EPILOGUE Jean, who had once sulked so terribly that he refused to wake up after being splashed with water while sprawled on the ground by the well behind a cheap tavern, now wore a fine dress and had taken up a position as an apprentice chronicler. As a royally appointed chronicler, he had already been paid a visit by passionate guests—participants in the jousting tournament or those supporting the participants—hoping to secure more space for themselves in the records. Despite how hard he tried to keep himself together, Jean almost tripped over his own nerves. Though repairs to the monastery were not completely finished, the building itself had connections to knights who had once come from the ancient empire, which meant its run-down state held a special sort of flavor. So they focused on cutting back the wild grasses, fixing the worst flagstones, reinforcing the crumbling structures, and turning the grounds into a tournament venue. Horses clad for battle trotted in circles, carrying fully armed knights. It was clear that even the most pristine of places would be covered in dirt and dust in no time. After the chance meeting out at the manor, Hyland and Klevend had reportedly gone to the king to inform him of what happened. According to hearsay, the king was so shocked it almost seemed his heart would stop, but since one of the kingdom’s fears had now been cleared up, his happiness was overflowing. And the eldest son, the one next in line for the throne, took up the challenge; he was apparently delighted to have the chance to show that he was not becoming king simply because of a difference in birth, and he was more than happy to show his little siblings that he was indeed skilled enough to carry on the family name. If the discontent came from losing out on the inheritance simply because of a difference of a few years, then a big brother who pushed his little siblings aside because of it had brought its own trouble. The princes’ declarations created a wave of excitement far beyond anything they could have imagined. And since tensions with the Church were still high, they wanted to spread word of the resolution of one big problem throughout the rest of the world as quickly as possible, so preparations for the tournament progressed at a dizzying pace. People flooded the kingdom, even before the tournament itself began, and many stalls popped up here and there, not only on the monastery grounds, but in the surrounding villages as well. They even heard that every single inn within a couple days’ travel of the venue were completely booked. Col did vaguely remember worrying over whether those who had been dozing at the Reel in Salenton were chased out. Eve, who had invested quite a lot into the monastery, was in high spirits—and had generously provided the tournament’s prize pool. And Clark, who had been silently pulling up weeds alone not that long ago, was now technically the head abbot of the venue, and had been receiving all the esteemed guests in a dreamlike daze. Amid it all, at the far end of the canal into which Le Roi had fallen headfirst, sat the quieter northern building; on the second floor, Myuri was giving food to the fox kits, and Col clapped his hands at her. “Come now. Sit in the chair.” Myuri’s wolf ears lay flat on her head, and her tail swished in displeasure. Col had, of course, heard about what sort of things she had done on his behalf after he had been taken away. She had been genuinely worried for him. And the fact that he was ultimately unharmed seemed to, in a way, only fuel her displeasure. Though it had been nearly two weeks since the talk at the manor, she remained unhappy. “Myuri,” Col said, tired. The fox kit sniffed Myuri’s hand, licked it, then darted out of the room. Myuri finally got to her feet, then tucked her tail beneath her long white robe. “I’m never going to forgive you, Brother,” she said. He was not certain how many times she had essentially said the same thing Hyland had said to him. But every time she complained, she typically flew to cling to him and bury her face in his chest. She was like a demon, one who told a priest they would never be rid of him, no matter what reasons they had or how hard they tried—well, not quite that bad, but it was close enough. Col was indebted to her, to the point that he would obeying all her selfish requests for a while. And one of those was dressing her in a way that would wake her. “I should at least have a helm, right?! I’ve heard of goddesses of war who have them!” There was indeed a northern pagan legend that matched that description, but Col ignored her and somehow managed to wrangle her into the chair. “You would look mighty strange wearing a helm with that.” “Then give me a sword!” she whined. Col grasped her head, pointed it forward, then began to run the comb through her hair. With the great effort of many others, they had this pure-white robe made for her for this very day. Her neck peeked out from the collar, and it was smoother than usual due to the light coating of makeup on it. The small nails on her hands had been filed and polished the night before, and in exchange for all the care he would be giving her on this day, he finally managed to bring Myuri out to the venue. “I am deeply sorry for foisting such a heavy responsibility on you.” “Hmph.” Myuri looked away in a huff. But it did calm her for a while, so he combed out her hair and began to braid it. “Man, I wanted to take part.” But it was only for a few short moments that she stayed quiet. She immediately spoke up again and began to kick her feet. “Sit still.” “Grrr…” She deliberately puffed out her tail, dragging up the hem of her robe, showing off her pale legs. He knew she was trying to bait him into scolding her, but he would be unable to keep up if he fell for it every time. “Listen to me. Would you be able to compete at your size? Have you seen the real knights?” As nimble as Myuri was, she would still be going up against warhorses and fully armed knights in a jousting tournament. It was very clear that she would not fare well at all without more raw strength and endurance. “…You’re always like this, Brother.” She meant to tell him that he was no fun, always bringing up reality. Myuri was a dreamer, like a puppy chasing a butterfly, and her expression was fully unsatisfied. “But you also say the stupidest things at the weirdest times,” she said, turning back to look at him, which caused the neat braid he was so close to finishing to come undone. “Agh, Myuri!” “Hmph.” Myuri huffed, as though she was saying, Serves you right. “You’re making me do something you were originally supposed to do, right? This means you have to do eeeverything I say from now on.” She had been saying this very thing ever since she heard about the jousting tournament and ever since he spoke with her about this day. Col was aware he had no choice but to accept everything she said, especially considering how he made her worry so. That said, he had simply been unable to tell her as of yet, and he had his reasons for that, too. That was because he could not picture what sort of reaction she might give him when he did. But Myuri’s selfishness was beginning to reach an extreme, so perhaps this was the perfect opportunity for that. “I cannot deny that this meant you ended up shouldering the canonization, which was Archivist Canaan’s idea.” The reason Myuri was present at a jousting tournament without a sword in hand, wearing a pure-white robe and even wearing makeup, was on Col’s request. These sorts of tournaments needed to be held in a particular person’s honor, so he had asked that she serve that role. Common in jousting tournaments was a well-known noblewoman, the one who was holding the event, to whom the participating knights would profess their love. But to the masses, this particular tournament was a mock battle between the rightful heir to the throne and his rebel little brother. They had to carefully consider to what, or whom, this battle would be dedicated, lest seeds for future trouble remain. Canaan insisted that of course they should take this opportunity to have the Twilight Cardinal sit in the seat of the guest of honor and accept the dedication of martial feats on God’s behalf. But it was Eve, who was approaching this event as show business, who expressed disapproval; no matter how popular the Twilight Cardinal was, she pointed out that the people would not find it exciting if a knights’ festival was being dedicated to a man. Col, of course, hated being in the spotlight, and there was no point if the tournament was not as successful as it could be. And after debating various options, he presented an alternative. It was an idea he had come up with when, after Klevend and Hyland had made amends, he had made his way to see Myuri, who was held down in the brush by Canaan and Le Roi to make sure she did not leap out at him. Myuri would sit in the seat of the guest of honor. And she would become the face of the new monastery, in a way, as a saint. “Picture it: Knights will ride their horses and brandish their spears all to see you smile.” It was a dream for the common town girl, but Myuri only pouted. “But I want to be a knight!” Her wolf ears, which were still out, whacked at his hands as he divided her hair. Col dropped his voice and said, “But I thought you gave up on going into battle?” He thought he heard her inhale sharply. Tension evaporated from her shoulders, and when she turned around to look at him, there were tears in her eyes. “Are you wondering why I am so mean to you?” Myuri dreamed of being a knight, and she had in fact obtained the title herself. But the moment she put herself in a situation where she might have to genuinely wield a weapon, she understood the impossibility of it all. Not only that, it was not being hurt that feared her the most, but being bathed in the blood of someone she injured. She realized she could not do it when she pictured that—how kind and smart Myuri was. That said, she could not give up on her dreams so easily; in a surprisingly ladylike move, she took up the quill and began to document her ideal tale. She did so with passion, even though she understood that her dreams would never come true. She was upset that he would go out of his way to point all that out to her explicitly, but he had his own secret reasons that led him to coming up with the idea of putting Myuri in the jousting tournament’s seat of honor as a saint. Myuri did not know what those were, so she felt as though his broaching the painful subject was his way of scolding her. “…Are you mad because I’ve been too selfish?” she asked, her wolf ears drooping. This happened often in Nyohhira. If there was any reason this intelligent girl was far off from inheriting the title of wisewolf from her mother, it was because she would always make merry and go too far. Col offered her a smile and gestured for her to face forward again. Hesitant, she did as told, but still tried to look back at him. He had wanted to wait until the match was over, when everything had calmed down, to tell her, but not everything would always go as planned. Once he had finished braiding half her hair, he stepped around to face her from the front. “Myuri.” “…?” She flinched, believing her brother had so touched on her dream of being a knight so indifferently as punishment for going too far again. Myuri looked up at him with sad eyes, and that was when Col realized he had gone too far. “There is good reason—no, a personal wish behind why I wanted you to take on the role of saint.” “A…personal wish?” There came a distant, prolonged cheer; perhaps, as the tournament began, all the knights clad in their heavy armor were entering the arena. As he took in the distant noise, he wiped away the tears at the corner of her eyes. “Do you remember after Heir Hyland and Heir Klevend shook hands,” he said, “and I stepped forward, ready for you to chomp down on me?” “……” She did, indeed, recall; a curious look crossed her face. “I was so, so scared,” Col continued. “It was then that I genuinely wished I had you by my side. Even though I had gone to confront your anger.” Myuri squinted, one corner of her mouth quirking upward in a lopsided smile. “How does that work?” she asked. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” Col said. “But it’s true. Because you have always, always been by my side whenever I march into the scariest of places.” Myuri blinked, unsure if she should be angered or amused by what he said. “And I thought that, if we had to head into a real battle, I would feel the same way.” Her eyes widened. They were like gems, beautiful, with a powerful shade of red—a gift from her mother. “And that was when the thought came to me: It is not impossible that we may one day find ourselves standing on the battlefield. And I have no doubt you will be at my side when that time comes. That thought did not strike me as strange at all.” He strained his eyes, picturing in his mind’s eye Myuri as she would be when she stood by his side. And what he saw was her, just as she was now. “If you stand in the same position as me, then you could indeed stand on the battlefield and join a fight.” Myuri opened her mouth, searching for words. Col leaned forward slightly and grasped her hands. “War involves so much more than swinging a sword about. That applies to a knight’s order as well. Have you ever heard of a war priest?” Myuri did not care for faith. But she was endlessly interested in things that could be found in knights’ tales. “I doubt I would suit the role very well, but you would be simply divine with scripture in hand, inspiring the knights to greater deeds. Picturing you soothing injured soldiers almost makes me want to call you an angel descended from heaven. I know you had to give up on the possibility of heading to battle with sword in hand, but—” But he could not continue. The moment he felt the world spin, a heavy thud collided with the back of his head. “Brother, you dummy!” Myuri exclaimed, her arms wrapped around his neck in a tight, tight hold. “Just when I was…I was…” She pressed her face into his chest, nails digging into the fabric of his clothes. He wrapped his arms around her smaller frame and sighed. “Just when I was…trying to give up…” “It is not fair if I am the only one to pursue my dreams.” Myuri lifted her head, revealing a stream of tears over her cheeks. “I know it is a bit different from the world you imagined, with gleaming swords and braying howls, however.” Col wiped her tears away with his thumb, but they just kept coming. “There will be many jousting tournaments in the future. Once you mature, grow up, and learn to ride a horse just as well as all the other knights, perhaps you can enter one.” When he thought back on her mother the wisewolf’s human form, he doubted she might ever achieve a physical stature suited for a female knight, but that did not mean it was necessarily impossible. “More than one.” And it was hard to think of anyone who was worse at giving up than Myuri. “Yes. If you do not get injured, then more than one.” Myuri pursed her lips taut in response to an adult’s scolding, but then quickly dipped her head to hide it again. “Brother, you…idiot. Meanie!” “I know, I know.” He patted her back and gently ran his hand over it. The hairs on her wolf tail stood on end, lifting up her robe. He tried to push it back down, knowing it was much too indecent for the saint’s role she was about to play, when there came a sudden knock at the door, and it swung open without waiting for an answer. “…You busy?” The cold eyes belonged to Sharon. “I believe you will understand me when I say this is not what you think it is,” Col said. Sharon shrugged, strode into the room, and saw Myuri, who was paying zero attention to Sharon’s presence while she remained clinging to Col. She gave her a good thwack across the back of the head. “Get ready. We’re going over last checks for the opening ceremony with Clark.” “……” Myuri was clinging tightly to Col, like she was trying to extract the marrow of lamb ribs whose meat had long been consumed, when she suddenly sat up and glared daggers at Sharon. “Chicken!” “Mm-hmm. Sure. Just get ready. You—you spoil this dog too much. Ugh, fine. I’ll do it.” “No! I want Brother to do it!” “Be quiet. You know I deal with orphans every day. You’re nothing new to me.” There was a hint of amusement in Sharon’s demeanor; she snatched the comb from Col’s hand and started to run it through Myuri’s hair. Myuri whined and complained and thrashed about, but she ultimately calmed down and let Sharon do it. “And I know you have better things to do than stand there staring,” Sharon said. Col stood. “I will see you later,” he said to Myuri. Myuri, who had turned away in a huff, slowly brought her attention back to Col in a way that would not interrupt Sharon’s work. “I’m going to make you regret not marrying me.” And if that was what she had to say, then all was well. “I am looking forward to seeing what you are like as a saint.” “Grrr!” She was the only one who knew how foolish the Twilight Cardinal was; he was the only one who knew how childish she was. As he left the room, those thoughts in his mind, he spotted the fox kit at the end of the hall. If they cleaned up the grounds, then the kit, too, would be gone from this place. He did not want that to happen, and that applied to everyone else in the world. He was sure now that the conflict between the kingdom and the Church could find a peaceful resolution. Col held that belief in his heart as he made his way from the quiet northern building and toward the southern grounds.
Chapter 98
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