SOTBW - 59

Maximón stared at the pile of documents stacked up to his eye level on the desk, his expression irritated.

There was no need to ask what all of this was. He was the busiest person in the Romsoa Order, but he didn’t like sitting at a desk for long periods, so he usually left most of the paperwork to Jacob or Belshua.

However, there were tasks that only the commander could handle.

It might seem surprising that paperwork could pile up this high after a brief neglect of order management, but half of the documents were payment requests from merchants, complaints from close associates of Duke Armunzen, reports from the Noctis Fortress administration asking for an update on the Order’s status, and official letters requesting Maximón’s attendance due to matters involving Nathan.

Maximón, with a frustrated expression, flipped through the documents filled with numbers.

There were papers concerning training recruits and young soldiers, costs for the knights, soldiers, maids, servants, and guards for food and lodging, a list of items to be purchased, invoices from merchants supplying goods to the Order, detailed ledgers of expenses from the previous month, thank-you letters to be sent to nobles and merchants for their sponsorships, requests from authorities inquiring about the Order’s operations, and even drafts of letters to be sent to the families of soldiers who had died in the field…

Leaning back in his chair, Maximón pressed his forehead hard. Today was supposed to be his rare day off.

He wanted to spend it with Najane.

This time, he had planned to take Najane to the black market and clear up the misunderstandings from that day.

Maximón absently picked up a document and glanced at Jacob. Jacob slowly shook his head, looking resigned. Maximón reluctantly took up his ink pen.

At that moment, Jacob, who had been sorting through the documents on a small table, handed Maximón a paper. It detailed the number of deceased, wounded, trainees, newly joined young soldiers, and the urgent need to contract a mercenary group.

Maximón gave Jacob a glare, as if he had had enough of seeing numbers. However, Jacob, undeterred, gently placed the paper on the pile of documents. This was an unavoidable fate for a commander of the Order.

Sighing, Maximón began to work.

“Still haven’t contracted a mercenary group?” he asked, signing the first document, a request for food supplies. Jacob lowered his head, looking apologetic.

“We’ve been looking into it, but… it’s not easy.”

Other orders had already contracted reliable mercenary groups and were taking breaks twice a week. Most of the mercenaries were foreigners, refugees from fallen nations, but because they had to defend the walls without a knight order and train alongside regular soldiers, they hadn’t resorted to the reckless behavior they used to engage in (such as luring holy relics to gain Serith’s favor or rushing to ruin the ranks when a dead relic appeared).

Some orders had even offered knight positions to skilled mercenaries, and the process went smoothly. Though the knights were not particularly fond of mercenaries, they seemed to be trying to get along with them, accepting the reality of dwindling recruitment numbers.

Above all, the benefit of being able to take a break at least once a week was a huge advantage for soldiers who had been worn out from battle. Moreover, there were rumors that, should the mercenary group grow even larger, it might be possible to take more than a three-day break.

Given these circumstances, it was natural that complaints were rising within the Romsoa Order.

The reason Romsoa had failed to contract a mercenary group was simple.

It was because of Maximón.

The mere mention of Maximón’s name made mercenaries tremble. Most of them were former citizens of fallen nations who had fled to Noctis Fortress due to Serith, and as a result, they harbored a surprising amount of resentment. The fact that comrades sent out to make money returned as corpses made their feelings even more tragic.

Maximón, with his exceptional stamina, could easily fight all night without issue, but the others were not so fortunate. Jacob had visited several mercenary groups, but the mere association with Romsoa led to them being dismissed and ignored.

Although everyone was used to fighting under harsh conditions and enduring this current situation, if other knight orders truly allowed their soldiers to rest for several days a week, the arrows of resentment would inevitably be aimed at Maximón.

As Jacob sorted through the papers, he stole a glance at Maximón. He was supposed to leave the commander’s office now, but there were so many questions he wanted to ask. Yet, when the time came, he found it hard to speak.

Maximón, who had been signing documents, glanced up at Jacob, sensing the lingering gaze. Maximón scowled, clearly annoyed.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” he said gruffly, barely looking at the record of donations.

Jacob hesitated, then carefully spoke up.

“Did the commander of the Colnux Order try to kidnap Najane?”

“Well.”

“You cut off his ear.”

“Yeah.”

Maximón spoke calmly.

Jacob lowered his gaze and tentatively tested Maximón.

“Among the arrested criminals, there was also a knight from the Colnux Order, so... I assume...”

“I’ve never liked that bastard.”

“...Are you talking about Duke Armunzen?”

Who could Maximón possibly like? The only ones would be Belshua or maybe Najane.

Even though Jacob had been fighting as a knight of Romsoa for years, he never had the confidence that his existence or his combat skills were to Maximón’s liking. It was a rather depressing thought, but Jacob kept his expression neutral and continued to watch Maximón.

Maximón, meanwhile, wore a frustrated expression as he thought about Nathan.

“The way he pretended to be noble, fighting with a sense of mission, pretending to care about his subordinates, acting like he was the only good person—he was such a jerk. The whole time, he left the holy relics to his subordinates and stayed in the rear, giving orders like a coward.”

As he listed these grievances, Lucas came to mind. Maximón angrily threw some unnecessary documents onto the floor. Jacob picked them up, speaking in a worried tone.

“The Armunzen family won’t stay quiet about this.”

“They can’t do anything to me. They’ll just bark like cowardly dogs. If they lock me up, who will take responsibility for the safety of this place? My master? Or maybe Najane?”

Maximón sneered.

“They’ll just make some noise like they did with the mercenaries. Nathan’s not dead, after all.”

At times like this, Maximón, who seemed emotional and reckless, was surprisingly calm and shrewd. He knew better than anyone that neither the people of Noctis Fortress nor the entire Kingdom of Bastronia could do anything to him.

As long as Seriths existed, Maximón was, in essence, the ruler of this place.

An arrogant ruler who could disregard the law, justice, morals, and common sense without any consequences.

Jacob was suddenly struck by how much Lucas and Maximón resembled each other. Despite not being blood-related, both had these twisted traits in common.

It was truly remarkable. How did two insane individuals like them emerge under a moralist like Edwin Elgort? If Lucas had inherited the same monstrous strength and martial prowess as Maximón, Noctis Fortress would have long since been torn apart by the insane brothers’ battles.

...Now that he thought about it, Lucas had been rather quiet lately.

As Jacob was collecting the papers Maximón had signed, he narrowed his eyes. After all, the last time Lucas had barged into the knight order on his own, Maximón had beaten him to a pulp, so it made sense for him to be quiet for a while.

Lucas was the type to not care what happened to his own body as long as it could provoke Maximón. Jacob was grateful that Lucas had been lying low, as it gave him a moment’s peace.

Right now, Jacob felt like his head might explode from all the mercenary contract issues, Najane, and Nathan’s situation.

“Can we find out who’s been visiting Nathan’s residence?”

Maximón, who had grown tired of reading the documents, shifted his attention to the pile of letters next to him.

Jacob answered with a somewhat ambiguous expression.

“I’ll try, but... I can’t guarantee satisfactory results. The Colnux Order’s loyalty to Duke Armunzen is exceptional. As you know, Colnux offers the highest wages for both knights and soldiers, and Duke Armunzen has looked after the families of his subordinates over the years...”

“The ones we arrested.”

Maximón cut off Jacob’s sentence as he picked up an envelope. The envelope bore a red lipstick mark and was addressed to “Sir Maximón Elgort, from Scarlett.”

Scarlett. That was a pseudonym commonly used by women working in the black market. The reason it was so common was simple—many women in the Kingdom of Bastronia used such names.

Names like Emma, Sophia, Maria, Olivia, Lily, and so on. High-class courtesans occasionally sent such love letters to manage their wealthy clients. Jacob was quite surprised by the fact that Maximón had bought a woman from the black market.

“Didn’t you say you liked Najane?”

No, had he always been one to get close to women?

Jacob, flustered, quickly averted his gaze and pretended not to notice.

“They keep repeating that this is the result of their jealousy over Najane’s abilities.”

“I must admit, their loyalty to Nathan is undeniable. When is the knights’ meeting?”

“Tomorrow at noon.”

“This meeting will likely be noisy. You may leave now.”

Maximón motioned towards the door with a nod as he sliced open the wax seal of the letter with a small knife.

Jacob, still shaken by the letter, silently left the commander’s room.

Once Jacob’s footsteps had faded, Maximón retrieved the small piece of paper from the envelope. The paper, which was supposedly kissed by Scarlett, had a very businesslike message that rendered the lipstick mark nearly invisible:

“I have completed the request you asked for. Please visit when you have time.”

Maximón immediately threw it into the fireplace, watching as the letter turned to ashes in an instant. He glanced briefly at the remaining documents he still needed to deal with before slumping into the chair in front of the fireplace. Warm winter sunlight streamed through the window behind his desk.

Rubbing his eyes, Maximón stared at the blazing fire.

He replayed the moment when he had convinced himself that he had run into Najane in a dark alley late at night.

It wasn’t just a passing thought. A vivid image had flashed in his mind.

A narrow alley, dimly lit by street lamps that were rare even in the royal palace, with clean, straight cobblestones laid down so that carriages or horses could pass easily. In the alley, a drunken man was threatening a beggar with an axe.

Maximón had rushed to break up the commotion, only to see someone in a gray cloak quickly subdue the drunk. The drunk’s arms and legs were bound by something emitting a chilling cold...

It was Najane.

Though her face was mostly obscured by the hood of her cloak, Maximón was certain it was her.

Why? Why was that the case?

Whose memory was this? Why did this image exist in his mind?

Maximón had grown up in the wealthy Elgort domain, but he had never seen a streetlamp that didn’t shake in the wind. That wasn’t just a regular street lamp—it wasn’t simply a lamp hanging from a post.

It was something placed in a glass frame, glowing without oil or candles. There was no technology like that in Bastronia.

He remembered a similar light from his childhood. It was when high priests in the cathedral recited blessings over children. All the priests gathered in the cathedral to share small lights created with divine power, and their brightness and shape were strikingly similar.

But divine power didn’t shine on its own for long. It was far too weak to be used as a lamp, and the flag hanging from the lamp post—its design depicted two snakes climbing a staff.

The Kingdom of Bastronia’s emblem was a lion with a crown. Not a snake.

Maximón mulled over the image of the woman in the cloak running away from him, her silver hair peeking out from under the hood. Najane didn’t have silver hair—so why did he think it was her?

Could it be that, as he swapped his heart for a blue one, his mind had gone mad?

What was even stranger was that, despite the bizarre memory that had suddenly appeared in his mind, Maximón somehow subconsciously believed it was something he had actually experienced. That memory had comfortably settled inside him, as though it had finally returned to its rightful place.

An ordinary person might be horrified, pulling their hair out in confusion. But Maximón remained calm. There was nothing to be scared or surprised about. He was no ordinary being—having two hearts made him inherently unusual. It would be ridiculous to get worked up over something like this.

Maximón, lost in thought about how such an absurd thing had occurred, naturally thought of Najane again. Come to think of it, there was also a document listing new items he needed to request from merchants.

He returned to his desk and scanned the list of items requested by the servants. Most of them were fabrics—mainly to make clothes for the knights. Disappointed, Maximón sat by the window. What would Najane like? He would spend all the money he had saved if it meant pleasing her. After all, everything she ate and wore was already being paid for by Maximón.

Suddenly, chocolate came to mind. After all, no one disliked something sweet.

He thought of cinnamon-dusted chocolate. In the past, cinnamon chocolate could often be found on the streets or in cathedrals. Now, due to supply shortages and a lack of labor to make such luxury items, it had become a rare treat reserved for royalty and the nobility.

Still, every year in midwinter, a prayer service honoring Astrun would begin at all the cathedrals. If you were lucky and visited during that time, you could get a small piece of cinnamon chocolate, roughly the size of a fingernail, for free.

Most priests were quite skilled at making cinnamon chocolate, some even like experts. It was the same chocolate that Sylin Bastronia had wished for just before passing away—the cinnamon chocolate sold in the Red-Beard Sorcerer’s Street in the Kingdom of Schnellia.

Few people disliked cinnamon chocolate.

Maximón wrote down cinnamon chocolate on the request form.

Just then, he heard voices murmuring in the hallway. Maximón immediately picked out Najane’s voice among the tangled voices.

With wide eyes, Maximón set down his pen and hurried to the door. Before a knock could sound, he opened the door, and Najane looked up at him in surprise.