SOTBW - 197

“I’ve heard much about Sir Elgort’s exploits. They say you’re the only one capable of fighting a Sainth without the Holy Sword. How did you come to possess such power? Was it through some special training?”

A man asked Maximón in an overly familiar tone.

Maximón, who had initially intended to ignore the question, reluctantly replied after catching Najane giving him a look that urged him to respond.

“It was simply good fortune.”

His polite yet indifferent answer, clearly signaling he didn’t wish to elaborate, left the man chuckling awkwardly as he backed away.

People inevitably gathered around Maximón—half out of genuine admiration, half with ulterior motives. 

Maximón found them all equally bothersome, but he endured their presence because most of the attendees were high-ranking donors to the knights’ order. Above all, for Najane’s sake, he had to tolerate the incessant questioning from nobles who clung to him like flies. If he let his guard down even for a moment, all eyes would shift to Najane.

Truthfully, Maximón hadn’t wanted to bring Najane to the year-end party. But he remembered how she had once shown interest in attending. He recalled her darkened expression when she saw the list of wealthy donors who qualified to attend the event.

Still, Najane observed the revelers with no apparent change in emotion. Despite the winter chill outside, the crowded venue made it feel surprisingly warm.

Those sensitive to the cold warmed themselves with hot drinks and wine from the tables before seeking out partners to join the dance floor. Watching the dancers twirl and spin, it felt surreal—as if the frozen corpses of vagrants they’d passed on the way here were part of another world.

With a contemplative expression, Najane gazed up at the vibrant decorations adorning the ceiling and the carefully crafted corsages. She began to understand why the knights were so eager to attend this party. It was like a fleeting paradise that appeared for just one day before vanishing again.

The nobles listened intently to the tales of valor told by knights of humble origins, expressing gratitude for their dedication and joy at meeting heroes. The knights, shaking hands with nobles, seemed pleased—whether they felt successful or recognized, it was hard to say—but they looked happy nonetheless.

The dazzling decorations made it easy to forget that this was Noctis Fortress. The thought of returning to grueling training and terrifying battles after leaving the mansion felt almost demonic.

“My youngest son greatly admires you, Sir Elgort. If it’s alright with you, once the war ends… may I send an invitation? He desperately wishes to meet you.”

Maximón suppressed a bitter laugh at the nobleman’s words. To speak of an end to the war when no one knew when the fight against the Serith would conclude—it was absurd.

Surprisingly, many nobles living near the royal capital, far from Noctis Fortress, shared this mindset. They couldn’t comprehend why the knights dragged the war on instead of swiftly eliminating the Serith. 

Even though most nations had fallen to the Serith, leaving only Bastronia and Astien standing, these nobles believed that if the knights and soldiers worked harder and showed more devotion, this prolonged conflict could finally be resolved.

“How old is your son?”

Maximón’s seemingly interested tone brightened the nobleman’s expression.

“He’s nine years old.”

“When he’s a couple of years older, send him to Noctis Fortress. If he masters swordsmanship, I’ll personally recruit him as a Romsoa knight. Then he’ll see my face so often during training that he’ll grow sick of it.”

The nobleman paled at Maximón’s icy response. Those nearby hid their laughter behind their hands or fans. Flustered, the nobleman stammered, waving his hands defensively.

“W-well, I’d love to do that, but my son is frail and…”

Unable to bear the surrounding gazes, the nobleman excused himself, claiming hunger, and hastily retreated. Najane watched his fleeing figure with a pang of pity.

Did he make that mistake out of ignorance of Maximón’s personality, or did he think himself important enough to speak so casually to him? Either way, it was equally foolish. Still, watching someone humiliated and running away in front of so many people stirred an unexpected sense of sorrow within her.

As the nobleman who mentioned the invitation moved farther away, the atmosphere grew tense. Another noble cautiously spoke up, glancing at Maximón.

“By the way, I heard you suffered greatly due to the false accusations surrounding Lord Nathan Armunzen’s death. You must have endured much hardship.”

Nathan, being the heir of one of the three ducal families in Bastronia, was still a frequent topic of conversation despite the considerable time that had passed since his assassination.

Najane lowered her gaze, recalling Nathan’s face. Reflecting on those ill-fated ties wasn’t particularly unpleasant, but it carried a certain weight.

Maximón, gauging Najane’s reaction, replied coldly, showing no interest in continuing the conversation on this topic (though he wouldn’t have been interested in any topic they brought up).

“Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

But Nathan’s sudden death was still a hot topic among the nobles, and their eyes gleamed as they eagerly continued the discussion.

“Has the true culprit behind Lord Armunzen’s murder been found?”

“Not yet, from what I’ve heard,” Najane replied.

The crowd’s gaze shifted toward Najane before subtly dispersing. One noblewoman hid her mouth behind her fan and clicked her tongue.

“How dreadful… To think the criminal who murdered a noble is still wandering around Noctis. This place is truly terrible. What on earth is the government doing?”

“Speaking of the government, the commissioner acted far too rashly. He should have carefully considered whether Sir Elgort was truly responsible.”

“The Armunzen family is still seething over it, aren’t they? They’re convinced that Sir Elgort is the one who killed their son…”

The noble who had been chattering excitedly about Nathan abruptly fell silent. The atmosphere instantly cooled as everyone turned to glare at the offender, checking Maximón’s reaction.

Without a word, Najane gently stroked his hand. Maximón glanced at her and shrugged lightly, signaling he was fine.

Though the nobles sensed something unusual in the way the two exchanged glances, none dared to ask outright what their relationship was. At that moment, one noblewoman, seizing the awkwardness of the situation, decided to ask a question she’d been curious about. She glanced at Najane before addressing Maximón.

“What about your marriage to Rachel Rochelle? Is it being postponed again?”

As if he had anticipated this question, Maximón moved Najane slightly behind him and smirked faintly.

“I’ve sent a notice of annulment, but I haven’t received an official response yet.”

“Annulment?!”

Maximón’s statement shocked not only those in the immediate circle but also those hovering nearby. Najane looked down at the floor awkwardly, embarrassed by the attention.

It was true that Maximón had sent a notice of annulment to the Rochelle family, but Najane herself had rejected his proposal. Why he was escalating the matter further was beyond her understanding.

The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, stealing sidelong looks at Maximón and Najane, who remained partially hidden behind him. The Rochelle family was anything but an easy opponent. Once protectors of Bastronia’s borders, they now suppressed rebellions and boasted unparalleled honor among noble houses.

Especially Marquis Rochelle, who doted on his only daughter so much that he had once hoarded the highest-grade holy water meant for Noctis Fortress, even at the cost of his family’s reputation. It was unthinkable that Rachel would accept an annulment—she might demand one herself, but being on the receiving end? Preposterous.

Caught off guard by the unexpected revelation, the nobles scrambled to gauge each other’s reactions. None had anticipated that Maximón would request an annulment from Rachel because of Najane. It was clear evidence of how deeply serious his feelings for Najane were.

Glancing sidelong at Najane, who remained hidden behind Maximón, the nobles feigned ignorance and commented casually.

“It seems there’s a new woman who has captured Sir Elgort’s heart. Might we have an introduction?”

“Unfortunately, that won’t be possible. She’s too precious to share, even with my own eyes.”

With a frosty nonchalance, Maximón draped his arm around Najane’s shoulder and teased the nobles playfully. Najane, her face now beet red, tugged at his hand, eager to leave. Fortunately, Maximón felt he had fulfilled his duties as commander for the evening.

Maximón firmly grasped Najane’s hand and crossed through the center of the party hall. The guests whispered in hushed tones, sneaking glances at their intertwined hands.

Najane, her ears burning red, covered her face with her free hand.

“…You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Her voice was thick with reproach. Maximón tilted his head as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Not at all.”

“More rumors will spread because of this.”

“About how Maximón Elgort fell in love and broke off his engagement?”

“That Najane Schnicks ruined Maximón’s engagement.”

Najane sighed heavily, repeatedly brushing her heated face with her hand.

“Do you feel guilty?”  

Maximón tightened his grip on Najane’s hand.  

Najane thought for a moment before wearing an expression that suggested she wasn’t quite sure.  

“Maybe just a little… After all, she is your fiancée…”  

Her voice trailed off uncertainly.  

Maximón recalled the countless times he had fought with Rachel while under Taylor’s tutelage.  

Everyone assumed their relationship was good because they trained under the same master, but if it had truly been so, they would have at least exchanged a few letters after their engagement.  

The two had simply trained together under Taylor and ended up engaged due to circumstances—there had been no emotional connection between them.  

“There’s no need to feel guilty. Rachel and I aren’t as close as you think. Save your guilt for when we’re actually married.”  

Maximón tried to reassure her while simultaneously drawing a clear line in her wavering heart, clearly repulsed by any misunderstanding about his relationship with Rachel.  

At this, Najane let go of his hand, looking at him incredulously.  

“I never said I’d marry you.”  

Maximón clicked his tongue, as if he had just lost a fish he thought he’d caught.  

“You didn’t reject me either.”  

“I did reject you.”  

“I don’t remember that.”  

“Don’t act like a child.”  

“What if I keep acting like one?”  

“I’ll sleep in a separate room.”  

“…That’s so unfair.”  

The mere thought of sleeping in a different room from Najane made Maximón feel pitiful and wronged. He sighed deeply, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t achieved his goal. At this rate, there was no way he could break Najane’s stubbornness. He hadn’t expected to end up clashing with her over this.  

The more he thought about how little time they had left, the more anxious he became. For Maximón, marrying Najane wasn’t about starting a family—it wasn’t even about the concept of building a household.  

In the rapidly dwindling time they had left, becoming her husband was the best way to stay by her side. More than desiring to be the father of her child or the sole man in her life, he simply wanted to be the one who would stand by her until her final moments.  

If he became her husband, they could share so much more. Najane would also be free from the prying eyes of others and the fatigue caused by dirty rumors.  

Maximón understood why Najane was rejecting marriage. How could he not? She was certain she would die sooner or later—she didn’t want to tarnish his life with her impending fate.  

But marrying Najane wasn’t a stain on his life—it was the most perfect choice he could make. For someone who had only ever aimed to gain Edwin’s approval, this was the first decision Maximón had made for the happiness and peace of another person. Letting go of his position as commander, leaving Romsoa—all of it felt insignificant compared to this.  

Maximón finally felt like he was making the right choice—for Najane.