Arc 10: Chapter 27: The Sun Does Not Rise in the West

Chapter 27: The Sun Does Not Rise in the West

'—How does one go about successfully escaping from a castle, I wonder?'

Had those words been uttered in a faint murmur, in a voice scarcely louder than the whine of a mosquito, Heinkel might have taken them for the dispirited lament of a girl worn down by one defeat after another. Perhaps he would even have felt some measure of relief, reassured that Filore, who seemed to throw the entirety of her heart and soul into everything she did, was not wholly immune to moments of weakness.

However—

'Sorry. Say that again.'

'I said! How does one go about successfully escaping from a castle?'

'—So I didn't mishear you…'

There was no surrender in Filore's crimson eyes, no faltering in the strength of her voice. Nothing in her bearing suggested the frailty of someone whose spirit had been broken by adversity. She had at least enough awareness of the impropriety of the subject to keep her voice lowered, but she was doing a miserable job of concealing the defiance blazing in her eyes and ringing through every word.

Where, Heinkel wondered, had all that meekness she had displayed before Tiga and the others only moments ago disappeared to?

'Why, that was obviously to put those two off their guard. If I brought up something like this, neither Tiga nor Sakura would ever seriously entertain the idea.'

'Then the same ought to apply to me. What makes you think I'd listen to—'

'Because Lord Heinkel, you are my knight, aren't you? You're on my side, not the Divine Dragon Church's! …You are, aren't you?'

'That's not the sort of thing you should be confiding in someone if you start doubting them halfway through saying it.'

As Filore began tilting her head in uncertainty, Heinkel raked his fingers roughly through his hair. The entire notion was so absurd that even entertaining it seemed a waste of breath. Nevertheless, he could tell that Filore had given it serious thought, at least by her own standards. And if he cut her off before she had the chance to say everything on her mind, there was no telling what kind of reckless undertaking she might embark upon alone.

Better, then, to hear her out. Let her exhaust this dangerous enthusiasm before it found some more disastrous outlet.

'First things first. About this escape of yours… What you're saying is, the people you want to get out are Lady Felt and Lady Emilia, right?'

'Hm? Yes, yes, precisely! Oh, what a relief. My heart was pounding because I was certain Lord Heinkel was about to betray me. But if you're enthusiastic about it too, then there's nothing left for us to fear!'

'—Right. So, what sort of plan have you come up with?'

He had not the slightest enthusiasm for such idiocy, but he swallowed the objection and urged her to continue.

Their acquaintance had been brief, yet Heinkel had already learned one indispensable lesson about dealing with Filore: if he stopped to challenge every questionable thing that came out of her mouth, there would not be enough hours in the day.

Utterly oblivious to her knight's private suffering, Filore gave a delighted little laugh.

'Hehehe. I'm so glad you asked.'

With that, she furtively withdrew a folded sheet of paper from inside her clothing.

'Naturally, I'm not proposing this on a mere whim. For some time now, I've been diligently investigating the castle, bit by bit, in my own way.'

As she spoke, Filore pushed aside the mountain of reply letters piled upon the desk and unfolded the paper across its surface. It was a floor plan of the royal castle, painstakingly drawn from her own observations of the sections she had been permitted to enter during worship services and petitions. It distinguished between areas accessible to visitors and healers and doors reserved exclusively for castle personnel. Even to Heinkel, who was, at least nominally, the vice-captain of the Royal Guard, the amount of detail was rather impressive.

More troubling still, different-colored inks had been used to annotate the hand-drawn map. She had recorded the number of knights she encountered during each visit, the times at which guards changed shifts, and various other observations concerning the castle's security arrangements.

—It was the product of intelligence-gathering far more meticulous than Heinkel had ever imagined her capable of, and there was no conceivable way to explain it away as anything else.

'You—what the hell is this…!?'

'Well? Do you understand how serious I am now? Oh, and there's more! By listening in on the conversations of the civil officials who deliver my letters and the people who work at the castle, I've also learned that Emilia and Felt are being confined somewhere in the eastern wing. Isn't that impressive?'

'What the hell were you thinking!?'

Heinkel roared at Filore, who plainly had no understanding of the gravity of what she had done, then snatched up the map and crushed it into a crumpled mass in his fist.

'Ahhh!' Filore cried in dismay, but he paid her no heed. If something like this were discovered, it would become an incident of monstrous proportions. Evidence that Filore, a Royal Selection candidate and the Divine Dragon Church's very own Saint, harbored intentions of rebellion against the royal castle. Worse still, the evidence would be genuine.

'Listen carefully. Forget this thing ever existed. Forget the entire plan. For starters, there's no chance in hell it would work. And even supposing it did, what comes afterward?'

It was a scheme born of a child's tantrum, scarcely worth discussing in terms of feasibility. Certainly, Felt and Emilia were presently trapped in unenviable circumstances, deprived of their freedom. Every appeal Filore had made on their behalf had been obstructed by the royal castle and the Church, leaving her equally powerless to act as she pleased.
But that was all.

Even the present situation could not be sustained indefinitely. The Royal Selection had a clearly established deadline, and allowing turmoil in the royal capital to drag on would only further erode the authority of the Council of Wise Men and the royal castle itself.


'That's why this is the time to keep your head down and endure. If you do that, eventually—'

'—Eventually, what? If we simply sit here and wait for time to pass, will the clouds hanging over our heads vanish of their own accord? Will the very laws governing tomorrow somehow change?'

Filore's quiet voice pierced through Heinkel, who had been squeezing the map into an ever-smaller ball within his fist, forcing the words from between clenched teeth. Her work had been crushed before her eyes, quite literally, and yet there was no anguish over its destruction upon her face. Instead, she fixed Heinkel with an unwavering stare.

'Lord Heinkel, no matter how obediently we conduct ourselves, the sun will never rise in the west. We must act. Prayer is a sacred and noble undertaking, but if we make it both our first and final recourse, even the Dragon's wings will surely break beneath the weight placed upon them.'

'————'

'For this past month and a half, I believed I was doing everything within my power. But if I surrender here, then all that time will begin to feel as though I spent it merely preparing excuses for myself. As though I were comforting myself, Emilia, and the others, so that someone might tell me, 'It didn't work out, but thank you for trying so hard'… As though earning those words was all I had been working toward. —That was never my intention!' Her voice rose sharply upon that final declaration, and Filore struck the wall of the room with her palm.

Carved into its surface was the same splendid image of the Divine Dragon that adorned countless places throughout the royal castle, the sacred being revered by the kingdom.
It was proof that the Divine Dragon Church worshipped, praised, and placed its faith in the very same existence as the Dragon Kingdom of Lugunica.

Filore was a Royal Selection candidate, and she was also the Church's Saint. In other words, she could be regarded as someone whose standing had been acknowledged by both the kingdom and the Divine Dragon Church. And yet the determination she now expressed was unmistakably one that defied both.


'Do you remember, Lord Heinkel? I want to create a world where anyone who reaches out in search of salvation can find a hand extended toward them. If I become king, that is the world I intend to build. Anyone, absolutely anyone. That is the most important part.'

'————'

'If I, who have insisted upon that ideal so fiercely, cannot extend my hand to Emilia and Felt when they are suffering so terribly, then who could ever believe in me? Even I could not believe in such a person. My actions would have betrayed my words.'

'…Do you understand what that means? What you're actually saying?'

It must have felt wonderful to proclaim her desires so openly, without hesitation or shame. One might even call it heroic. Provided, of course, that she properly understood the meaning and value of everything she stood to lose as a consequence.

'If you defy both the castle and the Church, what the hell will you be afterward? You're a Royal Selection candidate. You're a Saint. Those are the reasons people listen when you speak.'

Just as even a man as wretched and contemptible as Heinkel could not simply be ignored, because he belonged to the lineage of the Sword Saint, held the position of vice-captain of the Royal Guard, and was the father of the strongest Sword Saint in history.
Strip those distinctions away, and who would ever listen to the words of someone who was no one at all—

'—I'll have you, Lord Heinkel.'

—Filore said it as though she had just secured the support of an army ten thousand strong.

Her hand remained upon the Dragon carved into the wall. Before the very image to which she must have devoted her faith for so long, she declared her willingness to make a decision that might betray everything it represented. And she made that declaration to Heinkel, who wore the uniform of the Church that worshipped it.

She had no conception of just how preposterous a decision this was.

She did not understand.

And yet—

'…I really shouldn't have become your knight.'

Heinkel regretted taking Filore's hand, and not because of anything so practical as her position, her influence, or the value she might possess as an ally.

No, his regret went deeper than that.

Because he had taken her hand, he now found himself forced to listen to this utterly ridiculous proposal.

And having listened, he found himself forced to help a girl who had no one else upon whom she could rely.

—Congratulations.

The words returned to him, spoken by Reinhard in a corridor of the royal castle.
Reinhard had congratulated Heinkel on being chosen as Filore's knight.

He did not believe those words had been a lie, nor some empty courtesy. Reinhard was not the kind of man who engaged in such calculated pretenses.

But was it really so?

Was this truly an occasion worthy of celebration?

If being chosen as someone's knight, if resolving to place one's sword in another's service, was such a joyous and magnificent thing, then why did his stomach and chest ache so terribly? Why did his heart and soul seem to groan beneath the burden of it?

'Lord Heinkel? So, um, about what we were discussing…'

With Heinkel covering his face in one hand and lapsing into silence, Filore tentatively ventured those words.

She watched him with nervous expectation. She had evidently said everything she needed to say, and now she sought an answer, some indication of where their conversation would lead.

This was a girl who had written a hundred letters, only to be confronted with one interminable postponement after another.

She had long since grown weary of waiting. Her heart was racing ahead of her, desperate for an answer without further delay.

Cruel though it might be to Filore, Heinkel's answer was—

'—Half a month.'

'Eh?'

'If you're going to sneak into a castle, you need to approach the business with a hell of a lot more seriousness than this.'

As he spoke, Heinkel unfolded the paper he had crushed in his fist and spread it across the desk. He smoothed its wrinkles with his palm, glaring down at the plan that Filore had undoubtedly prepared in perfect earnest, despite the countless holes riddling it.
In its present state, the thing was utterly useless.

'We'll need at least half a month to prepare and work out a proper plan. The castle's guard assignments and patrol routes are probably reviewed at regular intervals, too. The information you've gathered can't be relied on as it stands. You don't want to be the kind of idiot who gets caught because she blindly trusted outdated intelligence, do you?'

'—! Does that mean…!?'

'Don't make that face. I still think you're an idiot, Lady Filore.'

'What's wrong with that? You're willing to go along with this idiot's plan, so that makes you quite an idiot yourself, doesn't it, Lord Heinkel? The two of us shall be a magnificent pair of fools, master and knight!'

'An idiot can't become king. You're going to throw away your position and your honor.'

At Heinkel's response, Filore's expression had brightened so rapidly that she seemed ready to burst into a song of triumph at any moment. He forced her to confront reality once again.

After all, they had not done anything yet. At this moment, there was still time to turn back. Every road of retreat remained open to them.

'The stupidest part of this entire plan is that whether it succeeds or fails, everyone involved will end up worse off. Naturally, Lady Filore, you'll lose your standing as a Royal Selection candidate. The Divine Dragon Church will come under suspicion of plotting rebellion against the kingdom, and the whole organization will be subjected to an investigation. Tiga and Sakura will probably be hauled in and interrogated until they've told the authorities everything they know.'

Of course, the Divine Dragon Church had its own share of murky dealings and matters concealed from public scrutiny. Heinkel did not imagine that a single reckless act by Filore would suffice to drag all those secrets into the light.

But what mattered here was making the consequences convincing enough for her to understand.

'If you act now, you'll make it that much harder to reach out to all the people you might otherwise have saved in the future. You'll never be granted permission to use your Sacraments on the victims of Priestella again. Hell, they might even make good on that threat to revoke your recognition as a Saint. Everything you've done until now would be repudiated. Even knowing all that—'

'—I'll do it.'

'————'

'I will do it, even so. The wish I carry in my heart did not come to me because I was a Royal Selection candidate, nor because I was a Saint. And besides, even if we wait…'

'The sun won't rise in the west, is that it?'

'Exactly!'

Filore thrust a finger emphatically toward his face, and Heinkel reached out and pushed it back down.

'Keep your voice down.'

She hurriedly clapped both hands over her mouth, drawing a weary sigh from him.

How in the world had things come to this?

Heinkel could no longer understand himself.

All he knew was that, watching Filore brimming with determination, he found it strangely difficult to let go of the hand he had once chosen to take.

And so a thought came to him.

—Do I still want to play at being a knight?

It was a question he had asked himself before. And this time, too, Heinkel could find no answer within himself.

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—Over the next half month, Heinkel went digging through his memories of serving as the vice-captain of the Royal Guard, a position in which he had been little more than an ornament, dredging up what remained of those days as though scraping the dregs from the bottom of an ancient wine barrel.

He secretly removed an old floor plan of the royal castle from the knights' archives, one that marked the emergency evacuation routes, and laid it over Filore's hand-drawn map, searching for a route of escape that might actually prove feasible.

He accompanied Filore on her hundred-and-tenth and hundred-and-twentieth appeals in person, recording the knights' positions and the times at which their shifts changed with the tolling of the bells. He identified the hours when the castle's defenses were thinnest, measured the individual knights' abilities and resolve against what he remembered of them, and selected the most suitable day upon which to act.

'Zeol's an insufferable bastard who never shuts up about his family pedigree, but lately they've had him guarding the all-important eastern wing. …Did he manage to worm his way into someone's good graces?'

Zeol was a man who had devoted himself less to the mastery of the sword or the duties of his profession than to wielding his rank as a knight and the prestige of his family as weapons.

In other words, he could reasonably be described as an inferior version of Heinkel himself.

Though, when it came to neglecting the duties of the Royal Guard and indulging in sheer indolence, there was scarcely any comparison between the two men. At the very least, Zeol actually performed his duties as a knight, even if he could hardly be called competent. The only reason Heinkel had never been expelled from the Royal Guard was the power of his family name.

'Still, nobody draws up a guard roster on the assumption that someone's going to fall asleep at his post.'

The fact that Zeol and his hangers-on had been entrusted with guarding the eastern wing, where Felt and Emilia, prisoners of considerable importance, were being held, could only mean that their presence was considered sufficient. Which suggested that Felt and Emilia were behaving themselves with extraordinary obedience. Or else they had been given some compelling reason why they had no choice but to behave. And that same reasoning applied not only to the imprisoned girls, but equally to Reinhard, who had submitted to the royal castle's demands and remained separated from the master he was supposed to serve.

'…In the worst case, even if Lady Filore marches right up to them and offers to help, they might be the ones to slap her hand away.'

If some concealed circumstance had compelled Felt and the others to submit to their confinement, then even a meticulously prepared offer of escape might be met with refusal. And should that happen, it would be worse than having the ladder pulled away beneath them. It would be as though someone had set fire to it from below.

They would be left with the choice of remaining where they were and burning alive, or leaping into the abyss with full knowledge that the fall might kill them. Death or broken bones. There would be no escaping one or the other. Yet with direct meetings with the prisoners forbidden, even uncovering the existence of such hidden circumstances, assuming they existed at all, was an exceedingly difficult undertaking.

'I don't like the idea of gambling blind when there's a hole this big in the middle of the whole damn plan…'

Half a month was the deadline Heinkel himself had proposed. Naturally, if the risks involved grew too great, extending that period would be only sensible. But even if they were granted an eternity to prepare, no plan could ever be fashioned without a single vulnerability.

—Throughout the half month Heinkel devoted to preparation, Filore's own efforts were nothing short of remarkable. Needless to say, Filore was a girl singularly ill-suited to deception.

Whenever she was plotting something, it manifested so plainly in her manner and conduct that anyone watching would soon begin to suspect what lay hidden in her heart. Heinkel had been particularly concerned that she would never manage to conceal her intentions from Tiga and Sakura, who had known her for so long. And yet Filore dispelled those fears with a performance so consummate that even Heinkel, who knew precisely what she was concealing, could scarcely believe she was acting.

She simply continued being herself, with such open and untroubled conviction that no one could have guessed there was anything beneath the surface. She performed her daily duties without fail. She continued submitting petitions demanding an inquiry into the imprisonment of the two girls, seeking permission to administer Sacraments to the people of Priestella, writing letters and making her appeals in person. And whenever she received yet another reply placing the matter on hold, she wept and raged with genuine feeling, never once betraying the principles she held dear.

It was evident that she could sustain this unbroken conduct only because Heinkel had given her a deadline and pledged his support to her cause, and that she was holding herself to an iron discipline on the strength of that assurance.

He could not betray such trust.

And, just as Heinkel had anticipated, the necessary preparations were completed within the half month.

They had secured a reason to enter the castle, determined the hours when the guards would be thinnest, devised a diversion to draw attention elsewhere, established a route to reach the imprisoned Felt and Emilia, and another by which to flee with them.

They had also arranged the evacuation of certain individuals whose continued presence in the royal capital would leave them vulnerable to coercion. What had begun as an outrageously reckless scheme on paper had, over the course of half a month, become something considerably more respectable. A venture for which the price of passage into the hands of fate could now be paid with courage alone.

—And, quite by coincidence, the appointed day fell exactly two months after Heinkel and Filore had sworn their oath as knight and master.

—Above the royal capital, whose sky had only just begun to pale with the coming dawn, the bells announcing morning worship were ringing. Having completed her customary prayers and fulfilled her duties as Saint for the morning, Filore stood before the main gates of the royal castle, holding in her hand the hundred-and-fiftieth petition she had written.

'…Fifty more letters in half a month. That's taking things a bit far, don't you think?'

'Not at all! A nice round number seems rather auspicious, wouldn't you agree? This is a plan you've worked so very hard to perfect, Lord Heinkel. Naturally, I must spare no effort of my own to ensure that it succeeds!'

'What effort? What the hell does that even have to do with anything?'

As ever, her determination remained formidable, even if her understanding of where best to direct it had gone hopelessly astray. Indeed, the closer this day had drawn, the heavier Heinkel's spirits had become. Filore, on the other hand, had only grown more radiant, the color returning to her cheeks and her expression brightening with each passing day. The difference between them was enough to make him painfully conscious of just how thoroughly she outclassed him in sheer nerve.

Be that as it may—

'Nervous?'

'Very! I feel as though my heart might leap right out of my mouth at any moment!'

'If it does, swallow it again. Just make damn sure you don't drop it inside the castle.'

'Of course! It would be terribly inconvenient if someone picked it up, and terribly unfortunate for whoever found it!'

Their exchange of absurdities proceeded with all the ease of their usual conversations, and Heinkel could only marvel at her courage. With her facing the ordeal so boldly, he could hardly allow himself to become the one who held them back. And so, dragging the considerable weight of his own resolve behind him, Heinkel lifted his head and regarded the castle. He had entered the royal castle countless times, both in the course of his duties as vice-captain of the Royal Guard and while accompanying Filore as her knight.

—But to enter its walls with some clandestine purpose in mind…

This would be only the second time in Heinkel's life that he had done so.

The first had been fifteen years ago.

'I've made certain that Tiga and Sakura both have their errands to attend to. They've been completely occupied with arranging the routes for the treatment facilities right up until today, so I don't believe either of them suspects a thing.'

'We were lucky that business happened to get settled within the same half month. —You know, we can still turn back. Even now.'

'There's no need to test my resolve quite so many times. The sacred scriptures themselves tell us: ‘The wise unravel that which is difficult, while the holy cherish that which is simple. Thus is the law of the Dragon simplicity itself: to love, to protect, and to believe. There exists no wisdom more profound, nor any to stand beside it!’'

'That's a hell of a thing to quote when you're about to turn against the very Church that teaches it.'

Filore had entrusted no small part of her personal convictions to the teachings of the Divine Dragon Church, and yet she could recite its doctrine with perfect composure while preparing to defy the institution that upheld it. Heinkel could only shrug.

There was no road back now.

And as though to give substance to that very realization—

'—Thank you for waiting. Please, you may enter.'

The gatekeeper, having verified their identities and the stated purpose of their visit, bowed respectfully and opened the way beyond the heavy gates. Filore stepped forward, and Heinkel moved half a pace ahead of her. Using a petition they fully expected to be rejected as their cover, master and knight passed openly through the castle's front entrance, heads held high.

They had come to break into the royal castle. And they had walked straight through its gates.

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—The plan proceeded without a hitch, with a smoothness so extraordinary that it was almost unsettling.

'And naturally, all of this must be the reward for the good deeds Emilia, the others, and I have performed in our daily lives. I'm quite certain our accumulated virtue has more than compensated for all those terrible shortcomings Lord Heinkel is forever belittling himself over.'

Such was Filore's delighted assessment of events unfolding precisely as they had arranged beforehand. It was an appalling way to speak of him, but with everything proceeding so successfully, Heinkel hesitated to object. Besides, it would have been absurd to complain about matters going according to plan.

On this day, too, Filore had visited members of the Council of Wise Men and the higher nobility under the pretext of petitioning for an inquiry into the prisoners' circumstances. And, just as expected, she had been carelessly dismissed with the same hollow, meaningless replies. Heinkel consoled Filore as she lamented the rejection with an indignation that was entirely genuine rather than feigned, and under the pretense of finding somewhere private to calm her wounded feelings, they slipped out of sight and entered the route they had planned to take.

'—Hm? Heinkel?'

Deep within the eastern wing, beyond the eyes of the patrolling guards, two sentries stood before the chamber they sought. One was the long-haired knight Zeol Zandrick, a man who had long regarded Heinkel as an enemy, and whom Heinkel despised with equal enthusiasm. Zeol and the other knight, one of his habitual followers, widened their eyes in astonishment upon discovering Heinkel approaching briskly down the corridor, with Filore following behind him.

'Why are you here, of all people…?'

'Because today's your lucky day.' Zeol stood frozen in bewilderment.

That single instant was enough.

Heinkel dropped his center of gravity, vanishing beneath the other man's field of vision. Seizing Zeol's wrist, he yanked him forward and drove the edge of his hand into the unprotected throat, robbing him of his voice.

A strangled 'Gah' escaped Zeol as Heinkel swept his legs out from beneath him. Before the remaining knight could draw his sword, Heinkel drove the pommel of his own weapon into the man's solar plexus, then followed with another blow that sent him collapsing to the floor. Only then did he turn back toward Zeol, who was on his knees, clutching his throat.

'Have you… lost your… mind…?'

'Been meaning to tell you this for years. If you're a knight, either cut your damn hair or tie it back.'

Having delivered that advice to the gasping Zeol, who could scarcely draw breath after the blow to his throat, Heinkel struck him on the back of the head and knocked him unconscious. Both guards now lay sprawled upon the floor. Heinkel released a long breath.

—With this, there truly was no turning back.

'At least I can take some comfort in the fact that it was Zeol…'

Even so, striking down knights who were faithfully carrying out their duties left a bitter ache in his chest.

He could only console himself with the knowledge that at least one of them was a man he had ample reason to dislike. Dragging the two unconscious knights toward the side of the corridor, Heinkel called over his shoulder.

'Lady Filore.'

Then, having finished moving the guards aside, he continued. 'We shouldn't have anyone coming through here for a while, but this is where things really matter. Everything depends on how quickly we can convince Lady Felt and Lady Emilia to come with us… What's wrong?'

'N-no, nothing! It's just that, now that I think about it, this is the first time I've ever seen Lord Heinkel fight. I was simply trembling with astonishment. My knight is so strong!'

'—I only caught them off guard. A genuinely strong knight wouldn't have let himself be caught like that in the first place.'

To Heinkel, that was the distinction between a counterfeit who possessed nothing but a title and the genuine article. His surprise attack had happened to succeed. Nothing more. If Filore mistook that stroke of fortune for a true measure of his abilities, she would only be placing herself in greater danger.

Having made that clear to her—

'————'

He slowly opened the door and cautiously inspected the room beyond.

Although the girls were effectively being held captive, the official pretense was that they had been placed under protection. He therefore doubted there would be guards stationed inside the room itself. Nevertheless, with Filore behind him, Heinkel did not lower his guard. Upon seeing his face, the occupant of the chamber stared at him in undisguised astonishment.

'…Now there's a face I never thought I'd see. And before you ask, I ain't seen your damn son's face in a while either.'

'—I know. You don't have to tell me. I've crossed paths with him often enough myself.'

Heinkel answered bitterly, irritated that Reinhard had been the first subject raised. Then again, it was hardly unexpected. When it came to matters Heinkel and the girl before him—Felt—had in common, his son was inevitably the first to spring to mind.
Before their exchange could go any further, however, Filore apparently reached the limits of her patience and poked her head out from beside Heinkel.

'—Lord Heinkel? Is everything all right? Is it safe now? Is there no one inside?'

Whether she possessed any sense of caution at all was debatable, but Filore had quite literally thrust her head into the chamber.

Her eyes met Felt's.

And Felt's face immediately twisted into a look of open displeasure.

'She's a pain in the ass even when I ain't locked up, and now she comes bothering me when I am…'

'That's beyond disrespectful, you little brat. Lady Filore has gone out of her way to come and see you. The least you could do is show some manners.'

Truthfully, Felt's reaction was precisely what Heinkel had expected, and he rather sympathized with it. Nevertheless, both to make his allegiance unmistakable and to fulfill his role as a knight, he offered the appropriate rebuke. Filore, however, promptly interposed herself.

'Now, now, Lord Heinkel! It's perfectly all right. Felt and I both know that arguing over that particular matter would accomplish absolutely nothing. We should discuss something much more fruitful instead!'

'Your voice is damn loud. Something fruitful, huh?'

Chiding Filore for her volume, Felt regarded the two of them with searching eyes. Apparently, she had grasped the intention behind Heinkel's manner of addressing her. As ever, for all her ill-bred behavior, she was remarkably quick on the uptake. Was that, perhaps, the blood of Lugunica's royal family asserting itself?

—No. If anything, Filore's astonishing lack of wariness seemed the more fitting trait for someone of royal blood.

While Heinkel's thoughts wandered down that entirely irrelevant path, Filore nodded vigorously at Felt's question.

'Of course! Something fruitful indeed! A veritable harvest! You see, I thought Felt might be getting rather impatient by now. Because I certainly am! Well? Was I right?'

'…Well, I ain't gonna deny it. But when you say you've gotten impatient too—'

'—Let's escape. All of us. You, Emilia, and me. Together.'

No preamble. No circuitous explanation. She went straight to the heart of the matter, with a directness that might as well have been a blade driven into its target. Confronted by the sheer audacity of the proposal, Felt silently raised her face toward the ceiling and remained motionless for several moments.

'Between Emilia and Filore… what the hell's wrong with Royal Selection candidates?'

'Eh? What do you mean by that!?'

'Nah, it's just that Emilia was already busy getting ready to break out of this place, at least in my head. And now here you are, thinking exactly the same damn thing. What kind of coincidence is that?'

'Does that mean… that Emilia and I are such dear friends that our thoughts naturally align? Oh, Felt… to think you regarded our friendship in such a beautiful way…'

'Oi, old man. Don't tell me you left the whole damn plan to this flower-brained idiot?'

Felt turned to Heinkel in exasperation as Filore pressed her hands against her blushing cheeks. Given their relationship, Felt probably wanted nothing less than to exchange words with Heinkel. Yet when circumstances demanded it, she showed no hesitation in taking hold of a filthy tool if that was what the job required. He found himself impressed despite himself.

'I wouldn't go so far as to tell you there's nothing to worry about, but we've spent a decent amount of time preparing. I've got the number of guards and their patrol routes worked out. Our escape route uses an old royal passage inside the castle. We've also arranged somewhere to hide once we're out of here, along with a way to get out of the capital.'

'Huh. You've done better than I expected.'

'Haven't I told you? Lord Heinkel is perfectly capable when he puts his mind to it! But, but, please don't forget that I was the one who thought of escaping in the first place!'

'That ain't something to brag about. That's something you oughta reflect on.'

'Whaaat!?'

Why she had imagined that admission would earn her praise was beyond Heinkel. Filore looked thoroughly disgruntled at having her expectations so cruelly overturned. Beside her, Felt folded her slender arms and fell into thought, tapping one arm with her fingers. After approximately ten seconds, she gave a decisive nod.

'Right. I'm in. Was planning to make my move pretty soon anyway. Though my plan was just to rough up whoever brought me my food, take their keys and sword, and make a run for it. If I happened to find Emilia along the way, great. Otherwise, I'd just have to figure things out as I went.'

'You can't call making everything up as you go a strategy…'

'What else was I supposed to do? Ain't exactly got tools or information lying around, have I? But now those tools and that information have grown legs and walked right into my room. I'd be an idiot to let the chance slip by.'

'See, see! I knew Felt would be delighted to join us! Didn't I tell you, Lord Heinkel? That's exactly what I like about her!'

'Y'know, I'm starting to think I don't hate that side of you either.'

Matching Filore's exuberance, Felt broke into a grin that revealed her sharp little canine teeth. Judging by everything Heinkel had known of them beforehand, their circumstances were complicated enough that mutual hostility should have been inevitable. And yet, it seemed they had discovered common ground in their shared willingness to employ whatever means were necessary when something truly important was at stake.

'This is probably going to give me one hell of a headache later, but never mind that now. 
Come on, then. Lady Emilia is being held farther upstairs. They've made special arrangements to suppress her magic, so—'

'—What about Reinhard?'

'————'

With Felt's agreement secured, Heinkel had been preparing to move matters along without further delay. Then came the question he had known would be inevitable. And his words caught in his throat.

'Does that bastard know about this? Or is he waiting outside somewhere?'

Felt made the question sound casual, but there was a slight lowering of her voice. Heinkel and Filore had already learned, during their previous encounter, that Felt and Reinhard had not seen each other for more than two months. Naturally, Felt had never wished for her present confinement. How, then, did she regard the knight who had left his master in circumstances she had never consented to, and who had continued to leave her there?

'He doesn't know. That idiot doesn't know a damn thing about any of this.'

'————'

'We haven't involved him in the plan. Besides, if he'd heard even a whisper of what we were doing, neither Lady Filore nor I would've made it this far.'

There was no sarcasm in those words, no attempt to wound or mock. They were, without question, Heinkel's genuine conviction.

'…That so?'

Though she could hardly have failed to understand the implications of his answer, Felt offered only that brief response. Neither disappointment nor disillusionment showed upon her face. Instead, she closed her eyes once. And when they opened again, what burned within those crimson depths was fire. A blaze of anger so brilliant it seemed almost dazzling. Yet even as she fed her fierce emotions into those flames, Felt smiled with fearless audacity.

'Then that's all the more reason I can't stay in this dump. I wanna wipe that smug look right off the bastard's face. So let's get the hell out of here already.'

'————'

'What? You got a problem with that?'

'—Nah. Not a damn thing.'

Heinkel spat out the answer, unwilling to let her glimpse the emotion that had stirred within his chest at that moment. 

Truthfully, he did not understand.

Who had brought Reinhard and this girl together?

What intention had guided their meeting? What course had someone hoped their relationship would take?

He knew none of it.

Yet, in that moment, he found himself thinking that if Reinhard were ever to choose someone of his own will, perhaps there could never have been anyone but this girl.

—Or perhaps it was the other way around.

Perhaps Reinhard was the one who had been chosen.

And if that were so—

'That's the spirit! Now let's hurry and get Emilia out of here, and after that, Lord Heinkel's brilliant and unfathomable strategies will surely see us through whatever comes next!'

'————'

The reflection passing through Heinkel's heart was unceremoniously cut to pieces by Filore's boundlessly cheerful voice. For a moment, her declaration of such absolute reliance upon someone else left him speechless with disbelief. Then the tension drained from his shoulders. It was an old and deeply ingrained flaw of Heinkel's to torment himself with questions that served no purpose, at precisely those moments when indulging in such thoughts was least useful. Filore's interruption felt rather like a sharp kick in the back, reminding him how utterly pointless the whole exercise was.

'She's putting an awful lot of faith in you, ain't she? You really the same old man I know?'

'Same one. If things go south, I'll put a sword to your throat, take you hostage, and force our way out.'

'Hah! Yep. Now that sounds like the old man I know.'

'Why are the two of you finding common ground over something so horrifying?'

Leaving Filore tilting her head in genuine bewilderment, Heinkel peered out into the corridor. Having confirmed that nothing appeared to have been discovered, he jerked his chin, signaling for the two girls to follow. Fortunately, his bleak expectations had been confounded, and persuading Felt had gone remarkably well. There was still a considerable amount of time before the guards' next scheduled change.

—They could do this.

For the first time, Heinkel felt something approaching genuine confidence in their chances.

'————'

He glanced behind him at Filore and Felt as they followed. Golden hair and crimson eyes. The two girls possessed the same striking features, and both bore the same title of Royal Selection candidate. To be chosen for such a position, to be raised up and supported as a contender for the throne, there had to be some reason.

—Perhaps that reason was the favor of fate itself.

Perhaps these girls were blessed with precisely that.

'Watch your footsteps and follow me carefully.'

It was a warning Felt scarcely needed, but one Heinkel would have felt decidedly uneasy about leaving unsaid to Filore.

With that, the three made their way toward the chamber where Emilia was confined on an upper floor. Their earlier discussion had been interrupted, but Heinkel knew the arrangements surrounding Emilia's imprisonment. The room in which she was being held was equipped with a magical formula designed to prevent the use of magic, and its security was supposed to be more stringent than the measures imposed upon Felt.
That distinction arose not merely because Emilia possessed greater fighting strength, but even more from the enduring fear inspired by her origins, a fear that had yet to fade.

Even so, there was a glimmer of hope.

—The assurance that Reinhard would not come.

'Their mistake was locking both Royal Selection candidates up in the same wing.'

By rights, the eastern wing should now have been the most heavily guarded section of the entire royal castle. And yet the kingdom could not station Reinhard, its strongest and most decisive asset, in that wing above all others.

The reason was simple.

They feared the influence Felt held over him.

With Felt standing between Reinhard and the kingdom, the authorities could never be entirely confident that the means by which they commanded him would remain effective.

—And so Reinhard had been kept away from the eastern wing.

The royal capital was still struggling to restore order after the recent turmoil. Under the pretext of maintaining public security, Reinhard had once again been assigned to guard the capital's outer perimeter rather than the royal castle itself. Indeed, it would scarcely have been an exaggeration to say that Heinkel had spent more than half of their fifteen days of preparation establishing absolute confidence in that one fact.

—Therefore, Reinhard would not come.

'Stop.'

Reaching the intended floor, Heinkel peered around the edge of the stairwell into the corridor beyond and halted the two girls behind him. They had arrived earlier than anticipated, but at this hour, the guards should only recently have changed shifts.Their concentration would still be sharp. A careless move now might expose them before they had any chance to act. With that in mind, Heinkel stilled his breathing and listened.

But—

'Lord Heinkel? There doesn't seem to be anyone here…'

'————'

Filore tapped his shoulder from behind and peered into the corridor alongside him, a crease forming between her brows. She was right. The guards who should have been stationed along the passage were nowhere to be seen. Not a single figure occupied the corridor. It lay utterly deserted. They could simply cross its length, turn at the far end, and reach the chamber where Emilia was imprisoned without encountering a single obstacle.

'Could it be that all our virtuous conduct has brought us good fortune even here…?'

'Something's wrong.' 'This ain't right.'

Heinkel and Felt spoke almost simultaneously, their judgments in perfect agreement. Behind them, Filore murmured, 'And he's supposed to be my knight…' Heinkel fought down the urge to click his tongue.

Strange as it sounded, he would have felt considerably better if the guards had been standing precisely where they were supposed to be. Something that ought to have been there was absent. Something that ought to have existed was nowhere to be found.

—Any deviation from his calculations, even one that appeared to favor them, tightened around Heinkel's stomach like the jaws of a vise.

When coincidences began piling up at the gambling table, only an amateur rejoiced in his good fortune. A man who had learned the nature of defeat began to suspect that someone was allowing him to win.

—Such was the wisdom of those who had lost often enough.

'—Stay here.'

Ordering the two girls to remain where they were, Heinkel climbed the remaining stairs. Then, slowly and deliberately, he began to advance along the corridor.

One step.

Then another.

He approached the place where the guards should have been standing. The unnatural stillness rang against his eardrums, and the beating of his heart seemed suddenly feverish, each pulse a painful blow within his chest.

Was that pain nothing more than a phantom conjured by cowardice? He took another step, seeking the answer.

—And in that instant, a sensation prickled across the back of his neck.

Heinkel's right hand flew instinctively toward the hilt of his sword.

He moved to draw.

The instantaneous motion, born of a survival instinct deeper than conscious thought, came to a halt.

—No.

It was stopped. His blade had scarcely risen an inch from its scabbard.

'—!'

A palm descending from above had pressed down upon the pommel. Heinkel poured strength into his arm, but the sword would not move so much as a hair's breadth. He could neither draw it nor return it fully to its sheath. The pressure was overwhelming, as though the very castle itself had laid a hand upon his weapon and commanded it to remain still.

'—What are you doing here, Vice-Captain?'

When had he appeared?

With that immense physique, clad in such heavy armor, how could he possibly have approached without betraying his presence through so much as a footstep or the faintest disturbance in the air?

Faced with a reality his mind could not comprehend, and with those same wildly inappropriate thoughts once again threatening to run rampant, Heinkel began to tremble. The terror rose from the innermost depths of his heart and courage, from places within himself he had scarcely known existed.

Reinhard would not come.

That deduction had been correct.

But Heinkel had made a terrible mistake in what he had allowed himself to believe. Even in Reinhard's absence, there was a reason the royal castle of Lugunica was renowned as an impregnable stronghold.

And that reason was—

'Do you understand what it is you're doing? —Heinkel.'

—The presence of Marcos Gildark, Captain of the Royal Guard, a man whose formidable figure was wreathed in the oppressive, unyielding aura of a swordmaster.

---
Translator’s note
Please give me feedback on the translations.

— AshTLs