Part 2 – Episode 41
“Master! You’ve finally returned!”
Deschamps sprang up from the chair opposite him—they seem to have been playing chess—and rushed to my side. She bounced on her toes, scrutinizing me head to toe. I guess it was a relief there’d been no major injuries in Brisher.
“Are you alright? We were so worried when you were suddenly taken to the imperial capital… Though the newspapers did reassure us somewhat…”
“Deschamps.”
“Yes!”
“You shouldn’t let just anyone into the house.”
She blinked, glancing between me and the Sword Master, who lounged casually on the sofa.
“Ah… But this gentleman is… your…”
“A comrade who has traveled the boundaries of life and death with me.”
The Sword Master smoothly cut in, his demeanor as polished and annoyingly pristine as it had been eight years ago—and four years ago. How did he always seem to stay the same?
Honestly, this… should I put it…? I guess it would be right to say that it was a relief that some things stayed reassuringly unchanged.
It was true that Natasha and Raphael were the ones who I deeply cared for and steadied my mind and body. But the Sword Master offered a different kind of solace than they did. It was the comfort of constancy. In a world that shifts relentlessly, he remained unaltered—a being that seemed to remain fixed point in time. Even if Natasha could no longer take to the battlefield, even if Raphael would one day sheathe his sword for the last time, the Sword Master would remain. It was one of his few redeeming qualities.
“What are you doing here?”
He adjusted his worn leather gloves, his faded shirt and vest oddly at odds with his legendary status.
“How saddening. Four years since our last meeting, and your first question to me is in such an annoyed tone.”
“Doesn’t feel like four years to me. It feels like I went to sleep last week.”
“Gavroche briefed me on your ordeal before I came. Truly, your luck is as abysmal as ever, Viscount Weatherwoods.”
He rose and came up to me. When I shook hands with him lightly, his gaze naturally shifted next to the figure behind me.
“Oh no… The dawn of a new legend…”
Deschamps sniffled dramatically as Rue, ignoring her tears, flashed a smile.
As if responding to him, the Sword Master also placed a hand over his left chest in a vaguely aristocratic salute.
The fact that the old man who was rumored to be playboy didn’t ask the name of such a stunning woman suggested he’d already noticed “her” identity. Well, Rue did have a history of infiltrating the imperial capital…
“So why are you he—”
Then—
“Your Grace, Duke Berkeley Gratten. Fortunately, the appropriate credentials have been— Master?!”
The assassin-butler froze mid-step, clutching the papers he was carrying. His face was a mix of shock and relief as he hurried toward me. His expression seemed to scream with joy at the seemingly end of his chaotic days.
“When did you arrive?”
“Just now. …What’s that?”
I eyed the papers in his hand.
The first was a <Grey Spear> Guild membership contract. Next, an ID: Denny Ehiter, 29, born in Midwintery, orphaned young… Nothing particularly remarkable.
But why hand these to the Sword Master?
Why…
No. Surely not…
“…You’re surely not—”
The Sword Master remained brazen as ever.
“‘Surely not’ is a trap of words, as you well know.”
With a smile, he took the contract and ID back to the table, signing them with theatrical flair.
“I look forward to working with you, Guild Master. Ah—should I call you ‘Master’ like Deschamps does? Doesn’t quite suit you though. Not cool.”
“What the hell are you thinking? At your age, you should be preparing for retirement.”
“Rude. I’m still in great shape.”
“Shouldn’t the Emperor’s Blade be guarding His Majesty?”
“I’m here by His Majesty The Emperor’s orders. He ordered me to guard you instead for the time being.”
Guard me?
I shot him a questioning glare, but the Sword Master just shrugged.
Sighing, I turned to Rue.
“What do you think, Rue?”
His reply was curt.
“Unnecessary. Whatever it is.”
“You heard him. Apologies, but Rue’s words are the same as mine.”
I nearly added, “Don’t meddle—just laze around the guild if you’re bored,” but the Sword Master cut in.
“I have a discerning eye for people—men, women, elders, children…”
He locked eyes with Rue, then said to me:
“I’ll present the lady with a new identity for work without complications in Penrotta. Would you mind telling her that as long as she avoids outright committing crimes in the outside world, I’ll personally vouch for her?”
Rue smiled as if there was nothing more to be heard.
“Tell him that’s not a bad offer.”
This time, I couldn’t stifle my sigh.
The Sword Master, looking pleased, shifted to a more serious tone.
“Now, there’s something important we must discuss.”
Something important.
If he deemed it important, it couldn’t be trivial. He rarely asked favors—this likely concerned Penrotta as a whole…
“I need a moniker for my operations here. ‘Crimson Blade’? Or ‘Flame’s Edge’?”
“….”
“Or… ‘The Dashing Swordsman’ has a nice ring to it.”
“Haha! Absolutely! It suits you perfectly!”
I left the office, ignoring Deschamps’ earnest applause for the swordmaster.
A faint presence had been lingering near the guild entrance for a while now—usually, I’d dismiss it, but after four years of my subordinates weathering chaos here on my behalf, ignoring it felt irresponsible.
As I reached the first floor—
A woman peered inside with wide-eyed curiosity, then beamed at me with guileless cheer.
“Hello! I’ve come with good news!”
“Good news?”
Good news?
“Did land prices go up?”
“Huh? Oh—no, sorry… Could you spare a moment? We’re from the Legion Guild Support Division of the Contaninos Republic.”
“Legion? The de facto imperial guild of Penrotta?”
At my skepticism, the woman nodded proudly.
“Yes! <The Grey Spear> Guild has been selected as a Party Support Guild for this fiscal half. You applied earlier this year, correct?”
What the hell was that?
When I stared at her blankly, the woman tilted her head.
“Are you… Gray Spear, Master of the Grey Window Guild…?”
“Hey, newbie, don’t you have eyes?”
A sharp voice cut in from the entrance—a man, likely her colleague, scowling with crossed arms.
“Gray a man. This one’s clearly… a secretary? Or the ‘face’ of the guild.”
Ignoring him, I addressed the woman.
“Grey Spear’s busy.”
“I… see.”
“What? He’s not here? Wasted my damn time.”
The woman frantically waved her hands.
“N-No! Don’t mind him! Are you his assistant? If you don’t mind, we’d like to at least discuss scheduling inside… We need signatures by today…”
Her flustered demeanor reminded me of Deschamps’ early days at Weatherwoods. Newbies. Always scrambling.
“Come up.”
“Thank you!
As we climbed the stairs, I finally asked the question that had been nagging me since meeting her:
“What’s this ‘party’ you mentioned earlier?”
She blinked her large eyes, then rummaged through her bag with belated understanding.
“You mean which party you’ve been assigned to support? Let’s see… Grey Spear Guild is… Ah! The Sword Demon’s party! Oh my stars—you’ve been paired with the world’s greatest party!
Sword what party?
