The Unfortunate David
The unlucky supervisor Pol had finally reached the Mount of Light.
The clothes he wore for climbing to the Grand Hall looked like he had dressed for a funeral.
After all, autumn had already arrived. The sight of the mountain below turning autumn colors signaled that the peak was even harsher in winter.
Pol had whined about the life-or-death forks in the road during his ascent. Since he looked pitiful, we gave him our daily evening dessert.
“Ah, truly a divine dish…”
Pol stared in awe as if tasting Muri Cheese for the first time. The dessert was Muri Cheese topped with roasted nuts, dried fruits, and drizzled with honey. It was fresh Serpine-made cheese that could not be described as anything but exquisite.
Pol was so entranced by its creamy flavor that he laughed.
“I feel like I’m committing a sin. But here is the Grand Hall of the wise Gerka, so it cannot be. I’m at ease.”
If only you knew what this sight revealed about how kind Pol really was?
I thought back to the first time I had seen Pol, axes slung across his back, and served him an extra portion of dessert. Pythia had worked hard, I told him, and praised his diligence even more.
As the two of them began to speak, I slipped away to daydream.
If only I had chocolate… I had skimmed Serpine’s markets. Chocolate was out of the question, and even cacao had not appeared. It was clearly not yet time for the goods to arrive.
Ah, where had cacao come from on 88th District Earth? Islam? In the medieval world, everything intriguingly luxurious seemed to originate from the Middle East. No, cacao was from the New World?
During the days I had lived on 88th District Earth, whenever I missed my mother I would open my phone and watch her videos on the internet.
I had watched them so many times that I could recite her lines by heart, yet every time I felt lonely, or hurt, or sad, or simply down, or had fought with a friend… whenever I needed my mother, I would leave the video playing.
Later it became a habit, and I left it on always. My mother had been a lecturer, so it was truly fortunate. Her voice was not meant for me, but I could always listen to my mother’s voice.
Thanks to that, I could now sense this era.
While teaching world history, my mother had opened a YouTube channel that mixed lectures with personal stories. The channel let me see a side of her that was a little more intimate than the lectures, so I opened that channel far more often than the lessons.
Watching it, I learned that my mother had been a history major in college and had intended to study even deeper in graduate school before having children and becoming a lecturer.
It was only now that I realized—my mother had been tied down by my mother’s belly from the very beginning.
“What are you thinking?”
I turned my head and saw Damien standing there. As naturally as breathing, he reached for my glass, drank, and set it down. His manner had become so unreserved lately…
If it had been anyone else, I would have stopped them immediately. But with him, it felt strangely natural. I felt no irritation, no urge to push him away or get angry.
“Arian?”
“Hm? Ah, what are you thinking…? Just… nothing.”
I almost said “my mother” but the thought of Damien’s wretched family pulled me back. The image of his mysterious sister made the word impossible.
“Just… nothing.”
“We hope to serve the lady’s grand purpose together.”
At Pol’s words, I turned to see him standing there talking with Pythia a moment ago, now gazing straight at me. His eyes were serious.
When I said nothing, Pol opened his mouth.
“You once told us, lady, to work together and share the fruits. We thought you had meant the priests to act in our stead. We were foolish and could not follow your great will. But if you grant us one more chance, this time we will give everything without regret.”
It sounded like a submission vow, but it was really medieval business language: “Let’s try doing business together.” The man was blind with greed.
Despite the Hamilcar heir standing right there, he ignored him and approached me about working together.
When Pol worked, what labor force did he plan to mobilize? Of course, Hamilcar serfs. That labor was unquestionably Hamilcar’s.
In other words, he was asking to secretly steal Hamilcar property and use it somewhere else, yet he had not feared Damien at all.
He might not have been ignoring Damien, but the way Pol openly spoke to me about business…
Ah, I looked at Damien with new eyes. Even though he had surely felt my gaze, he pretended to drink and stared ahead, hiding his mouth behind the glass.
The Hamilcar heir had chosen to overlook Supervisor One’s misconduct—for my sake, perhaps.
“You seem to like me very much.”
At my words, Damien choked, spitting water everywhere.
“Ah, you’re disgusting!”
“You, what, such, impossible, words—”
Impossible words? What did he mean?
“You like me, right?”
“Huh?”
“No? Am I your enemy? I like you. I thought you were a good person, and I’m disappointed, Damien Hamilcar.”
“What, what?”
Damien stared at me with wide eyes, unable to wipe the water dripping from his mouth.
Oh, how fun—teasing a medieval pretty boy.
Born in the modern world, that face of his. If I had pulled off something like this, how would he have looked at me? He could not have endured that scorn. This naive pretty boy was only flustered now?
Of course he was twelve years old, around sixth grade.
I knew modern boys would be shocked too, but no. A sixth-grader of his build already knew his own worth, so he was not shocked.
And in the medieval world, twelve was probably around first-year high school. After all, fifteen was when marriage started.
“Lady Arian!”
The door burst open and Anselm rushed in.
“The new sewer design has arrived! But the price is…”
Who dares set a price gouge on me again!
“Let’s go together!”
At my words, Anselm’s face lit up like Liu Bei who had obtained Zhuge Liang, and he shouted, “Yes!”
Pol quietly rose as well, as if wanting to watch. I did not stop him.
Watching that scene, Damien felt like his head was spinning. He began to suspect again.
Is Daniere poor?
Or is he not poor, but simply neglected only Arian?
Once he suspected, the thought snowballed.
Arian was the daughter of a count’s house yet skilled in every menial task. Damien knew that noblewomen took sewing lessons, but he had never heard of a noblewoman who was also a good cook.
Moreover, Arian had adapted well to poverty. She cleaned herself and had a level-headed way of persuading and scolding Pythia until she cleaned.
Arian was not the precious daughter of a noble house; she was like an orphan born in an alley, tough as a thief with calloused hands.
Her way of hitting someone in the back of the neck was unmatched. The Serpine Count probably did not even have his skull left, Arian had hit so hard.
There was no doubt that this Arian was the Arian of the Daniere house.
Arian might not remember Damien, but he remembered her. From the moment he had seen her at three years old, he had never once failed to recognize her.
Two years ago, Arian had simply passed the jousting field, but Damien had recognized her from that single side profile.
So the possibility that Arian was truly a lowly alley orphan was zero.
“Pythia, could the Daniere house have abused Arian?”
At Damien’s words, Pythea’s eyes widened. She still looked around the sparkling temple interior once more and glanced at the dessert and tea Arian had served.
The fact that a servant could handle so many duties so skillfully meant Arian had done them for a long time. It could be evidence of abuse.
“Oh my god.”
Pythia shot to her feet.
When she saw Arian, she had never once thought abuse possible. Arian was so clear-sighted and had such pride that it reached the heavens.
She had shown no fear before the Duke of Aud and easily dominated the Serpine Count. Naturally, Pythea had thought Arian was a pampered child of the Daniere house.
No, she had not even thought it. She had assumed it by default.
But upon hearing Damien, it seemed strange. Why would a count’s daughter raised so luxuriously be skilled at cooking and cleaning?
“The Daniere house dares to abuse Arian…”
Methods of abusing children that noble houses used while claiming strict education flashed through Pythea’s and Damien’s minds. Pythea’s face turned deathly pale and Damien clenched his left fist.
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Damien set down the glass he held and opened it.
Any visitor would be Arian’s guest. Surely, since everyone in the Grand Hall wanted to see Arian these days.
When the door opened, a silver-haired handsome man appeared. Upon closer look, his face still carried an almost-boyish softness, yet his broad shoulders made him look adult. Just the face told you he was not common.
Damien’s face turned to ice at the sight of the man who looked only two or three years older than him.
The man’s face also froze instantly upon seeing Damien.
The man asked first,
“I heard there was a man in this temple, but…”
The moment the door opened, Damien would never have spoken kindly to a visitor who immediately started an argument with “Why are you here?”
“I see you are a patron of the Grand Hall of Gerka. We thank you for your patronage every year, patron.”
Of course, the Gerka temple had no patrons. Damien had not known that, of course. It was simply a polite way of saying, “You threw money and still meddle?”
As if he had been lost in the snowstorm and the harsh climb, the man snapped back to himself.
He let out an “Ah,” but that was all. Without a word of apology, the man who had looked down on Damien with dissatisfaction pulled a sealed letter from inside his robe.
“I am not a patron, but my brother is here. He is David of the Daniere house.”
The warmth vanished from Damien’s violet eyes.
“Now go ahead and say your name,” David waited for Damien’s response.
Instead of introducing himself, Damien turned his head and told Pythea, who was still shocked by the possibility that Arian had been abused.
“The second son of the Daniere house has arrived, Lady Saint.”
Pythea walked out with the air of a general drawing her sword before an enemy.
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