PDCOO Chapter 21

Lara thought Anna was already a lost cause—but the concern itself was warranted.

If Franz had been here, he would have recognized that his description of this as a competition for culling idiots had been entirely accurate.

...Setting aside, of course, the complication that his friend and superior was currently among said idiots.

The boars ran wild. The young men who'd started off laughing lost their smiles one by one. Some were already clinging to the fence.

"Get me out of here!"

"You said you'd do it, so see it through! Show us what you're made of!"

The crowd giggled and surged toward the fence. Anna strained with everything she had not to be pushed from the front—but Lara, worried about Anna being crushed to death by the crowd, grabbed her and dragged her out.

"Ugh! I can't see anything from here! Lara, what do you see?"

"...Bertram looks fine."

"You can actually see him?"

"Sis, was this a race to collect obstacles?"

"What? What do you mean?"

On the platform.

Bertram, who had appeared first without anyone noticing when, had one injured person tucked under each arm.

The visibly tipsy MC chuckled. "So you've brought back the useless ones too! Far too generous, sir."

"War was sufficient place for people to get hurt."

"Ha ha ha! Not exactly festival-appropriate wisdom! In any case, our winner has been decided. Your name is—"

But after that, people started moving en masse and there was no way to see further.

The spectators seemed to care nothing about the result as long as they could drink to a soundtrack of noise—whether it was the shriek of a slaughtered pig or the scream of a man who'd been trampled by one. They were already chattering about where to go next.

When the crowd finally dispersed, what remained was:

"I'm back, Miss Anna. Miss Lara."

"...Bertram. What is that?"

"The prize."

Cradled in Bertram's arms was a single black piglet.

The piglet nestled against his thick forearms and twitched its snout.

It was cute enough to want to scream about.

That was not the point.

'Wasn't the original prize a full-grown pig? Is it just looking small because Bertram is so large?'

But no matter how many times she looked, it was definitely a piglet.

Bertram seemed to realize why Anna had been struck speechless, and offered further explanation.

"I tried to take the full-grown pig that was the original prize, but the organizers found that arrangement difficult. It appears the custom is for the winner to slaughter the pig on the spot and share it with everyone."

"What kind of custom is that!"

"I overlooked that local festivals are meant for local residents. That was my mistake. I yielded the black pig and received its offspring instead—will this one be sufficient?"

"It will grow large eventually, but..."

The plan of returning home boldly with Bertram carrying a full-grown pig had collapsed entirely.

Karlah would hardly welcome a piglet as a great asset.

Bertram seemed to notice Anna's drooping shoulders.

"I'll go catch a wild boar instead. Piglet—you stay here and wait."

Bertram scratched the back of the piglet's head, gently.

Whether it liked the touch, the piglet squinted its eyes and began squirming contentedly against him.

Anna, watching this, spoke decisively. "It's fine. Let's go like this!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lara, don't you agree?"

"Pardon?"

"Look. Doesn't Bertram with a piglet in his arms look harmless and pitiable? Like you'd at least lend him a roof over his head."

"...Yes, well. It does look pitiable. ...The pig."

"Even Mother wouldn't try to throw out Bertram looking like this. Let's go as we are. I'll drag the chief along!"

Anna seemed to mean every word of it. She gave the piglet's head a firm pat, then dashed off toward the village chief, who had drunk himself flat somewhere in the crowd.

Lara watched her go and sighed.

'Sis is already a lost cause. All I can see is a big bear holding a bite-sized snack.'

Meanwhile, Franz had gone to look at sheep with minimal expectation, and was now considerably taken aback.

Tethered in a crumbling stable that had no business housing such an animal was a magnificent horse.

Three years since they'd last seen each other.

"What are you doing here without your master?"

Monat. Bertram's horse. A national treasure of the kingdom.

A silver mane flowed over a powerful brown body like a river of moonlight. Beautiful was a word that suited him—and he was built large enough that most men would struggle to mount in a single attempt. His temperament was worse. He permitted virtually no one but Bertram to handle him.

"Monat. Do you recognize me? The one who used to argue with your master occasionally."

Fortunately, Monat seemed to remember his scent. He permitted Franz's careful hand on his mane.

A stable hand stared at Franz, jaw dropping. "My lord, that's remarkable. This beast has such a temper that even my own employer can barely handle him!"

"Where is this horse's owner?"

"Should be at the bookshop right now. Might I ask why, my lord?"

A bookshop.

An ominous feeling settled in.

"Isn't this horse's owner a large, black-haired swordsman?"

"He might've been once. The bookshop owner says some vagrant turned up claiming he'd owed a debt to their late previous owner, and settled it with this horse instead of money."

"Why didn't they take money?"

"Must not have had any. But this horse is so vicious they couldn't sell him anywhere, so they've boarded him with us. Oh! Might Your Lordship want to buy him? If so, I could fetch the owner right—"

"..."

"M-my lord?"

The stable hand, who'd been chattering so freely, went quiet.

There was anger in Franz's eyes.

"I'll go speak with the owner myself in due course. Consider yourself as not having seen me today."

"Ah—yes, understood!"

The stable hand fled in a scramble. He had the distinct feeling that if he looked back, the sword at the knight's hip would be dancing.

The soldiers gathered around Franz one by one. One of them recognized Monat. "Isn't this His Highness's horse? Ow—hey, don't bite! Same temper as ever!"

"That's right. According to the stable hand, he left the horse here saying he meant to repay a debt."

"A debt, sir?"

"Do you lot not know why His Highness left the palace? He set out to personally repay the requisition orders he'd issued."

"Weren't those compensated by the state in a lump sum?"

Not properly, was what the soldier swallowed instead of saying.

It couldn't be helped. After the war, the country was devastated. Repaying a cartful of flour with a bowlful was still the way to keep people alive.

"It seems he judged that compensation to have been inadequate," Franz said, with a slightly somber tone.

"But surely no debt is large enough to warrant settling with Monat."

"Of course not."

Franz was certain of this.

"No matter how blunt and unsubtle Bertram may—well. No. Even for someone who cuts to the core of every matter without preamble, he would know Monat's worth. He left him as collateral, intending to come back."

"Then the fact that His Highness left this city and returned means—"

"He came back to settle the debt and retrieve Monat. We should wait here for His Highness's return."

While Franz saw straight through Bertram's nature and still reached entirely the wrong conclusion—

Monat was placidly chewing on Erich's hair.

"Goodness, my skull's going to split... Anna, is the festival over?"

"Yes. The chief could sleep a while longer if he'd like."

"I should be getting up... Hmm? What is this piglet... Why is that man driving the cart!"

"Please do sleep a while longer. While the chief was passed out from drink, Bertram was the only one capable of driving the cart—that's the excuse I've prepared for why we had to accept his help."

The chief clutched the back of his neck and collapsed once more.

Bertram serenely drove what was technically called a cart.

It was, in every practical sense, a farm wagon.

The road back—the road toward the last debt—was nothing but peaceful.

A few hours later, Karlah stood in front of her house before the stopped cart, entirely speechless.

The big bear she'd barely managed to throw out had come back cradling a pig.

The chief lay sprawled in the cart, doing a convincing impression of still being drunk.

Her rabbit of a daughter was looking up at her with an expression that said, Please don't scold me, Mother.

She was still deciding whose collar to grab first when Bertram spoke, and what he said made her chest ache:

"This is the offspring of a prize pig from the neighboring city. I'd like to present it to you as a gift."

Karlah tilted her head back to respond.

Blast it. Bertram was too tall.

No matter how much she craned her neck, the piglet he was holding aloft was more visible than his face.

It was a plump black pig.

Cute.

Before a piglet making little squeaks, Karlah could not sustain a stern expression no matter what she did.

In the end, she covered her jaw and mouth with one hand and did her best to look serious.

"I'll be honest. Bertram, you're an uninvited guest. At first, you looked so haggard that I looked after you as fair compensation for odd jobs... but the truth is, the work you've done hasn't been of much real help to us."

"Are you saying the work I did at the restaurant had little value?"

"Yes. Don't think me too cold-hearted—"

"Then I have yet to repay my debt."

It was over.

Bertram walked into Anna's restaurant with the bearing of a man who intended to die there.