MTO C38

Chapter 38

…Damn.

Kaidan belatedly realized he had only magnified the townsfolk’s fear. For peasants untouched by war, even the mere swing of a sword was terror enough—let alone one laced with sword‑aura. Their already uneasy lord had now become to them a being distant, frightening, untouchable.

What possessed me? During knightly drills I never once drew my blade; yet here, in a peaceful square, I brandished it like an executioner. He could not understand his own actions.

“Uu‑wahhh!”

He was on the brink of despising himself, half‑tempted to slit his own throat for folly—when suddenly a roar of applause exploded. Michel, with Jena at his side, clapped madly, cheering as if entranced. Not an ounce of fear, only childlike excitement as they ran straight toward him.

“What was that just now? How did you do that? Brother, that was—uh, what was it again? Something‑Master… So…so—”

“…Swordmaster.”

“Yes! That! Wow, seeing it up close is unreal. Absolutely amazing!”

Michel’s eyes shone. He thrust his thumbs high, begging to see it again. His fuss was so boisterous Kaidan’s thoughts scattered like smoke.

And it wasn’t only him.

“My lord Duke—does that mean you can slay monsters too?”

“…Yes.”

“Wooow!”

Jena’s eyes grew wide as fists. Then suddenly dimmed.

“It would’ve been better if you’d come sooner though.”

The words jabbed through Kaidan’s chest like a spear. Breath caught. The boy, innocent, babbled on.

“My uncle… he died to monsters. He went to the mountains for rare herbs. Monsters come down, destroy fields, take animals. I’m scared they’ll come for me too.”

“Jena!”

His father called sharply, torn between silencing him and not daring approach.

Kaidan could not form reply. He had left. He had sworn never to return. And when at last he did… he met nothing but despair.

Once, long ago, he turned away from slaughtered innocents, helpless for lack of strength. But those he turned from had not been strangers only—they were the folk who had remained, yoked under a cruel Duke while Kaidan fled his cruel father. During his exile, those people had still suffered, and his absence was its own betrayal.

Thus every time he confronted such truth since his return to Valois, shame crushed him anew.

Just as the darkness of regret threatened to swallow him whole—Jena was suddenly lifted aloft. Michel had swept the boy up into his arms.

“Jena, remember what you saw? The Duke’s sword, shining bright?”

“Mm‑hm.”

“From now on, that sword will protect you and your family. Even if terrifying monsters appear, your lord will fight for Valois to the very end. So don’t be afraid.”

As Michel bounced him, laughter spilled. Jena’s gloom lifted at once.

Kaidan watched numbly. How could Michel so confidently declare that he would defend Valois to the last breath? Of course Kaidan would fight, if the threat came. Yet even he himself did not trust that truth—he had once run away.

Nevertheless, Michel declared it without hesitation. Almost as if… he had seen the end already.

Was it mere flattery to curry favor? Or a condemnation of his abandonment?

Everything was confusion.

“My lord Duke!”

Jena’s pure voice snapped him back. Nestled in Michel’s arms, the boy stretched out both hands. Without thinking, Kaidan received the child. Soft, plump arms wrapped tight around his neck.

Heat shocked him. How could something so small radiate this much warmth? He held the fragile body steady, unfamiliar discomfort prickling. Yet he did not wish to set the boy down. Every breath whispered against his collar resounded in him like thunder.

“Come now,” Michel chuckled. “With a Swordmaster for a Duke, what monster would dare raise its head? If they want to live, they’ll flee themselves.”

“And the new walls around the city—this spring will be peaceful.”

Indeed, a new wind stirred among the peasants. A warrior’s blade, terrifying when turned upon them, was strength itself when pointed outward.

All their life in Valois, they had faced two miseries: starve while toiling under tyranny, or flee and die as beasts’ prey. Yet faced with steel turned aside, the keep of Eglence suddenly seemed a fortress. Not of oppression—but defense.

And their new lord—so young, strong, handsome. A knight against monsters, yet tender enough to cradle a child. Had not heaven proven its mercy by sending him a saint too?

Surely, Valois was changing. Perhaps it already had.

“My lord, a drink with me!”

A man, flushed red with wine, staggered forward with cup in hand. He trembled so he could hardly stand. Onlookers gasped, terrified at such insolence.

But the Duke did not thunder. Calmly, he set Jena down and accepted the cup—drinking deep in a single swallow.

“Now you,” he said, handing it back.

The drunkard grinned, slopping more wine into it. “Ha! As you wish!”

The crowd shared nervous glances. Then, slowly, others edged closer.

“My lord, may I have one too?”

“May I pour for you, sire?”

“Sit down, fool, you’ve had enough—”

“I only asked to give him one, not to take it myself!”

The laughter grew. Cautiously at first, then with ease, the townsfolk gathered, speaking more freely, even daring light jest. Kaidan answered their cups, sometimes even their silly jokes. The fear in their eyes eased, if never fully gone, at least no longer choking.

“Catch him!”

“Aha, you missed me!”

And while the Duke was ringed by villagers, Michel was ringed by children, leading them in a game of tag. He clutched up his robe and sprinted clumsily in circles, dignity forgotten, laughter spilling like any simple man. None rebuked him.

The square was full of full bellies and laughter. Even the wind off the mountains seemed to bite less cruelly.

By dusk, most had finished. The relief wagons rolled back to the castle empty, not a grain of oats left. Soldiers struck the tents, villagers trickled home.

Kaidan found Michel apart, slumped on a bench. Where during the blessings he had seemed tireless, now he drooped like desiccated winter grass. No wonder—he had spent hours with noisy children. Kaidan had even seen him at one point sprinting with three different little ones upon his back.

“Haa… my body isn’t what it used to be.”

Kaidan nearly laughed aloud at the groan. The way Michel rubbed his waist resembled a ninety‑year‑old man. Child one moment, elder the next. Strange creature. He stepped forward, offering a flask.

“Mm? Ah—Brother.”

“Herbal tea. Drink.”

“Oh! Thanks.”

Michel gulped deeply, letting out a huge “Kyaaa!” as though it were ale. Kaidan even doubted for a moment what he had handed over.

Michel wiped his chin with his sleeve, returned the flask.

“So—it’s finished now?”

“Yes.”

“Phew! Finally. I didn’t mess anything up out there, did I?”

Kaidan stared down at him, emotions twisting. He could list endless faults: scribbling prayers on his wrist, daring the crowds without escort, altering blessings arbitrarily, flashing bare ankles and running like a fool.

He had imagined a saint robed in solemn dignity. Michel was not that. More than once today the Duke’s heart had leapt in panic at his antics. He even wondered if Michel was deliberately faking incompetence to torment him.

Yet… without Michel, this day would never have ended with such satisfaction.

“Today was—”

“Yes?”

Michel tilted his head, face bright as fresh snow, smile still hovering, violet eyes sparkling like a boy’s. Kaidan’s throat dried. He cleared it roughly.

A word of praise… surely would not hurt.

“My lord! Please—mercy!”

But before he could continue, an uproar rose nearby. Instantly Michel’s bright eyes wheeled toward it without hesitation, his attention snatched at once.