Sword Saint Sharlot Ayende stood by the café window, watching Matyos's retreating figure grow slowly smaller in the distance.
Sunlight streaming through the glass caught briefly on the boy's shoulders, then let go, as if releasing him.
A child adopted into the Moretti family.
It was hard to believe he had grown up in a house whose very name conjured images of cold ruthlessness — and yet the boy carried a human warmth about him.
Sharlot turned the conversation over in her mind.
*'I won't accept anything.'*
She had tilted her head at that unexpected answer.
*'I didn't do it hoping for something in return. Even if Yuri hadn't been your daughter, I would have saved her.'*
The words had been calm. Disarmingly honest.
*'So you're saying you'll refuse?'*
*'Yes. I'm grateful, truly, but I'll decline. I've already received something significant.'*
Those grey eyes had met hers — bold, unblinking.
A gaze that didn't waver even slightly. That looked straight at her without flinching.
Sharlot hadn't seen eyes like that in a long time.
*'He couldn't have been unaware of what my help is worth.'*
Their second meeting. No — he had been unconscious on the train, so in truth, today was their first.
Too short a time to read a person properly, and yet Sharlot had sensed it: Matyos was a sharp boy. After all, hadn't his eyes lit up the moment she offered her help?
*'And then he held himself back anyway.'*
What a curious boy.
Sharlot found herself fond of Matyos — both as a person and on a more private level.
At her age, a glance at someone's eyes told her everything. She had seen too much malice, endured too much hypocrisy.
People could deceive with their expressions as much as they liked, but their eyes — their eyes always gave them away in the end.
The eyes are the windows of the face, after all.
And Matyos's eyes had been clean.
*'I'll be a good friend to Yuri.'*
Pat, pat.
Sharlot quietly stroked Yuri's hair.
Yuri sat in silence, sipping her chocolate milk. Both small hands wrapped around the cup, perfectly still.
"Yuri, have you made any friends at school?"
"I'm not sure."
"Anyone you spend time with?"
"Hmm… I don't think so."
"What about Matyos?"
"Matyo?"
At the mention of that name, Yuri lifted her lips from the cup and let her gaze drop for a moment. She looked as though she were thinking.
Sharlot continued gently.
"From where this mother stands, it seems like Mati could be a good friend to you. What do you think?"
"I like him."
"You really do? It's not just because I said so?"
"I don't know. I just like him."
"Hehe. Well, if you like him, then that's all that matters. Are you doing all right these days? Can you manage?"
She wrapped her hands around Yuri's. Soft, still a child's hands.
And yet the number of lives these hands had taken was far from small.
The Black Moon Pact.
A child raised as a killing weapon by that vile organization.
Yuri's heart was not yet fully that of a person.
The impulse that surged back at the mere scent of blood. A mind carved and honed to respond to violence.
Sharlot had held her close for a long time, had worked to mend her, and much had healed — but it had never fully disappeared.
"There's nothing today. I can hold it together just fine."
Yuri said it with quiet composure.
Sharlot found her daughter unbearably dear, and unbearably pitiable. Why had such trials been laid upon one so young?
"My darling girl — your mother loves you always. You love Mama too, don't you?"
Sharlot spread her arms and drew Yuri into an embrace.
"Yes."
"Oh, my sweet girl — when did you get so big…"
Holding Yuri close, Sharlot did not know.
That in that very moment, her daughter's eyes were utterly empty — holding nothing at all.
* * *
Just because you owe someone a debt doesn't mean you have to let them collect it.
In fact, if you wipe that debt away cleanly, you can buy something worth far more than money. A relationship called trust.
Matyos had chosen his relationship with the Sword Saint over immediate gain.
Strictly speaking, he could have let the debt fade into ambiguity.
But a vague ending like that didn't suit his temperament. Better to draw a clean line right then and there.
He had no regrets.
It hadn't been something he'd done expecting a reward, and it hadn't been a calculated move from the start. He'd simply done what felt right.
If it had been Ohen instead of Yuri, he would have saved him all the same.
Besides, he'd already received the elixir made from the crushed heart of an Iron-Plated Tiger — accepting more on top of that would honestly have felt like a burden.
So he'd refused.
For the sake of his own peace of mind.
And yet.
*'Even if Matyos doesn't mind, I can't live with an unsettled debt. If you don't need my help now, come find me when you do. This old woman will be glad to assist.'*
*'I'm perfectly fine—'*
*'Shh. When an elder offers something, you accept it graciously. I'll be the one doing the refusing here.'*
And so it had come to this.
Well. Good things were good things, he supposed.
On his way back to the dormitory, someone stepped into his path.
A man clad head to toe in black iron plate.
"Young Lord Moretti."
The voice that resonated from within the helm was solid and low.
Matyos stopped walking and looked up at him. On the right side of the breastplate, a black eagle — the symbol of the imperial house — was emblazoned as if in mid-roar.
The Emperor's Sword.
The Imperial Guard.
Three feathers trailed down from beneath the helm. One white feather in the center, two black feathers on either side.
Feathers denoted rank.
Three feathers.
That meant—
"…The Guard Commander?"
The one who led the Imperial Guard.
"The first sword of Emperor Friedrich the Great, the rightful master of the Empire — Chiten von Yoahim. I am here to deliver His Imperial Majesty's words to the Young Lord of Moretti!!"
The Guard Commander's voice rang out like a bell, reverberating across the academy's fresh, open grounds.
Heads turned in an instant. Those passing by stopped in their tracks and began to murmur.
An Imperial Guard Commander had appeared in the middle of the academy — it would have been stranger not to be surprised.
*'Chiten von Yoahim.'*
He turned over what little he knew of the man's history.
Chiten had been a commoner.
As a child, he had lost everything to rebels. His family, his friends, his neighbors.
The rebels hadn't killed young Chiten.
Instead, they had brutalized him savagely, seared his face with fire, and discarded him like refuse. They left scars that would never fade.
Just before Chiten's last breath, the army led by Emperor Friedrich the Great had happened to pass through that place.
Friedrich had taken in the dying child. He ordered his personal healer to save him, and accepted him as a soldier.
*'I will give you a sword and armor. I will place you at the front lines. I will give you the chance to fight. The chance to take your revenge. So — will you follow me?'*
Chiten had nodded through his tears.
From that day on, he had devoted his life to Emperor Friedrich the Great. They had fought across countless battlefields together, and in the end, he had achieved his revenge.
Emperor Friedrich the Great, in turn, had cherished Chiten deeply and appointed him Commander of the Imperial Guard.
But that was all well and good.
"What is it…?"
"I have come to deliver a command from His Imperial Majesty."
Fwoomp.
Guard Commander Chiten unrolled a scroll downward.
"'I, the rightful Emperor of the Empire, hereby declare: Son of Moretti. Your courage and keen wit have moved Us deeply. Yet upon hearing news of your injury, We found Ourselves troubled. It gladdens Us to know you have recovered well. May Our blessing rest upon you, and upon your future.'"
Remarkably, the scroll bore the Emperor's own handwriting. With his seal pressed into it as well, there was no possibility it was a forgery.
"Please keep it safe."
Chiten rolled the scroll back up with great care and held it out to me.
The eyes behind the helm practically dripped with envy. It was the look of someone watching a stranger receive a handwritten autograph from the idol they'd been devoted to for years.
Another notable trait of Chiten's.
This man was a genuine, diehard devotee of Emperor Friedrich the Great.
"…This will truly be an honor for your house. Young Lord Moretti."
Ah.
Those eyes were getting a little dangerous.
"This thing?"
"But of course! A letter written by His Imperial Majesty's own quill — its value is beyond measure!"
"…Would you like to have it, Guard Commander?"
"…No! I could not. This was something His Imperial Majesty personally commanded me to deliver. It is not mine."
Chiten shook his head back and forth in rapid denial.
I waved the Emperor's handwritten scroll.
Chiten's gaze followed it.
"Then is it mine?"
"His Majesty gave it to the Young Lord of Moretti, so it belongs to the Young Lord of Moretti."
"Then since it's mine, I'll decide what to do with it. Please keep it for me, Guard Commander."
"I — pardon?"
"My room is small, and it's hardly a fitting place to store something this precious. So I'd like you to keep it in my stead. You can do that, can't you?"
"But…"
"If you can't, then there's nothing to be done. I'll just have to leave it in a corner of my room."
"…I — if that's the case, then I have no choice! I shall keep it safe on your behalf, Young Lord Moretti."
Swish.
Matyos held out the scroll, and Chiten snatched it and tucked it inside his breastplate.
"Is that all your business with me?"
"Yes. That is the entirety of the command I received from His Majesty."
"Understood. Safe travels."
"I shall take my leave. Glory to the Empire and His Majesty."
Chiten saluted, swirled his black cloak, and turned to go.
I pressed my fist to my chest and returned the salute toward his back.
"Glory to the Empire, and to His Majesty."
"…"
The moment I raised the salute, Chiten turned back around.
Through the narrow slit of his helm, his eyes were shining.
Chiten walked away with a noticeably lighter step.
Even so, Chiten was the Guard Commander.
He was no mere courier sent to deliver a letter.
And yet the Guard Commander had come in person to relay the Emperor's words. At the top of his lungs, no less. So that everyone could hear.
*'…A political maneuver.*'
Simple enough.
The Thorn Forest incident had given the Empire a foothold — one step closer to a justification for moving against Porca.
But the Emperor hadn't been content to rest on that. He had laid an even more meticulous design.
*'He's making a show of how much the Emperor cares about the safety of imperial citizens.'*
Look how much I value my people — so if something happens again, don't expect me to stand by and watch.
That was roughly the message.
In other words.
*'…I've gotten tangled up in this after all.'*
Without intending to, he had been woven into the Emperor's political design.
For someone who dreamed of a quiet, unhurried life, this was no small matter.
*'Still — I suppose it means I'm that much safer.'*
This was the Emperor's attention, after all.
With the Guard Commander himself having come and gone, most enemies would think twice before touching him.
Wait.
…Or would they?
*'Or does it make me more of a target…?'*
Come to think of it, yes.
The Emperor had made no shortage of enemies. And those arrows might fly toward him instead of the Emperor.
*'Oh, for—'*