A Knight's Oath (3)
A thick-cut tenderloin sizzled as it showered in butter.
The chef sliced a baguette into bite-sized pieces and set them atop melted ghee butter, letting the soft insides soak through.
"Whoa, that smells amazing!"
Ariel kept sniffing the air, drawn by the mouthwatering aroma of seared meat and the rich scent of butter.
—Slap
The finishing touch. He pinched a measure of salt and sprinkled it over the meat. The salt cascading from his fingertips struck his elbow and scattered evenly across the surface.
"Woooow!"
Ariel clapped and cheered at the theatrical performance.
—Slap! Slap! Shaaaaa!
Her reaction only stoked the chef's unnecessary confidence, and he began flinging salt with even more exaggerated flourishes. Each time, Ariel applauded in response — while Lowen was forced to watch the steak get pickled in salt.
Stop it. At this rate the butter steak is going to become a salt steak!
"I don't think this is going to be edible."
Salt blanketed the beef in a white crust, like powdered sugar dusted over a doughnut.
"Ah... I'm so sorry. I'll prepare a fresh one right away."
The chef carried the mountain of salt back to the kitchen. He would have to remake the dish from scratch, yet a satisfied smile lingered on his face — the same smile a cook wears when a guest praises their food.
No, a chef shouldn't be smiling over a salt performance.
While the butter steak was being prepared again, they ordered one more dish: a salad topped with yogurt jelly. It wasn't difficult to prepare, so it arrived almost immediately after they ordered.
Ariel speared a piece of yogurt jelly studded with summer citrus and popped it into her mouth.
"Uuuugh——! Sooo sour——!"
Summer mandarins packed a sharp acidity. The plump segments looked delicious, but eating them felt like a jolt of electricity on the tongue.
"But it's still good!"
Ariel puckered her lips and scrunched her brow, yet declared it tasty and put another one in her mouth.
"You say it's sour, yet you're eating it just fine?"
"The yogurt melts the moment you eat it and adds sweetness to the sourness. Like this."
Ariel stuck out her tongue, showing the melting yogurt. A plump white lump clung to her tongue — a rather suggestive sight that brought certain things to mind.
Lowen cleared his throat.
"Saintess, I believe opening one's mouth while eating is considered poor manners."
"Oops!"
Ariel clamped her mouth shut and covered it with both hands.
—Gulp
She swallowed everything at once. Then she stuck her tongue out again, showing Lowen that she'd finished it all.
"Aw gone now."
What on earth is this Saintess trying to do?
Lowen wanted to scold her sharply, but the pure innocence on her face made him unable to open his mouth. The destructive power born of innocence was formidable. It was as disorienting as taking a stroll across flat ground and suddenly face-planting. Being so pure that you couldn't even reprimand her made for a truly difficult situation.
And if it had been intentional? That, in its own way, would be terrifying coming from Ariel. It would mean she was roundaboutly saying, I want to gulp down the juices from your lower half — with that innocent face, no less.
Either way, it was a lewd act.
"Bishop Lowen, you should try one too."
Ariel speared a yogurt jelly and held it out to him.
"Here, say aah——"
The kind of thing couples did in the early stages of dating. It wasn't as if she hadn't given him a fork, and it wasn't as if he lacked hands — yet they were feeding each other. An eyesore of a gesture, and thoroughly inefficient.
Lowen snatched Ariel's fork and ate the yogurt jelly.
"Just as you said, the sourness and sweetness blend together nicely. It's good."
"Right?"
Lowen returned the fork and surveyed the gazes he felt from around them. Staff and patrons alike were all looking their way. Even with the glasses and veil as a disguise, the unique aura a Saintess carried drew every eye. Beyond that, people were stealing glances because the pair looked like a handsome priest and a beautiful holy woman on a fresh, budding date.
As they ate their salad in that strangely charged atmosphere — or so Lowen alone believed — the butter steak arrived.
"I'm sorry for the wait. As an apology, I'll prepare a separate dessert for you."
Ariel was about to decline — until she heard the words "strawberry sorbet" and clamped her mouth shut.
Right in front of them, the chef poured melted ghee butter over the steak, sprinkled salt, and finished the dish. Then, with another apology, he returned to the kitchen.
"Thank you for the meal."
They had already said the pre-meal prayer when they first ordered, so Ariel skipped it and immediately transferred a chunk of meat to her plate. She pressed down with her fork to cut the steak. Butter-soaked juices spilled onto the white plate, releasing a rich, savory aroma. Ariel sliced it into bite-sized pieces and popped one into her small mouth.
"Chew chew. Mmmmm!"
After a few bites, Ariel shook both fists and expressed how delicious it was with her whole body.
"Try this."
Lowen dunked a piece of steak deep into the cherry sauce and held it out to Ariel. He considered it an eyesore of a gesture — yet he wanted to feed her. He was curious what reaction she would show. It felt rather like the experience of feeding animals at a ranch.
"Aum! Mmm!"
After eating the steak Lowen offered, Ariel trembled her cheeks with delight.
"Dipping it in the sauce is delicious too!"
Ariel ate her steak looking thoroughly happy. Watching her, Lowen's mouth curved into a fond smile even as a quiet loneliness settled over him. Ariel always ate with gratitude and enjoyment, but her reaction to the butter steak was more animated than usual.
"Is it good?" Lowen, who had been quietly watching her, asked.
"Yes! It's really delicious!"
Ariel sucked the cherry sauce off her fork with a soft slurp. Rolling her tongue to savor the sweet flavor, she lifted her hips, leaned forward, and covered her mouth with her hand like someone sharing a secret.
"Still... I think Bishop Lowen's cooking is much better."
She really did know how to say the nicest things. Whether she meant it or not, Lowen answered with a gentle smile.
After finishing the meal, the strawberry sorbet melted away the film of oil coating their tongues.
"Um...... Bishop Lowen."
Ariel, who until moments ago had been eating strawberry sorbet with the face of someone in love, hesitated as she called to him.
"Yes, what is it?"
Ariel's lips trembled as if she had something to say. Lowen waited calmly for her mouth to open. She finally spoke when the strawberry sorbet had softened slightly.
"Is it true that you used to be a knight?"
She asked the question, but Ariel was already certain — not merely guessing. She had overheard the Holy Knights of Seria talking. She had seen him stand guard at Seria's side when monsters attacked Windbird Cathedral. And she had watched him lure monsters in the Night Sky Spring Forest. Circumstantially, it was clear he had been a knight. But she had yet to hear it from Lowen himself.
"Yes, that's correct."
Since Ariel could see through lies anyway, Lowen answered honestly. It was a past he wanted to hide as much as possible. The many memories that clung to the name of "knight" stuck to his mind like slimy moss. And every time he tried to peel them away by recalling them, a complicated unpleasantness washed over him.
It wasn't that the memories were good, nor that they were painful. They were numb — and that numbness made them feel unpleasant.
"Bishop Lowen as a knight... it suits you well."
Ariel imagined Lowen clad in the armor of a Holy Knight. White plate armor. A red knightly cloak draped over his shoulders. The Holy Sword — symbol of a Holy Knight — proudly at his waist.
"You think it suits me?"
"Very much so."
Ariel's answer came quickly. She thought black armor would suit him better than white, but either way, the image of Lowen as a knight seemed to fit him perfectly in her mind.
"But..."
Still picturing Black Knight Lowen, Ariel carefully gauged his expression.
"I know this is a rude question..."
She wanted to know. Why a single knight had cast aside his sword and thrown away his armor. It wasn't that she was curious about a knight's end. She simply wanted to know more about the sad man named Lowen.
"They say a knight lays down his sword when a wound is dealt to the oath carved into his heart."
Those who walk the path of a knight may have different reasons, but their beginning is the same. They take up the sword by swearing a knight's oath.
A knight's oath. The conviction to protect, even at the cost of one's life, that which one seeks to defend. It might be to protect a destitute family, or to guard the nights of a beloved woman, or to defend a warm village — or even a vast empire. What mattered was that swearing a knight's oath meant there was something worth offering one's heart to protect.
To wound that oath meant that the object of protection — or the will to protect it — had vanished.
"What kind of wound did you receive, Bishop Lowen?"
It could have been a matter of health. He might have laid down his sword with tears of blood. But whatever the reason, asking a former knight about his wound was a grave discourtesy. Even knowing it was rude, Ariel wanted to hear it. And she wanted to know what it was that tormented Lowen every night.
Lowen quietly met Ariel's gaze.
"I don't really know myself."
What wound had driven him to flee the path of a knight. Because he had wanted to escape the reek of blood. Because his cracking, splintering mind had shown the first signs of collapse. Because he had felt terror at the humanity slipping away as he wielded death. He had become a priest as a refuge from all that — but those things were not the wound itself. They were the aftereffects that came after the wound was dealt.
The loathing of the stench of blood, the crumbling mind, the vanishing humanity — all of them were leech-like things born from a wound that had rotted and festered black.
"The wound has rotted black and necrotized, but I don't really know what blade inflicted it in the first place."
When was it, exactly?
When was it that someone swung a blade at the oath?
"I've even forgotten what I swore my oath to."
What Lowen remembered were three oaths. The first was an oath toward a warm spring maiden he would one day meet. The second was an oath for the future of a girl who sought to make a seed of hope bloom. The third was an oath toward the ruler of a nation that kept the peace.
Each time an oath was wounded, Lowen had sworn a new one and continued as a knight. As that cycle repeated and repeated... at some point the identity of the oaths grew faint and dull, until they finally disappeared altogether.
Regardless. Whatever the final oath had been, the Lowen who was a knight had been killing people for someone else's benefit.
"What's certain is that recalling the past is not a pleasant affair."
Lowen smiled softly.
"I'm sorry..."
Ariel looked at Lowen's smile. A smile like sunlight pouring over a green field. But it was a mask that hid sorrow, hid loneliness, hid solitude.
"Not at all. It's natural to be curious."
Ariel straightened her back and looked at Lowen.
"There's one last thing I'd like to ask."
Lowen gave a bitter smile and nodded for her to go ahead.
"If something arose that was worth swearing an oath to protect... would you return to being a knight, Bishop Lowen?"
Lowen firmly shook his head.
"Some call it courage when a knight who laid down his own sword takes it up again. I call it shame."
He would never again take up a sword as a knight. He would never again swear an oath as a knight.
"And I don't believe that protecting something — or someone — is a task only a knight can perform."
Lowen wiped the cherry sauce from the corner of Ariel's mouth.
"Let's leave the conversation there and get going. There's a festival in Rest Town today, so shall we go take a look?"
Lowen rose from his seat first, and Ariel — looking apologetic for having made the atmosphere awkward — set down her spoon and followed.
The once-appetizing strawberry sorbet had melted into a soggy mess.