The Invented Debt
Nyx stared at his brother in disbelief. “I didn’t pay a single coin, so what debt are you saying we’ve taken on?”
“It was a favor that cannot be measured in money,” Desidero replied smoothly. “It consumed unnecessary time, effort, and attention. We even took the risk of killing a civilian.”
“Then why did you do something no one asked you to—”
“Think about it carefully. This is an extremely filthy neighborhood. You saw it yourself—when an older brother sells his younger sister into a brothel, there isn’t a single person or organization willing to help. No matter how brightly the sun shines here, the basic moral consciousness is remarkably lacking. Is that how all people from the west are? There’s a reason the moon rises late in these parts. Do you honestly believe that leaving her here as a free citizen would allow her to live safely and without trouble? Simply put, it would be far better for that woman to migrate with us. We take her, treat her better than she lives now, give her a job, a place to sleep, food, warmth, and safety.”
“So you’re inventing a debt that doesn’t exist just to bind her into slavery? It leaves a very bad taste in my mouth.”
“If that bothers you so much, then we can simply pay her a fair wage like the other servants. I will treat her exactly the same as the rest of the staff. However, I will not allow her to give up or run away the way the previous physicians did. There is a rope with which to tie her securely, and I have no intention of loosening my grip on it. Therefore, Brother, I ask for your cooperation in this matter. We have received the debt document, and there is not a single falsehood contained within it.”
Desidero stubbornly continued to spout his sophistry for a long time.
The duke, remembering just how desperately his younger brother had wanted to bring her along, let out another exhausted sigh.
“That’s deception, Dero.”
“It is a deception the Moon Mother will overlook.”
Desidero sneered with deliberate petulance. Beneath that sullen retort lay the clear resentment of That woman isn’t even a follower of the Sunset Religion anyway.
He even cast a glance at his brother that bordered on suspicion.
“In truth, I am surprised that you would go this far for a Tilamin woman, Brother. Are you truly motivated solely by humanitarian feelings?”
Desidero’s eyes narrowed, as though piercing straight through the selfish motives hidden beneath.
Nyx flinched for no reason and found himself at a loss for a counterargument.
“What? No, I merely… that is…”
His voice grew increasingly faint, echoing inside the mask like a tin can. If Nyx Farrow’s decision had been motivated by nothing more than moral mercy, with no other emotions involved, that would have been a lie. The man quietly reflected on his own actions and inner feelings as he mulled over what he had done.
When he had seen the woman enduring such harsh treatment, her tearful face had shaken him to the core—enough to make him go through the hassle of personally breaking the pimp’s fingers. The fact that she was Tilamin had not been particularly important.
She’s just a girl. A far too small and powerless girl.
He clenched his fingers, which still did not close properly, and thought. But because the emotion somehow felt too embarrassing to voice, the man forced himself to swallow it back down.
“Ha… Fine. Do whatever you want.”
Nyx dropped his arm in resignation. Then, in a slightly stricter tone, he added one condition.
“But make this clear. Even if she cannot cure my illness, don’t be too disappointed. And do not pressure her.”
The duke no longer held any real expectation that someone could heal his condition, yet Desidero seemed satisfied enough with the answer.
“Good. You’ve thought it through. The willingness to gladly pay two hundred henny for her sake was sincere, after all. The fact that you are her benefactor remains unchanged.”
The boy continued to offer nothing but flattering words, as if trying to lighten the burden on his brother’s conscience. That cunning sweet talk sounded strangely pleasant in Nyx’s ears.
…Benefactor? I wonder if she thinks so too.
As for what Tichite Ranlam thought of Nyx, she was on the verge of deciding he was a very strange man. To her eyes, he appeared kind at first glance, yet his eccentric side stood out far more strongly.
“Isn’t that too small to load in the cargo? If it gets mixed in with the others’ luggage, it’ll be the perfect size to lose… Wait, is that really all you brought?”
The man looked as if he wanted to ask exactly that.
When Tichite Ranlam returned with Kanne, she carried only one small bundle in her arms. She had believed the situation was urgent and had no time to carefully consider what she might need. In her haste, she had simply grabbed whatever her hands could reach.
The duke grew visibly confused at the excessively modest amount of luggage. The noblewomen he knew—ordinary highborn ladies—would never have been satisfied with a bundle the size of a single pumpkin. It was only natural for them to load carriages with every conceivable item so they could live just as comfortably outside the castle as within.
Clean plates and utensils, a folding table and personal chair, bedding and nightclothes, outfits and hats to change into for morning, midday, and evening, dozens of each item in varying designs… The sheer number of things a woman needed to maintain her dignity had always exceeded the limits of Nyx’s imagination.
Having spent the last few minutes mentally calculating where to store all that luggage, Nyx Farrow felt strangely hollow at the sight before him.
Weren’t women supposed to be the sort who changed clothes every single day? He seriously doubted whether that tiny bundle could even contain a few spare outfits.
“I’m ashamed to say I don’t possess very much,” Tichite said.
She had interpreted the remark about her light luggage in a professional light. He must have expected her to arrive laden with medicinal herbs and vials—everything necessary for treatment.
But I already told him I don’t have any miraculous elixirs.
Tichite felt both wronged and intimidated. From the very beginning, it seemed she had been exposed as utterly insignificant.
She hugged the round bundle tightly, her mood sinking.
“It appears we will need to procure all necessary items locally. I ask for your understanding.”
Her voice was small and powerless. Her complexion had darkened noticeably. At that, the duke became confused for an entirely different reason than before.
Why did her mood suddenly worsen?
To Nyx, the woman’s serious expression was more frightening than standing at the edge of a cliff with nowhere to retreat. Cold sweat began to trickle down his back, and he quickly shoved the center of the conversation toward his brother.
“Th-that sort of matter would be better discussed with this fellow. You heard her, Dero?”
“What exactly do you mean, Brother?”
“If there’s anything she needs, anything at all, b-buy it. Buy whatever she wants.”
The man rambled in an awkward, unnatural tone before turning his head away to escape the conversation.
After the luggage came the matter of the person herself. The bundle could roll around without issue, but they still had to decide how to transport a human being.
“Hey, Kanne.”
“Yes, Commander.”
The duke leaned close to the knight’s ear, clearly worried his ignorance might be exposed, and whispered.
“We have the Mountain Horses, right…”
“Yes, our Mountain Horses?”
“Right, our Mountain Horses. Wouldn’t they be too… big for her? Should we find a smaller horse even now?”
Though the man had tried to whisper as discreetly as possible, the words that escaped the mask reached Tichite’s ears with perfect clarity.
“What do you think, Rangrang? Can you ride?”
Kanne shrugged as if he had no idea either, then passed the question directly to Tichite.
Her eyes widened like a rabbit that had just been told to bark. The problem wasn’t the horse’s size or breed—she simply did not know how to ride at all.
Tichite shook her head with a troubled expression. Nyx whispered again, once more in that careful, almost foolish tone.
“…Women can’t ride horses?”
“It’s not because she’s a woman, Commander. Ordinary people simply don’t know how to ride horses in the first place. Mules or donkeys, perhaps, but that’s about it.”
The man who had been watching from the side could no longer hold back his laughter and cut in. He was the knight named Louis. A hearty chuckle rumbled out from between his short, bushy beard.
“Riding training is not something just anyone can receive. For some people, an entire lifetime passes without them ever sitting atop a horse.”
There was even a local joke in Loudhill that the children born there had buttocks shaped like saddles. It was a region where horse-riding culture had taken deep root. In a place where more horseshoes were worn down and sold than cart wheels, the statement needed no further explanation.