Taking His Measure
Adol Prime made his way toward the Fourth Banquet Hall, where the servants' feast was already in full swing.
On Ayres's orders, he intended to eliminate thirty servants. He felt not a flicker of guilt about it.
If anything, he liked that ruthless streak in the First Young Master. When a killing needed no justification, no one was more unhesitating; when a killing required a pretext, no one was more careful.
The day Viscount Ahental had assigned him to the First Young Master, Adol had been more pleased than anyone. Here, at last, was a master who suited him. If a man had to serve someone, wasn't it better to serve someone he actually liked?
This should do it.
Adol toyed with the paper packet of powdered medicine in his hand.
The poison was called Yawn—a mushroom used as a sleeping draught, dried and ground to powder. In minute amounts it was medicine. Taken in excess, it was death.
Folk who lived near the mountains sometimes lay down to sleep and never rose again. This was the culprit. It looked, unhelpfully, almost identical to an ordinary culinary mushroom.
I'll call them out and have it mixed into the food.
The men the First Young Master had planted would be in the hall as well. Summon them, have them lace the dishes, then deal with those men separately afterward. Fewer eyes. Cleaner.
The plan in his head was perfect. What Adol had not accounted for was a variable.
There was an unexpected guest.
The second young master? And an other-race besides?
As if throwing them a banquet weren't enough, he had come in person to offer his congratulations. The second young master Adol knew was not that kind of man.
The thought that the two of them might eat and drink was enough to make Adol call off poisoning the food. There were plenty of other ways to deal with the servants separately.
No... wait.
Was there some law that said a noble like the second young master couldn't happen to ingest a poisonous mushroom by accident?
If he dealt with them here and now, wouldn't all the complicated business ahead simply... vanish?
A secret hunger rose in his chest.
But the First Young Master had been very clear.
Assassination, he had driven home, was the lowest of political tools—something that forced you to endure a massive aftermath, and therefore a last resort.
He had come here to commit murder. He was about to commit assassination. Was that all right?
This isn't it. Better to move as the First Young Master commands. The results have always been good.
He was turning away, the dark thought still lodged in his chest, when people approached from a distance. Among them was someone he must not touch.
The moment he saw her, Adol abandoned the plan without a shred of regret.
"Brother!"
"Hhk—Erena."
Ereb recoiled as if he had seen a ghost. A blonde woman came rolling toward them, pushing the wheels of her own wheelchair. A female knight caught up in a few strides and took over.
The second young master's younger sister, Erena von Ahental, was a pure-looking beauty with long golden hair and an innocent smile she wore well. Of course, the innocence stopped at her face. Her mother's blood had not gone anywhere.
"Did you really have to make me come find you before you were satisfied?"
"That's... I—I'm sorry."
What?
It was Messi who startled. Ereb was apologizing? That Ereb?
The man had always seemed to live as if the word sorry did not exist. Apparently not. With his little sister, he was a weakling of an older brother.
"I thought you'd come see me the moment you arrived. I was disappointed."
"I—I'm sorry. I wanted to. But things kept coming up. What was I supposed to do?"
"Since when have you ever taken such pains over the knights' and servants' banquets that you could afford to neglect me? I'm hurt, Brother."
"That's not—damn it, this is all this guy's—"
Ereb tried, without warning, to throw Messi under the carriage. A textbook bully of the weak, cowerer before the strong.
Messi hurried to introduce himself.
"A pleasure, Lady Erena. I am—"
"I know. Sir Messi. Of the forest folk, and of noble blood, they say? I'd only ever heard stories of beings different from us. It's rather astonishing."
She had chosen beings different from us with care, so as not to wound the other-race standing in front of her. Unlike her two brothers, this one had actually received a proper upbringing.
"Father rarely acknowledges anyone as a guest of the house. You must be quite remarkable."
"It turned out that way."
"I hear you're an exceptional healer."
"That's too kind. His Lordship was good enough to think well of me, and the second young master was kind enough to invite me."
"Isn't it, though... My brother has never once in his life invited a friend. Father and my second brother are both behaving so unlike themselves."
There was a bitterness in Erena's voice. She seemed to assume the exceptions had been made on account of her treatment. It was a reasonable misunderstanding—none of Messi's other abilities had been mentioned.
The head of House Ahental was in no position to go around advertising that Messi could decipher the ancient tongue. What sort of work required an ancient-language interpreter, after all? It was as good as announcing that something from the old world had been found.
Her downcast look left Ereb at a complete loss.
That's not it, Erena. I just... never had a close friend to invite.
If he said that out loud, she would only look sadder. Fortunately, Messi asked a question that turned her attention elsewhere.
"If it wouldn't be an imposition... I have a companion insect I travel with. May I take her out? I think she needs to be fed."
"...A companion... insect?"
She nodded, her face bright with a curiosity that said she had never heard of such a thing in her life.
The instant Messi produced the princess, Erena's mouth fell open as wide as an apple. Shock, bewilderment, and a desperate urge to squeal over how cute it was all occupied her face at once.
"Wh—what on earth is that?"
"This little one is an ant larva from the Forest of Resentment, and—"
"—I've been raising her because she's adorable. And very gentle."
"Ghk—didn't I tell you to throw that thing out?!"
Ereb recoiled in horror and put distance between himself and the larva. Erena watched him, then let out a delighted little laugh.
"Brother's been terrified of bugs for years. Ever since he found half a worm in a dish he was eating, wasn't it?"
"Who said I was terrified? It's grotesque, that's all! And anyone would hate an experience like that!"
Isn't that the same thing? Messi did not press the point. He set the princess down in front of the banquet food.
Go ahead. Eat it all. You've been stuck sitting still all day—you must have been bored.
A larva the length of a handspan wriggling up onto a plate and tucking into the food was not a sight one saw every day. Everyone fell silent and watched. The servants still enjoying the feast were no exception.
"She's truly adorable. How strange... a bug that size, and somehow there's nothing off-putting about her at all..."
Plump with a healthy layer of fat, she looked for all the world like a round little baby animal. Ayla had been the same—Kkyu, it turned out, was unexpectedly popular with women.
Thanks to Kkyu, Erena forgot whatever had been wounding her and laughed with real pleasure. She did not lose her smile for the rest of the servants' banquet.
The lady-in-waiting and the female knight who had accompanied her looked well satisfied too.
Does she not usually laugh like this? The reaction was better than Messi had expected, and it left him faintly puzzled. Then Erena, stroking Kkyu, spoke up.
"Today was genuinely fun. Sir Messi, might we have tea on my terrace tomorrow? I'm rather curious about the world outside."
"Well... if Lady Erena's brother has no objection."
Messi glanced at Ereb. The look in Ereb's eyes said, quite plainly, If you go, I will not let you hear the end of it.
Erena ignored it with effortless grace.
"It's quite all right. My brother isn't the sort of conservative who fusses over things like that."
"R-right..."
He very much seems like he is.
The gathering broke up, and the Fourth Banquet Hall emptied until it stood hollow.
Ereb looked over the remnants of the feast, let out a sigh, and put a question to Messi that seemed to come from nowhere.
"Is this enough for you?"
He looked thoroughly dissatisfied. The reason surfaced at once.
"My brother's right-hand man just turned around and left. We only got half the plan. If you weren't so damn soft..."
"Look at it this way. We succeeded at half the plan. We planted a spy inside, we laid a trap—we got the parts that actually matter."
"Ha. And the internal cleanup that was the original goal? Who else but you would go soft with a plan already drawn up and nearly finished?"
The one blemish in the plan Messi had laid was that innocent servants would have been disposed of along with the rest.
He could, of course, have simply looked the other way. Anyone else would not have counted it as so much as a speck of dust. For Messi, it was otherwise.
The Durek mercenaries had wronged him. Raude had tried to kill him. These people had done neither.
That was why Messi had talked Ereb into coming down here in person. He had seen through it: if the two of them were present, no one would dare try anything underhanded.
Well. He always was a man with too much heart for people...
It was that very quality Ereb had recognized in Messi from the first, and the reason he had judged him trustworthy. If Messi had been the sort of creature who snuffed out other lives as if they were flies, Ereb would never have trusted him.
Yes. He would not have trusted a man who was the same as himself. Messi was different. That was why he gave him his credit.
"Spend a little money."
"You—have I been going too easy on you lately?"
"Pay the servants a very generous bonus and let them choose. The ones who stay busy hopping from one side to the other will remain. The ones with nothing tying them here will leave."
"What...? If there was a method that simple, you should have said so from the start."
"Then we couldn't have planted the spy, and we couldn't have laid the trap. Besides... I wanted to take a quote."
"A quote?"
"On the First Young Master. We ought to know what level of opponent we're going to be fighting, don't you think?"
Even in a boxing match, you threw jabs and felt the other man out before you committed. Messi had staged a small opening bout to take Ayres's measure.
To him it was the obvious thing to do. To Ereb, it was a shock. He burst out laughing.
"Kahaha! You're the first bastard who's ever said he wanted a quote on Ayres! So? Did you get one?"
"Ha—doable... kkh, puahahaha!!"
Ereb laughed until the tears nearly came.
A man who could assess, this calmly, the brother Ereb had never once beaten in his life!
Until now, Ayres had been Ereb's impossible enemy. The brother who had everything. Their father's recognition, their mother's love, outstanding ability... Ereb had lived crushed under it, never able to lift his head.
Ugly years, taking that frustration out on everyone around him.
But it was different now.
He had Messi.
Is that man a treasure, then?
When his father had asked him that today, Ereb had wanted, truly wanted, to answer. Yes.
"...I'll go on ahead?"
"Yeah, go. I'm going to stay and laugh a while longer. Kkh, puahaha!!"
For the moment, landing even one hit on Ayres felt even better. It was so genuinely, thoroughly satisfying that he clutched his stomach and wheezed.
Messi shook his head and headed back to his quarters.
His eyes opened around first light. At this hour, waking was a habit.
In his master's company, the days had never been long enough for all there was to learn. As a hunter, you could only hunt once the sky was bright, so you rose early—the forest swallowed the sun sooner than anywhere else.
And after getting tangled up with the second young master... well. Need he say more?
I've finally got the environment I wanted. I can't afford to be lazy on the first day.
A quick wash in cold water, teeth scrubbed with mint grass, and he left the room. He let the princess sleep.
His destination was the morning training ground.
House Ahental's training grounds sat just outside the castle walls. There were three in all: one reserved for the Ahental knighthood, one for the cavalry, and one for guests. There was a lord's ground as well, as he understood it, but that would be inside the castle itself.
Messi made for the guests' ground. He had chosen it because the name alone suggested it would be empty. Contrary to expectation, someone had arrived before him.
Huff. Huff.
Breathing in a steady rhythm. A flicker of puzzlement crossed Messi's face.
Who? The answer came almost at once.
A thud, as something like a bench-press barbell was set down, and there stood a massive man. None other than Butler Grotein.
"Ah. Sir Messi."
"Good morning, Butler Grotein."
"Nothing quite like working up a sweat first thing in the morning, is there, sir?"
Messi answered with a nod and began a slow circuit of the training ground.
Facing a shirtless, dripping, huffing mountain of elderly muscle at this hour was about as appealing as a slab of greasy pork belly for breakfast.
Whether he knew what Messi was thinking or not, Grotein watched him lap the ground with a look of thoroughly approving pride.
Messi ignored the gaze and kept moving, taking stock of his body as he went.
The growth seems finished... and yet something's lacking.
After taking in Enzo Muete's physical information, he had felt his body changing by the day.
He moved as if he were using mana even when he wasn't. Fatigue barely touched him. And the strength—there had been moments of genuine curiosity whether, as he was now, he could tear a knight's armor apart with his hands.
Then, at some point, the growth had simply stopped.
Held up against the Enzo Muete he knew, he had plateaued at a laughable fraction.
He understood it now: his body, the vessel, had taken in only as much of Enzo Muete as it could hold. The result fell far short of what Messi had hoped for.
At best, a tenth...
Of course, absorbing even a tenth of Enzo Muete across a difference of species was extraordinary for a human. For Messi, it still left a taste of regret.
Is there no way to take in more?
If he could digest even half of it, his physical ability alone would leave him without a rival among humankind...
Messi studied the training equipment in the corner of the ground—the same gear Grotein had been using until a moment ago—and turned the thought over.
If the vessel is too small... then I just need to make the vessel larger, don't I?
By the time he had finished several laps and his body had loosened, the muscle-bound old man was already gone.
I should have asked him for some personal training.
He had a feeling the man would have loved that.