CHAPTER TWO

Col had lost his nerve after talking to Hyland about relationships. He loitered in the corridor, finding it hard to return to the library. The next thing he knew, he found himself heading back out to the plaza and purchasing some raisins that Myuri might like. It was only when the church bell rang, announcing noon mass, that he finally snapped out of it.

He and Hyland had managed to talk about the relationship part of the coat of arms procedure without alerting Myuri to it. But just as Hyland said, what they were doing was a wonderful thing. If possible, he wanted to avoid introducing lies or misconceptions into the process. Yet he had no idea how Myuri might react when he told her, and as shameful as it was, he had to muster all the willpower he had in order to return to the library.

He pushed open the large, church-like doors, almost as if they were physical manifestation of his heavy feelings, before stepping back inside.

Myuri sat at the reading desk, engrossed in a book.

He called out to her to explain, “I need to tell you something…”

He firmly asserted that they would absolutely be making a crest, for her, to make sure he did not shock her. She kept the book of crests open as she listened. He used all the strength he could muster, knowing that now was the time he needed to stay composed, but Myuri’s response came with a sigh, the reappearance of her wolf ears and tail, and an exasperated tone:

“You’re telling me this now?”

She shrugged her shoulders, closed her book, and stood.

“I worried a lot about this in the past, sure.”

Col did all he could to keep himself from smiling at the way she said in the past. Myuri extended her hand toward him, deftly snatched the bag of raisins from him, and clung to his arm while she was at it.

“But you said it yourself: unlike God, you’re right here. When I touch you, you’re surprisingly muscular, and you definitely smell weird and sour like ink.”

“I smell?”

Col panicked. He thought he’d been careful. Myuri beamed in triumph.

“Heh-heh, that is the Twilight Cardinal I know, that nobody else knows. I could write up a notice and put it on the street corner, and no one would be able to tell.”

“…”

Col found himself at a loss for words, not in reaction to being laughed at, but to Myuri’s wit.

What she was saying was that what was written on paper did not always contain the whole truth.

“Our relationship, you said? It doesn’t matter what it is.”

Myuri, with her hands behind her back, spun around and fell backward into his arms.

“We’ll have a crest that only you and I can use. That’s enough for me.”

She looked up at him over her shoulder, then spun around and clung to him.

Her wolf tail flicked back and forth.

Whenever he thought of her as an adult she was more like a child, and whenever he thought of her as a child, she was much more of an adult than he was.

The way Col wrapped his arms around her was almost like a criminal having his hands bound.

“But if we do go with master and pupil, I’d be the master, right?” Myuri asked, looking up at him from within his arms. It was a shame that he was unable to deny her straight away.

“I am very glad you said that.”

In his relief, he embraced Myuri in return, who clung to him like a badly trained puppy. When he brushed her ribs on her back, she squirmed in ticklishness.

“But I hope to continue searching for the right name to call what we have a bit more.”

“Your wife.”

“No.”

Though he turned her down right away, Myuri seemed to be smiling in glee instead.

“Well, you study a whole lot, so maybe you’ll find something fitting. And when that happens”—Myuri stepped out of his arms and looked at him straight on—“maybe I’ll call you something besides ‘Brother.’”

She seemed delighted, yet somewhat sad.

But just as she had said before, Myuri herself was still there.

“I look forward to it.”

“Well then,” she began after baring her teeth to him. “I have some research to do.”

“Of course, take your time. We still have lots of time.”

After giving his reply, he found that something she said caught his attention.

And when she returned to the desk and opened the book again, he saw it was not a collection of wolf crests.

“Research? Are you not looking for designs?”

He peered over her shoulder to look at the book, where he found what looked to be the tale of the founding of the kingdom written in grand, stately writing, accompanied by pictures of the golden sheep and armed men.

“I could look at designs forever, but it seems like some of the crests from the more famous lineages have traces of the founding story in them,” Myuri replied, as though she immediately grasped that he had questions about why she was reading a picture book. “Even in designs with the same animal, they’re looking in different directions or carrying things in their mouths or on their backs. Sometimes they have two heads, and I even saw a crest with a wolf drawn with twin babies. It all apparently has meaning to it.”

One grand story was always contained in a single crest. They served as guideposts for the people of future generations, when they were unsure what kind of people they were meant to be.

“Does this mean you were looking up the meanings because you also want to include such a story in your crest?”

“Yeah. And I want to hear the story from the source, too.”

“That is—”

Not possible, he was about to say, but he paused.

It was not impossible when it came to the golden sheep, at the very least.

Myuri sensed that he had realized that.

“You’ve got nothing to do, right?”

“Well, I would not say nothing…”

He had hoped to complete more of the translation he was working on, but he had made good progress on the main parts already.

And since he had spent a whole week cooped up in the room, Myuri was itching to have God return Col to her.

As he considered things carefully about that, Myuri said quietly, “I want to hear this story from someone who actually knows about it, then pick my crest.”

Following in the footsteps of one’s predecessors was a good thing.

But Myuri had come up with a rather ominous idea.

“And I’m thinking it’s that sheep’s fault that there are no wolf crests in this country.”

Though Col sensed a brilliant youthful energy coming from her dauntless smile, he sighed.

“Miss Ilenia was a sturdy sheep, but Miss Holo was overwhelmed by Mister Huskins, too, you know.”

“What?! Mother was?!”

Holo the Wisewolf was the most powerful being in the world to Myuri. And when Myuri learned that Holo had been treated like a child by another, her shock was impressive.

“But, hmm. I suppose I know little about the story of the kingdom before it was founded like we heard at the amulet stall, so I am curious.”

“Right? I bet that sheep knows a whole lot about the knight orders that are gone now!”

Col wondered if that was not her true objective, but they had been facing danger after danger ever since they left Nyohhira. It was not a terrible thing to enjoy some peace every once in a while, and it would certainly help Myuri broaden her horizons.

“Very well, let’s see what we can find out.”

“Yeah!”

As Myuri replied, there came the sound of a bell from outside the door.

“Let’s have a meal before that, then. Heir Hyland said she would save us a seat at the Golden Fern.”

“I got sooo hungry looking at pictures of sheep!”

They returned the books to their shelves, told the officer they would be leaving, and exited the municipal office.

The early spring sun almost made the people milling in the plaza glow.

Huskins, the golden sheep, lived in a place called the Brondel Abbey, one of the greatest abbeys within the kingdom. Upon checking the map, they confirmed that it was not terribly far, but not exactly close either, and would take four or five days to reach on horseback.

Hyland seemed curious as to why they wanted to go there, so Col explained that the old shepherd who lived in the great abbey of Brondel was an acquaintance from a previous journey, and he possessed great wisdom.

There was a mystique to shepherds since they rarely ever interacted with townsfolk, to the point where there were often rumors that they practiced magic as they got older. Hyland must have thought the same thing—that this man must be a peerless scholar.

And considering how Brondel Abbey boasted a history more ancient than the kingdom itself, had mighty riches, and was well-known for being high-handed, Col and Myuri had a letter written for them so that they would not be turned away at the gates. But there was still no point if Huskins rejected an audience with them, even if the abbey gates did open for them, so Myuri had one of Sharon’s bird friends take a letter there first.

As they set their itinerary, Hyland expressed her wishes to offer them protection, but Myuri refused, stating it would get in the way of their alone time. As a compromise, Hyland would have an outrider arrive at the towns along their journey ahead of time to hedge against any unforeseen troubles. This gave Col relief, as this would help keep Myuri in check on their journey, since she was prone to changing the path as though she was chasing a butterfly.

It took roughly three days of waiting to get the horses prepared, information on the road conditions, and the response from Huskins. In the meanwhile, Myuri spent all her time in the coats of arms library. When she crawled into Col’s bed at night, she smelled of the old leather binding the books and the acidic scent of ink—and that must have been what he himself smelled like, Col thought.

On the day of their departure, Hyland, who would remain in the city, saw them off as Col and Myuri set off from Rausbourne.

Some of the merchants who frequented the manor Hyland was renting were forming a caravan to travel to one of the towns along the way, so the two joined their procession. It was a leisurely caravan ride; at noon they had a hot meal over a fire, and by nightfall, they reached their first destination just as planned.

They joined with the guards that Hyland had arranged for them, and it seemed things were going in an auspicious direction.

“We’d only ever traveled by boat before, so I was kind of steeling myself for this, but traveling is easy,” Myuri said, considering how comfortable their journey was. And the following day, one of the merchants from the caravan mentioned they were still needing to travel in the same direction as the duo, so they decided to go together. The first day on a cart was not a magnificent affair, but they were allowed onto the cart bed, which was stacked full of wools. It brought great joy to Myuri, who imagined the travels her parents had told her so much about.

The second day also ended without incident, and the first half of their journey passed by in a flash. And it was from this point on that Col and Myuri’s journey alone would begin. Their escort had gone ahead to check the road as their forerunner, and most importantly, Myuri was a wolf girl. It was a relief not to have to worry about bandits or anything.

While Col doubted anything would happen, when they arrived in town at sunset, he spotted some snow still hiding in the shade of the buildings.

“Things might be a bit rough starting tomorrow.”

However, Myuri seemed to think it would simply be a continuation of trip’s first leg and woke up early and in high spirits, desperate to get on the road.

It did not take very long for her to fall quiet.

“My butt hurts…”

One needed to, as it was known colloquially, settle in the saddle in order to ride a horse for extended periods of time. Hyland, who was used to riding horseback, had been considerate enough to prepare wool padding in their things, but it was still too painful for Myuri.

But even though she had the option to walk, the road was muddy, as it was the time of spring when the snow was still melting. She loved to look fashionable, and she seemed resistant to getting her clothes dirty, even though she was only borrowing them from Hyland. In the end, she remained on the horse as she moaned about it, and when their lunch was done and they were ready to set off again, she mounted the horse practically in tears.

If their escort, who had been waiting for them at the third rest town, had not felt sorry for her and procured a cart for riding in, they may have had to pause for several days. It was a bittersweet experience for Myuri, who had only ever experienced overland travel in the form of story.

That said, the journey itself was going well, and even though they were going a bit slow because of the quagmire caused by the melting snow, there were inns along the way so they did not have to sleep outside.

It was noon of the fourth day, just as Col was thinking about how their trip would soon conclude without incident.

“What is it?”

The cart had come to a sudden halt. They were in the middle of an empty, grassy field, and all that surrounded them were gentle hills. Col wondered if a wheel had gotten caught in the mud, and so he readied some clothes he bought just the other day that he did not mind getting dirty so that he might help.

Their escort, who sat in the driver’s perch, then spoke.

“I fear this may be an ambush.”

It was terribly ominous.

“We’ll take the cart back a bit, and then I will go check on my own.”

Myuri, who had been laying in the cart bed because her rear was sore, drawing all sorts of crest designs on her wooden board, sat up straight and exchanged glances with Col.

“Ambushed? Like, by mountain bandits?”

“More likely highway robbers, but yes,” Col replied. “But…”

He stared down the road from the cart bed, but he could not see anyone. All around them were gentle hills, and it was hard to imagine any feasible hiding spaces. Myuri’s eyesight was not particularly good, so she may not have been able to see it, but she sniffed and caught whiff of something in the damp, early spring air.

“It smells kind of…sad.”

Col looked at her, disappointed with such a vague report, but Myuri pursed her lips.

“I can smell anger right away, but it really does smell like that.”

He had a feeling that Holo had said the same thing once before as well.

“But the ambush?”

The escort stepped down from the driver’s perch and took the horses by the bit to turn them around. Yet Col still lowered his voice to ask the question, and Myuri shrugged.

“I think it’s just one person, but I wouldn’t have known someone was ahead if he didn’t say anything. He’s amazing.”

The escort seemed rather young still, but Hyland had truly commissioned a skilled guard for them.

Then, after moving the cart back to a safe place, the escort took his bow in hand and slunk off into the shade of the hills.

He vanished for a while into the gently rolling grass.

It was not long before he returned carrying a boy on his shoulders.

Col’s first impression of the boy slung over the escort’s shoulder was of a handkerchief that had been inadvertently dropped as one traversed about a muddy town, then retrieved the following day.

“Is he injured? Conscious?”

Col hurriedly jumped from the cart bed and rushed to the escort.

The escort laid the boy down on a nearby grassy spot.

“He’s fine. He only planted himself on the ground out of hunger. Isn’t that right?” he asked, and the boy’s eyes revealed themselves, peering out from his muddied face as he nodded. It was hard to tell due to all the grime, but upon closer inspection, one could see that his close-cropped hair was blond, like Hyland’s, and his eyes were a gorgeous pale blue. His orderly good looks were that of a noble.

A hungry boy of noble blood covered in mud meant that he had fallen face-first, likely from light-headedness.

“I was on my toes since there are groups out there who will lay traps like this to ensnare good-natured travelers, but…”

Col somewhat understood why the escort sounded so shocked: It was what the boy was wearing.

He wore one thin outer layer, and his boots were made of soft leather, not designed to withstand the mud at all. His rucksack was small to begin with, but it lay flat, as though all of his rations had already been eaten.

Yet the sword at his side was oddly rustic. On top of that, due to how he was sprawled out, Col could see he was even wearing mail underneath his peeled-back clothes. Not only was that heavy, but it would not keep anyone warm on the chilly, early spring roads, making it essentially useless for ordinary travel.

The collapsed boy wore an outfit that brought more questions than answers.

“I would have pretended not to see him if he was simply a street urchin, however.”

Hyland had asked this escort to make sure their travels went safely.

Such harsh decisions were part of his job, but he had instead brought this boy back to them.

And that meant there was some sort of reason behind it.

“The great abbey of Brondel is just down this road, yes? Might he perhaps be one of theirs?”

If he was a guard stationed at the abbey, then Col could understand why he was armed. But that did not explain why his clothes suggested he was clearly not used to traveling, or how much of a fool he was to collapse from hunger.

“No. I was surprised, too, but apparently he’s training to be a knight.”

“What?”

The one who spoke was Myuri, watching the situation from afar in the cart bed. She hurriedly went to hop out of the cart, hesitated at the sight of the muddied road, changed her shoes to the cheap ones she bought in the previous town, and then cautiously stepped off.

When the boy realized there was a girl present, he gritted his teeth and sat up.

A small smile crossed the escort’s face at the sight. Myuri came over with food and water and handed it to the boy.

“Shouldn’t we start a fire?”

And with that one suggestion, they decided to look after the boy.

“I shall take care of that,” the escort said, then looked to the boy, who held the waterskin and half-stale bread in his hands. “Hey, kid, if you wanna come with us, then you better tell these good people what your deal is.”

The escort made it clear who among the three of them had the right to make the decisions in the group.

The boy looked at the escort with wide, meek eyes before slowly giving a big nod.

And despite how much he must have wanted the food and water in that moment, he bravely straightened his back, placed the waterskin and bread on his knees, and spoke.

“My name is Carl Rhodes.”

His voice was dry; his lips were cracked.

Yet despite that, there was a nobility about him that remained, and it did not seem that was a passing impression, either.

“I am a trainee in the Knights of Saint Kruza.”

Col now understood why he had such a rustic sword, such out-of-place mail, and why the escort decided to save him.

What he did not know was why the boy was here.

“The Knights of Saint Kruza!” Myuri yelled in excitement. “Those’re the knights that fight on Kruza Island, far in the southern seas, right?! Golden gauntlets, silver armor, a billowing red cape are their trademark! The Knights of Saint Kruza are the strongest in the world!”

All she ever listened to were stories like that back in the Nyohhira bathhouse.

Not only that, but the Knights of Saint Kruza were one of the most famous among countless other orders. It was a given that she would be excited about this revelation, but it only made Col more wary.

“I’m still only a trainee, so I still have a long way to go before I get to wear any of that equipment…”

Rhodes seemed a bit embarrassed, but Col could see a glimpse of pride shining through. And though he was just a trainee, Col had heard that only those of noble standing could join an order of knights with the hopes of becoming a knight themselves one day.

The boy was a child from a great family after all.

“But…why is a trainee from the Knights of Saint Kruza in a place like this?”

This particular order was well-known for being at the right hand of the pope. They were based on an island in the sea to the south, and their creed was to destroy all heretics and enemies of the faith. In essence, Winfiel Kingdom as it was now should be one of their hated enemies.

However, they positioned themselves as the earthly agents for carrying out divine punishment. If they were truly invading the kingdom, then something much larger should be taking place, not something so farcical as a single trainee wandering around and collapsing by the side of the road.

That held true even if he had been sent here as a scout before any fighting broke out.

It was hard to imagine that a group of skilled warriors would send him out with such meager equipment.

“Well, uh…,” Rhodes faltered.

“C’mon, Brother. Even if a knight fell into the hands of the enemy, he wouldn’t talk that easily.”

There was a tone of pride in Myuri’s voice for some reason. Col doubted that was the case, considering he knew the order’s standing, but Rhodes, rather, seemed relieved at Myuri’s naïveté.

“I know you have helped me a great deal here, so I feel terrible that I’m unable to tell you the whole story. But I was on my way to deliver a letter to the great abbey of Brondel at the end of the road here, on the orders of the knights.”

“Really? We’re going there, too!”

Rhodes offered a calm, mature smile, one that suited someone older than he looked, in response to Myuri’s attitude.

“Are you all on a pilgrimage?”

The boy must certainly be fervent in his faith, considering he was a child from a good family and a trainee of an order of knights so closely tied to the pope. Col had a hard time finding his words when the boy asked the question so easily.

“It’s a bit complicated,” Myuri took over for him. “But my brother and I—well, I guess I call him a brother, but he just worked for my father; he’s not my real brother—” Rhodes was a bit shocked at the rapid explanation, though he still nodded along. “Anyway, we’re on a journey to see the whole wide world, and we were researching coats of arms in a city called Rausbourne.”

“Aha, for a branch family, I suppose?”

Rhodes was of such a status that talk of heraldry seemed commonplace to him. His tone suggested he did not question Myuri’s explanation at all.

“Yeah. Something like that. But then we heard there used to be so many knight orders in the kingdom a long time ago when we were doing our research, so we decided to talk to someone who knows all about that stuff.”

“There is a man who works here at the Brondel Abbey as a shepherd, and he knows many stories of old,” Col added.

Rhodes looked back and forth between the pair and nodded.

“I see. Then I think our meeting must be divine providence. I see you are believers in proper faith for being in this country.”

So the comfort that Col had briefly felt was not of his imagination.

Rhodes seemed to have gotten his energy back by talking to others; a fearlessness returned to his face and he said, “If you’ve just come from Rausbourne, then that must mean you’ve heard tell of the infamous Twilight Cardinal.”

Col was no match for Myuri when it came to dealing with such sudden turns of event.

“Of course. Just rumors, though. But aren’t you hungry? We can talk later.”

Rhodes was about to say something, but his stomach interrupted him with a growl.

Any boy of age would go red having his stomach rumble so loudly before a girl, not just a knight-in-training.

Myuri chuckled and said, “There’s seconds if you want them.”

Rhodes was thoroughly embarrassed, but he eventually bit into his bread; there was nothing that could stop a growing boy’s appetite.

In the end, he put away three whole pieces of bread accompanied by salted meat roasted over the fire kindled by the escort.

“Do you pray three times a day? What, you can’t talk during meals? Do you really see if there’s poison in your food with silver rings? Have you ever been recognized?”

Myuri took the opportunity to throw question after question at Rhodes, who was much calmer after a proper meal. Rather than listening to a performer tell stories, she had a real knight-in-training right in front of her.

Col certainly felt like she could not help but want to verify all the stories she had heard in the past, but he also suspected it was quite deliberate.

Before they ate, Rhodes had called the Twilight Cardinal “infamous.”

The young man that acted as their escort called Col over to the cart, which was several paces away, and began to talk to him while pretending to put their things away.

“Considering my status, I was unable to leave the boy as he was, so I brought him over.”

Though the expression on the escort’s face was flat, Col could sense that he would be willing to tie the boy up and leave him somewhere if he was given the order.

“No, it’s all right, it would be wrong to abandon a person in need. And luckily, it seems he has not discovered who I am.”

As Myuri chatted with Rhodes, she casually identified herself as Ilenia.

“That I agree with, but what bothers me is why someone from that knight order has found his way into our kingdom.”

Col had been wondering the same.

“Considering his dress, he does not seem very prepared at all, does he.”

“It’s almost like he was sent from their base in the south straight here with nothing but the clothes on his back. It’s hard to imagine he’s come to wage war.”

Which meant there were not many other possibilities that came to mind.

“A deserter?”

“He showed me the letter with the order’s seal on it to prove he could be trusted. He would hide who he was if he were a deserter. Cruel work as the lowliest servant would be waiting for him if he were caught in that case.”

He was not wrong.

“But I do have one theory. It’s a little involved, so let’s leave it until after we deliver him to the abbey.”

As the escort finished talking, he placed the rest of the firewood and other things he used to make the fire back in the cart at roughly the same time. Rhodes might suspect something if they spoke for too long.

But perhaps they did not need that much caution.

“Brother?” Myuri rushed over, troubled. “He fell asleep. I guess he felt safe once he was warm and full.”

“…”

When Col saw Rhodes fast asleep by the fire, he and the escort unconsciously exchanged glances. It was hard to imagine he was either a warrior who had come to start a long-awaited war, or a scout who had been sent in preparation for imminent war.

What Col thought of when he looked at Rhodes was himself.

He had left home in a flurry without a destination and in hopes of becoming a theologian, but soon found himself at the end of his rope and essentially living a beggar’s life. And when he ended up in deep trouble, Lawrence and Holo, who happened to be passing by, had saved him. That was the beginning of a long story, which eventually reached Myuri today.

And Myuri, of course, had heard the story from her mother.

“Mother told me you used to be like that, Brother.”

“I could eat three whole loaves, too,” Col replied, and she blinked in glee. “Is it far to the abbey?” He turned his question to the escort this time, who shrugged slightly.

“We will be a little late, but we will arrive tonight, I believe.”

“Then let us be off. I would not want to make a tired child sleep outside like this.”

The escort nodded wordlessly, put out the fire, then lifted Rhodes as he slept like a log into the cart bed.

It was not a gentle treatment, but Rhodes did not wake up.

And the pained expression on his face was not because he was ill, but perhaps because he was having a nightmare.

“O God…”

They heard him mutter that several times.

Myuri used a cloth dipped in water she had boiled to wipe his face.

Not minding that her clothes might get dirty, she placed his head on her lap and stroked his hair.

Rhodes even shed some tears as he slept.

He looked to be much too vulnerable, much too weak for the most prideful, famous, and powerful order of knights in the world.

The moment Rhodes awoke, he shot up from the cart with something akin to a cry.

“Wh—, ah, wh—”

He patted himself all over, perhaps checking to see if anything had been stolen, but when Col saw him touching his left hip, he realized he was searching for his sword.

“Your sword is here. And your letter is in your breast pocket,” said the escort, gesturing. He had taken Rhodes’s sword, just in case.

When he mentioned the letter, Rhodes seemed to finally realize that he had fallen asleep.

He looked at the sky because it was now pitch-black. The campfire burned a bright red with a pot boiling over it.

“Oh, uh…”

“My apologies. We had in fact hoped to reach the abbey while you were sleeping.”

When Col said that, the escort looked down. They had planned to arrive by nightfall, but the road was in much worse condition than they had expected and one of the cart wheels had gotten stuck, which forced them to a halt.

In terms of distance, the abbey was a stone’s throw away. It was not too cold, though, so they decided to stay the night outside instead of forcing themselves forward with the possibility of getting lost. Col, of course, had said it was not the fault of the escort, but the man still felt guilty about it.

“I—I see…I’m sorry. My self-control failed me.”

Rhodes sat down, and Myuri handed him a drink. The concoction of goat’s milk—which they had bought in one of the towns along the way—mixed with honey and wine was one Col had prepared for her, but it was probably well-suited for the boy, who still had the face of a child.

And Myuri then sat by his side.

She must have felt bad about leaving him by himself there.

“You were having terrible nightmares as you slept,” Col said.

His comment was not only out of concern for the boy; he was also probing for answers.

Rhodes immediately understood both sides to the statement; he dropped his gaze and remained silent.

“And the way you are dressed is not very well-suited to travel in this region, either. If you are so willing…we can try to help you.”

Myuri took large scoops of lamb and onions from the pot and held a bowl out to Rhodes as he kept his head lowered. When he looked up, he smiled without a word. The boy’s face went red, noticeable even in the light of the fire, and he took the bowl from her.

As Col watched, he looked like a child of a good household that one might find anywhere.

But even though he could hardly call himself an expert on worldly affairs, Col could tell that he was still in a unique position.

And their escort had told him of rumors about the knight order along the way.

“You came to ask for relief from the Brondel Abbey. Is that correct?”

When Col posed his question, Rhodes trembled, almost spilling the contents of his bowl, which he held on his knee.

“H-how did you…? Did you read my—”

“We did not read your letter. What I know of the order’s situation and…your state, naturally led me to that conclusion.”

That was what the escort had said, at least.

“Don’t interrogate him like that, Brother,” Myuri interjected. “You don’t have to answer. They’re just being mean.”

She smoothly took Rhodes’s side.

Earlier, the escort had coolly deduced that he might open up easier if Myuri built a rapport with him, which was what led them to this strategy, but Col had a feeling that her support was not entirely insincere. Rhodes was a part of a legendary order of knights she so deeply admired, after all.

“No…They aren’t mean,” Rhodes said—just as the escort had assessed—and placed his bowl down. “You have helped me a great deal. You carried me as I slept, and you even fed me…I can tell you come from a merchant household. You must be wondering what someone like me is up to.” Though he was not much older than Myuri, he spoke courteously. “And I am sure it will come to light sooner or later. So…” He looked at Myuri, who sat beside him. “There’s no need for that now. I’ll be all right. I don’t want you to spoil your beautiful looks with that frown,” he said, smiling to ease her mind. Though she was used to being called adorable, this may have been the first time anyone ever called her beautiful. It was not often anyone got to see her so shocked and bashful.

Though just a trainee, a knight was supposed to be virtuous enough to help the weak and drive away evil.

Rhodes seemed to be a paragon of those who aspired to knighthood.

“If there is something you wish to know, please ask. It’s my thanks for your offering me shelter and a meal. If it’s something I know, then I will tell you,” Rhodes said with a fortitude they never would have imagined he possessed when they first spotted him collapsed by the roadside.

The escort nodded silently, took the boy’s sword he had been keeping in his care, then tossed it to him over the fire.

“The sword wants to stay with the strong.”

Rhodes, reflexively catching the sword, realized that the escort had acknowledged him and bowed his head sincerely in response.

“Well, if I may ask—” Col cleared his throat and repeated what the escort had told him. “I have heard that the Knights of Saint Kruza—no, your unit within the Knights of Saint Kruza, to be more precise—has been struggling with poverty. Is that rumor true?”

The Knights of Saint Kruza were an organization that gathered under the name of the pope and fought in the name of faith. Just as churches were scattered unevenly across many countries, an order of knights was formed by gathering the best of the best from all over the world.

When the war against the pagans was at its peak, the number of a country’s knights who belonged to the Knights of Saint Kruza was interpreted as that country’s religious standing. And so kings and feudal lords universally sent their fiercest soldiers and competed to collect donations.

It was because of those circumstances that the inner workings of the order were not monolithic; there were many factions separated by country who all competed with one another to demonstrate that they were the true vessel of God’s will, and in the central base even access to daily essentials depended on position.

Myuri loved stories about knights, and she seemed to already think that was common knowledge, but that led Col to one conclusion.

The Kingdom of Winfiel, of course, normally offered enough donations to have their own company in the Knights of Saint Kruza, but the kingdom was currently directly opposed to the pope.

From the kingdom’s perspective, sending donations to the Knights of Saint Kruza in order to keep their band of knights supplied was essentially the same as showing grace and mercy to the enemy. And on the other side, from the pope’s perspective, he had a military force that was funded by a hostile country right at his side, both literally and figuratively.

As a result, with donations coming from the kingdom halted, the Winfiel Kingdom’s company within the Knights of Saint Kruza had no one backing them. And to make matters worse, a strange character called the Twilight Cardinal had appeared, undermining the pope’s interests. Since that particular unit within the order was comprised of people from the Winfiel Kingdom, their fellow knights doubted the authenticity of their faith.

The escort had told Col that word of this was spreading among the merchants who plied the sea shipping routes.

And so Rhodes responded, “…It is said that starvation is due to poor faith.”

While he likely could not respond outright that they were in poverty due to his order’s honor, Col still understood the actual circumstances.

“Then what about the rumor you will be returning to the kingdom?”

Rhodes thought for a moment before speaking.

“We are in a difficult position, but I could say the same for the whole Church and the clergymen in this country as well. That is why”—Rhodes brought his hand to his chest to make sure the letter was still there, then continued—“we have come to propose solidarity.”

He’s a smart one, Col thought.

If they were unable to stay at the order’s base, then they had no choice but to return to the kingdom.

However, if they were to surrender to the king that opposed the Church, then their reason for being as knights of the faith would come into question. They must have come up with the idea of being incorporated into the kingdom’s church as a last resort.

With what limited money they had, they sent boys like Rhodes out first so that they could explore their options in way that would not disturb the kingdom.

“You said earlier that we would learn about this all sooner or later,” Col said.

Rhodes nodded.

“A ship with our commander on board should have departed Kruza Island not long after us in the advance units. I believe they’ll be arriving at a port somewhere in the kingdom in the near future. The conditions on the island were…growing worse every day, you see.”

In other words, friendship and camaraderie were reserved only for those considered solidly on the same side.

Knights from the Kingdom of Winfiel were seen as citizens of their homeland before they were knights.

With donations stopped and harsh treatment from those around them, those who could no longer stay on base were now left to wander and find their own place. Yet as people who belonged to both the Church and the kingdom, their stations came with hardship.

Col sympathized with the situation the knights were in as Rhodes balled his fist on his knee and said in a strained voice, “But nothing about our faith has changed at all…”

A tear fell onto his fist.

Rhodes panicked when he realized he was crying, but when Myuri gently placed her hand on his shoulder, he could no longer contain himself. Myuri embraced him, cradling his head, and looked over to Col. Her expression was troubled and bewildered.

When it came to the kingdom challenging the Church, he believed there was a great deal of justice in the struggle. The Church rested on their laurels of privilege and indulged in corrupt practices. He still believed that all needed to be righted one day.

However, by creating change in the world, especially as the movement grew bigger, there would inevitably be people who got caught up in it. People who belonged to the Church were no exception.

There were those of legitimate faith within the Church as well, and Col had never intended on hurting those people at all. That said, the great waves of society could not be turned back, nor did he think that undoing it all would be the right step.

In the face of Rhodes’s pain and sadness, all Col could do was fold his arms.

His actions were hurting people he had never even thought of.

He doubted either apologizing or ignoring them was the right decision.

It was times like these that prayer and faith were powerless.

The least he could do was add more kindling to their campfire.

When Col woke up the next morning, Rhodes was already gone.

Their escort, who was poking at the glowing remains of the fire with a stick, told him that the boy had set off before the sun rose.

He explained briefly that it was because, though the boy was just a trainee, he had still shed tears before other people.

The Knights of Saint Kruza were in pitiful straits, having fallen through the cracks created by the conflict between the kingdom and the Church. When Col thought about how he had a hand in at least exacerbating those cracks, he felt partially responsible for the boy’s tears.

“I wonder if the abbey will accept him.”

The escort, who was boiling cow’s milk, most likely for their breakfast, looked at Col, then back at the fire before answering.

“I’m not sure about that.”

“But he is a part of the Knights of Saint Kruza. Would it not be an honor to welcome him in?”

“I doubt any large organizations with long histories like the Brondel Abbey would be willing to accept such obvious danger with open arms. The knights are both friend and foe to both camps—the most painful position to be in during a war.”

“…Is that from experience?” Col asked, and the escort shrugged.

“I was a mercenary before Heir Hyland took me in. And before that, I lived in a border village that was constantly being seized by different powers. The lord we pledged allegiance to changed daily, which meant no one trusted us at all, and we were persecuted. We stayed on the same land the whole time, yet I only ever remember it feeling like we were constantly lost.”

Col remained silent, and the escort smiled slightly.

“The only strange part was the food.”

“The food?”

“Even though these countries were neighbors, their eating habits were completely different. One place typically boiled their meat, while the other usually grilled it over a fire. Our village changed hands constantly, and whenever it did, we’d switch from boiling our meat to grilling it and vice versa. All so that our new rulers wouldn’t see us as outsiders who didn’t belong.” There was a faint smile on the escort’s face as he sighed, as though going back through his memories of the time. “And whenever we would welcome the new lord with a feast, he would throw the meat on the ground, claiming it was the food of pretenders. When the boy said they hadn’t changed at all, it struck a painful chord with me.” The escort suddenly took on a serious look and raised his head. “My apologies. A terribly boring story, that is.”

“Oh, no, not at all…”

Now expressionless, the escort continued to mind the fire.

It was a story of how one’s position and allies were far fickler than the weather.

Col stood with a sigh and peeked into the cart bed to find Myuri, who had fallen asleep on the cargo as her bedding, already awake, staring at a piece of cloth.

“What is that?”

“Mm,” she made a noise in the back of her throat in response, reluctantly sat up, and raised her arms high to stretch. “The knight gave it to me. He said, ‘We’ll meet again when I’ve grown.’”

What she held was a dyed piece of cloth with the Knights of Saint Kruza crest on it—crossed swords in front of the crest of the church.

“He was a knight like the kind I’d hear about in stories, but…he turned out to be a crybaby. He smelled like tears.”

It was a common plot point in bards’ songs for a knight to give a part of his clothing with the crest of his order as proof of his standing to a girl in a village on his way to slay a dragon.

As he thought about how this actually happened in real life, Myuri turned to Col, her nose still pressed against the crest, an impish glint in her eye.

“Isn’t this a love letter? Are you jealous, Brother?”

All he could respond with was a tired smile.

“I thought he was a wonderful man.”

Myuri immediately puffed out her cheeks, blew on the crest, then added, “The boy said he was born in this area.”

Even though Rhodes was likely older than her, it felt right for Myuri to call him a boy, and Col could not help his stiffening smile.

“I said to him, you seem like you’re having a hard time, why not go home for a bit? He’s a noble kid, right? He acted graceful and everything, at least.”

“One needs to be of a certain standing to have the freedom to become a knight, so that may very well be true.”

“But if he was born here, then wouldn’t he know that wearing so little at this time of year would be rough on him…? When I asked him about that, it seemed like he had no idea. He told me that someone higher up in his unit sent him here only because he was born in the area. He actually hasn’t been back since he was little, when he was chased out.”

He could imagine Myuri and Rhodes chatting before he departed, when the stars were still twinkling in the sky.

It was a heartwarming scene, but there was something she said that caught his attention.

“Chased out? Do you mean from his house?”

“He said he’s the sixth son in the family. The only one that will take over the household is the oldest brother. The second and third are kept safe just in case something happens to the first brother, but they’re tossed out like the rest once everyone grows up, he said.”

That was the nobility’s system of primogeniture.

If all of one family’s assets were divided among many children, then the holdings would need to be broken apart, scattering the household’s wealth.

And so, just as a bird might remove its weaker offspring from a nest, the unnecessary children were often discarded.

“All the unneeded boys end up becoming knights. On the flip side, it sounds like the oldest boys don’t really ever get to be knights. I had no idea.”

The idealistic and fantastical world of knights was merrily told of in the Nyohhira bathhouses.

Those of noble spirit volunteer to get together, to fight for the sake of justice, occasionally cut down evil, slaughter legendary creatures, and save those in need.

But pulling back the curtain made it evident that the system of knighthood in reality was shaped by the raw circumstances of the world.

Or perhaps that was exactly why they sought to present an idealized version of themselves.

“I just thought he was cool, and brilliant, I guess,” Myuri said, as though she was waking from a dream. “Oh, but…,” she turned to Col, “you’re still cool and brilliant, okay, Brother?”

Col could do naught but smile in response to her transparent follow-up. As he skillfully dodged her when she approached to cling to him, he looked off in the direction he suspected Rhodes went.

The boy both was and was not a part of the Knights of Saint Kruza, and both he and the knights were and were not citizens of the Kingdom of Winfiel.

He felt a strange déjà vu because he considered it a lot like his relationship with Myuri.

Just as he had to decide on their relationship for their use of a coat of arms, Rhodes and his comrades had fallen into a situation alone and helpless, unable to attain aid from anyone else since their position was so ambiguous.

Col simply prayed that the wandering knights would have better luck finding a suitable name.

“Hey, what should I do with this crest?”

Myuri looked at Col with a face that suggested she had received something much too precious.

“Those are his feelings. Keep it safe.”

Myuri then drew up her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at him.

“You really don’t know anything about girls, do you?”

“What?”

As Myuri leaped down from the cart, Col just stood there silently.

When they departed after eating breakfast, Col saw her sewing the crest into her sash as a fringe, but he could only muster another weary smile.

The escort was not wrong when he said the abbey was only a stone’s throw away.

As the sun rose and they traveled beneath the cloudless, blue sky, they soon spotted a building surrounded by a massive stone wall.

“Whoa, it’s like a fortress…”

“It is a very, very old abbey. It was founded in an age when war with the barbarians still raged,” Col said, and Myuri nodded, impressed.

But conversely, as Myuri sat awed by the building’s size, Col found that the Brondel Abbey seemed smaller compared to his memory of it from childhood. The stone wall was aged, of course, having protected this house of God for centuries, but it had not been rebuilt.

He felt emotional at how much he had grown.

He had been much younger than Myuri back then, when they had arrived here on horseback in the snow. He realized that may have been the point in time when he had been able to touch Holo the Wisewolf’s tail the most, and a smile unwittingly crossed his face. Myuri stared blankly at him.

“Is it the shepherd you will be seeing?” the escort asked.

“Yes. I believe the building we’re looking for is somewhere on the grounds. Either way, we will visit the abbey itself to pay our respects.”

Myuri seemed upset when Col said that, and he patted her head with a smile.

“It is a big abbey, so we may not be able to see Rhodes.”

“It’d be awkward if we did!”

Rhodes had given her a piece of his crest and said they would meet again when he was older and wiser.

It would certainly be awkward if they saw each other again before a full day had yet to pass.

“I shall deliver the letter from Heir Hyland,” the escort said, then leaped lightly from the driver’s perch and hurried toward the main gates.

Myuri observed him from the cart bed and asked, “Is the chicken’s monastery going to be this big, too?”

It did not seem she had any intent of calling Sharon, the eagle avatar, by anything other than “chicken.”

“I wonder…I have heard that this abbey has received many donations from the rich and nobility, and has engaged in a great deal of trade.”

“I guess it won’t be so big because the chicken and your inferior copy don’t seem so good at making money.”

Col smiled wryly in response to Myuri’s blunt statement, but he thought it was just right for a monastery to be bad at trade. The Brondel Abbey had hoarded so many assets that when they had fallen into dire straits, instead of offers of help, they instead attracted flocks of merchants ready to devour its carcass.

“But if they had one this big, then they could put an order of knights or two in it.”

“…”

Myuri stubbornly refused to look at Col and stared at the abbey gates.

She had also learned of the position the Knights of Saint Kruza were in, as well as their relationship with the kingdom.

The knights had done nothing wrong; there was no reason that a boy who was still a trainee should have to be dispatched to a faraway land, get saddled with a letter requesting aid, and be forced to run through unfamiliar landscapes underdressed for the weather.

Myuri was upset because of the tragic circumstances the knights were facing, but also because she and Col were partially responsible for their current predicament. And yet no one could say either was at fault, but neither did there seem to be a way for both to coexist.

She was likely irritated about the whole situation.

“I know the escort said this already, but the Knights of Saint Kruza are the pride of the entire Church. I am certain he was welcomed with open arms.”

Myuri nodded when Col said that, then nodded once again as she said, “I hope so.”

The escort returned not too long after to report that while the abbey could not receive pilgrims at the moment, they would allow them to visit the shepherd. He seemed flustered after finding out that was the most they could do, even with Hyland’s letter. Col, personally, felt strangely happy knowing that the pompous impression was identical to his memories of the place as a child.

They entered a passage beside the front gates, cart and all, and a guard sternly told them that they were not to enter any buildings besides the shepherd’s barn.

The abbey grounds were about as large as a small village while the barn where the shepherd lived was in the corner.

“Ugh, it stinks of sheep,” Myuri remarked.

The building, again, seemed much smaller than it did when Col had come as a child.

The guard knocked on the door, and before long a single old man appeared.

“It has been quite a long time.”

Though one of Sharon’s fellow birds had delivered a letter to him beforehand, Huskins’s boulder-like face did not even twitch. Myuri’s usual energy vanished as she hid behind Col.

“Come on, Myuri, say hello. This man helped your parents many years ago.”

The old man was tall, with long hair and a long beard, and his skin was like tanned leather.

Yet Myuri seemed to sense his true power; she had shrunk so far back, more than any time she had stood in the face of a real royal.

“H-hello…My name is…Myuri,” she said meekly before immediately going back into hiding.

Huskins silently turned his gaze from Myuri to Col.

“To think the day would come that I get to meet that wolf’s daughter,” he said, almost in astonishment, then jerked his chin back and vanished into the building.

It was his signal for them to come in.

“Brother…Is he really a sheep?”

He was a sheep of legend, one that made even Holo the Wisewolf recoil.

Col was nothing but happy since Myuri fully understood how awesome the man was.

“You are no match for him?” he asked, and Myuri vigorously shook her head.

The coat of arms of the Kingdom of Winfiel had an image of a great sheep, whose powerful shoulder muscles framed its face like a lion’s mane, and planted itself firmly into the ground.

The sheep had lived since ancient times, so much so that he treated the wisewolf like a child; it was likely he was much different from ordinary sheep.

“Let’s go inside.”

The escort readjusted the bags on his shoulders, and Myuri clutched the clothes on Col’s back and followed them.

The building looked to be three stories tall from the outside, but most of the inside was open, and half of what would be the second story served as storage for floorboards and other things—it was generally empty. Part of the first story was open to the outside, so the sheep could come and go. Even at that very moment, sheep entered in a fluffy state, and left much slimmer.

“Were you in the middle of shearing?”

“I am afraid I will be using this time to work,” Huskins said, picking up a pair of shears that seemed big enough to snip off a human head.

Though they clearly had bad timing, Huskins did not immediately ask them to leave, so Col rolled up his sleeves and picked up another pair of shears.

“I shall help.”

The escort looked at him quizzically, but he ultimately put down their bags and picked up another pair, and Myuri eventually followed suit, and so they all got to work shearing the sheep.

The way the fire sat in a sunken hearth rather than a fireplace was the same as it was long ago.

Once they had swept away the ash covering the coals and tossed in new pieces of firewood, a young man with neatly chiseled features brought in a metal pitcher with wooden cups. Inside the pitcher was a drink that Col had never seen before, one that smelled of butter.

“…Are you a sheep?” Myuri asked the young man, who simply smiled and left.

“He comes from a country to the east that I have never heard of before. This is a drink from his homeland.”

Huskins was building a home for other sheep avatars here on abbey land. People like him came from all over in search of a place to stay. He must have been working at this for decades, if not centuries.

Ilenia had said that their ways of thinking did not align, but they both had a similar strength to them.

“What is it you need today?”

Once they finished shearing, the escort left with the other shepherds to wash the wool. Perhaps he was showing his consideration by leaving them alone.

“We came to hear some stories from an old age.”

“Old stories? Are you looking for more holy relics again?”

“Like stories about the knight orders that are gone now.” Myuri popped out from behind Col to say this, and she then disappeared behind him again.

Huskins blinked silently, then sighed.

“Is that what you want to hear…? Literally old stories, I see. There still should be some books on knights in the royal library.”

“We were hoping to hear them directly from someone who was involved,” Col said, straightening his back. “Myuri and I were hoping to create a coat of arms that only the two of us can use. And we believed that someone of your standing must have been involved in some way in the tales of the knights and the royal family’s establishment.”

When Col said it out loud, he realized how there truly was an uncomfortable meaning to what he said.

But when he noticed how Myuri pressed her forehead against his back as she hid behind him, he thought how this was the most he could do to face Myuri’s feelings for him.

“…If my memory serves correctly,” Huskins began, sitting stone-still, “they call you the Twilight Cardinal.”

Huskins had never been a recluse. He kept his eyes and ears wide open, all so that he could better protect his fellow sheep. It was likely that he relied on the sheep to gather information on the outside world as well.

“A priest and a wolf girl…You are essentially trying to mix oil and water.”

“Yes. That is why we decided to get a crest of our own.”

In place of a different kind of vow.

The old man must have grasped the hidden meaning in his words.

Huskins inhaled so deeply his back seemed to swell.

He seemed both surprised and as though he was trying to hold back a laugh.

“You came for quite the odd reason last time, and that still holds true now.” He tilted his head sideways in amazement, cracking the bones in his neck. “Old stories, was it? I doubt they will be much help from what you’ve told me,” he said, then took the metal pitcher sitting in the middle of the fire, and poured its contents into his own cup. The handle seemed to be fashioned out of walnut or a similar type of wood, finished in an elaborate carving. Col doubted this was Huskins’s personal hobby, so it was likely that of one of the other sheep who lived here, and having caught a glimpse of their peaceful life here instilled a sense of calm within him.

There came the rich smell of butter. Col took a sip from his cup, too.

“I think it’d be a lot of help,” Myuri piped up. “I was happy when my brother brought up the crest, but…then I learned that they’re not easy things to make when I did some reading in a library in a big city.”

Huskins’s glass-like eyes turned to Myuri, and Col, too, looked at her in surprise.

“I read a book with you in it, and it was amazing. What an adventure!”

“…It was the boy who did all the running about.”

The story of the kingdom’s founding started with when the first king inherited territory from his father at a young age, then joined the war to drive out the savages from the island as the first noble. Of course, since it was the tale of the founding of their country, it was packed full of exaggerations and dramatizations. Most people would accept the golden sheep who appeared at every important point to save the king as just one more stretch of the imagination among many others.

But Huskins’s simple statement led Col to realize that the stories were essentially fact. It told him that there had been such a delightful adventure between a massive, silent sheep, with its golden wool, and an energetic young noble who burned with hope.

“A crest is like all of those adventures and stories pressed together…which made me think that my brother and I might still be too young. I thought maybe it’d be rude to everyone else if we put ours in with the rest of theirs.”

Despite how overjoyed she had been, Myuri had apparently accepted the reality of the situation rather calmly.

Conversely, it almost sounded like she wanted a story worthy of a crest, but Col’s thoughts vanished in Huskins’s laughter.

“An admirable girl. I almost doubt you are the wolf’s child.”

Huskins gave the impression of being a taciturn sage of the fields, but he looked surprisingly like a kind old man when he smiled.

The man sipped on the buttery drink, then said, “Your mother was a truly impudent wolf…”

Col recalled the unaffable conversation from so long ago, and it gave him an indescribable feeling.

“Yes. There was such a tale. One that everyone thinks of as a fairy tale nowadays. One that no one in the human world would accept as fact, one that has been buried in the sands of time.” Huskins sighed. “The only ones who have ever come to this abbey because they had heard that the golden sheep of legend still lives on here are your parents. Even before they came, and long after. To be honest…” He cut himself short, then shrugged. “I was happy. We have chosen to hide ourselves beneath the grit in the very depths of time. I was almost dazed by the brilliance when I saw there are those who still boldly fight against its tides.”

His eyes relaxed, reminiscing on old times, and a faint smile crossed his face.

When he did that, Col wondered if it was Huskins who picked out the metal pitcher.

“Your parents gave me a breath of fresh air. I may be able to persevere for another hundred years yet.” Huskins looked at Myuri. “Young wolf, you who wishes to know the past for the sake of the future, what is it you want to hear?”

Myuri’s ears and tail popped out, and she emerged from behind Col.

“The story of you and the king needs to come first, of course!”

One corner of Huskins’s mouth raised in a smile and he said, “I wonder if I can recall what happened,” and he began to tell his tale.

The story Huskins told them was of him fighting alongside the first king to unify the island, before it had yet to be called a kingdom. It gave them a different impression than the story they had heard at the amulet stall; it did not sound as though the country was quickly united after the ancient empire and the Church soldiers invaded the island and kicked out the savages. As the ancient empire entered a gradual decline, the Church could not afford to stay involved in the affairs of this distant island country forever, so the knights from both the empire, which had finally put down roots on the land, and the Church began to vie for hegemony. It was in the resulting chaos that Huskins seized his chance to visit the island, constantly searching for an opportunity to profit during the fighting.

The forts and bases each force in the battle built during this era served as the basis for the Brondel Abbey, the Rausbourne cathedral, and even the kingdom’s major cities today.

For nearly two hundred years, the island was caught in a loop of battle and temporary peace.

It was then that Winfiel I, the founding father of the Winfiel Kingdom, appeared.

It was a typical story in times of war—he took over after his father perished in battle, obtaining land at a very young age. Huskins, who had been wandering about, searching for a place to build his retreat for other sheep, knew that he could use this young lad for his own purposes and approached him. And that was when they first met.

But he was immediately shocked by the boy’s attitude. Rather than burning with ambition, he contained boundless optimism; it did not bother him to stick his neck into a disadvantageous battle and help those suffering.

Huskins could not leave the innocent boy alone; he would sometimes use his power as the golden sheep to help him both overtly and covertly. But one day there came a decisive event. When one of the king’s men captured a wild sheep that had wandered into their camp, the king decided not to eat it for dinner, but to bind a letter into its wool and let it free.

In the letter he expressed his thanks to the golden sheep.

It was then that Huskins was convinced that if it were the young boy who united the island, then it would most certainly be a peaceful country. Huskins then revealed to him who he was, openly lending a hand to the young noble so that they might take one step closer in uniting the country.

Both Myuri and Col were enthralled by the story.

The escort appeared in the middle of the retelling, interrupting to use a wooden, viselike contraption to squeeze the water out of the washed clump of wool, but by sunset the country was united at last, and they came to the part where the once-young noble became king, and the sheep with golden wool announced that he would be stepping down from the public stage, as he belonged to an ancient era.

“You didn’t see him at all after that?”

“The boy happened to come here once and we ran into each other, but that is all. We of course pretended not to know each other, but that year the court ordered a whole mountain of wool.”

The relationship between the men had become like tarnished silver, and Myuri sighed as though she had taken a swig of hard liquor when she heard that.

“And the only time after that was when he summoned me as he lay on his death bed. A servant of his came here, stating the reason was that he had to return the money he borrowed during the war.”

That was a topic that frequently came up in stories of war. A defeated army would stop at a poor village, faithfully leaving behind a bond of debt for them in exchange for food and lodging. Then, several years later, when they become royalty after a miraculous victory, they return to the poor village with gold in hand.

“What did you talk about?” Myuri asked.

They must have had plenty to talk about. Huskins shrugged in response to her question.

“I asked him why the sheep in his crest had such short wool.”

When he mentioned that, Col thought back on the crest and sure enough, the wool was short enough that one could see the sheep’s legs. That naturally implied that Huskins’s true form was a sheep with very long wool. Not only that, but he was a sheep said to have golden wool, serving as the basis for the myth that one could even find money inside it, so he may have had his strong opinions about his own wool. But still, the senior statesmen that surrounded him must have been shocked when a shepherd said this to the king on his deathbed.

“What did the king say?”

Huskins looked down at the flickering coals in the fire, and sulked, “A fluffy sheep is not very stylish.”

Myuri snorted when she heard the answer, clutched her stomach, and laughed.

But the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes were not simply from laughing too hard.

That was their final exchange before an eternal parting.

It was an inevitability that they would meet and work together during the unification of the island.

“And that is how the crest came to be. That is the way crests are designed,” he said coolly, perhaps because he was embarrassed.

Myuri, however, had been so moved and laughed so hard at Huskins’s story to the point it zapped the energy from the hairs in her tail.

“…It’s not fair you get a story like that,” Myuri said sincerely, and Huskins replied with a blank expression.

“We shepherds often say the grass is greener on the other side.”

“Huh?”

“From what I have heard, you have had quite the journey yourself.”

Myuri looked at Col, then for some reason felt disappointed.

“We’ve had a lot of adventures, sure, but…Brother isn’t as witty as the king.”

It was a mean thing to say, but he likely would not be able to have such a striking conversation like that on his deathbed.

That sounded far more like something Myuri’s parents might do.

“But the sun has set while we were talking…What, have they not gathered the sheep yet?” Huskins turned back to look at the barn and said, “You gather the sheep for me. You are a wolf, no?”

“Okaaay,” Myuri replied with unusual sincerity, got up from her seat, and rushed out.

Col moved to follow her, but Huskins suddenly spoke to him.

“Did the wolf and the man get on well?”

It made Col a bit happy to know that Huskins was wondering what happened to the pair after they last met.

“No, what a foolish question. The girl would not be here if they did not.”

“She and Mister Lawrence run a bathhouse in a place called Nyohhira, the hot spring village.”

“A bathhouse in Nyohhira?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise, but that quickly transformed into a slight smile. “A bit of melancholy clung to that wolf, I suppose. It is excellent that she found a home somewhere so lively.”

“And instead, it seems her daughter has grown up to be a little too energetic…,” Col said. Huskins smiled, filling Col’s cup with drink as he said, “You may be right.”

Soon afterward, the whole flock of sheep, chased in by Myuri, entered the barn, and the quiet building quickly filled with bleats and cries.

As they ate supper, Huskins told them stories of knights that had once existed in the kingdom, and held Myuri’s attention captive the whole time. But unlike the tale of the founding of the kingdom, the knight orders of old were full of shady characters, many of whom were ex-bandits.

“People rushed to the island in search of new land and opportunity. War was justified in the name of God, and since one could guarantee a considerable social position by obtaining land, it was perfect for those who wished to wipe away an unwanted past.”

“I’ve seen plays about kings who turned out to be bandit leaders. Is it like that?”

“That is a common tale. Victory in war creates kings, and failure creates highwaymen.”

“I kind of get that, but…I’m a bit disappointed that there were so many orders of knights, but most of them just made up their own crests.”

Perhaps because he had lived with Myuri and her mother, Holo, Col had felt like there were nonhumans in every nook and cranny. But that was not the case in reality; it did not seem like the source for all the thousands of crests were necessarily related to nonhumans.

“Something paranormal that may have existed long ago is just the perfect thing to give yourself authority.”

As they were talking, the escort huddled with the other shepherds around a boiling pot of food slightly removed from the rest of them.

It seemed he was doing so to deepen his intimacy with those that lived here so to guarantee a safe place for them; he was reliable, and it worked for them.

“That means they likely don’t mind if you create a crest of whatever you fancy.”

When Huskins said that, Myuri looked up to him with wide eyes.

“Even if they make your wool short?”

The old sheep jerked his head back and barked out a couple of laughs that sounded like coughs.

“That’s right.”

Myuri turned to Col and grinned.

She had thought more deeply about the crest than he had and accepted it.

He could tell from the smile she gave him that the apprehension she felt because of how important this all was to her had finally been dispelled.

Col wondered if it was even necessary for them to come all the way to Huskins to hear stories about the past, but there was meaning to it.

In a slightly self-deprecating thought, he considered how glad he was that he did not spend the entire time of rest Hyland had given to them cooped up in his room in Rausbourne, translating the scripture.

“By the way,” Huskins then said. “How are you related to the boy who arrived right before you?”

He must be talking about Rhodes. This abbey did not normally get streams of visitors, so it was natural for them to think they were related.

“Do you mean the boy from the Knights of Saint Kruza?”

Huskins took a sip of his warmed wine as though saying, Precisely. That led Col to believe that some of his fellow sheep were living in the Brondel Abbey in the guise of monks.

“We found him collapsed on the side of the road on the way here and cared for him. He was oddly dressed for how cold it is—not too many layers, but wearing mail underneath, so I suspect it was hunger and the cold that did him in.”

“He fell face-first into the road and got covered in mud,” Myuri added, and Huskins nodded slightly.

“I received no word that someone else was accompanying you, and though he was the only one feebly knocking on our gates, he smelled oddly of you. I had to wonder.”

That was understandable.

“Perhaps less of us, and more of Myuri?”

Huskins raised one eyebrow slightly, and then raised his shoulders to show Col was correct.

“I guess he’s infatuated with me,” Myuri said flatly. Huskins finally smiled and put down his wine.

“A boy that smelled of you arrived just before you yourselves came. The monks told me that he worked for the Knights of Saint Kruza. I was quite confused.”

“How so?” Col asked in return, thinking it strange, and Huskins quietly turned to look at him.

“From what I can remember, you were a very good child. When you live a life like mine, I almost worry that you might be a little too docile.”

When Huskins suddenly brought up stories from the past, Col grew sheepish.

But when he mentioned that, Col remembered that Huskins had taught him how to walk and live the fields in the winter when they had free time.

“That is why I thought there was a slight possibility that you came to the abbey on secret orders from the king.”

“Oh!”

Col unconsciously let out a cry so great he thought the firewood might’ve popped from the impact. It was much louder than he thought; he saw the escort, seated at his own banquet table a short distance away, turn to look at him.

But Col knew not what to say. Because despite how they had come here in this season, in this state of affairs, he had not considered the possibility at all.

The Brondel Abbey had a history longer than that of the kingdom, and maintained great power and wealth. There were plenty of reasons one might think this a sinister visit, like the Twilight Cardinal had come to ask for help from an old acquaintance.

“No need for excuses.”

There was plenty of evidence.

Despite what Huskins said, there were only two judgments:

Guilty, or innocent.

And they seemed to be innocent in his eyes.

“I can tell if someone is hiding something. I knew right away that you were truly thinking of nothing.”

Col drew up his shoulders in embarrassment, when Myuri, who sat beside him, said with a sigh, “When I was sewing the crest scrap onto my sash, he was smiling the whole time.”

“Huh?” Col replied absently, and Myuri seemed as though she did not know if she should laugh at him or be angry with him.

“Remember what Miss Eve said to us? Insurance.”

When she said that, it finally came together.

There was plenty of reason for the abbey to suspect that they were scouts sent by Hyland on behalf of the kingdom’s interests.

Even if it was likely that Huskins would be on their side, as he was both an old acquaintance and the embodiment of a sheep, it was hard to be so certain about how the other monks would feel. Then came the question of what they should do to avoid trouble.

The answer was to wear the crest of the Knights of Saint Kruza, the pride of the entire Church. They certainly would not wear the coat of arms of their greatest enemy.

“You’d be the lamb that falls right off the cliff if I weren’t around, Brother.”

“There are always one or two in the flock.”

It was a rare moment where wolf and shepherd saw eye to eye.

Col did not want to take the brunt of it, so he had no choice but to look away.

“Your name is one I hear a lot, so I was looking forward to seeing how things would turn out,” Huskins said, pouring warmed wine from the metal pitcher. “And the enjoyment has surpassed my expectations.”

It sounded as though Huskins was both complimenting and not complimenting him, but Col was at least relieved that the old man did not suspect them. It seemed he would have no choice but to lay down and take it when Myuri teased him for being a dolt in the future, however.

“Or perhaps that is the reason why word of you has spread so far and wide.”

Col decided to interpret that as a positive assessment.

The wine tasted rather sour, but the cup also warmed him.

Shepherds had early mornings.

The shepherds who were employed by the abbey started their day with vespers, so they did not so much wake up at dawn, but more in the middle of the night. As people borrowing space from Huskins and the other shepherds, they could not simply stay sleeping while they were getting ready for work.

Though Col told Myuri about this ahead of time so that she would wake up, he ultimately did not have to worry about her. She was instead thoroughly interested in the shepherds’ lifestyle, something she was unable to experience in Nyohhira, so she followed Huskins and the rest of them into the pitch-black field.

Col thought that he originally should have gone with them, but Huskins told him he did not need to push himself. It was clear from how their escort was not similarly stopped when he went with Myuri that they must have universally thought Col would only hinder them.

As he sat in the quiet barn, listening to the crackling of the fire, the distant voices of the monks praying, and the few sheep that remained in the barn, he found it impossible to fight the drowsiness. He dozed off, and the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was high in the sky, and Myuri was returning with the sheep, mud splattered on her face.

“They have tough work every day, but it can be so interesting.”

Her thoughts were so straightforward, he could not help but smile; he then wiped her face, combed out her hair, and they all came to sit together for breakfast.

Afterward, they watched as the shepherds sheared the sheep and processed the wool, and Col joined in afterward.

Col brought the freshly sheared wool to the nearby stream to wash it, dunked it in the water, pulled it out—becoming so heavy when wet that he almost thought someone was holding onto it from the other side—then wrung it out.

Since Myuri did not have much strength in her arms, she waded into the shallow stream, chilly from the melting snow, to step on the wool to keep it from floating away as she shivered, then hung it in the large wooden vise to squeeze out the water.

The lunch they were served after that was one of the most delicious meals of Col’s life, second only to the bread Holo and Lawrence had given him when they first whisked him off the street.

After their pastoral morning and a quick afternoon nap, there was a new wrinkle.

“Do you wanna see the library?”

As Col was helping with maintenance on the scissors for the afternoon shearing, Myuri came to ask him a question.

“I told Old Man Huskins I want to see it because there are lots of old stories there, and he said he’d talk to them so I could, but I’d need to donate.”

She held out her hand.

“…And I suppose it was on purpose you did not tell me this ahead of time.”

“Because I saw Heir Hyland pay money before going into the library,” she said, smiling calmly.

Since she already knew about it, that meant she must have imagined Col would tell her that reading books in a library was not worth paying money.

It was Hyland who held all their travel expenses, so he needed to warn her against wasting their money.

But Myuri worked out that if Huskins did the negotiating for them, then her hardheaded brother had no way to refuse. It was only in times like this that she showed rapid growth.

A couple of coppers were very likely not suitable for the Brondel Abbey library. As someone who knew intimately how much time and money it cost to maintain a library, Col understood that they were not asking for donations out of spite. Col rummaged in his coin purse and pulled out some lute silvers, which were poor in quality but not in value.

“This is coming out of our return trip meal budget,” he warned Myuri as he placed the coins in her palm.

“Hiss.” Myuri bared her fangs, then rushed off to Huskins.

She did not return until the sun set; the smell of ink, leather, and dust was so strong that it almost won out over the delicious aroma of dinner, and Col noticed that she was acting very meek, very well behaved.

He was worried she might have read a sad story since she snuggled into his blanket, and it was only after a long bout of hesitation that she finally spoke.

“They said they need a donation for every day I use the library…”

Myuri, in his arms, peered up at Col with wide eyes, and he sighed.

“You need to be better at thinking things through.”

She buried her face in his chest with a glower, hiding it. The following day, she rushed off to the library once morning prayer was finished, silver in hand once again.

Despite that, he was still thankful for the peaceful hours, and he helped the shepherds out with their work just as he did the day before. He thought about how wonderful it would be if he could carry on with this comfortable lifestyle and also get to spend some time meditating in the evening. Despite how much trouble it was to build a monastery like Myuri wanted, it might be nice to create a monastic order that lived a life like this once the conflict between kingdom and Church calmed down, or so he thought.

He was convinced that God must be looking down on the ideas he dreamed of.

Once the morning work was finished and he returned to the barn, he noticed how the sheep who had come back early to be sheared seemed uneasy. It was not long before he realized why that was.

Sitting on the crossbar of the open skylight in the roof was a lone eagle.

The bird was unmistakably Sharon.