Chapter 43 The Marquis of Saint-Pierre (4)
“Um……, are you asking me for an apology?”
Monika's brow narrowed.
She couldn't believe it. The head of the Zylon family, Drogo, was a person who had hurled insults at Monika. To think such a Drogo had come to apologize with a respectful salute. For Monika, she had no choice but to suspect his intentions.
“That is correct.”
On the other hand, Drogo nodded his head.
“I came to apologize and to thank you.”
“Um……”
What on earth is this situation?
Does the meaning of words even change in noble society? Apology means to throw up on someone's face. Gratitude means to make someone eat filth. Could it have such a meaning? No, let's not think such absurd thoughts. Monika let out a sigh, brushing back her hair.
“Understood, Your Highness. What should I do now?”
“……What did you say?”
One of Drogo's eyebrows shot up.
“I have never dealt with a high-ranking person like Your Highness. What etiquette should I observe to receive Your Highness's apology? Should I kneel, and receive it with my head bowed? What etiquette should I observe to receive your gratitude? I really don't know……”
She's not being sarcastic.
That child is scared out of her wits.
Drogo thought, staring endlessly at the floor. Monika's legs were faintly trembling. Would a commoner ever have occasion to be apologized to by a duke? Let alone to be thanked. Yes, that's what it is. Drogo nodded his head and then moved his body.
“Monika Lohengrin, this one has been rude to you.”
Drogo knelt on one knee.
He knelt, and continued speaking with his head bowed.
“I looked down on you as a mere girl, and despised you for having a disability. This was a clear mistake. A Zylon does not make excuses. Do not try to understand me.”
“Ah……”
Monika's pupils widened.
She had been wondering what he was going to apologize for, but in the end, was he going to apologize for what had happened back then? For what reason? Monika stepped back from Drogo. It was an action caused by instinctual fear.
“And I express my gratitude to you.”
Drogo grabbed Monika's prosthetic arm.
A tremor that reached his fingertips. It was as he had expected. Drogo knew what Monika's prosthetic arm was. A tool made from the corpse of a monster, with its nerves connected. In the north, there were quite a few warriors who relied on such artificial limbs. Those who sought to stand on the battlefield even after losing a part of their body. But Monika was a girl. The moment the prosthetic arm was connected to her wound, the pain of her arm being cut off must have assaulted her again…….
“This one asked you. How you would support a weapon with a one-armed body.”
“……Yes, you did.”
“You intended to support a weapon with this prosthetic arm. Therefore, I guarantee it. You are an excellent warrior.”
“I……”
“Dante Marchisio. I heard you saved that child. Dante was a precious student to this one. Though he has left CIAR, it is enough that he is safe. He was a child with an extraordinary love and talent for swordsmanship, though his confidence had dropped due to misfortune. You have protected a warrior of Zylon.”
So, Monika Lohengrin, and.
Drogo whispered, lifting his head.
“You asked this one. How you should receive my apology. How you should receive my gratitude.”
“……That is correct.”
I……, don't know well……, and.
Monika muttered in a small voice.
“Do not receive it.”
On the other hand, Drogo's answer was clear.
“……What?”
“Do not receive this one's apology, and do not receive this one's gratitude.”
Drogo smiled and stood up.
As he was, he reached out his hand and stroked Monika's head. His large hand, like a beast's, stirred with warmth.
“A Zylon knows. That there are grudges that cannot be resolved with an apology. That there are adversaries from whom one must refuse gratitude. Consider this one as such. You have the right to.”
Drogo's hand was withdrawn.
Monika mumbled her lips with her head bowed. Drogo also stood by Monika's side in silence.
Power affects everything. In conveying an apology, and in conveying gratitude. Drogo had laid down his own power. He had given Monika the freedom to refuse the apology of a powerful person, and to even decline their gratitude. That was why the one who spoke first was Monika.
“Um……”
Monika said, fiddling with the tip of her foot.
“I was actually very angry. At the time I was being assigned to a dormitory……, after hearing the words of the three besides Her Highness Orléans……”
“I will accept it.”
Drogo nodded his head.
“The words ‘sons of bitches’ might have just come out.”
“Ah……”
Monika's and Drogo's gazes met.
Monika's amber eyes widened due to being hit in a weak spot, and Drogo, who was unaware of this, idly fiddled with his beard.
“……That can't be, Your Highness. If I had said such a thing out loud, I would have been hung in the square, or burned at the stake.”
“What do you mean?”
Drogo's expression became blank.
“It is true that this one's words are rough. To make an excuse, it is because I am in charge of the northernmost tip of the empire. The invasion of monsters is frequent, and the environment is also harsh.”
There have been times like this, and.
Drogo confessed, scratching the back of his neck.
“This one has been hung before. In the middle of an enemy camp. I had no choice but to tear off the rope. I have also crossed through a fiery pit with my bare body. It was part of my training. That is all, Monika. A Zylon does not kill its subjects for nothing.”
So I swear.
That I will not harm you.
Hearing such an assertion from Drogo,
“On that day, I……”
Monika opened her mouth slowly.
“Was about to shout, ‘Hey, you sons of bitches……’.”
“Uhahahat──!”
Drogo burst into laughter.
“Yes, that's it! You were a warrior after all. Who would dare to call the chairpersons sons of bitches? How very admirable. You should have just said it out loud. If you had, this one would have protected you. The descendant of the barbarians who protected the eternal snow, Drogo von Babenberg le Zylon, is a son of a bitch. I'm fine with being a son of a cow, or a son of a horse!”
Monika let out a sigh.
Her head was throbbing. What on earth was the disposition of the nobles? It was not easily defined. She couldn't understand it, nor could she predict it.
Drogo von Babenberg le Zylon. To think she would receive an apology from him. Let alone to be thanked. And above all, though Dante had been sponsored by the Zylon family, she had never imagined that Drogo would hold such a Dante dear.
“……Your Highness.”
Monika whispered carefully.
“I will receive Your Highness's apology. I will also receive your gratitude.”
“Really? This one is not forcing you. You have the right to think freely……”
“I know. That's enough.”
It wasn't because she was moved by his sincerity.
The fact that Drogo had been worried about Dante's safety. Was it too much to say that her trust was moved because of that? It probably was. Monika thought, staring at a distant place. If by any chance it's too much, let's just do this.
- Oh dear, the defeat of the Marquis of Saint-Pierre.
There is someone before my eyes whom I can never forgive.
- It was a foregone conclusion. He fought quite well. It was an interesting spectacle.
- I know, right. But more than that, look over there. The Marquis isn't fazed at all.
- He's a man whose inner thoughts are unknown. Tsk…….
It was not difficult to fathom the insults.
They were trivial compared to her grudge against Deserick.
“It seems it is my defeat.”
Unaware of Monika's presence, Deserick opened his mouth.
Checkmate, with no room for a struggle. The situation was that Deserick's white King was surrounded by the black pieces.
“You were truly tenacious, Marquis.”
Iris brought her cigarette holder to her lips. She lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke.
“Not only in the game, but also in the debate. I put my heart and soul into grasping your intentions, but you wouldn't show your true feelings until the end. Can you afford to be so afraid of being exposed?”
“That is not so.”
A smile spread across Deserick's lips. The tobacco smoke that Iris had puffed out scattered on his face, but Deserick maintained his expression without a single twitch.
“It seems you are dissatisfied, Duke Orléans. However, I have also been defeated in the debate. Did I not confess to a few of the tasks I am currently researching?”
“Ah, yes. The healing method that extends one's lifespan through bloodsucking, or the technology to transplant an animal's brain into a golem. It was nauseating. But I believe. That you are engrossed in a slightly more disgusting game.”
“How regrettable.”
Deserick propped his chin on his hand.
Servants approached to clear the game board.
“Do you know, Duke Orléans. They say chess was originally not a game. It was a means to explain tactics. That is why I like chess. Not as a game, but as a competition to show off tactics.”
So, do not doubt.
I have been defeated by you, my lady.
At the same moment Deserick whispered so,
“Our positions are a little different.”
Iris stood up.
“To me, chess is nothing more than a mere game. It's enough just to kill boredom. What kind of tactics can be discussed with a toy like this.”
Iris's arm extended roughly.
The servants held their breath, and the nobles' gazes widened.
“And so, you have won.”
──Chwareuk!
The chessboard, flipping over.
The pieces poured down on Deserick's head.
His neatly arranged sky-blue hair was disheveled, and his eyes, as blue and cool as if carved from ice, lost their luster.
“Please don't mind it. My hand just slipped.”
Tuk, tuk, and.
Iris whispered, dusting off the chessboard for all to see.
“……Of course, Duke Orléans.”
Deserick, who was muttering with his eyes wide open.
A crack formed in his sculpture-like appearance. His lips trembled, and a chill leaked out from between his teeth. Just as a servant, who had not noticed this, was about to pick up a piece,
“Step back.”
Kkwaak, and.
Deserick shot back, snatching the servant's wrist.
It was the end of the game. Since the board had been flipped, it was Iris's defeat. According to the rules, that was so. But Iris had turned her back on Deserick as if she were the victor, and Deserick, who had been left alone, silently kept his seat as if he were the loser.
‘Oh my.’
Suddenly, Monika was captured in Iris's vision.
‘How cute.’
To think she would set foot in a banquet hall wearing a uniform.
Iris wore a smile. She took a disciplined step and moved towards Monika.
‘Damn it! Orléans has seen us.’
Drogo clenched his teeth.
His face, stained with scars, was steeped in displeasure. While Drogo, with his arms crossed, was letting out an angry puff of air,
‘……Is he leaving.’
Monika was only staring at Deserick.
After receiving his overcoat from a servant, Deserick began to prepare to leave the banquet hall. His hardened complexion had long since relaxed. After bidding farewell to the young nobles who had approached with admiration, he showed a polite courtesy to the old nobles who had retreated with wariness.
“You don't look well, Monika.”
And soon, Abel's voice, who had approached Monika's side.
Monika flinched and looked back at Abel. Abel, who had finished his audience with the emperor, was glancing at Drogo. Following that, Abel's hand on Monika's shoulder. Abel whispered softly to Monika.
“That man has been harassing you. He's a man who looks like a smuggler, a thief, a kidnapper, a drug addict, an arsonist, a monster lover, and a murderer.”
“This one is not a smuggler, a thief, a kidnapper, a drug addict, an arsonist, a monster lover, or a murderer!”
Drogo shouted, clenching his fists.
“In the first place, does a monster lover even exist! As for this one……”
“Drogo von Babenberg le Zylon.”
Iris recited Drogo's name.
Drogo, who had been opening his mouth gallantly, stopped.
“The head of the Zylon family, and the most foolish man in this world. Show some courtesy, Abel.”
“……Understood.”
Abel let out a sigh. As he was, he knelt on one knee, then slightly lifted his head and looked up at Drogo.
“Please understand my rudeness, O Prince of the Snowy Mountains. It is because I am seeing your esteemed face for the first time. My name is Abel Argento, a professor in the Department of Theology at CIAR……”
“Cut it out! I know very well.”
Drogo waved his arm.
Abel Argento. No, Abel of the Margin.
He knew well enough of Abel's identity. Since Drogo was also a key figure in the Holy Numeros Empire, and a chairperson of Cia-Harphe Academy. A mere professor in the Department of Theology? How ridiculous. Drogo turned his head, puffing out his nose. This whole situation felt like a children's game.
“G, good day, Your Highness Orléans……”
Seureuk, and.
Monika moved cautiously.
She lifted the hem of her cloak and bowed.
“I don't know if you remember, but I am Monika……”
“Monika Lohengrin, I remember.”
Iris reached out her hand towards Monika.
A Stain Glove, with a lustrous sheen, brushed against Monika's cheek.
“Didn't you hear from Abel? I was the one who invited you to this place. Because you are a very special student to me.”
I heard everything, Monika.
You saved a student of Zylon, right?
Asking so, Iris looked at Drogo.
“This proves it. That Orléans is ahead of Zylon.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Orléans!”
Drogo growled, clenching his teeth.
“I'll admit that Monika is a warrior. But Dante was also a talented warrior. That child will become a knight of Zylon in the future. So I swear. The moment Dante graduates from Krisaor Academy, I will personally go to the south and knight him!”
“Oh dear, Duke Zylon. That Dante Marchisio has come to be sponsored by the House of Orléans. Until he comes of age. I couldn't turn a blind eye to his pitiful situation.”
“Wh, what!”
Iris covered her mouth with her sleeve.
It was to hide her blatant laughter.
“You can rest assured. I have no intention of getting involved in his career path. But it's a truly difficult problem. If Dante Marchisio were to come to me after coming of age, saying he wants to repay my grace……”
Yes, that's right, and.
Iris shrugged her shoulders, dragging out her words.
“After recalling your jealous face, I feel I'll have to accept him as my subordinate anyway. You can forgive that much, right?”
“Shut your mouth, Orléans!”
It's like watching children fight.
Monika thought with pouted lips. She turned her head and looked at Abel, and Abel was also holding in a sigh with a blank expression. A banquet of the nobles is nothing special. Towards Monika, who was coming to such a conclusion, Abel took a step.
“I'm sorry to have troubled you.”
Abel smiled faintly.
“Please wait here for a little longer. The Duke of Orléans will take care of you.”
“Do you still have something to take care of?”
“Yes.”
Abel's blackish-blue eyes scanned the inside of the banquet hall.
There was no sign of Deserick. Even so, he couldn't have left the imperial palace. It's better to complete a mission quickly. Now that he had been ordered by the emperor to pursue Deserick, Abel judged it would be better to face Deserick immediately.
“Mmm……”
Meanwhile, Monika fiddled with the ends of her hair.
She looked at Iris and Drogo, who were arguing loudly.
“Iris! You kin-slayer! You fox of the capital!”
“Stop it, Zylon. Your insults are too typical.”
“Then a duel! Let's have a duel and determine who is superior!”
“To be so vulgar in His Majesty's palace. You're out of your mind.”
I want to just leave it all and go…….
Monika thought, scratching her cheek.
* * *
The garden of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace was truly vast.
It was the achievement of countless landscape architects and architects. Beyond the symmetrically detailed promenade, the canal that decorated the beginning and end of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace curved. The lush bushes had formed an ecosystem long ago. The footsteps of small animals rustled the leaves, and migratory birds perched on the sculptures that formed a fountain and tilted their heads.
But there was only one thing that was absent.
A flower garden, as colorful as a famous painter's palette, Fleur plucked a flower and tilted it towards the bridge of her nose.
‘It doesn't smell of anything.’
Scent. There was no scent of flowers in the garden of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace.
It was because seeds injected with magic had been planted. The imperial garden had to be lush regardless of the season, and not only withered leaves, but even the moment a flower bud formed could not be tolerated.
And so, a spell had been mobilized. The seeds that had sprouted through magic had bloomed overnight, but though they were eternally vibrant, they held no scent.
Just like the portrait of a dead person.
“Fleur, you were here.”
Suddenly, Deserick's voice was heard.
Fleur looked back at the forest path. In the gap of the lush leaves, Deserick was taking a step.
“I was looking for you. I was thinking of heading back soon.”
“Ah……”
Fleur threw away the flower.
She stood, trampling on the scattered petals.
“What a shame, Father. Couldn't you stay for just one day?”
“I'm very sorry. I have a lot of research piled up.”
A glint of laughter appeared in Deserick's eyes.
As he was, he reached out his arm and took Fleur's hair. Her lustrous, light blue hair flowed down softly. And with it, the flower crown. The tip of Deserick's finger touched the flower crown. A petal, unable to withstand the sparse gesture, flowed down lightly.
“You know, don't you, Fleur? The Saint-Pierre family explores the truth. Gold cannot be the answer to this world. Love cannot solve the questions of this world. Only knowledge. Wisdom, tempered through knowledge. Only that can renew this world.”
“Of course, Father.”
Fleur smiled brightly.
She placed her hand on her chest and recited a scripture.
“O wanderer, the map is in your head. Cast away your fear. Endure your foolishness, and move forward, embracing futility, dreams, and a moment's imagination. Do not acquiesce at a crossroads.”
Forward, just forward.
For the past will die every time you look back, and.
At the same moment Fleur whispered in a neat tone,
“──Marquis Saint-Pierre.”
The sound of digging up a dirt field. The sound of a branch twisting. At the same time the leaf was torn, a calm voice without emotion. The eyes of Deserick and Fleur, who had reacted to this, widened.
“My name is Abel Argento.”
Professor Argento?
Deserick tilted his head. It was an unfamiliar name. No, it came to mind. It was a name he had heard before. Did they say he was a professor in the Department of Theology at CIAR? He had also heard that he had suppressed the rebels who had invaded the capital. Why would such a man be here?
“I wanted to meet you. Would you please have a chat with me for a moment?”
Professor Argento?
Fleur tilted her head. Ashen silver hair. Deep blackish-blue eyes like a mire. Abel's face was as calm as usual. The problem was below his face. In the center of the firmly gathered leaves, only Abel's face was sticking out.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Argento. For what purpose have you come to see me?”
At the same moment Deserick asked,
“Professor Argento, why are you in a pile of leaves?”
Fleur asked, chiming in.
“Don't mind it, Fleur.”
Abel answered resolutely.
Tuduk, tuk.
He pushed through the leaves and moved forward.
“I just took the shortest path.”