Rosens Full Course (8)
"What in the world happened...?"
The cardinal couldn't continue, staring at Lambert's body as if trying to bore holes through it. The intelligence chief and chief mage blinked in astonishment, speechless. I felt the same.
The shock from Lambert's entrance stemmed from no ordinary reason. His neatly parted golden hair and aristocratic, refined face contrasted horrifically with his body below. As a soldier, he had a solidly muscled frame, but it was covered in scars so vicious it was a miracle he'd survived this long. His limbs bore countless small (relatively speaking) cuts and stabs from blades, striped like a zebra's. Elua's wrist scars are nothing compared to these. And across his chest—a massive scar that made all the others look like mere scratches. A deep gash diagonally traversing his torso from collarbone to pelvis. How... how the hell did he survive something like that? Did he fight a dragon or what...?
"What're you staring at? Got the hots for me?"
"What are those scars...?"
"Nothing much. Just injuries from my military days. A soldier's gotta wear scars like these as badges of honor."
"No... that's not it. That's not something you brush off like that. How does a guard captain even get that messed up?"
Lambert, now settled into the hot bath, washed his face and spoke up.
"I didn't start in the guards, Mr. Bertrand."
"Then?"
"I was originally with the Lucia Border Defense Force. Served as outpost commander there."
"Aigoo... oof..."
The intelligence chief clicked his tongue upon hearing that. The Lucia Border Defense Force—where Hardo the mercenary captain had done his service. It had a brutal reputation, not just from the internal military corruption Hardo had griped about last time. Such petty(?) vices existed in every legion. The real issue was the enemies they faced nose-to-nose: the combat outpost troops of the Bakomor Kingdom. In the rugged mountains of Lucia, where Verabche outposts and Bakomor combat posts were scattered, skirmishes and small-unit raids erupted several times a week. Losing a few men was shrugged off; they'd retaliate by throwing in even more troops. It was a savage meat grinder. That's why the "defense" force was legion-sized despite the name, even including mages. When provocations escalated, attack spells lit up the night sky, streaking toward enemy lines.
One of the units under the forward command where Gobert now served was precisely that Lucia Border Defense Force.
"That explains it, then?"
"Hmm... you must've had it rough. But that burn on your back? What's that from?"
When the intelligence chief asked, Lambert casually turned to show his back. It was packed with dozens of round burn scars.
"Torture scars from when Bakomor captured me as a POW, sir."
"What... what?!"
"Got ambushed on night recon and dragged to their combat outpost. Souvenirs from there."
"How the hell did you escape that...?"
Lambert pointed to the huge scar on his chest.
"Killed a few in a moment of their carelessness and led my outpost squad out. Got lucky—linked up midway with our relief force coming to rescue us. Saved our skins."
"Impressive. What medal did you get? At least third-class, right?"
"Didn't get any."
"Huh?"
The cardinal, who'd been listening quietly, yelped in surprise. I was baffled too; he must've been even more so.
"Held accountable for the security failure. Got pulled to the rear lines. That's how I transferred to the guards."
"What kind of bullshit is that...? Who was the defense commander back then?!"
But Lambert just smiled without answering.
"I'm plenty satisfied with guard life, sir. Bathing in hot water in a city with views like this? Unimaginable if I'd stuck to frontline units."
Lambert splashed water over his shoulders with a relaxed laugh. I stared at him intently. House Tremouille, his family, held serious sway among Verabche's nobility. Even as a non-heir with no title or lands coming his way, he could've lived comfortably...
Suddenly, I recalled our first meeting. He'd barged into the inn with his troops, barking orders at me in banmal like I was dirt. People, huh... you think you know 'em...
We continued our bath, listening raptly as Lambert spun tales from Lucia. Wagon-sized boars, eagles as big as wyverns, absurd propaganda leaflets launched via spells at each other, winter baths by smashing lake ice. Skirmishes to rescue defecting Bakomor troops, midnight dashes to basement shelters to dodge incoming attack magic...
Just hearing it made my breath catch. Yet the stories were so gripping and entertaining that we lost track of time, soaking until our skin pruned.
* * * *
After the bath, we donned the crisp white shirts and shorts Ukun had prepared, heading upstairs. Thanks to Aterugar's flames—heat without light—the lounge held a perfect temperature. The chamberlain and Francois, who'd arrived early, poured chilled drinks into glasses: Mideronde's apple wine, fetched by Francois via dimensional gate.
Through the Buren River-side floor-to-ceiling windows, the sun was already dipping low. Early winter days were short, plus we'd lingered too long in the tubs.
Right on cue, Elua and the women finished and came up. Elua's pale skin glowed moist and revitalized, cheeks faintly flushed. Her eerie snake eyes remained, but with wet hair towel-wrapped in an updo, she looked less queenly—more like an ordinary woman.
Everyone rose at the queen's entrance; she waved them down.
"Sit. Standing on ceremony in bathrobes right after soaking would be ridiculous."
No one budged until Elua took her glass and reclined sideways on a sunbed. Only then did the others follow to their loungers.
"Excellent, Bertrand. The palace has hot baths too, but this place is truly superb."
"Glad you're pleased, Your Majesty."
"And that girl Della—I could whisk her to the palace this instant."
Della, beaming over the Abyssal gold coins she'd earned tending the bath, startled at the words.
"But she said she wants to keep working at the inn. You must treat her exceptionally well?"
"Nothing special. Pay on time, no abuse. That's it."
"That's the mark of an excellent employer, Bertrand."
Elua chuckled lowly, sipping her apple wine. Then the chief mage, gazing out the window, let out a strangled scream.
"Y-Your Majesty...! O-over there...!"
All eyes turned to where he pointed. I couldn't help but chuckle.
A streak of crimson flame trailed from wings behind—a red dragon, Aterugar, hurtling straight toward us.
"Gaaah! A dragon!"
Aterugar skimmed so low her tail nearly grazed the Buren River. Water hit by flames exploded into massive steam clouds; she tore through them, flashing past our windows. Just before vanishing from view, a fierce wingbeat churned the river into a flood and rocketed upward.
"Hah... the rumors were true..."
The cardinal murmured, watching the dragon vanish into the dizzying sky. The song I'd had Kosa compose to draw monster enthusiasts—about Aterugar slaying the villain Lurtjog, appearing periodically in Rosens as a warning to the world. Looked like it'd reached the palace already.
Damn, Aterugar's putting on a real show. Money talks, huh. Today's Abyssal gold from Elua would join the treasure chest under her bed.
The thrilled group buzzed with dragon talk; Elua smiled faintly, savoring her wine. Seeing her in rare pristine white made me feel... awkward, but not entirely negative.
The late king had said... Elua's condition might be some genetic ailment recurring in the royal line. Madness leading to suicide or early death before adulthood. Marked by those snake eyes. High officials, the late king included, always harped: She was so sweet as a child... so gentle back then... Maybe this Elua before me was that "childhood" self.
If she can just keep her emotions in check... maybe she could live like a normal person?
But my positive thoughts on Elua ended there. She turned to the chamberlain and spouted nonsense from that lunatic snake-eyed queen.
"Chamberlain. I'm staying at the inn tonight. Send everyone except essential staff back to the palace."