The Face Behind the Helm
The next day.
At the same hour as before, Kaisent slipped quietly into the forest and found the knight already waiting for him.
"Ah—good morning…"
"Your color looks better."
"Yes! When I pushed myself right up to the edge, I started noticing this… weird sense of dissonance I never felt before—ah, th-that is, I mean…"
At the knight's simple question, Kaisent poured out things he had never told anyone. Only afterward did he realize how freely he had spoken, and he clamped his mouth shut in sudden embarrassment.
He's still intimidated by knights. Well… I suppose that's only natural.
There had been a time when people from the twenty-first century crossed over into this world in great numbers. They brought useful knowledge—germ theory, hygiene, and the like—but they also flooded the land with pamphlets preaching democracy, communism, and every other ideology under the sun, determined to "enlighten" this world.
And when the walls between dimensions began to thin, the gods, anticipating visitors from many worlds, granted every human the ability to read.
The gods' gift, combined with twenty-first-century knowledge, planted a dangerous question in the common folk: why were nobles nobles, and why must ordinary people live so much worse than they did?
Armed with mass-produced guns, those outsiders stirred the people into open revolution across the entire continent.
But the twenty-first-century humans had overlooked one crucial fact.
This world was not like theirs. Not every human possessed roughly the same physical limits.
On Earth, even the strongest body could be overwhelmed by numbers—and if that failed, a bullet finished the job. Here, a true powerhouse was an inhuman existence who could face hundreds, even thousands, alone. Superhumans whose bodies could see a bullet coming and simply step aside.
The outsiders, raised on the belief that every man has limits and that enough guns make everyone equal, were slaughtered by those superhumans. Kingdoms that had been at each other's throats politically set their differences aside in pure panic and wiped the invaders out to the last prisoner.
In the end, the twenty-first-century humans only succeeded in putting the nobility on permanent alert. Asking any otherworlder whether they knew of democracy became basic common sense.
To ensure the common folk never rose again, the nobles issued orders through their knights—their hands and feet. Over time the ideological war faded into history, but the ugly habit of knights treating commoners roughly settled in and stayed.
Of course, knights came in every temperament; not all of them followed that custom. Yet human nature being what it is, people tend to grow endlessly cruel toward anyone weaker than themselves. Only the hard lesson the outsiders had taught—that population is national power—kept the nobility and royalty from letting their knights become pure butcher gangs who drew steel over the slightest slight.
In a world like that, of course a boy would be wary of a knight.
Even if I tell him not to lump me in with the rest, he won't believe words alone. Then I'll show him with actions.
"Today I intend to teach you a technique."
"Pardon?"
"Watch first."
The knight drew a short sword. Given that massive frame, the blade looked almost like a dagger—an optical illusion—but it was unmistakably a short sword.
Dropping into a low stance that seemed almost mismatched to that towering body, the knight stabbed and slashed the empty air with razor precision, then flowed sideways as if gliding on ice.
That footwork is unusual.
Whether sword or spear, every close-combat art lives or dies by footwork. How you close, how you break away, how you feint—those choices decide both power and intent.
The swordsmanship the knight displayed was built to strike and withdraw without pause, drifting naturally to the side, all of it designed to confuse an opponent.
Crack!
"!!"
In a single instant the knight's arm vanished—and a throwing knife buried itself deep in a tree trunk. Kaisent only realized it had struck after he heard the sound.
"This is a ranger's combat art. You control the distance, strike and fall back, then suddenly hurl a throwing weapon at a spot the enemy never expects. Even though a sword is used, we call it combat art rather than swordsmanship for that reason."
Having demonstrated the techniques used by the rangers under Margrave Akina Karayden, the knight tossed Kaisent the short sword and a pouch of throwing knives.
"You're small and quick. Best to lean into that. Borrow the sword and the knives, and attack me the way you did yesterday."
"…Sir Knight, why are you treating me so kindly?"
Yesterday could be written off as a good mood. Preparing a new technique and the gear to practice it felt like something more than simple goodwill.
"Yesterday I simply thought it admirable that a child was working so hard, so I helped. But that also showed me you possess remarkable talent."
"……"
"I am a knight in service to Margrave Akina Karayden. Under the Margrave, even one outstanding fighter is precious. That is why I intend to take you as my squire and introduce you as my successor."
"A… squire…?"
At the word squire, Kenneth's face flashed through Kaisent's mind.
What? The moment I offer to make him a squire, he looks terrified. What bastard did this to him…!
Sensing another knight-related wound, the knight felt fury rise—but she could not afford to blacken the image of knighthood any further here.
"It seems you had some trouble with another knight. But under the Margrave, such disgraceful conduct is not permitted. I swear it on my honor."
The voice carried unshakable conviction. Feeling that plain, solid sincerity, Kaisent finally relaxed—yet still said,
"I'm grateful for the offer… but I have to refuse."
"Why? Becoming a knight is no small thing. As a proper lesser noble, even true nobles would treat you with a measure of courtesy—"
"I'm an otherworlder."
"!!"
She had assumed he was the scion of some fallen house—yet he was from another world? Well, in his original world he might still have been the heir of a notable noble line. Unexpected, yes, but with talent like his, that obstacle could be cleared easily enough.
"Traveling with the Wolf Mercenary Band taught me how hard this world is on people without power. And it taught me how kind the people who took me in really are."
"Mm…"
"Even if you told me I could become a landed noble instead of a knight, my answer would be the same. Until I've repaid everyone in the Wolf Mercenary Band for their kindness, I won't leave them."
The knight had spent only a day with Kaisent, yet she already knew he was timid and easily frightened. That a boy so timid would still refuse her offer for the sake of repaying a debt spoke of a will far stronger than his manner suggested.
A steely will. A good heart that understands gratitude. And outstanding talent on top of it. What a waste…
At first she had offered the squire's place for talent alone. Learning his character only made her want him more.
Pushing the offer any further would insult this child's resolve. The Wolf Mercenary Band, is it? I'll have to look into them.
"Very well. Forget I ever mentioned becoming a squire."
"…Then…"
If the squire offer was off the table, the knight no longer had any reason to teach him. Kaisent started to hand back the short sword and the pouch of knives, but the knight shook her head.
"That is that, and this is this. And once you've repaid the Wolf Mercenary Band, you'll simply have to make sure my turn comes next, won't you?"
"If that's the reason… then I can't very well refuse."
Big, but not oppressive—warm, somehow. She smells like a good person.
The knight carried the same reassuring scent Kaisent had felt from Dang Seol-yeong and Lillian.
Huh? Come to think of it, I've only ever sensed that scent from women…
He had never caught it from Fredrick or any of the other men in the Wolf Mercenary Band. He still didn't know what the scent meant, but one thing was clear: women who carried it were almost always good to him.
Yet the knight's voice was a rough man's voice, and that frame was far too large to belong to any ordinary woman.
I don't know. If I keep meeting people who smell like this, maybe I'll figure out the rule someday.
Setting the puzzle aside for now, Kaisent hung the pouch of throwing knives at his waist. Meanwhile the knight had drawn a circle with herself at the center and spoke again.
"We begin. Same rules as yesterday."
"Yes!"
Kaisent lowered his stance, fixing the knight's movements and footwork in his mind.
The sword work itself is sharp but simple. What matters is the nonstop footwork—closing and opening the distance to rattle the opponent, then landing a killing throw with a knife.
Having grasped the essence of the ranger combat art in a single breath, he charged the knight and swung the short sword.
"Kaisent? He said he was going to practice magic and headed for the forest over that way."
"Again?"
Lately Kaisent's attention toward her had thinned. When Lillian asked after him, she learned he had gone into the forest once more, just like yesterday.
He's probably practicing swordsmanship too.
That Kaisent had learned Kenneth's swordsmanship by watching was a secret only Lillian knew. And as captain of the mercenary band—and the recent object of Fredrick's rather heated interest—he could hardly ask her to spar with him. So this was his way of being considerate, in his own fashion.
Even so!
He had made her a woman and then vanished to train alone? And after crawling into her tent every night without fail, he hadn't come at all yesterday!
When a woman led Kaisent past his limits, his nature flipped—he became a lustful creature who dominated her instead. Lillian had felt that change in her bones. But being left cold and neglected was something she would never forgive.
He made me his woman. He has to take responsibility for that!
After sharing her body with Kaisent, she had learned a woman's pleasure—and Fredrick's cock could no longer satisfy her. Last night, when he never came, she had tossed and turned for hours trying to cool a body that had been only half-kindled.
Just wait until you get back.
Resolving to wring him dry for last night's neglect plus interest, Lillian waited for Kaisent's return with fierce, aching impatience.
Clang!
"I—I did it!!"
The throwing knife struck the knight's side and fell limply to the ground. Whether the armor was enchanted or simply superb, the impact left only the tiniest scratch—yet yesterday nothing he tried had even touched her. Today, it had.
"……"
The knight stared down at the knife that had bounced off her flank. For the first time she was grateful her face was hidden behind a helm. Without it, the sheer astonishment on her features would have been plain for anyone to see.
He's already far more polished than yesterday!
As Kaisent had guessed, ranger combat art lived and died by footwork. Rangers, forced by their duties to fight light, had no choice but to lure attacks from just outside reach or to dart in and out at blinding speed.
But learning footwork and using it in real combat were two different things. In a true fight, an enemy's build, style, weapon type—and even the length of the same type of weapon—varied endlessly.
Knowing that, the knight had deliberately changed her reach to throw him off. Yet he adapted in moments, wove in the principles of the swordsmanship he had drilled the day before, pressed aggressively—and then sent a throwing knife fluttering in like a butterfly. She had been caught by it.
He absorbed a ranger combat art he only just learned and made it his own this fast?
Even after learning the techniques, rangers needed long training before they could use them in the field. If someone claimed a novice had employed them in live sparring after barely an introduction, the rangers themselves would have said—lord or no lord—that was simply impossible.
A genius. This child is a true genius!
She herself had once been called a genius, but never to this degree. Harmonizing magic, swordsmanship, and throwing arts without the slightest friction required both theoretical brilliance and instinctive genius. Without both, it was impossible.
And that only made her want him more.
If she had possessed even a slightly darker heart, she might have kidnapped him on the spot, or framed the Wolf Mercenary Band and blackmailed them—she wanted him that badly.
I couldn't win this child's heart that way. Here, I have to do it properly.
"I lose. That was remarkable skill."
"Th-thank you! But if I hadn't learned the ranger combat art, I never would have beaten you—not in a lifetime."
That was Kaisent's honest feeling. Every new piece of knowledge opened another height of strength to him.
"As promised, your reward."
"Ah—um!"
"Hm?"
"That reward… could you grant it as a wish of my choosing… instead…?"
Afraid of offending the knight, Kaisent's voice grew smaller and smaller toward the end.
"Very well. If there is something you want, I will grant it."
"I… well… I've heard this world has something called an information guild…"
He described Dang Seol-yeong—another otherworlder like himself—her appearance, and how a man's attack had torn them apart.
"Your wish is to find this otherworlder named Dang Seol-yeong?"
"Yes. Anything at all. Even the smallest clue…"
"Understood. A martial artist whose body carries poison and whose veins run green should be easy enough to track. I'll see that whatever information you need reaches the Wolf Mercenary Band."
"Thank you!"
Hope that he might find Dang Seol-yeong at last brought a relieved smile to Kaisent's face.
Truly a good-hearted child. To give up the treasure right in front of him for someone he only just met…
Knowing nothing of their real relationship, the knight simply assumed it was pure kindness and left it at that.
"Fine. I'm in a good mood. I'll grant you one more wish."
"R-really?"
"Yes. Is there anything else you want?"
Wanting to bind this earnest, kind, and gifted child with a clear debt of gratitude, the knight offered a second wish. She fully expected him to ask for some useful technique this time—
"Then… could I see your face, Sir Knight?"
"…What?"
"I want to see your face."
"……"
Once again, a wish she had never seen coming.