TRHK Chapter 2

The original Maylin had believed every honeyed word and lavish gift that Joel Courtner pressed upon her. She had let herself dream of becoming a Countess.

Joel had never intended anything of the sort. A mistress was the full extent of his plans.

The problem—for Maylin—was that she had told the other maids. Announced it, in fact, in considerable detail. Word reached the Count and Countess themselves.

They had been arranging a strategic marriage for their son with some suitable noble family, and the existence of a maid who believed herself a candidate for the position was an unacceptable complication. Their solution had been direct: they killed Maylin and threw her in the river. A maid under a servitude contract was, from their perspective, disposable property. A problem that could simply be removed.

I turned this over in my mind, and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the corridor's draft.

So this body was going to be murdered by the Count and Countess. I had barely had time to die once. Was I supposed to do it again, so soon?

"...No. Not yet."

The saving grace was that Maylin and Joel Courtner had no relationship at present. From the fragments I'd caught eavesdropping, Joel was currently in residence at an academy dormitory. He'd come home for the school holidays eventually—but not immediately.

The obvious solution was to simply leave before that happened.

The obvious solution was currently impossible.

Because Maylin had entered into a magical binding contract with House Courtner.

This world had magic. That, incidentally, was part of how I had confirmed this was genuinely the novel's world: the casual, unremarkable way people here spoke of Sword Masters, dragons, mana—things that existed in 〈The Sword God's Adventure〉 as naturally as weather exists anywhere.

A magical binding contract was a tool of control, used by those with power over those without. A servant under such a contract could not leave the designated territory until the document itself was dissolved. Mine was the Courtner county. If I wandered beyond its borders without authorization, I would be considered a runaway, and the contract's magic would begin strangling me—slowly, incrementally—until I stopped moving.

The contract couldn't be broken without high-level magic. Or sword aura. The power of a Sword Master.

Given that I had neither magical aptitude nor any skill with a blade, my options were limited to two:

First: don't fall for Joel Courtner.

Second: find a way to break the contract, or find someone who could.

I had allowed myself, briefly, the possibility that this wasn't the novel at all—that a 'Maylin' working for 'House Courtner' was coincidence, that this world only resembled the book without actually being it. In that case, at least I needn't worry about being murdered.

The rumors about the red-haired knight had closed that door entirely.

'Did you hear? The red-haired knight took out an entire monster nest by himself!'

'Someone challenged the red-haired knight to a duel and got absolutely destroyed.'

'He's really that strong? Still couldn't compare to the Knight Commander, surely?'

'Word is he was some noble family's secret weapon up in the capital. Got thrown out after causing some incident.'

One of the novel's significant figures. And the rumors matched what I already knew, word for word.

So: the side character Maylin's death was confirmed. But despair could wait. What I had actually been focused on was the knight's existence.

The red-haired knight.

I thought I might have just found my way out.

Clang! Clang!

Metal striking metal, hard and relentless. Ragged breathing. Air that tasted faintly of sweat.

I was crouched behind a tree at the edge of the practice grounds, watching several dozen knights train. Not exactly the most productive use of my limited free time.

"Watch it! Where are you even looking?"

"Sorry, but—"

Shouts broke out as someone lost their footing mid-spar. The red-haired knight I'd come to observe paid the disruption no attention whatsoever. He was on his third opponent.

He was the one from the corridor a few days ago—the knight with the ponytail. Watching him cycle through sparring partners and dismantle each of them in turn, it was increasingly clear that 'skilled' was a rather modest way to put it.

In 〈The Sword God's Adventure〉, the protagonist passes through a village by chance and hears rumors of a red-haired knight at the local lord's castle—someone with extraordinary sword ability. Curiosity leads him there. He challenges the man. He loses badly. The reason: the knight is a hidden Sword Master. The protagonist retreats into the wider world to train himself, eventually achieves the same rank, and sets out to find the red-haired knight again.

In the novel's structure, the red-haired knight was one of the figures who catalyze the protagonist's awakening.

For me, he was potentially the person who could dissolve my binding contract.

A Sword Master could channel mana into sword energy—the highest martial achievement recognized in this world. Someone capable of that shouldn't be stopped by a mere magical contract. The frustrating part was that I'd spent my first days here focused so narrowly on Maylin's immediate dangers that the obvious solution hadn't occurred to me sooner.

'If I'd only known, I could have said something when we were in the corridor...'

"Is there something you need?"

"Oh—"

I whipped around. A large man with a severe face stood behind me, looking at me with the unhurried expression of someone who finds nothing particularly noteworthy about a maid crouching in a hedgerow.

"I am Landale Permok, Commander of the First Knight Order."

Short-cropped grey hair. A bearing that suggested he had never once, in the entire course of his life, considered relaxing. He suited the title perfectly.

Having been given a name, I introduced myself with appropriate awkwardness.

"I'm... Maylin. A maid here."

"I see. What are you doing out here?"

"I was... just watching—"

"The knights' training is not for spectators."

He was right. I apologized as gracefully as I could manage.

"I'm sorry."

I glanced back instinctively, and found several knights hastily redirecting their attention. They'd been watching me.

All except the red-haired knight, who was looking directly at me with an expression that could only be described as blank—a complete departure from the focused intensity he'd been projecting through three consecutive sparring matches.

I had planned only to observe today. But since I'd already been caught, I might as well press the advantage.

I turned back to Knight Commander Landale.

"Actually—I came to see the red-haired knight."

Making friends with a Sword Master.

Of all the tasks available to me in this situation, this one felt the most improbable. Even setting aside the Sword Master part, it was daunting enough. The original Maylin hadn't been especially gifted socially either, from what I could recall—but at least she had been capable of basic human interaction. I, on the other hand, had grown up with essentially two people in my life, and I was being generous with that estimate.

Something flickered across Landale's impassive face. He considered my words for a moment.

"Which one?"

"...I beg your pardon?"

"There are two red-haired knights. Which one did you mean?"

I had absolutely nothing to say to this.

'Did you hear? The red-haired knight took out an entire monster nest by himself!'

'Someone challenged the red-haired knight to a duel and got absolutely destroyed.'

'He's really that strong? Still couldn't compare to the Knight Commander, surely?'

'Word is he was some noble family's secret weapon up in the capital. Got thrown out after causing some incident.'

While sweeping. While eating in the servants' hall. The household staff talked about the red-haired knight constantly. When I edged closer to listen, they would invariably stop talking and scatter.

But not once had anyone mentioned there were two of them.

I began to question my own memory. I had read the novel multiple times, aloud, to my mother. How had this detail escaped me entirely?

The consolation was that I had something to work with. I knew certain things about the novel's red-haired knight with reasonable confidence.

He was not originally from here. He had arrived at Courtner castle some months before Maylin had entered into her binding contract. He was traveling under the identity of an errant knight—no formal affiliation, only the tacit hospitality of the Count's household. He was concealing his Sword Master status, but his extraordinary skill kept asserting itself anyway, and House Courtner had apparently already begun making overtures about incorporating him into the knight order permanently.

I could verify those facts. But first—

I needed to establish who the other red-haired knight was.

"Where exactly is this place..."

Knight Commander Landale had directed me to the hill behind the main house. I had found the hill. I had not found any knights, red-haired or otherwise.

"Oh."

Under a sprawling oak tree, in a patch of shade, a man was lying down.

Asleep, it appeared.

His hair was unmistakable even in shadow.

I knew immediately I had found the right person. What I had not been prepared for—

Long lashes. Features that were, individually, quite delicate. The effect they produced together was—

I had taken several steps closer before I registered that I was moving.

The man hadn't stirred. My assessment continued without my permission. There was something about the angle of him—sprawled with complete carelessness, entirely at ease beneath the oak—that recalled certain paintings in books I had read as a child, images of divine subjects rendered by artists with very good reasons to look closely and at length.

I had never seen anyone quite like this.

I was staring.

"Stop there."

The cold warning froze me mid-step.

The man opened his eyes.

I had expected them to be red—bright, vivid red, to match his hair. They were darker than that. Deep crimson, close enough to black in poor light to be mistaken for it. The lashes, I noticed now, were dark too.

His face was entirely composed. No trace of drowsiness. No disorientation of someone just startled from sleep.

He hadn't been asleep at all.

"Stop skulking up on me like a rat and say what you came for."

A rat.

Those perfectly unremarkable lips had formed that particular word.

He sat up unhurriedly and put his back against the oak's trunk. The atmosphere was becoming actively unfriendly. I opened my mouth before it could deteriorate further.

"I'm Maylin."

Ten-odd days in this world, and I had managed to observe one thing about how people here greeted strangers. I tried to apply it now. I pulled my mouth into something I sincerely hoped resembled a natural smile.

"And you are...?"

If I had simply remembered his name from the novel, I wouldn't need to be standing here fabricating a reason to ask. Unfortunately, the novel had referred to him far more often by his epithet than by name, and the name itself had not stayed with me.

He might ignore me entirely. I braced for it.

Instead, he smiled.

It matched the face—quiet, and somehow devastating. For a moment my thoughts went somewhat sideways.

"I believe I told you to state your business." His voice was pleasant. "Little rat."

"I'm not a rat."

The words were out before I could stop them. My hand came up to cover my mouth a moment too late.

"Ah." He said it with the tone of someone reconsidering a situation. "Then you had a different purpose. Forgive me for not understanding sooner."

His gaze dropped briefly.

He patted his own thigh. Twice, lightly.

"I'm happy to accommodate, even outdoors."

'...What?'