“...What do you think of him? Of Harold.”
The sun had already begun to dip below the horizon. As they prepared the night camp, Aileen lowered her voice to ask the question. Robinson and Sid, the recipients of her inquiry, exchanged a look. After a brief pause, they each offered a reply.
“He seems like a good kid, doesn't he?”
“Isn’t he crazy strong?”
“I’ll grant that he’s strong, but he is definitely not a good kid.”
To Aileen, who had been abruptly insulted as a pathetic loser worse than a child, Robinson’s assessment was impossible to swallow.
“You really think so?”
“It’s only because you weren't scared of him when you first met, Robin. That's the only reason you feel that way.”
“Well, I mean...”
Harold had been completely unfazed by Robinson’s greatest insecurity. It was undeniable that this fact alone had significantly boosted the man's opinion of the boy.
“Either way, the fact that he didn’t flinch at Robin means he’s probably walked through his fair share of hell, don’t you think?”
No one voiced a disagreement with Sid’s point. They were all in general agreement on that much.
To put it bluntly, Robinson’s face was a weapon in its own right. His appearance was so villainous that even grown adults would tremble in terror at the sight of him.
For a child—even one of Harold’s age—it wouldn’t have been strange if he had burst into tears on the spot.
That was the trio's shared understanding.
Without any particular coordination, all three pairs of eyes shifted toward Harold. As he sat there with a grumpy expression, feeding small twigs into the bonfire, he looked like nothing more than an ordinary boy his age.
But the reality was that he had been recommended for the Knight Order at only thirteen. He had to be hiding an incredible amount of power.
The only reason they couldn't say for sure was that they hadn't actually seen his skills yet—and because they didn't quite trust the endorsement of Cody, a man whose behavior was notoriously flighty. Though, in their hearts, they knew Cody wouldn't go as far as to recruit someone as a joke.
Suddenly, Sid muttered a suggestion.
“Tell you what, let’s just go talk to him.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Sid finished pitching his tent with practiced ease.
He walked over and plopped himself down directly across from Harold with the bonfire between them.
“Yo, Harold. Got a minute?”
“What is it?”
“Nothing special. We only know each other’s names so far, so I figured we should get to know each other a bit.”
“...Do as you please.”
Despite his annoyed expression, Harold accepted Sid’s proposal. Seeing this, Robinson and Aileen approached as well.
“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask: where did the Squad Leader find you? No matter how many times we ask him, he won't spill the beans.”
“The fighting tournament in Delphit.”
“Wait, weren't we there as guards...?”
“Oh, wait. Are you the kid who thrashed those drunks?”
A memory flashed through Robinson’s mind.
He hadn't been able to see the boy's face clearly from a distance, but looking back, the build and presence were a perfect match for the boy in his memory.
“You were doing stuff like that?”
“But I don't recall him doing any scouting back then...”
“That man showed up right after the first day of the tournament ended. The reason he’s keeping his mouth shut is because he’d have to admit he was slacking off. He wasn't even wearing his armor.”
“...Come to think of it, there was a day he disappeared and left all the patrols to us.”
The memory of the chaos caused by Cody abandoning his post was still fresh for the three of them.
Upon hearing this, Aileen let out a low, menacing groan. “Squad Leaderrrr?” she growled, her eyes narrowing as she stomped off toward Cody.
“What’s wrong with that woman all of a sudden?”
“Oh, she’s just going to give the Squad Leader an earful. It happens all the time.”
She had given him a legendary scolding after the tournament as well, but it seemed her anger had been reignited.
As Sid laughed and explained to Harold that this was a sight he’d have to get used to, he noticed Robinson wearing a look of deep suspicion.
“...Lord Harold, you said you participated in the tournament. Was that the Under-13 Division?”
“It was.”
Harold narrowed his sharp eyes even further, his gaze practically demanding, “What of it?”
Though slightly intimidated, Robinson pressed on.
“And what was the result?”
“I won. Obviously.”
Harold declared it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Sensing the true intent behind Robinson's line of questioning, Sid fell silent to watch how things played out. Then, Robinson reached the heart of the matter.
“...That day, while we were patrolling as guards, a massive bolt of lightning crashed down right above us. According to the rumors, that was magic used by the winner of the Under-13 Division.”
In other words, if the rumors were true, the one responsible for that lightning was Harold.
If that strike had truly been Harold’s handiwork, it explained why Cody would recommend him for the Knight Order without waiting for him to reach the standard age. The sheer scale of that magic had been terrifying.
“Was that your magic?”
“...『Bolt Lance』.”
A flash of light sliced through the darkening twilight sky. A single arrow of lightning fired upward, ascending toward the heavens.
Just as the bolt seemed ready to vanish into the void of space, it struck a monster, shooting down a massive avian creature at least three meters long. The charred monster fell to the ground, dead before it even hit the earth.
“There is your answer. Satisfied?”
Having felled a monster with a single strike—launched without a single posture or chant—Harold spoke in a bored tone, his expression remaining perfectly calm.
Robinson and Sid stood frozen, stunned by the sheer suddenness of it. Even Aileen, who had been lecturing Cody a short distance away, stood gawking, unable to process what had just happened.
In the midst of the silence, Cody—the only one unfazed—slipped away from his scolding with a look of triumph.
“What was that for, Harold-kun? You shouldn't just fire off magic like that, it's a shock to the system.”
“It's because you were too busy saving your own skin to explain who I was. Don't waste my time.”
“Well, when you put it like that, I don't really have a comeback. You're making it hard for your big brother here.”
Showing no signs of actually being troubled, Cody laughed off Harold’s caustic remark.
Then, as if he had just been struck by a brilliant idea, he clapped his hands together with a sharp pop. He changed the subject instantly, acting as if the heavy atmosphere didn't exist at all.
“Anyway, the sun’s down, so how about some dinner? Do we have any salty Kujimana left?”
Cody began rummaging for snacks to go with his drink as if nothing had happened.
Watching him, not only Harold but Robinson and the others could do nothing but let out a collective, deflated sigh.
In the quiet office, the only sound was the steady, rhythmic scratching of a pen across parchment.
The bookshelves lining the walls were filled to capacity, every volume arranged perfectly by title. The meticulous organization was a clear reflection of the room's owner.
The master of the room, Vincent van Westervoort, continued to write in silence. After facing a mountain of documents for hours on end, he finally felt the weight of exhaustion and looked up, rubbing his shoulders.
Opposite him sat his adjutant, Shannon, who was just as immersed in paperwork as he was.
Vincent was about to suggest they take a break when he noticed a commotion outside the window.
Was there a training session scheduled for today? Curious, he peered outside and saw a crowd gathering at the training ground.
“Lord Vincent, is something the matter?”
“Shannon, was there a joint training session scheduled for today?”
“No, sir. Not to my knowledge...”
While Shannon tilted her head at the question, Vincent pointed toward the window.
“That is... it looks like members of the platoons are gathering. I believe I see a few Company Commanders as well.”
The question was what they were actually doing.
Since the news hadn't reached Vincent, it was likely a matter they had decided to handle on their own authority.
“Yoo-hoo. Is Vincent in?”
As he was racking his brain over the nature of the gathering, the office door was thrown open without so much as a knock. The voice that burst in belonged to an old friend—though the term "nuisance" often felt more appropriate.
That friend was Cody Luzial. Although there was a vast gap between the ranks of Vice Commander and Squad Leader, they were kindred spirits who knew each other inside and out.
Consequently, the moment Cody appeared, Vincent intuitively realized that the commotion at the training ground was his doing.
Looking back, he hadn't seen Cody's face for several days. He must have been plotting something during his absence.
“It’s you. What is this commotion about?”
“Now, now, jumping to conclusions isn't very becoming of a Vice Commander... though you're right, of course. We’re about to hold an entrance exam for a newcomer. You’ll want to see this.”
“Honestly, you really are something... Just please, try not to cause any trouble.”
“Well, that depends on the kid.”
Cody chuckled, a sound he seemed to be trying to stifle. It was a truly joyful laugh—one Vincent hadn't seen from him in a very long time.
He wondered if the person Cody referred to as "the kid" was the reason for his high spirits.
“Anyway, just watch the training ground from here. You’re gonna see something special, I promise.”
Leaving it at that, Cody vanished back out the door, leaving it wide open. In the renewed silence of the room, two sighs overlapped.
“As boisterous as ever,” Shannon muttered with a hint of distaste as she moved to close the door. To a woman as serious as her, Cody’s irresponsible behavior was difficult to appreciate.
She tolerated him because of his skill and his long history with Vincent, but her honest wish was that he would carry himself with a bit more dignity.
“That free-spiritedness is innate; I doubt it will ever be fixed. Besides, he is a man who knows how to behave when the situation is formal.”
“I know that, but... I believe you are far too soft on him, Lord Vincent.”
The word "soft" sent a sharp prick of guilt through Vincent’s chest. It was a feeling he had carried regarding Cody for some time.
If he seemed lenient, that guilt was undoubtedly the cause.
By nature, Cody was not a man who belonged in an organization like the Knight Order, which lived and breathed tradition and discipline. Cody surely knew that himself.
And yet, he had survived here for over ten years. He had stayed in this suffocating, ill-fitting place for all this time.
“...No, the one who truly doesn't belong here is me.”
“Did you say something, sir?”
“It was nothing.”
Vincent shook his head, pushing aside the negative emotions that threatened to surface. Brushing off his accidental slip of the tongue, he pushed the window wide open.
A gentle breeze drifted into the room. He took a long, deep breath as the wind brushed against his face.
“Let’s take a short break, Shannon.”
“I’ll prepare the tea, then.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He couldn't guess Cody's true aim, but since the man had gone to such lengths, there had to be something he wanted Vincent to see.
Knowing Cody, there was a fair chance it would be something trivial.
However, the image of that smile lingered in his mind. It was an expression etched in his oldest memories—one that made Vincent feel a profound sense of longing.
That was why he wanted to believe in him. He wanted to believe in that version of Cody—the one who looked like a young boy who couldn't wait to share a secret, barely able to contain his excitement.