SN Chapter 8

"Don't hit people carelessly... you mustn't kill people carelessly... sigh... please repeat after me..."

"Don't hit people carelessly. Don't kill people carelessly."

"Well done. The gentleman you knocked down earlier is Sir Raymond of House Grandram. He holds a position in the White Night Order alongside you, and on a personal level, he is a friend."

"Can't hit him?"

"You cannot."

"All right."

Rosaline nodded. Kallix dragged both hands hard down his face and produced a pained sound. He added, after some deliberation, that if someone raised a weapon against her or showed clear intent to kill, she could hit them and kill them if she liked. He had a vision, if he omitted this, of her standing serenely on a battlefield absorbing arrows. Rosaline nodded.

"Hitting people carelessly is how you end up somewhere very, very frightening. There is a very frightening man there."

"A frightening place..."

Rosaline swallowed. She appeared, with whatever imagination she currently possessed, to be earnestly constructing this frightening man and his frightening place.

A footman arrived to report that Raymond had awakened. They made their way to the guest room to find him sitting up at an uncertain angle against the headboard, with the posture of someone not yet sure where they were. Raymond's hair, neat when he'd arrived, was now a spectacular disaster. Kallix felt the exhaustion arriving ahead of schedule. He was sorting through possible explanations when Rosaline opened her mouth first.

"Sorry."

"..."

She delivered this sentiment with the expression of someone experiencing no remorse whatsoever. Kallix felt a headache beginning its approach.

Raymond sat on the bed and stared at her with a blank face. He looked slowly around the room, then finally lifted his jacket to confirm the evidence of violence on his solar plexus. He appeared to be determining whether this was a dream.

"Rosaline?"

"Yes."

"Rosaline Ester of Redwheel?"

"Yes."

"A moment ago... the one who knocked this older brother figure of yours flat—was you, Rosaline?"

"Yes. Sorry."

"Oh... right... quick apology, very nice... very nice, but... that's not quite the—"

His eyes moved with visible uncertainty. Rosaline dragged the chair from beside the bed, sat down solidly, and helped herself to the refreshments laid out for Raymond. Raymond stared at her with his mouth open, then shifted his gaze to Kallix standing behind her.

"Sir Kallix... by any chance... our Rosaline's..."

He accompanied his search for words with an expressive series of gestures. His hand was circling somewhere around head-height, which suggested he understood the situation correctly. But despite the rather frank mime, he chose his actual words with care.

"...Rosaline's condition isn't quite what it used to be...?"

It was the most delicate rendering Kallix had received yet from anyone. Sister, what great suffering did you leave me with when you went. He gathered up his desolation, pressed it down, and nodded.

"Yes... Sister's... condition is... somewhat... not quite what it used to be..."

Raymond thought it over for a long moment, expression complicated. He raked his hands through his hair—already as disheveled as a magpie’s nest—made it into something worse, then stood up from the bed abruptly. Rosaline moved only her eyes to look at him; he took her hand and drew her to her feet.

"Don't hit this time, Rosaline."

"Okay."

And he pulled her into an embrace. Rosaline grimaced slightly, with the look of someone finding this somewhat excessive, but the training had apparently taken— she didn't immediately deploy her fist. Kallix watched from behind and let out a quiet tch. He shouldn't have told her not to hit. Grabbing another family's unmarried daughter, just like that. It didn't sit right. But he decided to look the other way, just this once.

"You made it back safe."

Something deep in Raymond's face, in his voice, dissolved. Kallix knew what that felt like.

"As we expected—Dark Moon."

Raymond lifted his jacket to examine the impact site while he talked. The bruise had progressed from vivid scarlet to something considerably darker, and he flinched in surprise, then lowered the jacket again as though nothing had happened.

"Dark Moon?"

Rosaline's voice had no particular inflection, making it difficult to identify as a question. Raymond looked at her with something fond-pitying in his expression.

"Did you forget that, too... Right. Dark Moon. A magic-worshipping cult from the kingdom of Balta—a nation that has always been on poor terms with the Empire of Illavénia, which is the country we live in. Magic power is the force that stands in direct opposition to holy power—its antithesis, its dark contrary. Those people believe Kreyan Tithanion—the god of darkness and chaos—is the true god, and that Idelabheim—the god of light and order—is a false existence. Fanatics, every last one. His Highness the Second Prince possesses holy power surpassing any emperor in living memory, which makes him a permanent target. When assassination attempts exceeded twenty-one, a special bodyguard unit was created—the White Night Order, His Highness's direct escort. Which is what we are. You are Dame Rosaline of the White Night Order."

Rosaline made a sound—hm—which was an unusually animated response for her. She was sitting with her arms folded and legs spread wide when Kallix said, "Sister, your legs..." and gestured toward a correction, so she crossed them instead. One foot began to sway back and forth. Mountain after mountain, Kallix thought. His deep sigh drew a laugh from Raymond.

"This last hunting competition was bad. A lot of White Night knights died. And even the—ah—even the vice-captain passed away. You were very close to the vice-captain, Rosaline. Do you remember any of it?"

"No."

"...Maybe it's a mercy you don't. You'd have grieved terribly. Anyway—the new vice-captain has been appointed. Sir Nathan, who was the late vice-captain's adjutant. And, well—ah—this magnificent individual here has become the new vice-captain's adjutant."

Raymond planted both hands on his hips and preened extensively. Rosaline watched this and asked, "Is that good?" Raymond deflated completely.

"No... not good... everyone says I should be envied, it's a promotion, but... just thinking about being rolled every which way under that vice-captain, my eyes are already going dark... Ah, right. And you've been promoted to senior knight as well. Your grades on the promotion exam you sat before were good, and on top of that, a lot of the casualties among the Order were senior knights. You're in the direct escort now—the unit protecting His Highness the Second Prince personally."

"Is that so?"

While the unruffled Rosaline absorbed this, Kallix was quietly startled. An exchange from weeks ago surfaced.

'I came to protect him.'

'The master of the White Night.'

It had come to pass exactly as she'd said. That she had ended up in the unit guarding the master of the White Night was remarkable enough in itself—but what struck him harder was the fact that that captain, the one who'd always watched her coldly, had promoted her to senior knight. He knew the family she came from. He knew she'd failed a protective assignment once already. Was the situation so critical that even that carried no weight?

Kallix's expression settled into something grave.

"More than I'd thought—"

"That's how it's ended up, Sir Kallix."

"...I see. No—wait. Sir Raymond. That isn't the problem, is it."

"Ah."

"..."

Both men turned to look. At the end of both pairs of eyes sat Rosaline, still legs-crossed, foot still swaying. They were sweating. Before she could be promoted to senior knight—before she could return to the imperial capital—a rather pressing problem was waiting for them.

They got to their feet at once and hauled Rosaline along to the training yard. She took their hands and trotted along with them. When a maid tied Rosaline's long hair back in a single tail, Raymond took up a sword and stepped toward her.

"Draw a sword and hold it for me, Rosaline."

Raymond felt his heart hammering so hard he thought it might come out his mouth. Please, please—surely she still remembered swordsmanship? His hands shook. Kallix stood watching and swallowed repeatedly. Under the scorching attention of both men, she pulled the offered sword free.

Shhring—the blade rang bright and keen as it cleared the scabbard.

"...gh..."

"..."

Kallix raised a hand over his eyes as though he couldn't watch. Raymond's legs gave out. He sagged against the training yard floor with the boneless quality of a man whose last hope had just departed. The grip was a complete disaster—before any form, before any technique, the grip was wrong. It was the grip of someone who had never in their life held a sword. Rosaline's eyes lit with interest as she turned the blade over, examining it from every angle. A child, handed a gift.

"...Rosaline, the cute part is wonderful, but... gh... hgk..."

"Is this mine?"

"No... that's my sword... it'd be too heavy for you... you couldn't use it... wait. It's—it's not too heavy, Rosaline?"

Rosaline shrugged one shoulder, then raised the bastard sword balanced on a single fingertip. Raymond's jaw dropped. Kallix moved immediately.

"Sister has been focusing on physical conditioning throughout her recovery! We judged that a sword would be dangerous in her current state, so we concentrated entirely on strength training—twice the usual volume, no, three times—"

"Did I?"

"Yes! Sister, you absolutely did!"

She had spent the entire sick leave eating, sleeping, and wandering. This account differed significantly from her own recollection, and her entire face radiated puzzlement—but Kallix discoursed at considerable length about how passionately she had trained, and Raymond nodded along with a flustered expression.

"That's quite something. Lack of strength was always your weak point, Rosaline—looks like you made good use of your rest. No wonder there was something distinctly out of the ordinary about it when you hit my solar plexus earlier. Ha ha—my grandfather, who passed five years ago, was beckoning me from beyond the River of Light."

"Why didn't you go?"

"Because—Rosaline, that would be a very serious problem..."

Raymond exchanged a few more lines of idle banter and let his face settle back into something serious. Objectively, Rosaline was a capable knight. Among women knights who favored technique and strategy over brute strength, she'd already reached a level where real competition was difficult to find. Her conscientiousness had earned high marks, and she'd moved from probationary to lower knight without a long apprenticeship. But lower knights were different from probationers—many of them had fully verified skill.

Slight technical superiority was not enough to surpass them.