MTO C27

Chapter 27

At Eglence Castle, the mornings began early.

Even before the sun crested the horizon, servants were already bustling, laboring to keep the ancient fortress in order. A castle of such venerable age creaked if left untended even for a day, gathering dust and wear like a neglected old man.

In the halls, maids with aprons cinched tight blew hot breath into chilled hands as they polished the floors. In the kitchens, chefs in white caps stirred cauldrons, sweat pouring as they prepared meals. Thanks to such diligence, even the castle’s hounds were fed fresh breakfasts at sunrise.

Yet the earliest risers were to be found elsewhere entirely.

“Where are your eyes, boy? Your guard is wide open!”

Fierce shouts cracked across the training yard. Pairs of knights clashed steel on steel, blades hissing through the air, muscles taut with sweat. Their swords carved gusts into the winter morning, leaving their training tunics clinging damp against their physiques.

Michel’s eyes shone. He had set out merely to do morning exercise himself—and drifted here, lured by the thunderous cries. The sight before him was both unfamiliar and achingly familiar: comrades throwing themselves bodily into each other’s strikes, sweat flying, passion stronger than the chill air. Watching, he remembered his boyhood friends with whom he’d once practiced taekwondo. Most now lived lives far from martial halls, but the memory of those days remained among his dearest.

“Are you not the Saint?”

A voice drew him. From the sideline, a knight taking brief respite approached.

“Owen! Brother Owen—it’s been a while!”

It was the same knight who once stood guard at Michel’s chamber door. Michel greeted warmly, and Owen bowed courteously.

“I had heard you returned to the castle, Saint. What brings you to the training yard?”

“I was walking and wandered here. …Am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all, though—”

“What are you idling for!”

A voice like a thunderclap silenced Owen mid‑sentence, snapping his spine stiff. Michel tilted his head to see. A knight was approaching, and unlike the youthful crowd, this one was older—closer to Master Usung’s age. Not only in years, but in presence: a face furrowed by time, but eyes blazing, shoulders broader than many young men’s.

“Sir Jared, this is Saint Michel,” Owen said quickly.

“Hello! Michel, at your service.”

When Owen made the introduction, the middle‑aged knight eyed Michel with faint disapproval. Then, after a pause, he nodded with formality.

“Jared Woolsley. I oversee the training of these colts.”

He extended a hand. Michel shook at once, gripping calloused skin, the record of decades carved into that palm.

At first sight, Michel liked him. Here was the archetypal seasoned warrior he had always admired in comics. Even if Jared had never appeared in Monster Knight, Michel could easily picture him waving his sword across a battlefield.

“Brother Jared,” Michel asked, excitement spilling, “if it’s not too much trouble, might I join today’s training? I was looking for a place for my morning practice, after all.”

“…What?”

The older knight’s brows furrowed. His already-severe face grew tiger‑like, daunting enough to send many a child crying. But Michel only felt a flutter of excitement instead.

“So now even this? Do you take the order of knights for a child’s play?”

“No, never! I respect your discipline greatly. But as one who trains my own body, I wanted to see what regimen the knights of Eglence endure.”

Michel pleaded, promising to do whatever was demanded. Training alone had been good, but he missed the camaraderie that came from sweat shared. And secretly—he also hoped to learn new techniques he’d never tried.

Jared grumbled, clearly unconvinced. Yet at length he gave a curt nod.

“Fine. You’ll do whatever I command?”

“Of course!”

“Then begin with that stone: hold it, one hundred squats.”

“Sir Jared…” Owen cut in nervously. “He is the Saint.”

“If he asks for knight’s training, he’ll be treated as any knight. Is that not fair?”

“Well said!” Michel agreed brightly, already reaching for one of the flagstones stacked nearby. It weighed five to ten kilograms—a perfect makeshift dumbbell in a world without iron bars.

“Owen,” Jared ordered, “count for him.”

“Saint, are you truly going to…? It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Assigned as overseer, Owen winced like a worried parent. But Michel only grinned. He had done as much in his past training—this would be mere warm‑up.

“No worries. I’ve trained this way before. Just don’t lose count.”

And down Michel went, gripping the stone firm, sinking low, rising with force in thighs and hips. A perfect squat variation—a staple Michel maintained even in his new life.

Caught between duty and doubt, Owen began to count aloud.

“…Eight, nine…”

He kept urging Michel to stop if tiring. But after thirty, with Michel still unwavering, his tone melted into praise. By fifty, his voice rose with earnest enthusiasm. At eighty, even other knights sneaked glances despite Jared’s barked reprimands, unable to resist curiosity. To see this slender Saint, whose limbs looked like kindling, endure their exercise without falter—captivated their attention.

“…Ninety‑nine… one hundred! Completed! Saint, you’ve done them all!”

Owen burst out, half in pride as though he had participated. At once, applause thundered through the yard.

Michel blinked, bewildered, turning around. Every knight’s focus had fixed on him.

“Nicholas, weren’t you short twenty squats today? Now the Saint’s put you to shame.”

“I carried ten times the weight, though—still, for a first try, impressive.”

“Form was a little odd, but one hundred clean. For legs as thin as twigs, he’s sturdy.”

“Maybe I should start praying harder myself…”

Each made their jest, but with respect beneath their words. Michel flushed red, embarrassed at praise for a simple squat routine. Wiping sweat from his brow, he hurried to Jared.

“One hundred as ordered. What’s next?”

Jared’s expression soured further, etching deeper lines into his forehead.

“Then… carry that boulder on your back, twenty laps around the yard—”

“What’s going on here?”

The noisy yard fell silent.

Michel turned. Somehow, without him noticing, Kaidan had appeared amid the knights. And with his presence, all levity vanished.

“Good morning, Brother Kaidan!” Michel beamed.

“Sir Jared. What do you imagine you are doing?”

Michel’s cheer went unanswered. Kaidan stepped before Jared, voice razor‑edged. Even to this grizzled veteran, Kaidan spoke with blunt superiority. Jared’s lips twisted with irritation.

“The Saint asked to train. I only granted his request.”

“And you forgot he is my guest?”

“Of course I knew. I only let him do what he insisted upon.”

Jared’s tone bore the civility of courtesy words—but carried the sharpness of speaking to a child. Kaidan stared long and silent. The tension between them could have birthed drawn swords at any second.

“Brother Jared’s words are true,” Michel jumped in quickly. “It was my idea. I wanted this.”

Kaidan’s glance cut to him—cold, assessing—then fixed back on Jared.

“I’ll revisit this later with you. For now—Saint, follow me.”

He commanded without leaving chance for refusal, turning and striding off the yard. Michel flashed Jared a sheepish look, hoping to reassure, and scrambled after.

Only once they reached a deserted corridor did Kaidan wheel upon him.

“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing!”

His voice crashed through the stone hall, full of fury, like a master who had caught his hound stealing from a neighbor’s coop. Michel blinked—he didn’t see why such anger.

“I only joined their training. With Jared Brother’s permission, too.”

“Do you still not comprehend your station? What saint takes knightly drills?”

“Everyone needs exercise for their health, don’t they?”

Michel pushed back cheerfully. Kaidan scrubbed a hand across his face hard, chest expanding with deep breaths to quiet his mounting temper. His broad torso, his thick waist—Michel, unbidden, found himself admiring the sheer scale of Kaidan’s physique. If he looked this formidable beneath clothes, he must be even more powerful bare.

Note to self: ask Kaidan what workout routine he follows!