A Pledge of Loyalty
She bowed her head even deeper. For now, there was no other way to express her gratitude than to lower it in greeting.
Nyx couldn't see the tear tracks on Tichite's face, but he caught the tremor of tears in her voice.
Is she... crying?
He startled like a dog whose tail had been stepped on and hurried closer.
No—why cry when you're saying thank you?
This woman had never been simple from beginning to end. Nyx could neither wipe her tears nor raise her chin; he only fidgeted helplessly.
In that moment Tichite wiped her own tears. She gave a loud sniff, then lifted her head with quiet pride, like a child who falls, scrapes a knee, and simply stands again, brushing off the dust.
Then she spoke with bright determination.
"I will cure the Commander's illness no matter what. It may not be as easy as you said, but I'll give it everything I have, no matter what anyone else thinks."
Her eyes, now free of hesitation, met his squarely. Though they glistened with unshed tears, they shone with resolve rather than sorrow.
That steadfast look reminded him of a raw recruit who had just enlisted and was already dreaming of glory.
"So there's really no need for that..."
Where had she put everything he'd said? Nyx's expression grew awkward. Without the slightest sense of impropriety, Tichite suddenly took his hand. He lost every word at once and could only work his lips beneath the bandages.
"When you said I don't have to do anything, you were only trying not to burden me, weren't you?"
"That... isn't entirely wrong..."
Even that small admission moved her.
My guess was right. He talks that way, but his heart is truly kind.
Originally Tichite had no choice but to serve Nyx Farrow whether she wished to or not, yet the more she learned of him, the less she resented her fate.
The man had a rough tongue and sometimes spoke words that stung. But when she looked closer, she found he was not without warmth. He was just, upright, and—above all—kind to her.
As her favorable impression of Nyx Farrow grew, she began to think she could live well under such a master. At least he would never subject her to unjust cruelty or shameful advances.
If a wall of both strength and virtue could guarantee her safety, then there was no reason she could not serve him with all her heart. There were far crueler lords in the world; to serve a benevolent one was nothing short of good fortune.
"Please trust me a little more. I'll work hard too—so that one day the Commander can rely on me even more than now."
She made the vow with a bright face, gently swinging their joined hands.
"I have no sword to lay across the Commander's knee like the knights do, but I can still be hands and feet as loyal as any of them."
"...Loyalty?"
Nyx stared, stunned. For some reason the word tasted bitter on his tongue, yet the woman repeated it without hesitation.
"Yes, Commander. Loyalty. I will follow you with all my heart."
She was no knight, but if he would only believe in her, she would prove her devotion in her own way.
Her bold declaration rang in Nyx's dazed ears.
...Loyalty? Loyalty?
Nyx Farrow knew the weight of that word better than anyone. Around him swarmed men who swore they would offer it, thick as bees in a hive.
Yet among them there had never been a single female bee.
He had never imagined hearing it from a woman's lips. The shock left him speechless.
I really did pick the wrong person.
The last stubborn grain of reluctance he had failed to bury was cleanly burned away by her words.
When the man gave a hollow laugh, the woman took it as approval.
"So please look after me from now on as well."
Her radiant smile drove the final nail home. Nyx found himself stripped of every negative word he had ever possessed.
A woman who carried both sweet honey and a sharp sting. Her smiling face was almost painfully lovely.
***
After the restless night, the sun rose and spilled pale light across the world. Noises of commotion drifted in from beyond the door. Tichite woke to the sound.
She dressed quickly and stepped outside—only to find the corridor packed with people. The crowd was so dense there was scarcely room to stand, as though some grand spectacle had drawn them all.
Normally someone might have glanced her way, yet no one spared her a look. They had no interest to waste on a mere foreign woman. Every gaze was fixed on a single point: the door to Nyx Farrow's room.
"There is no such person here."
"Don't lie. I saw the horse tied in the stable. You rode it here, didn't you?"
"I've never seen a horse that big in my life."
"Is that what they call an Iron Horse?"
"Yes, they must be the Iron Horse Knights who serve him."
Zama and Milvian were trying to disperse the crowd, their irritation plain. Yet from the way they answered, neither seemed particularly skilled at deception.
"Please tell the Duke this: the bard from yesterday isn't from this village."
"He was beaten senseless by youths from another village and dragged to the temple for blasphemy."
"We're not connected to him at all. So just let us see the Duke's face once, please."
Tichite assumed the worst. Peasants chasing after a noble to demand an audience usually meant trouble—complaints, accusations, or desperate pleas.
But that judgment sprang from ignorance of Nyx Farrow's name. The people had not come to demand anything; they had come bearing gifts.
"I've baked a pie for the Duke."
"This is garlic preserved in honey."
"I brought a bottle of the liquor I brewed last summer. Something to wet your throat on the road..."
"Our house runs a brewery. The barley wine is quite good."
Each person carried some small, precious offering. Few arrived empty-handed, and the gifts were not limited to food.
"The Duke wasn't wearing his armor yesterday, was he? I'm quite good at oiling armor."
"Please give him this. It's a wool hat I made myself—excellent quality."
Only then did Tichite remember how famous the man truly was.
Nyx Farrow's reputation inspired blind devotion among followers of the Sunset Religion. To aid the man called the Moon Mother's sword was, they believed, to share even a fragment of the divine mission he carried.
"If you won't let us meet him, at least pass along these gifts."
People pressed their offerings toward Zama and Milvian.
"That's enough! These things will only be a nuisance."
A tug-of-war broke out between those determined to give and those determined to refuse. While Zama argued with the hat maker, the firmly shut door suddenly flew open.
Thud!
The door struck the wall with a loud crash. In an instant the entire crowd fell silent.
And at last the man appeared—the center of all this commotion, Nyx Farrow.
"...What is it."
His single curt question was enough to hush the noisy gathering. He towered above them, his bandaged head visible over the sea of faces. As rumor had it, every inch of skin was hidden except for one sharply menacing eye. That closed-off appearance only confirmed what the crowd already suspected.
"Oh, Your Grace! Duke Farrow, it really is you!"
The silence lasted only a heartbeat. Then voices erupted—cheers, shouts, and pleas all tangled together.
"We've been waiting since dawn!"
"I truly wanted to see you, Your Grace. It's an honor!"
"Please accept this, Your Grace. It's only a small token."
"This too!"
"This as well, Your Grace!"