MROITSOKIAW 25

As if the poison had drained out of him, the man in black dropped heavily onto the sofa opposite hers. He sank back against the cushion and fixed his gaze on the floating light-spheres near the ceiling.

When the light caught his gray eyes, they looked almost silver.

“Since I didn’t witness the circumstances that led to suspicion falling on you, I can’t speak to that. Still, you’re saying that, as far as you yourself are concerned, you’re simply an ordinary woman who was dragged into this. That’s what you want to claim.”

He murmured each phrase as though chewing it over, sorting his thoughts one piece at a time.

Masumi gave a large, emphatic nod.

It was hardly quick on the uptake, but if he had finally swallowed it, that was good enough. That was all she had been trying to say: you have the wrong person. And, having gotten that across, Masumi very much hoped he might now release her.

Naturally, it did not work out so conveniently.

“In any case, it’s worth waiting a single night. Even if you’re a fake, there will be plenty of time to amuse myself.”

Those silver-gray eyes sharpened into something feral.

Pinned by the heat in his stare, Masumi’s body went rigid. Yet perhaps because he was confident he could force her down whenever he wished, the man did not move, despite his words.

He slid a hand into the breast of his dark clothing.

From within he produced a black flask, like a canteen. A high squeak sounded as he twisted it open. He put it to his lips and drank the contents down in one go.

The steady rhythm of swallowing filled the room.

When it was empty, he tossed the flask and its cap onto the table draped in white cloth. He stared at the fallen bottle for a moment, then let out a low chuckle.

“With hands like yours, you could have chosen any number of places.”

His gray eyes had shifted to her without her noticing.

The look was complicated, something that could be taken for sympathy or contempt. Masumi’s expression naturally soured.

“What are you talking about?”

“Work. If you went to the imperial capital, you’d have your pick. Even the Mages’ Order would bow their heads and come begging, if you’re what you seem to be.”

“I told you, I’m not a spy, and I’m not a musician either. I just happen to be able to play the violin.”

She had done this already.

The memory of how badly the conversation had failed to align with Arc and Kasumireaz was still fresh, and the thought of having to explain it from the beginning again made her want to groan.

But the man in black did not press further.

He looked faintly puzzled by her denial, but said nothing more. Instead, he snorted.

“Then you’re too good-natured for your own sake.”

“Me?”

In answer, he narrowed his eyes.

“To help the knights without asking for anything in return, and of all people, the Fourth Order.”

“…A lot happened. Adult circumstances.”

She had no choice. Being mocked as good-natured for that grated.

It had been the same this morning.

This man was skilled at getting under people’s skin. Was he sharp-eyed, twisted by nature, or was Masumi simply too quick to boil?

As she tried to calm herself by thinking, he loosed a second arrow.

“Or maybe you’re simply unlucky. A useless order in name only, and the wrong musician on top of it. In a way, you suit them.”

That ruthless dismissal finally brought a vein to Masumi’s brow.

“Hey. You were like this during the day too, but are you picking a fight? That’s not something you say to someone you just met.”

“I’m worried about you, despite it being our first meeting. You clearly don’t know, so I’ll teach you.”

How many musicians the Fourth Order, and the Supreme Commander in particular, had ground down.

His voice dropped, and he began to speak.

＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊

Arclestav Albaarse Canova became Supreme Commander of the Fourth Knight Order the very moment he was recognized as an adult at fifteen.

He had been born with extraordinary magical reserves, even among the “Embers,” and he was also blessed with rare talent in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. Everyone agreed the former came from his father’s bloodline and the latter from his mother’s.

Even so, there was another reason the position fell to someone so newly grown.

The Fourth Knight Order was on the brink of dissolution.

The seat of Supreme Commander, which carried the right of knighting, had stood vacant for a long time. There had been no new births among the “Embers” capable of holding that authority. As an acting commander, the former Supreme Commander’s captain of the guard had borne the burden for more than twenty years. He served as commander, though not “Supreme” commander, since only one with the right of knighting was permitted the full title.

But no matter how capable he was, an acting commander could not exceed the limits of the post.

Without knighting, without the ability to recruit new knights, the order could only shrink. There were border conflicts, and there were hunts for magical beasts. In the endless cycle of battle, some were injured and forced into retirement. Others survived, only to age and weaken.

Because a knight order existed to be a shield, its human losses were severe.

The higher its operating rate, the more crushing the strain.

As the Fourth declined, the First through Third Orders were forced to cover the gap, and they too were stretched thin. No one had the spare capacity to send fresh recruits to the Fourth.

Even so, the Fourth Knight Order, once famed for its skill, continued to serve the realm under the acting commander, even after dwindling to less than half its former size.

There were only twenty.

A mighty order that had once commanded two hundred knights had been reduced to a shadow.

Yet the Fourth still held its presence because its members were holy knights, among the most formidable of all.

Ordinary knights with limited magical reserves, whether trainee or full knight, trained primarily in defensive magic. True knights were permitted offensive magic, but only up to the intermediate tier. Holy knights, however, possessed such abundant power that they could wield the highest tier of offensive spells, and thus occupied the role of core strength, excelling in both attack and defense.

Even reduced in number, their prowess was beyond dispute.

Each holy knight could do the work of two or three full knights, sometimes more depending on the battle. They remained the shield until the very end. Their razor-honed elite, the last brilliance of the Fourth Order, was said to be as vivid as a star’s final flare, perhaps even more so.

In later years their deeds were recorded with acclaim under the title, “The Holy War of the Twenty White Lions.”

But even they met a limit.

The acting commander fell ill, and the Fourth Order, unable even to maintain its chain of command, was slated for dissolution. Considering their contributions, the decision was shockingly abrupt.

The twenty holy knights voiced not a single grievance.

Some transferred to other orders. Some chose retirement. While preparations for the end proceeded quietly, the acting commander’s brief struggle ended despite treatment. Some claimed he lost all will after hearing the dissolution, hollowed out by disappointment. The truth could no longer be verified.

A state funeral was held in solemn quiet. One week later was the day the Fourth Order would be disbanded.

Everything was decided.

The one who overturned it at the last moment was the current Supreme Commander, Arclestav. At the time, he was thirteen.

At the funeral, an enraged voice rang out. A priest recited the eulogy, praising the acting commander’s life and service, and then uttered, “Regrettably,” before announcing the dissolution of the Fourth Order.

That was when the boy spoke.

“What do you mean?”

His voice was young, too high to carry true weight, yet he stood with unmistakable resolve and confronted the sitting king directly.

“To take the benefit of his power and then wash your hands of him, as if you know nothing of it?”

The sharpness of the words froze the entire hall.

No one spoke. Rather, no one could. Before the king could respond, the boy turned his blade of accusation on the captain of the royal order who oversaw all knightly forces.

“If you condone treating them as disposable, what are you doing as Royal Captain? One day, you will walk the same road.”

Without waiting for an answer, Arclestav declared an oath on the spot. On the day he came of age, he would take the seat of the Fourth Order as an “Ember.”

Those who had already decided to retire departed. But the holy knights who remained did not transfer away. They were instead placed in temporary custody until the Fourth Order could be reconstituted two years later.

Two years later, the year Arclestav turned fifteen, he kept his promise without fail.

The Fourth Order rose again, only to face another trial almost at once.

Only half the holy knights returned, ten in all. It was hardly an order at all. Recruiting was urgent.

From there began Arclestav’s furious labor.

The Supreme Commander, an “Ember” with power beyond measure, threw himself into searching for talent with little regard for sleep or food. However great the “spark” he could grant others, he could not simply recruit anyone and confer knighthood. To become a knight required not only a strong body, but the ability to swear a vow of protection. The question was whether one could devote a lifetime to that oath. The spirit mattered most. One who faltered before an enemy, one who could not shield the weak with their own body, had no right to be called a knight.

If he followed ordinary methods, true restoration would never come.

So Arclestav traveled the entire Albarique Empire and held the knighting ceremony four times a year for three years after taking office, though it was normally conducted only once annually.

It paid off. In the first year, the order grew to fifty knights.

Most were young, trainee or junior knights, but once there were enough bodies, they were assigned duties. They began with simple beast-hunts along the borders, then were sent to small clashes between nations, and eventually were drawn into the front lines.

The following year, their numbers reached one hundred.

Among those knighted was Kasumireaz Eisel, now the captain of the guard. He had served as a page in the royal order from the age of seven. He rose swiftly, and within three years became a holy knight. It was the fastest record in history.

Kasumireaz continued to break records thereafter, rising to captain of the guard at twenty. This too was the youngest appointment ever, and his magical reserves were the highest of any captain of the guard on record.

By then, with more than two hundred knights under its banner, the Fourth Order had fully returned.

A Supreme Commander who was an “Ember” beyond compare, and a captain of the guard who would be remembered as the strongest in history.

Young knights gathered under their flag and answered their call.

Yet the renewed Fourth Order fell into hardship precisely because it was so powerful.

The supply line that should have supported them was far too fragile.

Their magical reserves were in an entirely different realm, and during the first three years after Arclestav’s appointment, he drove the order at an unprecedented operating rate, balancing ordinary missions with several knighting ceremonies each year. Inevitably, the burden on musicians, the ones who served as the supply line, grew accordingly. No musician could keep pace with that young Supreme Commander’s demands.

A Supreme Commander’s musician would normally be welcomed with exceptional待遇, with terms few could refuse.

And yet no musician lasted even three months. If all it required was training in the imperial capital, perhaps some would have volunteered. But the Fourth always marched to the front, and when they withdrew, they took the rear guard. The conditions of campaign were not merely uncomfortable, but truly grim. The musicians screamed and fled.

Eight in the first year.

Twenty in the second.

Thirty-one in the third.

Those were the numbers of Arc’s personal musicians who cycled through. Not in groups. Not several at once. In a relationship meant to be one-to-one, no Supreme Commander had ever seen such turnover.

Fifty-nine in three years.

Arc’s last personal musician left exactly three years after his appointment. He was eighteen.

After that, things fell apart with frightening speed.

Next to flee was the personal musician assigned to Kasumireaz, who had by then become a holy knight. Even if he could not compare to the Supreme Commander, he was still an extraordinary outlier, a holy knight with the greatest reserves in history. By the second year after attaining that rank, he found himself in the same situation as Arc.

It remained the same even after he became captain of the guard. If anything, it worsened. His reserves grew, and every musician recoiled from it.

A captain of the guard who never once had a personal musician.

It was unheard of, and in that regard too Kasumireaz Eisel had carved out a record.

When the chief musician devoted to the Supreme Commander and the deputy devoted to the captain of the guard were both absent, no one remained to instruct the musicians serving the holy knights and below. The order’s harsh operating rate only made matters worse. Like rats abandoning a sinking ship, the Fourth could not stop the outflow.

The last musician fled eight years ago.

The Fourth Order achieved a brilliant restoration, yes, but it also became notorious as the order that could not keep musicians.

That is the Fourth Knight Order, led by Arc.

Never in history has an order been so infamous.

＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊

“You’re awfully informed. Do you have some grudge against the order?”

As the story ended, Masumi’s eyes narrowed despite herself.

“Talk about gratitude. Calling them infamous, when you benefit from having knights in the first place.”

Protected, and yet speaking as if it were none of his concern.

Masumi did not grasp every detail, but she had glimpsed the knights’ oath and the way they lived. She had seen Arc’s anguish. To her, this sneer was unforgivable.

Her voice naturally sharpened.

“Why are Arc and Kasumireaz being treated like the villains? They didn’t go out of their way to torment anyone. The musicians acting like victims are the ones who are wrong. Hard work and harsh conditions? You’re support. How can you whine about it? If it’s that hard for you, how hard do you think it is for the Supreme Commander on the front line, putting his body on the line?”

“For someone who says you were dragged into it, you’re quick to take their side.”

“And you’re the one who’s strange. This is your country, yet you talk like it’s someone else’s problem.”

“It is someone else’s problem. I threw that country away long ago. It isn’t my homeland anymore.”

He spat the words out.

“A dysfunctional order makes people miserable. They should never have forced a revival in the first place.”

“…So what? What are you planning to do?”

“It’s simple. Before it’s too late, before any more musicians are made unhappy, we crush the Fourth Order.”

You don’t need to return, either. As he said it, the man in black pushed himself upright.

One step, then another.

He walked toward her slowly.

Trapped on the sofa, Masumi could only follow him with her eyes. He stopped before her. His left knee sank to the cushion beside her, and his right hand braced against the sofa’s back. It was as though she had been locked inside a cage.

“I meant to deal with the Supreme Commander, but…”

Those gray eyes drew nearer.

“If you simply don’t return, that alone may be a blow. Become my country’s musician. If you can promise you will not go back to the Fourth Order, I will receive you properly.”

“After you dragged me here, don’t talk to me about receiving me properly.”

“You say strange things. Of course I intend to make a Blood Pact.”

“A pact, whatever that is, but no. I refuse.”

Masumi cut him off before the negotiation could drag on.

“Blood Pact” sounded ominous, but it was probably some form of employment contract. In a world with magic and magical beasts, it likely came with binding force.

The price of being treated well was never returning to the Fourth Order.

She did not know how such an oath would be enforced, but she could not accept never seeing Arc and Kasumireaz again. They had taken her in, even if it was only a few days. She had not repaid them for anything yet.

Faced with Masumi’s immediate refusal, the man in black shrugged. He had apparently expected it.

“So you have regrets. As an Albarique citizen.”

“I’m not Albarique, but I’ll repay a debt of food and shelter.”

The lodging had hardly been luxurious, and it had come with more than a few unwanted additions, but she had not been left to wander the streets. That much was thanks to Arc and Kasumireaz.

To be given food, clothing, and shelter is to be granted life itself.

Living by one’s own strength is hard. Masumi knew that bitterness, not in theory, but from years of working, struggling, and being cast aside into a life close to the bottom.

No matter what one said, extending a hand and helping someone could not be done on a whim.

Who would willingly take in a useless mouth to feed? Masumi had been playing the violin when asked, but it was difficult to claim she had truly supported the Fourth Order’s foundation. Even so, she had been treated with care. If that was not “proper,” then what was?

The man in front of her claimed he would value her too, but she could not trust someone who began with abduction and confinement.

Even setting aside the spy suspicion, Arc and Kasumireaz spoke with their actions. They showed how desperately they needed a musician. Their past selves had likely been the same. They had never intended to ruin anyone.

It had simply happened.

Probably. Surely.

“You were warned, and you still choose to ruin yourself.”

“Whatever happens to the country you abandoned has nothing to do with you. Your warning is none of my business.”

And Masumi was not even Albarique. She was, in the truest sense, a stranger. She had no reason to accept his concern. Masumi said it plainly.

They held each other’s gaze without moving.

It was less looking and more glaring. For a time, neither spoke.

＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊

“…You’re not Albarique?”

At his murmur, the gray eyes widened as if something had finally clicked.

His left hand shot out and seized Masumi’s chin, forcing her face upward. The sudden motion tightened her throat, twisting her expression.

There. That’s what you get.

Her neck stretched taut, she could not manage the bitter retort that rose in her, but her eyes made her distrust unmistakable. He spoke of treating her properly, then handled her like this.

It was not because she had refused. This man was simply rough in everything he did.

“You said your memory is missing. Don’t tell me you’re one of the summoned…”

His voice broke off in shock.

As the distance closed further, Masumi squeezed her eyes shut and tried to twist away. She could not escape. His blunt fingers only bit harder into her cheek.