Chapter 10
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Headgates (3)
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“Guh-huh! Uhmm!”
Lindelmann, true to his noble upbringing, let out a perfectly natural belch. He lightly rinsed his mouth with wine and rose from his chair.
The proper meal he'd tasted in ages was utterly satisfying.
It made sense, though—this room cost three silver coins a night. They wouldn't dare serve anything subpar.
“Hmm. Another drink, or a quick nap?”
He walked over to the window overlooking the courtyard, happily mulling it over as he threw it open.
A spring scent he'd never imagined just days ago wafted in on the chilly air.
Come to think of it, more than half of April had already passed.
The central lands around Alteria would be in full bloom by now, and even up north, anywhere beyond Northway here would overflow with gentle warmth.
Wheat harvests would be in full swing, festivals everywhere, and folks feeling generous.
Above all, those country girls—shy on the surface, but with a strangely bold streak...
Whoooosh!
The still-biting northern wind shattered Lindelmann's daydreams.
To turn those dreams into reality, the priority was escaping the north at all costs, and as soon as possible.
“Ugh! I'll rest up tonight and head out early tomorrow.”
Shivering, Lindelmann slammed the window shut and turned away.
That's when someone slipped quietly into the room.
“Eek!”
He jolted harder than from the cold gust moments ago.
“Uh, who... who are you...?”
There should only be one other person in the room with him, but the words tumbled out anyway.
The figure standing before him was that astonishing.
“It's me.”
“......”
Lindelmann gaped at Blake, who spoke in a flat tone while shaking out his wet hair.
Blake's face, freshly washed with hair and beard neatly trimmed, was utterly unexpected.
He wasn't some strikingly handsome man, but the taut brown skin, prominent nose, and chiseled jaw formed a face that was, in a word, manly.
A deep scar slicing across the bridge of his nose, paired with those deep blue eyes that held a chilling glint—it lent an intensity no one could forget after a single glance.
'I figured he'd look like a monster...'
“Why stare like that? Something wrong?”
“Ah, nothing at all. Ahem!”
Lindelmann cleared his throat awkwardly and tugged the cord hanging nearby.
A bell rang, and moments later, the boy who'd shown them to the room entered to clear the empty plates.
“Shall I prepare a meal for this guest?”
“Later.”
“Of course. Please call anytime if you need anything.”
The boy bowed politely, gathered the plates, and vanished. Soon, only the two of them remained.
“You bathed earlier, didn't you? What'd you go and do?”
Lindelmann asked, trying to shake off the awkwardness. Blake dropped his combat pack on the bed as he replied.
“Swung my sword a bit.”
“R-right.”
The curt grunt left Lindelmann grasping for words.
Bathing clean, only to sweat again—it was hard to fathom.
More than that, keeping a conversation going with Blake was no easy feat.
But Lindelmann quickly found a new topic.
He'd spotted the long wooden box tucked deep inside Blake's tunic.
“What's that?”
Blake followed his gaze.
The cypress box holding the commander's letter—always kept on his person, even within reach during baths—peeked out slightly.
“The commander's letter. Sir Zaroph doesn't need to concern himself.”
The commander had said it was fine to show others, but Blake turned away coldly as he spoke.
'What a cheapskate.'
Lindelmann pursed his lips at the reaction.
Perceptive as he was, though, he didn't press the issue.
'Come to think of it, he said he's heading south? That box looks important, sealed with his mark, and south as the destination? There's definitely something there... Hmm. Yeah.'
Lindelmann pieced together his own theory.
But he dropped the thought just as quickly.
No reason he needed to know the details.
“So, what's the plan going forward? Even assuming we leave together tomorrow...”
“We'll split once we're clear of those guys from Brownstone Gate's turf. Until then, I protect Sir Zaroph, and you feed me whatever info you have.”
Blake skipped any mention of potential fights tomorrow.
“Info?”
The word 'protect' grated a little, but figuring it was temporary, Lindelmann pressed on.
“The stories you told on the way here. Recount whatever comes to mind.”
“That shouldn't be hard.”
Only now did Lindelmann grasp why Blake was sticking with him.
Blake was a complete blank slate on the world outside Northernrocks Fortress.
'But why send this guy out there? He doesn't strike me as your average discharged soldier. And with me along...'
Quick on the uptake, Lindelmann grew curious.
The commander had spoken of Blake like he was a nobody.
But the garrison tales about discharged Northernrocks soldiers, everything he'd learned from traveling with Blake, and now that box—it all felt off.
'Eh, he barely knows anything beyond fighting, so probably sent him to learn a bit from me.'
Lindelmann settled on a convenient conclusion.
Someone had come knocking, anyway, cutting his thoughts short.
Knock knock!
“Huh? Who's there?”
Lindelmann cocked his head.
Thinking it might be inn staff, he headed for the door.
In an instant, Blake lightly kicked off with one foot, his massive frame sailing silently to block him.
It was a stealthy, utterly silent movement, like a giant black panther approaching undetected.
“Gah!”
Lindelmann flinched back in shock.
“Shh.”
Blake pressed a finger to his lips, gripping a handaxe—drawn from who-knows-where—at a slant as he positioned himself by the door.
“Footsteps don't match the boy's. Adult. Trained.”
The sheer tension made Lindelmann gulp hard as he awkwardly shuffled to a spot away from the door.
Blake gave a slight nod, and Lindelmann forced down his nerves.
“Who is it?”
“Pardon the intrusion. I am Brick Carlson, born son of Roy Carlson and knight of the White Family. I'd like to share fellowship with a knight of the family bearing leaves that bloom in no known season, and discuss something urgent—might I come in briefly...?”
A low but impeccably polite voice.
He'd even elegantly expressed his desire to learn the crest on Lindelmann's scabbard and build camaraderie.
“Oh!”
Blake's eyes remained icy, but Lindelmann's face lit up.
Such refined manners and protocol—it had been ages. No, first since entering the north.
They simply had to respond in kind.
But Lindelmann had forgotten one thing: his companion had zero connection to etiquette or decorum.
Thud!
“Hm!”
Brick jumped.
The door flew open, revealing the tall, burly man from earlier, staring him down with eyes that chilled to the bone.
And in his hand, a razor-sharp handaxe.
Instinct drew Brick's hand to his sword hilt, but a powerful premonition screamed not to draw. Hand resting there, he greeted as naturally as he could.
“Pleased to meet you. Brick Carlson, knight of the White Family.”
“Oh! Sir Carlson! I'm Lindelmann Zaroph. This is... ah, come in, please.”
The greeting was politeness incarnate, but with Blake just staring silently, Lindelmann hurried forward to usher him deeper into the room.
Brick shot a glance at Blake, still clutching the axe and eyeing him, then followed to take a seat.
Only after Brick sat did Blake return to his spot, slotting the axe into his combat pack.
He leaned against the wall, fixing his usual impassive gaze on Lindelmann and Brick.
'Odd one. Dodging introductions—definitely a hired guard.'
With that thought, Brick averted his eyes, pulled out the fine wine he'd brought, and spoke.
“First off, thank you again for so graciously welcoming this rude intruder with your boundless magnanimity, Sir Lindelmann Zaroph.”
“Oh, no need! You're the first knight I've met with such manners since arriving north. Haha!”
“The other northern knights are loyal to His Imperial Majesty, uphold the code of chivalry, and know courtesy as well. The harsh environment might make them seem cold, but their hearts are all the same, I assure you.”
As he spoke, Brick gauged Lindelmann's expression.
“Oho! Is that so? What a revelation today. Ha! You seem much my senior—speak freely, please.”
Lindelmann nodded repeatedly, his face glowing not just with delight but outright gratitude.
The response was warmer and more naive than expected. Brick let out a quiet sigh of relief inwardly.
But he never dropped his guard, maintaining his refined and courteous demeanor.
“No, I couldn't on a first meeting.”
“Haha! Suit yourself, then. At this point, to get comfortable enough for informal talk, I simply must see more of you, Sir Carlson. Hahaha!”
“Much appreciated. Incidentally, if I may— are you traveling at present, Sir Zaroph?”
“Ah, yes. I volunteered as an observing knight escorting reinforcements to Northernrocks Fortress in service to His Majesty's military orders, and now I'm on my way back to Alteria.”
As always, Lindelmann unconsciously emphasized 'His Majesty' and 'military orders.'
And Brick caught every bit of it perfectly—including how immensely proud Lindelmann was.
“Splendid. Your posture is impeccable, your spirit uncommon—I sensed as much. A true knight walking the path at such a young age. And unlike the rough northern knights, your refined and elegant bearing marks you clearly as one from Alteria.”
“Hahah! Really! Such kind words! Hahaha!”
Lindelmann's mood soared even higher at the praise, bursting into hearty laughter as he waved it off.
But the good vibes didn't last.
“Those who heap praise on first meetings are always hiding an agenda.”
“......!”
The pair startled and whipped around toward the voice.
“......That's what the commander said.”
Blake stared at them with utterly impassive eyes.
'Commander?'
He'd assumed a simple hired guard, but the way he spoke suggested otherwise.
Brick ventured carefully.
“Pardon me, but who might this gentleman be?”
“Ahem! This is Blake. It's complicated, but he's a colleague for now.”
“I see. Pleased to meet you, Sir Blake.”
Brick rose from his chair and offered a proper knightly bow.
But Blake remained arms-crossed, not twitching a muscle, replying in a low, dry voice.
“Not a noble, not a knight—no reason for 'sir.'”
“Hmm.”
Brick's eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Even after the emperor's reign brought some changes, the gulf between noble-born and commoners lingered.
For instance, barring a duel, a commoner killing a noble meant almost certain execution. A noble killing a commoner? Pay the bereaved family silver coins equal to the corpse's head weight, and no crime committed.
And if the noble couldn't pay? Exactly one year of labor.
Sure, men who lived by the sword didn't always sweat the details, but if the other guy was noble-born, the norm was to show at least token respect.
'His looks too—not your average man.'
“Still, you've greeted me, so I'll return it. Pleased to meet you, Sir Carlson.”
“Hm?”
The unexpected courtesy caught Brick off guard.
His face stayed blank—no joke.
Incomprehensible guy.
“Ah, likewise.”
“You two chat. I've got business.”
With that, Blake threw on his clothes haphazardly, grabbed his sword, and headed out.
Brick was the man who'd sat with that curious kid at the inn.
No apparent ties to Credo, no hostility sensed—no need to stick around for their talk.
Besides, he had far more pressing business than wasting time on two knights' idle banter.
“Ha, haha! He's just like that, Sir Carlson. Here, have a seat.”
As Blake vanished, Lindelmann recalled his parting words and gestured to sit.
Indeed, beware those showering praise on first meetings.
That was exactly why he'd ended up coming north in the first place.
“Right, you've been dancing around it... What did you want to say to me?”
Brick inwardly clicked his tongue at Lindelmann's distinctly shifted expression since Blake's interjection, but he kept his tone and posture as polite as ever.
“I've come to request aid from a young knight pursuing true chivalry.”
(To be continued next time)