As he assisted the orders and aided various organizations, time raged by. When it seemed like the worst had passed, Bernardi’s personal belongings arrived from the barracks. His estate was distributed among his brothers and his comrades. Bernigi kept one thing for himself: a brown letter case. It had been a present for his son to celebrate him entering college. It had been well cared for; the leather still had an impeccable shine. Any epistles or love letters, he would toss into the fireplace without reading; any debts, he would go and pay—so he had decided before he opened the lid. Inside were Bernardi’s letter of assignment from the Order of Beast Hunters, requests for leave, and other documents. There were even documents that detailed requests for equipment that had been denied as well as receipts for rations and consumables for expeditions.
Bernigi caressed the messy writing that was so like his. “You sure were a Beast Hunter through and through, huh, Bernardi?” The tears that had welled up were about to fall, and Bernigi grabbed all the papers from within. Stuck to the bottom of the case was a worn-out handwriting worksheet—in messy handwriting, “Just like me.” Bernigi fell to the floor. Grasping the pile in between his fingers, nearly ripping them from the case, he could but wail.
Busy days came and went. Bernigi went to gird on his sword as usual, but its weight caused it to nearly slip out of his hand. He had been maintaining his body despite losing a leg; what, then, was the cause for the sudden heft? And though his artificial leg had not changed, it had become heavier and begun to drag on the ground. This must be what was called age. From that day, Bernigi began preparing to withdraw from the public eye. He finished helping out the royal orders, then had his son and his wife succeed to the marquisate. Bernigi would appear if called upon and give advice if asked, but gone were the days of taking initiative. His wife and sons did not blame him, nor did others say anything.
When Bernigi went to the castle to say his final goodbyes, one of the Beast Hunters who had been under his command passed him by. “Vice-Captain! Would you allow me the chance to face you again sometime?” The knight shone the brightest smile.
Bernigi had long since retired, yet here he was being addressed by his old title. Ever since receiving a prosthesis and using a walking stick, he had lessened the intensity of his conditioning, and his body had become leaner. For the knight to request instruction was surely just a roundabout way of asking Bernigi to cheer up; this onetime bugbear of a knight had turned thoughtful and chivalrous. Rather than reveal his sword had become too heavy for him to wield, Bernigi did his best to act the role of a mean superior. “Once you get better, Grato.”
“Yes, sir!”
The cheer in the voice stung. Bernigi knew best of anyone that it was unlikely he would ever spar again. But for his health and so that he did not get even more out of shape, he swung his sword in secret and continued walking on his artificial leg. Regardless, neither sword nor prosthesis became any lighter.
Many moons had passed since then. Age spared no one. Bernigi had not been an exception, and it was time to square away his affairs—and then came an invitation to observe the Beast Hunters on their expedition. Its sender was the current captain of the Order, that knight he had called his junior. When he had still been a rookie, he had tended to jump into the fray even before the Scarlet Armors; Bernigi had had to grab him by the scruff all too often; that Grato had become captain was miraculous. The invitation mentioning armored crab reminded Bernigi that it was one of his late son’s favorite foods. With a pang of nostalgia, and considering the fact that it would likely be the last time Bernigi would see the Beast Hunters on an expedition, he accepted.
At the campsite, the knights enjoyed the fall day—they were enjoying themselves too much. They were too careless, too vulnerable, too easygoing. Bernigi could but worry unduly. He silently begged for them not to depart before him like his subordinates and his son Bernardi had, and he stepped away.
It was then that he met the chairwoman of the Rossetti Trading Company, Dahlia. In that chilly carriage cabin, she shared the thinking behind her magical tools and the warmth of her portable warm air circulator—she softened his stubborn heart. Since when had Bernigi come to a standstill? As they watched the Beast Hunters share laughs, he realized he wanted to use the time he had left to step forward and walk again.
He returned home in high spirits and told Mersela all about his day. Though she listened with a smile, a slight weariness plagued her due to the pain in her joints; he cut the conversation short. It was then that the Scalfarottos’ Jonas, with Marcella in tow, visited. Right after speaking with them in the carriage, Bernigi flew over to Mersela again; their grandson, their great-grandchildren, the hands—there was so much to tell her.
“Mersela!” He burst into the room gasping for breath.
“What’s the matter?!” Fearing that he’d gotten himself hurt, she went to examine him for any injuries. He had crossed swords with Jonas only metaphorically, but the alertness roused by the attendant’s blight still gripped Bernigi.
He had intended to tell her the whole story, but he couldn’t prevent his excitement from leaping out. “I saw our grandson—I saw Marcella!” When Bernigi realized he was causing a misunderstanding, he hastened to explain himself, stumbling over his words; he had not, in fact, seen the woman Bernardi had loved. She was no longer of this world, but she had given birth to a son and named him Marcella. He was a commoner and employed as a knight by the Scalfarotto family, who were sheltering him. His wife was also currently big with child. That Marcella had come to the D’Orazi estate’s carriage lot.
“What is he like?!”
“Just like Bernardi—a fine man!” Not only was his explanation lacking, Mersela seemed somewhat disappointed that she had not been able to meet Marcella as well; she grasped her husband’s arm. “Forgive me, but, erm, my bones will soon break.”
“You jest, my dear. My dainty little hands couldn’t possibly break your arm, surely.” Their magic was at the same grade, so her body strengthening magic was hardly a laughing matter. Bernigi knew better than to say anything to the contrary, though.