Subjugation Festival (2)
In a room of the annex.
I can't sleep.
Lucia lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Tonight her eyelids simply would not stay shut. At this hour she would normally already be lost in dreams, yet her mind was sharp and clear.
She lay still, but her hands would not. They fretted at the edge of the blanket, fidgeting without rest. Excitement she could not quite suppress leaked out through her body.
Why?
The moment she asked herself the question, the answer rose at once.
Want to go to the festival with me?
The festival.
The words Shiron had offered her at dinner. Without any warning at all, he had simply asked whether she would like to go to the festival with him.
She was calmer now, but in the instant he had made the suggestion her heart had hammered like a child's just before receiving a long-awaited toy.
A new stimulus slipping into the cracks between her repeating routines. That was excitement.
Rising before the birds sang to train, sparring with Siriel to hone her swordsmanship, finishing a meal and then playing with the poor child who came to visit the estate… The last of those never grew dull, thanks to the endless variety of games Shiron invented—but still, being all but confined to this vast mansion had begun to wear on her a little.
Not that she particularly wanted to carve out time for outings on her own. Assembling an escort every time she left the grounds was a nuisance, and more than anything she needed to grow stronger as quickly as possible if she was ever going to reveal her true identity.
But if someone else stepped forward and suggested it first—that was a different story entirely.
Perhaps, without quite realizing it, Lucia had been waiting for someone to invite her out to play. Which was why Shiron's offer had felt as sweet as rain after a long drought.
She blinked a few times, then murmured under her breath.
"Don't tell me…"
Had he known somehow and spoken first on purpose?
"Nah. No way."
That couldn't be it. Still, she couldn't deny she felt genuinely grateful to Shiron for suggesting the festival so readily.
"…For a little kid, he's got some decent qualities, doesn't he?"
It struck her then that Shiron made for a proper older brother. Viktor was the same age, yet for all that he was royalty, the boy was still just a brat. Watching Shiron—only two years her senior—look after the younger ones made her lean on him without even meaning to.
When he had introduced her to Viktor and urged them to play together, Lucia—who was still awkward with new people—had found herself going along with it almost despite herself.
And then, suddenly—
Lucia's eyes flew wide open.
"…Am I really okay with this?"
Hanging around with a child. Being looked after by a child. Eating meals a child cooked for her. Breaking down and crying pitifully in front of a child. And then what? Being comforted by that same child and even blushing over it.
After a long stretch of thought, the realization settled over her. The risk of being exposed as a reincarnator—as Kyle—was growing larger by the day.
"What a life. Why does it have to be this rough…?"
Heat was flooding into her face. The room was dark and there was no mirror, but she was certain her cheeks had gone as red as a ripe apple.
Think of something else. Anything else.
Right. Happy memories. That's the way.
With her face burning too hot for sleep, Lucia decided to dig through her older recollections for a while. Replaying joyful, happy moments never grew old no matter how many times she did it.
And conveniently, Shiron had just invited her to a festival. Somewhere in the drawers of her mind there was bound to be one labeled for festivals.
Her childhood—not this life, but the one before.
The Silleyia people of the northern continent held a festival every year on the first day of the new year. For a full week after the year began, every able-bodied warrior left the village at the same hour on the same day to hunt magic beasts. The warrior who brought down the largest beast was awarded ten casks of mead—though by custom five of those casks were shared with the rest of the village. The villagers drank that mead, grew merry, and danced.
Looking back on it now, the whole thing felt a little crude, even outright barbaric. But so what? Young Kyle had been happy then. Truly happy.
"Good morning, Sir Yohan."
"…Hello, Sir Yohan."
When morning came, Shiron—a large pack strapped to his back—greeted Yohan with careful courtesy, and Lucia, following behind him, dipped her head a little as well.
"Good morning, young master Shiron. Lady Lucia. All ready, I take it?"
"Of course. Take a look."
Shiron turned to show Yohan the pack stuffed full of gear. The sight of that endearing little gesture drew a hearty laugh from the old knight.
"I thought you might be nervous, but I'm glad to see you're in high spirits. Well then."
Yohan glanced back at the knights lined up behind him—elites of the Changcheon Knights, Hugo's own order. Clad in full plate and carrying long weapons thick with killing intent, the hulking figures radiated an oppressive presence even from a distance.
"…"
A festival and living weapons. At that jarringly mismatched combination, Lucia's brows drew together. Being told to pack heavily because they were traveling far had already felt odd; today's festival was starting to seem stranger still.
"Hey, Shiron."
Lucia caught his sleeve and whispered.
"Hm?"
"What kind of festival needs us going with a bunch of giants like these?"
"Crowded places are dangerous, right? We might even run into magic beasts… Think of them as an escort for anything unexpected."
"He's right, Lady Lucia."
Yohan stroked his mustache and smiled warmly at her.
"Show any weakness out there and people are quick to pick a fight. This humble Yohan made sure to select the men carefully on the way back from the expedition, all for this very day."
"Ah… I see."
Lucia gave him a small nod. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties or sixties, yet the fire in him burned no less fiercely than any young man's.
Bringing an entire knight order along. I guess a nobles' festival really is a different beast.
At Yohan's signal the knights moved out in crisp, measured strides, leaving the estate grounds behind. Lucia adjusted the strap of her pack and followed in silence.
The Arwen Highlands, where the Subjugation Festival was held, lay a considerable distance from the imperial capital of Rihnn—a march of roughly a fortnight if one traveled day and night without rest. The festival itself had endured for centuries unchanged, but the times had not. Taking the train to the Arwen Highlands was simply a matter of course.
"Sir Yohan."
Once they reached the station platform, Shiron called the knight to a halt. There was somewhere he wanted to stop before they departed.
"Sir, would it be all right if we dropped by a blacksmith for a moment?"
"A blacksmith, you say?"
A blacksmith? Out of nowhere, here?
Both Yohan and Lucia stared at him wide-eyed. Shiron only smiled brightly back at them.
"Yes. Lucia still doesn't have a sword of her own."
"…Ah!"
At those words Yohan let out a small exclamation and stopped in his tracks.
"Well now, that's on me. I should have realized. I know just the place—this way."
Yohan led the children away from the group. They left the station at a brisk pace, reached the streets, and soon arrived at the industrial district where the blacksmiths clustered.
"Here we are. Most of the knight order's equipment is commissioned from this shop."
Clang— clang— clang— clang—
From the forge Yohan had introduced them to came the endless ring of hammer on iron. That the sound continued even before lunchtime was proof enough that orders never stopped flowing in—this was a proper smithy.
"Ho there!"
Yohan bellowed into the shop. A man with a thick beard and forearms thicker than most men's thighs hurried out from the back.
"Why, if it isn't Lord Yohan. What brings you here?"
"What else would bring a man to a blacksmith? I've come for a sword."
"Haha! Slow of me not to catch on. Come in, come in."
The smith laughed in a gravelly voice and ushered them inside. Displayed for customers were any number of blades, each different in length, width, even color. The moment Lucia's eyes fell on them, they began to shine.
"If it's for your lordship… as it happens, I've just finished a longsword from a shipment of fine black iron."
The smith lifted the sword from the very center of the glass case. Light caught along the blade and cast a cold gleam. Even Shiron, who knew nothing of weapons, could tell at a glance that this was no ordinary piece.
"Sorry, but it isn't for me."
Yohan shook his head.
"…Then?"
"It's for me."
Lucia stepped forward and looked up at the smith.
"…"
At the sight of a little girl coming forward, the excitement drained from the smith's face as if a fire had gone out. With blunt hands he returned the so-called black-iron sword to its case and drew out another.
"Then how about this one? It's light, and the corrosion resistance is excellent—easy for a young lady to handle and easy to maintain."
"…"
The moment the smith switched blades, the smile vanished from Yohan's mouth. Rather than call out the man's blatant change in attitude, he simply turned his gaze to Lucia.
"My lady. Which sword takes your fancy?"
"I like the black one from before."
"As I thought."
Yohan gave a single nod and looked back at the smith.
"We'll take that black-iron sword you brought out earlier."
"My lord…"
The smith's expression turned awkward.
"A black-iron sword is no toy for a child. It's five times heavier than ordinary steel, and maintaining it is no small chore. I'd rather you not think I'm refusing out of some petty pride."
"That's fine."
Yohan smiled gently and gestured to him.
"Show us. Right here."
"…"
At that cue the smith reluctantly handed over both swords. Yohan passed the black-iron blade to Lucia and took the second sword into his own hand.
"My lady. Give it a light swing, if you would."
"Yes."
Lucia took the black-iron sword as she answered. She understood Yohan's intent at once and put it into action.
Clang!
In the span of a heartbeat, a broken blade clattered noisily across the dirt floor. The smith's eyes went wide.
She had not poured Aura into the strike—had not even layered sword energy onto the edge—and still the little girl had snapped a steel sword clean in two as if it were nothing. And the speed of it… if ever a moment deserved the word instant, this was it.
Yohan watched the man's reaction with a look of deep satisfaction and smiled.
"Payment will be for both blades."