smiled. Dieta lifted her head just slightly, met that smile, and her ears flushed a deeper shade of red. As if she could not bear to look him in the eye, her gaze darted anywhere else.
"About what you heard from Sir Wulfhild..."
Even so, she had to say it. Dieta forced past her shame and continued.
"Forget that. Forget it. Right now."
"Pardon? Forget what?"
"The things I supposedly said. Forget them. Quickly. It's embarrassing."
Was that something to be embarrassed about? And why was her face so red? He still didn't understand, but Najin nodded for the time being.
The manor's reception hall.
When they entered the room bearing the crest of House Trevache, the man waiting for Najin and Dieta looked to be in his early thirties.
The master of Trevache, Marquis Edelmar.
He had lost his father young and taken the seat of lord, yet over the past decade or more he had only solidified Trevache's renown further—an exceptional politician and man of power. He smiled at the guests who had come to find him.
"A pleasure, Lady Dieta. And Ivan."
Please, sit, he gestured, and began to speak.
"I've heard the rough outline from the knights and Sir Wulfhild. What a truly..."
He sipped his tea and let out a long breath. Was he about to rage at the ducal house's high-handed attempt at a takeover, or simply sigh? As Dieta watched him carefully for a reaction—
"...romantic story it is."
An entirely unexpected remark. Dieta nearly blurted out "What?" by reflex and only just managed to swallow it.
"A dazzling rescue! A lone hero slipping into a villa to free a lady abducted by a ducal house!"
The Marquis cried out with exaggerated gestures.
"He must have lent his back to the young lady who could no longer walk. A midnight flight with the moonlit night for a backdrop, refusing to yield even under the knights' pursuit!"
His overblown delivery and flourishes were exactly those of an actor introducing a play. He looked at Dieta and Najin with glittering eyes.
"And then the final trial. A duel with life itself on the line, and a will that never bent. Yet at last the hero falls, and the lady sheds her tears. It was a tale that nearly ended in tragedy—but fortunately..."
The Marquis smiled.
"This story will not end in tragedy. I'm glad to see you've recovered your strength, Ivan. And you as well, Lady Dieta."
"I'm grateful for your consideration."
"Th-thank you..."
Najin spoke with proper courtesy; Dieta managed it in a trembling voice, as if she could not contain her embarrassment. At the sight of her, Edelmar whistled.
"Setting that aside."
He clapped his hands once, sharply.
"I have a fair idea of why you've come to me. I've confirmed that House Arvenia is trying to seize the Dieta Merchant Group by force, and that in the process they attempted to secure Lady Dieta's person."
He had sent knights to verify the information.
"It is not just. It is unjust. Of course, in this world, injustice born of power and station happens all the time—but..."
He narrowed his eyes.
"In Cambria, the City of Opportunity, it must not be allowed to happen. In the city where the great King Arthur began her journey, fairness and equality must be guaranteed. That is precisely why the Cambria Foundation exists."
Among the three houses that stood at the heart of the Cambria Foundation, the master of House Trevache—the one with the strongest voice—spoke.
"I, Edelmar, and the Cambria Foundation have no intention of standing by and watching this. Had the merchant group been built with the ducal house's power, there might have been some justification. But I know Lady Dieta did no such thing."
The abandoned child of a ducal house. The stain left behind by a courtesan. Carrying those slanders, Dieta Arvenia had built her merchant group from nothing.
"Of course, had you not come to my domain, it would not have been easy for me to step forward. But so long as you are here, the justification is on our side. I will help you reclaim your merchant group."
"I am grateful for the grace you have shown."
"No need for thanks."
To Dieta's words of gratitude, the Marquis replied simply.
"This is a duty I must fulfill. Fulfilling one's duty is only natural. If one receives thanks for something natural, wouldn't the world grow far too cold?"
And more than that, he added, pausing to take a breath.
"I enjoy watching plays, but I have never been able to stomach tragedy. I want the characters who overcome hardship, adversity, and trial to be able to smile at the end."
The Marquis who loved the theater. And he had already compared Najin and Dieta's flight to a play. Smiling, he said,
"I hope that when all of this is over, the two of you will be able to smile. It's been some time since I heard such a fine story."
With that, Edelmar paused for a moment. His gaze shifted from Dieta to Najin.
"Lady Dieta, would you give us the room for a moment? There is something I wish to discuss with Ivan alone."
"Of course."
Once Dieta had left, Edelmar looked straight at Najin. Gone were the theatrical flourishes of gesture and speech. His eyes and voice were calm and settled as he spoke.
"Gilbert, knight of Trevache."
The knight Najin had encountered during the Demon Knight subjugation.
"He was my knight, and my companion in conversation. I heard you were with him at the end. That you upheld his dying will."
Najin quietly nodded. He had heard Gilbert's last words, pursued the Demon Knight, and in the end cut the man down.
"But I would like to ask you one thing."
"Please ask."
"Was Gilbert a knight until the very end?"
A knight until the very end?
It was the final sentence that closed the Knight King's treatise on knighthood.
A knight, too, is only human in the end, and cannot be noble at every moment, nor always act according to honor and pride. A knight is forced to choose at every turn.
And so I ask.
In the final moment, what will you choose?
An ordinary human swayed by desire and instinct—or a knight who moves by pride and honor?
In the end, as what will you remain?
In other words—
At the very last of the last.
I will ask you.
Were you a knight until the end?
Recalling those words, Najin thought of Gilbert, who even as he died had pointed with his fingertips toward where the Demon Knight had fled. Holding that image in his mind, Najin answered.
"Yes."
He nodded firmly.
"Until the very end, Sir Gilbert was a knight."
"Is that so."
Marquis Edelmar gave a bittersweet smile.
"Then he must have been able to smile in his final moment."
He let out a long breath.
"Thank you. That the one who shared Gilbert's end was someone who understands honor and pride—that fills me with gratitude."
"...Forgive me for saying this," Najin said, a little awkwardly, "but I do not yet know honor. I have never possessed it."
"Which means you do possess pride."
"I am striving to."
Marquis Edelmar laughed aloud.
"The honor and pride you speak of seem far heavier than what most people put in their mouths. And so they should. They were always meant to be things too heavy to speak of lightly."
Things that had grown light in this age. Yet here before him stood someone who still sought to treat them as heavy. At the sight of a youth who retained a knighthood rare in these times, the Marquis smiled with genuine pleasure.
"Helping a lady in distress. Keeping a promise. Acting on what one believes is right. Honoring the dying words of an honorable man, turning one's blade against evil... and staking one's life to keep an oath."
He mulled over everything he had heard about the young man called Ivan, then clapped his hands—not in mockery, but with respect.
"You are already an excellent knight."
You have not yet received your accolade, but you are already an excellent knight. That was what Marquis Edelmar said.
"I hope that someday you will meet a lord to whom you can pledge your loyalty and become a fine knight. Or that you will become a free knight who upholds the code of knighthood. I mean that sincerely."
The Marquis rose from his seat. Najin rose as well. As the Marquis approached and Najin began to lower his head and bend his knee, Edelmar stopped him.
He held out his hand—not in the noble fashion, but simply, as one man to another. It was a gesture of fellowship. Edelmar valued formality, but he had judged that the youth before him was worth setting that importance aside.
When Najin carefully took the offered hand, Edelmar gave it a firm, vigorous shake and smiled.
"While you remain in my domain, rest at ease."