Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 17

17.

His anger had subsided, but it seemed other thoughts were forming. Kite swept back his fallen bangs and curled the corners of his lips.

"So I'm a benefactor."

"Yes. So please—just stay here until His Majesty the Emperor's birthday!"

Ibelin clasped her hands together and pleaded. Kite sat on the edge of the bed and spoke.

"Fine."

"Please—even if you hate it, just this once!"

"I said fine."

"P-please!"

Only then did Ibelin's eyes go wide.

"You truly mean you'll stay?"

"Yes."

Kite's expression had returned to its usual state—confident and nonchalant.

Ibelin stood frozen for a moment, then tentatively touched her own ear. She had heard correctly, hadn't she? And then Kite spoke again.

"On one condition."

"A condition?"

"If I get bored while I'm here—"

Kite pointed at the wall with his hand.

"—I'll break it and leave."

Ibelin blinked and asked.

"So you mean you want me to keep you entertained?"

"Interpret it however you like."

Grandfather—I think your benefactor really does have a terrible personality. Demanding entertainment from someone who was trying to save him.

But she couldn't very well say no here. Ibelin slumped her shoulders and nodded.

"I'll do that. Then what would keep you from getting bored?"

"That's for you to figure out."

For a moment, anger choked her breath—but Ibelin managed not to show it.

"Ye-es."

"Think of something quickly. Time is passing, you know."

Ibelin gave an awkward smile and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her. She knocked her head against the wall and a sigh escaped her.

What could possibly amuse that scoundrel Kite? She had followed him around and gathered information, but he had no hobbies to speak of. All he ever did was train with his sword—and she couldn't exactly give him his weapon. He was already making a fuss about breaking walls with his bare hands; if he had a sword, it would only be worse. Ibelin bit her lip.

"No—I can do this!"

She couldn't back down now. What did ordinary people find enjoyable?

"Food."

Ibelin decided to approach from the most fundamental angle—she would improve the quality of his meals.

---

At the butcher's, she bought more expensive, high-quality meat than usual.

"This is young veal—nobles favor it, they say. If you cook it tender, it's supposed to be exceptional."

The butcher said this as he wrapped the meat.

"But this is fairly pricey, and I haven't seen your face around here before."

His sidelong glances suggested he found Ibelin suspicious. She wasn't dressed as a maid, and an ordinary young lady asking for veal was apparently unusual.

"It's fine—I have the money. I just want to serve something delicious to someone at home."

"Ah, I see. Must be a gentleman with not much time left. Sometimes people want to taste something new before they go."

The butcher seemed to have misunderstood something, but she let it be. After all, if someone living alone bought large quantities of ingredients every day, suspicion would eventually arise. She had heard that in the capital, neighbors kept to themselves—but that wasn't true. They were surprisingly nosy. So it was better to let him think that.

"Right."

She deliberately smiled wistfully, and the butcher wiped the corner of his eye with his hand. He even wrote down a recipe for the veal and handed it to her.

"Hang in there."

"Thank you."

She went through the market district in that manner. Finally, she headed to the smithy she had visited before. She checked her surroundings several times for any followers.

Because that day, the newspaper had splashed a huge headline on the front page about the Archduke's disappearance. However, it was a yellow rag that focused on scandals, so people didn't seem to believe it.

"The Archduke is missing?"

"Who would even—"

"There's no one who could, is there?"

"The current Emperor's maternal relatives?"

At that, the other person's voice instinctively lowered.

"Even they don't have the means right now."

"A foreign power?"

"We're at peace—why would they? Now? There were rumors of war preparations, but that's old news."

It was a situation where it was ambiguous whether to suspect someone domestic or a foreign enemy. In Ibelin's view, the yellow rag had somehow stumbled upon the truth—but since few believed it, she was safe.

Arriving at the smithy, she knocked—but there was no response.

Knock, knock.

She knocked again, then confirmed no one was passing by. After a moment's hesitation, she pulled a long, thin piece of metal from her pocket. Yes—her grandfather had also taught her how to pick locks.

"What if you discover an ancient ruin someday? You might need it then. When it's time to open a treasure chest, you'll be the one to step forward!"

Thinking back now, there was no way an ordinary noble lady would ever enter a ruin—let alone step forward to open a treasure chest. But Ibelin had trusted her grandfather's words and naively learned everything.

Click.

As she inserted and adjusted the wire, the smithy door opened easily.

"Haa."

She entered, but the place was empty. All that remained was a cold forge and a few old tools—everything she had seen before was gone. A chill hung in the hollow smithy.

What on earth...

What kind of person had her grandfather really been? Ibelin shook her head and turned away.

A baron who governed a sparsely populated rural territory. In his youth, he had participated in the northern battles against the barbarians and even received medals. Impressive, but in truth, most of those who distinguished themselves had received similar honors—it wasn't particularly special.

Her grandfather had been kind to Ibelin and knew many things. But was that really all? Ibelin was beginning to realize that what she had once taken for granted was not ordinary at all.

A strangely built two-story house. A basement filled with peculiar weapons and supplies. And Kite's cell—a place from which even a Swordmaster could not easily escape.

When Kite had struck the wall trying to escape, it had held firm. Perhaps even if he struck it more, it wouldn't break. It wasn't an ordinary wall.

As she walked, lost in thought, the house drew nearer.

"Oh—you're the young lady who moved in?"

A neighbor she happened to meet greeted her.

"Hello."

"You don't come out much, do you?"

"It's an inherited house—I've been busy adjusting, so I've been staying inside."

"I see. Do come out sometimes. The weather's been nice lately."

"Thank you for your concern."

Ibelin bowed and entered the house. After laying all the ingredients on the kitchen table, she felt somewhat relieved. Now—should she start cooking?

She had the recipe, so she should be able to make something that would satisfy Kite.

Probably.

---

Kite lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"A benefactor, he says."

In all his life, he had never once thought he would become Baron Frillie's benefactor. It had been Baron Frillie, not Kite, who had helped save lives in danger.

Because Kite was young. Because he was around the same age as his grandchild.

Baron Frillie meddled in all sorts of ways. He constantly made sure Kite ate, and tried to feed him good food. When Kite was given dangerous missions, he always insisted on coming along.

"Why do you do all this? There's no benefit for you."

"Sometimes, you have to act without benefit. And now is that time."

What a sly old man. Still, Kite didn't dislike him. In an environment where his life was constantly threatened, he was the only person Kite could somewhat trust. That was why, hearing Baron Frillie's words, he had decided not to escape.

"Even in death."

It seemed Baron Frillie wanted to help Kite even beyond the grave. Otherwise, he wouldn't have left such words for his granddaughter. His intentions were unclear—but they had caught Kite's feet.

Back   Next