The senior knight grabbed the scary man’s face with one hand, using the other to rub vigorously at his cheek.
“That hurts, sir...!”
“Damn, it’s really not coming off... How do you get rid of these things?”
Typically, curse marks faded with time and needed to be reinforced. However, this was not the case for marks placed intentionally; the target’s will would sustain it for much longer than normal.
“I’m glad it isn’t so easily removed...”
“Shut it! Didn’t His Majesty say he’d discuss allowing you to marry the princess when all this is done?! Did you forget what a great honor that is?!”
“Did he really?!” The scary man scratched the back of his head. When he noticed the young girl had been watching, he knelt down behind her and spoke in a gentle voice.
“It’s okay now. I’m sending you to my home. Don’t worry; I’ll be there soon.”
She looked up at him, eyes wide, as she brought a hand up and pointed at the mark on his cheek. “It looks like a black rose,” she said.
He bared his teeth at her, like a beast showing its fangs. The expression made him look all the more ferocious.
But that face no longer frightened her.
＊
The young girl had been worried that her selfish wish had ruined everything for the man who had saved her. Therefore, the very least she could do was find a way to remove that seal—that black rose.
To do that, she needed more time with him, so she decided to lie about her age. She told him she was three years younger than she actually was. When she reached maturity, she’d most likely be forced out of the man’s household, but for now the man did not suspect a thing and simply took her at her word. Three more years—even with that borrowed time, would she find a way? What should she do?
When the war finally ended and he returned home, the girl greeted him with a salute.
“Welcome home, sir! I, Darke, have decided to become a valiant knight just like you, so please accept me as your student! I welcome your guidance!”
And with that, she added one more lie to the ever-growing pile. It was a lie she had kept up ever since then.
＊
Throughout her story, Darke would add strange sound effects, poke fun at Sashalia, or reword a thought mid-sentence.
“...and there you have it. That’s how Sir Gaius ended up with such unsavory monikers as ‘Ally-Killer’ and ‘Beldarus the Bloody-Bladed.’ His deeds were twisted by the earl when he became the prime minister, and then he had his people spread those rumors far and wide to get back at him.” She laughed as she concluded the tale, lightly tapping at her head with her knuckles as though knocking on a door.
Sashalia had long since pulled away from Darke’s embrace. As she spoke, the half-elf had shuddered more times than she could count. She finally realized what it was behind that smile, behind those eyes.
Darke had most likely gone mad, long before they ever met. Her goal to steal Gaius’s chastity was no joke—her warped sense of reasoning and ethics told her that this was the right thing, the moral thing, to do. Even if she lost both arms and legs, Darke would probably drag herself by her teeth to follow Gaius. And Sashalia had no doubt that if it would save his life, she’d gladly give her own without hesitation.
Sashalia could feel sweat beading up along her back. And yet, she envied Darke. She was jealous. Not of her deep bond with Gaius—she was envious of Darke herself. Of her strength and tenacity. Her intense passion. The lengths to which she was willing to go.
She suddenly found it hard to meet the other woman’s gaze. Fortunately, someone walked into the infirmary, giving her an excuse to look away.
It was the village elder. “You don’t look so great,” he said to Darke. “Let me take over for you.”
“I appreciate it. I’ll leave her with you, then.” Darke stood up, and the two watched her leave. The village elder set down the large leaf he had been using as an umbrella, shaking the rainwater from his fur. He knelt down by the sunken fireplace, reached for the nearby pile of kindling, and set about making a fire.
The elder wasn’t cold—he was summoning the fire spirits. While they did not have healing powers, fire spirits were among the most important, and so they were often called upon in rituals. And, even though Sashalia’s leg was too far gone to be healed, that did not stop the elder from trying every day since the attack.
“It looks like your ear isn’t in danger of infection...but how does your leg feel? Any improvement there?” he asked, to which Sashalia slowly shook her head.
“Well, it seems the spirits have taken a liking to you, little miss. They’re working hard to help you out, so I’ll keep them company while they get to work.”
Sashalia giggled. “Thank you, sir. I’m happy to hear that.” The village elder puffed with pride; it was rare for someone to tell him they enjoyed his presence. As they spoke, he changed the medicinal herb poultices that had been applied to her leg. A light green fog swirled around her knee as he worked—just as he’d said, the spirits were also trying again today.
“You know, elder, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say your name.”
“Me? I’m Burning Quartz Flying Knuckle Handaxe of Powerful Magic Delicious.”
“...Can I just keep calling you ‘elder’?”
“Fine by me!” The elder held out a lidded bowl he’d brought with him. Sashalia braced herself for the bitter taste of her daily medicine and took as huge a gulp as she could.
Once she was done, he said “Thank you so much.”
“B-But I really didn’t do anything of use...”
“Nonsense! You risked your life to make sure the women and children could escape—and thanks to you, they did! I could thank you for ten years straight and it still wouldn’t be enough to express my gratitude! Only you could have done what you did out there. And you saved every last one of us. So please, I don’t want you calling yourself useless anymore.”