Rude Coercion

The suffocating atmosphere between Zeke and Isabella persisted. But since they couldn't very well maintain that strained silence all the way to Fran, Zeke summoned his courage and spoke first.

"...Lady Isabella."

The honorific "Lady" was the result of considerable deliberation on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his part. Addressing her by name alone seemed condescending—inappropriate for someone of her standing. Using "-nim" would be overly deferential and likely make Isabella uncomfortable. And "Miss" simply felt wrong on his tongue. So he had settled on "Lady," a form of address he frequently used in the imperial court.

"...Yes, y-yes? You mean me?"

Of course, Isabella was the only person in this space with that name, but the sudden question and the excessive title of "Lady" for a mere maid had her flustered beyond measure. She spoke with a trembling voice.

Zeke nodded in response. He hadn't yet figured out what to say in reply.

"I heard from the Saintess—that the reason we are going to Fran this time is thanks to the card game you created, Lady Isabella."

Zeke was, at least, attempting to make conversation.

"Th-... that's right. It's thanks to the card game I made together with Lady Rosaria."

Isabella was sweating profusely. She was not at all accustomed to the Emperor speaking to her in polite, formal language. Though, in truth, any way he spoke to her would have been just as unsettling.

"...That's remarkable. When I was your age, Lady Isabella, I knew nothing except how to swing a sword."

Zeke was four years older than Isabella. When he was seventeen—the age Isabella was now—it was entirely true that he hadn't known how to do anything except swing a sword. The Holy Empire had a tradition of not making the Hero the Emperor right away. If the Hero were recklessly crowned Emperor and then died on the battlefield, the Empire would lose both its Emperor and its Hero in one stroke. It was a form of risk diversification.

And because of that, he had missed out on learning the things a king needed to know—statecraft, governance, and the like.

He had simply been very good with that sword. At sixteen, he had become the youngest Sword Master in history, and he had returned alive from every war he had participated in, large or small.

But Zeke truly considered this nothing special. He had been born with the fate of a Hero, after all. He merely thought that much was to be expected.

That was Zeke's own view, however.

"Th-... that can't possibly be. It's truly nothing at all. There's no chance I would ever become like... Lord Hero? Lord Emperor...? in four years' time. The gap between myself and Lord SeiKreed is greater than the distance between heaven and earth. I must consider this excessive praise..."

She was so flustered she couldn't even settle on a form of address. When the person offering sudden, excessive praise was both the Emperor and the Hero, what maid in the world would respond, "Ah, yes, I am indeed rather remarkable"?

Well, perhaps the Isabella from before she lost her memories might have.

"...There's no need to be so burdened. I haven't come on this journey as Emperor or as Hero. I've come as the sword that guards the Saintess's party, so please, try to be at ease."

Zeke was telling her to treat him comfortably. But could she truly be comfortable just because he said so? The gulf between their stations was as vast as heaven and earth. Isabella knew perfectly well that anyone in a lower position had to ponder a superior's words at least twice over for hidden meaning.

"Ah... no. Even so, how could someone like me dare to... toward His Majesty the Emperor..."

Isabella waved her hands in denial, still sweating.

"...It's really all right."

Zeke meant exactly what the words said. But Isabella couldn't take them at face value. The chasm between their stations was severe enough that one ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wrong word here could lead to execution. Her survival instinct rejected any relaxation outright.

And Zeke read that wariness in her. So, telling himself he had no choice but to resort to discourtesy, he opened his mouth once more.

"...Then, if I put it in the form of a command, would you comply?"

A sharp pang squeezed his chest. Isn't this too coercive?—he did think so. But if things remained this way the entire journey to Fran, and even after they arrived, he felt they would both suffocate to death from the tension.

Zeke ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was playing a strong hand. She was going to hate him once her memories returned anyway. He was creating a small hatred now, to brace himself against the impact of a much larger hatred later.

Isabella's eyes darted left and right, frantically searching for the reason behind this.

"...Of course, this isn't a request without reason."

Zeke explained to the bewildered Isabella.

"The Saintess and I are publicly famous. Which means we need to conceal our identities. These cumbersome titles might well obstruct the journey. That is why the Saintess, whenever she sets out on a journey, always wishes to be addressed differently and called by a different name. And I am someone who agrees with that opinion."

It wasn't a lie. The names "Hero" and "Saintess" were, after all, not names just anyone could bear. So much so that people who once bore those names had gone so far as to change them entirely.

These were names of immense weight, and this was the necessary groundwork to conceal their identities completely and enjoy a pleasant journey.

"So I must ask of you, Lady Isabella. For this journey at least, please treat me as someone other than the Hero or the Emperor. This is a request I am personally making, so do not feel burdened—you may truly be at ease. If a request falls short, I am prepared to issue a vow or a command from my side."

After all, disobeying the Emperor's command was not an option. Isabella, still sweating, accepted Zeke's proposal. Of course, the discomfort hadn't actually vanished... but at least she wouldn't be executed for some perceived insult? That was what she told herself.

"The Saintess's alias is Serena; my alias is Kreed. According to the roles we've arranged in advance, Lady Rosaria and Lady Serena are friends, and Lady Isabella is their maid."

Isabella listened without missing a single word. Afraid that forgetting even one detail and making a mistake might lead to disaster, she concentrated on Zeke's words with a level of focus she had rarely mustered in her life.

"And I am Kreed, a knight hired for security."

Unfortunately, her concentration was too intense. She became acutely aware of Zeke's presence.

His beautiful lips moving as he spoke; the long lashes that settled around his eyes each time he blinked them open; his face, like a god's handiwork, smiling kindly—all of these details became visible to her.

It was a bad habit she'd picked up when drawing. The subject had shifted from plaster casts to Zeke.

Her heart pounded painfully just looking at him. But irreverently—she couldn't tear her eyes away.

So she kept gazing into those eyes that shone like stars, continuing to listen to his explanation of their roles, taking in his one-on-one lecture about how she should address everyone and how she should speak.

And by the time it ended, Isabella's face was flushed beyond redemption.

She even resented her own heart for pounding so relentlessly.

*

No matter how much the carriage horses were divine horses, if the condition of the person riding inside was poor, one had to stop. That was simply how it was.

Besides, Rosaria was originally an invalid who could barely leave her room, so she was in no physical condition to endure a jolting carriage all day.

And since Isabella—their self-proclaimed guide—had anticipated this and compiled a collection of information based on her experience and research, they decided to spend the night at an inn along the way.

"Haa... haa..."

Rosaria descended from the carriage, breathing roughly. Her face was flushed, as if she had a fever, and her legs, unsteady from the long ride, wouldn't cooperate properly. She staggered and swayed as she struggled to get down.

"...Let's get inside quickly and rest, Rosaria."

Canaria emerged, supporting her. She looked somewhat refreshed, with a softly smiling mouth and skin that seemed to have grown smoother.

It was the effect of Rosalium.

"We should go inside and finish what we started."

"...If we do, I'll die."

"You're the one who said you wanted to do it first, Rosaria..."

Canaria had been about to tease her. But seeing Rosaria's face—the expression of someone ready to die of sheer mortification—she decided to save the amusement for later.

The ones who descended after them were Isabella and Zeke.

Both wore awkward expressions. That was because they had spent the entire journey practicing calling each other by name. They had been running a simple role-play exercise necessary to disguise their statuses, with Zeke continuously coaching Isabella, who was wholly unaccustomed to such behavior.

"...Isabella."

She still hadn't fully adjusted, it seemed. And on top of that, they'd previously drawn strict lines with her using extreme formal speech. The sudden closeness had left behind a lingering sense of dissonance.

They still needed a great deal of time.

"...What is it, Kreed?"

Even something as simple as calling each other by name was difficult for both of them. Though, of course, the one who felt driven half mad by it was Isabella, not Zeke. Overcoming the pressure that came from their difference in station was no easy thing. As a mere maid, acting this way toward the Emperor was endlessly uncomfortable.

"...I just called you. To see if you'd make a mistake, that is."

Zeke, for his part, didn't mind in the slightest. From his perspective, Isabella was someone he owed a debt to, and an honored guest. To a man who had resolved to spend his whole life at her side in atonement, being addressed casually was nothing at all.

And being called by name was the mildest of treatments, really. Compared to the contempt Canaria showed Zeke on a daily basis whenever she addressed him, Isabella's way of calling him was practically angelic.

"Kreed, Isabella."

Canaria broke up the awkwardness just then. Both of them thought it a stroke of luck—thanks to her, the air felt a bit easier to breathe.

"...Have you two practiced with each other enough?"

She was asking about the results of their training.

"O-... of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠course, Lady Serena!"
"We've practiced sufficiently, Lady Serena."

A flustered Isabella and a composed Zeke answered.

"...Then, while I secure the lodging, Kreed, please unload the luggage. Isabella, stay here and keep an eye on Rosaria for us."

Canaria gave the orders. The moment the words were handed down, everyone moved quickly. Staying close to each other any longer felt as if something might burst, so they were all grateful to have duties that let them put some distance between themselves.

"L-... Lady Rosaria? Are you all right?"

But Rosaria was in poor condition. Seeing her slightly vacant expression and her flushed, feverish-looking face, Isabella grew worried and asked with a grave expression.

"...I'm fine, Isabella."

Right now, Rosaria was too embarrassed to look Isabella in the face. She averted her eyes, trying hard not to see her. Isabella, whether she noticed or not, kept worrying. Maybe the young lady was pushing herself too hard—perhaps they'd forced a punishing pace for her sake.

Isabella's heart was heavy with a truth she did not know.

Just then, to check her temperature, Isabella placed her own hand on Rosaria's forehead and then, for comparison, touched her own forehead as well.

Strangely enough, both of them had similar fevers.

It seemed a mysterious fever—one whose cause you were better off not knowing—was going around among the party members, save for Canaria.

*

The inn was a four-story building. It had rooms that could accommodate multiple people as well as several single-occupancy rooms. The interior was clean, quiet, and full of atmosphere—a fine establishment.

This was thanks to Isabella's diligent research. After all, lodging the Saintess Canaria and the noble lady Rosaria in just any random inn was out of the question. So, with the goal of securing the most private accommodation possible, she had prioritized luxurious facilities without regard for the cost.

"...What do you mean by that?"

But then a problem arose. There were only two rooms left. Fortunately, they were both double rooms, so the four of them could be accommodated. The issue was Zeke's presence.

Zeke was suddenly the odd man out. He had become a complete outlier. But Zeke didn't make a big deal of it.

"...I'll sleep outside."

If he just slept outside, that was the end of it. If it came to it, he could simply stay awake through the night. He had lived a life accustomed to the occasional disruption to his sleep.

"...Or, Kreed—would you like to become a woman for a little while?"

It wasn't impossible. But Canaria wasn't serious. She was just joking to tease him.

"...I'll pass."

And Zeke refused in complete earnest.

"...Let me know anytime if you change your mind."

With that, Canaria finished her teasing of Zeke. Then she took Rosaria and went straight into the room, leaving Isabella unexpectedly blessed with the privilege of having an entire double room to herself.

"Well then, everyone—I shall see you tomorrow."

Rosaria was not in good shape, but Isabella reasoned that if the person staying by her side was the Saintess herself, she could trust her and leave Rosaria in her care. Her mind felt much lighter as a result.

But that was only Isabella's assumption. She still had no idea that leaving a fish in the care of a cat would have been the wiser choice.

And so, catching only a brief glimpse of Canaria's faint, fishy smile meant for her alone, Rosaria was carried off trembling slightly and deposited obediently onto the bed.

*

-...I shall stand watch outside, then.

Having declared as much, Zeke took a seat in the hallway. A bodyguard knight keeping watch like this was a common, unremarkable sight, so no one paid him any mind. Leaning against the disguised Holy Sword, Zeke was just about to while away the time with a book he'd picked up from the lobby.

"...Isabella, what brings you out here?"

Isabella had stepped outside.

"...I'm bored, but I can't sleep."

Frequent all-nighters were something Isabella was used to. So the model lifestyle of going to bed early was, in its own way, far removed from her habits.

"...Do you have somewhere you wish to go?"

Since she'd come out, she must have a destination in mind. And so Zeke asked after her whereabouts.

"...I thought I'd clear my head with a walk. And while I'm at it, I'll stop by the lobby and borrow a book to read for a bit."

It was an unfamiliar request. But Zeke had told her to do as she liked. And so, however uncomfortable it was, Isabella followed through.

Though, if you thought about it a little, you might wonder if there was any real reason for it. A maid using extreme formal speech toward a knight was hardly a problem. She simply hadn't considered that she didn't need to go so far as to alter her speech and project familiarity.

She simply, unconsciously, liked it that way. Perhaps she already knew but was purposely pretending not to, and simply choosing to ignore it.

This was only a diversion permitted during the journey. Perhaps she thought to make the most of the opportunity she'd been given. Because she liked this feeling of having grown a little bit closer—however slight it was.

"...In that case, I'll accompany you. It is my duty as a bodyguard knight, after all."

Zeke closed the book he'd been reading. He straightened up from where he'd been leaning and readied himself to set out.

"Ah... no, I'm perfectly fine on my own, Kreed."

It was only a walk, wasn't it? And a walk with a purpose, at that. Isabella told him there was no need to follow.

"Please don't mind me—stay here and guard Lady Serena and Lady Rosaria."

Her tone was one of genuine concern for Rosaria. Rosaria's condition had been poor, after all. The fact that she was still unwell even after riding in the same carriage as the Saintess made Isabella worry that her illness might have worsened.

But that was Isabella's perspective. Zeke, who knew the inside story, didn't indulge her worry.

And above all—who was guarding whom, in this scenario? How was an ant supposed to protect a lion?

"...It's all right. Lady Serena is strong, after all."

Of course, he didn't add anything unnecessary. That was a secret that kept the world intact, and a truth Isabella was not yet permitted to know.

And leaving aside the Demon King—how many beings in this world could even touch the Saint? Those with such potential had already either had a leash fastened around their necks, or had become morning dew on the execution grounds, departing from this world.

"...Furthermore, it happens that I, too, cannot sleep and was just feeling bored."

He had things he wanted to say. And questions he wanted to ask.

He wanted to say them before she regained her memories. Now, in this opportunity when he was not yet hated—because he wanted to lessen the pain he would feel later. Zeke was making a somewhat impudent, unreasonable imposition.