Saving the Boss (4)
When Benedict heard the news that Lucy was coming, he left his office and headed for the vault of the Count's estate.
"It has been a very long time since the head of the house last set foot in this place."
"Has it?"
"Indeed. You have not left the family grounds since your lady wife departed on her long journey."
Receiving the key the Head Butler handed over, Benedict unlocked the door and stepped inside.
The entrance was adorned with all manner of luxury goods.
Trinkets that Lucy of the past—she who loved things expensive and gaudy—had once thrown tantrums over, demanding to have them.
And things that the Lucy who had changed one day—she who, even when offered, would only ask what on earth anyone would do with that.
Benedict walked past them without so much as a glance and went deeper inside.
The countless jewels he had received serving the kingdom in years gone by.
The assortment of weapons and armor acquired while conquering dungeons.
Scrolls inscribed with magic.
Rare potions.
Passing all of these by, Benedict arrived at the very end of the vault—and there stood a suit of armor.
Painted a deep, light-swallowing black so dense it seemed it would drink in even the sun, the armor was enormous.
So enormous, in fact, that if an ordinary grown man tried to wear it, one might wonder whether he wouldn't simply be crushed beneath its weight.
"You've maintained it well, Head Butler."
"Haha. It was quite the labor, I assure you. Moving even a single piece of the armor required at least four men."
Benedict picked the armor up as if it were a toy and began strapping it on, piece by piece.
Though a decade had passed since he last wore it, there was not a trace of hesitation in his hands.
There was a time when he had regarded it as his own skin. No amount of passing years could make it feel foreign.
Before long, every piece of armor was in place, and Benedict walked further in to stand before his sword.
One of the heirlooms passed down through the Aln family.
A colossal greatsword once wielded by his distant ancestors, buried in dust for long ages until it found its way into Benedict's hands and reclaimed its old glory.
Though the hilt sat right before his eyes, the blade was so long and thick it touched the floor. Benedict regarded it for a moment, let out a long breath, and seized the hilt.
The heavy weight that reached him even through the gauntlet drew a faint smile from Benedict.
"A strange turn of events. That Lucy would be the one to find Karia, whom we all believed lost. Is this, too, the guidance of God?"
"I should think so. The great Chief God does seem to hold the young lady dear."
"Blasphemous as it is to say, from a father's standpoint I find that thought deeply distasteful. I only ever wanted Lucy to live a peaceful life."
It wasn't as though he was unaware that the Chief God's grace had played its part in his wandering daughter's transformation.
That grace had accomplished what an inadequate father should have done but never could—and for that, of course, he was grateful.
But a father, whatever else he may be, is endlessly selfish where his daughter is concerned.
What Benedict wanted was simple: having taken what He wanted, the Chief God should take nothing in return and simply leave her be.
Or better yet, let Him bill Benedict for the price.
Even knowing full well the world did not work that way.
"Haha. My lord. Do you truly believe 'peace' is a word that suits the young lady?"
"Of course not. Our daughter is constitutionally incapable of going a day without causing some disaster."
Chuckling at the Head Butler's joke, Benedict took the sword's hilt in both hands.
Benedict did not believe Lucy's rush to Menesteil the moment her vacation began was mere whim.
It was true that she had grown obsessed with strength ever since receiving the God's blessing—but he also knew she was every bit as obsessed with efficiency.
If her goal were simply to accumulate dungeon-conquering experience, there were countless better options than Menesteil.
And yet she had stubbornly insisted on that distant, treacherous place. There had to be another reason.
And with high probability, that reason was what people commonly called a divine revelation.
"Which is why this father must do his utmost."
Had Karia alone been discovered in the Menesteil Dungeon, Benedict would never have moved.
It was true she had once been his closest comrade—but that was, in the end, the past.
There was something in his life now that mattered far more than she did.
There was no reason to shoulder political burdens and genuine peril for her sake.
But this time was different.
It was Lucy who had found Karia, and Lucy who wished to save her.
And for the sake of her wish, she had begged this old fool of a father for help.
As her father, how could he possibly refuse his daughter's request?
Ending his long silence at last, Benedict resolved to move.
He drew the sword with practiced ease, slung it across his back, and turned around.
"For our daughter's peace."
Just as Benedict and the Head Butler exchanged smiles, one of the attendants came sprinting frantically into the vault.
"My lord!"
"What is it?"
"The young lady has returned!"
"Lucy has?"
"Yes, she has—"
Benedict was out the vault door before the attendant could even finish.
All to lay eyes once more on his precious daughter's face after so long an absence.
And to behold that adorable affection with which she called him Papa!
Watching Benedict's back vanish in a whirlwind of excitement, the Head Butler wore a wry smile as he helped the attendant, who had been bowled over in the rush, back to his feet.
The first time I saw Benedict kick open the doors of the estate and make his entrance, I thought, damn, that's actually cool.
Clad in black armor so thick not a sliver of light could pass through it, a colossal greatsword strapped across his back—he looked like the hero of some epic saga.
So that's what Benedict looked like back when he roamed the battlefields.
No wonder everyone convulses at the mere mention of his name.
Just imagine a monster built like that standing on the front line, swinging a greatsword as big as he is. Genuinely terrifying.
But that awe-struck exclamation vanished the instant I saw Benedict's face melt the moment he laid eyes on me.
Thundering toward me with heavy, pounding footfalls that spoke to exactly how heavy that armor was, he swept me into his arms with all the care of a man cradling a tiny animal—and started bawling.
About how dreadfully lonely he'd been without me.
About how his heart had seized every time he heard news of danger, desperate to run to me.
About how overjoyed he'd been to hear I'd made a friend.
I'd thought we'd covered quite a lot through communication magic, but apparently not nearly enough for Benedict.
With apparently endless words left to say, he clung to me with no intention whatsoever of letting go—this was the same daughter-doting Benedict I knew all too well.
And he was no different in the gathering convened to plan the conquest of the Menesteil Dungeon.
"Lucy. Why won't you call me Papa? You called me Papa when we spoke through the communication magic last time, so why on earth not now!"
Count Georg could barely contain his horror at the sight of Benedict throwing a tantrum, begging to be called Papa.
...Benedict?
"Foolish Papa? I'm starting to get embarrassed to be seen with you. Could you please stop making that revolting voice?"
"There you go again. Come now, try it with me. Say Papa. Paaa-pa."
Perhaps even Bishop Johan had finally reached his limit watching Benedict dig in his heels, determined to extract the word "Papa" by any means necessary—he pressed a hand to his brow and cut in.
"Sir Benedict. What in the world has gotten into you? Surely you are aware that this gathering is no mere social occasion."
Even in the face of Johan's admonishment—essentially, we have far more pressing matters, so why are you carrying on like a fool here—Benedict stood utterly unashamed.
"Have no fear! It shan't take long!"
"That is hardly the... Haa. Do as you please."
Authority that had no need to care what anyone thought.
Overwhelming might that no soul alive could hope to restrain.
And the sheer shamelessness to carry himself with total confidence no matter what he did.
Benedict, in whom these three had fused into a holy trinity, was a truck with its brakes ripped clean out.
Was it my imagination, or was I starting to get a feel for just who it was Lucy had learned her shamelessness from?
It was I who ultimately surrendered, hands raised, before that bottomless absurdity.
"Shut it, stupid Papa ♡"
At the sight of Benedict grinning from ear to ear, so delighted that the word "Papa" had finally left my mouth, a sigh escaped me of its own accord.
This is why, the moment this man pulls a stunt like that, I can never quite believe it when people around me go on about how incredible Benedict is.
As far as I'm concerned, Benedict is nothing but a fool of a father utterly powerless before how cute his own daughter is.
Perhaps thanks to Benedict's antics, the atmosphere of the drawing room—which had been stiff as stone when we first gathered—softened considerably.
Had he played the fool with that exact intention?
Still wearing his easy grin, Benedict glanced around the room, then rose from his seat and stepped up to the table.
"Lucy. I will keep things quiet as you wish, but before that, there are a few matters we must settle. Gentlemen?"
Where had that whining voice gone? With a heavy, grave tone and equally grave eyes, he pinned the air of the drawing room in place and called on Johan and Count Georg.
"The reason the three of us—hailing from three different places—have assembled here is to carry out Lucy's request. Do you agree?"
"Yes, that is so."
"Of course, Sir Benedict."
"Then it stands to reason that full authority over this matter must rest with Lucy. What say you both?"
At Benedict's words, the other two tilted their heads in puzzlement—but the most surprised person in the room was me.
Yes, I was the one who had set this whole affair in motion, but I had never intended to lead this meeting.
At the Academy, it would be right for me to hold full command.
Because there, I am the apex.
Neither in accomplishments nor in raw ability does anyone surpass me, which is why my word carries weight there.
But here, it is different.
Benedict. Johan. Count Georg.
Every one of them is a man who carved out his legend in his own domain.
There is no reason for them to lend a serious ear to a girl who only just entered the Academy.
Even if I raised my voice in this room, earning their trust in short order would be difficult.
And so my plan had been to share the intelligence I possessed, entrust the overall framework to Benedict, and intervene only at the decisive moments.
But Benedict refused.
He declared that since he was the one who had gathered them, everything should be placed in my hands.
"Count Benedict Aln."
The first to raise an objection was Count Georg.
"I do not doubt your daughter's capability. Even so, she has more she lacks than she possesses, for now. Perhaps in time—but today..."
"Count Georg. My daughter is far more capable than you believe. Lucy is beloved by the Chief God."
At Benedict's words, Johan turned his gaze toward me. He studied me for a moment, nodded as though something had finally clicked into place, and spoke.
"I see. Then it is better to entrust full authority to the young lady of House Aln. Whatever gaps remain, we are here to fill them."
"Bishop Johan. I knew you, of all people, would understand."
With both of the other men in agreement, there was no way Count Georg could voice his dissent. He gave a reluctant nod, and all three pairs of eyes converged on me.
"Well then, Lucy. Tell us your plan."
I had no idea what exactly Benedict intended by all this.
I'm sorely lacking when it comes to reading minds like his.
But I did know what I had to do.
All right, Benedict.
"If the big oaf of a Papa says he's not up to it, then I guess I've got no choice. Fine. I'll command it."
As I said so with a flick of my shoulders, Benedict beamed at me with a look of pure satisfaction.
This is what you wanted, isn't it? Benedict?
"Lucy. It's Papa, remember."
That's your takeaway from all this?!