Becoming a Mesugaki (12)

I'd already been thinking I needed a knight who would follow my every word.

There were plenty of reasons, but the biggest one was that I needed an escort to sneak into the Evans Dungeon and find the Trial of Ruel without anyone knowing.

Think about it. I may look like this, but I'm a count's daughter. Even if I somehow managed to slip into a dungeon, did anyone really believe people would just leave me alone?

As if!

Soldiers and knights assigned as my permanent guard would be glued to me every step of the way.

No matter how much of a tantrum I threw, there was no way I'd end up alone.

This was a matter of safety, after all.

Better to put up with my whining than face Benedict's wrath, right?

What, you say I could just walk in while everyone's around and insist it was a coincidence?

Nope. Not happening.

The place where the Trial of Ruel was hidden was a dusty little corner no one had any reason to visit unless they were actively searching for it.

Say I threw a fit and dragged myself all the way out there.

And then, in that exact situation, I just happened to stumble into the Trial of Ruel?

Who in their right mind would believe that?

Which is where Carl came in.

With a knight of his reputation and trustworthiness attached to my side, I'd be able to move around with a fair amount of freedom.

Better yet, with this loser knight's mouth to back me up, I could explain away the whole Trial of Ruel thing without breaking a sweat.

"Commander Forsell. Forgive my rudeness, but might I have a word with the Young Lady in private? Just briefly."

While I was silently cheering at this stroke of luck, Carl addressed Forsell.

"It will only take a moment."

"...If the Young Lady permits it, I shall withdraw."

"Young Lady?"

Huh? What now? He wants to talk to me alone?

Perfect! I was just about to ask him for a secret favor anyway!

'Commander, would you excuse us for a moment?'

"Out you go, dummy Forsell."

"Understood, Young Lady. I shall be waiting outside."

Once Forsell's footsteps faded away, I turned to Carl.

'What is it you wished to say, Sir Knight?'

"Got something to ask me, loser knight? Out with it."

"Do you... happen to possess a Blessing, Young Lady?"

A Blessing.

That was what the NPCs of Soul Academy called skills.

We understood skills as a game system, of course, but the people inside the game were another matter entirely.

They had no concept of a 'skill,' so they interpreted it as a blessing bestowed by the gods.

"I wish to know. Whether what happened yesterday — my attempt to harm you — was purely my own failing, or whether some other power was at work."

Tension and self-loathing were tangled together in Carl's voice.

I, the person involved, had brushed the whole thing off as nothing, but Carl hadn't. He was treating what he'd done as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a sin of the gravest order.

"I know that asking you to reveal your Blessing is a tremendous breach of etiquette. I know what garbage it makes me — a beast who tried to strike down his own lady — to make such a request at all. But please. Just once. Tell me just this once. Whatever your answer may be, I will believe it!"

That was what Carl was praying for.

That his mistake hadn't been entirely his own fault.

That there was some excuse to be found somewhere else.

That his wrongdoing came with a justification attached.

Watching him pound his forehead against the stone floor of the cell, I instinctively backed away.

His sheer intensity — as if he'd offer up his very ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life if the fault proved to be his and his alone — was crushing me.

"Please!"

Telling him about my skill wasn't particularly difficult.

I had no idea how the people of the game world truly thought of it, but to me, a skill was just a skill.

Nothing special — merely a tool you gained and deleted as practicality demanded.

So I had no real objection to sharing it with someone.

More importantly, if I walked out of here without saying a word, this guy was honestly going to kill himself.

So yes, I'd tell him. But he nearly did me in, and that's just too bad — it wasn't going to be for free.

I was definitely getting something out of this.

And this was a deal where I held all the cards. I was the party with the power here; he was the one begging.

In situations like this, the trick is to demand something absurd first, then negotiate your way down step by step.

What I actually wanted was his cooperation in the Evans Dungeon, but there was no harm in squeezing out more than that, was there?

So, to open... let's see.

'Very well, Carl. On one condition.'

"Fine, Carl. I'll tell you. On one condition."

"Name it. If it lies within my power, I will do anything."

'Swear upon...'

"Swear to the God of Binding Vows that you'll be my loyal knight."

At my words, Carl went rigid for a long moment.

He'd never dreamed I'd ask something like that, apparently.

In Soul Academy, swearing an oath to the God of Binding Vows was a declaration that you would keep your word at the cost of your past, present, and future.

Break the oath, and the brand etched into your body at the moment of swearing turns pitch black.

And that was it. No big deal.

NPCs in the game liked to prattle on about souls being tainted or being dragged down into the deepest hells, but mechanically, no real penalty was ever applied.

At most, your reputation took a hit?

That was how it looked from the player's seat — but for Carl, who actually lived in this world, it would be very different.

Because breaking such an oath was regarded as a dishonor of catastrophic proportions.

Could Carl — the man who'd lain awake all night tormented over his knightly honor — possibly stomach such disgrace?

Obviously not. So what I'd just proposed would sound, to his ears, like this:

Spend the rest of your life as my faithful slave.

Anyone with a shred of sense would refuse.

So I waited in silence for Carl to produce a counteroffer — so that I could offer the real one.

"Understood. I accept."

But what came out of Carl's mouth was nothing like what I'd expected.

'I'm sorry?'

"What?"

"I will swear to the God of Binding Vows."

No. Um. He's serious?

This guy has lived in this world his whole life — there's no way he doesn't understand what that oath means!

Carl rose from his knees and stood before me. Then he bit open his own thumb and, with the welling blood, drew a line across the back of his hand.

'Wait, hold on!'

"Hey, hold on! Loser knight! Stop!"

No. Damn it. This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠iron-barred cell — I can't even get in there to stop him!

'I'll tell you! I'll just tell you, okay?! So stop!'

"I'll tell you! Telling you is fine! So just stop!"

Should I call for Forsell? The Knight Commander was bound to have the means to open this cell.

Right. Go get Forsell. Just as I scrambled to move, a voice spilled from Carl's lips.

"O Saitra, God who governs all oaths. I stand here now as one knight."

Strength poured into a voice that was usually so gentle.

His mana-laden words seized me, pinning me where I stood.

Damn it all! Why is the mana density this high?! I can't move at all!

"Into this circle, I seal the days I walked to become a knight.

Into this circle, I seal the present in which I live as one.

Into this circle, I seal the future in which I will live for my dream."

I thrashed against the mana in a frantic bid for escape, but once I realized it was useless, all I could do was watch the scene of Carl swearing his oath.

I etched into my memory the sight of him mortgaging his entire life.

Ha. Unbelievable. Fine. Do whatever you want. When this blows up in your face, it's you who's ruined, not me.

When every last word was spoken, Carl ran his hand over the circle drawn on the back of his hand. Light bloomed there, and the Brand of the Binding Vow sank into his skin.

The moment the whole ritual finished and my body was free again, I stared at the back of his hand for a long beat — then lifted my head and shouted with every ounce of sincerity I had.

"Carl! Did getting walloped by my father scramble your brain?!"

"You did order me to, did you not, Young Lady?"

"What kind of lunatic actually swears the oath just because someone told him to, you absolute pathetic waste of a human being!"

Yes. Fine. I did tell him to.

But swearing to the God of Binding Vows is not some trivial little thing, you deranged maniac!

And why are you looking at me like I'm the weird one, after calmly pulling off a stunt that insane?

Ugh, this is seriously pissing me off. Genuinely.

"The life I have now was spared by your mercy, Young Lady. Is it not only natural that I devote what remains of it to you? That was my intention from the start. The oath was simply laid upon it."

He said it all so matter-of-factly that for a moment I actually wondered if my knowledge was the thing that was wrong.

So I quietly sifted back through the various side quests I remembered from Soul Academy.

And the conclusion I reached was this:

Nothing was wrong with me. The only thing wrong was this man, whose head had twisted itself into shapes that defied reason.

Benedict. What exactly did you hit him with?! How hard does a man have to be beaten before he ends up like this?!

"Will you tell me now?"

Having watched the oath play out right in front of me, I had no choice but to hear the man out.

'Right. I...'

"Yeah. I've got a Blessing that provokes other people."

"Then my inability to control my emotions—"

'Was because of the Blessing, probably.'

"Was because of the Blessing, I guess."

"I see. So my guess was right after all."

Watching Carl mutter to himself as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders was giving me a headache.

Was swearing a lifelong oath over that one little thing really okay?

With my brain, I genuinely cannot understand you. Seriously.

The original Lucy, before I possessed her, was a colossal lunatic — but you, my friend, might be an even more colossal lunatic than she was.

'Are you satisfied now?'

"Happy now, loser knight? Now that you know you're not actually a hopeless wreck?"

"Yes. Thank you, Young Lady. I look forward to serving you faithfully from this day forward."

Watching Carl bow his head with such formal courtesy sent a dozen different thoughts churning through me.

Judging purely by the outcome, I'd gained a skilled knight who would obey my every word for the rest of his life — so why did it feel so unbearably weird?

Haah. No idea.

So, that day Carl swore to become my loyal knight — but that didn't mean his confinement was over.

He was to remain in that cell until the moment the expedition departed.

Which meant I needed to find another knight to spar with me.

The Trial of Ruel had to be entered alone, in the end. No matter how capable Carl was, if I got sloppy with my preparations, I would fail. So I couldn't afford a single moment of rest.

When I asked Forsell to find someone to help train me, he answered, 'If that's what you need, allow me to do it myself!'

The Knight Commander himself offering personal sparring sessions and hands-on experience should have been a welcome proposal — but for some reason, the offer made my skin crawl.

Think about it. Why did Carl, a knight of House Aln, grind me into the dirt on day one? Obviously because someone had done the exact same to him.

And who, pray tell, had put Carl through the wringer?

None other than this very Knight Commander, currently shouting about how he'd help me himself.

Convinced that a Spartan training regime beyond anything I could imagine was about to descend upon me, I declined his goodwill — there were plenty of other duties ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for a Knight Commander, I told him, please assign someone else — but Forsell was stubborn.

'Not at all! For the Young Lady's sake, this one body of mine can be poured into the fire as much as needed!'

Unlike Benedict, easily swayed by his doting-father instincts, or the others I could crush under the weight of my rank as a count's daughter, Forsell — the Knight Commander himself — was one of the few people who could simply ignore my wishes.

And so the man who seized the position of my sparring partner was...

"Now then, Young Lady! That guard-and-push with your shield to open up an opening was excellent! Let's run it again!"

...the architect of a forced march that threatened to march my soul right out of my body.