MTO C72

Chapter 72

The knights led Michel to a dim, sunless storage room. Whatever secret they meant to discuss, they even posted a guard outside the door.

They draped a cloak over a dusty chair to make a seat for Michel, while they themselves sat anywhere on the floor. The courtesy was unnecessary, but their faces were all so grave that Michel took the seat without refusing.

Once things had roughly settled, Owen spoke first.

“Does the Saint know that Sir Jerard recently left the Eglence knight corps?”

“Ah, yes…”

Know it? He had watched the entire thing from the side—how Jerard left the corps and departed the castle.

Michel still kept the gold‑trimmed button he had picked up that day. He had meant to return it if he met Jerard again, but Jerard had packed at once and left the castle, so there had been no chance.

Would Jerard never come back? Each time his eyes fell on the orphaned gold button, he sighed so much that Anna, this very morning, had asked if something weighed on his mind.

“Sir Jerard is still in Valois—staying at an inn not far from Eglence Castle.”

“Really?”

At the new information, Michel’s face brightened. It was welcome news—if Jerard was close, perhaps he might return to the castle.

“Yes. And we want Sir Jerard to come back to the Eglence corps.”

Owen seemed to have had the same thought. Michel seized on it quickly.

“Then we think alike! I also want Brother Jerard to come back soon.”

“Truly? It is a great relief that you feel as I do, Saint. Then, begging your pardon, may we ask this favor? Will you turn His Grace’s heart?”

At the sudden leap to a conclusion, Michel blinked slowly. Now he saw that they all wore the faces of men going to a decisive battle. Yet he didn’t understand why they were asking him.

“Uh… meaning, you want me to persuade the Duke? So Brother Jerard can return?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you tell him yourselves…?”

“We already tried. His Grace won’t even hear Sir Jerard mentioned. Only you can change his mind now, Saint. Please!”

A knight beside Owen broke in, pleading fervently. They looked at Michel as if at the last hero who might save the world. Michel, however, had no confidence to save the world—or persuade Kaidan.

“Wouldn’t it be the same if I spoke?”

“No. His Grace holds you in high regard, Saint.”

“The Duke? Me?”

Michel asked blankly, and they nodded again with resolve. He couldn’t know the particulars, but they plainly pinned great hopes on him. Unfortunately, he lacked the skill. If Kaidan were easily swayed by his words, Michel would already have been allowed to join knight training.

Granted, Kaidan had been very kind lately: letting them live at the castle with the children, teaching swordwork personally in lieu of the corps’ drills, even taking him to the library to teach about monsters when Michel said he wanted to learn to fight them.

But that was because Kaidan was a good man by nature, not because he “cherished” Michel especially. One only had to remember how he treated the townsfolk at the relief event: awkward in expression, but not a cold ruler.

On the other hand, he could be stubborn—rarely reversing a decision once made. If he hadn’t listened to the knights, he likely wouldn’t listen to Michel either.

“If you speak, he will listen.”

Even so, they seemed certain Michel was the only key. He couldn’t agree with that—but he did want to talk with Kaidan.

In any case, it was a mess born partly because of us.

The old, festering conflict between Kaidan and Jerard was surely the main cause; the trigger was the golden eagle’s attack on Max.

Unintentional as it was, the orphanage’s entry into Eglence Castle had ended up looking like it drove Jerard out. Max’s listlessness already pained him; to think Jerard resigned because of them made Michel even more uncomfortable.

“Alright. I’ll try speaking to him.”

At his answer, the knights sighed in relief and brightened. Watching them thank him, Michel felt something odd. Among them were those who had gossiped about the rift between Kaidan and Jerard, subtly belittling Jerard.

“I didn’t know everyone liked Sir Jerard this much.”

Staring at the man in question, Michel saw him scratch his face awkwardly, as if recalling his past words.

Owen took over.

“Of course we all respect Sir Jerard. He is an excellent knight and always has a perfect grasp of matters within and without the castle. But the biggest reason we want him back is His Grace.”

“His Grace? Why?”

“Since Sir Jerard left, the Duke himself has been leading and managing all knight training. He already has no shortage of duties, and with Sir David away investigating monsters, there’s no one to assign corps matters to. His Grace also prefers handling things directly to delegating.”

Come to think of it, Michel hadn’t seen Kaidan even once in the past week; even the shared suppers had vanished. He’d thought the Duke was avoiding him after the fight with Jerard, but it seemed he was simply swamped.

“He hasn’t said so, but he must be exhausted by now. Even before, governing the fief left him frantically busy. Lawrence helps, but there’s only so much he can do. Sir Jerard—despite poor personal relations—was one of the few retainers His Grace trusted. Now he’s gone, the Duke’s burden has multiplied.”

Owen sighed, face clouded. Michel grew grave in turn. Hearing it laid out, Jerard’s departure was a bigger problem than he had thought.

However strong a knight Kaidan was, he was no god. Even a small taekwondo studio needed many hands; how could one man govern this vast land alone? Perhaps fine for now, but the longer it went on, the worse Jerard’s absence would tell. Bringing him back looked urgent.

And they all love Kaidan dearly, it seems.

Michel was moved by their loyalty: a corps anxious that their lord was laboring alone—like something out of an animated tale, a shining fellowship. What glorious camaraderie…

“The Commander leading drills himself every day—it’s killing us! Sir Jerard’s training wasn’t easy, but nothing like this. At night, lying in bed, I dread closing my eyes for fear of tomorrow’s training.”

“The drills, yes, but the Commander’s gaze is the worst. Make one mistake, and he looks at me like I’m a creature beyond comprehension—‘How can you get this wrong?’ My confidence’s in tatters; these days my heart feels like it’ll burst the moment I take up the sword.”

“At this rate the whole corps will be maimed and drop. We’re already short with so many out on monster surveys. Sir Jerard must return soon so the Commander withdraws from corps affairs. Please, Saint!”

One complaint opened the floodgates. In short: Kaidan’s drills were unbearable; Jerard must return to take over. Michel’s faint smile vanished.

“But you are the Eglence knight corps, aren’t you? I heard it’s made up of the North’s finest.”

Even so, Kaidan’s training was so hard they needed Jerard back? What on earth was he making them do?

He had asked only out of curiosity, but their shoulders jumped. They avoided his eyes, looking down askance.

“We know our shame well—please, spare us harsh reproach, Saint…”

“Eh?”

“But is it not unreasonable for mere humans like us to match the Commander? He’s one of the few Sword Masters on the entire Northern Continent. Expecting us to reach the same level is like asking a newborn to beat monsters!”

The more he spoke, spitting a little with passion, the more Michel’s image of the Eglence corps shattered. They had shown such pride in belonging to this unit. He hadn’t seen Kaidan’s drills himself and couldn’t truly feel their pain, but this…

Wasn’t it a lack of grit?

Children who had just begun taekwondo aimed for black belts—yet the North’s “finest” knights wailed they could never become Sword Masters. It was not a good look.

“I— I see the Duke’s face in the Saint’s!”

“Ahh, I’m so pathetic…”

Michel had said nothing, yet they clutched their chests as if stabbed. Apparently his thoughts had shown; he hurried a gentle smile onto his face.

“In any case, I understand. I’ll speak with the Duke.”

He still doubted Kaidan would heed him, but one never knew until one tried. And if this turned out well, perhaps Max would also brighten up. The two problems seemed unrelated, but Michel had a feeling.