43. Flailing (6)
When the broad palm stroked gently through her hair, Mungchi's eyes fluttered halfway shut. She leaned into the touch with deep concentration, though her nose gave a little twitch.
"……Phoi, you smell sweaty."
"Ah, sorry. Is it that bad?"
"Nuh-uh. Idh fine."
The moment Phoinix tried to slip his hand away, Mungchi hurried half a step closer.
Blinking up at the face that had appeared so near, Phoinix smiled again and resumed patting her head.
"Those hook bolts—you finished making them all?"
"Yesh, all finithed."
"The rope kept tangling with the string and driving you crazy. How'd you solve that?"
"Ah—thith little block did it."
Mungchi held out the small crossbow strapped to her forearm.
A stubby wooden block jutted out from behind its push-lever trigger, whittled fat and rounded so that the line running to the hook bolt wouldn't snag on anything.
"Won't something like that get in the way?"
"Id fine. It comeh off."
Click.
With a few simple motions, Mungchi detached the bracket and snapped it back together, and Phoinix let out a small sound of admiration.
"Wow, you made this yourself too?"
"Yeh—"
She loved his voice. That voice soft as fleece, the one he never gave just anyone.
Phoinix carried an air of cold detachment on a face that could look icy at a glance, yet he always spoke to Mungchi in a tender tone. He'd done it back when she was still a boar, and he did it now that she was human—though perhaps a little less than before.
He praised her for the smallest things, and every time their eyes met he showered her with warm words. Mungchi couldn't help loving him for it.
"Aigoo, my Mungchi. Clever with her hands, too."
"Heh."
When his calloused fingertips gave her nose a light pinch, Mungchi ducked her head and crossed her legs where she stood.
She loved his scent. The kind of scent that brought to mind a cozy blanket and freshly roasted nuts.
It was a secret nobody knew, but Mungchi slipped under Phoinix's blanket every single night. And every time, she would sink into a quiet happiness that tinged with a small regret.
The fault lay with his habit of never going to sleep without washing first. The way that rich scent got buried under soap—privately, it annoyed her to no end.
By that measure, this moment was precious to her. Thanks to that careless half step she'd taken toward his chest, the faint sweat smell—his true scent—came through to her completely.
She liked Phoinix enough to resent the way his slightly overheated breath scattered on the autumn wind.
Just as she raised a hand to hide her reddening neck, Phoinix glanced back over his shoulder. His gaze had landed on the stone path stretching out from the manor.
"Ellen! What did I say about walking?"
Down that path came Ellen, dragging her feet with a scrape. She wore light linen from top to bottom, and her whole body was drenched in sweat.
"I'm—haah—not wrong. Let me—go—"
"……What's with the tragic last words over a little jogging? Run!"
"Uuuugh."
Ellen started running again, on the verge of tears. It was barely faster than walking, but Phoinix clapped and cheered her on anyway.
"Straighten your back! Chin up!"
She finally stopped in front of the two of them and caught her breath with hands braced on her knees. Phoinix lifted her upright and thumped her back.
"Chest out. Breathe deep and easy."
"Easy? Haah—how the hell am I supposed to breathe easy when it's—hahk—anything but easy, you blockhead—"
At her grumbling, Phoinix broke into a snicker, and Ellen's eyes narrowed into slits.
"Funny? I'm—whew—dying over here, and it's funny?"
"Yep, pretty funny."
"Why you—"
The moment Ellen raised both clenched fists to start swinging, Phoinix swiftly subdued her and hoisted her up into the air.
"Eek, hey—!"
"Wow, still full of fight. Want to run a bit more?"
With the suddenly docile Ellen in his arms, Phoinix headed toward the ramp.
"Eh…"
Mungchi, standing there in a daze, scurried after the two of them just as quickly.
Phoinix exchanged casual greetings with the group sunning themselves on the ramp, then laid Ellen down in the shaded grass near the palisade. After that, he began unbuckling the sandbags strapped to his own waist, wrists, and ankles.
"All right, lift one leg."
Ellen raised her right leg with surprising meekness, and Phoinix carefully worked the knotted muscles and joints loose with his hands.
"Mmmh…" The frown on her face lasted only a moment before the cool, releasing sensation in her leg had her closing her eyes with a pleased sigh.
Phoinix was so pleased with her reaction that he never noticed Mungchi standing beside him, shooting them envious looks—he simply kept up the massage.
It was then that Amias's crew approached. Their leader scratched his square jaw and spoke up.
"Aren't you pushing her too hard lately? Miss Ellen looks like she's about to drop…"
Phoinix gave a dry little snort and shook his head.
"Drop, my ass. She's nowhere near what her stats are worth."
"Her… what?"
"……Mm, how do I put it—this much should be easy for her. Right, Ellen?"
Called on to answer, Ellen was just opening her mouth with a scowl when Phoinix pressed down hard on her calf.
"Ow—ow, ow, that hurts!"
"You're incredibly knotted up here. I keep telling you to stretch."
"Gently! Be gentle!"
Having kneaded the scowling Ellen back into laughter, Phoinix turned to Amias.
"Did we interrupt your break? Ignore us and have a seat."
"……Well, Lord Phoinix. That's not quite it."
"Hm?"
When Amias hesitated, the bald one—Steedman—stepped forward, unable to watch any longer.
"Amias here has something important he'd like to say."
"Which is?"
"Beats me. He won't know until that stuffy bastard opens his mouth, will he?"
When Phoinix looked at him with a puzzled expression, Amias swallowed drily and spoke.
"I—I intend to marry Jenesser."
"Huh?"
The announcement seemed to catch him off guard; Phoinix blinked.
"Marriage? Out of nowhere?"
"Not out of nowhere, actually. We'd already confessed our feelings and promised each other a future."
As Amias gave a brief account of their courtship, Phoinix listened with evident interest, then tilted his head.
"……I had no idea. Well, good for you either way. Congratulations."
"So, the thing is… we've decided to settle down in Longville."
"Here?"
"Yes."
Phoinix frowned, as if the answer made no sense at all.
"Jenesser's from Lavaltun, and you came from Leadburn."
"That's right."
"Then why settle here? What are you planning to do for a living?"
"Well, you see…"
Amias wet his lower lip and went on.
"The drillmaster made me a good offer."
"The drillmaster? Chester?"
"Yes."
"Why would that old man, all of a sudden?"
"Apparently he took a liking to how I handled myself during the war. He asked if I'd consider serving as a sergeant."
"A sergeant?"
"Yes. He even said that when the time comes, he'd like to hand his post over to me…"
As Amias's voice trailed off, Phoinix nodded slowly before asking his question.
"So—do you want it?"
"I do. The territory has found its footing, and while things are rough now, there's real room for growth, isn't there?"
Amias's crew was one of the handful of parties who knew about the gold mine on Mount Graduil. It was hardly unreasonable for them to see a bright future in Longville.
"You and Cole both bled plenty in the army already, didn't you? And you'd become a soldier again anyway?"
"I wouldn't be a common footman like back then. And I hear they're expanding the garrison—if luck's on my side, I might even end up in a command position."
Hmm—
Whatever Phoinix had been deliberating, it lasted only a moment before he broke into a wide smile.
"Good. I'm glad."
"……Sorry?"
"I said I'm glad. I'd been worrying about what to do with Jenesser, but if she's marrying you, there's nothing to worry about."
Perhaps because Phoinix's reaction was nothing like what he'd expected, Amias's face clouded over.
"You mean… you're saying I'm free to stay in Longville?"
"Huh? Of course. What's the problem?"
"No, it's just—you gave permission this easily…"
Now it was Phoinix whose expression turned strange.
"……Permission? Who's granting or denying anything? If you want to stay, you stay."
"Well, the thing is…"
With Phoinix and Amias talking past each other in circles, the freckled Mira finally cut in.
"What Amias means is—he feels he owes you a great deal, Lord Phoinix, and it would shame him to just stay behind without asking."
"I paid you fairly for the work you did. What's all this about owing each other?"
"Mmm, when you put it like that, it does prick the conscience a bit…"
As Mira trailed off, the archer Cole spoke in her place.
"Lord Phoinix—no employer teaches his mercenaries martial arts or trains their bodies for them."
"We just exercised together a few times, that's all—"
"And no employer lets his men earn thirty gold coins apiece in under two months. And an employer who hands out enchanted gear? There has never been one."
Cole glanced briefly at Amias, then continued.
"We have clearly received a debt of gratitude, and Amias is turning his back on it. Of course he's ashamed."
When Cole finished, Amias bowed his head and said nothing. A short silence fell, and Phoinix spoke with a troubled look.
"……Come on, there's no need to take it that far. It's not like Amias did anything wrong."
"And what enormous favor did I ever do you? How many times were you all nearly killed? Count in hazard pay and I barely broke even."
"But Lord Phoinix—"
As Cole tried to speak, Phoinix cut him off at once.
"Ah, enough. If I say it's fine, why are you splitting hairs?"
"…"
"Anyway, good thinking. Settling down beats living the risky mercenary life by a mile."
Saying that, Phoinix clapped Amias on the shoulder.
When Amias gave a small smile of gratitude, Phoinix suddenly glanced around at the other mercenaries—Steedman, Mira, and Cole.
"Come to think of it, I've been working you all without ever asking. What about you three? Sticking with me?"
At the casually thrown question, the three mercenaries traded heavy looks among themselves. The first to speak was Steedman.
"I'm staying."
"Staying? Where would you even go? You mean you're following me?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you say your dream was to run your own mercenary company? With what you've saved up by now, you could start small, at least."
Steedman shook his head firmly.
"Rather than gather minnows in a pond and play at being their big fish, I'd rather build experience in open water. If it were up to me, I'd stay at your side ten years or so, and around thirty—then I'd raise a company properly—"
"Hold on. What did you say?"
Phoinix stared at him, aghast.
"Ten years by my side, and around thirty you'd—"
"……Yes."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty next month."
"W-with that face?"
Steedman shut his mouth, looking like he'd bitten into something foul, and this time Mira stepped forward.
"I'll be following too."
"Right, of course. Still a bit short on coin to open a shop in a big city, aren't you?"
Mira nodded with a wide grin, and Phoinix suddenly asked her a question.
"By the way, why are you here?"
"Sorry? What's that supposed to mean?"
"Where's Heila?"
"……Ah. The young miss is having tea with the old housekeeper. With Beldin and Buney too. They just kept chattering about nothing, so I stepped out for some air…"
When Phoinix silently rubbed at his brow, Mira clammed up. Then, with a slightly awkward look,
"Mmm, I should be heading back, actually. I've barely been gone, but you never know…"
And with that, she vanished toward the manor.
Watching her go with a wry smile, Phoinix turned to Cole.
"You?"
"I will follow you." When Phoinix gave him a blank look, Cole quietly wet his lips.
"I want to become strong."
"……You want to become strong?"
"Yes. As strong as you, Lord Phoinix. Or like Captain Hatanka."
At Phoinix's odd expression, Cole added, his face stony.
"So I will follow you."
"Why do you want to be strong?"
"……I am a man. Do I need a reason for that?"
At Cole's question, Phoinix burst out laughing.
And here I thought he was the sharpest of the lot—turns out he says the stupidest things.
Thinking that, he clapped Cole on the shoulder.
Just then, another group from the ramp came toward them: the mage siblings of the Lao family, the druid Zanavas, and the magic swordsman Simos.
"Sir Phoinix."
"Miss Siren."
The wide-eyed woman—the mage Siren—glanced over Amias's crew before speaking.
"You were discussing the journey ahead, I take it?"
"So you heard."
"Oh, I wasn't eavesdropping on purpose."
Phoinix smiled as if it were no matter, and Siren smiled back.
"Actually, I received a letter last night."
"A letter?"
"From our family."
She broke off and let out a small sigh.
"They were all but threatening to strike us from the family registry if we didn't come running to Radenki at once."
"……Radenki? Isn't that the port city in Southern Shore? Why there?"
"The Baden region, where our family estate is, is simply too far. The order says the family's mages will be gathering at Radenki, and we're to join them for the return."
When Phoinix looked baffled, Siren hesitated a moment before speaking.
"The truth is, we've all but run away from home."
"……Run away?"
Phoinix still looked lost, so the druid Zanavas stepped forward.
"It was I who persuaded Siren and Eathan to leave Castle Al on their journey. Through farsight, I foretold Carramac's atrocity, and I needed strength to stop it."
"So Miss Siren crossed all the way from the distant north on your word alone?"
"Gratefully—yes."
As Zanavas said it, his eyes met Siren's. It was hard not to notice something tender passing between their gazes.
"……Everyone's pairing off around here, and it's utter chaos."
Leaving Steedman's low grumbling behind, Siren spoke again.
"So—there's something I'd like to ask of you, Sir Phoinix."
"And that is?"
"I heard that Sir Rangbolt, your companion, and his party will be heading to Southern Shore."
"Yes, that's true."
"If it's no trouble, we'd like to join their party. Sir Rangbolt is a knight of no small renown, and a son of Count Litton's house besides—traveling with them would make the journey far safer…"
"Fair enough, I imagine. I'll pass the word along to Sir Rangbolt."
"Oh, thank you."
Having readily granted the request, Phoinix suddenly turned to the magic swordsman Simos.
"Are you going with them as well?"
At the abrupt question, Simos stiffened for a moment. But he soon spoke with an air of composure.
"……I'm still deciding."
"Ah, I see."
Phoinix fell silent briefly, then smiled.
"A swordsman as fine as you, helping me—that would be a real comfort."
As Phoinix looked steadily down at him, Simos swallowed and managed an awkward smile.
"Th-that's… kind of you."
"Still deciding, are you?"
"……Yes."
"Then I'll need your answer before I talk to Sir Rangbolt. Sooner rather than later—tonight, say."
"……Understood, Lord Phoinix."
Just as the odd tension between the two was making everyone gathered around shift uncomfortably, the freckled Mira came running back this way.
"Lord Phoinix—!"
Her face twisted into something strange, as if some disaster had struck, and she was shouting before she'd even arrived.
"The Baron—the Baron has returned!"
"……The Baron?"
Mira nodded frantically, still gasping for breath from her sprint.
"Yes, the Baron!"
"Who on earth are you talking about?"
At what Mira said next, not only Phoinix but everyone gathered on the ramp froze in shock.
"Baron Mallory! The lord of this place—Longville!"
"……What?"
"He's come back alive!"
Phoinix stood there with a look of utter confusion, then hurried off toward the manor, taking Ellen and Mungchi with him.
A brief silence settled over the mercenaries left behind on the ramp. Then the bald Steedman spoke, his face hollow.
"……Baron Mallory's alive? Then what in the actual hell was the war for?"
Nobody had an answer for that.