91. A Venting of Frustrations

Clatter! Clatter!

It was a late night, the moon already high in the sky.

The Bellingwaltz Mercenary Group, having barely eaten dinner, were hastily urging their horses towards Bolten.

At their head, leading the charge, was Sharen of Helmun.

So eager to arrive, she pressed on relentlessly, without considering the stamina of the others.

“Are we almost there?”

Glancing back, Bellinton, the leader of Bellingwaltz, quickly urged his horse forward to ride beside her.

“Yes, at this pace, we should arrive by morning.”

“Is that so? Fine.”

Sharen pulled a cookie from her pocket and popped it into her mouth. Crunching, she glanced sideways at Bellinton.

“Not giving you any.”

*’Wouldn’t want any, you crazy little brat!’*

Bellinton wanted to teach the rude kid some manners, but he forced a smile instead.

Just being a Helmont meant he had to tread so carefully, which was frustrating.

But there was nothing for it.

He *was* dealing with a Helmont, after all.

That little kid, happily munching on her cookie, could wipe them all out if she put her mind to it.

*’Let the wind and the Helmonts flow on by.’*

Bellinton was thinking that very thing as he urged his horse forward.

“Someone’s coming? A fair number of them, too?”

“Pardon?”

Sharen’s crimson eyes had picked out a group approaching in the darkness.

*’She can see something?’*

Bellinton was taken aback.

At first, he thought it was nonsense, but then he saw vague figures in the gloom and his eyes widened.

“You’re… you’re right?”

“What, you thought I was lying?”

Sharen puffed up with superiority.

*’If they’re coming from that direction, they’d be coming from Volten?’*

Judging by the direction, they were coming from Volten, but who would be coming this way at this hour?

“Huh?”

Another exclamation escaped Bellinton’s lips. Because those figures were his own mercenaries, the ones he’d left waiting in Volten.

A good thirty-odd men, moving as a group.

They must have recognized Bellinton, too, because they waved and called out in greeting.

“Lady Sharen, those are my men. Would you mind if I spoke with them for a moment?”

“…I’m busy right now.”

“I would appreciate it.”

I might not even know why I needed Sharen’s permission in the first place, but still, Vellington sought it.

“Alright, then hurry it up!”

Vellington dismounted immediately and hurried toward them, putting distance between himself and Sharen in case she overheard their talk.

“What are you two? We told you we were coming. To cooperate with Baron Volten-“

“Chief, Baron Volten is dead.”

“What?!”

His voice rose before he knew it.

A quick glance showed Sharen, vacant-eyed, gazing at the moon while munching on a cookie.

Reassured, Vellington asked again.

“What happened?”

“Baron Logan came to Volten.”

“Logan… that one from the banquet hall.”

Vellington, having once faced him as a consciousness, recognized him instantly.

The man who had luckily avoided his unorthodox swordsmanship.

“He killed Baron Volten right before we left. Now Volten is in open revolt.”

“He really stirred up those drug-addled b*stards.”

“Indeed.”

“Hah, that Logan keeps getting in our way. A viper I’d love to crush.”

Even at the banquet, he could have assassinated Princess Adeline if not for that man.

In more ways than one, Baron Logan had become a thorn in his side.

Vellington sighed and deliberated.

He was working under his patrons for a hefty sum, but this was undeniably a risky endeavor.

‘Maybe it’s best to just pull out.’

It didn’t seem like they’d been exposed yet, and if he fled now, they would have a hard time catching him.

‘Instead of returning to Volten, I should talk to the patrons again separately.’

Having made his decision, Vellington hesitated for a moment.

What to do with that headstrong girl standing staunchly behind him?

‘Just give her a horse and send her on her way.’

A little wasteful, perhaps, but better than heading into Volten now.

“Excuse me, as for the young lady-“

“Crimson Inferno Blast!”

*KWA-aaaNG!*

A rush of crimson-rose aura swept forth, engulfing Belinton and the mercenaries who had accompanied him here.

The mercenaries, caught completely off guard by the sudden attack, were swallowed by the Crimson Inferno.

Horses reared up on their hind legs, screaming in terror, compounding the chaos.

Belinton, struck head-on, clutched at his burning body and roared,

“W-what is the meaning of this!”

Helmut or not, not even a madman would do something like this without provocation, but as he was about to demand an explanation,

“So, Baron Logan was Isaac all along? The title threw me off, almost thought you were a stranger.”

“…Huh?”

She spoke softly from a distance, yet he heard?

Belinton stared at Sharen, bewildered, while she, with her greatsword slung over her shoulder, puffed out her chest.

“Helmuts have good ears.”

Once more, a Crimson Inferno erupted from Sharen’s greatsword.

* * *

Back in the Baron’s bedchamber.

Sharen, grinning brightly, finished explaining how she had managed to capture the Bellingwaltz Mercenary Company.

“That’s how it went!”

“…….”

“…….”

“You can praise me, you know!”

Sharen hummed, swaying her head from side to side.

Her twin braids wagged expectantly, urging them to hurry and compliment her.

“…Well done.”

He wanted to stroke her hair, but his injured arm made it difficult. So, he just said the words, but Sharen pouted, looking somewhat disappointed.

“Just goes to show that even a blind pig finds an acorn.”

“I’m not a pig! I’m a Helmut!”

“It’s a figure of speech.”

The Grand Master chuckled, patting Sharen’s head in his stead.

“Hmph!”

But Sharen batted away the Grand Master’s hand, shouting again towards Isaac,

“This is a save! Praise me later!”

“……”

Is she really Lianna’s sister?

No, rewind even further.

Sharen came from Arundel and Galenia.

Does that mean one of them possessed this… quality?

Isaac, feeling a bit bewildered, simply nodded that he understood.

“Whatever the case, it’s all worked out. Thanks to you, we’ve captured the Bellingwaltz Mercenaries. Interrogating them should quickly reveal their patrons.”

“Let’s go at once.”

Isaac sprang to his feet.

Both of them were concerned seeing his injuries, but he, rather, felt the need to move.

“It’ll ease my mind to do something.”

“If that is so, I will not stop you.”

“Isaac! What shall I do?”

“You–”

He’d said interrogation, but it could escalate into torture.

Not wanting to expose Sharen to that, Isaac gestured towards the bed.

“Get some rest. You must be tired.”

“Okay!”

Sharen hopped right into the bed.

She must have been very weary, for as he walked toward the door, he could already hear her even breathing.

“Rather adorable for a Helmunter.”

“Her adorableness is likely Helmunter-level as well.”

Isaac and the Grand Master chuckled softly, heading towards the dining hall where the Bellingwaltz Mercenaries were bound.

“Speaking of which.”

Just before opening the door to the dining hall, the Grand Master turned to Isaac and asked,

“What did you call me before? I mean, before the regression.”

“…I called you Grand Master.”

“Hmm? Grand Master? I fail to grasp why the ‘Grand’ was added. Did my future self develop an inflated ego?”

“You had many disciples beneath you. Since the Grandmaster couldn’t impart teachings to everyone, there were times when I offered instruction in your stead…”

No need to confess I was envious of that, surely.

“I even suggested you change your title to Grandmaster,” I said.

“Hmm, I had many disciples, you say?”

The Grandmaster wore an ambiguous expression, as if somewhat surprised.

“Later, we’ll have to share a drink and reminisce. Is there anything I absolutely *must* know?”

“…”

“Speak freely, I won’t be angered.”

“Procure yourself a paramour beforehand.”

“A paramour? I have long held the sword as my beloved, so surely such a thing is unnecessary-“

“When thoroughly drunk, you lamented why there was no paramour by your side and wept.”

“…”

“…”

A moment of silence.

The two people at the doorway exchanged words with their eyes in a fleeting instant.

“…Your jesting is clumsy, isn’t it?”

“You even questioned whether it was because you were old. Recalculating your age back then, it makes your current age…”

*Thump!*

The Grandmaster, without hesitation, threw open the door and strode inside.

Then, he kicked the chest of the bound Bellin Waltz mercenary captain, roaring.

“You dare attempt to assassinate the Princess?!”

The reprimand was brimming with emotion.

* * *

The Grandmaster was a force of one hundred.

Unleashing the fury of an unwed woman in all directions, the Grandmaster squeezed the men dry during the interrogation, extracting quite a lot of information.

With an injured hand, conveying all that in a letter was proving rather burdensome.

“Even with a wounded hand, your handwriting remains the same?”

The Grandmaster, perched on the bed beside Isaac, drank as he wrote.

Sharen was still asleep.

“I strive to, yes. Under normal circumstances, I would have finished much sooner.”

This, in its way, is a missive for a princess.

To merely scribble it down carelessly, or entrust it to a scribe, would be lacking in proper grace, wouldn’t it?

Glug, glug.

Isaac sighs at the sound of someone swallowing hard beside him.

“That’s the third bottle already today.”

“Hm? I find myself rather parched today. Pay it no heed.”

“Perhaps what I mentioned earlier –”

“Nay.”

The Grand Magus stares with half-closed eyes.

He looks down at the bottle before adding,

“Admitting aloud that our brothers and sisters are no more, is more… complicated than I anticipated.”

“…I understand.”

Isaac, too, hasn’t yet quite extinguished the embers of his feelings for Millie.

But the two of them, regardless, were overcoming it all, moving forward.

That much was clear.

Glug, glug.

The Grand Magus takes another drink, glancing at Isaac as he wipes his mouth.

“But, tell me.”

“Yes?”

Isaac answers, his gaze fixed on the letter. As he diligently moves his pen, a crucial question enters the fray.

“Why I was given this chance to turn back the clock… Do you have any inkling as to the reason?”

Thump.

Isaac slowly sets down his pen.

He was glad to finally have someone with whom he could share this burden, this question that had been gnawing at him.

“Might I trouble you for a bit of that wine?”

Well, gladness was gladness, and all.

But he felt he needed to be at least a little drunk to talk about it.