SOTBW - 129

Even though it was the middle of winter, the streets leading to the market were crowded. However, none of the people there thought the man and woman walking hand in hand, with their hoods pulled low over their cloaks, were Maximón and Najane. It was just an ordinary intersection connecting the usual villages, and no one had the leisure to closely watch passersby.

The Noctis Fortress was always short of supplies. Originally, farming was done outside the fortress walls, but because of the Serith, they had to give up the land beyond the walls, leading to the urgent cultivation of farmland along the northern rampart. However, crops grown in hastily plowed fields didn’t ripen well, and as foreign refugees flooded in, food shortages naturally became a problem.

People who considered Noctis their home couldn’t easily abandon it, so they reluctantly stayed, but most of the residents solved their meals with potatoes or the “stew for the poor” from the soup kitchens. As a result, the residents hustled from market to market within the fortress, diligently stockpiling food since late autumn. The winter market stalls were woefully poor, but when something was put up for sale, everyone would reach for their money to buy it.

Najane realized anew how the people of Noctis were living. Everyone was shivering from the cold, wrapped in tattered cloaks, carrying firewood, dried-out radishes, potatoes, or something else on their backs as they headed somewhere. Most of the people crowding the streets were women. The men, when seen, were often those missing a leg or had been kicked out of the knights’ order due to mental instability.

As they walked deeper into the alley lined with residential homes, the northern rampart came into view. Daniel had likely gone beyond it to deal with a band of thieves. Najane looked up at the sky, where a hawk was crying, and followed Maximón. As they moved farther from the market, the noise gradually faded. The white brick houses made it feel even colder just by looking at them.

Najane glanced at the yellowed, dried ivy and then quickly looked into the narrow alley with closely packed houses. The road where Najane was standing was paved, but beyond the alley, the ground was just dirt. Puzzled, she stopped and stared, and Maximón stood beside her.

“It’s a refugee village.”

“Why are the houses still intact, then?”

“People from the refugee camps moved into the abandoned homes. There probably used to be a road here too.”

“Did the authorities remove the road...?”

“Not at all. The refugees tore it all up.”

Maximón pulled on Najane’s wrist.

“You better not think of going in. If you do, you’ll be drawing your sword every ten steps.”

Najane didn’t seem to have any intention of going in, and she followed Maximón without protest. After walking a bit more, they came across a fountain with no water. Around it were small shops. Maximón, keeping an eye out for any suspicious people, tightly held Najane’s hand.

“What did you do before you became a maid?”

“I worked near the places where mercenaries were stationed, doing odd jobs. I’d never been a maid, so I helped clean the stables and take care of pigs. Luckily, I had experience handling livestock like horses, so I was able to get by.”

“Hmm, I’ll have to see you ride a horse sometime.”

“Is there a need to ride a horse when fighting Serith?”

“When we go out beyond the fortress to scout, we’ll need to ride. If you can’t ride, you can’t join the scouting unit. Being a scout is dangerous, but the pay is good, so quite a few soldiers are learning how to ride.”

“...What did you see outside the fortress and bring back?”

Najane cautiously asked, as if she had been curious about this. Maximón chuckled.

“Why? Does it concern you?”

“You held an emergency meeting. I heard whispers that it might be serious.”

“You’ll find out tomorrow during training, whether you want to or not. For now... hmm, it’s better to think about what to have for lunch.”

“Would it be safe for you to show your face...?”

“Of course, the chief would want that. He’d prefer to spread the word that I’m in good health.”

“Do you think we’ll find a place that sells food?”

“Anywhere people live, there’s bound to be a good restaurant.”

Maximón, who had been sniffing the air like a dog in the middle of the street, glanced at a sunlit alley and smiled faintly. Najane, cautiously, tried to mimic his actions. The air was filled only with the cold winter scent.

Najane gave Maximón a confused look, but Maximón, confident that there was a restaurant nearby, confidently led the way.

Najane followed Maximón without complaint. After walking along the bumpy brick road for a while, they finally arrived at a restaurant with a sign hanging outside. Surprised, Najane looked up at Maximón with a hint of awe. Maximón, noticing her gaze, chuckled.

Maximón didn’t go inside but instead looked around the open door to see what was being sold. The shop was quite large, but there were only a few customers seated. The patrons were eating a thick meat stew in cracked ceramic bowls, and the smell wasn’t bad. More importantly, a large mercenary, carrying a big club, was standing inside, likely as a guard. If mercenaries had to guard a place during the day, it must be a decent establishment.

Maximón confidently pushed back his hood as he entered the restaurant. Thanks to the stove placed in the center, the interior felt relatively warm. Najane, who had never eaten in a place like this, sat nervously across from Maximón.

The first person to recognize Maximón was one of the mercenaries. The mercenary rubbed his eyes as if thinking he was mistaken, but his expression quickly turned to one of shock as he gaped. Flustered, he seemed disappointed that only he knew this and hurried to tell the shopkeeper. Soon, a large, middle-aged man emerged from the narrow kitchen with a clatter.

“Sir Elgort! How did you end up in such a humble place? Ah, no, it’s an honor to be able to serve you. By the way, I heard rumors that you were injured and lost your sight...”

The shopkeeper gave Maximón a quick glance. Maximón’s eyes were perfectly fine.

The shopkeeper, awkwardly laughing, rubbed his hands together nervously and spoke cautiously.

“Haha, I thought the rumors about Sir Elgort being injured were lies. By the way, our restaurant’s thick pheasant stew is our specialty... will that be alright for you?”

“Sounds good. I’ll take that. And also... that.”

Maximón gestured toward a nearby table. The customers, who had been mesmerized by the mention of Sir Elgort, finally noticed the roasted cheese dish in their hands and were about to offer it to Maximón, but Najane waved them off, signaling that it was fine. If she hadn’t, Maximón would have casually accepted the dish.

The shopkeeper hurriedly took the orders and rushed back to the kitchen. The restaurant grew oddly silent. The customers, who had been noisily slurping their food, began eating quietly, stealing glances at Maximón. At first, they had doubted if Maximón was truly Elgort, but seeing his dark green eyes and dazzling appearance, they could no longer deny it.

Najane, who was watching Maximón’s demeanor, glanced at the now-quiet customers, looking uncomfortable. She quietly asked, “You used to eat out often, didn’t you?”

“No, this is my first time,” Maximón replied.

“Ah... I see.”

“Don’t like the food?”

At that moment, all the customers turned to stare at Najane at once. The kitchen, which had been bustling with noise, seemed to quiet as if cold water had been thrown over it. Flustered, Najane quickly shook her head, sensing something was about to happen.

“Pheasant, right? I like pheasant. I prefer it to chicken,” she quickly corrected.

“Really? Glad to hear that,” Maximón replied, swallowing his smile as he observed the kitchen. His cold, green eyes, still merciless to anyone but Najane, urged the kitchen to hurry with the food.

The chef, trembling under Maximón’s gaze, poured wine over the pheasant meat he had been frying. The meal was served almost instantly. Despite there being three other customers who had arrived before Maximón and Najane, the shopkeeper brought the dishes to them first, as if it were only natural. Of course, the three hungry customers, clutching their empty stomachs, expressed no complaints.

“Enjoy your meal, Sir Elgort. I hope the food meets your taste,” the shopkeeper said, looking at Najane with a hint of desperation before returning to the kitchen.

The thick pheasant stew, which had been braised with herbs and broken bread, was served. Normally, it would also include a variety of spices and eggs, but due to the lack of supplies in Noctis, this was considered a luxury.

Maximón, showing a moment of concern for Najane, handed her the portion with the most meat. He worried for a moment that she might not like it. After all, since Najane had started staying at the residence, she had been eating luxurious meals that Maximón had personally arranged for her. When the supply routes were cut off and food became scarce, the soldiers had to survive on potatoes, but Najane, at least, was able to eat stews and roasts with rabbits, chickens, fresh cheese, and freshly baked bread (though she usually only ate a little and shared most of it with the soldiers).

However, as Maximón had feared, Najane had lived through hardships even before becoming a servant in Romsoa, so she was not particular about food. During her escape, she had eaten moldy bread, resigned to the risk of diarrhea, and sometimes survived on dried fruit found in the clothes of people who had died in bandit raids. Moreover, seeing the desperation of people scrambling to find food outside the restaurant only made her even less fussy. She picked up her fork with a neutral expression.

“Thank you. Please enjoy your meal too, Captain.”

After a polite greeting, Najane ate the meat Maximón had served her along with the soft bread. Thanks to the chef’s careful use of herbs, there was no unpleasant odor in the stew.

Trying to reassure the shopkeeper, Najane intentionally stuffed her cheeks with food and chewed slowly. Seeing her, the shopkeeper clasped his hands together in prayer, overcome with relief.

Maximón, watching her chew, noticed something he had never shared with anyone: he didn’t really know much about taste. It wasn’t that he had a problem with his sense of taste; it was just that he didn’t always agree with what people called “delicious.”

He had always thought raw meat was better than cooked meat. Imagining the tough, chewy texture of freshly butchered meat, still red with blood, made him feel hungrier. But Edwin, who had raised Maximón like a human, had worked hard to teach him that it was wrong to feel hungry just from the smell of blood.

“There are regions where people eat raw meat, but cooking meat is the safest option. You could get food poisoning, or strange bugs might be attached to it. Especially, feeling hungry when you smell blood can lead others to misunderstand, so it’s best to never show it.”

Still, Maximón sometimes thought about eating raw beef, the muscles twitching, devouring it savagely. He wanted to eat something alive. If he couldn’t eat something alive, at least he wanted to eat something that had been alive just seconds ago.

But as mentioned earlier, Edwin had successfully trained Maximón to a certain extent. Because of this, Maximón hated himself for having such thoughts, and he became even more certain that he was not human.

Maximón feared that Najane might know the horrifying thoughts in his head. He wanted to open up to her and feel free, but if he did, he felt that she might run away, and he would lose the last traces of his humanity.

He would not say a word. Absolutely nothing…

Maximón chewed the pheasant bone so hard that it cracked loudly. Surprised, Najane paused mid-bite and looked at him. Her eyes were full of concern. After rinsing his mouth with the cheap wine, Maximón smiled quietly.

He liked that gaze.

The gaze filled with affection, the eyes that looked at him with such worry, were so…

“The food is better than I expected,” Maximón said, casually lying as he kept his gaze fixed on Najane.