10. What the Hell is Marigold's Body Made Of?

Warrior Marigold. (5)

Marigold's body was made of what, exactly? It sure as hell wasn't anything ordinary. That was the only thought running through Lancel's mind as he gazed down at the crown of her head, now level with his eyes.

This was all his sister's fault.

The ridiculous one-liner setting: "Training the body makes the body grow."

In less than a year, she'd shot up over 10 centimeters.

"I can still grow more, Master."

The flesh-and-blood Marigold.

Lancel had been secretly watching her brutal mercenary life from the shadows.

Was she aiming for the top spot in the mercenary world? Marigold hadn't let go of her sword for even a single day. It was the textbook definition of the warrior route.

"Oh, Merry! Take care of things today too!"

"Leave it to me!"

"Merry's on patrol escort today? Finally, someone reliable shows up."

"You're too kind. I'll do my best!"

Lancel watched her from afar, wiping cold sweat from his brow. Famous, even? It had only been a few months since she started as a mercenary, and her reputation and trustworthiness already surpassed that of long-time Silver Badge vets.

Come to think of it, Marigold had been pretty famous since the day she took the mercenary exam. Her name echoed from every street corner.

No wonder that day's events became such a hot topic.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

A mere tavern wench had crushed the egos of rowdy mercenaries boasting about their sword arms. Of course the rumors spread (thanks to the 3rd Prince's reinforcement magic, though).

But Marigold's truly terrifying trait was something else. She was still growing right now.

"Already?"

The time it took to conquer Intermediate Swordsmanship Training—the first major hurdle of the warrior route. Exactly three months.

At this rate, she'd master Advanced no later than two years.

By then, Marigold wouldn't be ordinary anymore. Through festivals, tournaments, wars, or random events, she could rise to Honorary Knight status.

"Here, Marigold. Your Silver Badge."

"Can I really accept this already?"

"If you don't, it'll cause problems for everyone else."

In the end, Marigold became a true celebrity in the district. At breakneck speed.

Crash!

"Gaaah!"

A man tumbled out of the house Marigold had entered, flung like trash. He rolled dozens of times through the open window.

"Urgh!"

"You were thieving, right? Hand over everything you've got."

If you didn't listen carefully, Marigold sounded like the thief.

"Wh-who're you calling a thief, you crazy bitch?!"

"I heard everything already. Cooperate nicely and it'll end peacefully. Otherwise..."

"Damn you, acting all high and mighty!"

The thief drew his dagger in a flash but couldn't even extend it fully. Marigold's sword blocked it effortlessly.

Sparks flew as the dagger arced through the air, landing neatly in her palm.

"Some people just don't listen."

"W-wait, wait!"

"If you don't want your teeth knocked out, bite down hard."

In the end, the thief—face swollen like a balloon—was handed over to the capital guards.

Up to here, Marigold was the perfect talent for Lancel, and for the mercenary guild. She completed requests daily, had a great reputation, and her skills improved by the day. What more could you want in a mercenary?

The problem was just one thing.

"Master."

After finishing her mission, Marigold started searching for Lancel as if it were the most natural thing.

"Master, where are you?"

"Merry, what's up?"

"Have you seen Master, Hestie sis?"

"He should be back soon... Aren't you tired? Go in first."

"I'll wait here."

Be it the guild...

"Merry, what brings you here?"

"I'm looking for Master. Baron Shen."

"Master? You mean Sir Lancel? He's been so busy I haven't seen him in ages. Actually, I've been wanting to track him down."

"Please find him for me."

"Huh?"

...or the mansion...

"Master!"

...or the streets.

No matter the place, Marigold always tracked down Lancel. Like a massive dog that could sniff out his scent alone.

"I took care of business today too, Master."

"...Yeah, good job."

"..."

"..."

Her sparkling eyes stared up at him. Only after he patted her head did she trot off with light steps.

Nothing more, nothing less. Just that much.

Yeah. A bit of praise, a bit of acknowledgment.

"Why does Merry always seek praise from the young master?"

"Hm."

When Lancel probed her intentions through Hestie, Marigold pondered long and hard before answering.

"Because Master likes it... she said."

"What does that mean?"

"Who knows. Maybe you told her to come find you sometime?"

"What do I get out of that?"

"..."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I didn't say anything."

Hestie's eyes narrowed, but Lancel was innocent.

Not because she likes it, but because I like it?

Lancel still didn't fully grasp those words. If anything, her behavior left him a bit embarrassed.

"At this rate, you'll end up marrying me again."

He couldn't just blurt out, You're supposed to become empress.

What should I do?

As he pondered that on the guild's third floor—thoughts that would earn him jeers of "Stop being such a simp" if overheard—the door burst open.

Speak of the devil.

It was Marigold.

"Master."

"Merry. Knock first."

Hestie scolded firmly, and Marigold's face paled.

"Knock! Sorry!"

She went back out, knocked, and...

"Come in."

"Yes, Lady Hestie..."

Seeing her slink back in with a cowed expression, Lancel realized anew how much taller she'd gotten.

About a head taller than Hestie, so early 170s cm, roughly.

For someone who stayed in the 140s on non-physical routes, this was practically her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠peak height. She could grow more, but that would sever ties with the princes forever...

"Next time you forget to knock, I'll dump water right on your face. Got it?"

"Yes..."

No, not that far.

As Lancel meant to say that, he spotted the paper in Marigold's hand.

"What's that?"

"The client today said to pass this to Master, so... here."

She handed over a rolled document, thoroughly intimidated. The familiar seal on the wax was stamped clear.

Imperial Palace!

It was here. The escort event.

Unlike the feint he'd sent before, this was the real deal.

Faster than expected.

Lancel carefully unrolled it.

At the exact same moment, the door burst open ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠again.

"Knock!"

Water sprayed from the pitcher in Hestie's hand.

The arc of water splattered perfectly onto the face of the man just opening the door.

Splash!

The man, soaked the instant he entered, wiped his face. Lancel gaped at him.

"Ahem. Did I forget to knock?"

"Lord Chamberlain."

11. Lord Chamberlain Iceford.

Inside the palace, he was called the Chief Steward.

The man with the thickest influence among all earls in the empire.

He sat before Lancel, dabbing his dripping face with a towel.

"Did you get what I sent?"

"I was just about to read it, Lord Chamberlain."

"Haven't read it? Give it back, then."

"Huh?"

It was snatched away.

"Can't I just consider it a face-wash and get it back?"

"Be grateful I woke you up."

"But why take back the request you sent..."

"Trying to paint me as petty, are you?"

Lord Chamberlain Iceford meticulously wiped water even from his nostrils before speaking.

"Nothing major. There was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a vacancy in the escort procession for His Fifth Highness, who's recuperating. That's what the request was for."

I know.

The escort traveling with the Fifth Prince's train. It included 100 mercenaries, and Marigold joining them kicked off this escort event.

Then the masked ball in the train's party hall.

Marigold and the Fifth Prince meeting by chance.

Various incidents and accidents.

Romance unfolding amid the rocking train.

Given the Fifth Prince's attraction to physically strong women, it was one of the easier routes if you mastered swordsmanship.

That was the decisive reason Lancel raised her as a warrior this loop.

But.

"A good opportunity has come your way. Can't say who pulled strings, but mum's the word."

Question marks floated over Lancel's face.

"His Majesty will explain the details."

"His Maj—"

The dying emperor.

He was summoning Lancel.

"Prepare at once. Time is of the essence."

Why?