Chapter 49: Ti Flows Like a River
Robin shot up from his seat.
He tried to leave while holding Ilda’s wrist, but she couldn’t get up, as if glued to her chair.
“Why so tense, handso young gentleman?”
“What are you doing right now?”
“What am I doing? I haven’t done anything, so what’s the matter?”
Ilda’s shoulders trembled.
She tried to speak, but her lips wouldn’t part.
‘What on earth is this? The people around us are fine, but only the lady suddenly…’
“Is the little lady feeling very cold? The weather’s chilly—why didn’t you wear sothing warr?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but stop it.”
Ilda’s breathing grew harsh.
Robin had experienced sothing similar before—
The day Mirian had taught him how to sense killing intent in Vermilion.
‘Is it this man in front of ?’
The man’s appearance was ordinary—utterly plain.
He was neither a rcenary, nor a guard, nor a knight.
He didn’t even look like so back-alley thug.
His straw hat was worn and tattered, as if ant to suggest he was a tenant farr.
“If you don’t stop, I’ll call soone.”
“You’ve been saying strange things for a while now. There are so many people around—who would you call? Are you waiting for soone?”
As if to prove his point, the man raised his hand slightly and waved to a passerby.
Just as he said, there were plenty of people nearby, but not one of them paid attention to this side.
Seeing that, Robin felt confused.
Could soone else be emitting killing intent?
He glanced around, but found nothing.
“Instead of glaring, why don’t you take care of the young lady next to you?”
Robin took Ilda’s hand.
“It’s okay.”
As he clasped both of her hands together, her trembling subsided.
While calming her, Robin didn’t take his eyes off the man.
“Let’s continue my story. Where did I stop?”
“You said the knight ca to collect taxes.”
“Ah, right. So, what do you think happened to us then?”
“…Didn’t you explain your circumstances to him?”
“Of course we did. Do you know what he said then?”
The man’s smiling eyes lost their curve and hardened.
“‘Filthy worms.’”
“……”
“Ninety percent of the villagers died that day.”
The man’s eyes flashed.
In them burned cold fury.
“He called the frail and starving useless, and slaughtered them.”
“That can’t be true…”
“The remaining ten percent were sold off as slaves or used for human experints.”
“Don’t lie. I’ve never heard such a thing.”
“Of course you haven’t. History is written by the victors.”
Who was this man before them?
Why was he sitting across from them telling such a story?
Ilda seed to have recovered—should they leave now?
A storm of thoughts swirled in Robin’s head.
“Don’t you think sothing’s wrong, little noble lady?”
Ilda hiccupped, her eyes widening.
Clack!
Robin slamd his knife into the center of the wooden table.
The man hadn’t expected such speed.
A brief opening—but that was enough.
“Let’s go.”
Ilda stood up the mont Robin pulled her.
The man rose and tried to speak, but Robin glared at him.
He pointed a fork at the man.
“Take one more step, and I won’t hold back.”
Robin gripped Ilda’s wrist and disappeared into the crowd.
The man stood frozen for a while, then sank heavily into his chair.
He picked up the honey bread that Robin and Ilda had left behind and took a bite.
“That kid’s eyes…”
The honey bread was soft, moist, and sweet.
To think there was a ti he would have risked his life for a piece of black bread—it seed almost laughable.
By evening, they returned to Baron Tefir’s mansion in the carriage Jas had brought.
No one found it strange that Robin carried a burlap sack all the way to Ilda’s room.
Everyone rely assud Ilda was up to her usual oddities and went about their business.
Clack.
The door closed, and from the sack erged a pale-faced girl.
Robin brushed the dust from Ilda’s clothes.
Ilda, who had been silent all along, finally spoke.
“Robin, do you think what that man said earlier was true?”
“No. He looked like a disgruntled vagrant—there’s no reason to believe him.”
Folding the sack and tucking it away, Robin couldn’t et Ilda’s gaze.
Worried about leaving even a speck of dust in her room, he began to wipe the floor.
“I don’t think what he said was entirely baseless.”
“Forget it. You shouldn’t waste your ti listening to that nonsense.”
“Really? Do you really think so?”
Robin quietly finished cleaning.
Ilda’s room, usually ssy, was neat for once.
“More than anything, he knew I was a noble.”
“It was just a baseless guess.”
“Then why try to guess at all?”
Ilda’s thoughts were unusually sharp today.
In truth, even Robin couldn’t be sure the mysterious man’s words were lies.
Nor could he understand the man’s intent—why he had appeared before Ilda and released killing intent toward her.
“Father was right. I shouldn’t wander outside carelessly.”
Robin didn’t answer.
The world beyond the mansion wasn’t so other realm.
If anything, seeing people live their vivid, bustling lives gave him strength.
The act of haggling over the price of an apple, of rchants adding a little extra for loyal custors—these things could only be felt by witnessing them firsthand.
That was one reason Robin had taken Ilda outside despite Baron Tefir’s ban.
He wanted to broaden the world of a girl who had spent most of her life inside this mansion.
It was a pity.
“To be honest, I was terrified. I couldn’t move under that man’s gaze… I could hardly breathe.”
Ilda leaned her forehead against Robin’s back.
He could feel her trembling, perhaps recalling what had happened that afternoon.
“Thank you.”
Those words carried genuine sincerity.
Ilda didn’t pry about what the man in the straw hat had done, or why the suffocating pressure vanished when Robin intervened.
She already knew Robin was hiding sothing.
Though endlessly innocent, Ilda was still a noble.
And sotis, a noble’s intuition could pierce straight to the heart of things.
“You’re welco.”
Robin turned around and placed a hand on Ilda’s head.
Just like a rcenary captain who might be fighting a war right now.
Just like the sister who had once shown him affection.
* * *
Ilda remained quiet for so ti afterward.
The girl who used to laugh brightly and run through the halls had fallen silent, and the servants began to make their own assumptions—
She must be entering adolescence, or had found a new hobby, or was simply sleeping more these days.
Soone praised her for finally maturing, while others lanted that they could no longer see the mischievous young lady of before.
A week passed.
Ilda, who had barely stepped out of her room, once again began roaming freely around the mansion.
In the mornings, she took lessons to cultivate the manners and knowledge befitting a noble’s daughter.
The one thing that changed was how often she visited the Knights’ Training Yard.
The guards welcod her frequent visits—just having the cute young lady around brightened the mood.
“My lady, has sothing changed in your heart? You once said the guards’ training was dreadfully boring.”
“Now that I look at it, it’s actually kind of fun. Sotis I even run with Robin. I was thinking… maybe I should learn swordsmanship.”
“Swordsmanship? But you can barely even lift a sword…”
“I just… got interested. Jessie, you’d better keep your eyes open too. I might end up sparring with you.”
Jessie couldn’t keep up with Ilda’s sudden change.
Sothing had clearly happened to her on her day off, but no matter how much Jessie asked, she never got an answer.
Strangely enough, Ilda’s attitude toward Robin had changed as well.
Before, she had treated him without formality, even bumping into him carelessly, but now she kept a certain distance.
“So you need to be strong to swing a sword, huh.”
As she said that, Ilda glanced at Robin.
Robin’s eyes, however, were fixed on Knight Greg.
Though Greg wasn’t demonstrating swordsmanship that day, he was training physically with the guards.
As if steeling herself for sothing, Ilda clenched her fists and murmured,
“I’ll get stronger too. I should talk to Father about it.”
A few days later, Greg and Ilda faced each other in the Knights’ Training Yard.
“So you wish to learn swordsmanship—splendid decision. Even a lady should know how to protect herself.”
“Thanks for teaching
directly. What should I do first?”
“Since you’re still growing, we’ll begin with stamina training. Run ten laps around the yard.”
At Greg’s words, Ilda dashed off without a word of complaint.
‘Unexpected. I thought she’d protest, asking why I wasn’t teaching her sword forms first.’
“I’ll run with the lady.”
“What? You don’t have to—”
Robin joined Ilda in running.
He claid it was because a servant must attend to his master, but anyone could see that was just an excuse.
Jessie only watched them from afar and didn’t join in.
‘Getting to train during work hours isn’t bad at all.’
As Ilda’s pace slowed, Robin matched her stride.
When she finally finished the ten laps, exhausted and panting, Greg nodded in approval.
“For now, that’s enough. Once you can complete ten laps with ease, I’ll tell you what cos next.”
Greg turned away, as if his work there was done, and began his own personal training.
From behind a partition ca the sound of a sword cutting through air.
A month passed.
Ilda could now run ten laps and still have stamina left to spare.
Seeing her progress, Greg brought out a wooden practice sword.
“Watch my stance carefully and follow it.”
Standing in place, Greg raised his sword high and brought it down.
Vom Tag.
Robin’s eyes tracked every movent.
‘As expected, it’s the sa as in the swordsmanship manual. Captain, this is the sa stance you used when practicing.’
Ilda struggled even to lift the wooden sword.
Though made of wood, it was reinforced with tal, matching the weight of a real blade.
Naturally, a nine-year-old girl could hardly lift it.
“Perform a vertical strike with the wooden sword. Once you can manage that, I’ll teach you the next move.”
Without waiting for her reply, Greg walked off to resu his own practice.
Ilda groaned under the strain but didn’t complain.
“I’ll help you. Take it slow, together.”
“Okay. I’ll trust you, Robin.”
Jessie shook her head as she watched the two.
Greg’s expectations seed absurd.
Winter passed, and the new year arrived.
Robin turned eleven.
He continued to exchange letters with Mirian.
Fortunately, there seed to be no trouble in the Calimacos rcenary Band.
They had reportedly achieved success in each war they joined and were now considering expanding the company.
Robin had also written regularly to Burt, though he never received a reply.
It didn’t bother him much; he could picture Burt smiling at his letters while sitting behind the counter of the general store.
Spring faded into sumr.
“Haap!”
The wooden sword sliced cleanly through the air.
Even in the midsumr heat, sweat dripping down her face, Ilda trained diligently.
Whish! Whoosh!
Beside her, Robin swung his wooden sword as well.
His stance mirrored hers, but his strikes were steadier—faster, lighter.
Before autumn arrived, Greg demonstrated new stances to Ilda.
Ochs, Pflug, Alber.
All were techniques Robin already knew.
When connected, the movents finally began to resemble true swordsmanship.
“Even just mastering these will let you handle a sword.”
“Okay. I’ll practice.”
“From now on, I’ll stay by your side to correct your form. The foundation is the most important.”
“No, it’s fine. You must be busy, Sir Greg. I can’t keep you here all day. I’ll try it alone—if it doesn’t work, I’ll call you.”
At Ilda’s firm tone, Greg backed away—certain she’d call for him soon enough.
Whish!
The sound of the wooden sword cutting the air was sharp and clear.
‘The lady’s gotten much stronger.’
Greg moved to the separated area of the yard and began his own practice.
An hour passed. Then two.
So absorbed was he that he lost track of ti.
As he finished and prepared to leave, he realized Ilda hadn’t co to find him.
In the center of the training yard, Ilda stood in the Ochs stance.
Her posture was flawless.
Greg smiled with satisfaction.
‘She’s far more talented than I imagined.’
Her transition into the Pflug stance was still awkward, but her grip on the sword didn’t waver.
That alone was remarkable. Nodding in admiration, Greg left the yard.
He didn’t know—
That a re servant was standing beside her, teaching her the correct forms.
Ti flowed like a river.
The rcenary sharpening his skills for the day of vengeance tested himself on the battlefield.
The knight serving the empire faithfully carried out his superior’s orders.
The girl who blood into her own talent absorbed her teacher’s lessons.
The old man, filled with doubt, wandered aimlessly after retirent.
The conspirator plotting in secret prepared his sches.
The adventurer forgotten by history spent his remaining days in idle peace.
The noble bloodline standing atop power grew weary of its own tedium.
Those who prepared for challenges.
Those who swore loyalty to their nation.
Those who wandered in regret.
Those who built unforgettable mories.
Those who waited for opportunity.
Those who returned from the ends of the world.
Those who moved the pieces on the chessboard.
And the boy who, not knowing what fate awaited him, sought only to keep a promise to his friend.
Ti flowed equally for them all.
Six new years rose and fell, and Robin turned seventeen.
It was ti to leave.
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