“This isn’t the time for jokes, Young Lord. What will you do if the soldiers’ hearts start to waver?”
“What do you mean ‘what will I do?’”
Patrick dug in his ear with his finger, blew it off, and replied lazily.
“Then they’ll go their own way.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course, you think I’m lying?”
“Young Lord!”
“Ah, what now?”
Patrick scowled, clearly annoyed, while Sanson spoke earnestly.
“Young Lord, to take the teachings you gave us and become knights under another fief is betrayal. Are you truly fine with that?”
“Of course not. That’s irritating as hell.”
“Then why let them go?”
“If the Baron said that, I might understand. He’s the kind of person who respects personal will—even if someone leaves, he’d release them willingly. But you, Young Lord, aren’t like that, are you?”
“And what kind of person am I supposed to be?”
“You’d probably yell, ‘You ungrateful bastards! Betray me, will you? Die! You better die!’ and go around beating every last one of them senseless.”
“Tch tch tch… and who would do something that crazy?”
“…”
‘You. You’re exactly that crazy bastard.’
Sanson decided not to speak that thought aloud—mostly because he liked having his teeth intact. Patrick smirked, then asked, “Sanson, what about you? What are you, again?”
“I’m… the Baron’s guard captain.”
“Right. And what are the others?”
“They’re soldiers of the fief.”
“Okay. Then tell me, does the kingdom’s law say it’s illegal for soldiers to move to another fief?”
“…No, it doesn’t.” “Then there’s no problem, right?”
Sanson was at a loss for words, but Patrick shrugged and continued.
“That’s just the law talking.”
“Wow, listen to the guard captain who’s supposed to enforce the law.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
“If they were knights—sworn, invested, and then betrayed—the story might be different. But these are soldiers. What authority do I have to shout ‘betrayal’ over them?”
“They owe their growth to you, Young Lord. It’s right that they stay loyal to our fief. Isn’t that so?”
“Sanson, Sanson…”
“What now?”
“Stop making that mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“The mistake of believing everyone in the world thinks the same way you do, you self-righteous bastard.”
“What are you saying? I’m not—” But Patrick only smirked and said, “Oh really? A guy who’s trained for five years, just passed four-star, and is already pushing five-star, complaining like that? Come on.”
“That’s not—” “Let’s be honest. You’re a genius.”
Coming from Patrick, that level of praise was practically divine. But Sanson didn’t look happy at all. Because he knew—he’d seen enough to realize something.
“How am I a genius? Compared to you or April, I’m a mere dullard.”
“There’s always someone better. That’s life.”
“…What? That look on your face—what is it? If you’re jealous, go die and reincarnate.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Actually, it does.”
“Huh?”
“Ahem. Anyway, from the perspective of the regular soldiers, even your talent is dazzling enough to envy.”
“…”
“And geniuses like you find it easy to make difficult choices. No matter how bad things look, you believe you can overcome them through your own strength.”
“Well…”
“But the rest aren’t like you.”
“….”
“If those guys are offered the chance to become knights and earn money to support their families, is that really such a terrible thing?”
“….”
Sanson couldn’t find an answer. Was it wrong? Could he really call that wrong?
It didn’t break any law. And they weren’t committing any evil. They were simply moving to a fief that offered better treatment.
There was no way he could condemn that. And besides, in the Schneider Barony, there was no telling when—if ever—they might be bestowed knighthood. Sanson and the others already had a rough idea why they weren’t being promoted.
Their skill was plenty good. Even the Baron wanted to elevate them. But there was one thing holding them back—money.
Knighthood was expensive. A knight’s pay dwarfed that of an ordinary soldier. And the fief would have to provide a set of equipment—a full plate mail, a horse, the horse’s armor, various other gear, and funds to maintain them all.
On top of that, they’d have to hire a stable hand to care for the horse and maybe even a squire to serve the knight.
‘If we promoted all 200 soldiers to knights, the fief’s budget would collapse instantly.’
Two hundred knights simply weren’t the kind of force a country baron could maintain. That was the kind of army only a duke—or at least a marquess—could afford. So Baron Schneider couldn’t promote the soldiers.
Maybe he planned to do it bit by bit, but deciding who to raise first and who to leave waiting was a dangerous dilemma.
“You already know, right? If they stay here, they’ll remain ordinary soldiers forever.”
“….”
“But you, you’d be able to become a knight even here. With your skill and record, if you were ennobled, no one would object. They’d all say, ‘It’s Sanson. Of course he deserves it.’”
“I… never thought that way.”
“Sure, maybe you didn’t. But whether you thought about it or not, everyone else knows it could happen. For them, the offer from another eastern noble could be their one chance to change their lives.”
“….”
“And you expect me to stop them? Should I threaten to kill them if they try?”
“Young Lord…”
Sanson let out a weary sigh. He couldn’t refute it. Patrick was right.
Patrick’s reasoning—to understand the soldiers, to respect their rights and free will—was noble and correct.
But still…
“But, Young Lord, are you really alright with this?”
“No. I’m not alright with it.”
“….”
“Those bastards… I trained them like gold and jade, taught them everything I knew until they could finally swing properly—and now they just up and leave? Damn it, that pisses me off just thinking about it.”
“Your words and your actions don’t match at all.”
“That’s fine. I’ve never been consistent.”
“…That’s not something to brag about.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Patrick stared at him but just shrugged.
“Well, what can I do? It pisses me off, sure, but they have their circumstances. I should understand.”
“….”
“If they want to go, let them go. It’s their choice, their fate.”
“…Understood.”
Sanson’s reply came flat and weak. He knew Patrick was right. But even so, his heart felt heavy.
Because…
‘To him, do we really mean nothing?’
For the past five years, the soldiers under the Schneider Fief had gone through hell. If they’d known the kind of training awaiting them, most would’ve quit on the first day. But even in that hell, no one suffered more than Patrick himself.
He had personally corrected each soldier’s stance, fixed their aura flow when it went wrong, sparred with them endlessly, fought monsters like Orcs, handled fief affairs, and all while pushing himself through even harsher personal training. The soldiers survived their grueling training only because they could see Patrick ahead of them—walking that same thorny path.
Well, not exactly quietly… but leading them, nonetheless. A bond had grown between them. That’s what Sanson had believed.
‘But to him, maybe not…’
Sanson felt oddly sad. He had thought Patrick held them—his students, his men—in at least a bit of special regard.
‘Didn’t he promise us once? That he’d make us knights someday?’
That memory surfaced in Sanson’s mind.
Yes.
Patrick had promised. He’d said he’d make them all knights, every single one. And while Patrick’s temper was foul, his words crude, and his patience nonexistent, he never said anything he didn’t mean.
If that was true… Sanson suddenly turned back toward Patrick.
“Young Lord.”
“You’re calling me a lot today.”
“I want to ask one more thing.”
“Can you not? I’m getting lazy.”
“You said those who want to go can go, right?”
“Are you ignoring me now?”
“Then what about those who choose to stay?”
“…What about them?”
“You said, ‘Those who want to go can go, but those who want to stay should stay.’ Then… do you have anything to say to the ones who’ll stay?”
“….”
“Not even a single word?”
“You’re a giant bear of a man, and yet you’re clinging like a child.”
“Please, just tell me.”
Patrick gave a bitter grin.
“Tell the ones who stay two things.”
“….”
“First… thank you. And second…”
“…”
“I’ll make sure you never regret it.”
The moment he heard that, Sanson’s eyes brightened.
“Thank you. Those two words are enough.”
“What are you talking about? It’s just an empty promise—a blank check with no guarantee.”
“The value of a blank check depends entirely on whose name is written on it.”
“….”
“I’ll relay the message exactly as you said.”
Watching Sanson leave with a bright expression, Patrick snorted.
“Idiot.”
To be so happy over such an unfounded promise—what kind of gullible fool does that?
“Ha… why are there only idiots like this around me?”
Surrounded by people who’d probably starve to death without him, what choice did he have but to take care of them?
“Well… guess I’ll do my best for these hopeless fools.”
“Listen up, everyone!”
Sanson gathered the soldiers. His face was stern, his tone serious.
“Many of you must have received tempting offers from other nobles in recent days.”
Several soldiers lowered their gazes, their expressions guilty. One finally spoke up.
“So what did the Young Lord say about that?”
Sanson replied, “He said this…”
“…‘Those who want to go, go.’”
A stir ran through the soldiers. Many of them had been considering other fiefs’ offers. They just hadn’t acted yet because they were afraid of how Patrick might react.
But to hear that from Patrick himself…
‘So we really can go?’
‘Could I actually become a knight?’
And then Sanson’s firm voice continued.
“But at the same time, he left two messages for the fools who choose to stay.”
“What are they?”
“He said, ‘Thank you.’”
“What?!”
“The Young Lord? Thank us?”
“Did you mishear him?”
The men gaped. They could hardly believe their ears. Words like ‘thank you’ or ‘grateful’ were the last things anyone ever expected to come out of Patrick’s mouth.
But now Sanson was saying that Patrick had said exactly that—to them. It stunned them speechless. And then Sanson added, “He also said he’d make sure that those who stay will never regret it.”
“Never regret it?”
“That’s right. You all know it too… Our Young Lord isn’t an ordinary man.”
“He’s a devil.”
“A great fiend from hell.”
“Worse than monsters.”
“A demon, for sure.”
Well, they weren’t wrong. Every description fit perfectly. Sanson couldn’t even deny it.