Dark Moon
There were two identification cards.
One was a Neo London Class 3 citizen ID. The other was a Class 2 knight certificate proving she was a Squire.
In the original game, the number of selectable classes had been enormous. Just as mages split into black mages, alchemists, elemental mages and more, the warrior class branched just as widely—Viking, Knight, Warrior, Blader, and so on.
Knights sat at the very top of the warrior hierarchy. Raw strength alone never made anyone a knight. Only a warrior who had already earned recognition could become one. The elite of the elite.
Because the rank carried such weight, the titles changed with grade. When people simply said “knight,” they usually meant Classes 3 through 6. Class 1 was called Honor, Class 2 Squire. Knights of Class 7 and above were Master Knights.
“…A Class 2 knight—a Squire—and you want to become a maid?”
Knights were welcome everywhere. In Neo London they were treated almost like lesser nobility. A Master Knight was essentially a general.
“The path of a knight no longer felt like mine, so I abandoned it.”
“…That can’t have been an easy decision. Was there some special reason?”
“Nothing particular. If I had to put it into words… I simply grew tired of it.”
She didn’t want to talk about it.
I didn’t press. Whether she gave up knighthood was her choice. And with a knight’s certificate still in hand, she wasn’t exactly a non-knight—just an unaffiliated one.
Besides, I had things I didn’t want to talk about either. The Battle Mage Project. Just thinking about that past made my temper flare.
“I wasn’t able to prepare a résumé in time. Would a verbal explanation be acceptable?”
“That’s fine. We’ve got plenty of time.”
Yuria began speaking with a calm, even expression.
“I am an orphan. In early childhood I can no longer remember, I was left at a Neo London public orphanage. Later my talent as a warrior was recognized, and the director recommended me to the Neo Round Table. With their sponsorship I entered the women’s knight training academy.”
“So that system really existed…”
While listening I examined her letter of recommendation. It had been written by the training academy’s director himself—page after page of praise declaring her outstanding, capable, and diligent.
“I trained at the academy for seventeen years. I received my Class 2 knight certificate two years ago.”
“As a Squire you could have joined a fairly respectable knight order.”
“Yes. Several well-regarded orders did make offers. I turned them all down.”
“Why?”
“I intended to use the remaining time I was allowed to stay at the academy to obtain a Class 3 certificate. The gap between Squire and full Knight is enormous.”
“And then you changed your mind and abandoned the knight’s path entirely?”
“Yes.”
Giving up knighthood for that reason and becoming a maid instead… it was a little absurd, but I kept the thought off my face. I respected her choice.
“And the training academy… the Round Table that sponsored you just let you go?”
“I owe the Round Table roughly three hundred fifty million credits. The repayment period is seven years. If I fail to pay… I will end up working for them.”
Three hundred fifty million.
The ridiculous sum left me briefly speechless.
“…And you plan to pay that off by working as a maid?”
“After one year of maid service I intend to obtain a maid’s license.”
“One year?”
“The basic requirement for a maid’s license is one year of experience as a maid. I’m aiming for Triple grade or higher.”
I nodded.
A maid’s license carried real power. Like knight certificates, they were ranked, and a Triple-grade license could land someone a position in a noble house or major corporation with an annual salary exceeding a hundred million.
If her plan worked, she would clear the debt within five years at the latest.
“I understand your vision. That leaves salary negotiation…”
“I would be satisfied with two million credits a year. In exchange, I would like room and board provided. And I wish to serve Master at his side.”
“Everything else is fine, but two million credits a year won’t work. That’s less than a maid’s base salary.”
“Then… I will accept whatever Master decides to give me.”
I scratched my head.
One of the biggest reasons people hired maids or butlers was for display. The more beautiful the maid, the higher the pay tended to climb in proportion.
“…How about a base of twelve million credits? I’ll also set aside separate performance bonuses.”
“That is acceptable.”
Yuria smiled.
The discussion continued for another fifteen minutes. There were still many points to settle. A private contract between individuals normally required at least two more hours of negotiation, yet Yuria never once objected to any condition I set. It almost looked as if she wanted to sign and become my maid even one second sooner.
I began to feel a little suspicious of her.
Could she be a con artist?
But if she were, I couldn’t figure out what she was after.
I don’t have much wealth. An assassin, then? …Why would an assassin want to become a maid?
No answer came no matter how I turned it over. I decided to stay wary of Yuria.
“Master. I’ve signed the contract. It’s your turn.”
She held out a pen and the contract. There was no need to reread it—I had drafted most of the clauses myself. A few of them were cleverly worded enough that any lawyer who saw them would curse and throw the paper across the room.
“…You actually read it properly, right? It feels like only five seconds have passed since I handed it to you.”
“Speed-reading is one of my specialties.”
“If you’ve read it, that’s enough.”
I signed. I glanced at Yuria’s signature. Written in cursive, it was so elegant it drew an involuntary note of admiration.
What kind of signature looks like a work of art?
Compared to mine… I quietly swallowed the sigh that tried to escape.
Contract in hand, she smiled more brightly than she had at any point so far.
“Heh… Now I am Master’s official maid. I am… extremely happy.”
“I’m glad you don’t mind. Looking forward to working with you, Yuria.”
“I shall serve you with all my heart, Master.”
I left the café with Yuria.
Instead of heading home we went to a department store. We needed furniture and groceries for her use. I couldn’t cook, so the ingredients would be in her hands from now on.
“Is there any dish you particularly desire?”
“Nothing in particular. Make whatever you’re confident with.”
“There are so many dishes I’m confident with that it’s hard to choose. Would a simple steak be all right for today?”
“Fine. But buy the high-end stuff. I can’t stand cheap cuts. We’ll need something to drink too, so get wine as well.”
“I will use only the finest ingredients. Please trust my eye, Master.”
Her eye was formidable. She spent a full fifty thousand credits on groceries alone. Even allowing that the quantity would easily last a week, fifty thousand still felt excessive.
Of course I showed nothing on my face. I had no desire to look like a stingy employer who would quibble over mere ingredients.
A few questions did arise, though, so I asked her.
“Do you like eel?”
“Eel is a famous restorative food. I bought it for Master. Wild eel is extremely rare in Neo London.”
“Eel jelly isn’t my taste.”
“Ninety percent of Neo London’s citizens dislike eel jelly. I belong to that ninety percent as well. Don’t worry about the eel—I’ll cook it deliciously for you.”
I nodded. I had no argument with eel being a restorative.
She bought it because it’s good for stamina… no, even so, that can’t be it.
There was no reason for that.
She added oysters and abalone. Coincidence, surely. She bought other seafood as well.
We arranged delivery for the groceries. They would arrive at the house around five in the afternoon.
“Master. I hesitate to say this, but… would you consider having a new suit tailored?”
“A suit? Does this one look strange?”
I looked down at myself. Adult men in Neo London were essentially required to wear suits. A grown man without one was immediately branded as rude. My body had been tempered in the military, so I had thought the suit suited me rather well.
“It doesn’t look strange. It’s quite dashing. The problem is that it isn’t a Neo London brand.”
“…That’s the only issue?”
“The pride Neo London gentlemen take in their domestic brands is greater than Master imagines. Suits made in other countries are considered cheap and lacking in dignity. Open contempt is rare, but subtle snubs are common.”
“So that’s why some people weren’t particularly kind to me.”
I gave a bitter smile.
No one had ever told me this kind of small, practical information that actually helped with daily life. If she hadn’t mentioned it, I would have taken quite a while to figure it out on my own.
“And it would be best to change the watch as well.”
“The watch too? This one still works fine.”
“What is currently fashionable in Neo London is the pocket-watch style.”
Yuria drew a pocket watch from her pocket. The lid was engraved with an elaborate pattern, and the gold watch chain carried an air of refined luxury.
“They’ll popularize anything, won’t they.”
“Neo London is extremely sensitive to trends. Fall even a little behind and you receive quiet mockery and disdain. I do not wish for Master to be treated that way.”
“I can’t stand being looked down on either. I’ve got a business to run—how am I supposed to put up with that? We’ll do as you say. Will you pick out a suit that suits me?”
“Of course, Master.”
Another hundred thousand credits vanished.
Next we stopped at a furniture shop. Almost no metal pieces—mostly wood. Furniture followed trends too.
Yuria examined the beds with careful, meticulous attention.
“This bed looks good. I’ll just check it for a moment.”
“Check it? Well, display models are meant for that.”
She removed her combat-boot-style footwear and climbed onto the bed. Then she dropped onto all fours. Her skirt barely covered her hips. Her thighs, of course, were fully exposed. The black knife holster wrapped around one thigh looked distinctly sexy.
“Yuria…? People usually lie down on beds, don’t they?”
“That method cannot properly test a bed’s performance.”
Yuria put strength into her hands and knees. The bed and her body began to rock. Startled, I pressed close behind her. I couldn’t let other people see her rear. That view was mine alone.
Black panties.
Not as lewd as the purple pair she had shown earlier, but they were a T-back, so her white buttocks were exposed. And right down the center a clear axe-mark cleft was visible.
Her hips swayed with the bed. I felt blood rushing steadily lower and broke into a cold sweat. Fortunately she seemed satisfied with the bed and climbed down at once.
“Excellent performance. We’ll take this one. I’ve memorized the model name, so I’ll find a staff member… Master? Are you unwell?”
She looked at me, crouched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, with open concern. I deliberately crossed my legs to hide the half-erect cock.
“I’m testing the bed’s performance myself. Just wait a minute. You can only tell if a bed is good after sitting on it for about a minute.”
“Is that so. Then I’ll sit beside you and check as well.”