Chapter 7: Crown of Grass

The star send-off ceremony for the kobolds who died was conducted early the next morning. Ever since then, Emon had remained out on the outskirts of town, practicing his sword swings.

“I was wondering where you’d run off to!” Darke called out to him as she walked up to him from behind. “How are you feeling? Have all your wounds healed?”

“M’fine,” Emon mumbled, neither turning to face her nor stopping his practice. “Compared to Sashalia, I had it easy... How’s she doin’, anyhow?”

“Still not awake yet, I’m afraid. We’ve tried all we could, but even after enlisting the aid of the spirits...”

Darke exhaled sharply before continuing.

“...she’ll never walk unaided again. She’ll need a cane or some manner of support for the rest of her life.”

Emon froze in mid-swing when he heard that. His head drooped slightly and he clenched his jaw. Even with his back turned to her, Darke could see the tension in his body.

Emon struggled to contain his immense frustration at his own helplessness. For the third time, he’d failed to save the people around him. He couldn’t help Gaius defend that small settlement from McArdle and the bandits. The adventurers took him down easily before he could save Fog, Fluff, and Fishbone. And now Sashalia...once again, he had been of no help whatsoever.

Ever since Fog’s death, Emon had trained relentlessly; he’d never once complained about his regimen after that. Gaius’s guidance combined with his natural dwarven strength to produce good results, considering how long he’d been training. But even so, he’d still fallen to the two adventurers that Hubert sent after him. All his effort could not compensate for the harsh unpredictability of a real combat situation. Instead of saving the day, it was all he could do to stay alive until Gaius arrived.

Dwarves were abnormally strong—perhaps the physically strongest intelligent race on the continent. They were even more durable and powerful than orcs, ogres, and other races that were notoriously suited for combat. When Emon left home, he’d believed that this would be enough to see him through during his travels through the outside world. He’d foolishly thought he’d simply grow even more powerful by walking the path of a hero king.

His foolhardy bravado hadn’t been dampened after the highway bandits outside Ryburgh had assaulted him. Even after McArdle’s men had caved his head in, his spirits bounced back even before his skull had—because in both incidents, he was the only one who had been hurt.

But he’d failed to save Fog, the mother of his dear little friend. Now, yet another of his friends had suffered because of his incompetence, with wounds that would last her the rest of her life.

The brash overconfidence so commonly found in young men, that belief that nothing could ever faze him—all that had vanished.

“Damn it all!” Emon screamed, slashing wildly at the air with all his might.

“...It’s almost time for breakfast,” Darke said calmly. “You should have something to eat.”

“I know...”

“You can’t gain all the strength you’re looking for in a day’s worth of practice.”

“I know that!”

Darke’s shoulders flinched.

“I just...I just wanna be helpful, too...”

Pretending not to hear him, Darke turned on her heel and walked back toward the village. As she left Emon standing there, she murmured her reply.

“...Boys always do.”

＊

In the building being used as a makeshift infirmary, Sashalia’s eyes finally opened that morning, and Gaius was sitting beside her to see it happen.

“Miss Sashalia!”

“Sir Gaius...? I...” Gingerly, she brought a hand to her forehead, then her cheek. Her face was plastered in poultices from medicinal herbs. As soon as she felt them, memories of the fight came flooding back to her. She twisted to the side and willed her left leg to bend in an attempt to stand, only to find that she was unable to feel anything from the middle of her thigh down. When her memories caught up with her physical state, Sashalia let out a quiet “...Ah.”

Gaius had been watching her face intently, but now he cast his gaze downward. He hesitated for a moment then brought a hand to her back and helped her sit up in her bed.

“Miss Sashalia...I don’t know what to say. This is all my fault. All that happened to you was because of my poor planning. I’m...so very sorry.” He knelt beside her, his pained expression disappearing as he brought his forehead down to the floor.

“N-No, you don’t have to do that, Captain! C—...Sir Gaius, this wasn’t your fault. I mean that.”

“It is. I should have been able to prevent this. I should have bolstered the village’s defenses more—at the very least, I should have made Darke stay behind to protect you all.”

Those words stabbed at Sashalia’s heart like a knife. Of course, she knew Gaius had no intention of putting her down, but they only fueled the fire of her inferiority complex. It was as though he’d said to her, “Darke can take care of herself, but you can’t”—words that were already wound around her heart like thorny vines. To make matters worse, he felt the need to apologize for her inability to protect herself. That only further drove home the fact that she’d failed on every front—as a warrior and as a counselor.

One after another, tears trickled down Sashalia’s face. “Ah, this isn’t...I’m not...” She fought to put a smile on her face, trying desperately to maintain a brave front, but she couldn’t stop the hot tears from falling.

“I apologize...” Gaius said again.

“Please don’t.”

If you do, I’ll only feel even more pathetic than I already do.

“Sir Gaius,” Sashalia continued, before he could reply. “I’d like to be alone for a little while.”

For a moment, he looked back at her, hesitant to leave things as they were. But eventually he nodded.

“...I’ll come back later.” With that, he stood up and made for the door. Sashalia couldn’t bring herself to reply, or to even watch him leave.

I’m so stupid. All that about being Sir Gaius’s best aide, and being able to hold off those adventurers...now look at me. I’ll be even more of a burden than I was before. And to make matters worse, I just made a fool of myself in front of him. I wish I were dead.

But Sashalia knew she couldn’t let herself die just yet. Not until she found a way to repay the man who had given her hope when all seemed lost. She doubted Gaius even realized what he’d done for her. That clumsy smile, those huge hands—just the thought of them filled her with hope.

All these years, Sashalia had longed for the chance to not only repay him, but to become the kind of person who could stand beside him as an equal. Maybe, just maybe, then she would be able to...

“I chased him all the way here, but in the end I only ended up dragging him down...” Sashalia mumbled to herself, her shoulders hunched and trembling. She curled up as best she could by bringing her working right knee up to her chest, pressing her face against it to stifle her racking sobs.

＊

At the same time, in a different part of the village, Darke had just finished interrogating the two adventurers Gaius had captured. She sat just outside the home where they were being kept imprisoned, thinking over the information she’d gotten out of them. Something just didn’t sit right with her. They’d contradicted each other a few times, but after a couple rounds of thorough individual interrogation, they’d eventually begun to tell her a coherent story that made sense.

Still, she found it difficult to shake her doubt. Perhaps she was overthinking it all. There was no guarantee that the other adventurers were mounting a counterattack. But, in any case, Darke knew she had to tell Gaius and the others. She stood and made her way to Fog’s house to deliver the news:

The Ryburgh Adventurers’ Guild had roughly four hundred active members. Should Wyatt choose to send out a guild order, it was estimated that he could mobilize as many as three hundred adventurers.

＊

A few days after the “expedition,” the band of adventurers returned to Ryburgh, completely exhausted. Normally, most of them would rush to the guild to collect their reward, which they would then proceed to burn through in hedonistic pursuits. This time, though, all any of them wanted to do was collapse into their beds.

Wyatt was the only one that did not appear to be suffering from the journey. His tenacity in both mind and spirit never failed to amaze the guild members.

Upon returning to the guild headquarters, Wyatt had Cyril apprehended and sent to the hold where they kept prisoners. He would deal with Cyril later for hiding what he’d known about the kobold village. After that, he quickly took care of doling out rewards to the expedition’s participants and then withdrew to his office.

Wyatt began unfastening his armor with one hand as he used the other to remove the sword that hung at his waist and set it down on his desk. He sank into his chair, letting out a heavy sigh and deep frown he’d been holding in the entire way home.

He threw a nasty glare over at his bookshelf. When he spotted the book he’d been looking for, resting in its special spot on the shelf, he growled. He stood up and stalked over to it, yanking the book out.

“Iron Knight Iwanoshin.” Wyatt had carried this book with him for most of his life. The sight of the cover made so many memories come rushing back. All of them made him sick now.

“Graaaahhh!” With a roar, Wyatt grabbed the book by both covers and pulled it apart down the spine. Again and again, he ripped out fistfuls of pages and tore them to pieces, then picked up the pieces and shredded those as well. Panting and shouting, he stomped the scraps of paper, then dropped to his hands and knees, pounding the scraps on the floor with his fists.

His eyes were bloodshot and his breath came in growling, ragged pants. Wyatt suspected the guild members below could hear him, but he didn’t care. He needed to vent his rage. No, he needed to act like he was venting. If he didn’t go through the motions, he suspected that terrible, burning emotion would reignite in his heart and threaten to burn him up once again.

“Back then... Back then...!”

When Wyatt and Gaius had been interrupted during their duel, Gaius had run away to aid the village and Wyatt had attempted to follow him. But, between the need to regroup his men and tend to his wounded, Wyatt had been forced to put a stop to his pursuit before long.

“If there weren’t so many damned nuisances, I’d have...”

...Assuredly lost that fight. Not even Wyatt could deny it. He’d felt it as soon as they had crossed swords. But despite that—or perhaps because of it—Wyatt’s fury was still agonizing.

Deep breaths. Breathe in...and breathe out. Then take another deep breath. Wyatt forced himself to calm down.

“All right... That’s enough of that, Wyatt.” He punched himself in the shoulder again and again, willing his anger to die down until he was as calm as he’d pretended to be in front of the others.

Wyatt reminded himself of his original goal: sparking an armed conflict between the two factions of House Zigan. He’d lost twenty of his soldiers that should have gone toward furthering that cause.

He’d been soundly defeated by Gaius. His side had suffered much heavier casualties against an enemy that should have posed no problem. Worse, once word of all this reached Keighley, it was sure to impact her opinion of him.

This was a failure. A massive failure.

Even so, it was only a single failure. He still had another four hundred people at his disposal—twenty deaths was nothing in the long run. Losing to a backwards, primitive pack of monsters was sure to earn him some scorn and contempt—but that was nothing. It did not mean Wyatt was ruined.

It would take more than this to undo everything Wyatt had worked so hard to build. If he simply forgot all about Gaius Beldarus—if he could prevent himself from seeking revenge—then he could recover from this. He could move forward.

The last deep breath he’d forced himself to take now burst from his lips. He could feel the burning in his chest ebb away, little by little.

Get it together. Don’t let yourself get bogged down by petty grudges. I admit it, I lost. He had me beaten, completely. Another second and he’d have beheaded me. So what?

The flames in his heart continued: Are you sure you’re okay with that? Can you live with me gnawing away at you? Revenge is what you really want, isn’t it?

But Wyatt buried the thoughts under his reasoning and closed the lid tight over the fire—just in time for a knock to sound at the door, followed by the voice of one of his employees.

“Excuse me, sir! S-Sorry to bother you! I have an urgent message for you.” He could hear the fear in her voice.

“Come in.”

She opened the door, but she wasn’t alone. Beside her stood—

“McArdle?!”

The man leaned heavily against the clerk, a splint wrapped tightly around one leg. With great difficulty, she helped him over to a nearby sofa.

“I beg your pardon...Sir Wyatt...”

“I was wondering what took you so long to return... What on earth happened to you?!”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, sir, but...in the middle of our mission to pillage that settlement in Dugard’s name...we were attacked. I managed to escape, but fell off my horse and was unable to get back up. I was finally found by a hunter, who rescued me, but I didn’t know what to tell him...I didn’t want to expose your plan. I had to wait until I recovered before—”

Wyatt held up a hand to cut off his rambling apology. There was only one thing he wanted to know. “Who attacked you? There shouldn’t have been any peacekeeping patrols out that way.”

“I-It was the Black Rose of Igris, sir...Gaius Beldarus!”

Wyatt’s eye twitched.

“There’s no doubt about it, it was him!” McArdle continued, growing more agitated the longer he recalled that day. “He killed all my men! He saw everything! Our crimes, our fake crests, my face...please forgive me, sir!”

Wyatt knew this would happen eventually. Not only had he planned on leaving survivors to tell the tale, he knew that eventually someone would see through their plan to frame Dugard. But who would listen to the tall tales of one or two peasants?

However, this was a completely different story. The Black Rose of Igris, the hero of the Five-Year War who had fought alongside nobility and royalty—now he knew of their plot. That would mean the end of everything. The monarchy would never legitimize Keighley’s dominion over Northplain. Even if she were to completely crush Dugard, her territory would be confiscated and brought under the direct control of the king.

Wyatt was on the road to ruin. He had only one chance to salvage everything.

He clutched his face tightly with his right hand, his fingers digging into his flesh until they pressed against his skull. A strange, muffled sound managed to escape from his lips.

McArdle watched him in terrified confusion, shrinking back into the couch. He’d never seen the man like this before.

At last, Wyatt released his face and stared into his palm. From where McArdle sat, he couldn’t yet see Wyatt’s expression, but he could hear the guildmaster’s voice.

“No need to apologize, McArdle. I’m not angry. Quite the opposite, in fact...”

Wyatt looked up at him, beaming with joy. At least, that was how it would appear to anyone who didn’t know him.

“Thank you. Now I know what I need to do. Thank you so much.”

The flames in Wyatt’s heart had burst free of their confines and had overtaken him. He continued smiling widely, an ominous glint in his eye.

＊

All of the six kobolds that died had families. Some were the heads of their household, while others left grieving parents behind. The dark, painful sorrow of their loss weighed heavily on the whole village.

Though it was a heavy burden to bear, everyone understood that they could not afford to let their despair crush them. They had to pick themselves up and fight, or else they wouldn’t even be alive to mourn.

One of them had said that, but by now no one could remember who had originally come up with it. Rain Grass, perhaps? Or one of the young men? Maybe it was a member of the housewives’ brigade. In any case, the quote was often heard around the village as of late, and everyone had the distinct feeling that someone had said it first.

What everyone did know was that they all shared the same idea. The image of what they needed to do, and what they wanted was starting to take the same form in everyone’s hearts.

＊

It had been raining heavily since daybreak and the weather showed no signs of letting up, which meant no one would be working outside anytime soon. Gaius sat beside the sunken fireplace in Fog’s house, tending to his weapons.

The village children sat around him, watching his every move with rapt attention. Ever since that terrible day, they’d all stuck close to Fluff and Amber Blossom, doing their best to cheer their friends up. Naturally, Fluff was still heavily affected by the loss of his mother, but thanks to Fishbone and the others glimpses of his usual self would peek through a little more every day.

The most difficult parts came at night, when all his friends went home. As soon as the sun set and everyone left, he would cling to Darke’s chest and refuse to let go. She and Sashalia did their best to tend to the void that Fog’s death had left in his heart. At first, Gaius had tried to help them, only to be turned away by Darke. This was how he spent his free time instead.

“Ah, this won’t last much longer...” he murmured.

“What’s wrong, gramps?”

“This.” Gaius held up his faussar, tilting the edge towards Emon. The children wanted to get in close and see as well, but Gaius would scold them if they ever tried to approach his weapons. They sat back at a safe distance and leaned in as far as they could to get a better look.

Emon whistled. “The blade’s all cracked, innit! Bloody thing’s about tae fall tae pieces.”

“I only used this one for the first time in that last battle. It’s only natural for a sword to wear down, but for it to happen so quickly...”

“It’s cause you fight like a damned beast! I’m surprised you don’t go through ’em quicker.”

Gaius chuckled lightly. “I suppose you’re right. It’s time to retire this one, then. If I try fighting with it, it won’t last more than a few blows. I’ll go fetch another from my wagon—or maybe I’ll use a different weapon next time...”

He gently set the faussar down beside him on the woven mat, using both hands. The children scooted backward to make sure they were still at the prescribed distance.

“Allow me to have a look at your sword as well, Emon.” Gaius unsheathed the sword the dwarf handed him, examining it closely.

Emon had left home with a short, broad, double-edged sword his father had left him, a weapon resembling something between an anelace and a spatha. When Gaius first saw it, he’d imagined it was meant to be wielded with both hands, similar to a bastard sword, and he had been instructing the young man to practice with it as such.

He had asked whether the curious weapon was crafted for a specific sort of dwarven fighting style that he was unfamiliar with, but Emon’s father had died when the boy was only two years old, and so he knew no more about the sword than Gaius did. His older sister had locked away all the enchanted weapons and objects they’d inherited, so Emon had grown up assuming the sword was nothing special. Gaius, on the other hand, could tell right away that it had been well-loved by its previous owner.

“This part here could do with some sharpening...” said Gaius.

“Gee, thanks, gramps!”

“I’m not doing it for you! Sharpen your own sword!”

The children burst into giggles. Emon sulked for a brief moment, but seeing Fluff laugh along with his friends brought a smile to his face as well.

“Knock knock!” Rain Grass, Red Eye, and a group of kobold men opened the door and called out in greeting as they walked into the house. They’d huddled under a few large leaves to keep themselves dry, and they left the dripping leaves in a pile just outside the door.

“Still workin’ hard even when we can’t tend to the fields, eh Gaius?”

“Afternoon!”

“All right kids, we’ve got work to discuss,” announced Red Eye. “Go on and play in the assembly hall.”

“Okaaay,” the children chimed in unison, running as fast as they could through the rain. Once they’d all left, the adults sat before Gaius.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” Rain Grass said.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Gaius replied, waving a hand in front of his face. The kobolds looked to one another, unsure as to how they should begin. Eventually, Red Eye nodded to the others, then turned to Gaius hesitantly.

“...We have a favor to ask you.”

＊

Darke sat beside Sashalia’s bed in the infirmary, listening to the downpour outside. “My, it certainly is coming down out there.”

“Yeah...” Sashalia replied listlessly. Both were doing their best to avoid eye contact, staring at the door as they spoke. They’d been sitting like that for quite some time.

“You know...” Sashalia began, “I’ve been thinking about leaving the village.”

“Is that truly what you want, Lady Denan?” Darke replied.

“I’m only going to get in the way here.”

“The villagers are so grateful to you. As is Sir Gaius. No one thinks of you as a burden.”

“But I do.”

“What will you do if you leave?”

“I don’t know...”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know, okay?!” Sashalia shook her head, her shoulders trembling.

“In that case, permission denied. I simply cannot authorize such a reckless mission.”

“That’s not for you to decide...”

“No? As your elder, I think it is.”

“What are you talking about? We were in the same class.”

“Aha...I may have lied about my age in the academy. I’m actually three years older.”

“What?!” That got Sashalia to look her in the eye. The half-elf whipped around and looked at Darke in shock, so much so that she forgot to try and dry her tears or wipe her nose.

“Do be sure to keep it a secret, okay? I lied to Sir Gaius as well.”

“So...you’re twenty-six?”

“I suppose I am.”

“You’re nearly thirty?!”

“And just why are you rounding my age up like that?!” Darke raised her voice as well. The two stared each other down in silence, Darke glaring and Sashalia wide-eyed.

“...Pfft...”

“Aheh heh heh...”

The two couldn’t contain themselves anymore, bursting into light-hearted laughter until their stomachs hurt. A sudden question came to Sashalia’s mind, cutting her laughter short.

“...How did you end up in Sir Gaius’s care?”

“Hm? Well, it’s not a very exciting story...”

“I don’t mind. You already know everything about me. It wouldn’t be fair of you to keep it to yourself.” Sashalia twisted and shuffled on her elbows as she spoke, trying to turn to better face Darke. As she was doing so, her hand slipped out from under her and she fell face-first into Darke’s bosom.

“Oh, my... Do you need some affection, Lady Aide?” Darke held the half-elf to her chest, cradling her like a child.

“...I do sometimes.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Darke gave a tiny nod as she held Sashalia close. Slowly, she began to tell her the story of her past.

＊

They say that Goldchester, the earldom to the west of Northplain, used to be nothing but fields of golden wheat. One day, a nobleman ordered his army to build garrisons in the fields, only to be killed in an uprising by the infuriated peasantry. No one remembers whose army it was, but the region came to be named after those golden fields, the pride of its people—until the Five-Year War.

Goldchester was on the edge of the kingdom, sharing a border with the next kingdom over. In a previous war, half of its territory had been annexed by that kingdom. This kingdom had formed an alliance with several other nearby nations to continue expanding its territory, and together they invaded Goldchester yet again—that incursion was the start of the Five-Year War.

For the first three years, Igris suffered loss after loss against the forces of the invading kingdoms. By the fourth year, however, it had managed to turn the tide. Not only did Igris manage to push the enemy alliance back, it also made strides in reclaiming western Goldchester. By the fifth year, the enemies had been completely driven out of the region.

One young girl and her father had just happened to be in Goldchester at the time of Igris’s counter-invasion to reclaim the land that had been annexed. Her father died in the battle, but she was not particularly sad to lose him. He had been a compulsive gambler, a thief, a drunk, and a con artist, one who bragged about once killing a man in a drunken brawl.

He’d dragged her to Goldchester as a tool, not as his child. He forced her to steal for him, and if he still needed more money to fund his vices, he would pay with his daughter’s body instead. So when the young girl saw her father slain before her very eyes, she was relieved. It meant her suffering would finally be over—or so she believed.

Igris’s soldiers were even worse. They dragged her to a nobleman’s villa, where they housed other children they’d kidnapped from the areas around the battlefields. There, they were stripped of their names, and referred to only by the color of their hair—Reddish, Blonde, Ash, Grey, Brunette... Dark. When the children were all used up, or when the kidnappers simply grew tired of them, they were disposed of. Over time, the girl helped bury Reddish, Grey and two different Brunettes. If there was one benefit to her upbringing, it was that her father’s harsh treatment had equipped her mentally to survive this hellish life. But the soldiers constantly brought in new captives; she suspected they would grow tired of her before long.

It was then that he arrived. It seemed that someone had been hunting for the soldiers who were in charge of securing new “merchandise.” Though he bore the same crest as the other soldiers, he burst through the front doors of the villa and turned his sword on the aristocrat’s men, killing over half of them himself.

The sight of him was terrifying. His wicked face was drenched in blood, teeth bared like a wild animal as he hacked through them with a frightening fury. More disturbingly, there were tears streaming down his face even as he slaughtered them. He cried at the sight of those children, their haunted faces, and the corpses of the ones he’d failed to save.

He must be crying for me, too, thought the girl. She was amazed. No one had ever shed tears for her in her whole life. That show of compassion alone made her feel like the man was an angel come to save her.

It was decided that the children would be sent to an orphanage in the capital. The girl kicked, cried, and screamed as the knights tried to take her. She did not want to leave him. She latched onto his arm and did not let go even once, begging them to let her stay with him. Eventually, he relented, and promised her that he would not leave her.

＊

“You can’t be serious!”

Later that night, the girl awoke at the sound of an outburst in the next tent over. Under the darkness of the new moon, she crawled outside of her own tent and toward the neighboring one, to hear the rest of their conversation.

“Billy’s right. Someone in your position, taking in a kid like that? Come on, now.”

“But sir, I made a promise to her...”

She leaned in closer; inside, the scary man was discussing her situation with his senior knights and his commander.

“This isn’t just about you,” said one of them. “This is about all the people you represent. The commander and House Raftia of Lucastle defended you, and of course, there’s His Majesty, the former queen and king...”

“That’s right,” one of the senior knights chimed in. “They all put their necks on the line to save you from that scumbag, Lord Bigberg. He wanted your head for what you did to his men.”

Among those Gaius had slain was a relative of Earl Egbert Bigberg, the man who would go on to become the prime minister; Darke did not learn this until much later.

“Besides, you know what those kids were being made to do—think of how it would look if you took one in. That’ll make everyone supporting you look bad, too. Do you want people saying you killed your allies and stole a little girl for your own? You know what, it doesn’t matter if you mind it or not. Like we said, it’s more than just your reputation on the line. Try using your head instead of your sword for once!”

The commander’s lecture was followed by a long silence. Eventually, the girl heard the scary man’s reply.

“...So as long as it’s clear there’s no possibility of impropriety, I can take her in?”

“Have you been listening?! There’s no way it won’t look bad, you damn fool!”

The girl decided she had heard enough. She crawled back to her tent with a vague sense of guilt. As she pulled the covers over her head, she decided that tomorrow she would go to the man and take back what she’d said.

＊

“What the hell did you do?!”

Once again, the young girl awoke to the sound of one of the senior knights screaming his head off. She rubbed her eyes at the brightness of the morning sun as she sat up, then poked her head out of the tent. Yet again, the scary man was being scolded.

“I went into town last night and had a seal of castration placed on me, sir! Don’t I look like a wise monk now? They have these placed on them all the time—did you know that?”

“You’re a real piece of work, always doing the craziest things without a second thought... And just look at this hack job! Who’d you ask to do that mark, a blind man?”

“He claimed to be a wandering sorcerer, but he didn’t say much else...”

The senior knight grabbed the scary man’s face with one hand, using the other to rub vigorously at his cheek.

“That hurts, sir...!”

“Damn, it’s really not coming off... How do you get rid of these things?”

Typically, curse marks faded with time and needed to be reinforced. However, this was not the case for marks placed intentionally; the target’s will would sustain it for much longer than normal.

“I’m glad it isn’t so easily removed...”

“Shut it! Didn’t His Majesty say he’d discuss allowing you to marry the princess when all this is done?! Did you forget what a great honor that is?!”

“Did he really?!” The scary man scratched the back of his head. When he noticed the young girl had been watching, he knelt down behind her and spoke in a gentle voice.

“It’s okay now. I’m sending you to my home. Don’t worry; I’ll be there soon.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, as she brought a hand up and pointed at the mark on his cheek. “It looks like a black rose,” she said.

He bared his teeth at her, like a beast showing its fangs. The expression made him look all the more ferocious.

But that face no longer frightened her.

＊

The young girl had been worried that her selfish wish had ruined everything for the man who had saved her. Therefore, the very least she could do was find a way to remove that seal—that black rose.

To do that, she needed more time with him, so she decided to lie about her age. She told him she was three years younger than she actually was. When she reached maturity, she’d most likely be forced out of the man’s household, but for now the man did not suspect a thing and simply took her at her word. Three more years—even with that borrowed time, would she find a way? What should she do?

When the war finally ended and he returned home, the girl greeted him with a salute.

“Welcome home, sir! I, Darke, have decided to become a valiant knight just like you, so please accept me as your student! I welcome your guidance!”

And with that, she added one more lie to the ever-growing pile. It was a lie she had kept up ever since then.

＊

Throughout her story, Darke would add strange sound effects, poke fun at Sashalia, or reword a thought mid-sentence.

“...and there you have it. That’s how Sir Gaius ended up with such unsavory monikers as ‘Ally-Killer’ and ‘Beldarus the Bloody-Bladed.’ His deeds were twisted by the earl when he became the prime minister, and then he had his people spread those rumors far and wide to get back at him.” She laughed as she concluded the tale, lightly tapping at her head with her knuckles as though knocking on a door.

Sashalia had long since pulled away from Darke’s embrace. As she spoke, the half-elf had shuddered more times than she could count. She finally realized what it was behind that smile, behind those eyes.

Darke had most likely gone mad, long before they ever met. Her goal to steal Gaius’s chastity was no joke—her warped sense of reasoning and ethics told her that this was the right thing, the moral thing, to do. Even if she lost both arms and legs, Darke would probably drag herself by her teeth to follow Gaius. And Sashalia had no doubt that if it would save his life, she’d gladly give her own without hesitation.

Sashalia could feel sweat beading up along her back. And yet, she envied Darke. She was jealous. Not of her deep bond with Gaius—she was envious of Darke herself. Of her strength and tenacity. Her intense passion. The lengths to which she was willing to go.

She suddenly found it hard to meet the other woman’s gaze. Fortunately, someone walked into the infirmary, giving her an excuse to look away.

It was the village elder. “You don’t look so great,” he said to Darke. “Let me take over for you.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll leave her with you, then.” Darke stood up, and the two watched her leave. The village elder set down the large leaf he had been using as an umbrella, shaking the rainwater from his fur. He knelt down by the sunken fireplace, reached for the nearby pile of kindling, and set about making a fire.

The elder wasn’t cold—he was summoning the fire spirits. While they did not have healing powers, fire spirits were among the most important, and so they were often called upon in rituals. And, even though Sashalia’s leg was too far gone to be healed, that did not stop the elder from trying every day since the attack.

“It looks like your ear isn’t in danger of infection...but how does your leg feel? Any improvement there?” he asked, to which Sashalia slowly shook her head.

“Well, it seems the spirits have taken a liking to you, little miss. They’re working hard to help you out, so I’ll keep them company while they get to work.”

Sashalia giggled. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to hear that.” The village elder puffed with pride; it was rare for someone to tell him they enjoyed his presence. As they spoke, he changed the medicinal herb poultices that had been applied to her leg. A light green fog swirled around her knee as he worked—just as he’d said, the spirits were also trying again today.

“You know, elder, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say your name.”

“Me? I’m Burning Quartz Flying Knuckle Handaxe of Powerful Magic Delicious.”

“...Can I just keep calling you ‘elder’?”

“Fine by me!” The elder held out a lidded bowl he’d brought with him. Sashalia braced herself for the bitter taste of her daily medicine and took as huge a gulp as she could.

Once she was done, he said “Thank you so much.”

“B-But I really didn’t do anything of use...”

“Nonsense! You risked your life to make sure the women and children could escape—and thanks to you, they did! I could thank you for ten years straight and it still wouldn’t be enough to express my gratitude! Only you could have done what you did out there. And you saved every last one of us. So please, I don’t want you calling yourself useless anymore.”

Sashalia felt the familiar burning sensation in her nose that meant tears would soon be following. She looked down into the bowl in her lap and took another swig of the medicine. She picked up a handkerchief beside her bed and pretended to wipe her mouth, instead catching the tears before they fell all the way down her cheeks.

“By the by, there’s going to be a meeting tonight. Might bore you to tears, but I’d like you to be there,” said the elder.

“Really? Can I?”

“Of course. I’ll send one of the young ones to come and help you—hm?” The elder’s ears twitched. “There it is again...some kid’s making spirit calls again. All that chirping sure is annoying.”

Sashalia remembered hearing the name before; someone had used it the day the children were attacked by adventurers. “That’s right, there’s a child out there who has shamanistic abilities, right? And the ability to use spirit calls is proof of that?”

The elder nodded. “Back in the day, our ancestors used them to communicate with spirits that couldn’t manifest in this world. But now, it’s nothing but annoying noise. There’s something a little depressing about it, too.”

Just then Sashalia felt as though lightning had struck her, and she bolted upright. Even her paralyzed leg tingled. She turned and grabbed the elder’s shoulders tightly.

“Ho ho, what’s the matter?” he chuckled, but the smile faded from his face once he saw how intently Sashalia was staring at him. The weary, self-pitying listlessness was gone, replaced by a tight-lipped, burning stare.

“Please, elder. Tell me everything you know about it.”

＊

By dusk, the rainfall had finally stopped. The homemakers all returned to their homes to prepare dinner, while everyone else set about the daily chores they’d been unable to do in the rain. The children raced about the plaza, trying to get in a little more play before the sun disappeared completely.

The elder sat on a log they used as a bench, taking a break. A lone human approached him: Gaius Beldarus.

“May I join you?”

“Hmph. If you want.”

Gaius took a seat beside the kobold, who continued to watch the children play.

“Elder... You know, I don’t believe I’ve heard your real name before.”

“It’s Burning Quartz Flying Knuckle Handaxe of Powerful Magic Delicious.”

“Sir Delicious, I—”

“Just call me ‘elder.’ So, what did you want to talk about?” They both continued to stare straight ahead as they spoke, neither turning to face the other.

“This morning, Red Eye and the others came to me with a request.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“They asked me to be the village chief, in order to see us through this crisis.”

“Is that so?”

“They’d like me to give them my answer at tonight’s meeting.”

“Yeah?” The elder scratched behind his ear.

“And...they told me this was your idea. That you’ve been suggesting it to the whole village.”

“Hm... Did I do that? Can’t quite recall.”

“Why, elder? They already have you.”

“This village needs a real leader—one who can protect it.”

“But I’m a human. Surely a kobold would be better suited for the role. Red Eye does a wonderful job of leading the others in farming, and Rain Grass is a brave warrior who always looks out for others.”

“They don’t know anything about the outside world.”

“If you only need me for my skills, then I can act as a guard. Shouldn’t the village be led by one of your own?”

“You really are dense, you know that?”

“I’m afraid I hear that quite often.”

“Don’t you get it...? They want you to lead them. They want to follow you.” The elder’s face appeared strained, but he continued. “You’ve had plenty of chances to leave. But every time, you stayed—and you saved us from those humans. Even though you know they might return with a much bigger army, you still haven’t made a run for it. Truth be told, I don’t even care that you’re human anymore. You care about this village, and everyone trusts you. That’s enough for me.”

Gaius listened in silence, at a loss for words.

“You know as well as I do that the younger ones won’t listen to me. They only agree with me on this because it’s something they already wanted.”

“And are you okay with this?”

“Hah! Of course not! It’ll be the death of our pure kobold history and traditions!” The elder huffed, puffed, and fumed—but his protests were a little too exaggerated. They both fell silent, and for a while, the only voices in the plaza were the delighted cries of the young kobolds at play.

“...Sure are cute, aren’t they...” the village elder said, breaking the silence.

“Adorable!”

“But I...I left them all behind. I ran away.” The elder paused, and Gaius realized that the old kobold was trembling. He turned away once again. “On that day...I lost my wife, and my son and daughter...only one of my granddaughters survived.

“From what I heard, my son...he was stabbed by a spear. My wife and grandchildren were stuffed into a bag by those adventurers, then trampled to death.”

Gaius continued facing away, but nodded to show that he was listening intently.

“And do you know what this doddering old fool did? I just ran, without even knowing what was being done to my own family! I was so damned afraid that I fell and stumbled over myself the whole way, while my poor grandkids were being butchered!”

They both knew that whether or not the elder had stayed, it would not have affected the outcome of that attack. Gaius refrained from telling him what he must have already told himself a hundred times before. In fact, it was because he knew there was nothing he could have done that the village elder was so consumed by grief and regret.

“Do you know what that’s like?! How angry I’ve been?!”

Gaius listened to his pain in silence, sparing the elder the humiliation of seeing his tears. This was not the time for words; waiting patiently as the kobold confessed his deepest feelings was the best reply he could give.

“...I don’t ever want anyone else to go through that. Compared to that, traditions and history don’t mean a thing to me.” The elder stood up and turned his back to Gaius. “You have your reasons. Just be sure to consider everyone else’s, too.”

＊

That night in the assembly hall, Gaius stood before most of the villagers and made his announcement.

“I’ve decided I will not be the chief of your village.”

The kobolds responded with gasps of surprise and disappointed sighs. Rain Grass and Emon, on the other hand, stood up and shouted.

“Why not, Gaius?!” demanded Rain Grass. “You know we don’t care that you’re human! Or do you just not want to do it?”

“Yeah, gramps!” Emon added. “Everyone’s practically beggin’ ye tae lead ’em!”

Darke stood behind Emon, and clamped a hand down on his shoulder. “That’s enough. Listen to what he has to say.”

Red Eye grabbed Rain Grass’s tail and yanked hard, urging his friend to calm down.

“I believe that it is best for the village’s sake if I don’t take on that role.” Gaius replied.

“I don’t get it,” Rain Grass protested. “We’d be much better off with you at the top. We’d finally stand a chance against the humans, and against the magic beasts in the forest. Your strength gives us hope.”

“And I’m glad for that. But what will you all do after I die? I could fall ill, or be cut down in battle, or succumb to some kind of accident. And even if none of that happened, I’m only growing older by the day. I’m not invincible, Rain Grass.”

Rain Grass had no response to that.

“What will you do then? What will your children do? And their children?”

“I-I’d...fight with all I’ve got...”

“Can you guarantee you’ll win every battle?”

“No, but...we could always make a run for it again...leave the village behind...”

“I doubt you’d find a more habitable place than this in all the Greatwood.”

“Probably not...” Rain Grass’s usual explosive conviction had vanished, each reply more meek than the last.

“That’s right. There’s nowhere else for you to run...”

A heavy silence fell over the entire room.

“...So running away is no longer an option. This is no longer just a village that can be abandoned or rebuilt. I’m going to make this our kingdom.”

Everyone looked at him in stunned surprise, still reeling from their earlier disappointment.

“I won’t become the chief just so we can scrape by and survive this crisis, or the next, or the next. I swear that I will dedicate everything I have to building a strong kingdom where you and your children can enjoy a future in peace.”

Gaius bared his teeth like a snarling beast. But the kobolds—now his subjects—knew him well enough to know what that expression on Gaius’s face truly meant.

“...King...”

The word floated seemingly by itself out into the air, muttered by no one in particular. The kobolds had heard it only once or twice, in fantastic tales of days long gone. As more and more kobolds recalled the unfamiliar word, or heard those around them say it, they too tried it out for themselves.

“King...”

“He’s our king!”

“The Kobold King!”

The curious murmurs soon swelled into triumphant cries, as the kobolds turned to each other and exclaimed it again and again.

“Long live the Kobold King!” One aged voice stood out among the rest. The phrase spread like wildfire:

“Long live the king!”

“Long live the Kobold King!”

“Long live King Gaius!”

“Long live our kingdom!”

The new royal subjects gathered around their king as they cheered, and those who were closest to him enveloped him in an embrace. More and more kobolds clambered over each other for the chance to hug Gaius, and soon he was completely buried in furry bodies. He fell onto his backside under a mountain of soft, fluffy fur.

Sashalia walked up to Gaius, leaning on Darke for support. With great effort, she knelt before him.

“Miss Sashalia. Darke. Will you lend me your aid?”

The red-headed half-elf wavered slightly.

“Six years... For six years, I’ve waited to hear those words,” she said. “As unworthy as I am, I vow to help you however I can. I will be your sword or your councilor, whatever you need.”

“Thank you very much, Miss Sashalia.” Gaius smiled at her. Clearly, she meant what she’d said from the bottom of her heart. Sashalia nodded back at him, sniffling.

Darke held onto Sashalia’s shoulder with one hand to help her stay upright. She made a fist with her remaining hand and placed it over her heart—the salute of the Knights of the Chain.

“My life is yours, now more so than ever. Please, use me in whatever way you wan—gah!” Her strange pledge was cut short by a sharp elbow to the stomach by Sashalia. Darke lost her balance and tumbled over, bringing the half-elf down with her. Emon pointed at the spectacle and laughed heartily.

“Emon, will you help me as well?” said Gaius.

“Do ye even need tae ask, gramps?”

“Ha ha ha, I suppose not.”

The young dwarf wedged himself between the two women, who had begun arguing, and stood before Gaius as well. The Kobold King held his hand out, and Emon firmly took it. Behind them, everyone rejoiced, their joyous cries echoing throughout the moonlit forest.

＊

The coronation was held the very next day. As they were still in a time of war, the ceremony was modest and simple. Surrounded by every kobold in the village, one of the children placed a crown on Gaius’s head.

It was a simple crown made of vines and grass, woven together by the kobold children. Gaius had decreed that the Kobold King should always wear a crown made of grass, vines, or flowering plants—one woven by those whose futures he swore to protect.

After all, that was the role of a king: to ensure a brighter future for his kingdom, for his people. The ones who truly made a ruler were his subjects—and their children.

The tiny kobold that had been appointed crown-bearer that day clambered down from Gaius’s shoulders. He waited until the child was safely back on the ground before standing. His people cheered and cried in jubilation.

“Long live the Kobold King!”

“Long live the kingdom!”

The king waved back at his subjects.

Baron Gaius Beldarus. Captain of Igris’s Royal Knights of the Chain.

Once upon a time, he had held those titles. But now, he was...the Kobold King.

Indeed, that was his true role.