Chapter 13
Sharon, who had been wound tight with nerves, finally exhaled the breath she had been holding.
“Forgive me. From now on, I shall address you as Your Majesty.”
Thus, after the dragon, Baberi had gained another vassal—“the woman who bakes pies.”
“Sharon, now that you’re no longer an outsider but my retainer, let me ask you one thing.”
“Please, speak, Your Majesty.”
Compared to Kur, who always acted like her master, Sharon’s docile attitude gave Baberi a novel sort of pleasure.
“Is that man truly worth trusting? The one who stabbed his lord just because he wasn’t given money?”
If he had that kind of temper, what guarantee was there he wouldn’t one day turn that violence on Sharon?
At Baberi’s concern, Sharon smiled faintly.
“Your Majesty, he was falsely accused. He carries only a wrongful charge.”
***
The lord of Rondar was a miser.
He was stingy not only in spending but also in collecting. Never once did he forgive a peasant who failed to pay their tax on time.
This year, the due tax was five hundred gold. Yet there was a woman who could only pay two hundred.
“I have been ill, my lord, and could not work properly this year.”
It was a pitiable excuse, but the lord did not care.
“I have never once been late in paying taxes before. If you grant me a little more time, I swear I will pay the full amount.”
She pleaded earnestly, but the lord would not listen. And she was not alone—this year, there were many who had failed to pay.
“Lazy wretches, the lot of them, too indolent even to prepare for what they knew was coming.”
The lord believed the evidence plain. They had known the tax was five hundred gold, known when it was due, and still they had not paid.
“I will not stand by and watch my peasants grow so insolent.”
As an example, he ordered the woman to be bound to the gallows erected in the square.
It was already the twentieth execution that month.
“Merely killing them is not enough. I must make them truly remember.”
So he tried a new, more provocative method.
“Bring me the woman’s son.”
They dragged forward a boy, no more than fourteen, barely old enough to hold the crossbow they shoved into his hands.
“Shoot the criminal. Do so, and I will halve your household’s tax this year.”
But the boy trembled violently and shook his head.
“Please, just this once, spare my mother!”
The lord seized him by the collar, yanking him upright. The boy clung desperately to the crossbow.
When the lord himself tried to aim at the woman and pull the trigger, the boy twisted his body—
“Ah—!”
The bolt pierced straight through the lord’s chest.
Knights, soldiers, peasants—all those gathered froze in stunned silence.
“My lord!”
At last a knight rushed to him, crying out. But it was too late—the lord was already dead.
“Seize that brat! Now!”
The soldiers slammed the boy to the ground, pinning his head against the scaffold’s boards. His mother, who had resigned herself to die calmly, shrieked when she saw her son.
The knight raised his sword, ready to strike off the boy’s head—
A stone flew from the crowd, striking the knight in the temple.
“Who dares!”
His furious gaze swept the gathered peasants.
“Show yourself! Come forth now, and I will be merciful—I’ll take only the hand that threw the stone.”
Terrified, the peasants kept their heads bowed.
“Then all of you will—”
Another stone flew. This time, from the opposite side.
“Last year the tax was two hundred gold!”
“And only a month ago he suddenly declared it would be five hundred!”
Whispers spread through the crowd. Those who had not paid, those who feared they would be next—voices grew bolder, anger feeding upon itself until it swelled into open revolt.
“Seize them! Crush the rabble! Kill anyone who resists!”
The knight commanded both soldiers and the mercenary band employed as the lord’s guards.
But instead, the mercenary captain—Medo—drove his blade through the knight’s chest. The mercenaries turned, siding with the peasants. The tide shifted in an instant.
***
“The ones frightened by the riot ran straight to Rob.”
“Rob? You mean the lord’s son?”
Sharon nodded grimly, her lips curling as if even the memory repulsed her.
“Rob was a drunkard and a gambler.”
Baberi quickly understood why Sharon called him a wastrel. She had expected a child when Sharon first spoke of him—but Rob was a grown man.
“And when he lost at dice, he had a habit of cutting off his opponent’s fingers.”
The cruelty was so notorious there was even a joke: If you gamble with Rob, best cut your own fingers first.
“Worse, he would come down to the village and eat and drink without paying a coin. The harm he caused was endless!”
The fire in Sharon’s voice made it clear she had suffered from him herself. Baberi, too, felt anger rise—if Rob had paid properly, Sharon would have been wealthier.
And since Sharon was her vassal, Sharon’s possessions were the crown’s. Rob had, in a sense, stolen from Baberi herself.
“When he heard of his father’s death, Rob rushed to Rondar, claiming the lordship as his.”
“Outrageous.”
Sharon’s eyes flashed.
“In truth, his absence from Rondar was no coincidence. He had already been stripped of title and exiled by his father’s decree.”
Which meant that in the eyes of the law, Rob was no longer even a son. No king or lord would recognize his claim.
“Yet he still insisted Rondar was his. That day, when he came, Medo led us in battle. I carried stones in my skirts to hurl at the enemy.”
They had driven him off, but Sharon’s face clouded.
“He’ll return the moment he hears the gates are unbarred.”
With refugees streaming in and bounty hunters prowling, Medo’s safety was far from guaranteed.
“So please, Your Majesty—protect him.”
The plea sounded dangerously close to asking Baberi to go to war with Rob.
That was not what she had in mind. Yet she could not bring herself to refuse outright.
“…I’ll bake you pies every day.”
Baberi nearly relented on the spot, saliva gathering in her mouth.
***
Baberi returned with Sharon to her shop.
Sharon immediately set to work baking. Soon Baberi was gorging herself without a care for the cost. By the time she had finished her second whole pie, belly full, someone else arrived—as if he had known where to look.
“Where have you been? Why weren’t you following me?”
Kur glared, scolding her while she still had a mouthful of pie.
“I searched the entire city for you all night.”
Baberi only stared back blankly, chewing.
When she made no reply, Kur finally realized the problem.
“…Your Majesty.”
Only then did she swallow and retort.
“You’re the one who disappeared, not me.”
He had wandered off alone, claiming to smell mana stones. And now he was blaming her?
Kur tried to explain the trouble he’d gone through to find her, but Baberi bristled.
“Do you know what I went through on my own?”
She listed every misfortune in detail, her anger mounting.
“Caught by mercenaries—my arm still not healed—and then they just kept coming.”
Kur listened with no great expression, simply sitting down across from her.
“Pay attention! They even put a bounty on me. On me! And it was posted under my own name!”
She slammed the wanted poster down on the table.
“Why would you do such a thing?”
“I didn’t. Gloq must have.”
She stomped her foot furiously. Sharon, peeking from the kitchen, caught Kur’s gaze and beamed.
“Your Majesty told me you’re a sorcerer. I look forward to working with you.”
Kur blinked in confusion. Why was she suddenly being so friendly?
“I’ll bring yours out of the oven in just a moment.”
She vanished into the kitchen, leaving him dumbfounded.
“You didn’t really take that woman in as a companion, did you?”
He looked incredulous.
“She’s not a companion. She’s a retainer. Though I suppose that makes her your companion too.”
“Without even asking me?”
“Why would I need your permission to accept a vassal?”
Kur opened his mouth, but Baberi silenced him with a wave.
“Don’t argue with the king’s decision. What I do want is your report.”
She half-closed her eyes, raising her chin in imperious expectation.
“You abandoned your king. So you must have replenished your mana, yes?”
Kur scowled.
“…That smug face of yours is insufferable.”
“Careful. That is no way to address your sovereign. Especially now that I have another vassal—mind your tongue.”
Kur only snorted.
“I scoured the underground, but there was nothing left but scraps.”
Enough to keep him from collapsing, perhaps, but far from plentiful.
“Two years ago you unleashed fire without restraint. Can you do that again now, or not?”
“I cannot.”
“What about breathing fire?”
Kur shook his head proudly.
“Turning pages. That much, I can still do.”
“…Pages?”
What possible use was that? Baberi smacked the table in frustration.
“You worthless lizard! That’s no different than saying you gained nothing!”
“I said I can turn pages.”
“You can turn them by hand!”
The night had been filled with suffering, and what had she gained? A pie-baking retainer and a dragon who could flip through books.
“I thought an alliance would make vengeance easier. But you’re useless.”
At least Sharon baked well. Kur was proving less useful than a baker.
He glared back, offended.
“That is not my problem.”
“Then whose problem is it?”
Kur smirked, crossing his arms.
“If you can’t make use of such a fine ally, then the fault lies in your failure to use me properly… Your Majesty.”
The way he tacked on the title at the end made Baberi seethe.
“Then tell me—how am I supposed to use you? What are you even good at?”
Kur thought for a moment, then answered calmly.
“Killing.”
The serenity of his face made the word all the more chilling.
“Especially killing humans.”
