“Servant to the Scalfarotto household Lord Jonas Goodwin has arrived to offer some armored crab, Lord Bernigi. He has requested, erm, that you personally select the parts you would like from his carriage.” Already a while after suppertime, Bernigi’s attendant came to his master’s chambers with apparent hesitation.
Bernigi’s white eyebrows furrowed. Indeed, he had a taste for armored crab—that was no secret. He had used that excuse to accompany the Order of Beast Hunters on their field training and converse with Grato today, and he had returned home satisfied. It would have been understandable if the captain were visiting, but it was shocking that it was the Scalfarottos. Not only was a servant of an earldom visiting unannounced, but he was also calling the former head of Marquisate D’Orazi—a house belonging to a different faction, no less—to his carriage. Jonas’s intentions were anyone’s guess. This situation might even have contained an element of danger were Bernigi still marquis, but he was just a retired senior now; even if anything happened to him, his family would not be impacted.
Jonas Goodwin—he had been introduced to Bernigi as the one in charge of the Scalfarottos’ Weapons Development Team. In that case, perhaps he was involved with the Galeforce Bow Bernigi had seen today. Was he looking for a letter of recommendation? Financial support? Or was he perhaps here simply because Grato had put him up to delivering the crab?
Accompanied by his guard knights, Bernigi made his way outside of the manor. Stopped in the guest lot was a carriage with a small Scalfarotto family crest, one for transporting not noblemen but goods. By all appearances, it might indeed have been carrying a delivery of armored crab.
The man with rust-colored eyes introduced himself briefly as an attendant of the Scalfarotto family. “I hope you can forgive us for visiting so late, Lord D’Orazi.”
“No matter. I hear you bring armored crab?”
“Yes, indeed. We have received a large number today, and we wondered if you would be interested in taking some off our hands. Our knight Marcella can bring it in for you once you are sure the parts are to your liking, though I am afraid that it may be a little cramped inside our carriage.”
Bernigi squinted at the message between the lines—climb aboard alone. He deliberated on the name mentioned, and he clenched his cane. “Wait out here,” he ordered his retinue.
“Lord Bernigi!”
“Your insistence will not make it any more spacious inside. Like the man said, I need to ensure the crab is to my liking.”
“Very good, sir.” The knights relented, though not out of a lack of concern for his well-being.
Bernigi accepted Jonas’s invitation to board the carriage, whereupon the well-built sandy-haired man inside greeted him—the man who had sat beside Chairwoman Rossetti during the field training this afternoon. His features were easy to see under the illumination of the magical lantern, but Bernigi, wary of becoming too fixated on the young man, turned to the pair of large pails.
“The cloth, Marcella.”
“Right away.” Even having been cut in half, the armored crab legs packed in ice were still impressively large and thick.
“This here is the second leg of the regular, and this is the third leg of the mutant; please take as much time as you need to choose. We have also brought a half dozen bottles of wine that would pair well with the crab. May I offer you a taste of it right now?” The little table inside the cabin had been prepared with a bottle of red wine and a couple of glasses, almost as if they were receiving Bernigi as a guest. “I would offer to taste the wine for poison, though I have had too much to drink today—Marcella?”
“Yes, of course!” Marcella pulled the cork out of the bottle and then poured himself two sips. He appraised the wine’s aroma and brought it to his mouth; it must’ve been to his liking, as his eyes lit up.
“It looks to be rather delightful.”
“I think it’s superb.”
“Do have some more. Lately, I have been unable to finish a bottle by my lonesome.” Bernigi filled the glass in the knight’s hands.
“Oh! Thank you.” Marcella seemed terribly guilty, looking to Jonas as if asking whether it was okay for him to partake.
“Graciously accept your drink, Marcella, and then pour for Lord D’Orazi.”
It was only then as Marcella did as instructed that Bernigi got a good look at him. Marcella’s kite-brown eyes glowed with positivity. His cheekbones were prominent but not too much so. His hair was coarse. His knuckles were pronounced, despite his youth. His large frame looked sturdy. There were so many little things, like the way he had cast his gaze downward as he tasted his wine and then opened his eyes wide when he enjoyed its flavor—rather, one needed not to spot these little things to see Marcella’s resemblance to Bernardi, Bergini’s son.
The old man willed himself not to let his emotions surge out, and he kept as collected as possible. “To what shall we raise a toast on this occasion?” Until the Scalfarottos revealed their motives, celebrating and saying “To meeting my grandson” was not an option.
“For the two of you, how about to family?”
“Oh.” With that one line, whatever stiffness was on Marcella’s face had now turned to surprise and bewilderment; it must’ve been only now that he learned they were related.
“Cheers to the health and fortune of our families.”
“To...to our families’ health and fortune. Cheers.” Marcella managed to force out his words. That nervousness was just like Bernardi’s when he’d donned his knight uniform for the first time.
“Is your family well?”
“Yes.”
“Marcella will become a father next year.”
“Oh, how joyous. Have you decided on a name yet?”
His brown eyes pointed down to the floor before looking directly into Bernigi’s. “Names, actually—we are still scratching our heads for our twins, but I am thinking of naming them Bernholt and Dino if they are boys, Bertina and Diana if girls.”
“I see...” The words Bernigi wanted to say tore his heart apart. His son had never returned, not even a body. But now the bloodline continues—Bernardi! “’Tis a good name. I pray for your and your wife’s health.” He could keep his voice from trembling, but not his fingers; Bernigi folded his hands with as much strength as he could muster.
Though he refrained from involving himself in the moment, Jonas gave him a perfunctory smile. “Lord D’Orazi, I understand it would be too much to ask you to do so for our titleless knight, but with your similar name, may I ask on Marcella’s behalf that you please offer your hand as congratulations to him and his children? You are the most hale and venerable knight I know of.”
“Erm, forgive me for my ignorance, but I suppose you don’t mean his literal appendage?” Marcella asked.
“Upon the birth of a child,” Bernigi explained, “the oldest member of one’s family would print their signature—their hand—on paper and have the child touch it. It is a tradition that conveys the wish for the newborn to live longer than the signer. But I am afraid you have misplaced your trust in someone with dreadful handwriting.”
“No! Uh, a commoner like me does not deserve such an honor...”
“I hope you will not mind if I address you as Marcella?”
“No, sir.”
“Call me Bernigi. The way I see it, this is fate. I may have the worst print you will ever see, but I am old and healthy enough for this role. I ask that you allow me to offer your children my hand.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Ah, yes. My wife is the same age as me—may I ask that she be allowed to do so as well?” He had overstated his wife’s age by one year, but surely she would not be angry.
“Yes. I am most grateful for this grace.” Marcella bowed deeply.
“We are most obliged for your generosity. Our knight here has been troubled over his magical practice lately, and I am sure this will spur him on in his training. There are very few teachers who can help him with his grade-fifteen earth magic, see.”
“Fifteen, you say?”
“Indeed. He climbed another grade the day before yesterday.” Though this was the knight’s business, Jonas was speaking for him.
However, Bernigi directed his words toward Marcella. “With that much magic, you can easily be adopted into a noble house. I am sure whoever is fortunate enough to adopt you will welcome your family as well.”
“Naw, me and my—no, my family and I wish to live the rest of our lives as commoners.”
Bernigi recalled the day that he had fallen out with his youngest son. His eyes, brown as a kite, had been the same color. His voice had been just as firm and resolute too. To witness his grandson respond with such utter lack of apprehension was bittersweet. “Very well. You must have a wonderfully loving family.”
His grandson had grown up to be a fine man; they had raised him well. For him to be alive and healthy, to be able to share a drink with him—what more could Bernigi ask for? He could not unfold his hands yet.
A while after, Marcella exited the carriage to move one of the pails of armored crab. That Bernigi was able to reunite with his grandson seemed to be the work of the only other man in the cabin.
“As a commoner, Marcella had not studied much or practiced magic, but he is determined to become a proper knight, Lord—”
“‘Bernigi’ is fine, Jonas.”
“Thank you very much for the honor, Lord Bernigi.” After his circuitous explanation, so like a nobleman, the attendant donned a smile—not one with warmth but a smile like a serpent imitating a human’s; there was a reason they called him Scalfarotto’s Blighted.
It was almost embarrassing to be so easily manipulated by young’uns at his age. It was not all bad, however. “I suppose I cannot die yet—not until I give out my hand.” He could not help but grin.
However, Jonas’s smile faded. “Speaking of which, the woman named Marcella for whom you are looking is no longer of this world. I hope you can stop searching for her out of consideration for our knight.” It was not a request—it was a warning. The anti-eavesdropping device by his sleeve lit up red.