#011. The Unknown
Louis Yanpots was engulfed in unease and anxiety. Unaware that his lips were drying out, he paced back and forth inside his spacious room.
“…What in the world was that knight?”
He had never seen him before. No—come to think of it, it wouldn’t be strange if it were his first time seeing her knight.
Louis Yanpots had known Anastasia for nearly ten years.
However, according to rumors, his father did not seem likely to assign a knight to her.
Above all, that smell of blood……
It was chilling.
As the first prince destined to inherit the throne, one might imagine him as a flower grown in a greenhouse, but Louis was someone who directly learned swordsmanship from the captain of the royal knights.
Even though the war had long since ended, who could be unaware of the stench of blood?
Even a small cut from the edge of paper would release that faint, metallic, reddish scent.
However, that knight clad in distorted silver armor did not carry just that level of blood scent.
It was thicker, deeper than that armor itself.
“…I suppose I’ll have to ask Anastasia.”
Louis sat in an armchair and bit his lip. Yes, the scent of blood seemed to seep into his mouth. An unknown emotion surged from deep within his chest.
Who was that knight?
Was it acceptable for a knight to hold a noble lady so freely?
Who was he that Anastasia allowed him to carry her?
How long had they known each other?
That ornate, delicately crafted armor… was even warped.
A knight’s pride lies in shining armor, yet the fact that it hadn’t been repaired or straightened suggested that he was not a knight personally knighted or taken in by the duke.
Duke Etranje was sensitive to decorum and dignity.
“…Then that would mean Anastasia personally brought him in under her title as the second daughter.”
And the duke approved of that?
Louis Yanpots shook his head. That was not the kind of man he was.
Then did Anastasia have enough gold coins to hire a knight?
…If she had that kind of money, she would have long since hired her own knight like other young ladies.
Wait.
“…Then does that mean she has somehow obtained gold coins now?”
It was incomprehensible. He could not understand how things had come to this.
But one thing was clear.
“I’ll have to protect her.”
On a night where the moon shone above the shadows, Louis Yanpots opened the window to ease his troubled mind.
Fireflies flickered in the darkness. In the distance, soldiers patrolled atop the castle walls carrying lanterns.
Louis sat at his polished mahogany desk and dipped the nib of his quill into ink.
It was time to write a letter.
A letter to bring her here.
Contrary to Enoch’s concerns, the black carriage returning to the estate did not end up running over corpses. Artorius had already thrown them beyond both sides of the thickets.
They would likely be torn apart by beasts to the point of being unrecognizable, but Artorius did not care.
If one had intended to harm someone, such consequences were to be expected.
“Artorius.”
Anastasia called him quietly. Without protest, Artorius stepped down from the coachman’s seat and extended his hand beneath the carriage’s step.
Soon, Anastasia’s small foot stepped onto his hand as she descended.
It did not hurt, nor was it heavy.
It was simply small and delicate.
“The heel is broken, making it difficult to stand. Lean on me.”
Anastasia did not refuse his kindness. She gladly took his sturdy arm and leaned against him.
“Thank you. And Enoch?”
“Yes, yes, Your Highness.”
The atmosphere had changed completely. The elderly head butler was no longer dealing with the Anastasia Etranje he had known as a child.
Enoch quickly stepped down from the coachman’s seat and knelt on one knee before her.
Anastasia took his wrinkled hand and helped him up.
“Rise, Enoch. And… from today on, you are my personal butler. You will no longer need to drive the carriage.”
“…Pardon?”
“First of all… yes. We’ll need to select my personal maid again. I’ll entrust that to you, Enoch.”
“…Your Highness.”
The old butler’s eyes, as he looked up, held clear concern. Anastasia could see the deep loyalty the old man carried in his heart beyond those pupils.
“…Don’t worry. I have my plans.”
The remnants of the collapsed tower still remained. Servants were out clearing them, but it was far too massive to be cleaned up in a single day by human hands.
“Hey, you there! Move faster!”
“Aah! I’m going to be crushed!”
“Be careful!”
It was utter chaos. Well, given the duke’s current mood, that was understandable.
If they left the unsightly debris unattended, they would surely be reprimanded, so the servants were all busy working through the night.
“…Father was never a good superior.”
Anastasia narrowed her eyes and sighed.
“Artorius.”
“What is it?”
“Could you hold onto me a little longer?”
He nodded quietly. Beneath the helmet, the blue glow in his eyes no longer shone.
Artorius as a human…
Anastasia shook her head to clear her thoughts.
“Thank you. And Enoch?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Dismiss all the servants working on the cleanup. I’ll take care of it.”
“…You will handle it yourself?”
Rolling up her sleeves, Anastasia spoke. Enoch bowed his head, feeling an inexplicable sense of trust toward her pale, slender wrists.
“Understood.”
Though Enoch had been demoted years ago, the dignity of a head butler still remained within him.
And no one dared to ignore that dignity. Even now.
Clap—!
With a single clap, Enoch drew all the servants’ attention.
“A message from the lady. Everyone cease work and step back ten paces.”
Murmurs spread. Soon, all the servants bowed to Enoch, then bowed even deeper toward Anastasia.
Her orders were carried out precisely.
“Good.”
With the duke absent from the estate, Anastasia—who would one day have to take control of Duke Etranje—needed to sow seeds of influence in advance.
That always began with helping those below her and winning their loyalty.
Anastasia took a light breath.
A spell is a request made to the will of the world.
To the will that raises and sets the sun, that fills and wanes the moon, that brings spring after winter, summer after spring, autumn after summer, and winter after autumn, only for spring to return again.
Anastasia’s beautiful voice spread across the night sky in a melody that ordinary laborers might never hear again.
“Into a whirl—”
A faint shiver ran down everyone’s spine. Instinctively, they sensed that something not of this world had arrived.
“Like a night filled with stars—”
Anastasia raised her arm leisurely, like a conductor leading an orchestra.
Then, as if responding to a grand symphonic rise, the debris of the tower lifted from the ground.
Gasps of admiration erupted from everyone.
“With the small hand of the maiden who draws water.”
The debris rose, and upon the now-cleared grass, a black line was drawn. That thin line split open as if waking, forming a dark void.
The debris was sucked into it as if it were a lie, and when Anastasia closed her spatial pocket, nothing remained.
Nothing but the lingering, beautiful resonance of magic drifting and dispersing into the air.
“…It might be useful someday.”
At the very least, she could use the spatial space as a means of dropping debris for a mass attack. Perhaps it could even serve as material for a temporary golem.
After all, it had been a remarkably sturdy tower, built by stacking only the finest stones to imprison a mage.
“What are you looking at? Everyone, disperse.”
As Anastasia brushed off her small hands, everyone bowed again in gratitude.
Then they quietly returned to their positions.
“Enoch.”
“…Yes, Your Highness.”
Even Enoch was slightly frozen by the near-unreal scene he had just witnessed.
“My room. It hasn’t been emptied yet, has it?”
The room she had been unable to enter since being confined to the tower at age ten.
Located in a secluded annex of the estate.
“It has not…?”
“The cleaning is finished, correct?”
“That is also correct.”
A faint smile curved Anastasia’s small lips.
“Then I’ll go there.”
“…Pardon?”
It had been, truly, a very long time. The bed was still not too narrow. Though it might have been a bit short in length.
Since being confined to the tower, she had only eaten meager meals, so the bed made at age ten did not feel particularly cramped given her still-unfinished growth.
“…I’m probably not even 160 cm.”
Anastasia changed into her sleepwear without the help of a maid and stood before the mirror, estimating her height.
“…At best, mid-150s.”
She already knew. It was the same body she had lived with in her previous life. She had only checked in hopes that something might have changed slightly.
The only difference… was the thin scar etched across the center of her chest.
“You were starved and confined like that, yet you grew this much. That’s impressive enough.”
It was Artorius’s voice. However, there was clear awkwardness in his tone.
“Still uncomfortable, Artorius?”
“…In my life, I have never brought a woman into my room, nor have I ever stepped into a woman’s room.”
His blue eyes looked troubled as they rested on the mattress and blankets laid at the foot of the bed.
“You’ve slept on the floor before, I assume.”
“…At the fortress of Aquila, that was so frequent it became familiar.”
Artorius sat down on the mattress as if it were nothing, then fiddled with the blanket.
“It’s been a long time… since I’ve experienced a proper place to sleep.”
“There weren’t any beds in that fortress?”
“After about two hundred years, they tend to decay.”
“…Ah.”
Anastasia nodded and sat on the windowsill.
A cool night breeze drifted in, gently scattering her brilliant golden hair, which had been braided and pinned up.
Artorius gazed at her absentmindedly, as if looking at a sculpture from an ancient artist.
“Artorius.”
“…Why do you call me?”
“Can you teach me how to handle a sword?”
Anastasia’s gaze was solemn and serious. Any thought that it might be a bad joke quickly vanished.
“Wielding a greatsword with your body would not be easy.”
“I’m not trying to match the level of knights.”
“If you do not intend to reach mastery with the sword, then for what reason?”
Her small foot in her soft slippers tapped the floor lightly once. At her gesture, shimmering golden petals flowed out and gathered into her hand in the shape of an inverted cross.
A gold-wood sword.
One of Anastasia’s spells.
“For emergencies.”
“…Emergencies?”
“Yes. I need a way to defend myself that isn’t magic.”
Artorius quietly watched Anastasia’s hand as she dispersed the gold-wood sword back into petals.
“…Your hands will develop calluses.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Are you that concerned about my hands?”
“That is not what I meant. I am already your right arm, the sword in your right hand—what more could you possibly need…?”
Anastasia’s blue eyes glimmered. She whispered softly:
“To hold a dagger in my left hand.”
