MTO C58

Chapter 58

To tug a man’s sleeve for attention—ill‑mannered. And to give thanks without even meeting the eyes—worse still. If this boy were an apprentice under his charge, Lawrence would have scolded him to tears and sniffling, though the child was indeed far too small and young to be set to work.

Lawrence inclined his head slightly. The boy beamed. With a face that cute, one could guess how often he had wriggled out of trouble with a bit of charm. No wonder his manners were lacking.

And he lifts his cup with both hands.

Lawrence realized he had failed to provide child‑sized cups, unlike spoons and forks. The girl who had spilled earlier was indeed struggling with a cup too large for her hands. It had not been carelessness; it was a mismatch of size.

I shall visit the workshops at dawn.

He quickly gauged the sizes of the children’s hands by eye. Since each would need a different fit, he would have cups made to measure.

“E‑excuse me, Lawrence!”

The Saint suddenly stood. Lawrence regarded him, puzzled.

“Do you require anything?”

“N‑no. The meal is wonderful! Food from House Eglence is always delicious, but tonight it’s especially good!”

Delivered so stiffly, Lawrence wondered if the man was voicing a complaint in a roundabout way. Besides, compliments on food should be addressed to the host; and he himself was no cook.

He glanced toward his lord. The Duke looked their way, but not displeased. Only then did Lawrence bow.

“I am relieved it suits your taste. Is there anything inconvenient?”

“Not at all! Everything’s so comfortable, and good, and comfortable… and very, very delicious.”

Yet the Saint’s face grew oddly somber as he spoke. Lawrence became certain he was complaining—high‑born folk preferred circling speech. What was wrong? The bone in the meat? Understandable—one child had nearly choked. Lawrence prepared to apologize again when—

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

The girl who’d spilled juice piped up, thrusting in.

“I had three helpings!”

“Three? Charlotte—that’s a lot.”

“I can eat more!”

She lifted her empty bowl proudly, innocent as a pup. No etiquette to speak of, but the Saint praised her with a thumbs‑up. The child’s antics even seemed to lift his mood.

I must commend the cook.

When training staff, a carrot must follow the stick. Lawrence made note of which dishes the children devoured.

Lawrence’s devotion to House Eglence was exceptional, though he had not begun his career here. Recommended by an earl’s household where he had apprenticed, he came when Eglence Castle’s staff were ravaged by plague—scores dead in a single night, they said. Among the dead was the Duchess.

“Good day, young master. I am Lawrence Meyer, newly assigned to your service.”

“……”

The one he served—Young Master Kaidan—was a beautiful, unhappy boy. Servants said the shock of his mother’s sudden death had made him forget how to speak. He did not laugh or weep or rage. When called, he stared with a pale, ghostly face. Fine food stirred him not; toys beloved by other children earned not a glance. Even when servants erred, he never scolded.

Only the sword moved him. He practiced until his hands blistered and collapsed into sleep when night fell. Lawrence fretted that such strain would ruin a child’s body, but the boy’s sword grew ever sharper, more precise.

Then one night, Lawrence realized the boy could speak—he simply chose silence.

“Aaaah!”

It was a storm‑lashed night. The young master’s bed lay empty. Rushing out, Lawrence found him in the training yard, swinging a sword alone beneath sheets of rain. He ought to have brought him inside immediately. He could not.

For the doll he had thought empty of soul was howling with grief.

“Die!!”

The tempest could not swallow that voice. The target of his curses: a straw dummy. He beat it with a worn wooden blade, and even Lawrence, ignorant of fencing, saw this was no training.

It was exorcism.

What could drive him to such fury?

At last, strength failed. The boy dropped to his knees, the sword clattering away. Yet he crawled forward and beat the dummy with bare fists. Lawrence could hardly bear to watch.

“Why—why can’t I kill you! Why!”

He pounded the earth, then fell still like a cut marionette. Lawrence dared to approach. The boy had fainted. His body blazed with heat. Lawrence could not forgive himself for letting it come to this. The fever lasted days; the physician warned of danger to his life.

But the boy did not die. He lived—

—and left Eglence.

He volunteered for the suppression wars rising in the western marches; the Duke sent him. Songs soon came back of a northern prodigy on the battlefield. The father glowed with pride.

Lawrence, however, grew cold each time; memory dragged him back to that storm. Had the boy slain the foe he so madly wished dead? He did not know. The young master had gone; Lawrence remained. The years flowed.

The new Duke—Lawrence’s master—ruled with blows. Everyone walked on ice, breath measured lest it offend. The Duke’s favored “black knights” watched from the shadows. Mistakes were not allowed. Lawrence adapted. Those who did not were dismissed.

Then the strong Duke withered suddenly, bedridden.

The black knights stepped into the open, carving the castle into fiefdoms, using servants like slaves, drawing swords at whims. The Eglence knights tried to oust them but proved broken—half fled at the first drawn blade. Servants who once stifled sobs under the Duke’s cane now vanished silently under the black knights’ steel.

At the height of their license—when the Duke finally died—

“I am too late.”

Young Master Kaidan returned.

It was Lawrence who had sent word of the Duke’s death. He could scarcely believe the reply. The Duke had begged his son for years to return, and never once had Kaidan answered. Lawrence even suspected an impostor.

But it was him. One look sufficed. The ghost‑boy was gone. In his place stood a man strong, fearless, flawless—a king returned. The black knights shrank, cowed by the legends around him.

Lawrence believed everything would now be set right. Order restored; villains on their knees.

But before the funeral even ended, his young master prepared to leave the castle again.