Chapter 22: When He Opened His Eyes

When he opened his eyes, Angeline was sleeping in the same bed. There were two beds in the room, and she had chosen to crawl into her father’s. If she was this severely dependent, Belgrieve worried about what would happen to her once she was back in Orphen. In fact, back when she was twelve years old, she said she would train to sleep alone—perhaps she was more mature back then.

It wasn’t yet daybreak; even if he wanted to take it easy, his habits were solidified by age and wouldn’t leave him so easily. When he lifted his torso, his muscles and joints grated and jarred, but he felt he was better off than he had been the day before. Perhaps the soft bed had helped him.

He bent his knees and rolled his shoulders. His movements did not feel too restricted.

“Attaboy...” He patted his shoulders, equipped his leg, and stood. It did not seem like Angeline was going to wake. She groaned and rolled over, reeking of alcohol. Perhaps she had gotten into a heated debate, but it seemed she had drunk quite a bit. He had warned her against it, but now Belgrieve realized such a warning was useless on a young’un.

The rain had cleared, though some clouds still loomed overhead, and the wind was still fierce.

It was rather unsettling to wear unfamiliar clothes. He changed, grabbed his sword, and headed out. The mansion was quiet, but there was a bustle in the kitchen. The servants were busy at work preparing breakfast before the master of the household awoke. As he walked the halls, Belgrieve could smell the fine scent of bread baking in the ovens.

He greeted the soldiers on patrol as he passed them, feeling a squishiness beneath his feet as he stepped onto the dew-speckled turf. It must have rained considerably through the night, but the sky would likely clear up during the day.

Belgrieve carefully stretched before taking his stance, swinging as if testing each and every motion. His joints ached a bit; this was surely the recoil from overexerting himself.

Bit by bit, he changed his movements, probing out the root cause of all this pain by swinging his blade, facing off against his own body. He could have pushed himself a bit when he was younger, but at his current age, an excessive injury could take him past the point of no return. He needed to know his own limits.

He focused his inner power, feeling it flow from the tips of his toes up to his hips, then his spine, and finally to his arms. He ensured his body didn’t hurt while still drawing out his maximum output.

“It’s feeling stiff,” he muttered. It felt as if his face-off with Angeline had misaligned his center. However, this was not irreparable. It was impossible to do it immediately, but he just had to regain the sensation bit by bit, every day. He would, after all, have plenty of time once he returned to Turnera.

Or I could just give up on swinging this sword. A self-deprecating smile crossed his lips. At this point, the time he spent swinging his sword far outweighed his time spent with idle hands. He likely wouldn’t be able to stop unless he lost both his hands, or he died.

After spending around an hour practicing, Belgrieve lowered his arms and took a deep breath. His swings were a far cry from what they were usually, but he felt even more tired than usual.

“Splendid,” a voice called from behind. He turned, and there stood Ashcroft, leaned against the wall with his arms folded. But the eyes behind his glasses were sharp and narrowed in displeasure.

“From the sway of your center to the sharpness with which you lower your blade. All of this should be impossible with an artificial leg. You are quite something.”

“Thank you...”

“But not nearly as good as Sasha makes you out to be,” he declared, letting out a belittling scoff as though to provoke him.

Belgrieve scratched his cheek. “Yes, I think so too...but Sasha has a very wild imagination.”

“Hmm...” Ashcroft seemed somewhat taken aback. He must have expected rage or some witty retort.

Looks like he’s got quite a terrible impression of me, thought Belgrieve. He could tell this came from Ashcroft’s youthful confidence, and his envy at all the praise Helvetica and Sasha had heaped upon Belgrieve. For someone skilled enough to be entrusted the house of a major northern noble while still in his early twenties, it was only natural Ashcroft couldn’t stand some middle-aged man from who-knows-where.

Ashcroft was rude, but Belgrieve honestly wasn’t bothered. He even felt this youthful high-handedness was a bit charming, and he was also glad to finally hear an honest critique of his sword without any rose-tinted glasses.

Seeing that Ashcroft had completely lost interest and wasn’t motivated enough to muster any more words, Belgrieve sent him a smile. “Sir Ashcroft, I heard you had an interest in the blade...”

Like a fish given water, Ashcroft said, “Yes... I’m not as good as Sasha, but at the very least, I can swing better than what I just saw. No one in the guild can beat me save for Sasha.”

“I see, that’s very impressive. I’m sure Helvetica is relieved to have someone like you by her side.”

Belgrieve had meant this as honest praise, but it wasn’t taken as such. Ashcroft looked a bit annoyed with his next words. “Hmph... Spare me your sarcasm. I don’t care if you’re the Red Ogre or what—I don’t think you’re anything special. Don’t get in over your head.”

“My thoughts exactly. I will take that to heart.”

Ashcroft had finally had it with Belgrieve’s stalwart humility. He angrily pushed up his glasses and turned on his heels. Belgrieve saw him off with a chuckle; reckless youths like him had a certain charm to them.

After knocking the mud off his peg leg and his shoe, he returned to his room. Angeline was still sprawled out over the bed, groaning. Did you really drink that much?

He shook her head a bit. “Wake up, Ange. It’s morning.”

“Mm...mmm...” She slowly wormed her way upright, her eyelids fluttering open faintly. The buttons and hooks of the dress she was unaccustomed to wearing had nearly come undone, and her body was unsteadily swaying back and forth.

Belgrieve sighed. “I told you not to drink too much.”

“Mmm...morning...dad.”

“Yes, good morning... Do you need to sleep more?”

“I’m...sleepy...”

She collapsed onto Belgrieve, asleep once more. If she’s like this, the other two are probably the same. Belgrieve tucked her in properly, draped the blanket over her, then sat in the chair and gazed out the window. The sun had emerged in the middle of his practice, and the clouds had streamed away. There were blue skies above, and the leaves and blades of grass moistened by the rain now glimmered in the sun—a beautiful sight.

He watched the sun slowly climb higher and higher. Once the morning mist cleared, the birds were flying about. Those who were sleeping opened their eyes, and it was as if the world itself was alive once more.

How long will it take for the matter of the roads to be settled? He hoped it wouldn’t be long.

He had been staring outside for a while when there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said, and a young maid poked her head in.

“Good morning. Umm, the countess wanted to know if you would join her for breakfast...”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll take her up on that.”

“Then follow me...”

“Give me a second. My daughter...” Belgrieve stood, and shook the sleeping Angeline. “Hey, Ange. Breakfast.”

“Mmph...no need...”

“Don’t be like that. Helvetica is inviting us...”

“Dunwanna.” Angeline pulled the covers over her head and curled into a ball.

Belgrieve sighed. “I’ll be going then.”

There was no response; she was presumably asleep. Belgrieve shook his head and followed the maid.

In the dining hall, he found the three Bordeaux sisters already seated, having a chat about something. Ashcroft stood to the side. Upon noticing Belgrieve, Helvetica smiled and beckoned him closer. Belgrieve smiled back and lowered himself into a chair.

“Good morning, everyone.”

“Good morning, Belgrieve. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, and I have your bed to thank. The girls drank too much and aren’t up yet, though...”

Seeing Belgrieve’s wry smile, Sasha laughed. “Ha ha ha, we did drink quite a bit last night, after all! What a fun time it was!”

“You sure you didn’t put them up to it, Sash? Not everyone’s a heavyweight,” Seren said with a sigh.

Come to think of it, Sasha surely had been drinking with them. And yet, here she is, completely fine. She’s quite strong. Belgrieve was mildly impressed.

A noble’s dinner table was beautiful, as to be expected. Especially so when lined with soft bread and bacon, boiled eggs, stew, sauerkraut, sausage, steamed potatoes, and yogurt with jam. The arrangement was also top-class—so refined, that Belgrieve found it quite unsettling. Once the blessings were said, he found himself simply watching the sisters eat. He didn’t know proper etiquette and felt too embarrassed to make the first move.

Helvetica picked up on this and giggled. “Sir Belgrieve, just eat however you want.”

“Yes, but...”

Seeing that he was still hesitant, Seren kindly said, “It’s perfectly fine. Sash here knows all the rules and ignores them anyway.”

“What are you saying, Seren? I know how to pick a time and place. What reason do I have to mind my manners before my own family and master?” Sasha said, tossing an entire roll of white bread into her bowl of stew, and stuffing it into her mouth. She ate just like an adventurer, which took a load off Belgrieve’s mind. There was little holding him back from the feast now, but it suddenly occurred to him to ask Helvetica a question.

“How was it? Did the talks get anywhere?”

“No, it will take a little longer... I want to do something about it within the next three to four days. Are you in a hurry?”

“I’m not in any hurry, but this is the first major event since the village was founded. Everyone’s on tenterhooks.”

Helvetica chuckled. “Understood. I wouldn’t want to be careless with my reply, so it will be a while longer, but I will try to hurry. Please take it easy until then.”

“Much obliged.”

Peeling the shell off a boiled egg, Sasha said, “Master! Do you have time today? I would love to have a match!”

“Ha ha, I don’t mind. Though I’m sure today will be the day I lose...”

“What are you talking about?! Today will be the day I make you take me seriously!” Sasha was in a fervor.

I’ve never held back against you before though. Belgrieve stroked his beard, feeling rather troubled.

Ashcroft was looking at him scornfully from the foot of the table, and eventually said, “If I may, Lady Sasha, his sword skills are not as outstanding as you make them out to be.”

“What?” Sasha glared at him. “What are you playing at, Ashe? Have you seen Belgrieve’s sword before?”

“Yes, I spotted him while he was practicing this morning. I could tell he had a firm center of gravity, and his swings were sharp. But that was it. Lady Sasha, I cannot believe you lost to him. Didn’t he use some underhanded—”

Sasha was up on her feet before he could finish. “Silence! You are not worthy to speak of swords! Say that after you’ve beaten me!”

“I doubt I can defeat you, Lady Sasha. But I don’t feel I will lose to the Red Ogre.”

“Curse you, insulting my master... Master!”

Belgrieve—who had been nonchalantly eating sauerkraut—lifted his head, startled. “Yes?”

“Knock this fool down a peg or two. He needs to get a taste of reality!”

“Huh?” he said, after a beat.

Ashcroft stood with a grin. “Very well, interesting. I’ll dispel your illusions, milady. Come at me, Red Ogre—I’ll break that confidence of yours.”

“Okay...?”

Still not quite grasping the situation, Belgrieve cocked his head and furrowed his brow. Seren’s eyes were swimming while Helvetica was grinning.

Still oblivious, he was led to the parade grounds out back. The rain had turned the exposed ground into mud, and it seemed like quite the harsh place for a match.

Belgrieve was handed a wooden sword, and it was only after he gripped and swung it, acclimating himself to its feel, that Angeline and the other girls finally came out. Angeline just seemed a little sleepy, but Miriam and Anessa were holding their aching heads. Their faces were pale.

“Urgh...drank too much...”

“Sasha’s way too strong... Dammit, shouldn’t’ve gotten competitive...”

“Hey dad...what are you doing?”

“Daddy doesn’t really know either, but...I’m apparently supposed to have a match with Sir Ashcroft here.”

“Hmm.”

Angeline stared at Ashcroft closely—he glared back, dubiously. After staring at him a while, Angeline finally let out a large yawn. “Hwah... Small fry...”

“What?!”

Those two words were enough for him to fly into a rage. He turned the tip of his wooden sword on Angeline and howled, “Demon slayer or not—after I’m done with the Red Ogre, you’re next!”

His tone got to Angeline, and she turned to Belgrieve in a terrible mood.

“Dad... Crush him.”

“Oh c’mon... You don’t have to be so...”

“No, she has a point, Mr. Bell. That man needs to be put through the wringer for his own sake.”

“Right, right... Not knowing the strength of who you’re picking a fight with can turn fatal. This will be a good lesson.”

Either irritated that their party member was belittled, or because the hangover was getting to them, Miriam and Anessa were grimacing for once.

“Our seniors are right! Ashe! You must go through a little pain!” Sasha was enthusiastically and loudly on board.

For some reason, it seemed the audience was far more excited than the contestant; Belgrieve felt a little left out, and a bit sympathetic towards Ashcroft. In any case, it would be rude to hold back in a match. He breathed in deeply and took his stance.

So too did Ashcroft—and a fluid stance it was. He was clearly a man of skill. Whatever the circumstances, Belgrieve did not hate crossing blades with strong foes. At times like these, it felt as if he was a different person from his usual self. When he faced a foe with a sword in his grasp, he felt a strange sense of calm—and something fiery enkindling beneath the surface of his serenity.

Their poor footing prevented Ashcroft from finding the right time to rush in. He closed in inch by inch, watching Belgrieve’s every motion. He was a fine swordsman, as far as Belgrieve could tell. If there ever was an attack, Helvetica would be safe with a man like him as her steward.

The silence was abruptly broken as a skylark raised a conspicuously loud cry. Belgrieve’s brow twitched, and the next instant, Ashcroft had stepped in and was racing towards him. What fearsome acceleration.

However, Belgrieve reacted—he stooped down, putting his right leg out front, readying himself to parry Ashcroft’s wooden blade.

He shifted his weight forward—and that was when something unexpected happened. His artificial foot dug into the ground, which was wetter than he had anticipated, leaving the rest of his body falling forward. What started out as a tilt soon turned into a full topple.

“Hrrrgh...!”

For better or worse, this complete accident had Ashcroft’s sword swinging through thin air. It passed over Belgrieve’s head—and as for Belgrieve’s sword that fell with all his momentum, it struck squarely onto Ashcroft’s shin.

Ashcroft screamed, stumbling over Belgrieve, then collapsed in the mud, clutching his shin.

“Yeaaaargh...!”

“A-Ashcroft, are you okay?”

Having barely saved himself from falling over entirely, Belgrieve frantically stood and placed a hand on Ashcroft’s shoulder. The lad was covered in mud, and he seemed to be in quite some pain. As Belgrieve hesitated over what to do, he could hear cheers from the peanut gallery.

“Ha ha ha ha! As expected of Master! Ashe—do you know your place now, fool?!”

“Hmm... Dad really is super strong.”

“Oh dear, even Ashe couldn’t beat him... I really do need to bring him into the house.”

“Sis.”

“I-I understand, Seren...”

No, that was an accident, Belgrieve was about to say, when Ashcroft stood in indignation. “I don’t accept it! This result is utter nonsense! Lady Sasha! That was an accident! He simply slipped on the mud, and his sword landed a hit by pure coincidence!”

Exactly! Belgrieve felt like giving him a round of applause.

Sasha, however, looked down on Ashcroft with disdain. “Ashe... How the loser doth whine... Do you think the enemy would accept such an excuse on the battlefield? Do you think it being an accident is enough to invalidate it? Not to mention Belgrieve’s sword skills far exceed common practice in some regards. While it looked as if he slipped, he splendidly evaded and attacked all at once. You fell for his carefully laid trap, and now give excuses after the fact. How truly unsightly...” She shrugged, seeming genuinely sad for him.

Belgrieve timidly approached her. “Sasha? It is exactly as Ashcroft explained...”

“Don’t humble yourself, Master! There is no need to show consideration for a man like this!”

“N-No, I really did...”

“Oh, oh! What compassion... Despite all of Ashe’s numerous discourtesies, you attempt to uphold his honor... You really are exactly the man I thought you were!”

“Umm, Sasha? Could you listen to me...?”

As Belgrieve’s fretting fell on Sasha’s typically deaf ears, Ashcroft looked at him awkwardly.

“Yes...how should I put this... You have your share of troubles...”

“Ha ha... I don’t have it as bad as you.”

But just as a strange sense of solidarity was forming, a hand was placed on Ashcroft’s shoulder. Angeline stood with a full smile on her face.

“After dad is me, right?”

She was smiling, but the furious fighting spirit and pressure emanating from every inch of her body made Ashcroft’s hair stand on end.

“N-No, that was just...”

“I’ll humor you... Come.”

“A-Ange... Sir Ashcroft is tired.”

“Dad.” Angeline grinned at him. “Just watch.”

The morning parade grounds echoed with Ashcroft’s screams.