CHAPTER 80……………………….
“Captain, please stop.”
The back garden of the count’s estate.
Mikael looked at Killian, who was holding his sword, with eyes full of awe.
If at the temple he had been the picture of restraint, now he was brimming with manly vigor. Each time his sword flashed in the air, massive trees and rocks were sliced apart.
“Instead of doing this, wouldn’t it be better to go out hunting?”
“…No. I will not spill blood.”
“Ah… yes.”
So, it wasn’t acceptable to see an animal’s blood, but it was fine to turn a perfectly good garden into a wasteland?
After wrestling with the thought, Mikael, too, grew solemn at the devastation before him.
It was only because grass and trees made no sound that one couldn’t hear screams—otherwise, this scene was no less horrific than a battlefield.
As Killian’s standards were impossible to fathom, Mikael could only pretend to understand and stand by.
“His Eminence says you should be returning soon.”
“Already?”
“He said a week should be enough for a honeymoon.”
“…I suppose.”
“Pardon? What did you just say?”
When Killian casually spun his sword in a great arc, Mikael flinched. He could have sworn he’d just muttered something like: ‘Well, he wouldn’t know, since he’s never experienced it himself…’
Mikael stepped back from Killian, who was stirring the air with his blade.
…What is going on?
On the day of the wedding and the day after, Killian had looked like a man who owned the world, yet since then he had withered more and more each day.
Even now, the air around him felt desolate, as though sandstorms were rising at his back.
Why is he like this?
How should I know?
Mikael shot Renard a questioning glance, but what would bachelors know? To them, these were days of abundance.
The hospitality of the count’s house exceeded all rumor. For knights who had lived only for training, the daily parties and mingling with charming young ladies were blessings and grace itself.
So they had no way of imagining the heart of the newlywed commander who had gone in the opposite direction since his marriage.
“Th-the Archbishop also said we must soon receive distinguished guests arriving from other countries for the upcoming feast day.”
“Since when?”
“Next week.”
“…Why!”
Thud.
Killian’s sword stabbed into the ground.
Why else? The ceremony had been held on that day for centuries. If he asked for a reason…
Mikael rubbed his face in dismay.
“C-captain.”
“…Of all days.”
Killian didn’t even bother to hide his muttering.
He had spent several burning nights, and just when he thought he could breathe, another trial from God had come.
No—if he was honest, at this point he wasn’t even sure God existed.
“You really don’t have to go this far.”
“No. I must do this, at the very least.”
As soon as he thought of Adele, blushing on the bed, blue veins stood out on the back of the hand gripping his sword.
Had he known it would be like this, he might have delayed the ceremony.
Now he understood why the vow of chastity at the grand temple had been required, however symbolic.
…Was this truly God’s providence?
Abstaining from the start was possible. But to stop halfway—it was nothing less than torture.
Even in the ice caves, God’s will had never moved him; yet after marrying Adele, he was learning it day by day with his whole body.
“Captain, please, let’s go inside. You’ve trained enough. Why are you still out here…?”
“Because there’s no frozen waterfall here.”
“Ah… I see.”
His explanations, already unkind, had become even more cryptic.
As if leveling a mountain could be justified by that alone, Killian once more raised his sword. His expression was deadly serious, as if he had no choice but to exhaust his strength like this.
“…What is happening to him?”
From behind Killian, who held his blade at a slant, Renard shook his head.
“Seriously, why is he like this? Anyone would think he’s a groom who can’t bear to part with his bride.”
“Mind your tongue! How dare you speak so carelessly of the Captain?”
“…That’s not what I meant.”
“Enough foolish talk!”
Scolded by Mikael, Renard bowed quickly, muttering that he had only spoken out of frustration.
Indeed, even he admitted the thought was absurd.
Though the commander’s gloomy eyes and parched lips invited misunderstanding, Killian was the living symbol of Fidelio, the god of war.
A man with no blood, no tears, no emotions.
Mikael remembered the day Killian had emerged from the ice cave—that memory was seared into him as the most powerful experience of his life.
Rumor had it that Lady Adele had been the more eager in the marriage, and that the commander, out of compassion, had simply been unable to refuse.
Thus, they concluded, Killian had agreed to the union only out of saintly concern for the count’s family.
“I’ll go speak with him properly.”
“See that you do. The Archbishop said to bring him back no matter what. Knights from all over have gathered only to see the commander.”
“Yes, sir.”
Renard hurried after Killian. Being scolded was nothing, but if this dragged on, he’d miss the farewell party tonight.
Dodging the flashing sword, he approached.
“Captain, I understand how you feel, but there’s nothing to worry about here.”
“…”
“The count’s private soldiers are as good as any temple’s… and if it comes to it, your brother-in-law is here too!”
At once, Killian’s sword slashed through a giant tree. Realizing he had touched a nerve, Renard quickly changed tack.
“And besides, your lady—your wife—has the mettle of any knight! Honestly, with a husband like you, I doubt she even sees other men as men.”
“…Handkerchief.”
“Ah, yes, sir!”
At last, hearing Killian’s holy voice, Renard hastily offered his handkerchief.
He was relieved—Killian seemed to have calmed down.
But ten seconds later, he would bitterly regret not stopping there.
“As for flies buzzing around her—well, that’s unavoidable, since she’s so beautiful. It’s not her fault… C-Captain!”
Boom.
The massive cliff before them split apart. The cut was so clean that the sheer face slid down smoothly.
Cold sweat beaded on Renard’s forehead. For some reason, the cries of novice trainees clinging to their parents, begging not to be left at the grand temple, echoed in his mind.
“C-Captain…”
But what shocked him even more was what Killian did next.
He reached out to a broken branch. A squirrel tilted its head, then climbed onto his finger. Killian’s gaze softened.
“…Go on home.”
His voice, at once, was peaceful.
He had endured all his life—what was one more trial?
With measured movements, Killian sheathed his sword and ignored the handkerchief thrust toward him, striding toward the main building.
Mikael hurried after him but received not a glance.
“How long will it last?”
“Ah, the guests should leave within a week. It was the same last year.”
“…What? A week?”
Renard sighed.
It was good that Killian had regained composure, but entertaining guests of that caliber for a week would break their backs.
With royalty and bishops from other lands attending, the burden was clear, and his head already ached.
“Phew, it’ll be busy the moment we arrive. With the priestesses and clerics in prayer, all the work will fall on us.”
“There’s no helping it. It’s not as though there are volunteers.”
Killian faltered slightly in his step, but neither of them noticed.
“Couldn’t we recruit some? There are always plenty willing to serve.”
“At any other time, maybe. But in front of foreign dignitaries? One mistake and the consequences would be dire. Better we shoulder the hardship ourselves with peace of mind.”
“True… Even if plenty volunteer, how many are fluent in foreign tongues, well-versed in ritual, and used to serving nobles?”
“…I heard someone knows five languages.”
“Pardon? Captain, what did you say?”
Renard turned to look at Killian, surprised.
Killian himself would be with the Archbishop receiving guests, so why this interest?
“Did you just say…?”
“I permit it.”
“…Sir? Permit what, exactly?”
“Bring in volunteers to the temple, for everyone’s convenience. I have the authority for that much.”
Killian’s authority was beyond question. As Fidelio’s guardian and the Archbishop’s deputy, such small permissions weren’t even worth mentioning.
Still, the fact that none of them had asked for such permission was odd—and a greater problem loomed.
“With all respect, sir, finding such volunteers on such short notice…”
“If they are fluent in languages, versed in doctrine, quick to adapt, and suitable for welcoming dignitaries—surely there is at least one such person nearby.”
Killian spoke calmly, gazing down at the small creature in his hand.
“Of course… if any of you have eyes.”
