Chapter 124
Isaac Walker, the Silent Witch's self-appointed disciple, spends his time minding the house in Sutherland, working through assignments sent by Wyrdiane while pursuing his own magical research.
In between, he cleans the house, cooks meals, and eats with Nero. He spends his days quietly, more or less, but lately one new routine has been added to the mix.
"Walker, are you ready?"
"Yes, whenever you are."
In an empty lot somewhere in Sutherland, Isaac faced Anthony with a practice sword hanging at his waist.
Anthony held only a sword hilt. It had no blade. But when Anthony uttered a short incantation, the hilt made a series of crisp cracking sounds as an ice blade extended from it.
It was a technique called a magic sword, often seen among the knights of the Kingdom of Randall. The blade had been dulled, technically, but a swing would still hurt.
"Now then... here I come!"
Anthony's throat gave a rough growl. The next instant, he charged in with a powerful slash.
His intensity was so fierce that it was hard to believe he'd been smiling amiably just moments ago, but Isaac remained calm and met the ice blade.
If his opponent had been wielding a lightning or fire magic sword, he might have been injured just by blocking it, but this training was meant to simulate facing an ordinary sword.
(If I trade blows with him head-on, the difference in strength is obvious. I could hurt my wrist if I'm not careful. I could dodge, but...)
Isaac remained mindful of what was behind him and tried to deflect Anthony's sword.
But Anthony wasn't about to let him deflect it so easily.
"Hyaaah!"
With a fierce battle cry, Anthony swept his sword sideways.
The wide swing left Anthony's torso completely exposed. Isaac wanted to rush in and attack, but it was a trap.
When Isaac opened some distance, Anthony grinned menacingly.
"Wasn't that a chance to attack, Walker?"
"A mutual hit wouldn't accomplish anything."
"So you noticed. Then how about this...!"
Anthony slashed at him again. Isaac wanted to step back and dodge, but he couldn't retreat any farther.
Isaac deliberately stepped in, deflected Anthony's sword, and aimed for his throat. But the strain on his wrist was greater than he expected. Isaac failed to deflect the blow, and Anthony pressed the ice blade against his neck.
"That's the match."
"...Yes."
Isaac let out a sigh and lightly rubbed his aching wrist.
Anthony looked at the slightly chipped ice blade and murmured admiringly.
"You've got a fine hand, Walker."
"I'm no match for you."
"Don't be so modest. I can tell after crossing swords a few times. You were moving with the assumption that you had someone behind you to protect, weren't you?"
Isaac stopped rubbing his wrist and looked at Anthony with his eyes slightly widened.
(He noticed.)
The first sword Isaac had been taught as a child was the sword of a bodyguard protecting Prince Felix—a sword meant to shield the person behind him.
That meant he couldn't draw the enemy's attention too far toward himself, or let a deflected attack fly behind him. No matter whether he won, it would mean nothing if the person he was supposed to protect got hurt.
After Felix's death, Isaac changed his face and corrected all of those habits.
What Second Prince Felix Ark Ridill needed was a sword that could defeat his enemies.
He had to cut down every enemy standing in his way, displaying his overwhelming talent and strength. A kingly sword befitting the next king.
In fact, it had worked. Everyone around him praised Prince Felix's swordsmanship.
But Isaac was trying to change that princely style of swordsmanship back to the way it used to be.
From a sword for winning to a sword for protecting.
His training with Anthony was for that purpose.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't holding back, though."
Isaac had only asked Anthony to train with him in swordsmanship; he hadn't explained his circumstances.
But Anthony didn't take offense. He laughed heartily.
"Don't worry about it. My sword and your sword have different purposes. Mine is for leading the charge and breaking through the enemy ranks. Yours is for protecting someone precious behind you. Neither is better or worse, nor is one more noble than the other."
Anthony was a rough man who had trouble listening to others, but he was a first-rate swordsman. As expected of someone with military experience.
As Isaac was thinking this, Anthony spoke as if he'd just remembered something.
"By the way, Walker. Is it possible you injured your right eye at some point?"
His heart skipped a beat. His right hand rose reflexively and touched his bangs.
Fiddling with his bangs to hide his right eye had been a childhood habit. He'd corrected it when he switched places with Felix.
"...What makes you say that?"
"Your reflexes are frighteningly good, but you're just a tiny bit slower when an attack comes from the right. I noticed while observing you. You have a habit of looking at things on your right with your left eye first. So I wondered if you'd injured your right eye at some point."
Isaac was stunned.
No one had ever pointed that out before. Not even the knights who had trained him in swordsmanship had noticed.
Anthony was the unusual one for noticing in such a short time.
"...Thank you for pointing that out. It seems I still have some habits to correct."
With that, Isaac readjusted his grip on his sword.
Anthony also grinned and raised his sword.
"As for me, I've gotten pretty rusty lately! You're going to give me a good workout today, Walker!"
＊ ＊ ＊
While crossing swords with Isaac Walker, Anthony Winkel was secretly impressed.
There weren't many swordsmen this young who were this skilled, even among the knights of the Kingdom of Randall, where he served. Honestly, he wanted talent like this in his unit.
Fighting while shielding someone behind you limited your movements. And yet Isaac was keeping up with Anthony this well.
(...So Michel was right.)
'I think Walker-kun is a servant to someone of high status.'
A few days ago, after a drinking party, Anthony's younger brother Michel had said that.
Michel was a member of a unit specializing in intelligence work. As a result, he had an exceptionally keen eye.
Even at the drinking party, Michel had kept an eye on that young man whose handsome face seemed out of place among the others.
'Walker-kun, when we were eating, he took a little of every dish first.'
'Isn't that pretty normal?'
Theodore, who had been playing with a dog, said mildly. Michel slowly shook his head.
'He took a small first bite. He didn't chew right away—he let it sit on his tongue to check for numbness. He also waited a little before trying the next dish, probably to see if the first bite caused any reaction. He's in the habit of tasting food for poison.'
Anyone in the habit of tasting food for poison must be either a very high-ranking noble or a servant who attends one.
'Also, Walker-kun is always on alert, keeping an eye on his surroundings. When I tried to surprise him by sneaking up from his blind spot, he seemed to notice me. That's not something an ordinary person could do. He's probably a bodyguard or servant to someone of very high status.'
'I see. So Walker is the servant and bodyguard of Miss Monica Everett, the Silent Witch.'
During the commotion surrounding the capture of Samuel Sloth, a deserter from the Kingdom of Randall's knights, Anthony had learned that Monica Everett, one of the Seven Sages of the Kingdom of Ridill known as the Silent Witch, was that tiny girl.
Furthermore, that tiny girl was his younger brother's future bride—in other words, Anthony's future younger sister.
'In other words, Walker is the bodyguard of our future little sister! Then Walker is practically our younger brother! When Miss Monica marries Roberto, we'll welcome Walker into our family with open arms!'
Incidentally, at the drinking party the other day, they had learned that the young man named Walker was in love, and that it was a painful love. They also knew that the person he was in love with was the one he served.
Even so, it never once occurred to them that the person Walker was pining for might be Monica Everett, the Silent Witch.
This was all because Isaac Walker was absurdly good-looking, to the point that he seemed out of place.
He was handsome enough to make people's hearts flutter. Surely the woman he loved was an older beauty—probably a former superior or former mistress, someone in that sort of relationship. That was what they'd assumed.
For that matter, the second son, Michel, had seen Cyril Ashley escort Monica at Samuel Sloth's shop. But Michel had concluded, 'I'm sure that silver-haired man is Miss Monica's guardian or a fellow Sage!'
That was because, as far as Michel was concerned, it was a foregone conclusion that the Silent Witch would become his younger brother's wife and their little sister.
Despite their extraordinary powers of observation and insight, the Winkel brothers, famous knights of the Kingdom of Randall, were hopeless in all sorts of ways whenever their younger brother was involved.
＊ ＊ ＊
After finishing his sword training with Anthony, Isaac was invited to join him for a meal, but politely declined.
Monica, who had gone to the capital on a guard assignment for Princess Tsetsilia, should be returning soon.
Isaac made sure to clean every day, but now that Monica was coming home, he wanted to clean thoroughly and prepare a warm meal for her.
(I'll definitely make the sautéed white fish Monica likes... And some nut cookies would be nice, too. I should buy more coffee beans...)
"To win over the girl you love, you have to improve yourself" was Anthony's advice, but Isaac thought winning her over through her stomach was incredibly important too.
Looking back over the past six months, he couldn't help feeling that he'd won Nero's stomach more than Monica's.
One of Isaac's modest goals was to hear Monica say, "Aike's cooking is the best."
As he planned what to buy, he returned to Monica's house and heard a clatter inside.
Wondering if Nero was chasing a mouse or something, he opened the door. Monica, unusually wearing an apron, looked at Isaac with a startled expression for some reason.
"Aike?!"
"Welcome home, Monica. You're back earlier than I expected."
"W-wait! Five more minutes! Sit down and wait!"
"...Huh?"
Ignoring Isaac's bewilderment, Monica pulled a memo out of her apron pocket and stared at it intently.
"Um, cleaning... there wasn't anything to do, so that's fine... I heated the bath. I changed the bedding. I chilled the alcohol, and all that's left is reheating the food... My tiny flame spell failed last time, so low and slow in the oven..."
My master's being so adorable, like a newlywed bride, Isaac thought silently to himself.
As this was going on, Monica hurried into the kitchen. Isaac followed at a leisurely pace and peeked inside.
Monica was watching the oven with the seriousness of someone conducting a magical experiment. Inside was a chunk of meat, probably marinated in a sauce made with spices and fruit. A delicious aroma wafted from the oven.
"Monica, meat that's been marinated in sauce burns easily, so you should move it a little farther from the heat."
"O-okay!"
Monica carefully moved the meat in a way that made him nervous just watching, then wiped the sweat from her forehead. She was dead serious.
Apparently, Monica was adjusting the reheating time by the second. She kept looking from the clock's second hand to the oven and muttering things like, "Another one hundred and eighty seconds..."
But Isaac, who was used to cooking, judged that if she baked it for another hundred and eighty seconds, the outside would definitely burn.
"I think you can turn off the heat now. The residual heat will warm it through."
"R-residual heat... That's an advanced technique..."
"Mm, all you have to do is turn off the heat."
Following Isaac's instruction, Monica turned off the oven and let out a long breath. She had the same expression she wore when she'd overcome a major hurdle in her magical research.
Then, suddenly, Monica looked up and turned to Isaac.
"S-sorry. I haven't even said welcome home yet. Welcome home, Aike!"
"Yeah, I'm home. But you just got back from the capital too, didn't you, Monica? I'll take care of the rest..."
At Isaac's words, Monica vigorously shook her head, straightened her posture, and cleared her throat.
The "ahem" was probably meant to reset the mood, but unfortunately, it didn't come across at all.
"Um, this is something I'm saying as Aike's teacher..."
"Yes? What is it, my master?"
"Lately, Aike, you've seemed a little down."
Isaac flinched a little.
After coming into contact with people from the Empire and learning about the promise Monica had made to the Black Lion Emperor in the past, Isaac apparently hadn't been able to hide his agitation.
As he tried to swallow the bitter feelings rising from deep in his throat, Monica spoke with a very serious expression.
"I'm sure you're tired from traveling back and forth between your territory and Sutherland, Aike. So please take it easy and get some rest. I've heated the bath. I laid out fresh bedding, nice and neat. I chilled the alcohol, and the food will be perfect once it's done warming. So, um..."
Monica looked as though she were desperately searching for the right words, then suddenly lifted her face as if she'd remembered what she wanted to say.
"If there's anything I can do for you, please tell me anytime, okay?"
＊ ＊ ＊
It was Monica's own attempt to recreate the way Lionel had cared for Princess Tsetsilia.
When Tsetsilia looked troubled and burdened by her worries, Lionel hadn't forced her to explain herself. Instead, he had shown concern for her.
Perhaps that was why Tsetsilia had felt able to tell Lionel everything.
Monica had noticed that Isaac seemed to be troubled by something lately. If possible, she wanted him to talk to her and rely on her.
But she thought that forcing him to answer questions wasn't the way to go.
She wanted to show concern for Isaac and create an environment where he could talk easily. Just as Lionel had gently cared for Tsetsilia.
So on her way home, Monica had stopped by Dudley's butcher shop and bought a chunk of meat that she thought Isaac would like.
She had heated the bath and made the bed. With that, she had prepared an environment where Isaac could rest easy.
(And then... Oh, right. What Prince Lionel said!)
Monica declared in a heartfelt tone, as though delivering a dramatic line.
"If there's anything I can do for you, please tell me anytime, okay?"
Nailed it. Perfect, if she did say so herself.
As Monica secretly clenched her fist, Isaac chuckled softly, lowering his brows as he smiled.
"Then, could I take you up on one thing?"
"Of course!"
In front of the eager Monica, Isaac sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. Apparently, he wanted her to sit next to him.
After saying, "Excuse me," Monica sat down beside him. Isaac leaned against her just a little—only enough for their shoulders to lightly touch.
"I'd like to hear about you. Would you tell me what happened in the capital?"
"Oh, yes! Um, so..."
Monica told him about the things she'd experienced over the past few weeks, using animated gestures as she spoke.
Of course, she couldn't tell him about Princess Tsetsilia being rejected by the mirror. But there was plenty else she wanted to talk about: visiting the Albright estate, having tea with Tsetsilia, making a friend named Karina, and receiving a cute wooden carving.
Monica had never imagined herself telling someone about her own experiences, but she was eager to tell Isaac everything that had happened over the past few weeks.
"And then, Lady Tsetsilia..."
It was unusual for Monica to keep talking so eloquently, but before long, her eyelids started to feel heavy.
She had exhausted herself by preparing the bath and everything else as soon as she returned from the capital.
At first, Isaac had been the one leaning slightly against her, but now Monica was leaning on his shoulder, nodding off.
She was in the middle of putting grown-up consideration into practice. There was no way a reliable, cool teacher could fall asleep here... Monica desperately rubbed her eyes, but her head kept drooping lower and lower.
"Good night, my master."
Just before she lost consciousness, she thought she felt something soft touch her cheek.
＊ ＊ ＊
As Monica talked about what had happened in the capital, she began to doze off. Isaac carefully shifted her small, tilting body and laid her head on his lap.
Isaac suddenly remembered a boy who had lived next door when he was a child.
That boy was a little older than Isaac and treated him like a little brother. He would proudly show off things he'd just learned at school.
That was exactly what Monica was like today. In other words, she was a child eager to put something she'd just learned into practice.
"Please tell me anytime" was not the sort of thing Monica would normally say.
(She must have learned something in the capital.)
She must have put a lot of thought into preparing the bath, bedding, and food in her own way. Her clumsy consideration made him happy.
Everything prepared here had been made for him.
(Then, won't you let me have you all to myself, too... just for now?)
As he indulged in such a selfish thought, Nero, in the form of a black cat, popped into view through the window. Apparently, the smell of the warming meat had lured him in.
"Oh, hey. You're back, Sparkles."
"Nero, could you come over here for a moment?"
"Huh?"
Nero jumped onto the arm of the sofa and looked back and forth between Isaac and Monica, who was dozing on his lap.
Monica looked like she was about to fall completely asleep.
Isaac gazed at her innocent face, his eyes narrowing sadly.
In the past, he could have playfully stolen a kiss or two, but now he didn't think he could bring himself to do it. If he did, he was sure he wouldn't be able to hold himself back from a lot of things.
So Isaac picked Nero up and gently pressed the cat's front paw against Monica's cheek.
"Good night, my master."
He heard the steady sound of her breathing. It seemed she'd fallen completely asleep.
Isaac smiled sadly as he gently squished Monica's cheek with Nero's paw.
"Hey, what the hell are you making me do?"
"It's complicated. Please understand."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Nero narrowed his eyes in exasperation and looked up at Isaac.
Isaac set Nero down on the armrest.
"Actually, I have a problem... Senior Nero."
"Yeah, ask me anything."
Isaac quietly asked the black cat, who seemed pleased to be called a senior.
"How do you think I can become Monica's number one?"
"You want to be Monica's number one? That's impossible. Give up."
Nero's blunt answer left Isaac speechless, and Nero snorted smugly.
"After all, I'm the one Monica likes best!"
"..........."
"I'm the cutest and strongest! If you're jealous, you should turn into a cat too—"
Isaac smiled sweetly and carefully stroked Nero's tail against the grain, putting his whole heart into it.
The startled black dragon leaped into the air, cried, "Honyarabu-bboo!" and rolled across the floor.