Declaration
The lake after the succession ceremony.
The children had gone. The demons had gone. Silence settled over the emptied place.
Berta stood gazing out over the deserted lake and breathed out a white plume of air. A crushed cigarette hung from her red lips.
Ordinarily she would have drawn a fresh, uncrumpled one from a crisp paper pack — but the terrifying little young master had declared that smoking interfered with training and dumped the whole lot into the trash.
The cigarette between Berta's lips was one of the few intact ones she had fished back out of the bin.
"Khhng."
She rubbed the bridge of her nose as it began to sting. A knife-edged wind rolled off the lake, as if insisting winter was not finished yet, and painted the tip of her nose red.
But no wind, however fierce, could smother her craving. Berta paid it no mind and conjured a flame.
Fwoosh.
The fire leapt from her fingertip to the cigarette.
"Huuu... ssip... hhh..."
She savored the fragrance flooding her lungs. Unbidden, the memory of her first cigarette rose up.
She had started at fifteen. As a nobleman's daughter, Berta had hated the endless restrictions her parents imposed. After one fight she had been wandering the inner garden when a maid she was close with pressed a cigarette into her hand. At first the acrid smoke had been pure hell — but if you endured that hell long enough, it eventually turned sweet. Was that what they meant by no pain, no gain?
For the sake of that memory alone she could never quit. By now the cigarette had become her only friend, her only lover.
How am I supposed to give up something this good...
Berta pulled in another lungful with a miserable look on her face. On lonely, sorrowful days like this, the smoke was what comforted her. She knew she ought to quit if she was going to stay at the young master's side, but...
"Huuu."
Cigarette still clenched in her teeth, she blew a stream of smoke toward the frozen lake.
And the whipping wind flung it straight back into her face.
"Dammit..."
Whether from the sting of the smoke or something else, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"So the inspector smokes."
"...Sir Yohan."
Berta turned toward the voice. Yohan stood there, smiling, the lines of his face deepened by the expression. She had thought she was alone — apparently someone was still left. Berta drew another cigarette from her coat and held it out to him.
"Would you like one?"
"No need. I only came because I was worried, seeing you standing out here staring at the lake all by yourself. What if a demonic beast showed up?"
"A demonic beast...?"
"That's right. This is the Macal Mountains, right up against the Demon Realm."
Yohan lifted the black lump in his hand. Whatever it had been, it was so thoroughly carved up by a blade that its original shape was unrecognizable — yet it still pulsed as if alive.
"This thing was about to jump you just now. Don't let your guard down so close to the Demon Realm."
"...I can protect myself well enough."
"Oh dear. Then I was fretting over nothing."
With that, Yohan tossed the black mass onto the ice of the lake. It bounced a few times, then sank as if the surface had swallowed it whole. Yohan's eyes went wide, as though he had witnessed something miraculous.
"Haha, now that is something. Looks like ice, but it isn't ice at all. I saw a rare sight today."
"...Yes. I had an unforgettable experience myself."
Even Yohan's warm manner drew only hollow replies from Berta. She seemed to have no interest whatsoever in what the old knight had just done.
Yohan clicked his tongue, looking at her with something like pity.
"Listen here. A young-looking fellow like you shouldn't be wearing the face of a man who's already finished living."
He dusted his hands as he spoke. Black flecks fell from his fingers.
"Is that so. Do I really look that way?"
"You most certainly do."
Berta spoke without strength; Yohan answered with easy good humor.
"I figure an elder's duty at times like this is to hear out a young person's troubles. How about it — care to unload your worries on this old man? I may not look it, but I do a fair bit of counseling for our knight order."
Yohan stroked his dry, bristly beard and smiled. Berta stared at the old knight for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh.
"Lately... I've been feeling terribly small. Pathetic, even."
"Mind telling me why you feel that way?"
Yohan's brows drew together at the unexpected turn.
"You're young, and you've already climbed to a pretty fine position. From here on out, the only direction left should be up."
"Sir..."
Berta lowered her head slightly.
"When you stand beside people like Lord Hugo... don't you ever find yourself comparing yourself to them without meaning to?"
"...That's a dangerous line of thought, young lady."
Yohan's face tightened. He raked a hand through hair that had gone gray in patches, and smiled bitterly, thinking he had done well to stay behind after all.
"Don't tell me you're envious of the Priens. Jealous of them?"
"..."
For an instant, something twitched at the corner of Berta's eye.
"I was hoping I was wrong... but looking at your face, I'd say I hit the mark."
"...No."
Berta denied it, but Yohan only shrugged, a sly look on his face.
"Why bother denying it now? The fact that you brought up me and the commander tells me you've run into something similar. I've seen countless young people like you, so I can say this with confidence. You are jealous of the Priens. But you know..."
Yohan curled his lip and looked her over.
"Aren't you overestimating yourself just a little?"
"...?"
Overestimating?
The bluntness of it made Berta's eyes go wide.
"What on earth are you talking about all of a sudden?"
"It's not sudden at all. You're carrying on like some tragic heroine, spouting nonsense that doesn't suit you."
"Excuse me?"
"Too arrogant. Far too arrogant. Comparing a great Prien to some ordinary sword-swinger, without even knowing your place."
"..."
Berta stared at Yohan, eyes blazing. What was this old man even saying? He had offered to counsel her and was instead raking her raw.
"Old man."
Berta kindled her magic and burned the cigarette butt between her lips to ash.
"Care for a spar?"
"You said it yourself just now, didn't you? That looking at Lord Hugo makes you compare yourself without thinking. After witnessing the great miracle Young Master Shiron showed us today, anyone who felt nothing is a fool who needs educating."
"Draw your sword, old man."
The respectful "Sir" had long since become "old man."
"I'll rough you up just enough that you can still walk home on your own two feet."
Berta drew the Phantom Blade.
"Shiron. Wake up. We're here."
"...Ssip."
He must have dozed off. Shiron wiped his mouth with the bandage and stretched, looking out the window. At some point they had passed through the gates of Dawn Castle and entered the courtyard.
Feeling a weight on his lap, Shiron looked down.
Siriel was there, using his thigh as a pillow.
"Hey, carry Siriel out for me. My hands are like this — I can't do a thing."
Shiron held up his heavily bandaged hands for Lucia to see.
"Ugh..."
Lucia sighed at his shameless attitude, but did as he asked. The boy's forehead was soaked with cold sweat; she had nothing to say. She carefully lifted Siriel into her arms, and Shiron kicked open the carriage door and stepped down.
The ride was awful. My ass is sore from bouncing the whole way.
"Young Master!"
As they headed into the manor, a bright, lively voice rang out from inside.
Encia stood before Shiron — not in a dress this time, but in a maid's uniform. How she had arrived ahead of them and changed, he had no idea. She scooped him up in one motion and began rubbing her cheek vigorously against his.
"What are you doing all of a sudden?"
Shiron recoiled from her affection and tried to squirm free of her arms. He flailed and kicked, but the gap in strength was far too wide for it to matter.
"Aww, don't be shy!"
After a brief session of cheek-rubbing, Encia hoisted him high into the air and beamed.
"Young Master. I was so moved today!"
"...Yeah? I guess I really was that amazing? Earlier you were so overwhelmed you couldn't even speak, right?"
"Ahaha."
Encia laughed brightly and set him down.
"There were too many people watching then. How could I make a scene like that in front of everyone? And I held back a little for the sake of your dignity, Young Master."
"Ah. Is that so."
"Come on, cheer up. I've already heated the bathwater for you. I made plenty of lemonade, too. And... tonight we're holding a celebration."
"A celebration?"
"Of course! I heard everything!"
Encia pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes.
"The head maid told me. She said you obtained the power of Prophecy, Young Master!"
"...Yuma did?"
"Yes! The feat you displayed at today's succession ceremony! This Encia has finally become certain. The next head of the house is going to be you, Young Master, without a doubt! To obtain the power of Prophecy at such a young age...!"
Encia spun in place with a rapturous expression. Shiron narrowed his eyes at her and snorted.
"What nonsense. I'm not going to be the head of the house."
"...What?"
At Shiron's shocking declaration, Encia froze in place.