Chapter 44
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: Sword Shopping with Lancelot
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By the time Charlotte stepped out to the front of the main house to board the carriage, the person already waiting there was unexpectedly Lancelot.
Spotting the blond hair streaked heavily with silver, she paused in surprise.
"What's up?"
"...What do you mean?"
"No, why are you here?"
"Am I not allowed to come to the main house or something?"
Lancelot looked even more sullen than the last time she'd seen him.
He'd just been annoying before, but now, viewed apart like this, the side branch member with his imperfect blond—shot through with silver—and green eyes actually looked pretty cute and handsome.
Charlotte gazed at the sulky-faced, well-built boy and suddenly burst out laughing without realizing it.
For some reason, seeing Lancelot standing there all alone struck her as a little ridiculous and pathetic.
"What? Why are you laughing?"
"...Hahaha. No, it's nothing."
"Am I that funny?"
"No, not really. Teehee."
"Seriously. Keep this up, and there's no shopping or anything."
"...Huh?"
Charlotte bit her lip to stifle her laughter, then unconsciously turned to look at him.
Shopping?
Come to think of it, he'd shown up right on time in front of the main house, but there was only one waiting carriage, and Jerome was nowhere in sight.
'...Oh, he must have told me to go with Lancelot.'
She didn't feel slighted at all.
She knew Jerome wasn't a man of leisure, and she was grateful he'd even gone out of his way to arrange for a sword.
Charlotte beamed, accepted the attendant's hand up into the carriage first, then patted the seat beside her, urging Lancelot to hurry and get in.
Lancelot stared at the seat next to her for a long while with a face like he'd bitten into something bitter.
Only after a good stretch did he climb in beside Charlotte, and the carriage carrying the two slowly set off.
Charlotte was so excited about getting a real sword that she swung her legs back and forth, picturing all sorts of sword shapes in her head. Even whistling away, she suddenly addressed Lancelot, who looked thoroughly bored.
"You could've shopped alone, but thanks for coming along."
Lancelot glanced at her sidelong.
Having said her piece, Charlotte seemed content, not pressing further conversation and simply enjoying the moment happily.
What was so fascinating about the same old view out the window she saw every day? Gazing out like a country bumpkin thrilled to escape the Setia house for only the umpteenth time.
Her cheeks flushed with excitement, Charlotte looked just like any girl her age.
Dressed properly in Setia finery, right down to her little shoes.
'What the hell is she?'
He was dying of discomfort in this situation.
It was hard to pinpoint exactly what bothered him—everything did.
He resented being singled out—him, the one with time on his hands—to attend to a direct line member like Charlotte. And buying a sword for someone who knew nothing? Infuriating.
But above all...
What really grated was that Charlotte, who should know nothing, knew too damn much.
Lancelot recalled the sleepless nights replaying his spars with her.
One night, he'd clutched the stick she'd dropped, practicing deflecting aura—only for it to crumble to dust the moment he infused it.
Lately, he'd barely slept for days, his mind consumed by thoughts of her.
Because he couldn't understand.
He couldn't fathom a girl who should be beneath his feet strutting around so absurdly in front of him.
Why else would he even skip his precious pastime of tormenting Prince Joseph to grab people for endless spars?
And now, that very Charlotte sat beside him.
Of course he was pissed.
Here he was, agonizing daily over her, while she blithely stared at scenery she'd seen a thousand times since childhood.
"What's so great about it?"
Naturally, his tone came out sharp.
After her thanks, Charlotte had gone quiet for a while, so his sudden jab made her whip around.
"Huh?"
"What's got you so excited?"
"Oh, a real sword. I've never had my own real one. Well, I've borrowed some..."
Even her excitement over something so trivial annoyed Lancelot.
"You're entering the Shadow Blade Day tournament, right? Registering for that requires a sword—basic common sense. That's why you're buying one. No one's gifting you anything grand."
"...Oh, really? I didn't know. That's the reason, huh."
"Yeah."
Charlotte's pupils dilated slightly.
Buoyed, Lancelot elaborated on Shadow Blade Day.
It was a tournament to select the top underage talents in the Cheiker Kingdom, but also a showcase of the kingdom's strength to the world.
With major powers eyeing Cheiker right next door, such traditions had formed.
Thus, aura use was permitted, and weapons had to be pre-registered.
Hearing Lancelot's explanation, Charlotte clicked her tongue inwardly.
'No way I'd know that. That novel was eighty percent descriptions of Joseph's handsome features and how much the princess loved him.'
"Don't like it?"
Charlotte waved her hands frantically.
"No, I love it. Love it. Let's go, let's go."
But contrary to her words, her expression had sunk further than before. She even hunched her shoulders a bit, deflated, and stopped swinging her legs.
Lancelot glanced at her and smirked triumphantly, but somehow, his gut didn't feel as satisfied as he'd hoped.
No matter how he thought about it, this wasn't what he wanted.
Clunk.
Right on cue, the carriage halted.
Lancelot hopped down first, refusing even the attendant's help, still brooding. What exactly did he want? What should he do to Charlotte to ease this seething irritation?
Charlotte and Lancelot stood in an alley lined with smithies where the knight orders procured their blades.
As Charlotte passed several shops from the entrance, Lancelot furrowed his brow.
"...Just pick whatever I choose, okay?"
"Huh? Oh... sure. But it's a sword."
"Who doesn't know it's a sword? If you don't know better, just take what I pick."
"Would any warrior let someone else pick their weapon? Can't you just wait patiently since you're already here?"
'Did she just call herself a warrior? Who does she think she is?'
Her words were reasonable, but her presuming to call herself a warrior was laughable.
'...Argh.'
Normally, he'd scoff, but today, even that impulse felt off.
Something nagged at him like a stone in his chest, and the constant urge to stare at her alone boiled his frustration to the top.
The first smithy in the alley, in the prime spot, flaunted flashy, gem-encrusted arms for the wealthy.
But Charlotte didn't spare them a glance, striding past resolutely—even when Lancelot mentioned he'd commissioned his own sword there.
The next supplied knight orders with sturdy, heavy blades that held edges forever.
She skipped the beautifully engraved one after that too, stopping at the small, shabby shop at the alley's end.
"...Here."
Lancelot scanned the smithy where she'd halted.
At a glance, it looked on the verge of bankruptcy, with no array of swords on display like the others.
Instead, just a basket of farming tools, as if catering to commoners.
"When I said I'd pick, why not just listen? It's all for your sake."
"Whoa... this is amazing."
Ignoring him, Charlotte reached out to touch the iron pitchfork in front of the smithy.
For a martial artist who could wield true qi, a weapon was merely a tool.
Honestly, at her level, whether spear, sword, or dagger hardly mattered. Sharpness was irrelevant.
In her past life, Charlotte had never owned a fancy sword. But she knew quality when she saw it.
She'd long handled the dusty, unused blades and gear hoarded in the Mount Hua Sect elders' storerooms.
A good sword was exactly like that pitchfork sitting there in front of this smithy.