Chapter 27
Theodore did not particularly enjoy mingling with people. With his subordinates, perhaps—but when it came to anyone else, he always drew a firm line. Of course, despite that, Theodore’s reputation was excellent. To anyone, he was kind and courteous. Yet even that was nothing more than the demeanor befitting a Holy Knight. When it came to private meetings, he refused them more often than not. That held true even if the other party was royalty.
After his audience with the Emperor, Theodore returned to the training grounds, his expression far from pleasant. He had expected to hear reports about the upcoming monster subjugation campaign—but the topic that arose was something he had never imagined. What’s more, the Emperor had brought up a matter that had already spread in hushed whispers throughout the imperial palace—something everyone knew about except Theodore himself, who only learned of it later.
No wonder, then, that the attendants had all greeted him so warmly on his way to the audience chamber. With something between a sigh and a groan, Theodore returned to the training grounds, only for his men to instantly swarm around him. There was only one reason they’d gather so quickly.
“Commander, is it true? They say His Majesty intends to betroth you to the Princess!”
“It’s true.”
He did not deny it, but confirmed it straight away, causing his knights to gasp in astonishment.
In the Argent Empire, the position of Holy Knight was one held in deep respect—and it also made for an excellent marriage prospect. While their environment wasn’t exactly conducive to romance, when it came to marriage, they could easily wed into high-ranking noble families if they wished.
Of course, the vast majority of those marriage proposals were motivated by a desire to establish ties with the Temple. Still, the conditions were never bad, and most Holy Knights did indeed marry into noble houses. On the other hand, some chose to wed commoners. In such cases, their partners were celebrated as Cinderella-like figures who had risen in status through marriage.
But marriage into the Imperial Family was a different matter altogether. Unless one was from a house like Marquis Blanche’s—who held high rank and considerable influence within the Temple—it was exceedingly rare to be tied with royalty. Rarer still for such a proposal to come from the Imperial side first.
“Now that you mention it, even your master, Sir Ronan, once received a marriage proposal from the Imperial Family, didn’t he? Remarkable. Master and pupil, both…”
“He refused.”
“What?”
Refused? Refused a match with the Princess?
“Why would you refuse a marriage proposal from the Princess?”
“Because I already have someone in my heart.”
The knights stared at Theodore, mouths agape. Of course, they knew he harbored feelings for someone, but they had never expected such devotion. The prospective bride was a princess—surely it was worth at least some consideration.
Even the former Knight Commander, Ronan, had turned down a royal match, claiming he already loved someone else. A few months later, he held his wedding, and for a time, he was the talk of high society. Truly, master and disciple were cut from the same cloth.
“Then it was just talk of marriage, nothing more?”
“No.”
“Then what else?”
“His Majesty intends to grant me a title.”
“What?!”
If they had been disappointed by Theodore’s refusal of the princess, the mention of a title made their eyes go wide once again. Their commander, finally to be ennobled! His men seemed even happier than Theodore himself.
“This is wonderful news! Just imagine the faces of those vile Clagens—finally twisted with rage!”
It wasn’t common, but if someone of common birth achieved great deeds, they could be granted a noble title. By that standard, Theodore had long since earned such a reward. Yet until now, he had only ever been addressed as “Sir.” The reason was simple: the Clagens.
Because Theodore had been born in a slum struck by plague, the Clagen family had opposed him receiving a title, claiming it was far too great an honor. When Silbert countered that it was discrimination, citing the Rebelline statutes, they instead argued that Theodore’s accomplishments did not reach the threshold of “great deeds worthy of ennoblement,” obstructing the matter altogether.
Marquis Blanche had attempted to intervene, but then Theodore was dispatched to lead a monster subjugation, and the issue was postponed. Five years passed—and this time, Theodore returned bearing achievements even the Clagens could not deny.
“Commander, you’re finally becoming a noble! You’ll host a celebration, won’t you?”
His men had long chafed at the way the Clagens dismissed and belittled Theodore. The man himself took it in stride, but those around him resented the injustice. Now, however, things were different. With a noble title, no one could treat him lightly again.
That’s what happens—had they acted decently from the start, it wouldn’t have come to this. Priests with such rotten hearts deserve their downfall. The knights chuckled, already talking about standing front and center at the investiture to watch the Clagens’ faces twist.
“At the very least, you’ll be made a count, right?”
“A count? Nonsense—he should be granted a marquisate at the very least!”
“Why stop there? Wouldn’t Duke Arvelche have a nice ring to it?”
“You didn’t refuse the title as well, did you?”
Theodore only smiled quietly instead of answering. That alone told them he had accepted the title. The knights immediately began referring to him as “Duke Arvelche,” jesting among themselves. But Theodore knew better. At most, he would be made a count—if fortune smiled, perhaps a marquis.
Even saving the realm would not erase his origins in the slums. If he were made a duke, backlash was inevitable. The Temple itself would fracture with dissent. He had endured enough of such strife five years ago.
More than anything, he worried about the harm it might cause those around him. He had no desire for a dukedom.
[What business does a gutter rat have approaching a lady? Get lost! She only accepts you out of kindness, and you think yourself worthy? Do you even realize how much scorn she suffers because of you?]
…All he truly wanted was a proper estate, to stand before Charlotte as both hero and nobleman. That would be enough.
“When will they finally call me a hero, I wonder.”
“Not in our lifetimes—you’ve set the bar too high, Commander.”
“Damn, that’s probably true. I can’t even argue with it.”
“Enough nonsense. You’ll all attend the investiture, won’t you?”
“Of course! We have to witness the Clagens’ faces twist in person! Oh—will Marquis Blanche be there as well?”
“Indeed. Who else, if not me?”
Five years. Though so much time had passed, Theodore reacted instantly—just as he had to the first signs of monsters—turning toward the voice even before recognizing it. Marquis Blanche was smiling warmly, more kindly than ever before.
“Marquis Blanche.”
Theodore offered him a bow even more formal than what he had given the Emperor and Empress.
“How have you been, my lord? I, Theodore Arvelche, Commander of the Imperial Holy Knights, return safely and present myself before you.”
“That’s enough. How many years has it been since we last met? No need for such formality. I’m only glad you’ve returned unharmed.”
The marquis patted Theodore’s shoulder, as a grandfather might. Truly, he was proud. Though retired, his influence still lingered, and he had heard often of Theodore’s deeds in distant lands.
Plague-ridden territories were often neglected, as constant monster attacks left no room for quarantine measures. Yet Theodore had insisted on both—retreating when necessary, yes, but never abandoning strict quarantine protocols, while steadily advancing the subjugation.
In the end, he had even ventured into the heart of the infestation—places even veteran priests dared not tread.
“Five years. Back then, I thought you still too green—but seeing you return with such accomplishments, I was wrong yet again.”
“You flatter me, my lord.”
“Not at all. When Ronan first brought you to me, I said you’d never become a knight. It seems age has dulled my eyes. I see nothing clearly anymore.”
Theodore’s men, sensing the intimacy of their bond, quietly excused themselves. They knew how Theodore had met Ronan, but not the depth of his connection with Marquis Blanche.
Yet now they saw it clearly: a commander who never smiled even in court, grinning like a boy before the marquis. The moment they were alone, Theodore spoke freely, pouring out the stories he had held for five long years.
But he did not speak of glory. Instead, he recounted the little things that had happened during his campaigns—as if a grandson chatting with his grandfather after a long absence. Marquis Blanche listened with a gentle smile, savoring every word. Eventually, they came to speak of Ronan’s death.
“If Ronan could see you now, he would be overjoyed.”
Hearing his master’s name from the lips of the man whose life Ronan had once saved, Theodore’s throat tightened painfully.
“Yes… Sir Ronan surely would…”
He did not regret volunteering for the campaign. It had been necessary, and someone had to step forward. But when he learned of Ronan’s death, he wished more than anything to erase that day.
Even retired, his master had been a knight of formidable skill. That he should perish so soon—it had never crossed Theodore’s mind.
In the end, the letter Ronan had written became his last possession, a keepsake. If only Theodore had written back sooner, if only they had exchanged even a few words more by letter…
He had meant never to speak of Ronan before the marquis. His own grief was heavy enough—how unbearable must it be for a father who had lost his child? He could not imagine, much less presume to understand, that kind of pain.
“After the investiture, I will visit you properly. Where was Sir Ronan laid to rest?”
In the Argent Empire, the remains of heroes were usually enshrined in the Temple. But the marquis shook his head.
“The Temple wished to claim Ronan’s remains, but… what if he came to me in a dream, asking why I had not laid him beside Leila? I could not bear it, so I refused.”
“You did the right thing. Sir Ronan would surely have appeared in your dreams every night, otherwise.”
At that, Theodore found himself able to smile again. After the investiture, he would pay his respects to Ronan, speak to him as he never had the chance. And after that… He fell silent, lips pressed tight. Then, slowly, he asked about the person he had missed most of all during his years away.
“How is Charlotte? Is she well?”
“Charlotte…”
His heart pounded violently. Ever since he passed through the city gates, he had been filled with anticipation, eager for the moment he could finally see Charlotte again. But the instant he asked after her well-being, unease swept through him.
It wasn’t his imagination—the marquis’s brow was furrowing.
“Charlotte has left.”
