The Reason for Discomfort (1)
In the reception room, the King received the Raven Knight Order accompanied only by the commander of the royal guard and the chief secretary. He had summoned them to the palace the moment they reached the royal capital the following morning, without granting them even a moment to shake off the weariness of their journey. The fact that the investigation had concluded far more swiftly than anticipated filled him with equal parts anxiety and expectation.
The King studied the commander of the Raven Knight Order. The sight of her gaunt, exhausted face propped up by crutches—could that truly be considered good news? His expression hardened. The knights of the Raven Knight Order knelt before him: their commander Theodora, vice commander Christine, and one knight dispatched from No Man's Land to provide supplementary explanation.
“Your Majesty...”
“Spare me the greetings. Raise your heads. We shall hear the report at once.”
Theodora lifted her head. The moment the King saw those vacant, hollow eyes, a wave of unease washed over him. Just how terrible must the news be?
“The Behemoth will advance upon us.”
And in situations like this, anxiety always emerged victorious. The King’s face twisted violently at the name that made him doubt his own ears. The presence of the Royal Guard Knight Commander standing behind him grew razor-sharp as well.
“The Behemoth, you say. What exactly do you mean by that?”
“It is precisely the Behemoth that Your Majesty already knows.”
The King let out a hollow laugh.
“There is only one Behemoth that I know of.”
“Correct.”
“The mythical monster that alone collapses mountains and crosses oceans. The very same Behemoth that, fifteen years ago, plunged a hundred heroes into terror merely by showing itself. That is what you mean, yes?”
It was a meaningless question. The King simply wished to delay the reality bearing down on him. Yet Theodora answered without the slightest fluctuation in tone or any trace of evasion, merely affirming his words.
“It is that Behemoth.”
“...Haah...”
Only then did the King fully grasp that the anomalies in No Man's Land were far graver than he had imagined. His face stiffened as he rested his elbows on the chair’s armrests and pressed a hand to his throbbing temple. He remembered the nightmare of fifteen years ago all too clearly.
“Do you have any concrete proof?”
The King directed the question at the knight sent from No Man's Land. The man replied in a calm, measured voice.
“You will have received reports that the monster population in No Man's Land has been decreasing, Your Majesty.”
“Indeed. It was thanks to the urgent report you sent that We found the resolve to dispatch an investigation team.”
The knight gave a small bow and continued.
“Yes… Together with the Raven Knight Order Your Majesty dispatched, we conducted a thorough investigation of the anomalies in No Man's Land… That is how I should phrase it, yet the Margrave of No Man's Land has long anticipated the stirrings of a threat comparable to the Behemoth.”
“And why is that?”
The King furrowed his brow.
“Because the number of monsters in No Man's Land has only ever increased—never decreased.”
“You do not seem inclined to view the change positively.”
“Those of us who guard the kingdom’s back gate can hardly afford such complacency.”
The knight’s words carried the pride and resolve of one who defended No Man's Land. The King watched him, urging him to proceed.
“We had intended to submit a report regardless of whether we found anything of note.”
“Which means this investigation yielded significant findings.”
“Yes.”
When the knight glanced toward Christine, the King granted her permission to speak.
“While investigating the cliff at the edge, we discovered a critical problem with the foundation.”
“A problem with the foundation?”
“The entire cliff’s bedrock had grown dangerously weak. It would not be surprising if it collapsed at any moment.”
The King let out a low groan.
“How could such a thing happen? Did the monsters attack the cliff?”
“The monsters were indeed scraping and striking it ceaselessly, but the decisive cause was a colossal Deathworm that had burrowed tunnels through the cliff itself.”
“A Deathworm? You mean the monster typically found in deserts?”
As the King expressed astonishment, the knight from No Man's Land supplemented the explanation.
“The Behemoth stands at the apex of all monsters. It is said to be capable of subjugating every monster beneath it. The same phenomenon was observed fifteen years ago.”
The King immediately understood the implication.
“So you are saying there is a strong possibility the Behemoth commanded that Deathworm.”
“The probability is extremely high. A Deathworm would have no reason to weaken the cliff’s foundation otherwise.”
The King exhaled a long, heavy sigh.
“Then… according to your report, it is all but certain that the Behemoth will advance.”
“Correct, Your Majesty.”
The King spoke in a tone of lament.
“Is it as grave as it was fifteen years ago?”
The knight from No Man's Land shook his head.
“It is more serious than it was fifteen years ago, Your Majesty. A decision must be made.”
The King did not deliberate long.
“Chief Secretary.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Summon the General Knight Commander and convene an emergency meeting of the senior officers. It appears we have a matter that must take precedence over all else.”
The King looked down at Theodora and Christine.
“You have both labored hard. Rest well today and remain on standby. The commander is on leave, I understand?”
“That is correct, Your Majesty.”
“Take proper care of yourself. We will likely summon you again soon.”
“I will keep it in mind.”
The Raven Knight Order withdrew from the audience chamber. The knight from No Man's Land spoke to Theodora. Her unsteady gait on crutches appeared worrying. Though the King had refrained from commenting, her condition was such that a reprimand would not have been out of place.
“Commander, where do you intend to go now?”
Theodora halted and turned toward the knight.
“...I have somewhere I must go.”
So saying, she glanced at Christine beside her. Christine met her gaze without flinching.
“There is something I need to confirm.”
Her eyes were utterly lifeless. Having declared this, Theodora hailed a carriage waiting for passengers along the roadside. The morning sun blazed down upon the streets.
“Please travel safely.”
Christine assisted Theodora as she climbed into the carriage with the knight from No Man's Land. Theodora gazed down at her quietly for a moment before giving the coachman his instructions.
“...To the academy.”
The coachman nodded and cracked his whip. The sharp snap of leather split the air as the horses sprang forward.
The journey home felt shorter than the day they had departed. The trees and grass she had not seen in nearly a month looked strangely alien. The sound of wind brushing through blades of grass, the rustle of branches and leaves trembling in the breeze—she had not realized how dearly she would miss them.
Only Theodora and Christine had been called to the palace to deliver their report. Maxim, granted a week’s leave, was finally able to experience solitude for the first time in a long while. Yet that solitude proved equally tedious. He could not train.
After preparing and eating lunch himself, Maxim passed the time idly—taking walks or leafing through books.
The clock ticked steadily. Maxim sank deep into his chair, repeatedly flipping the cover of the book he had already finished. He rubbed the scar that had begun to throb at regular intervals, then tossed the volume onto the bed.
Going to the order feels awkward…
Maxim tapped the chair’s armrest, lost in thought.
What should I even do…
Knock, knock.
The sound at the front door pulled him from his reverie. Who would come knocking? Wondering, Maxim shuffled toward the entrance. It was barely past lunchtime, nowhere near the time the knights would be off duty.
He cracked the door open.
“Who is it…?”
Outside stood a boy who looked like an errand runner. Wearing a shabby hat and threadbare clothes, the youth held out a letter. Maxim tilted his head in confusion.
“I was asked to deliver this letter to this address.”
Maxim accepted the envelope and examined its surface. It was pure white, stiff, and clearly expensive. Since he had time to spare, he decided to read it slowly inside and fished in his pocket for a coin. He could at least give the boy a decent tip.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you, sir!”
After handing the boy some money, Maxim returned indoors and placed the envelope on the table. The wax seal closing the pristine white envelope bore a familiar crest. He tried to recall where he had seen it, then gave up.
“They used good stationery, at least…”
A noble who would send him a letter… Maxim’s expression darkened. His hands slowed for an instant as he tore open the envelope, then moved more quickly. He pulled out the letter and read the first line. His face twisted at once.
To my dear son-in-law.
To my dear son-in-law.
The sweltering heat has lingered these past days. It seems summer is now racing toward its zenith.
I have heard the news of your safe return from No Man's Land. The reason I write is none other than this: has it not been quite some time since you last saw our daughter? Even in a political marriage, one ought to live while at least beholding the face of one’s fiancée.
Would you care to join us for lunch tomorrow? Please come to our residence around noon. If that proves impossible, I suppose it cannot be helped.
— Emil Bourdin
Maxim let out a sigh. Our daughter? That damn bastard. He ground his teeth at the hypocritical, saccharine words.
The final sentence was little more than a veiled threat. Maxim set the letter down on the table and exhaled again. His fiancée. His mind grew tangled. It would have been far better to simply be bored. He pressed his lips together bitterly.
As befitted a court noble attached to the secretariat, the Bourdin barony’s mansion stood in the heart of the royal capital. Maxim stepped down from the carriage and stared at the heavy, dark-brown wooden door. The Bourdin family crest stamped into the wax of the letter was carved into the door as well.
“...Haah.”
No matter how impossible it had been to refuse the invitation, Maxim found himself resenting the fact that he had actually come. Before he could even climb the steps to knock, the mansion’s front door opened and a servant descended.
“Sir Maxim Apparte, I have come to escort you.”
The servant extended a hand, guiding Maxim inside. The entrance was obscenely spacious. As he walked the corridor, Maxim tried not to notice his surroundings. The servant glanced back at him.
“The master will return shortly. I shall first escort you to Lady Marion.”
Maxim nodded, his face betraying his discomfort. How long had it been? Few people could make him feel this same oppressive guilt every time they met.
The servant continued down the hallway. The room belonging to the baron’s daughter—his cherished youngest daughter, no less—was tucked away in the most remote corner of the enormous mansion. Just when Maxim thought he could not grow any angrier at that damn baron, he was given fresh reason to do so.
The servant stopped before a plain, unadorned door and knocked.
“My lady, Sir Maxim has arrived.”
For a moment, hurried sounds came from within. Then footsteps approached softly, and the door opened with careful hesitation.
“...Hello.”
Maxim greeted the girl before him with an awkward smile.
“It’s been a long time.”
“...Yes. It has.”
Marion Bourdin. Regardless of Maxim’s strained expression, she smiled beautifully, the corners of her mouth lifting with genuine warmth. Long, lustrous black hair and deep blue eyes. The small right hand she extended toward him wore a white glove despite the summer heat, and a mask covering half her face hid the area around her right eye.
Marion Bourdin. The pitiful only daughter and youngest child of that damn baron. Maxim gazed at his “fiancée” with bitter eyes.