PDCOO Chapter 40

In the brief silence that followed, Anna's voice carried from somewhere in the distance.

"Someone boil some water! How many people are there and I'm the only one doing anything?"

Bertram immediately moved to rise, and Karlah stopped him.

"Give me your answer again. But this time, don't deliberate on your own."

Karlah pointed outside.

Erich and the other soldiers, reading the room and rushing toward the kitchen. And even Franz, swinging a wooden stick around as if checking whether his body was still in working order. The restaurant's front yard, which had always been peaceful in the mornings, was already bustling just to look at it.

"Look. Those people prove that you have responsibilities to carry as a nobleman. Talk to all of them, get their permission, and then give me your answer."

"If I come back after speaking with them, will you trust my decision?"

"I can't trust words alone. A nobleman's oath isn't coated in gold, you know. I'll only believe it when a body stays."

The corner of Karlah's mouth curved in a thin, sharp line. That noble bastard had thrown every sweet word imaginable at her too, and in the end had guaranteed nothing.

Bertram nodded as if he understood.

"I see. You've had a very hard time because of an irresponsible nobleman."

"Don't say any nonsense about apologizing on his behalf."

"Of course. Noblemen are not a single body. ...Do you happen to remember his name and surname?"

"I don't know the surname. He asked to be called Phil. Was the full name Philbert or Philibert? It was probably a pseudonym anyway."

Karlah's guess seemed likely correct. No such name appeared in the register of noble names that Bertram had memorized in his childhood.

But gathering the information he'd heard from Karlah, he could probably narrow it down to some degree.

Just then, Karlah spoke urgently.

"You're not thinking of tracking him down, are you? I don't even want to mention that bastard anymore. I've lived treating him as if he doesn't exist, and I plan to keep it that way!"

"Understood."

Bertram heard those words and thought.

‘That guy—should I just track him down and be done with him?’

Erich, on the grounds that he wore glasses, had been handed onions—and promptly discovered hell.

Anna showed no mercy even to him.

"If one onion is going to make you cry, how do you manage a sword?"

"Th-this is not a hardship that can be managed with courage alone!"

"Oh my, I didn't know that! If tossing a few onions was all it took to win a war, why on earth did people run around with swords in the first place!"

Another soldier snickered at Erich. The moment Anna heard it, she snatched the onion and knife from Erich's hands, and the soldier, sensing the arrow turning in his direction, tried to flee, and Franz said "When is breakfast even going to be ready" and became the next target...

In the midst of the chaos.

They could only finish breakfast after the sun had climbed high.

Karlah, who had stayed up all night searching for her daughter, stuck a "Closed" sign on the restaurant and collapsed into bed.

The soldiers, who had likewise endured a sleepless night, stretched out in the restaurant with Franz's permission. It seemed they had no intention of leaving the moment Bertram was secured. Anna, for her part, was pleased by this and started thinking ahead about what to make for lunch—with the naive hope that if she fed them until they couldn't move, they'd at least find it too difficult to suggest departing right away.

And Bertram followed Karlah's requirements exactly.

He called Franz to a nearby hill and began a conversation.

"You found me remarkably well, Franz."

Franz confirmed there was no one nearby, then chose his position. As Franz, Bertram's old friend.

"What the hell have you been doing for the past three years? You went out to repay debts and just never came back—I was worried you might have found a debt you could only repay with your life!"

"There's no debt like that. My corpse is worthless."

"...Your head hasn't changed at all."

From anyone else's mouth, that sentence would have sounded self-deprecating. When Bertram said it, it was simply a statement of fact.

Franz looked at Bertram. It had been three years since he'd seen him this close.

His hair had grown long. He'd apparently cut it occasionally with whatever came to hand; roughly cut lines stuck out here and there. His jawline had grown sharper, and his eyes had deepened.

A face as dignified and beautiful as an archangel's statue in a charnel house. That much was the same as before, but...

"Bertram. Somehow your face looks better."

"The household I'm currently staying with always provides quality meals."

"I didn't mean you'd gotten fat... Though that's included, there's more than one or two things I want to ask."

Why was he staying at a commoner's house? Why had Monat been tied up at someone else's ranch? Surely he hadn't squandered other national treasures the same way? Why was he helping with kitchen work? Could they leave right now? He hadn't forgotten how to ride a horse, had he?

Franz sorted the priorities of those questions. He could ask about the relationship with these country folk on the way back—it would take a few days to reach the capital, after all.

So the first question to ask should have been 'Can you leave right now'—but a different question that weighed on him more came out first.

"What is this pig that's currently dirtying my boots?"

Bertram had brought the piglet along on the way out. The creature, excited by the unfamiliar walk, was digging at the earth with unusual enthusiasm. Franz tried to ignore it, but when it crossed over his boots with a plump earthworm in its mouth, a curse slipped out involuntarily.

"Blast!"

"Don't shout. If the pig gets startled, it won't put on weight."

"Why are you playing pigkeeper... No, I won't ask anymore. The more I ask, the more I get dragged in! We're leaving right after lunch."

"I'm not going back."

"Is that also because of some blasted debt or whatever?"

"It's a little different."

Bertram offered no further explanation and leisurely scratched the piglet's back. The piglet grunted contentedly. No one he told this story to would believe it.

When Franz let out a sigh, Bertram—perhaps taking it as a signal demanding attention—asked after him.

"You're still good-looking."

"Of course."

"By any chance—did your father travel around for family matters when he was young?"

"His Grace the magnificent twelfth Duke would be the one doing the driving out over family matters, never the one being driven out. He'd have spent his whole life without leaving the capital. Why?"

"Good to hear. Understood."

Franz frowned, not knowing he'd just been asked a question that had nearly spelled ruin for his family.

"Playing at being a prince and worrying about the political history of the capital? Worry about me instead! Weren't you suffering on my behalf searching for you, was I threatened by His Majesty—there's plenty to ask about, isn't there?"

"There is one thing I'm curious about. What would happen if I said I wasn't going back?"

"I'd fight you."

"The result is obvious."

"...You really are a revolting creature."

Franz was about to hurl a curse but stopped himself.

It seemed there was a reason Bertram wasn't returning to the capital.

Which meant he'd need to give him reasons why he should.

"Bertram. His Majesty is worried about your absence. Fifty percent of it is genuine family feeling. The other fifty percent is probably worry that rumors might spread—'His Majesty killed his nephew to hold the throne.'"

"An unrealistic rumor. I don't die easily. And I believe my uncle is a good king."

"Regardless. If rumors spread while you remain absent..."

Franz looked around, confirmed no one was nearby, and continued.

"To make the rumors reality, they might send someone here to quietly deal with you."

His tone was light, but it was not a joke.

"As you can tell from my coming, His Majesty assembled the best search party he could to find you. My father refused at first, saying he couldn't let his son set off on an open-ended journey, but in the end he accepted His Majesty's firm insistence."

Touching, in its way.

But if Bertram failed to cooperate with that carefully chosen party —

"Bertram. The second search party won't be as soft as I am. They'd ask why you wandered for three years, and if the answer wasn't satisfying, they'd interpret it their own way and show their fangs."

"What interpretation?"

"Something like: 'The prince who was robbed of the throne traveled throughout the land, building forces for rebellion.'"

"That's quite a leap. Even if my uncle is cautious, that kind of extreme assumption..."

"Hey! Three months, maybe—but after waiting three years, His Majesty did his absolute best to believe in you!"

Finally, Franz's patience was exhausted. As his voice rose again, Bertram silently pointed at his own feet.

Oink.

Blast, that confounded pig.

The piglet was sniffing at his boots. Franz made himself ignore how endearing the creature was and spoke to Bertram.

"Just go to Schleisen, see His Majesty, and come back. That's the safe course."

"But I made a promise to Karlah. To leave forever or stay forever. She'll treat me as if I don't exist from the moment I leave."

"What does that matter? Sometimes breaking a promise and handling the fallout is how a relationship leaps forward. Make a date appointment with great difficulty, deliberately stand her up, then go to her window at night with a bouquet—that's quite the adventure. Get slapped once and if you hold your ground, she'll let you in to hear your excuse. That's when things actually get interesting..."

"Remarkable that you're still alive without being stabbed."

"I have been hit with an axe, though."

At that moment, something flashed in Franz's mind.

'He just said he made a promise to Karlah.'

Karlah, who had grabbed Bertram by the collar. Her daughter, who looked young but was said to be over twenty. And thinking that Bertram had been staying at the mother and daughter's house—there was only one conclusion.

The corner of Franz's mouth twitched with mischief.

"Did you actually touch that woman—Anna?"

"I have no emotions. You know that."

"Even without emotions you can still do that sort of th—"

Bertram quickly and quietly kicked Franz in the shin.

Franz sprawled on the ground and let out a soundless groan. Bertram, as if nothing had happened, spoke composedly.

"I am not you. It seems like you're the one who ought to be driven out before you cause them any harm."

"Ngh... I don't touch commoners, you know?"

"How very reassuring."

Franz rubbed his shin, which throbbed as if on fire. This golem of a man still couldn't modulate his strength, it seemed.

But as the pain subsided, a genuine question rose in him.

The mother and daughter being the anchor holding Bertram here—that much was certain. But if Bertram still had no emotions, what on earth was the thread keeping him tied to this place?

"Bertram. I won't make any strange jokes, so tell me honestly. I'll help."

"Help with what?"

"That woman, Anna—what is she to you?"