There should’ve been better ways to spend a sunny Sunday morning than standing before the school gate, staring into nothingness, but that was what I did. Since a promise was made. I wasn’t a knight, but I generally aimed to keep my word, as far as that could be done. Even though the more I thought about it, the less sense I saw in the whole affair.

  To be honest, I didn't give a damn about the town.

  I'd seen too many small country towns like Grimons, and removed a number of them from the map too, and they held no more appeal for me. It wasn't where you were that mattered so much as who you went with. And if the other person wasn't here, it rather robbed the meaning from going at all.

  No living human had ever stood me up before, so the experience bore a certain sense of novelty.

  So this was what it was like to be unwanted?

  Not that I could claim I was ever strictly wanted anywhere, by anyone, as a human being. All the demand the world had for me were for my qualities as a piece of artillery. So could you say it was a new thing, after all?

  I shouldn't have asked to meet in front of the school gate either, because there were guardsmen stationed there and other students frequently passing by, and they could see clearly the unwanted grenade launcher gathering dust by the roadside. Being pitied was quite possibly the worst state of being. I even preferred being hated. A person who hated you also respected you in a sense, and saw you worthy of their time and passion. But to pity someone meant to acknowledge that she was only good for nothing and beyond help.

  Five more minutes, then I'd go back inside.

  When three minutes and forty-six seconds had passed, a figure emerged from the school side, striding down the road, her long hair fluttering in the nonchalant but quite warmthless eastern wind. It wasn't an excited, happy-looking figure, and the young woman soon stood lugubriously facing me.

  “Good morning, Hope,” Vanille offered me a subdued greeting without a smile.

  “Good morning, president,” I said.

  “Don't call me that,” she said and pouted. “Nobody else is here now.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, I'm sorry too,” she said, a level more reconciliatory. “That I kept you waiting. Our practice ran on a bit longer than expected, and I couldn’t find the timing to get away.”

  “It happens,” I said.

  Even if not strictly true, I appreciated that she bothered to come up with an excuse.

  “Do you still want to go? You probably don't need me to show you around, though, since you already went last night…”

  Maybe I was overthinking it, or at least I hoped I was, but was she maybe still upset about me being out late yesterday?

  “I didn't go there to sightsee,” I said. “It was an emergency. I couldn't get a good look around either, since it was dark.”

  “Right.”

  “You don't have to come, if you don't want to. But still, I'd be honored if I could have a moment of our president’s valuable time.”

  “If you call me that one more time, I’m going back!”

  We stared wordlessly at each other for a time, the silliness of the circumstances slowly dawning on us, and something of a smile finally found its way to her lips. It was hard to stay sour on such a clear, bright morning.

  “Alright,” I agreed. “Then, Vanille. Shall we?”

  We went out of the gate and started down the highway across the long green slope. I had a coat on and a muffler, while she was in her uniform, without so much as gloves on her hands, though the day was convincingly wintry.

  “Aren't you cold?” I asked.

  “Nope, I'm alright. Guess I'm hot-blooded.”

  How were my friends all so resilient?

  “It's freezing. You'll get sick.”

  “I've never been sick in my life,” she boasted.

  “That's got to be a lie.”

  Even I’d been ill a few times.

  “I never tell lies either,” Vanille insisted.

  “I’ve never met a human being who didn’t lie or get sick.”

  “Maybe I’m not human then? What do you think about that?”

  “Well, I already knew that.”

  “Hi!?” she gasped, shocked. I looked at the girl and declared,

  “Yes. You’re unmistakably an angel from Heaven.”

  “...”

  Vanille puffed her cheeks with the most absurd expression I’d ever seen, somehow upset, flustered, flattered, and frustrated at once.

  “And you’re one big liar, Hope!” she huffed and picked up the pace.

  We walked on and I had to put in some effort to keep up with Vanille's long, energetic strides. My legs were still stiff and muscles sore after last night’s exercise too. The accelerated recovery effect of mana circulation had fixed the shoulder, but it took so long because of the seals, I got maybe two hours of sleep in all.

  I should've hired a cart. No, I should make a contract with a flying spirit like the Archmage. Or even a horse, like Couren. Running yourself ragged on a country road every other day wasn't very magical or dignified.

  “—That girl who was with you,” Vanille suddenly spoke dourly, her gaze somewhere up in the clouds. “She was really cute. What was her name again? Troyard?”

  Was that important?

  “Yes. Emily, from class C.”

  “Come to think of it, you were together at the entrance exam too. Have you known each other for a long time?”

  “No, our first meeting was that day, actually.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Why so curious? I couldn't explain why, but as easygoing as her tone was, every question felt like she poked me with a rapier, looking for a gap in my defenses. And I had no defenses, fending off every jab with my bare hands and taking spiritual chip damage.

  “You're quick to make friends, Hope.”

  “I wouldn't say so. I’ve never had too many.”

  “Hmm...”

  For a time, Vanille didn't speak, and I kept my mouth. The town slowly emerged from behind the curve, the chalked houses glowing in the sun, the young fencer marching slightly ahead of me and then she lightly remarked,

  “I might be just a bit jealous!”

  “Why?” I asked. “You have a lot more friends than I do.”

  “Well, that I have friends, I won’t deny. But it’s not exactly the same.”

  “Why?”

  “I wonder why. Hmm.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Vanille took a thoughtful pause, and I didn’t even try to guess what celestial mysteries went through her head then. But in a bit, she glanced back at me and bashfully grinned.

  “There can be many friends. But there’s only one Hope.”

  “...”

  What was that supposed to mean? I didn’t dare to ask. I had a strong feeling that in this strange jousting match, I’d face a crushing defeat no matter what. No, in my heart of hearts, I was beaten already.

  We went into the town, the topology of which I knew from corner to corner, having spent hours scanning it. But I made sure to show no sign of that and listened attentively to Vanille’s guidance. Where the academy students frequented and the shops they’d found worth their money.

  We came across several other uniform-wearers too, many of them couples, or small groups of friends. Though Vanille said it was a quiet day and the cold weather probably kept most of the students indoors.

  She led me to a bistro called The Halberdier for lunch. Their specialty was Golonna-style tray pizza, freshly baked in their big stone oven. One slice was four crowns, which was kind of steep, but the fillings were rich, generous with cheese, and the taste made it more than worth the price. So the senior assured me, and I saw no reason to disagree.

  It was crowded in the dinery hall, so we resolved to endure the weather and take seats outside on the sturdy terrace. The sunlit spots were bearable even for me, and the steaming hot food helped tolerate the windy day.

  But instead of moving her utensils, Vanille’s gaze was fixed on a beggar at a street corner across the neighboring clearing.

  An old woman sat there cross-legged on a small, tattered rug, wrapped in a thin, frayed cloak, only the narrow, bony face visible, a beaten steel mug on the ground in front of her. She wasn’t very old, really, probably no more than forty, but the sun and the seasons had aged her beyond her years. A few yards off, a small child of maybe four or five played an unrecognizable, lonely game with stones and pine cones.

  Vanille looked back at her plate.

  “Hey. Do you think I should give my share to them, Hope?”

  I looked at the fencer's downcast face, reflecting the burden of prosperity. It was a loaded question, in many ways, and the answer would also make possibly convicting statements about my person. No doubt I’d be judged by my response.

  But I didn’t want to be dishonest and say things I didn’t mean only to trick her into thinking she was in good company.

  So, after giving it some thought, I spoke,

  “…Let me tell you a little story.”

  “Huh?”

  “I mentioned my mother is a general of the Royal Army, right? She fought through the seven years of the Continental War, and this is a story I once heard from her.”

  Vanille looked at me under an expectant silence and nodded.

  “Far from here,” I continued, “in a mid-southern province of Tarachia used to be a town called Lokor. When the tide of the conflict began to favor the Kingdom, our soldiers eventually pushed their way as far as to Lokor. It was only a small town, even smaller than Grimons, without much military significance, but it was next to a broad highway, useful for relaying supplies, so a company was sent to secure it. When the Calideans arrived, the townspeople received them like heroes. They’d suffered many generations under imperial oppression and heavy taxation, drought after another, and gladly welcomed any hint of change.”

  “So there were places like that too?”

  “Yes. Many, really. But one thing about Lokor got hard on the soldiers’ hearts. There were many orphans. The sight of the famished, homeless, poorly dressed children shook even a jaded warrior's soul. Hardly any of the young ones had so much as shoes on their feet. The soldiers would gift the children shares of their own supplies and clothes during their stay, whatever they could spare, and the children were overjoyed. For a time, the men could feel like they'd finally accomplished something worthwhile after years of bleak struggle. Their stay in Lokor reminded them of the purpose of their pain. ‘This is why wars are fought; not so that old hounds could feel important, but to give the children a better future.’”

  “…”

  “But there was something the Calideans didn’t know. Those children were not actually orphaned. They were the sons and daughters of the Tarachian soldiers hiding in the nearby canyon lairs. They had a hellion farm there in the caverns, and each night after dark, the children would bring all the food they received from the troops and feed it to the fiends, to make them grow big and strong. The Tarchians were devilishly cunning. They wouldn’t attack right away, though the enemy was in their hometown, easily within reach. They waited quietly, watchfully, out of sight, until two months later, when the Calidean company received orders to move forward from Lokor and join an offensive against a major city farther westward. It was then, on the night before their deployment, when that company was most needed, that the Tarachians opened the cages and set the hellions loose. And the monsters used the scent of the soldiers’ gifts to the children to trace the way to the town and into the RA camp, where our unsuspecting men were—”

  “—Could you stop that story now!”

  Vanille raised her voice to interrupt me.

  Her sudden yell made every other customer and passer-by cease their conversation and turn our way.

  The young woman looked down, eyes hidden under her low-hanging bangs, and squeezed her knife and fork with her knuckles pale.

  “I don't want to hear it,” she muttered.

  Trying to be a warrior, but unable to stand stories of violence…Did she really choose the best career for herself? Or maybe she didn’t get to choose?

  “Sorry,” I apologized. “It wasn’t a very pleasant anecdote. I didn’t mean to disturb you. The underlying point was that not everyone is always what they seem, and we don’t necessarily know how they ended up the way they are. Misguided help tends to do more harm than it does good. If you really want to help the poor, it’d be more effective to study the reasons why they are poor in the first place, and work on changing those. Although, that tends to take more time and effort than most people have. Much easier to toss a coin in passing and say, ‘There, I did my part.’ But what does that save? The one in need, or only the conscience of the helper?”

  Was it a good idea to say anything? It turned awfully cynical.

  No matter how I tried, I couldn't recover any uplifting closing lines from this wreckage of a tale, so I returned to silence and began to cut my pizza.

  Then someone set two tall steel cups of tea onto the table with a clang.

  “—Customer. Your drinks.”

  I looked up from my plate to see a tanned young girl stand next to our table, holding a tray and staring at me with judgment in her eyes.

  My heart held back a beat. The waitress wore an apron patterned with blue dots to cover the front side, but had her regular skin-tight leather suit underneath—and no shoes on her feet. Her outfit, the short, wild-colored hair, and that arrow-sharp stare left no chance of mistake.

  “They are on the house,” she said.

  “Tatari—!?”

  Why here? Why now? Why?

  “Another friend of yours?” Vanille asked me curiously across the table.

  “Uh, no. An old acquaintance! From work…” I mumbled, forcing a stiff smile, blood humming in my ears.

  “Work?”

  “I mean, my mother’s work! Elsewhere! Err, i-it's been a long time. What brings you here today, young Miss…?”

  “Work,” the Tarachian replied gruffly.

  “Really? I—I imagined you were pretty busy these days, with your other commitments. Are you sure you should be serving drinks at an important time like this…?”

  “Not busy. Bored to death.”

  You little devil! Do you expect me to believe that?

  Was she here for revenge? Did she do something to our food and drinks? Vanille was just about to cut into her pizza and I reflexively raised my hand to stop her.

  “Wait—!”

  “Huh? Hope? What’s wrong?”

  “…”

  What if I got it wrong?

  What if Tatari actually was only working part-time at this restaurant and our meeting was a simple coincidence? How could she possibly have known in advance we’d come by today? There was no way. And sure, she was off her rocker, but could she be so mad that she’d go against the Emerald Blade’s direct orders and jeopardize the mission twice? I’d embarrass myself and get us all into trouble by falsely accusing her. By exposing her gang, I’d be exposing myself too. But then again, she had a history…

  What was I supposed to do then? Just leave? But how would I explain that to Vanille? I couldn’t tell her the truth, that our waitress was a foreign commando with a grudge. She’d assume I was a plain old racist! Then what? What do I do? I wasn’t trained for situations like this!

  Now, more than ever, I wished Charlotte were here.

  “Really, are you okay?” Vanille asked me and resumed parting a mouth-sized bite off her pizza. “Do you need to poop? There’s a restroom right inside and to the left. Go on, it’d be bad to hold it in too long.”

  “Fine ladies don’t say ‘poop’…”

  She laughed wryly. “Well, I did grow up on a farm! We didn't talk about flowers much when I was young!”

  It was too late. Frozen by indecisiveness, I watched the girl stick the food into her mouth and chew away happily. And swallow. Where was the nearest clinic? Healer. My horse and kingdom for a healer. No, an alchemist!

  “Mmm, just as great as last time!” she soon reported, beaming. “I love the olives! They’re simply packed full of flavor!”

  “…”

  It didn’t seem a very fast-acting poison, at least. The Tarachians had concoctions that killed a grown man as soon as the mere fumes touched their lips. So was it safe...?

  “I’ll be sure to tell the owner, customer,” Tatari said to Vanille and bowed, and the murderous air about the girl faded. “Then, call me if you need anything else.”

  Before returning indoors, she glanced briefly back at me—and sneered.

  “Heh!”

  Why, you little—! She guessed what I was thinking and played into my paranoia on purpose! I’ll so get her for this! Argh!

  “Hope? Aren’t you gonna go?” Vanille asked.

  “Don’t need to!” I replied and gripped my utensils once more.

  “Then hurry up and eat. It won’t be half as good when it’s gone cold.”

  Yes. It was better to die quickly of poison than live long as a clown…