85. Grumpy Pants

“……”

Left alone, Princess Adeline silently emptied the rest of her wine.

The harsh liquor slipping down her throat, paradoxically, served to sharpen her mind.

Rather, Adeline found herself growing further and further from sleep as time passed.

[The problem must be that you don’t need comfort.]

His words continued to echo in her ears.

She tried to wash them away with drink, but no matter how much she imbibed, they wouldn’t leave.

“Comfort… I do not need it.”

Before she knew it, the words dancing around her ears had traveled to her tongue and been uttered aloud.

That was how much her thoughts of him deepened with each passing moment.

She managed so many people.

Recruiting outstanding individuals, providing them with what they needed, managing them, dominating them, making them obey.

Sometimes as a benevolent goddess.

Sometimes as a merciless tyrant.

Like a farmer harvesting a field, she claimed the hearts of people and made them her own.

The purpose of these acts was only one thing: for the sake of the kingdom.

Just as Princess Claris was willing to sacrifice her rights, her honor, and even her power for the kingdom.

Princess Adeline recruited and manipulated talents she deemed beneficial to the kingdom, however she could.

If someone were to call her a villain, she would accept it.

If it meant the kingdom would prosper, then so be it.

In other words.

Any comfort Princess Adeline offered, any heart she captured, was devoid of personal feeling.

However.

“Hah.”

A peculiar sensation arose within.

She knew why she felt this way.

That which one cannot possess, belonging to another, always seemed more delectable.

“Ah, truly…”

He was a tempting man, indeed.

* * *

“Baron, please be careful.”

In front of Isaac’s manor.

Karen, having loaded all the luggage onto the waiting carriage, smiled as she saw him off.

“Make sure to eat the lunchbox on the way, too. I worked hard on it, you know.”

“Yes, Karen. Take good care of the house while I’m gone.”

“Yes, sir! Leave it to me!”

Karen offered a playful salute.

Trusting her, he boarded the carriage to find the Grand Master sprawled across two seats, legs extended.

“Feels like we’re off on a picnic.”

At first, Isaac thought it was a sarcastic remark.

But seeing the corner of his mouth subtly lifted as he gazed out the window, the Grand Master seemed genuinely to feel that way.

“So it does.”

Isaac chuckled, taking the seat opposite him and closing the carriage door.

They were headed to Volten.

According to Isaac’s deduction, a mercenary group called ‘Belling Waltz,’ led by the third son of a southern knightly family, was rumored to be stationed in Volten.

*Neigh!*

With the driver’s whip and a snort from the horses, they lurched forward.

As the world outside the window blurred past, the Grand Master asked, almost to himself.

“The mercenary group is in Volten. And the Volten Baron was also at the banquet, wasn’t he?”

“That is correct.”

“Hmm, Princess Clarice suspects him as well. What are your thoughts?”

“I believe it is almost certain.”

Isaac muttered, his tone even, yet tinged with bitterness.

Baron Volten, whom he’d met at the ball, was a man utterly out of place in such a setting.

It was far more believable that he’d participated under the guise of terrorism.

Well, whatever the reason.

The moment the mercenary group’s location was traced back to Volten, he could no longer escape the investigation’s net.

“Who exactly *are* these Patrons?”

Patrons.

Isaac had never even heard of such an organization in his previous life.

That meant one of two things.

They either all died before they could be known, or they operated with an equal measure of secrecy.

“Their identities are largely unknown. However, it’s understood that they are wealthy individuals who support those with talent.”

“Support, you say?”

“Not merely financial, no. Well, it takes many forms. Even in my own case…”

The Grand Master paused.

Then, as if it were nothing, he continued.

“Becoming one of their members came with the condition of finding my lost kin.”

“…”

“In any case, from the moment they defected to the Transcended, I was forced to cut ties. I have no intention of aiding the Transcended.”

Another question arose.

The Grand Master, in truth, was closer to the Transcended than to humans.

Jonathan, for example, possessed a human exterior, yet a Transcended being hid within.

The Grand Master, on the other hand, outwardly embodied the Transcended so strongly that he was hard to consider a mere hybrid.

He lacked the hatred they possessed towards humanity.

‘What could have happened?’

A past unheard of even in his previous life.

Not only that, but the story of the Patrons as well.

Two things that were unrevealed to even his disciples.

Perhaps the two were not separate stories, but intertwined, somehow.

Isaac could only speculate.

“Excuse me—.”

“You too.”

The Grand Master cut him off.

Yet, her gaze remained fixed on the world beyond the window.

One could sense the awkwardness of the exchange.

“For your friend, you are searching for her family, are you not?”

“…….”

“Ask no further.”

“Understood.”

If that is your wish, so shall it be.

Isaac lowered his head slowly, then smoothly shifted the topic as if the previous conversation had never occurred.

“Once we arrive in Volten, you mustn’t forget you are merely a bodyguard.”

“I am aware. Forcing me to hide my ears and tail will be frustrating; please understand if I become irritated.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

“Hmm?”

Finally meeting Isaac’s eyes, as if asking what he meant.

And Isaac, in turn, delivered his declaration with an icy precision, drawing a line in the sand.

“I am a Baron. You are a mere bodyguard.”

“……Are you boasting about your newfound nobility now?”

“I’m informing you of reality. You will need to use polite speech. Treat them with utmost respect.”

“My manner of speaking is the same even to a Princess.”

“Princess Claris is…unique.”

“Your jokes lack amusement.”

“It is not a joke. If a mere bodyguard speaks down to a Baron, they will suspect something amiss.”

The Grand Master then rapped on the carriage wall.

“Driver, halt the carriage for a moment. We need to sort out our hierarchy before we proceed. Do not fret, it will be brief.”

“……Are you planning to vent your irritation with brute force?”

“Get out and retrieve your sword. There should be somewhere suitable for a duel nearby—.”

Isaac sighed, watching the Archmage feign ignorance and gaze out the window.

* * *

Volten’s first impression wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated.

Passing through, it appeared to be merely a slightly grimy district.

Old stains remained, like lingering ghosts of the past. But Volten in the present didn’t seem like such a dreadful city.

Considering Volten’s notoriety throughout the kingdom, “not dreadful” felt closer to “agreeable,” if only just.

That was the initial impression, at least. As they delved deeper into the city’s heart, Isaac’s expression became increasingly nuanced.

‘The atmosphere is a bit off.’

Difficult to articulate, but the city possessed a grayish pallor. He soon realized it stemmed from the people’s faces.

Most strolled along the streets with blank expressions.

That was the source of the subtle unease that hung over the entire city, weighing it down.

“There’s a distinctly foul medicinal odor about,” the Archmage remarked, his keen senses immediately detecting one of Volten’s uglier aspects.

Even Baron Volten had joked with Isaac that there wasn’t much else to do besides dabble in drugs, so it was hardly unexpected.

“The kingdom forbids narcotics, doesn’t it?”

“There are limited permissions for certain medical uses, but enforcement is considerably conservative compared to other nations.”

“Good. Drugs are a fool’s errand.”

The Archmage clicked his tongue.

The carriage continued onward. Occasionally, eyes outside the window lingered on the carriage, lips smacking.

They viewed them, no doubt, as a tempting morsel of the outsider variety.

Yet, despite the palpable urge to halt the carriage and demand their exit, they refrained.

Perhaps they adhered to some rule of their own.

It felt like observing a pack of leashed hounds.

They yearned to run wild, yet were unable.

The carriage halted before the Baron Volten’s manor.

The Baron’s residence was remarkably grand. A dark, imposing edifice, it evoked a sense of awe, but tinged with unease.

A formidable display that felt like a warning: trespassers would not be tolerated.

“Quite the disparity, even among Barons,” the Archmage commented.

“My manor is reasonably adequate, as well.”

“Hardly.”

“…Are you, perchance, still sulking?”

Perhaps she found the prospect of their roles reversing the moment they stepped out of the carriage unpalatable.

However, Isaac’s question seemed only to fuel her ire.

“Sulking? Did you just say I am *sulking*? Ha! In all my years, never have I heard such a term applied to me. Truly!”

“…”

“My heart is vast as the ocean, my character as unyielding as granite, and my benevolence, like towering mountains, touches the very clouds. How dare you diminish me so carelessly?”

In Isaac’s experience,

The Grandmaster was surprisingly thin-skinned.

Prone to sulking, one might even say.

He couldn’t fathom who had filled her head with such nonsense, but Isaac decided to let it pass.

“Alright, let us assume that is so.”

“Let us *assume*? Speak properly! I demand a clear apology!”

“The Baron approaches.”

Through the carriage window, the mansion doors opened and Baron Volten emerged.

Seeing this, the Grandmaster bit her lip and whispered,

“We shall revisit this matter later.”

‘It’s not over, then.’

He sighed as he opened the door, but even the sigh displeased her; the Grandmaster pricked his back with a sharp fingernail.

* * *

Three days had passed since Isaac’s departure.

Karen, the maid, remained at the estate, diligently cleaning and tending to the grounds, awaiting the Baron’s return.

‘I pray he is safe.’

Karen’s loyalty to the Baron had deepened considerably.

She watered the flowerbeds in the garden, her thoughts laced with concern for Isaac’s well-being, when,

“Hither, thou!”

At the garden’s entrance, a girl with pigtails called out with a radiant smile.

A charming girl.

Her youthful, innocent smile warmed the heart,

Yet, the greatsword she carried on her back was somewhat grotesque. Still, it suited her in a peculiar way.

In that instant, it was clear.

It was Helmun.

“Ah, the Lady of Helmun!”

Karen hurried forward, bowing low. She, too, knew Isaac had once been Helmun’s intended son-in-law.

Never did she imagine they’d come all the way from Helmun like this.

“Hm! This is Isaac’s estate, yes? Isaac’s so frugal, isn’t he?!”

“Y-yes, this is Lord Logan’s estate.”

Sharen smiled, seemingly pleased, as she asked,

“Where’s Isaac? Tell him to come out, it’s been ages! He’ll be so happy!”

“W-well, you see…”

As she learned he’d taken a task and gone to Bolten, Sharen’s expression twisted.

“Eeeek! But-but I sent a letter, didn’t I!”

‘Ah?’

Karen remembered a letter arriving from Helmun. Could it be Isaac had simply forgotten?

“Bolten, you said?! Isaac is dead meat!”

Fuming, Sharen immediately turned and left the estate.

“A blast of Crimson Flame-! No, at least three blasts he’ll get!”

Helmun’s little spitfire.

That was the moment Sharen headed for Bolten.