“Hello again, pretty one? Looks like we meet again.”
Cedmos climbed into the carriage.
Click.
The door closed, leaving only the two of them.
A tail-bearer and a human.
A pregnant female tail-bearer and the one-eyed Cedmos.
Things that could never coexist. Water and fire. Day and night. Good and evil. Life and death.
“I hear the First Prince is quite fond of his new toy this time. I never imagined he’d even place the Rose Princess by your side. Tell me honestly what trick you pulled, wench, and I might grant you an easy death.”
There was no answer. Only uncomfortable silence flowed inside the carriage.
Cedmos drew the dagger he always carried inside his coat and placed it on his knee.
The hilt and even the scabbard were engraved with intricate, delicate patterns; it looked less like a weapon and more like a work of art.
The swordmaster of Bers held the dagger out to the tail-bearer he hated, who sat across from him.
“Take it.”
“…I do not understand the meaning, Lord Cedmos.”
“Ah, there’s no hidden meaning. You have a precious child in your belly, don’t you? Our kingdom… well, you already know, but it’s not exactly a pleasant place for tail-bearers like you to live. Our dear First Prince pretends otherwise, but he seems to grin like a fool in front of the lady.”
“Not that it’s any of my business. Having nobles like that is common enough. Come on, take it. Who knows when someone might come rushing for a female tail-bearer about to give birth? For example… oh, yes. That swordmaster from Mosul.”
Naturally, Jasmine did not accept the dagger from the strange man.
How could she know what it meant? The moment she took the “gift,” her throat might be slit or her heart pierced.
Perhaps the dagger itself was enchanted with a curse that activated only when someone other than its designated owner touched it.
Above all, Jasmine had smelled this “Lord Cedmos” the first time they met in the rose garden.
The stench coming from him was the most revolting and horrific she had ever encountered. Filthier than anything she had ever known.
A murderer.
Jasmine saw right through Cedmos’s true nature.
Surabar, who had spent nearly his entire life hunting demonic beasts, carried a scent that made those beasts tremble in fear. Some timid creatures had even pissed themselves just from smelling him.
No matter how much he washed or quit monster-slaying, that scent never faded.
It was etched into the soul.
Jasmine had known from the very first moment—by instinct, by a mother’s intuition to protect her child—that this man had killed her kin.
She understood the instant she faced him.
Cedmos was a man whose soul was stained with sin. He had killed and killed and killed countless humans and her kin, and he would never stop.
A swordmaster. Like Paramir…!
Even if she had no child and could still move as swiftly as in her active days, she could never defeat the man before her or divert his attention to escape.
Her instincts told her so.
Jasmine knew she was a rat in a trap, utterly without options.
But that was no reason to give up or meekly accept her fate.
Soon her child would be born.
Not just anyone’s child—Surabar’s child.
A rat in a trap could do nothing, but she was different.
If she could not win by fighting… Jasmine made up her mind.
Redron and Annabella had been called away by the king; she had to buy time until they returned.
No matter how much of a swordmaster he was, he could not damage the property of the royal bloodline to whom he had sworn loyalty.
Unless he had abandoned everything.
Cedmos spoke.
“Come now, let’s be honest. You know, don’t you? That someone from Mosul came to take you back. How precious must he consider you to hide his identity and come all this way? If I told someone else… say, if I reported it to His Majesty Red Stone whom I serve… what do you think would happen to him? Aren’t you curious? I am.”
He knows. This man knows.
Jasmine had been waiting. For Surabar. And for Paramir.
Even if the others like Perdual or Tenok had been persuaded not to come because it was too dangerous, she knew those two would come for her no matter what.
And they had come. To take her back.
Finally.
It had been a time of endurance. She could call it good luck. Until now, the gods above—Barhan—had protected her.
But she could not yet return to the Black Tail.
Danger still lurked everywhere. The swordmaster of Bers Kingdom right in front of her was exactly that.
“Why so quiet? Are you suddenly in a good mood because your real husband has arrived? Did you think you could return to your stinking fox den right now—did Barhan, whom your kind cry out to every day, give you an oracle?”
“Heh heh… No, no. That can’t be! You will die here. You insolent tail-bearer who dared charge at the guardian deity of the kingdom, Cedmos Jaeger—”
“You cannot beat Paramir.”
“…What?”
Cedmos’s hand, about to strike her throat, stopped.
You cannot beat Paramir.
That single, resolute sentence froze him.
Could she really be placing her faith in some unknown brat he had never even heard of?
“Paramir? That’s the tail-bearer you believe in? The man you’ve been waiting for? The name of someone who has reached the same realm of swordmaster as I?”
“No. Paramir is not a Bar like me. He is human, just like you. But he is different from you. He can be trusted.”
“Hahaha… Did I mishear? A tail-bearer trusting a human who isn’t even one of her own kind? Something like that… something like that… is impossible!”
“You would never understand, not ever. Paramir is strong. Men like you—ten, no, a hundred of you—could not defeat him.”
Was this just desperate bluffing from someone facing death, saying anything to survive a little longer?
Or did she truly believe that this unknown brat “Paramir” could defeat him?
He couldn’t tell. And he didn’t need to.
He set the dagger down.
“I’ll give this to you. A tail-bearer who prolongs her pathetic life with a three-inch tongue… you’ve got a bit of a brain at least.”
“But know that I’m stepping back now not because your words moved me, and certainly not because I’m letting you go willingly. The next time I face you, I will bring the head of that ‘Paramir’ you believe in.”
“I’ll look forward to it. I wonder if you’ll still be able to act so boldly in front of me after seeing the human man you cherish dead.”
Heh heh, heh heh ha ha ha ha ha!!
Cedmos’s laughter, fading into the distance, was drenched in madness.
Jasmine left the carriage door open as it was. Until Redron and Annabella returned.
The King of Bers was delighted with this victory. He seemed satisfied that Archduke Greenwood had frowned upon seeing “Surabar.”
“It would be good to schedule the next match in a fortnight. This time it was against a demonic beast, so seven days from now, fighting twenty death-row criminals would be nice.”
“The number might increase or decrease, but roughly around there. It won’t make much difference, I guarantee it. After that, he takes down Greenwood’s champion. Three matches to become the colosseum’s undisputed victor… Excellent! A perfect scenario!”
“Is there anything I should prepare separately?”
“Nothing. Just keep him training so he doesn’t grow lax and get hit by a stray blade. That’s all I want. Ah, yes. How was it with my daughter? Did you two get along?”
“Princess Annabella was exceedingly beautiful and kind. She is far too good for me.”
“Too good, you say? A prince and a princess! What pair could be more perfect! If you wish to hold the ceremony, say the word anytime. Would you rather have the wedding in Mosul? That works too. I can speak to your father in advance…”
At the King of Bers’s eager proposal of marriage, Garland gave an awkward cough.
The events in that inner room… still felt surreal.
“Ahem…! I believe we still need a little more time.”
“If you’re too passive, women slip away easily. And you’re not passive at all, are you? Women should be caught young and kept close. This isn’t the king or a father speaking—it’s advice from a man who married first. You’d do well to heed it. Advice from a senior in life.”
“I am grateful for the advice, Your Majesty.”
With that brief audience, the day came to an end.
Leaving behind the colosseum match that had caused a sensation, Garland headed toward the gladiators’ quarters where Surabar was staying, together with Paramir since morning.
The treatment of Surabar—who had triumphed over the unprecedented, terrifying cockatrice—had improved beyond compare.
If one only looked at the hospitality, he was treated no less than a noble.
Garland saw Surabar sparring lightly with “Pamir” in the training yard to warm up.
Guards still watched to ensure Surabar did not leave the grounds, but their stern gazes had softened considerably compared to before.
Victorious gladiators tend to become intoxicated with the sweetness of victory.
They voluntarily wish to fight in the next match; they do not speak of escape or freedom.
“Hup!”
It was practice with wooden swords, yet the two fought as though genuinely trying to kill each other.
Because “Sir Pamir” must not reveal he was a swordmaster, he did not use aura.
Perhaps that was why—little by little, he yielded ground to the attacks of Surabar, a tiger beastman said to be the strongest and most outstanding of the beastmen, until Pamir finally rolled across the training yard floor.
The other gladiators and women watching from the quarters let out faint cheers.
Garland handed the water and cloth he had prepared to Surabar and Paramir.
Surabar returned to where his kin were gathered.
“Rest a bit, Surabar. Sir Pamir, are you all right?”
“…I’m fine.”
He did not look fine.
Garland had never seen Paramir this depressed.
Even when he had come looking for Garland in Mosul, lost and unsure what to do, and even during their first goblin subjugation, Paramir had always been brimming with confidence and never lost his composure no matter the situation.
But now… Paramir looked as though he had suffered a great shock, as if crushed by enormous frustration.
He was trying to act normal, but the gloom leaked out plainly.
Good heavens! Seeing Paramir so downcast was heartbreaking just to watch!
What on earth happened in the colosseum? What could have broken him like this?
Garland stepped outside and ordered the waiting maid to bring sweet drinks (especially those with lots of honey), pancakes loaded with sugar, chocolate, and the like.
Crunch.
Watching Paramir reflexively open his mouth and shove his head in like a chicken spotting feed, Garland bowed his head.
Good heavens. Lord Elon, what in the world happened to this mighty swordmaster friend of mine?
But Elon remained indifferent as ever.
Afraid his friend might choke to death on sweets and pancakes if left like this, Garland handed him warm milk laced with plenty of honey.
“…Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Don’t mention it. You are my guardian knight, but also my friend. What on earth has made you like this? There’s nothing suspicious, so just tell me. Watching you is suffocating me.”
“Is it that bad?”
“That bad.”
“Oh no…”
The milk he was drinking dribbled down. …I really can’t bear to watch.
What happened in the colosseum to reduce a person—not just any person, but a swordmaster—to this state?
No matter how much he thought or imagined the worst he could conceive, Garland could not figure out why Paramir was so utterly crushed.
Huuuuuu…
After making a sound like a deflating pig bladder, Paramir slumped forward, head on the table, and muttered in a tiny voice.
“…I lost. Completely. I was defeated without even noticing. An undeniable, perfect defeat.”
“Lost? To whom? You’re not hurt—oh…”
Swipe.
Paramir pulled down his collar to reveal his nape.
There was an unmistakable wound, a sharp cut that could not be hidden.
“He called himself the guardian deity of the kingdom. I lost to a one-eyed swordmaster named Cedmos. I didn’t even sense him approaching from behind. That’s why I was so dejected… Is that enough now, Your Highness? Have you heard the answer you wanted?”
Paramir’s eyes as he looked up seemed like those of a poor child desperately hoping someone would comfort and soothe him.