Being Treated Like a Kidnapper Is a Bit Unfair
"Arrest him at once!!! Escort him to the Leonhardt Ducal territory under guard!!!!"
"…Fuck."
How had it come to this? I had saved this woman, plain and simple. And not merely saved her—I'd done it by brushing past death's own doorstep (not really), even twisting the original story's flow in the process.
Yet what came back to me wasn't a word of thanks. Just dozens of cold spearheads trained on my throat.
At the far edge of the night forest, mist mingled with the red glow of torchlight, weaving a grotesque landscape. Knights in gleaming silver armor had encircled us layer upon layer, and the churn of hooves trampling mud and the clang of steel plate striking steel plate battered at my ears.
There wasn't a shred of relief in the knights' eyes. The first thing that registered with them wasn't the young lady, safe and sound—it was the seven-foot hulk of a barbarian standing beside her.
'That would be me…'
An arm etched with a red brand, a massive greatsword reeking of blood. To them, I wasn't a rescuer—I was a hair-trigger monster who might cut down the lady at any moment.
'Wow. Not so much as a greeting—straight to the spears. Someone really botched their etiquette training. So much for anything resembling a child-protection manual, huh.'
I swallowed a hollow laugh. The greatsword slung across my shoulder felt heavier than it ever had, and beside me, I could feel Roselyne's hand clenching the hem of my clothes as if it were her lifeline. The tremor in her slender fingers traveled through the thick fabric and settled, undiluted, in my forearm.
"Halt right there, savage! Get away from Her Ladyship this instant!"
The man who looked to be the Knight Commander roared the order, driving his spearhead to a hair's breadth from my throat.
"…That's enough."
There it was. Roselyne, who had been cowering and shaking behind my back, stepped one pace forward.
"My lady! It's dangerous—come here at once! There's no telling what that savage might do!"
"Are my words not reaching you? I said that will be quite enough. Withdraw those insolent spearheads. Now."
Roselyne's voice was small, yet cold enough to smother the surrounding commotion in a single stroke. Every knight's motion froze at once.
"This man saved my life."
That one sentence froze the air solid.
"My lady, what did you just say? That man is a barbarian!"
"While all of you were lost and wandering through the forest, it was this man who protected me. Is this what the Leonhardt knight order is? Men who bare their killing intent at a lady in the very moment of her rescue?"
The knights' eyes wavered without reserve. They clearly didn't believe her—apparently they suspected I might be in league with the bandits, or an agent of some rival faction gunning for the lady.
Then again, given that…
"Great Warrior!!!! We raided the lower village today!!!"
"How many times have I told you—stop doing that."
"We stole all the meat and booze!!! Killed every last one of them!!!!"
That was your average barbarian. No wonder they wouldn't trust me…
'So what happens if I resist… let me run the numbers.'
My mind whirred. What if I swept every last one of these men away?
'Then a river of blood would spread at Roselyne's feet, and the ducal house would become my mortal enemy.'
At that point, the original storyline would be blown apart beyond any hope of repair. 'I might end up a wanted man with a bounty on my head before long, too.'
Or flee, then?
'Oh sure, I'll outrun knights on horseback. Brilliant plan.'
Result = Ruines's spatial slash, or kebab on a stick.
So in the end, I held out both arms without a fuss and let the greatsword drop from my shoulder. The slab of steel bit into the earth with a dull, heavy thud.
The knights, if anything, flinched and stumbled backward. Cowards, the lot of them.
"All right, you've made your point—now lower those spears, yeah? I save the lady, and the first thing I get is shackles. You nobles have a truly violent way of saying thank you."
"You insolent wretch—right until the very end…!"
"What, hard of hearing? I said go ahead and chain me. I'm getting dizzy over here. Saved her, got arrested—this makes absolutely no sense. The end."
My sneer cracked the commander's face into a scowl. He wrenched out a pair of manacles and clamped them around my wrists.
Clank!
Cold metal bit into flesh. These were special-issue restraints laced with mana suppression, and my forearms were so thick that the manacles strained taut, one breath away from snapping.
In that instant, the breathing beside me stopped.
"…!"
Roselyne didn't scream. She simply stood, staring blankly at the steel locked around my wrists. Apparently this was her first time watching iron clamp down on the wrists of the man who had saved her life.
'Well, to be fair, how often would she ever get the chance to see something like that?'
Her breathing turned ragged, her chest heaving in small, uneven bursts. 'Is the tension finally wearing off? That tiny body of hers trekked all this way—no surprise, really.'
Servants moved in to support Roselyne.
"My lady, we must escort you to the carriage at once. This place is not safe."
Even as she was all but carried up into the carriage, her gaze never left me. Right up until the moment the door swung shut, her eyes were fixed on me and me alone.
The escort procession set off. Ringed by knights, I walked the cold dirt road, and through the carriage's little window I felt Roselyne's gaze the entire way. She kept fretting over how I was being handled—her eyes never released me, not for a single instant. Every time my wrists twisted or my footing caught on a stone, I could see her pupils shiver.
I made a point of looking away. The pre-dawn air was razor cold.
Ordinarily, an unnamed extra like me would have had no business anywhere near this procession. And yet here I was, being hauled by force into the thick of the main scenario. My careful plan—to lie low in quiet seclusion and gnaw on good meat in peace—had been shredded to confetti.
'Well. I'm fucked.'
My mouth had gone bone-dry. The realization pressed down on me with its full weight: my life had waded deep into the swamp called the original story. Past every death flag, toward the possibility of absorbing protagonist-grade suffering with my own two shoulders.
The procession reached the ducal seat at noon. The Leonhardt Ducal estate looming before us was oppressive—castle walls soaring as if to stab the clouds, a colossal iron gate shut fast and firm, torchlight glancing off its surface. Knights stood statue-still along the ramparts while servants waited below, hardly daring to breathe.
To Roselyne, this was surely a familiar home. To my eyes, it was a perfect prison—a fortress flaunting a cold, razor-edged grandeur. I had survived the forest, only to set foot in a place more dangerous still. The instinct slid down my spine like ice water.
Screeeee-ch—!
The heavy iron gate shrieked open.
"Take the savage down to the underground dungeon! He is to have contact with no one! Keep him under constant watch!"
At the Knight Commander's barked order, the knights hauled me away roughly, chains dragging across the ground with a dull clatter.
Roselyne, alighting from the carriage, stopped dead in her tracks. Servants draped a fur coat across her shoulders and tried to usher her inside, but she would not move.
"My lady, you must come inside at once. You'll make yourself ill."
"…Just a moment."
Roselyne turned her head. As she watched my shackled figure being dragged away, a strange light kindled in her eyes.
"Why are you taking that man away like that?"
"My lady, that man is a dangerous savage. This is official procedure—I ask for your understanding."
"Procedure? Binding the man who saved my life and burying him underground like a criminal—that is Leonhardt procedure? This is how our house honors my benefactor?"
Roselyne did not turn away. She watched me until the last of me faded from view.
"Remember this well. If that man comes to harm, I will not stand by quietly either. I will speak of it to my father directly—and should so much as a scratch mark him, the responsibility will be yours to bear."
As the darkness swallowed me, our eyes met one final time. Her lips seemed to be moving, mouthing something without a sound.
The iron gate boomed shut, the sound rolling out heavy and final.
SLAM—!
So it begins. 'No—maybe it just ended.' My peaceful life as an extra was over. 'I am so, so screwed.'
In the darkness, I swallowed a hollow laugh. I had truly crossed a road with no path back.
The stairs to the underground dungeon descended without end, torches on the stone walls stretching my massive shadow into grotesque shapes. 'I hated claustrophobic spaces like this even back when I was a teacher. Parent-teacher conference rooms, especially.'
A suppression hum buzzed from the restraints at my wrists, prickling at my brain, and the helplessness of it coiled around my whole body. I could probably tear these manacles apart with raw muscle alone—but the moment I did, I would truly become "an enemy of the ducal house."
'Fleeing head-on from a family whose military might is enough to wipe entire barbarian tribal confederations off the map?'
Result = suicide by another name.
The cell door ground open. The stench of damp mold and rusted iron jabbed at my nose.
"Get in there, monster."
A knight shoved my shoulder roughly. I didn't so much as stagger; I planted my feet, steadied myself, and stepped into the cell. Faint moonlight leaked through a narrow slit of window, catching the dust on the floor, and the iron bars clanged shut with a heavy, final ring.
I sank down to the floor and leaned my head against the wall. The rattle of chains spread through the tomb-quiet cell.
'Roselyne Leonhardt… I can't get that girl's expression out of my head.'
Those eyes of hers, fixed on the restraints—it hadn't been simple guilt, nor simple relief. In the original story, she was the tragic heroine. But the girl I'd just seen seemed a world away from misfortune.
'Surprisingly strong-willed, and decisive to boot.'
I closed my eyes. This was the duke's residence—the beating heart of the second most powerful family in the kingdom—and I was a barbarian prisoner locked in its belly. And the harder I kicked to stay alive, the deeper I was sliding into the scenario's pit.
How long had I sat there? From far down the corridor came the sound of light footsteps—not the ponderous stamp of knights' boots, but the whisper of silk brushing stone, and a gait that faltered and hesitated, out of any rhythm.
The footsteps stopped in front of my cell. I didn't open my eyes. But I felt it all the same—that stare boring into me from beyond the bars.
"…Are you asleep?"
It was Roselyne's voice.
I opened my eyes slowly. Between the bars, the pallor of her face came into view.