Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch7

7.

Ibelin, wearing her hood pulled low, deliberately lowered her voice and asked.

"Hello. Could you recommend some books for me?"

"Of course. What kind of books are you looking for?"

"I'd like to buy some books that a man might enjoy."

At that, the bookstore owner's expression turned subtle.

"Did you come here after hearing the rumors?"

"Excuse me? ...Yes."

She didn't know what rumors he meant, so she gave a vague answer. The bookstore owner clapped his hands in excitement.

"You're the first customer to come after an introduction! Then I can't just stand by. I'll pick out some truly superb books for you!"

With that, he shoved the bookshelf behind the counter with his whole body. As the fully stocked bookshelf slid aside, hidden books were revealed.

It was an efficient piece of furniture for a tight space. Anyone who loved books would surely want a bookshelf like that.

Ibelin showed interest in the shelves.

"Heh heh, just so happens we have some new arrivals."

The Elegant Days of Lady Yelo

The cover and title of the book the owner handed her were perfectly ordinary.

"Do men really like this kind of thing?"

Judging by the title alone, it seemed more like something noble ladies would enjoy. When she asked with doubt, the corner of the owner's mouth curled up.

"They do. They absolutely love it. I can't keep them in stock! In all my life, I've never seen descriptions this delicate and intense. I stake my name on it!"

The owner even staked his name on the book. Well, times had changed. These days, more and more men were taking up embroidery and flower arranging.

I was prejudiced.

Ibelin deeply reflected on herself and bought several of the books the owner recommended. Then she moved on to her next destination.

Her target was the smithy. There, she planned to purchase the core item for her plan. The rings and chains on the walls of the last room in the basement were in decent shape, but the shackles were not.

She didn't know what had happened to them, but they were utterly ruined—she would need to buy new ones. She supposed she could confine the Archduke without shackles, but...

If I make a mistake, I'll die.

To die trying to save her benefactor—that couldn't happen. So Ibelin steeled her resolve. She happened to know of a smithy—another place her grandfather had recommended.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

She knocked on the door, but the loud sound of metal striking metal suggested she hadn't been heard. In the end, after hesitating, she cautiously entered—and found a burly old man sitting before a forge.

He examined the metal gripped in his tongs from various angles, then turned around.

"A customer?"

He had a peculiar charisma, much like her late grandfather. Recalling the past, Ibelin greeted him politely.

"Hello. May I purchase something from you?"

"I don't sell to just anyone."

For that, her grandfather had left notes of caution.

[That old man is finicky and won't sell to just anyone—but there is a way to buy from him.]

And that way was to introduce yourself.

"Let me introduce myself properly. I am Ibelin El Frillie, granddaughter of Baron Frillie."

As she stepped forward gracefully and lifted the hem of her skirt, the old man scratched his chin with his large hand.

"Frillie. Frillie. I've heard that somewhere."

Then, like a startled lizard, he leaped up on the spot.

"Aaagh! No way! No way! You're—that bastard's granddaughter?!"

Startled by his excessive reaction, she could only blink—and the old man's face twisted.

"Lies! How did a man like that ever get married?! Damn it—I thought all of it was a joke to mock me!"

For reasons unknown, her grandfather's reputation was harsh. The old man ranted for quite a while before letting out a deep sigh. Then he looked at Ibelin and said.

"Even if you're an acquaintance's granddaughter, I won't just hand things over. You have to pay the price. And for your information, I don't take money."

"Then what do you take?"

"Anything unusual you got from that man?"

Something unusual from her grandfather. Ibelin pulled out one of the coins she had been carrying, just in case. She doubted it, but the old man smiled at the sight.

"Yeah. That. One of those will do."

What on earth is this coin? She was curious, but the old man seemed unwilling to explain.

He took the coin and gazed down at it with an unreadable expression—as if recalling memories long swept away. So Ibelin waited patiently.

"Right, then."

Having composed himself, the old man pocketed the coin and asked.

"What do you need?"

"Shackles."

"Shackles?"

"Yes."

"Like grandfather, like granddaughter. Always needing the same things. Fine. I'll show you. Follow me."

Following him inside, she saw weapons and various tools arranged along the walls. Even to Ibelin's untrained eye, they all looked remarkable.

"Shackles are this way. Do you know the gender or skill level of the person who'll be wearing them?"

"A man. And he's very strong."

"Then this is the only choice."

The old man picked up one of the shackles. Made of dark metal, it had a unique lining—a fluffy, deep pink fur padding.

"It's lined with the fur of a magical beast from the harsh northern lands. It absorbs impact, so combined with the metal, it creates shackles that no one can break."

The old man grinned and handed her the shackles. They looked like solid metal but were lighter than she expected—the metal itself must have been special.

"I don't know who you're planning to catch, but whatever you're thinking, it'll be more than that."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. I took what I should take, and gave what I should give."

The old man waved his hand dismissively.

"If you don't need anything else, get going. I'm busy."

Ushered out of the smithy, she found that night had already fallen.

It seemed most of her preparations were complete. All that remained was to abduct the Archduke—her benefactor.

Could she, an ordinary country girl, really kidnap one of the Empire's foremost warriors? It was like a young puppy challenging a house-sized magical beast.

Ibelin closed her eyes tightly.

Still.

She couldn't give up. If she didn't save the Archduke, she felt her grandfather would never rest in peace. Her grandfather's voice, calling to her in her dreams every night—she couldn't stop until that voice fell silent.

Ibelin opened her eyes and clenched her fist.

"Let's do this!"

There was still work to be done.

---

One of the capital's leading newspapers was Kas.

The newspaper published by Kas had several entertaining columns, one of which was an advice column. Readers would send in their concerns, and the editors would select the best ones for publication. Then other readers would send in their answers, which would be printed in the next issue.

Those who sent excellent answers were sometimes given prizes, making the column quite popular among the common folk. Of course, that wasn't the only reason it was beloved.

It began with simple, everyday questions.

[What dishes can be made from potatoes?]

But as the issues went on, it evolved.

[My fiancé is two-timing me. What should I do?]

The questions grew spicier over time, and the newspaper, enjoying the response, kept raising the stakes.

Then one day, a particular concern was submitted.

[How can an ordinary woman defeat a Swordmaster?]

The editor sifting through the letters tilted his head.

"A strange question."

His colleague beside him nodded.

"Strange indeed. There are only about three Swordmasters on the entire continent, you know. And one of them is in the Empire. That person."

"Right! And he resides in the capital. That's what's troubling. It's an intriguing concern, but can we really publish it?"

Wouldn't Archduke Gracias, enraged by this, storm the newspaper office? The journalists deliberated seriously. But they were curious about the person who sent it—and the answers that would come in response.

"He's been relatively quiet lately, hasn't he? And he's never done anything about newspaper articles before."

Even when subtly insulted, he had never actually destroyed a newspaper office. Of course, the cheap, trashy yellow rags were an exception—they had published utterly absurd articles and had been sent to the afterlife for it.

Back   Next