“Captain! More estervino? It goes wonderfully with the tomalley you made!”
“A cup then, please.” After answering the navy-haired knight, he turned back to the old man in the simple chair beside him. His hair and beard had turned completely gray, and he was just as tall as he had been, but his muscles were no more, leaving him thin and bony. The tree might have withered, yet its roots were strong—no part of the man seemed weak; it would have been no surprise to anyone to learn that he had once been the vice-captain of the Beast Hunters. Grato recalled how, when he had just entered the Order, this man would yell at him all the time with such vigor. “Lord Bernigi, some estervino for you?”
“I’ve had enough.” The old man cast his tea-brown eyes to the ground and shook his head. He was very fond of crab, yet he’d had but the single piece of the steamed and none of the grilled. This sea serpent used to drink wine past the carryover, yet he only emptied the glass he’d initially been served. Perhaps this was him showing his age or his poor health.
Grato couldn’t help but worry. “Is the armored crab not to your liking today, sir?”
“Such is not the case; it tastes fine.” He spooned some of the soup from his bowl, went through the motions and chewed it a few times, then gulped it down seemingly without really tasting it. The crab should have been tender, but the single bite he had taken was probably not to his taste.
Last week, Volf’s brother Guido had sent a quick note saying that “former Vice-Captain Lord Bernigi has been having less appetite and more need for rest,” and that might explain the old man’s behavior. It was curious that Guido had known about his condition, but Grato had no interest in finding out why. Of course he had worried; after all, Bernigi had been such a big part of his life. The day after he had received the letter, Grato had penned another inviting the ex-Beast Hunter to the armored crab feast that would be held under the guise of field training, only half expecting him to accept. Bernigi must’ve had days when he felt better or worse too. Grato hadn’t wanted to force the old man into coming, so he had added that he was free to decide on the day of.
“You needn’t worry for me. My health is fine.” The silence was brief, but it must’ve been enough time for Bernigi to see through Grato. The old man looked away and toward the knights pouring each other drinks and enjoying the crab.
“So, what do you think about our new squad, Vice-Captain?” Perhaps the estervino was especially smooth or the char on the crab was especially tasty; Grato unintentionally reverted to addressing him like the superior he had once been.
“Grato.” His red almond eyes were just as sharp as they had been back when his glare and his scolding had caused the onetime rookie to shrink in fear. “From what I see, your men are too soft. They sit on tarpaulins, cooking their own food with their own luxury stoves. They stuff their bellies and drink till they are drunk—they look like children on a field trip.”
“We are celebrating the newcomers today. This is not how we usually are.” Griswald, the current vice-captain, protested before Grato could speak, but the captain had nothing more to say once he caught Bernigi’s scowling red eyes.
“Irrelevant. They are defenseless—as far as I can tell, at least. Their state makes me question whether they can slay powerful monsters and fend off any sudden—” Bernigi’s voice caught the attention of the knights around them, and he quickly stopped to clear his throat. “It is uncouth for seniors like me to drink too much and then grumble about everything. I shall retire.”
“Allow me to join you.”
But the old man shook his head. “Drink with your men, Grato. You needn’t bear with me.”
“I would be happy to catch up with you, sir. It has been a while since we—”
“The time when I bore the title of ‘vice-captain’ was ages ago, Captain. You ought to revel with your subordinates rather than worrying for a decrepit man.” He turned to the two bodyguards who had accompanied him. “It has been a long time since you have seen the knights, and you do not have liquor or crab often, so go enjoy yourselves.”
“Lord Bernigi, one of us should—”
“I will be just a few paces away from everyone. And I don’t need anyone to watch over me while I nap inside—the carriage is far too small for that.” He grabbed his cane and limped toward the coach.
After Bernigi went inside, one of his bodyguards lowered his gaze. “I beg your forgiveness, everyone. Lord Bernigi’s mood sours when his body does not behave as he expects it to...”
“The squad is much livelier than usual as well. We naturally seem like we’re not serious enough.”
“The men have been taking shifts on watch; it is not fair to say that we have been negligent...” Griswald could not contain his exasperation.
The knights exchanged glances. “With age comes worrying, I suppose.”
“To moan about ‘young’uns these days’ is a job reserved for the elderly, after all.”
One of the knights turned to Grato. “Is Lord Bernigi’s knee bothering him? I hear that the Adventurers’ Guild has released a new monster-based medicine that is effective for people at an advanced age. Perhaps we could bring some back for him?”
“That leg is prosthetic.”
“Huh?” His surprise wasn’t unwarranted. In the capital, a priest could completely mend almost any physical injury, big or small, within a week. It did cost quite the sum, but it was nothing that a high-ranking nobleman like Bernigi couldn’t afford.
“Lord Bernigi defended a cave for seven days to protect a wounded comrade.”
“With an injury like that? Alone?”
“Mm. By the time we found him, his leg was beyond healing, and he retired from his position shortly after that.”
“It’s no wonder he is so adamant we shore up defenses.”
“Well, that would be because—” The veteran cut himself off, hesitating to continue, and looked to Grato.
The other bodyguard finally spoke up. “Please forgive Lord Bernigi, everyone. His son, who was also a Beast Hunter, fell in the line of duty, so I am certain he can’t help himself worrying for your safety...” His voice trailed off into nothingness; whatever discontent the knights might have felt had disappeared. The Beast Hunters, past and present, saw the most killed in action out of any of the orders of knights.
“We ought to do as Lord Bernigi says—let us enjoy our time today.” At the captain’s urging, the knights finally began drinking again; Aroldo even passed an estervino scoop to Grato.
The shimmering surface of the drink evoked memories of a certain Beast Hunter—Bernigi’s son. Unlike his father’s almond eyes, his had been kite-brown and gentle. But like his father, he’d had a penchant for a glass of dry red and steamed armored crab. Grato was drowning in his memories—for a moment, he even heard the fallen knight’s laughter, but he was nowhere to be found. Of course he wasn’t here. He couldn’t have been here. Yet even now that he was captain, Grato’s eyes would dart around in search of his comrades who no longer roamed the earth.
The bright red flames of the bonfire stung his eyes.
Dahlia gingerly locked the door of the carriage, one that had been deployed for her sake today. It appeared like any other carriage on the outside, but it featured a toilet, a place to change, and somewhere to sit and rest. Naturally, there was a lock in the interior as well. It was a vehicle the Scalfarotto family reserved for when they made excursions, and Dahlia was ever grateful she had been granted this peace of mind.
Though the carriage was parked by the riverbank, Marcella had wanted to accompany her, an offer she had adamantly refused. Yes, it was his job as her guard to be by her side—she knew that—but the carriage was within sight of the bonfires, and there were lookouts close by. As close as she and Marcella were, having him beside her as she did her business was too tall a hurdle for her. She had had to explain that to him forcefully before she could come alone.
She’d finished and was heading back toward Volf and the rest of the group when her attention was drawn to the deep green coach nearby. Grato’s guest, the elderly man, had one foot up on the running board as he tried to open the door. But his cane slipped on a wet leaf, and he lost his balance.
“Careful!” Dahlia rushed to the elderly man, propping him up as well as she could; his reactions were quicker, though, and his other hand had already grasped hold of the door. This pirouette left the elderly man with his back pressed helplessly to the side of the coach, like an insect pinned to a display.
“I am fine—forgive me for worrying you.”