One Master Is Enough
The banquet began with five barrels of liquor.
“Lady Sera’s treating us! Five whole barrels!”
“Long live Lady Sera! No, long live the Saintess!”
The Grey Fangs’ tavern shook from the roof down even before the sun had fully set. All forty-three members, plus the people from Dorte’s merchant guild, had crammed inside. There weren’t enough tables, so the barrels themselves became chairs. Finn sat in a corner clutching skewers in both hands, while Hugo was already delivering his third toast of the night.
“Betting time! Five silver coins says Lady Sera drops something huge on the squad leader today!”
“Huge like what? A confession?”
“Are you insane? A noble lady confessing to a mercenary… though, you never know. She’s been following him around like a puppy for two whole weeks.”
“I’m betting on a scouting offer. She’s gonna take him as a knight for her territory or something.”
The mercenaries’ wager board had opened right on top of a liquor barrel. Hugo was the one collecting the stakes. He glanced at Kael, then slyly added one more line to the betting sheet.
“…Anyone taking ‘the squad leader refuses’?”
“Refuse? How can he refuse when she hasn’t even made the offer yet!”
“No takers? Then the payout’s ten times. I’ll put down ten silver coins myself.”
Only Kael stood half a step removed from the rising heat of the commotion. She had told him today was the day. She wanted him to formally reject her in front of all forty-three people. She would place that scene at the very top of her collection list.
And last night, three surveillance tails had been lifted.
Kael still couldn’t shake the thought that the two events had come from the same pocket.
“Hey, First Squad Leader! What are you standing around for? Get over here!”
Vargas raised his cup. The moment Kael sat down, Seraphina rose from the exclusive corner seat as if she had been waiting. She climbed straight onto the table.
“Attention, everyone!”
Her shoe heel struck the tabletop twice. Forty-three pairs of eyes snapped toward her.
“You all know I’m the one buying the drinks tonight, right? But it’s not exactly free. I bought them because I have something to show you in this very spot.”
“What is it, Lady Sera? A dance?”
“Close. The most expensive show you’ll ever see.”
Seraphina slipped the hooded cloak from her shoulders. Then she pulled out the ribbon that had tied back her hair. Golden waves cascaded down her back. From her bosom she drew a palm-sized token and held it high.
A golden eagle engraved upon it. The Imperial Token.
The Second Princess of the Empire,
Seraphina
The tavern froze solid. Cups halted midair. Someone’s skewer clattered to the floor. Hugo spat out the liquor he had been drinking.
The first to recover, surprisingly, was Finn.
“…Then we really shouldn’t have taken that silver, huh!”
“You can take it. Imperial money is the cleanest there is.”
Seraphina laughed brightly and slowly scanned the tavern, Imperial Token still raised.
“Sorry for startling you. But it was necessary for the formalities. Everything I say from now on is an official proposal made in my capacity as Imperial Princess. Witnesses—forty-three, no, including the little one, forty-four.”
Her gaze locked onto Kael. The playfulness vanished. Violet eyes now carried the full weight of the Imperial family.
“Kael. First Squad Leader of the Grey Fangs. In the name of Imperial Princess Seraphina, I make you this offer. Become my personal escort knight. I promise you a formal appointment, a generous stipend, and the protection of the Imperial family.”
Silence swallowed the tavern. One could almost hear the abacus beads clicking inside the mercenaries’ heads. A commoner becoming a princess’s knight. Even Cinderella would blush at this Cinderella. Not a single face considered the option of refusal.
Only Hugo was watching Kael. And only Vargas, cup still in hand, wore a wide grin.
Kael stood up. He walked before the princess and dropped to one knee. The mercenaries held their breath. He’s accepting. That was the posture of acceptance.
“Your Highness’s proposal is an honor far beyond my station.”
“Oh?”
“However, I must decline.”
The tavern froze for a second time.
“…Hey, hey, Kael. What the hell are you—”
“Have you lost your mind?! That’s Her Imperial Highness!”
Seraphina herself silenced the mercenaries’ screams with a single wave of her hand. She looked down at the kneeling Kael, not even trying to hide the expression of pure delight on her face.
“The reason. That comes as a set.”
Kael lifted his head.
“There are three. First, I am currently under contract with the mercenary company. We have forty-two members, ten of whom are in my squad. A blade that breaks its contract will do the same thing anywhere else it goes.”
“Second.”
“Second, what Your Highness needs is not a knight but a spectacle. The moment a spectacle enters a display case, its value drops. The best way for you to collect me is to not collect me at all.”
Seraphina burst into laughter.
“Hah, that one’s cheating. Third.”
Kael paused for half a beat. Then he brought out the shortest sentence he had prepared.
“Third.”
“One master is enough.”
The tavern, which had still carried traces of laughter, fell quiet this time with an entirely different temperature.
Ten years. It was a number every member knew. A story they had learned through the words on recruitment flyers, through tavern gossip, through nights spent by the breakwater. Where the Grey Swordsman had spent those ten years, and how. That decade had now been folded into a single sentence and laid atop the princess’s proposal.
“S-Squad Leader… you’re turning down a princess? A commoner turning down an Imperial Princess?”
“They said the stipend was five times normal! They said formal appointment!”
The newer recruits clutched their heads. Derren slapped the leg that had recently been on a stretcher and roared with laughter.
“This is why he’s the Grey Swordsman. Hey, what did the commander say when you all joined?”
While the crowd hesitated, Vargas rose with his cup in hand. Paying no mind to the fact that he stood before an Imperial Princess, he recited the company’s old creed in a booming voice.
“We are men without masters who gather to buy and sell each other’s backs—that is what a mercenary is. There has never been a seat for a master in our company. Not even an Imperial Princess can create one.”
“My, Commander. That sounds like treason.”
“Treason? It’s tradition.”
Seraphina stared down at Kael for a long moment. She looked back and forth between Vargas and Kael, then let out a small laugh. Slowly, she put away the Imperial Token.
“…Very well. Official proposal withdrawn. Witnesses, forty-four.”
She hopped down from the table and returned to her usual tone, lightly tapping Kael’s shoulder.
“Instead, the offer isn’t dead—it’s only sleeping. Wake it up whenever you need a shield. An Imperial Princess’s words have no expiration date.”
“…Thank you.”
“Thank me? Whatever. Hey, what are you all doing?! The drinks are getting warm! No one’s throat will burn from liquor paid for by a princess!”
With that single shout the tavern boiled over again. A commoner who had turned down a princess, and a princess who still bought the drinks even after being rejected. There was no better side dish. The mercenaries drank, chattered, and retold the same story ten times over.
In the corner, a minstrel was frantically scribbling something in a notebook. Hugo, counting the betting payout—he had bet alone and won a hundred silver coins—glanced over as he passed.
“What are you writing, minstrel?”
“A song, of course! Stories like this come once in a lifetime. Listen—‘The Grey Swordsman turns down a princess, knee bent but head unbowed, one master is enough, he vowed—’”
“Oh, that’s good. But are you going to include who that one master was?”
“Of course I am! The Northern Star, the Ice Grand Duchess! Ten years of servitude grew so tiresome that even the princess’s golden crown was refused—”
“…Hey, wait. I never said it grew tiresome.”
“Songs need proper rhythm!”
The minstrel happily polished his lyrics. Hugo thought about arguing further but the liquor caught his ankles, so he simply laughed it off. No one in that night’s tavern could have guessed how far a single set of song lyrics might travel.
When the night had grown deep and the banquet began to wind down, Seraphina sat beside Kael with a cup in hand.
“Shall I tell you my impression of the collection?”
“…”
“For the first time in ten years, I saw an item I wanted but decided not to take—and that choice felt better. Quite a philosophical experience, don’t you think?”
“I am not an item.”
“Yes. That. That was the answer I wanted to hear.”
The princess took a sip of liquor and lowered her voice a notch. Where the playfulness had been, something new appeared for the first time. Sincerity.
“Kael. That third reason you gave earlier. ‘One master is enough.’ Half of it is right, and half is wrong.”
“…What do you mean?”
“What you served was indeed a master. But in this world there are things other than masters. Things like a companion, an ally, that sort of thing. You had classified all those words as subcategories under ‘master.’ One day you will realize that classification is mistaken.”
“…I would like to hear the basis for saying the classification is wrong.”
“Basis? Simple. When you spoke that third reason earlier, your eyebrows weren’t calculating for the first time.”
“…”
“The first and second reasons came from your head. The third came from somewhere else. ‘One master is enough’—the easiest way to read that sentence is as hatred. But if it were hatred, you wouldn’t carry that letter right over your heart.”
Kael’s hand stopped. The princess confirmed the pause over the rim of her cup and smiled in satisfaction.
“Did Hugo tell you? No. The breast of your coat is the only part that’s unusually worn. I watched you for two weeks. If I couldn’t see that, I’d have to take down my collector’s signboard.”
She emptied her cup and stood.
“The collector’s final service. A free appraisal. The flaw in the item called Kael is not the sword, but the classification system. It would be nice if someone fixed it for you.”
After the princess returned to her lodgings and only snoring and empty barrels remained in the tavern, the door opened.
The one who entered was a messenger from the Valk lord’s office. Messengers who come at night rarely bring good news. The messenger looked around the liquor-scented tavern with a troubled expression, confirmed that the only person still awake was Kael, and approached.
“You are Kael, squad leader of the Grey Fangs, correct?”
“I am.”
“A message from the lord. An official document has arrived from the Imperial family. His Highness the Crown Prince’s delegation… is coming to Valk. They will arrive in five days.”
“What is the delegation’s purpose?”
“Officially, it is an ‘inspection of the southern demonic beast anomaly.’ However.”
The messenger swallowed and lowered his voice.
“One sword has been added to the accompanying list. One of the Imperial Seven Swords—the Sword Master known as ‘Geralt of Steel.’ There is no precedent for a master accompanying an inspection team. The lord said that if you have any guesses, you should settle things within five days.”
After the messenger left, Kael sat alone in the empty tavern and calculated in his head.
Geralt of Steel. The fifth of the Imperial Seven Swords. A ceremonial heavy sword. An honest, straightforward style, yet that honesty was said to split mountains. There was no chance the sword in the inspection team would simply inspect and leave. A test would come. Whether an official duel or a blade disguised as an accident.
The problem was the level of force. His disguise as an Aura User would not work in front of a master. On the other hand, revealing his full power would end the ten-year disguise. Only one path remained.
To receive a master’s sword at a master’s level—just a single hair above. A gauging blade. Just as he had kept half a step back from Elise for ten years.
But there was one thing different from then. To keep half a step back, one had to see all the way to the opponent’s bottom. He had never seen Geralt’s bottom, nor was there any way to see it within five days.
What would his master have said? He had once asked what to do if he could not gauge the opponent. It had been the winter he was eleven. His master had peeled a roasted sweet potato and answered.
If you meet an opponent you cannot gauge, that means your luck is good. Because it’s a day you can use your full power without being scolded.
“…A lucky day, huh.”
A breeze passed between the cold barrels. What came to the place where the surveillance had been lifted was not a spectator.