Academy Semester-End Party (14)
The Benedict of the past was a man who did not know the meaning of the word compromise.
From boyhood onward he had flaunted his martial prowess with shameless abandon — before he had even entered the Academy, he had beaten every single knight in the Aln family's order black and blue.
Young Benedict, reckless and strong and nothing more, believed that anything he wished for would surely come to pass. After he enrolled in the Academy, that conviction only hardened further.
At first he'd sweated bullets over studies he had never once attempted in his life, but sheer, obstinate refusal to lose to anyone drove him to give it his all — and in the end he achieved results even he found satisfying.
After graduating, not much changed. He was beloved by the people of his territory, won victory after victory in the wars fought to defend the kingdom, and never felt the slightest reason to mend his arrogant, overbearing ways.
The first time Benedict ever tasted failure was the first time he felt love.
The man who used to bellow that he had no time to spare for mere women took one look at a certain girl and fell head over heels.
'I'm sorry.'
For the first time in his life, he had failed to obtain what he wanted. But Benedict did not give up. He was, after all, a man who could not comprehend the concept of stumbling to a halt in defeat. Ignoring the parade of marriage proposals from the family elders and the various branches of the Aln line, he pressed on in his earnest, single-minded devotion.
'What an utter fool you are, my lord.'
The marriage he finally won became the happiest chapter of his life.
Even now, Benedict cannot forget the moment he first held his daughter in his arms — terrified that the slightest bit of force might break her, sweat beading on his brow; his wife laughing beside him at what a fool he looked; and the tiny girl who had been staring quietly up at his face, who suddenly beamed a baboo of a laugh and wrapped her little fingers around his.
Raising a child was never easy. Before she could talk, he agonized endlessly, unable to fathom what she wanted; after she learned to speak, he suffered through just how extraordinary she turned out to be.
Where on earth had she picked up such foul language? Every time she trotted out words like loser or dumbass, Benedict would find himself pondering just where exactly it had all gone wrong.
'Mira. Is it because we've been spoiling her too much? Should we raise her strictly, the way everyone else says?'
'Benedict. Could you actually be strict with Lucy?'
'...Uh. Uhhh.'
'See? You can't. So stop worrying about what other people say. We have our own way of doing things.'
His daughter's eccentricity only deepened after his frail wife passed away, but Benedict had no attention to spare for her. The absence his wife left behind was simply too vast; there was no room left to look around and take stock.
'Benedict. Please take good care of Lucy.'
By the time he remembered his beloved's dying words and came to his senses, far too much had already gone wrong — so much that not even the name of the hero Benedict Aln could turn it back.
And so he learned the word compromise. He mastered the art of bowing his head in order to find the best possible path for his daughter amid the worst. He grew practiced at smothering his rage behind a foolish smile.
It was precisely because of that discipline that Senar Soladin was still standing upright before him right now.
His heart yearned to smash that face in on the spot — but if he did, countless chains would bind the House of Aln, and those chains would reach all the way to his little girl.
Benedict wanted his daughter to live in peace, not in war. And so, even with bloodshot veins creeping across his eyes, he did not swing his fists.
"Be... Benedict. As I was saying, this—"
"First, get off the floor."
The intimidation that had even dragons rolling over leaked from him, and Senar hastily scrambled backward, staggered, and collapsed onto the ground. Benedict did not spare her so much as a glance; he walked straight to his daughter's side.
Only moments ago, Lucy had been screaming in agony — but by the time Benedict reached her, she was already wearing her usual smile.
"Dummy Papa. The party can't be over yet. Did you run away from all the people, hmm?"
Faced with that angelic smile, Benedict tried to smile back. He failed.
How much pain had she endured, without my ever knowing, that she can smile like this? How can she wear a smile as if her wounds were nothing at all — that child who used to burst into tears over the tiniest scrape, crying that it hurt?
"I never meant for it to go this far!"
Hearing Senar's cry, Benedict slowly stroked Lucy's hair, then rose to his feet.
"This—!"
"I know, Senar. No one in this world understands our daughter's temperament better than I do."
She was clever enough to become Second Queen. Our Lucy would never commit such a deranged act unless she had been the one provoked first.
"Th-then—"
"But Senar. No matter what, there is a line."
The Benedict of today knows exactly what compromise means. He understands that even those who insult and denigrate his daughter have their reasons, and that raising his voice in fury solves nothing. He knows, too, that fighting desperately to silence every criticism would only inflame the backlash against Lucy.
But even a man's patience, hard-won through swallowed rage, has its limits.
"I will say it once more, Senar. I sincerely pray there was a just reason for you to trample our daughter beneath your heel and drive her to scream in agony."
Because if there wasn't, I cannot promise what I might do.
The instant Benedict took a single step forward, Senar scrambled back. This was not a movement born of reason — her body fled from him on pure instinct, shrieking the wisdom of retreat.
But her flight could not last. The clock tower was not kind to those who ran. At the sound of stone fragments clattering down, Senar realized she had been driven to the edge of a cliff.
He's coming.
The monster is coming.
The herald of death is coming.
Despair, wearing the shape of a man, is closing in.
Senar had fought on the front lines of the old wars. She knew exactly how terrifying that despair could be. A calamity capable of turning the tide of battle single-handedly was not something a human being could stand against. It was not something a person could stop.
Would it be better to simply jump? No — even then, that calamity would come after me. Should I scream? Would anything change if I did? Was there anyone alive who could hold back that monster?
Fear.
Fear.
And from within that surging flood of terror, from that endless stretch of despair, something cut through — a voice bright and clear and utterly wrong for the dead of night.
"Papa♡"
Tap.
A little girl's tiny hand barred the giant's path. He could have pushed her aside with barely any effort. He did not. He simply waited for the words of the child he loved.
"A crusty old hag throwing a tantrum is just a fact of life, y'know♡"
"...Lucy."
"And I'm tiiired♡ So Papa's a no-good Papa who'd leave me all alone over some decrepit granny?♡"
When Lucy spread her arms and demanded to be held, the tension carved from Benedict's face melted into a soft, slack smile.
"Forgive me. I wasn't minding you as I should."
Hoisting Lucy effortlessly onto his shoulder with one arm, Benedict turned his gaze on Senar — the smile vanishing from his face in an instant — and looked down at her trembling, strengthless legs.
"I pray that there is no next time."
And that was all. With a single stride that shook the clock tower, Benedict walked out of the Academy and was gone.
Left alone, Senar fought down the trembling in her hands — fear still lingering in her limbs — and took a long, deep breath.
I'd love to show that spectacle to the idiots who claim the Fang of the Kingdom has grown old and retired to the frontier.
How in the world does THAT count as aging?! The monster is still a monster!
Having lost even the presence of mind to act queenly, Senar drummed her fists against the stone floor before dragging both hands down her face.
"Nabil. Come out."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Her escort emerged from along the tower wall and bowed with perfect courtesy.
"I apologize for failing to come to your aid, but the situation was far too volatile—"
"Enough. I know. I know full well that the moment you appeared, things would have gotten worse."
The moment Senar had drawn her axe, everything had passed the point of no return. She should never, under any circumstance, have drawn a weapon — not now, when Lucy Aln was a existence she so desperately needed.
Foolish woman. Shackled by the past, and it ruins your present.
I swore I would live for the future — and this is what I amount to?
As she cursed her own dullness, Senar suddenly narrowed her eyes.
Wait. Why did my reason fly completely out the window just now?
That wasn't mere anger. At some point, my composure simply evaporated. Yes — right from the moment that brat Lucy Aln mocked my dead... and that child's smile turned cold.
Senar bit her lip hard. Picturing the little girl standing between her and her own father, she exhaled slowly and long.
Family... is it.
I'd thought such a thing didn't exist in noble society.
Remembering how strangely mature Cecil had looked today, of all days, Senar pressed her eyes shut tight, then finally managed to speak.
"Nabil. Send a messenger to House Aln. Tell them I will call on them personally to offer my apologies."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
Earning Benedict Aln's hatred is beyond mending. But I cannot allow us to be outright enemies.
That monster possesses the power to tip the scales of a nation all by himself.
And if all else fails, I'll have to buy the heart of the little girl who can command that monster.
"Pffft."
After what I just did, how could I ever win her over? Ordering the monster to kill me would be more realistic.
"Your Majesty. If I may make a suggestion."
"What is it."
"The Lady Aln was sensitive regarding the word 'mother.' Something connected to that might serve as a more fitting vehicle for your apology."
"...Not bad."
There was that bracelet she gave me once. Far too plain, so I just kept it stored away — turns out it has its uses after all.
"And besides that, prepare things related to dungeons and armor."
Meeting Lucy Aln will take more than an apology, after all.
"Understood, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you would command?"
"And... no. That will be enough."
Shaking her head, Senar rose from where she sat, straightened her bearing, and turned once more toward the banquet hall.
"So that's what happened."
Having heard the whole story, Benedict said nothing to me. Instead, he gazed out the window with an unreadable expression. Faced with a tangle of emotions I couldn't begin to fathom, I made no pointless remarks and simply waited for him to gather himself.
Looking at him now, you'd never guess anything had happened — same old Benedict. But back there, when he went dead serious, he was absolutely terrifying. That pressure wasn't even aimed at me, and it still froze me solid. If that intimidation had been directed my way, I probably would've clutched my head and done nothing but mumble I'm sorry over and over.
Resting my chin in my hand, I found myself replaying the events at the clock tower — and remembering how thoroughly Senar had played me, I pursed my lips into a pout.
'Grandpa. How do you overcome a lack of experience?'
The reason I'd suffered a crushing defeat at Senar's hands was crystal clear: the difference in experience. I had almost never fought a serious battle against a warrior above my level.
Forsell, Karl, and the other fighters stronger than me had always focused on teaching me rather than genuinely trying to beat me. Against Adri and Nakrad, I hadn't so much overpowered them as out-schemed them with rotten-water veteran knowledge. Even my fight with Duke Burrow — the closest thing to a fair match I'd had — was really just a trickster's win over a man possessed by an evil god.
Because of that inexperience, it had never even crossed my mind that Senar might read me and counter everything I did.
'Yeah, figured as much.'
I'd thought this before, but I really do need to fight seriously against the strong. Absolutely have to, if I want to grow stronger than I am now.
I was mulling over just how long the to-do list for this vacation had gotten when I remembered there was something I needed to ask Benedict, and spoke up in a hurry.
'Papa.'
"Dummy Papa~"
"Hmm? What is it, Lucy?"
'There's something I want to ask you for.'
"There's something I wanna ask for~ And if you grant it, maybe Dummy Papa will become super-duper happy~♡"
"Anything! Name it! If your Papa can do it, he'll do anything!"
'Well, you see...'
"I wanna train my loser friends together with our family's dumb knights."