I am Desmond Ronan, Captain of the Second Knight Order. Last year, I inherited the position as the eldest son of the Ronan family.
In the nobility, the eldest son took all of the wealth. And Counts were classified as upper nobles. I was the eldest son of a Count and a knight captain, and was not bad looking and sturdy. Looking at my application, I was a prime catch and had been extremely popular with women since I was a child. And yet, for some reason, my childhood fiancée abandoned me and chose my younger brother. My younger brother was a civil servant with no plans to inherit the title, was ordinary in appearance, and was rather frail.
What existed there was a choice between two options.
Either there's something wrong with me that's turning every positive into a negative, or women in general are untrustworthy. It's one of these. Of course, I chose the latter without any hesitation. And I had never regretted that choice.
"If you could choose just one person to be by your side on the battlefield, who would you choose?"
That's a stupid question. If I could choose anyone, I would choose Captain of the First Knight Order, Cyril Sutherland.
His sword was extraordinary.
A finished product looked simple and easy. In other words, when viewed from the side, Cyril's sword appeared very simple and followed basic sword movements. The sword technique, which stabbed the enemy's vital points without the slightest deviation and cuts them down, looked incredibly simple.
As Cyril's felt good, he would let out a sly smile. Then it's his turn, to destroy his enemies until none was left standing. Therefore, Cyril's smile on the battlefield was called "The smile of the Grim Reaper" and was said to be a signal to begin annihilating the enemy. When he smiled, all his allies shouted in their hearts, knowing victory was assured.
Although Cyril showed unparalleled bravery on the battlefield, he was also competent in the office. Thanks to the education he received from a young age, he handled paperwork with ease. However, his subordinates were worried that Cyril had been feeling absent-minded and lacking energy for the past few days, and he had been asking me for advice. Since I knew the reason, I decided to take over the case and see how it went.
Then, at night, in the entertainment room reserved for the captains and vice-captains inside the royal castle, Cyril and I had a secret rendezvous.
There were only the two of us in the large room. We didn't even look at the chess and billiard tables that were set up, we just kept sipping our drinks.
As I watched, Cyril gulped down the amber liquid placed in front of him in one gulp and repeatedly ordered the same thing.
"If you're going to drink at that rate, maybe it would be better to order two or three drinks at a time?" (Desmond)
Staring at the glass that was empty in an instant, I couldn't help but offer some advice.
Cyril shot me a quick glance from under his lowered eyelashes.
"I wouldn't drink something that tastes bad, you know" (Cyril)
Ah, that's right. The head of the leading duke family had always been a stickler for manners.
I shrugged and picked up my glass.
"Well, there are times when a man wants to drink. I'll accompany you as long as you want, so drink as much as you like." (Desmond)
"Hehe, you're unusually sympathetic. Yes, I'd like you to stay with me all night. Right now, I feel like drinking like crazy." (Cyril)
Cyril lowered his eyes and muttered in a self-deprecating voice.
"You probably won't get drunk no matter how much you drink. Honestly, being too tolerant of alcohol is a bit of a problem." (Desmond)
As I said this, he emptied his glass and asked the waiter for a new one.
...Very well. Today, I'll empty as many glasses as you.
Drinking as much alcohol as Cyril required a terrifying amount of resolve. Even though I was currently showing incredible manliness, Cyril didn't notice and made a sulky noise.
"If you're going to be sympathetic, could you be a little nicer? I'm really hurt right now, you know." (Cyril)
Yes, I knew that, but half of our suffering was because we keep it to ourselves and couldn't express it to anyone.
And, anyway, he's not planning on revealing anything tonight, is he?
I knew that, so I'd just make fun of it.
"What a coincidence. I too am completely worn out thanks to your rookie. Ah, if my glorious career as a military police commander has been rendered useless, what am I supposed to rely on from tomorrow?" (Desmond)
Cyril wasn't stupid. He knew I was just joking. But he still went along with it. In other words, he had no intention of telling the truth.
"You have many single knights who adore you, don't you? Do you know that? You have status, good looks, and are good at your job, but your fiancé was stolen from you by your younger brother, so you are fervently loved by single knights who say that there is no royal road to love. That's good for you. I don't know how popular you are with the ladies, but you are popular with at least some of the knights." (Cyril)
"Oh, this is a good time to get angry, right? You just totally dissed me, didn't you?" (Desmond)
Cyril gave a small chuckle as if he had given up, emptied his glass, and ordered the same thing.
"I'm jealous. My direct subordinates have called me a 'crap' to my face." (Cyril)
"...Ah——, well, it can't be helped. I don't think she meant it directly at you." (Desmond)
"...I see, huh. But it's surprisingly quite unbearable, you know" (Cyril)
Cyril sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, rested his head on the back of the chair, and closed his eyes lightly.
I stared at Cyril in silence, but after finishing my glass I ordered the same thing. And then I sighed in my heart.
...No, that's not it. What you're enduring is something different.
I instinctively sat deeper in my chair, crossed his legs and arms, and let out a deep sigh.
——The royal family's attachment to the saints was extraordinary.
It took hundreds of years for the saints to rise to the highest rank.
If it was determined that this was distorted or not the correct form, then it would be the royal family who would be criticized. This would include Cyril, who was high up in the line of succession to the throne. Of course, Fia probably didn't understand anything when she said that...
I took a sip from the new glass I was given. Then I glanced at Cyril, who still had his eyes closed.
——I had never seen someone fell in love at first sight.
But maybe I saw the moment when a single word sent a shock wave like a blade piercing my heart.
Cyril had revered and worshipped the saints since he was born. The power to heal wounds on the battlefield. Anyone who had experienced the battlefield should know just how precious that was. Moreover, Cyril was a veteran hero who had fought alongside Commander on many battlefields. No one knew the value of that more than he did.
And there was surely no one else who had thought more about the role of a saint than Cyril.
Cyril never said it out loud, though. Having actually came into contact with the saints and been constantly exposed to his words and actions, he must have felt a strong sense of unease. He was probably more frustrated than anyone by the discrepancy between the image of a saint that the royal family had created and the reality of saints.
What did Fia say to Cyril, who was tormented by this conflict that he could not tell anyone about?
"What do you all want to do with the saints? Are you planning to enshrine them and make them into goddess?"
Yes, she said that with a laugh.
And she concluded that it was wrong.
"A saint is not some distant entity who only grants salvation on a whim. A saint is, you see, a knight's shield."
The moment Fia said that, Cyril looked as if he had been stabbed in the heart. Or like a believer who had received revelation from God.
I was sure that at that moment, Fia's words were Cyril's answer.
The girl knight easily presented Cyril with the answer to the question she had been pondering, wondering about, and searching for for a long time. She laughed, as if she found it extremely funny that someone couldn't understand such a simple thing.
Perhaps Cyril couldn't move on from this answer. From now on, no matter what he heard or felt, he would always hold this answer in his heart. As a knight's true treasure.
"Fia is frightening..." (Desmond)
I muttered to myself without realizing it.
It slipped smoothly into the minds of a cautious knight. And then I dropped the immovable anchor.
As proof of this, Cyril had never once mentioned the form of the saints described by Fia. The impact was too great, and the content was too close to his very core, for him to even talk about it. All he talked about was the stupid story of how the Fia abused him.
How did Cyril see the red-haired girl staggering around under the moonlight that night? The girl had a shoe hooked on each finger of her hand, and was walking barefoot, laughing and singing whimsically.
—— I'm glad I don't trust women in general. My soul is safe!
I remembered thinking that in my drunken state.
"...I see, huh. Insulting your boss to the face is a frightening thing to do." (Cyril)
Cyril retorted, pretending to have misunderstood.
—— That's fine. If you still can't bring it up, then I'll just have to listen to your nonsense.
Then, as we chatted and drank several glasses at a time, there was a moment of silence when Cyril suddenly spoke up.
"Commander is ......" (Cyril)
However, when he hesitated, he shook his head as if he had changed his mind.
"No... it's nothing." (Cyril)
...Ah, that's right. There was one person who was more obsessed with the saints than Cyril. ...That was Commander.
When I thought of the impact that one young knight had had on the knights, it made me shudder.
"Cyril! I'm going to drink today! I feel like I can't do anything without drinking! Or rather, I don't want to stay sane!!" (Desmond)
When I suggested it feeling helpless, Cyril gave a beautiful smile.
"That's what I want, Desmond. Please get me drunk for tonight." (Cyril)
…To get you drunk?
That wouldn't be possible even if I made you drink all the alcohol in this room.
That's what I thought, but I was no fool, so I didn't say it out loud.
We continued drinking until the next morning, and as a result, the Second Knight Captain looked like a rotting corpse, and the First Knight Captain looked as fresh as ever.
The next morning, I was in the upper-class entertainment room with the morning sun streaming in, letting out a weak, husky voice...
"Cyril, what's strange is your alcohol tolerance... So, stop looking at me as if I'm a creature one level below you..." (Desmond)
However, Cyril continued to look at me, a caring colleague who had spent the entire night exceeding her limits, as if I were an inferior creature.