SOTBW - 72

The guard gently comforted Zelter as he led him out of the training grounds. Najane watched Zelter disappear with a confused expression. The Zelter she had met in front of the commander’s office felt entirely different. Could one person really give off such a different atmosphere?

She furrowed her brow, recalling the gaze that had scrutinized her body earlier. How could she forget that look, filled with malice disguised as curiosity? Yet, Zelter, who was now being led up the training ground stairs by the guard, felt out of place as the person who had spoken with Najane earlier.

“Did he give you the trial documents?” Maximón asked quietly. Najane nodded with certainty.

“He placed them on the desk in the commander’s office.”

“Then there must be something written there.”

The two of them headed toward the main building. As Najane followed Maximón, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the knights were still watching them.

“Do you think the Zelter you met in front of the commander’s office and the one just now are the same person?”

Maximón asked quickly as he walked. Najane flinched and quickly looked ahead.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“Don’t worry about them.”

He murmured softly while looking straight ahead.

“They’re good at hunting Seriths, but they’re not much deeper in thought than a rat and their insight is shallow. By the time they’re back from the field, they’ll have already forgotten about today.”

“Yes...”

“Would you like me to pluck their eyes out so no one sees you that way?”

“Pardon?”

“So no one looks at you like that.”

“...Pardon?”

Najane asked again, seemingly not understanding, but Maximón knew she had heard him correctly. Stopping his walk, Maximón fixed his gaze on Najane. His eyes were soft, full of tenderness as he looked down at her.

He was serious. He truly meant it—he would pluck the eyes out of the knights who had shared life and death on the field with him, just to comfort Najane. A chill ran down Najane’s spine. If she hesitated any longer, Maximón would probably turn back toward the training grounds. Najane quickly forced a smile and shook her head.

“I’m fine. But what did you say earlier? I was lost in thought for a moment...”

Najane grabbed Maximón’s hand and moved forward. Maximón was like a dog on a leash, quietly being led by Najane. He seemed to enjoy holding her hand. Meanwhile, Najane was overwhelmed with fear, afraid that others might get hurt because of her.

Maximón looked down at Najane’s hand, which was small enough to fit perfectly in his palm. It was hard to believe that she could wield a sword with those hands.

Curious, he carefully touched her hand, and Najane looked up. Maximón repeated the question he had asked earlier.

“I asked if the Zelter you met in front of the commander’s office and the one who came with the guard are the same person.”

“Ah, well, they look the same, but just my personal feeling... his attitude was a little...”

“Attitude?”

“The Zelter I met in the main building felt... unpleasant. He wasn’t a crybaby, at least. He tends to speak at length, though.”

Maximón wiggled his fingers, and Najane instinctively tightened her grip. It felt like walking with a dangerous dog, holding its leash tightly to prevent it from harming anyone.

“Wait.”

Maximón, who had been quietly led, suddenly stopped. Najane, who had been walking steadily toward the main building, stumbled. It felt like her clothes had caught on a stone.

Startled, Najane looked back at Maximón. He firmly pulled his hand away from hers. Had she been gripping it too hard?

Panicked, Najane hurriedly checked Maximón’s hand. He had removed his leather gloves and was now offering his bare hand to her.

“You can hold it now.”

Najane stared at the outstretched hand as though it was a request for a handshake.

Najane looked up at Maximón, overwhelmed by the continuous series of incomprehensible situations.

“...If it’s not too forward, may I ask why you removed your gloves?”

“Is it a problem?” Maximón replied in a disappointed tone.

“Huh? No, it’s not that it’s a problem... It’s just... well, I suppose that’s true.”

Najane fumbled over her words, and in a daze, she grabbed Maximón’s hand again. As they walked side by side toward the main building, she felt an odd sensation. Initially, she had thought she needed to hold his hand to stop him from doing something foolish, but now...

Suddenly, she felt a slight sweat on her palm and became self-conscious. Why she was feeling this way, she couldn’t explain. It was just that these little things had started to bother her out of nowhere.

The two walked hand-in-hand to the main building. If someone had seen them, they might have panicked and let go of each other like children caught doing something wrong, but coincidentally, there was no one around on the way to the main building. Najane was curious about Maximón’s expression, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. The situation was so embarrassing. She almost thought it would be less awkward to be tangled up in a bedroom during the broad daylight.

When they arrived at the entrance of the main building, Najane finally let go of his hand. This should be enough, she thought. But Maximón, with a persistent look on his face, extended his hand again. His expression was shameless, like a child endlessly asking for candy.

Najane, with a puzzled expression, looked at Maximón and hesitated, then gently took his hand again. Truthfully, she didn’t mind holding Maximón’s hand. Though their steps had become awkward, like rusty gears grinding, his cool, calloused hand felt reassuring.

But then Maximón suddenly began laughing while covering his face. Najane blinked in confusion, trying to understand why he was laughing. Oh, could it be because of the sweat on her palm? Embarrassed, she quickly wiped her palm and squeezed his hand tightly, as if to stop her warmth from dissipating. Maximón, struggling to suppress his laughter, spoke up.

“It’s not that... I meant the key.”

The key? Najane, like a confused puppy, tilted her head, then belatedly remembered that she had the key to the commander’s office.

He didn’t mean he wanted to hold her hand. Najane’s face turned bright red, like a piece of charcoal. Hastily, she released Maximón’s hand and pulled the key out of her pocket. The tiny key made her feel suddenly very hot.

Najane, feeling quite embarrassed, repeatedly touched her flushed ears. Maximón, holding back the urge to laugh, pushed the door to the main building. The more he thought about how Najane had naturally placed her hand in his, the more it amused him.

It was as if a tiny, cute puppy had finally understood its owner’s words and offered its paw.

Maximón, wanting to make things easier for Najane, went up to the commander’s office first. Najane followed behind, fanning herself with her hand, feeling a little resentful. It seemed like she was the only one conscious of holding hands.

On the desk in the commander’s office, there was a rolled-up piece of paper, just as Najane had said. Maximón examined the ribbon that tied the official document, as though it were a love letter. Had the Noctis Bureau used ribbons to send official documents? He had worked with the government for a long time, but this was the first time he had seen something like this.

As Najane was closing the door to the commander’s office, she noticed what Maximón was holding. It was the item Zelter had given her.

“It’s the documents related to the upcoming trial. He said it’s about the schedule.”

Najane added an explanation. The documents were proof that she had spoken with Zelter in front of the commander’s office. Maximón pulled the ribbon, and Najane stepped back to watch him read the document.

He stared at it for a while, then suddenly flipped it over. Najane’s eyes widened at his actions. His face slowly crumpled.

Only then did Najane approach him. She could faintly see red ink on the white paper. It was writing she had never seen before.

“Have you ever heard of Schnellian?”

Maximón handed the paper to Najane. Schnellian was the language used in the Kingdom of Schnellia, the homeland of Astrun and the birthplace of the Serith. The disciples who followed Aron had written the scriptures in Schnellian, as per their teacher’s wishes.

The problem was that Schnellian was so complicated that most nations, founded after the Serith’ sealing, adopted the language of the Astien Empire as their official language. Even the Bastronia Kingdom, where the Church of Sainth John originated and where Sylin and Aron met their end, used Astien.

It was said that it had taken the Church of Sainth John several centuries to grow into the massive institution it was today. During that time, the records written by Aron and his disciples, which had once been meant to serve as a beacon of hope for the world’s reconstruction in dire circumstances, had deteriorated, becoming scraps of paper used to wipe up dirt.

By the time people learned of the battle between Astrun and the Serith and their sacrifices, the Church’s authority had grown to rival that of kings, but most of the important documents had already been lost. When the Church realized that the sealing of the Serith was unstable, they hastily built libraries and tried to collect the books Aron had written, but a fire in the archives centuries ago had destroyed the precious records they had painstakingly gathered.

The reason theologians struggle to interpret the Bible and rituals is exactly because of this. In a situation without a guide, they must venture out into a stormy sea, with nothing to rely on but a broken compass, which is presumed to have been used by a great being long ago, while they row in uncertainty.

Najane put the paper down and muttered, confused.

“…Do important documents in Noctis get written in Schnellian?”

“That can’t be.”

“Then this...?”

Najane tried to accept the situation, though she was having difficulty. She knew the answer, but admitting it was hard. The feeling that had been bothering her since she saw Zelter, who had been dragged down to the training ground, nearly in tears, was now striking her again with irritation.

With a cold, stiff face, Najane spoke.

“...The person I met wasn’t Mr. Zelter.”

“Probably not.”

“...Was the person who came down to the training ground the real Mr. Zelter?”

Instead of answering, Maximón nodded once. Najane bit her lip tightly. Goosebumps ran up her arm, and at the same time, questions swirled in her mind. Why had this been done? She couldn’t understand.

The fake Zelter’s actions were limited to simply stealing the news that the real Zelter was supposed to bring and informing Najane first. There was no deeper meaning behind it. It had only served to confuse Najane and the real Zelter.

While it could be dismissed as a low-quality prank, Najane couldn’t shake the unpleasant feeling it left behind. There were two problems with this. First, how did the fake Zelter perfectly mimic the real Zelter’s face, body, and voice? And second, how did he speak Schnellian?

Najane thought Maximón was quite an impressive person. But even Maximón had failed to interpret what was written on the paper. It could have been a random passage from the Bible that had been written down, but if that were the case, Maximón would have recognized it.

Maximón was certain, though. The red letters on this paper were perfect Schnellian.

Maximón picked up the ribbon that had been holding the document. A faint cinnamon scent lingered on the ribbon. He knew this was no simple prank and his face twisted in a grimace.

“We need to call Archbishop Gwyneth.”