PDCOO Chapter 10

If you ignored his personality and just looked at him, he was handsome. Big frame, strong, and—at least where work was concerned—quick on the uptake. Excellent conditions for a son-in-law in this backwater village.

Provided, of course, he had no past.

"Bertram. I'll be direct. What did you do before this?"

"I was a soldier."

"Why not go home?"

"During the war, I accumulated personal debts. I'm repaying them."

"Hoh. Out of guilt?"

"Yes."

"...Were you an officer?"

"Yes."

She'd phrased it indirectly, worried that asking outright if he was noble would be too obvious. Common folk couldn't serve as officers unless their families had means.

Karlah decided to leave her information gathering at that.

One last question.

"Did something happen? Anna asked if you were all right earlier."

"...Nothing happened."

The brief hesitation before his answer bothered her.

But pressing further would feel like an interrogation, so Karlah moved to sit one seat away with a gesture that said she was done. Bertram resumed eating. He seemed determined to finish the mountain of food Anna had prepared.

'He's eating well and looks no different than usual, so why was Anna worried... about...?'

"Hey! Bertram, stop a moment! What's wrong with that spoon?"

"Pardon? ...Ah."

The spoon in Bertram's right hand was crumpled like crushed paper. He must have unconsciously chewed on it quite thoroughly.

Karlah yelped in alarm.

"Are you really all right? I've never seen you do that before! Well, we've only known each other a few days, but still."

"I..."

Bertram stared at the spoon, equally puzzled.

Why had he done such a strange thing?

Had he been so anxious about not leaving any of Anna's food that he'd—

...No, that wasn't the issue.

He needed to trace back further.

Last night, he'd had a nightmare. A dream of returning to that day when he was sixteen, cursed by the mage. The mage had stroked the dragon bone embedded in Bertram's heart.

In the dream, Bertram knew the future. He'd commanded the mage to stop, begged, screamed—but the mage had only smiled.

The agony he'd last felt at sixteen sometimes surfaced like an old ache, carried on the back of nightmares.

An ordinary person with a depressing dream would replace it with something funny. Seek out friends to laugh or cry with, or go out for distraction.

Impossible for Bertram now.

He could only wait for the filthy traces of emotion to sink back to the bottom again...

And then Anna had said it.

'You were cute.'

That word, heard for the first time in his life, had knocked against his chest. Thump.

'Cute.' Wasn't that what one felt looking at something small or young—pity and joy at once?

But along with the question came a sensation, as if someone were tickling his heart.

Even now, it was the same. The moment he recalled Anna's voice, his fingertips felt inexplicably light. Like air bubbling up from inside.

Bertram set down the spoon, clenched and unclenched his fist several times, then looked at Karlah.

"I'll straighten the spoon later. And I have one question. Please answer honestly."

"What are you going to ask...?"

"Am I cute?"

Karlah nearly flipped the table.

If not for the mountain of lunch Anna had prepared, the table would have gone over.

Seeing Karlah's arm muscles tremble, Bertram realized he'd said something wrong.

'If I said something wrong, that means Anna said something wrong too. Does that mean we're both mistaken?'

Of course, there was no one to answer him.

Under the village chief's orders, a team of five men swept the village outskirts.

The first objective: verify the wolf Bertram had killed.

The wolf Bertram had kicked lay sprawled in the roadside brush. Its body bent backward, broken ribs punching through its chest. The chief frowned.

"Bertram. You killed this by kicking it?"

"Yes. I was transporting Anna and had no time to consider other methods."

Wolves didn't die from a single human kick, but—

The chief looked back and forth between Bertram's thick thighs and shins and the wolf corpse, arriving at the conclusion: 'If it's someone barely human, it's possible.' Long deliberation wasn't the chief's style.

"Must've been weak enough to get driven from the pack. Hey, drag the carcass and bury it somewhere."

"Bury it just like that? Without skinning it?"

"Full of holes—fat chance it'll sell!"

"What a waste. Ah, I don't mean Bertram did wrong. The claws could sell at the city market day."

Market day—wolf claws were one of the things city brats coveted. Some parents bought them as talismans for cowardly sons. Decent pocket money.

While two young men squatted to pick out the intact claws, one man grumbled.

Dieter.

"Smashed it to hell. Showing off how strong you are? And what's 'transporting Anna' supposed to mean? Is Anna cargo? Besides, if there was a wolf, you should've taken Anna far away for her sake."

The young men avoided Dieter's eyes and smirked. This looked entertaining. How would that oblivious man react? Would Dieter end up crying?

But Bertram deflated Dieter's pride from an unexpected angle.

"My judgment is superior."

"...Pardon?"

"I spent six years on battlefields. I know better than anyone what to prioritize when transporting the wounded. Dieter, if you encountered a branch on the road while transporting someone, would you kick it aside or go around?"

Meaning: branches and wolves were much the same to him. Dieter ground his teeth and backed off, and the chief tried to salvage the mood by laughing heartily and clapping Bertram's shoulder.

"Six years—you were there from start to finish? No wonder you've got pride. But the war's been over three years. Time to shed that soldier skin, eh? Smile a little, yeah?"

"I cannot smile or cry. I injured my head during the war."

The mood didn't recover; it sank like a stone.

The external excuse he'd learned from Anna worked—the young men silently bowed their heads and went back to sorting wolf claws, though they kept sneaking glances at the back of Bertram's head. Of course, his thick black hair hid any scars. That only inflamed their imaginations.

'No wonder it seemed strange for a man to grow his hair to his jawline.'

'Think he's got a huge patch underneath?'

While the chief fidgeted for the first time in a while, Bertram looked deep into the forest.

"Do you need an intact wolf pelt?"

"Hm? It'd be nice to have, but I wouldn't say we need it."

"Then shall I not catch it?"

"Catch... what? Where?"

"There's a wolf watching us right now."

The young men and chief froze in place.

Where Bertram pointed—between the green brush, a gray shadow flickered. If Bertram hadn't called it a wolf, they never would have noticed.

The chief's lips twisted as he muttered.

"Come for revenge, I suppose. Let's all yell and scare it off."

"No. I'll take responsibility. Everyone stay still."

"What? It's a wolf—going alone is dangerous!"

"No problem."

Bertram stepped forward toward the wolf.

The young men watching his back swallowed hard. Wolves weren't beasts a human could fight alone. But looking at Bertram's broad back, it seemed he could tear a wolf apart barehanded like a hero from myth.

As he extended his weaponless hand—

Suddenly Dieter leaped in front of him.

"Don't act cool by yourself! Chasing off wolves is simple. Graaah!"

Dieter spread his arms and flailed about. Ridiculous enough that the wolf might leave out of sheer bewilderment rather than fear.

The wolf pushed its head through the brush. Its yellow eyes hadn't decided whether to flee or attack—and they fixed on Dieter.

Then the chief shouted.

"Dieter, you bastard, get back!"

"What?"

"That bastard's tasted human! Look at its front paw!"

All eyes snapped to the wolf's front paw. Gray with white markings. Wound around it—unmistakably human hair, blonde.

Dieter froze.

The wolf chose its course of action right then.

"Grrrrr...!"

The wolf's thick front paw kicked off the ground. Dieter stumbled backward awkwardly, then finally turned at the chief's "You idiot!" His ankle made a crunching sound, but there was no time to worry about that. If his ankle gave out, he could run on his hands, couldn't he?

While Dieter crawled like a four-legged beast with broken hind legs, Bertram stepped forward. The wolf was right there. Even in that situation, Bertram asked the chief a question.

"Chief. To avoid reducing the pelt's market value, where should I strike?"

"Stop talking nonsense and run!"

There was no chance to ask again.

The wolf ignored Bertram standing solid as a bear and went for Dieter crawling on the ground.

And Bertram grabbed the wolf's tail precisely when its front paw touched Dieter's rear.

"Gyaaaah!"

"Grrrrrr...!"

The cries of human and wolf echoed together.