SOTBW - 73

Maximón stood with his arms crossed, casting cold glances back and forth between Gwyneth and Belshua. His expression clearly questioned why Belshua was even here. Gwyneth, feeling the weight of Maximón’s persistent gaze, glanced to the side.

Belshua, as if to say “figure it out yourself,” ignored Gwyneth. Stumbling a little, Gwyneth momentarily ignored Maximón’s gaze and boldly spoke up.

“You called me here because of the Schnellian translation, right? Do you think I’m someone who just comes when you say and goes when you say?”

“Why is Belshua here?”

At Maximón’s pointed question, Gwyneth squeezed his eyes shut, as if he’d expected this. When he heard the commander had called him, he was confused, but as soon as he stepped out into the hallway, he ran into Belshua.

Belshua immediately said to take him along as well, claiming that he would surely be needed. And now, he was pretending to have been dragged here without any knowledge of what was going on. Gwyneth, glaring at Belshua, forced a smile and spoke.

“...Actually, he’s quite knowledgeable in Schnellian.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

Of course, it was the first time. Gwyneth had just made it up. Maximón knew everything about his subordinates’ backgrounds. Since Lucas was notorious for bribing people and setting traps, Maximón had come to investigate anyone new joining the order. The reason Maximón knew about Amelia’s debt was because of his meticulous surveillance.

Realizing that Maximón doubted his words, Gwyneth deliberately snorted.

“Do you think you’re the only rich one in Romsoa? His father is a well-established merchant. I heard his hobby is collecting ancient books written in Schnellian. Right?”

Gwyneth coaxed Belshua, urging him to cooperate quickly. The best explanation he could come up with was this. Belshua swallowed a short breath and nodded in agreement with Gwyneth’s story.

“Although I severed ties with my father, during my upbringing, in order to enter noble society, I was forced to learn about Schnellian and even received some education from a high-ranking priest.”

Gwyneth hastily added more details, hoping Maximón wouldn’t question him further.

“And as you know, once I became a divine power user, I focused on making the holy sword for you all, so I wasn’t able to study the Bible much. Schnellian and rituals aren’t my specialty, that’s why I brought someone to help, but now you’re giving me looks.”

Belshua observed Maximón’s expression. Fortunately, Maximón didn’t seem to have any further intentions of criticizing Belshua. He must have already known that Gwyneth was particularly weak in ancient languages.

To ascend as a priest, studying the Bible and rituals would be common sense, but Gwyneth was a rare divine power user. He didn’t need to study such things to become pope; he could just breathe and still achieve it.

Maximón sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead as he turned away from Gwyneth.

“How much of the story do you know?”

“That the criminals taken to the Noctis office were killed?”

“And?”

“Hmm, I guess I also heard that there was some strange misunderstanding between the official from the office and Najane?”

The rumors had spread faster than Maximón had anticipated. It was probably the knights gossiping, or someone who had witnessed it spreading the word.

Thinking about how Najane would be bothered by the situation, he handed over the paper with the red writing. He had thought she was mentally stronger than most, but surprisingly, Najane seemed sensitive to others’ judgments and opinions.

“Can you interpret it?”

Gwyneth took the paper and genuinely marveled.

“...Oh, this really is Schnellian?”

Belshua glanced at the text written on the paper. Just as Gwyneth had said, it was indeed authentic Schnellian—an impeccable sentence, not a copied Bible verse or random scribbles.

As Belshua followed the neat writing with his eyes, his expression gradually darkened. The emotions in his eyes, after reading the meaning, became disordered.

Maximón, watching Gwyneth squint as he tried to interpret the text, began to explain the situation.

“The fake Zelter asked Najane to pass this along to me.”

“Fake Zelter? What does that mean?”

“The story you’re about to hear must remain a secret.”

He briefly summarized the events that Najane had gone through.

As Gwyneth listened to the story, his expression gradually grew more serious.

“…But is that really possible? I mean, is it really possible to perfectly imitate someone else?”

Maximón didn’t respond. It was something he couldn’t be certain about. To common sense, it was indeed impossible. However, since it had happened to Najane, Maximón believed it to be realistic.

Belshua silently squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. He couldn’t bring himself to say that such things were entirely possible. At least, from what Belshua knew, a magician transforming into someone else was entirely possible.

In fact, it was considered a low-level magic. During the peak of magical popularity, when most people handled magical powers, it was easy to spot when a magician transformed into someone else. Therefore, magic that could change one’s appearance was worthless—only something children or lovers would use as a prank.

Gwyneth, staring at the ancient language written on the paper, sighed.

“It seems like this was written by someone who perfectly understands the ancient language...”

Gwyneth ran his fingers along his temples, clicking his tongue.

“Someone who can use this language so fluently must be a theologian working at the Holy See, right? Whoever wrote this would be welcomed as a savior if they went to the Vatican. Such a remarkable ability—why waste it like this?”

Gwyneth waved the paper as if it were light, glancing at Belshua. Belshua, who had insisted that he would be needed, seemed quite expressionless. He appeared to intentionally avoid looking at the paper.

Gwyneth was about to hand the paper to Belshua but noticed that his fist was clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Surprised, Gwyneth quickly averted his gaze. Something felt off. Belshua’s reaction indicated that whatever was written there was likely related to Serith or Astrun.

Gwyneth pretended to look at the paper nonchalantly, forcing a calm expression.

Maximón asked a question.

“Do you recognize any words?”

“Hm? Oh, words. Well, if it’s just a few words... let me see... I thought I knew some spells and Bible verses, but none of the ancient language looks familiar. If it’s this complicated, I guess bringing Belshua was useless.”

Gwyneth felt fortunate to be a divine power user. If he were a regular person, Maximón would have easily caught on to his lies.

Maximón, his eyes closed, let out a long sigh. It seemed like he was irritated by the lack of progress despite calling for a divine power user. Gwyneth returned the paper and casually shrugged his shoulders.

“Is Najane okay? If I were in her shoes, I think I’d fall into deep distrust of humanity.”

Maximón didn’t respond. Najane’s well-being was Maximón’s concern. From their conversation in the last residence to now, he didn’t like the idea of Gwyneth paying attention to Najane.

But Gwyneth, knowing that Maximón was intentionally ignoring his words, gave a cold smile.

Hadn’t he said he didn’t love Najane? It was amusing to see how he reacted so strongly to anything related to her. Gwyneth, forgetting Belshua was even there, deliberately provoked Maximón with a careless remark.

“Is it really possible to do such a thing without wearing someone else’s skin? I’ve seen jesters imitate other people’s voices, but that’s as far as it goes. You can’t imitate someone’s face, body, and habits exactly.”

“Are you doubting what Najane said?”

In an instant, Maximón’s gaze turned icy. Gwyneth, noticing the immediate response, casually argued back.

“What if she’s gone mad and was just spouting nonsense? Maybe she just got lucky and happened to be right. After all, even fortune tellers get it right sometimes. And how many people have lost their minds while fighting Serith? Maybe we should….”

“It’s time to head to the field soon.”

Just as Maximón reached for the sword beside his chair, Belshua spoke dryly. The atmosphere, which had been tense like a powder keg, deflated with a chill. Gwyneth threw a quick glance at Belshua, who had butted in, and then turned to Maximón.

Maximón slowly removed his hand from the sword, making it clear that if Gwyneth made one more comment about Najane, he would likely draw it and strike immediately.

Gwyneth silently laughed at the sight. It was fascinating how sensitively Maximón reacted to even the slightest suspicion of Najane. Taylor had been right. Najane was the only one who could hold Maximón’s leash.

For Maximón to react so strongly to something like this only showed how much Najane influenced him.

As Gwyneth stood up, he looked down at Maximón with a playful, almost childlike gaze.

“Stop being so fussy. I’m not saying Najane is mad, I’m just suggesting that it’s a possibility. Try showing me half of the attitude you show to Lord Elgort. Who knows, I might become pope one day and recommend you for the position of captain of the guard.”

Gwyneth said coldly as he left the dressing room.

“If you want to properly interpret that ancient language, next time you should kneel and ask politely. You should reflect on the fact that you tried to swing a sword at me,” Gwyneth said, his voice sharp.

Maximón raised his eyebrows irritably. It seemed like he was really about to draw his sword, but Gwyneth just laughed loudly and left the dressing room. Belshua, as a knight of Romsoa, greeted Maximón respectfully before stepping out.

Gwyneth waited for the door to close, then grabbed Belshua by the collar and quickly walked toward the stairs. His steps were hurried. They descended a single step and only stopped when they reached the end of the corridor, the furthest point from the dressing room.

Gwyneth stared hard at Belshua. Belshua, whose collar had been grabbed, shook off the wrinkled shirt and ignored Gwyneth’s gaze.

“Speak.”

“...”

“You were able to see that paper because of me. Tell me, what was written on it?”

“It was nothing special.”

Belshua responded curtly, and Gwyneth kicked the floor in frustration.

“You should know when to lie! You’re so shameless. Aren’t you even grateful? I healed your injured arm and shared secrets no one else knows. You don’t understand gratitude because you’re not human? Or do you just have no concept of it?”

Clearly irritated now, Gwyneth pinched Belshua’s arm, angry. It was certainly something to be thankful for that his arm was healed. If left untreated, he would have suffered for at least a month.

To be honest, Belshua was surprised. He hadn’t expected that such a poor healing spell could cure a cursed arm in one go. Still, he remained silent for a while before reluctantly muttering a response.

“It was just a letter.”

“A letter? Why are you being so secretive about it?”

Belshua closed his mouth again, clearly not wanting to talk. Gwyneth squinted his eyes.

“Is this because you can’t read ancient languages? Why don’t you just tell me what you saw? I might go straight to Maximón and spill everything.”

At Gwyneth’s threat, Belshua sighed.

“How much, how far did you interpret?”

“Knight of the Mud, Love, Freedom.”

Gwyneth recited a few of the words written on the paper.

“You know that it wasn’t just any ancient language. It was full of aristocratic expressions. The kind you rarely see even in the Bible.”

“Smart. Truly worthy of a future pope.”

Belshua praised him indifferently. Gwyneth took a step back and looked at him with a sharp gaze. It seemed like Belshua wouldn’t answer any further. He trusted him implicitly, but today, that trait was driving him crazy.

At that moment, the sound of bells rang out in the square. It was the signal for the soldiers to return home and lock their doors, as it was time for battle in the fields. Now, Gwyneth had to step back. He roughly swept his hair back and glared at Belshua.

Gwyneth, still pondering the red Schnellian words written on the paper, watched Belshua descend the stairs.

Knight of the Mud, Love, Freedom...

He knew who the “Knight of the Mud” referred to. It was none other than Sainth Philux, the most enigmatic of the Astrun. According to Serith’ records of Aron, Sainth was nicknamed the “Knight of the Mud” while serving as a royal guard knight at Schnellia Kingdom’s castle. Most of the people who called him that were either Schnellian nobles or those envious of his abilities.

Sainth was adopted by the Schnellian royal guard captain, Cadelin Philux. He was likely able to become a knight thanks to his talent in swordsmanship and Cadelin’s patronage. Unfortunately, it was said that Sainth lacked sufficient magical power and failed in his attempt to form a contract with a dragon, relying almost entirely on magic stones.

It was likely that Sainth endured endless ridicule and contempt after becoming a knight. The nickname “Knight of the Mud” was a mix of mockery for Sainth, who rose to knighthood thanks to Cadelin’s influence and not his own talents, and the inferiority complex of those who could never achieve the title.

Because of this, Sainth was one of the least documented heroes in Astrun’s history. After relocating to the Schnellian Kingdom’s border defense, it was said that he caught the eye of Rakhshu Elgort and became the leader of the knight order. However, aside from that, his true identity, birth, and records of his activities were almost nonexistent.

Although there is a passage that says he died while fighting alongside Shil in the appearance of Serith, the details of where or when he passed away are not recorded. Compared to the heroes who fought with the Holy Relics of Aron, Sainth has very little mention in the Bible, leading to ongoing debates about whether he was even a real person.

Leaving the main building, Belshua spotted the soldiers heading out toward the field. It was winter, and the days were incredibly short. As he gazed up at the sky stained with the hues of dusk, he tightly gripped the sword at his waist.

The Knight of the Mud.

It was a nickname he hadn’t thought about in a long time. For a brief moment, he wondered who the Knight of the Mud referred to.

Belshua smiled with a twisted expression as he joined the line of knights. Every step he took was accompanied by the clinking sound of his armor. The noise was bothersome, and he felt an urge to rip it off. It was a sound he had heard countless times before, but today, it grated on him, making him feel unreasonably irritable. The paper, which supposedly came from the fake Zelter, had contained a letter aimed at the Knight of the Mud. The contents of the letter were simple, but for someone, it could be very deadly.

To the dear Knight of the Mud,

Is your sister’s body still able to please you?

It seems she has fallen in love after losing her freedom, just like before.

Have you already forgotten what she did to you?

Awaken.

Awaken and take your revenge on Matis and Mahilen.

It was abundantly clear who wrote the letter.

Kieron. That mad sorcerer was here, at the Noctis Fortress.

How he had not forgotten his past life, or how he was able to use magic freely, was no longer important. Now that the enemy was known, it was simply a matter of annihilating him for Shil.

Belshua, with his teeth clenched, vaguely recalled Kieron’s face, buried deep in his memories. He wanted nothing more than to find and eliminate Kieron immediately, but at this moment, Belshua was not in a position to fight a sorcerer.

If he were to face Kieron now, he would be terribly defeated. He needed a magic stone created by Aron. Before the world’s magic was completely depleted, Aron had created several enormous magic stones and given them to Belshua, one of which he had hidden away for a future occasion. According to Aron’s will, the place where the stone was hidden was here, somewhere in the Noctis Fortress...

“Najane!”

Just then, a loud voice rang out from somewhere. The knights heading toward the field all looked toward the knight’s building at the booming voice. It was Amelia. She was waving her arms and shouting at Najane.

“Don’t fight too hard! Only fight as much as you can and make sure to come back safely! If you feel like you can’t do it alone, you have to run away, understood?!”

Her words, which sounded like she was worrying about a child, made the other knights chuckle. Daniel grimaced and nudged the sides of the snickering knights with his elbow. A few knights, realizing their misstep, quickly quieted their laughter. It would be a disaster if Najane reported back to Maximón.

Fortunately, Najane didn’t seem to care much about their mockery. Rather than feeling embarrassed, he was determined to return no matter what happened. With his sword raised, Najane stepped back from the formation and waved his hand vigorously so he would be visible from a distance.

“I’ll be back, Amelia! See you tomorrow morning!”

Najane shouted loudly, putting his lower abdomen into it. The shout carried all the way to Maximón, who was waiting at the front gate of the knight’s order. In an instant, Maximón’s expression was overtaken by jealousy.

Belshua watched the scene, swept up in a strange emotion.

The days when he was forcibly dragged into gambling halls by Rakhshu, exchanging insults with Aron while researching magic rituals that could be used without magic day and night, the times when he loved Shil not out of passion, but simply out of concern and care, the courage and mental strength of Sainth, who never bowed to people’s mockery—those distant, long-gone days.

It was a time so far in the past that it was almost forgotten, but now, it felt as if he had returned to that moment...