The Girl Behind the Veil
At ten years old, Logan became the holder of a Wood badge — the lowest rank of the Adventurers' Guild.
He failed to break any records for youngest achiever, and Wood rank wasn't even a proper, recognized tier among adventurers, but for an ordinary boy from a frontier village, it was still a remarkable accomplishment.
Had the value of the Black-Tusked Wild Boar he hunted been properly assessed at a large guild in a proper city, he might even have started at Bronze rank.
But the guild he belonged to was a rural branch, bound to be strict and conservative in its administrative dealings, so he had to be grateful for Wood rank as it was.
After all, it would have been impossible without his teacher Fiona's strong endorsement and the Branch Guild Master's unusual accommodation.
In any case, however lowly and disrespected the Wood rank might be, once Logan held the credentials of an adventurer, his growth took wing.
And Fiona no longer treated him as a mere errand boy or a green pupil.
She poured out every scrap of knowledge and skill she possessed to draw out his full potential, and at times she pushed him through training so brutal it bordered on cruel.
Logan absorbed it all without a single word of complaint — no, rather, like a man dying of thirst, he drank it in like a sponge and kept pace.
The Branch Guild Master, too, watched Logan's extraordinary growth with a warm eye and supported him actively, having confirmed that Fiona's endorsement was anything but empty words.
He gave Logan the chance to handle commissions far beyond what a Wood-rank adventurer could manage — requests meant for Bronze rank and above — and occasionally even tasks on the level of Silver-rank difficulty.
Granted, this was all under Fiona's quiet supervision and protection, but for Logan it was invaluable real combat experience.
Thanks to that, Logan rapidly built up his skills while also laying the financial groundwork for Irene's sake.
He bought her expensive books on magical theory so she could devote herself entirely to the study of magic, and made sure she ate nutritious meals.
He didn't forget to buy her pretty clothes either, so she would never have to wear worn, tattered garments again.
And so time flew like an arrow, and three years passed since Logan received his adventurer's badge.
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At thirteen, Logan was no longer the clumsy boy he had once been.
Constant training and real combat had hardened his body, and his eyes carried a depth and coolness that didn't belong on one so young.
Parting the pre-dawn air he had long since grown used to, Logan was about to leave the house for a commission, as always. That was when a sleepy voice drifted from behind him.
"...Logan, heading out again?"
At an hour when she should still have been fast asleep, Irene had somehow awakened and was gazing at his back.
Over the past three years, under Logan's devoted care, she had overcome much of her terrible trauma, and her magic had grown brilliantly as well.
But at the same time, her guilt and anxiety over Logan — who threw himself into danger day after day without rest, all for her sake — only swelled larger.
"Yeah. I'll be back soon."
When Logan answered offhandedly, Irene hesitated a moment, then seemed to make up her mind and spoke.
"...Logan, um... could I come with you? I can handle basic magic well enough now... and I can't keep owing you like this forever..."
Her voice carried courage, mixed with a trace of fear. Logan gave a soft laugh at the sight of her, walked over, and gently stroked her hair.
"I appreciate the offer, Irene. But you're still young. Guild work is far more dangerous than you think. All you need to do is focus on your magic somewhere safe."
His voice was firm, but the worry and affection buried in it were impossible to hide. Logan never wanted Irene exposed to danger again.
Protecting her talent and helping it bloom — he considered that his most important duty.
With that, he gave Irene's shoulder a light pat and turned to leave the house.
Left alone, Irene stared at his retreating back and grumbled under her breath.
"...Hmph. We're the same age, but he always talks like he's the grown-up..."
Still, she quickly resigned herself to accepting Logan's wishes. He was right, after all.
For now, focusing on her magic training was better for her — and for Logan too.
Dreaming of the day she would grow strong enough to stand at his side, she returned to her room.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Early morning, before the sun had fully risen.
The doors of the Adventurers' Guild had just opened, and the wide hall was nearly empty.
In the deserted space, only the dust accumulated overnight and the faint lingering smell of ale hung in the air. The only people at the guild this early were a handful of diligent staff members and...
"Morning, Fiona. Good morning to you."
...Logan's teacher Fiona, as always, the first to arrive and already loosening up her body.
Logan bowed with lively energy. Fiona gave him a wry smile, walked over, and draped an arm around his shoulders as naturally as breathing.
"Aigoo, my precious disciple, still as diligent as ever, I see."
Fiona wrapped her arm around his shoulder and ruffled his hair. He'd shot up since she first met him three years ago, but to her he was still nothing more than her adorable pupil.
"Ah, come on, Fiona, why do you keep doing that? You're too close."
Logan flushed slightly and tried to push her arm away. Now that he'd entered the thick of adolescence, he reacted to physical contact far more sensitively than before.
Fiona found it so endearing that she ached to tease him further, but she held herself back and instead nodded toward a table.
"All right, all right, no need to blush. Logan, a commission just came in that's perfect for you. Come here and have a look."
"...Sorry, for me?"
Logan looked where Fiona was pointing with a puzzled expression. The innermost table in the corner of the guild — and seated there were two women dressed in a manner rarely seen in this small village.
One of them hid more than half her face behind a veil trimmed in delicate lace, but from her exposed brow, the shape of her eyes, and the platinum hair that spilled down, one could guess she was a noble daughter of high birth. She looked about Logan's age.
Beside her sat a woman in silver armor with a longsword at her hip, a guard knight by the look of her, seated with perfectly straight posture.
A noble heiress and her guard knight? At a country guild like this, and first thing in the morning? What's going on?
Logan tilted his head. The good commission Fiona mentioned seemed connected to them somehow, but surely they hadn't singled him out.
It was true that Logan had grown quickly over the past three years, becoming a Silver-rank adventurer at just thirteen, and he'd made something of a name for himself as the village's rising star.
But that was no reason for a noble to personally request him — and to pass over Fiona, a Gold-rank adventurer, no less.
She's probably bending over backwards for me again... Fiona does love to look out for me.
Fiona often tried to hand Logan first pick whenever a good commission came in. Convinced this was another such case, Logan sighed inwardly.
But this time he would have to decline politely. If he fumbled it, he might offend the nobles and bring trouble down on Fiona as well.
While Logan was lost in these thoughts, Fiona had already slung an arm around his shoulders and was striding boldly toward the table.
"Ah, seriously! I said you're too close! Fiona!"
His small resistance was breezily ignored. When they reached the table, the dark blue-haired woman who appeared to be the guard knight looked at Fiona with sharp displeasure and spoke.
"...Fiona. We clearly named you. What exactly is this child?"
Just as I thought. Logan muttered inwardly. Fiona had definitely stretched things on his behalf again.
"Oh, come off it, Renate. Don't be so stiff. Of course I'll be taking the commission too. Who asked for it? I'd hardly dare refuse."
"I beg your pardon?"
Renate's brow furrowed deeper. She let out a laugh of pure disbelief.
"Is this some kind of joke, Fiona? Pardon my bluntness, but no matter how I look at him, this is nothing but a boy the same age as Lady Anya. I doubt he even carries a proper adventurer's badge, and you mean to entrust her guard to him?"
"Bwahaha! Renate, your eye for people must have gone rusty! Believe it or not, this boy here is a bona fide Silver-rank adventurer!"
"Wh-what? Silver rank?"
Not just Renate — the veiled heiress's eyes went wide with surprise as well.
Her gaze drifted naturally to Logan, and Logan, in turn, found himself looking back at her.
In that fleeting instant, their eyes met in midair.
...!
Logan swallowed without meaning to.
Beyond the veil, eyes as clear and deep as rubies. For a moment, he nearly lost himself in that mysterious color.
Blended with her platinum hair, those eyes were beautiful to the point of seeming inhuman.
While Logan stood dazed, Renate clicked her tongue in dissatisfaction.
"Hmph. Perhaps his skills exceed his years, but from the look of him he's nothing more than a green boy just entering adolescence. I judge him entirely unfit to guard Lady Anya."
"Ah, on that point you have nothing to worry about — quite the opposite, in fact!"
Fiona ruffled Logan's hair once more and declared with confidence.
"Sure, like you said, this boy's still a young, clueless lad — but he will never stray because of another woman. He's a hopelessly devoted pure-love sort, through and through!"
"Ah, seriously! Fiona, stop it already!"
Logan bowed his head, his face burning crimson. It was a silent plea for her to stop, but Fiona paid him no mind. Worse, the guild staff and other adventurers nearby chimed in too.
"That's right! Our Logan would never spare a glance for any woman but Irene!"
"Hahahaha! True enough! Where else in this day and age would you find such a supremely devoted lover boy!"
Logan hung his head in mortification, the red spreading all the way to his ears.
At the sight of him —
"Pfft."
A small giggle rang out. He looked up to find the veiled heiress's shoulders shaking as she desperately fought to contain her laughter. Logan's face grew even hotter.
Renate shook her head in visible disgust at the whole circus.
"Haah... in any case, enough. Having you take the commission alone, Fiona, will be sufficient."
"Don't be like that, Renate. Think it through. Rather than me glued to Lady Anya's side playing bodyguard, wouldn't it be far more efficient to leave the guarding to this boy while the two of us search for it together?"
At Fiona's proposal, Renate hesitated. There was, admittedly, logic in what she said.
"...That may be true, but..."
Right at that moment, the Branch Guild Master appeared with impeccable timing and cut into the conversation.
"Ahem! I don't know where such distinguished guests have traveled from, but our guild's ace Fiona vouches for him, and I stake this branch master's honor on it as well. Logan, this young friend here, is a talent you can trust without reservation."
"Branch Master..."
When Logan looked up at him with grateful eyes, the Branch Master laughed heartily and clapped him on the back.
"Hah! What's that face for, boy? If anything, I'm the one who's sorry. In a proper guild instead of this frontier backwater, your talent would have earned Gold rank long ago... It grieves me that I could only take you as far as Silver!"
Faced with the Branch Master's enthusiastic recommendation and Fiona's persuasion, Renate seemed to mull it over. She turned her gaze to Anya seated beside her and asked her wish.
"Haah... very well. Lady Anya, would that be acceptable to you?"
Her mistress, the noble heiress Anya, was silent for a moment before giving a small nod. Then she spoke to Logan in a clear, gentle voice.
"Yes, I don't mind at all."
There was a hint of a soft smile beneath the veil as she continued.
"I look forward to working with you. Logan, was it? My name is Anya."
"Ah — yes! The pleasure is mine, Lady Anya!"
Logan scrambled to collect himself and bowed.
...Get a grip, Logan. You have Irene, remember?
Acknowledging how badly his heart had wavered at the sight of a girl he'd never met, Logan chided himself inwardly.
He brushed the stray thoughts aside. This was strictly a commission, nothing more. He decided instead to be glad of it — a fine opportunity to earn more money for Irene's sake.
And so, a little abruptly, Logan found himself entrusted with guarding a mysterious girl named Anya.
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The terms of the commission were simpler than he'd expected, but the pay was more lavish than anything he had ever received.
Since he had to stay at Anya's side guarding her from morning to night, he couldn't take other work in parallel — but the fee made that irrelevant.
On top of the guarding duty, he was given additional responsibilities.
"Due to circumstances, we couldn't bring any attendants or servants. It's a bother, but I'd like you to handle Lady Anya's simple daily needs and prepare her meals as well."
Renate said in her stiff, formal tone.
"Ah — though there's no need to fuss over the cooking. Lady Anya's health is poor; she can hardly stomach anything but easily digested porridge."
Logan hesitated briefly, then nodded readily. After all, caring for Irene had long since made him comfortable with housework and cooking. Boiling a pot of porridge was hardly a challenge.
Their lodging was a small villa on the outskirts of the village, the kind occasionally used by nobles or wealthy merchants on holiday.
Logan's duty was to guard Anya closely during her stay there and assist with her basic daily life.
Renate and Fiona, meanwhile, would venture into the forest every day in search of a rare medicinal herb needed to restore Anya's health.
Logan wondered what illness could be so grave that she'd traveled all the way to this remote country village to hunt for herbs, but he didn't press.
Prying into secrets a client wished to keep was against an adventurer's code.
Either way, a cushy job with good pay, all things considered.
Logan chose to think positively of it.
Thanks to the past three years he'd spent steadily clearing monsters from the surrounding woods and fulfilling commissions, security around the village was quite stable.
The odds of a monster attack or a bandit raid were nearly nil. So long as he kept his guard up against any unforeseen intruders, there would be no problems to speak of.
More than anything, it was Anya herself — his client — who put Logan at ease.
The noble heiresses in the stories he remembered from his past life were almost all arrogant, willful villains, but Anya was nothing of the sort.
Despite being thirteen, the same age as him, she unfailingly showed courtesy and consideration for others. Considering that, counting his past life, she was far younger than him, it impressed him all the more.
"There's no need to stand at attention against the wall like that. Come and sit comfortably, Logan."
Anya, reading a book in the villa's sitting room, said gently to Logan, who stood at rigid attention by the door.
"I couldn't, Lady Anya. I'm in the middle of fulfilling a commission. This is comfortable for me. And... please, speak casually. Just call me Logan."
"Are you sure? Hmm... then Logan, you may simply call me Anya as well. Heh heh."
"No — Lady Anya. I couldn't possibly presume..."
"Hmm... I heard that Logan and I are the same age. And yet you're this stiff with me?"
Anya asked playfully.
"No, that really won't..."
"Hmph. Then I simply won't say another word to you, Logan."
When Anya turned her head away in a pout, Logan found himself at a loss.
His job was only to stand guard, so there was no real need for conversation — but souring his client's mood would not do.
And more than anything... for some reason, that girl behind the veil looked terribly lonely to him.
His heart ached at her plight — fighting her illness alone, forced to come all this way to some secluded corner of the world.
...I suppose keeping her company is the least I can do.
Logan finally sighed and relented.
"Haah... all right, fine. Anya. Just asking to be safe — you won't hold it against me later, will you?"
"Heh heh. Thank you, Logan. I have no intention of pushing you that far, don't worry."
Anya seemed to be smiling brightly beneath her veil.
From then on, the two of them began slowly opening up to each other.
Her frail health rarely let Anya leave the villa, so she knew little of the world, and she loved hearing Logan's stories of life outside and tales of his adventures.
Logan answered her questions as honestly and thoroughly as his knowledge allowed, and sometimes regaled her with accounts of his own close calls on the job.
And as they talked, conversation inevitably drifted to Logan's childhood friend, Irene.
Listening, day after day, to how much Logan adored Irene and how hard he worked for her sake, Anya would sometimes wear a complicated expression — a blend of envy and quiet bitterness.
"...What a lucky woman this Irene must be. To have someone like you at her side..."
One day, Anya murmured under her breath.
"Sorry?"
When Logan asked her to repeat it, Anya hastily composed herself and changed the subject.
"Oh — nothing. So, when Irene first manifested her magic, what was it like? Tell me more!"
"Ah, that... well, at the time, Irene was really..."
Logan was just getting into the story, excited to talk about Irene, when —
"Khough! Khough! Khh..."
Suddenly Anya began coughing violently. It was no ordinary cough. She seemed to struggle even to breathe, and then bright red blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Blood...?!
As she coughed, the veil covering her face slipped limply to the floor. For the first time, Logan came face to face with Anya's unveiled countenance.
Skin so pale it seemed almost translucent, thin lips trembling faintly, and a delicate face contorted with pain. Even accounting for her sickness, she looked desperately fragile.
Logan felt his heart plunge, and he cried out in alarm.
"Anya! Are you all right?!"
He rushed to her on instinct and caught her as she pitched forward. Her slight body slumped helplessly against his chest.
"Khh... khh... I'm... I'm all... right..."
Anya forced the words out between ragged breaths. Clutching at Logan's sleeve with a trembling hand, she barely managed to continue.
"Um... I'm sorry, but... Logan, on the table beside my bed... there should be a fresh veil... could you fetch it for me...?"
"Oh — of course! Right away!"
After carefully propping Anya up on the sofa, Logan hurried toward her room.
His mind was a tangle of confusion, filled with the image of her ashen face and the red blood she had coughed up.