Five hundred knights—sporting buzz-cut hair, scars large and small earned from crossing life and death, the venomous gleam unique to those who had clawed their way to survival, gruff voices, and hulking physiques like mountain ranges—turned their gazes in unison toward one spot.
“Oh my, thank you.”
While the senior knights gained the profound realization that an exclamation was not necessarily a curse word, Andrew, who had handed Grace the water, blushed and nodded.
Having just turned seventeen, Andrew was the youngest son of Viscount Isaac’s house and had only recently joined the knights’ order, following his older brothers. Joseph had seated him in the coachman’s position instead of himself, thinking that this handsome boy would be better received by the Lady than those frightening fellows who might haunt her dreams. Running petty errands had been an added bonus.
“Your Excellency, what if the Lady faints at this rate?”
As Joseph spoke, chewing on his jerky, Walter, who had been eating, raised his eyes.
Grace’s expression was bright. Though it was literally a downpour of attention that would surely have been burdensome, she did not seem to mind in the slightest.
“There is too much jerky. I’ll take only half; please have the rest, Andrew.”
“Ah, no!”
“Save it for tomorrow, or give it to the others. Thank you for your hard work driving the carriage all day. For a knight of House Richmond to serve as a coachman... I’m sorry.”
“Ah, ah, no! I like driving the carriage!!”
Andrew’s thunderous voice boomed through the dark mountain. Some burst into snickers, while others frowned at a voice so loud it seemed to have forgotten they were in the mountains.
“That brat needs more training.”
When Grace smiled faintly and climbed into the carriage, Andrew squeezed his eyes shut. It was impossible not to feel the five hundred pairs of eyes stabbing into his back like arrows.
Please, don’t let their mouths open.
The young knight’s prayer was tragically shattered by the voice of his second-eldest brother, Sirius.
“I didn’t know our Andy liked driving carriages?”
With his own flesh and blood opening the barrage, the butchery began as if they had been waiting for it.
“Andy! We don’t have a coachman at our house. Come by when we get back!!”
“Hey! Our house first! There must be order!”
“Send the wages to the house! You can’t borrow our adorable youngest for free!!”
Andrew kept his head hung low and his mouth firmly shut. Having just been in the company of the elegant Lady only to now face these people... the words the capital nobles used to chatter came to mind unbidden.
Truly, knights were an uncultured bunch.
Joseph was snickering at the sight as well when Walter poured cold water over them in a languid voice.
“I don’t know about the others, but Joseph, you who once dreamed of being a coachman, shouldn’t be laughing, should you?”
“Ah, Your Excellency....”
Just then, a scouting party sent a hand signal from the darkness.
[Northwest. Roughly one hundred personnel.]
The expressions of the knights exchanging jokes changed in an instant. Walter leisurely drank his water and gestured toward Joseph with his eyes.
“Go and take care of it.”
“I will resolve it without a sound and return.”
As Joseph stood, roughly fifty knights under his command rose as if they had made a promise. Though the departing comrades left without so much as the sound of grass being trampled, those who remained did not let a single breath falter. It was a scene where trust in one’s comrades could be felt.
“Fools. They brought only a hundred, did they?”
As the voice scattered on the wind, a heavy vibration was felt beneath their feet, as if in mockery of those words.
—Thud. Thud.
At the rhythmic thuds, Walter’s relaxed gaze changed. At the same time, every remaining knight moved in perfect unison. Andrew swallowed hard and stood pressed close to the carriage the Lady rode in.
The killing intent was so frigid that even demons crawling out of hell would step back—it seemed to lower the cold night temperature even further. Just as the distant vibrations rushed closer with terrifying speed, bloodcurdling howls began.
The knights drew their weapons as if by some accord. Walter strode toward the carriage and flung the door wide open.
Grace, sitting ramrod straight, showed no sign of surprise. She had undoubtedly been observing the situation outside.
“You are to follow Andrew’s words. Do not be afraid.”
“I understand.”
“It will be over soon.”
Breaking the peace, sounds of death began rising from all sides. As the fight between Joseph’s knights and the assassins seemed to begin, the clash of blades grew fiercer, and dull footsteps shook the earth as they approached moment by moment. At the same time, the sound of swift four-legged things descending the mountainside poured down like rain.
As Walter disappeared among the knights, Andrew hastily extended his hand to her. Monsters had a tendency to target large things like carriages first.
“Put on your hood and get down!”
Grace moved swiftly. The moment she stepped down from the carriage, the death cry of a werewolf slain by the knights’ blades rang out. The figure of a troll reflected in the torchlight was hideous, and the howling meant to disorient the enemy seemed to drain one’s spirit.
In a night pitch-black as ink, even when confronted with trolls and werewolves in this rugged terrain, Grace neither asked pointless questions nor panicked out of fear. Instead, with eyes wide open, she surveyed the knights’ order sweeping across the battlefield.
They were ones who had survived a full ten years at the Wall of Death, where supposedly one could not even endure a year. Among these warriors—all formidable without compare—it was glaringly obvious who the leader was.
Walter’s presence seemed to swallow even sound. Nothing remained in his wake, and one could not even guess how he fought. So overwhelming was that figure, like a war god performing a blade dance, that Grace unwittingly lost herself in the sight.
Then, a fierce wind rose. Before Grace could grab hold, her hood was torn away, and her brilliant golden hair embroidered the darkness.
“Andy!!! Above!!!”
At the cry, Andrew reflexively swung his sword toward the air. But faster than him, an eagle-shaped gargoyle snatched Grace. It seemed the creature’s eyes, maddened by anything that glittered, had caught sight of Grace’s golden hair.
“My Lady!!!”
Walter, who had just sent a werewolf’s head flying, turned around in surprise to see Grace dangling precariously from the gargoyle’s claws.
Walter ran toward Grace without another thought.
But Andrew, who was closer, was faster. The young knight launched himself and swung his sword as if to atone for his mistake, and the gargoyle, its wing sliced, let out a ghastly shriek, flapped wildly, and released Grace.
The problem was that they were directly above a slope.
“No!!”
The boy cast aside his sword and threw his body toward the falling Lady. By the time Walter came running like a madman, Andrew and Grace had already vanished below the slope.