On the wagon, I glanced across at the girl sitting opposite me.
When I looked, she was already looking at me. Our eyes met, and we both flinched away.
“Hahaha, young love.”
The middle-aged peddler laughed, watching us both.
[Novem Fuchs] — that was her name.
A side ponytail, in long, bright-brown hair that suited it. The leather-bound rectangular bag at her side surely held travel supplies.
Maybe she’d chosen practical clothes — she wasn’t in the dress she usually wore when we met.
Thick-soled boots made her taller than usual, more grown-up than I was used to. The usually composed expression on her face was, just today, a little nervous.
I asked her, just quiet enough not to be heard by the peddler.
“How did you know? And — coming with me? Are you out of your mind?”
”…Was it a bad idea?”
Novem looked troubled. She was the second daughter of a baron’s family.
A marriage between her and me — count’s heir — would normally be a mismatch in rank. But House Fuchs had served House Walt across generations. My parents had decided when I was thirteen that arranging the engagement was simpler than fielding offers, so they’d quickly settled on Novem.
Normally, you would either send the proposal out to a rank-appropriate house, or wait to receive one — usually you take time over it.
“It’s not ‘a bad idea.’ I’ve been disowned. Following someone like me is something only an idiot would do.”
There was nothing for Novem or House Fuchs to gain by sticking with a Lyle who had lost everything.
Any sensible noble prioritized their family’s interests. The exceptions existed, but they were exceptions.
I couldn’t imagine Novem was one.
We were the same age, and we’d met often as children. We had memories of playing together.
But since my parents had started turning on me, we hadn’t really talked. I’d been throwing myself into training and study, trying to win their approval.
“You’re inconvenient. I was planning to live alone, freely, from now on.”
If I said something nasty enough, maybe she’d turn back. So I tried saying something I didn’t mean.
Novem wasn’t the type to live in fantasies. And on top of that, by every measure House Walt had ever used for a daughter-in-law, she was a flawless candidate.
”…I’m sorry. But I’ve decided I’m going to marry you, Lord Lyle.”
She said it with a smile.
I told her flat:
“I have no such intention. I’m going to become an adventurer, surround myself with women, and live freely. Honestly, being disowned was a relief.”
Worst thing I could say. She’d surely be disgusted now.
Even as I said it, I dropped my gaze. I didn’t want to see contempt on Novem’s face. But I forced myself to look up so we could move on.
(She must hate me now.)
I raised my eyes. Novem was smiling.
“This was a decision I made for myself. Even if we don’t marry, I’ll serve at your side.”
I wanted to hold my head in my hands.
”…What about House Fuchs? Your parents would be sad.”
She answered confidently.
“That’s fine. I’m a second daughter. My older brother will inherit. I have an older sister and a younger sister too. My parents told me that one daughter could afford to be free, and sent me off.”
(What are you doing, Mr. and Mrs. Fuchs?!)
My head hurt.
Novem was — putting it mildly — a beautiful girl. On top of that she’d been raised strictly and had real education. Marriage offers would land at her door without her doing anything. She might even have been able to marry into a viscount’s family.
A real shot at happiness, and she was throwing it away for me. It felt wasteful.
I’d known her since we were small — I wanted her to be happy. But her will was clearly firm.
(Now that I think about it, she was stubborn even as a kid.)
”…Do what you want.”
I turned my face away. Novem brought a hand to her mouth and smiled.
“I will.”
The peddler, who must have overheard, said:
“Being young — it’s a beautiful thing. That’s a fortune in itself.”
He’d heard every word.
My face went red. And just then, I heard a voice.
“Oi oi, looks like somebody’s loved.”
A teasing voice. I looked around.
It was only me and Novem on the wagon. The peddler was up front handling the reins. There were other travelers and peddlers on the road heading to the way station too, but none of them were close enough to be talking to me.
“Novem — did you hear a voice? Like someone teasing me.”
Novem shook her head.
“S-sorry. I didn’t hear anything.”
She apologized like she’d done something wrong; I said “no, it’s fine” and kept looking around.
The voice had been a man’s. Clear, confident. There were men in the area, but none of them were close enough for me to hear that distinctly.
The voice had felt close, too. Like it was right next to me.
(Auditory hallucination? Am I still tired? …Now that I mention it, fatigue’s been hard to shake. Maybe my wounds aren’t fully healed yet.)
I felt like I knew that voice from somewhere. I looked up at the canvas roof of the wagon and closed my eyes.
I might be more mentally drained than I’d realized.
“Are you alright, Lord Lyle?”
Novem looked worried. I opened my mouth to say “I’m fine,” and another voice cut in.
“At this age and already taken… I’m so jealous.”
“Father, you went through a hard time, didn’t you.”
I shot up from my seat and looked around. Novem startled.
“What is it, Lord Lyle?!”
But nothing had changed around me.
”…It’s nothing.”
I sat back down.
(Wait, am I really that tired? …Going to bed early tonight.)
We reached the way station that same day. We talked with the peddler and agreed to keep traveling with him from tomorrow.
Maybe it was the season, but the station town was busy.
After confirming the next morning’s departure time, Novem and I went looking for an inn.
Then a problem.
“Only one room? You can’t do two?”
I’d checked with the innkeeper. He gave me a firm no.
“This time of year, we’re packed. We can’t do one room per person. Sorry, but if you two know each other, you’ll have to share.”
I turned to Novem. She’d come with me, but sharing a room with a woman was something I’d been taught explicitly to avoid.
Brought up that way, the response from the inn flustered me.
But Novem said “that’s fine” to the innkeeper and paid him. She handed over copper coins and accepted the key.
“H-hey…”
Before I could protest, the innkeeper said:
“Your room’s at the back on the second floor. Number’s on the tag attached to the key. Breakfast and hot water are included, but dinner isn’t — best eat somewhere before you drop your bags.”
The “before you drop your bags” part puzzled me.
(We have a key. Why wouldn’t we drop them first? I don’t have much, but Novem’s got a travel bag.)
Novem, holding what looked like a heavy bag, thanked the innkeeper.
“Thank you. What should we do with the key?”
“Already took your money — I’m not going to play games with you. I’ll hold it. Carry this tag. Show it here, I’ll hand over the key.”
I had no idea why we were going through this, but Novem said let’s step out and pulled me along.
Outside, as instructed, we went to the diner-slash-tavern next to the inn for a meal.
The station town was crowded, noisy —
”…Hold on. Is this kid some pampered noble’s brat? He’s pure naïveté.”
“He’s a count’s heir! Lyle’s the next count!”
“Well, he’s been rich since birth, that much is true. He’s definitely a young master.”
In the noise, those voices came through clearly. They felt nearby, and I could hear my own name.
“Are you alright, Lord Lyle? You look pale.”
“I-I’m fine!”
I’d raised my voice in a panic. Novem didn’t seem to hear them. And the voices kept coming.
“Hey… at least carry the girl’s bag. She’s loaded down and he’s empty-handed. Have some manners.”
“He’s a count’s heir, isn’t he? They get carried, they don’t carry.”
”…The hell?”
I’d heard them again, and from close by. Different voices each time. Plural.
“Lord Lyle?”
She looked concerned. I didn’t want to drag her into my confusion, so I tried to ignore the voices. But — she was carrying a heavy bag and I was empty-handed. That actually was bad.
“A-ah… Novem, that’s heavy, isn’t it? Let me take it.”
I half-forced the bag out of her hands despite her saying she could carry it. We walked into the diner next to the inn.
The voices kept coming.
“He should be holding her hand and escorting her.”
That dropped into my head the moment we were inside. I considered taking her hand for a second.
(But we’re already inside the diner… taking her hand now is pointless.)
Frozen with my hand half-extended, I stood there in front of Novem like an idiot.
She seemed to figure it out — she took my hand.
“Lord Lyle, there’s a seat free over there. Would you take me?”
“Uh, oh… y-yeah.”
I escorted her the short distance to the seat. She thanked me at the end.
“Thank you, Lord Lyle. Um… sorry.”
She immediately put in the order with the waiter — asked for the recommended dish and ordered enough for two. When she asked if that was fine, I — having no idea what was coming — agreed without thinking. And the voices started up again.
“This kid is kind of pathetic, isn’t he?”
“He doesn’t know how the world works. A little unreliable, isn’t he.”
“Lucky for him the girl is the considerate one. A normal girl would’ve abandoned him by now.”
While my evaluation kept dropping, I thought:
(What. Is. This.)
Night.
Back at the inn, I received the hot water the innkeeper had prepared.
You used the water in the basin to wipe your body down, apparently.
“No bath?”
Novem answered my question.
“In a station town, some inns have baths depending on the price, but the basic standard is to use hot water to clean yourself. Even inns that have baths usually have a single shared bath for guests.”
“Is that so? I’d heard the cities had inns with private baths…”
She made a slightly troubled face. She wet a towel in the basin and wrung it out. Then she helped me out of my shirt and started wiping me down.
“Inns with private baths are expensive. They’re the kind that charge silver per night.”
“I have silver. You can’t be okay with no bath either, Novem—”
She cut me off.
“You can’t, Lord Lyle! From now on, money matters. We have to economize where we can — money will run out very quickly otherwise.”
“R-really?”
She admonished me. After my back was done, she moved on to my hair. I leaned my head over the basin and she carefully washed it.
Then an exasperated voice cut in.
“Oi, you spoiled brat. After she’s done wiping you down, get out of the room.”
“Huh?”
“What is it, Lord Lyle?”
There’d been a vaguely threatening tone in the voice. I looked around. My hair was wet; water dripped everywhere.
“Nope. This kid… has no idea.”
“I mean, no problem with it, but…”
I told Novem it was nothing. She finished washing my hair and I put my shirt back on.
I wanted a change of clothes — but apart from underwear, I didn’t have any.
“Now, I’ll use it next. Um…”
She wanted to say something. I picked up the hint.
“Y-yeah. I’ll be outside. Out in the hall. (Why do I have to leave?)”
“I’m sorry.”
I left the room and spotted a chair in the hallway. I sat in the wobbling chair — and the voices stopped.
“So they really were imaginary? Whatever, today I’m just—”
The moment I sat down, my eyelids felt heavy. I closed my eyes. Having been wiped down, I felt clean and at ease.
(Just a quick nap…)
“Wake up, you bastard!”
A roar. I opened my eyes — and I was no longer in the hallway.
“Uh — h-huh?”
There were people around me. A large round table, with chairs around it, and seven people in those chairs.
Each one dressed differently. And the faces — I felt I’d seen them before. From where? Then I noticed: one man was wearing a vest made of animal fur.
Arms thick as logs. Hair a mess. Around him sat men of more refined appearances. All of them appeared to be in their late twenties to early thirties.
I focused on the barbarian-looking one in front of me.
“Wait — is this the voice—”
“Yeah. That’s us.”
Among them was someone I recognized. Far younger than my memory of him. But the air about him hadn’t changed.
“Lyle!”
“Eh? G-Grandfather!”
There was my grandfather, looking younger. His posture straight, his body firmer than I remembered.
“You’ve grown so much… I’m so glad, Lyle.”
But the welcoming mood was only from him. The others around the table were either offended, uninterested, or just exasperated.
Each had a different appraisal of me.
Then Grandfather said:
“Have any of you got something to say about my grandson?!”
The barbarian-looking man fired back.
“Damn right we do! What the hell is this limp-wristed kid?! There’s no way a descendant of mine is this pathetic!”
“D-descendant?!”
I couldn’t follow. And if Grandfather was here — was this a dream? While I was trying to make sense of it, another voice spoke up.
“Now, now, isn’t it fine? There are more important things — Lyle, was it? I’m your great-grandfather.”
”…Eh?”
A red-haired, somewhat wild-looking man. Dressed properly, but a bit dishevelled.
I remembered the portraits at the manor — the line of past heads. Several were strikingly different from the others, but most resembled each other.
The irritable barbarian-style man said:
“Slow on the uptake, this one. So — list-en — we’re your ancestors!”
The hunter-looking man seated beside him muttered:
“You won’t want to admit it, but this is the First of House Walt, the country-noble branch. Hey, don’t bother with the ‘I respect you, ancestor’ thing — not necessary.”
”…What?”
I must have had a blank look on my face right then.