“Sussuro, Sussuro…” Sir Dartune muttered. “To think I should ever find myself back.”

  “Bad experience?” Ailn asked.

  “Correct,” Dartune said. “I grew up there.”

  Sussuro was five days’ ride along a tributary from Varant, which led into the city’s namesake river: Sussurokawa. They’d already traveled for three days.

  The bloom of spring and their southward journey brought the warmest weather Ailn had felt since arriving in this world. Having spent so long in the cold of Varant, he’d almost made peace with it.

  The pleasant change of climate, unfortunately, revived his deep resentment. Now he remembered what it was like to be enveloped by soft floral scents, to have the gentle breeze brush past him as it went its own way.

  Ailn decided the grass was not always greener on the other side, because half of Varant didn’t even have grass. Whoever coined that maxim was a moron.

  Renea, unfortunately, was not having nearly as nice a time.

  “It’s hot,” she complained. She’d long removed her overcoat and tied it around her waist. “I can’t remember the last time I saw so many bugs…”

  She slapped a mosquito that landed on her forearm.

  Ailn frowned. Honestly, he thought it was still moderately cold, objectively. The bug part was true, though. Because their path went down a tributary, it was muddy and riddled with pests. The entire entourage, it seemed, found the journey thus far thoroughly unpleasant—including Kylian.

  “I’m always astonished as to the kinds of miseries people are content to live with,” Kylian muttered. His eyes narrowed at the fly buzzing around him. He seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the effort, and yet he couldn’t help but be bothered whenever it flitted past his face.

  “...Right,” Ailn said. The feeling of alienation was unexpectedly salient. “Sun’s going to set soon. We should get to an inn.”

  Ailn and Renea decided to don cloaks, to avoid raising commotion. Retrieving them from their saddlebags, the silver-haired siblings hid their lineage, just as the sun started its dip below the trees.

  The sunset’s pretty and fleeting hues, matched with the chill of the approaching night, seemed to raise the traveling party’s spirits—sans Ailn—and soon they found the pathside inn where they could rest for the night.

  The knights, including Kylian, sat separately from the siblings during dinner in the inn’s tavern.

  “It’s been pretty quiet…” Ailn said. He left a tin on the table for the innkeeper to pick up when she had the chance. “Hopefully it stays that way the rest of our trip.” His brows furrowed. “We should send word ahead and see if they’re willing to ride out and meet us.”

  “Do you really expect something to happen?” Renea asked, fidgeting as she gave the innkeeper a polite smile when she passed by. She pointed toward the stew simmering on the hearth. “Just the stew. And two ales, please.”

  “You drink?” Ailn asked. She was drinking age in this world certainly, but somehow it caught him off-guard. “I haven’t seen you with alcohol before.”

  “I’m old enough here,” Renea said coolly. But when she met Ailn’s eyes, hers darted away shamefully. “J-just sometimes.”

  Ailn’s finger tapped a few times on the table thoughtfully. It seemed like he was about to let it go, but he sighed.

  “How recently did you start?” Ailn asked.

  “...Why does it matter? I told you I’m old enough,” Renea said, irritatedly. “And if you account for both of my lives, I’m basically in my thirties.”

  “Do you seriously think that’s true?” Ailn muttered. He shrugged. “Forget it. I won’t pry.”

  When the two ales arrived, the two sipped gingerly at their drinks.

  Tonight, it was Kylian’s shift as night watch. He stayed by the lantern kept on the face of the inn. The portrait was being kept with the rest of the knights, where in principle it was most secure.

  Still, he felt uneasy. He felt some shame at the thought, but a not small part of him believed the portrait would be safest strapped along his shoulder for the entire duration of the journey. There was the others knights’ capabilities, and then there was their trustworthiness.

  To Kylian, both were in question.

  As miserable as it would be, he could certainly keep the night watch for the rest of the journey; it would, however, hamper his physical condition.

  And as he personally guarded the entrance, the chance of an interloper taking the portrait without their knowing seemed low. But the chance of a knight surreptitiously taking the portrait while the others slept, and absconding away through some obscure exit—it didn’t seem beyond the pale.

  Just as Kylian was struggling with his appraisal of his fellow knights, and his ability to trust them, Ailn came out of the inn, already part way through lighting his pipe.

  “I was under the impression you quit,” Kylian said, arching an eyebrow.

  “It’s definitely been a while,” Ailn said, letting out a puff of smoke and giving a relaxed sigh. “I got a new pipe after I beat Sigurd.”

  “What happened to your old one?” Kylian frowned, thinking of the week’s pay he’d spent on it.

  “...I crushed it so I wouldn’t be tempted.”

  “You could have simply entrusted it to me,” Kylian sighed.

  “There was symbolism to it,” Ailn shrugged. “Helps motivate the spirit. Let’s just say I owe you.”

  “Then we’ll say it’s so,” Kylian said, leaning back against the tavern’s cedar face. “You should rest, Ailn.”

  “Maybe. I’ve got a bad feeling tonight.”

  “Aren’t you being paranoid?”

  “You look like you’re wrestling with some paranoia yourself.”

  Crossing his arms, Kylian tilted his head, casting a sidelong glance at Ailn. Even now, he couldn’t help but admire the ease with which Ailn seemed to pierce through the feelings of others.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “What gives you cause to think so?” Kylian asked.

  “Sometimes it’s really simple, Kylian,” Ailn chuckled. “You keep tensing your shoulder where you’d sling the art tube. I saw you gazing in the direction of the knights’ room too.”

  He paused, then added: “And you look tired. In a way that’s not just physical. It’s like you haven’t let yourself fully relax since the inquisition.”

  “...Can you fault me?”

  “Not really,” Ailn shook his head. He took another puff of his pipe. “Crimes like that linger a long time after they’re closed. Still, someone around here’s gotta be the kind one. Wouldn’t the world be awful if everyone acted like me?”

  “Do you actually wish to hear my answer?”

  “Well, that’s answer enough,” Ailn scowled. “Lemme ask you something, Kylian. Would you rather an innocent man be found guilty, or a guilty man go free?”

  Kylian thought for a moment. "If an innocent man is found guilty, then a guilty man does go free."

  “See? That’s the perfect answer from the good knight,” Ailn whistled. “Anyway, you’re right. The world works better when we default to good faith.”

  Closing his eyes, Ailn took a deep breath from the cold night air. “... Someone’s gotta trust people.”

  “And so the burden lays on me, does it?” Kylian sighed.

  “That’s right. Because you’re kind, Kylian. Duty’s ninety percent of the job. But when everyone goes and fulfills their duty, there’s still ten percent left. Someone’s gotta do the dirty job of still caring.”

  “And yet—” Kylian started bitterly, “—I was the one who foolishly and zealously pursued Lady Renea.”

  “I didn’t say you have to act naive,” Ailn said. “Like I said, duty’s ninety percent of the job. The kind part is treating Ennieux with decency. Or letting the worthless noble son make his case. It’s as simple as giving the emotionally distraught defendant a chance to sit.”

  Quietly contemplating Ailn’s words, Kylian was silent for a long while. Then, he finally gave Ailn a curious look.

  “Do you sincerely not consider yourself kind, Ailn?” Kylian asked.

  “I try not to be,” Ailn muttered.

  It wasn’t until they were nearing the end of their journey on the fifth day that they were attacked. They were crossing the Sussurokawa, making their way over one of the narrower limestone bridges.

  With a smaller retinue, they could use the narrower bridge to shorten their route. And considering they were close enough to see Sussuro itself downstream, even Ailn and Kylian had somewhat let down their guard.

  Their attackers’ tunics looked rough, implying they were bandits, but Ailn doubted it. The way they swooped in, galloping in from a patch of woods in a lance charge right as his entourage reached the middle of the bridge seemed a bit too refined.

  Not to mention their horses looked far too muscular to belong to random bandits. Those were definitely high-bred warhorses.

  They were, as a consequence, slow—and Ailn was tempted to order the knights to simply outpace them. Given a moment’s thought, however, he realized there were likely more attackers lying in wait on the other side of the bridge: they were already pincered.

  “Turn around and engage!” Ailn yelled. “We’re likely flanked!”

  That was enough for the well-trained knights to understand. They pulled their horses around to match Ailn’s.

  Renea swiveled her head to him in a panic.

  “What do I do?!” she gasped, gripping her reins too tightly.

  Ailn gritted his teeth, thinking fast. Should he send her to finish crossing the bridge? He wasn’t certain there were enemies on the other side, but if there were she’d be captured for sure.

  “Stay behind me, and ride as close as you can. I’ll cover your right,” Ailn said firmly. “After we survive their initial charge, you’ll slip through while we engage. Understand?”

  The blood drained from Renea’s face, but she still nodded.

  “Kylian, can you take her left?”

  “By your command.” Kylian nodded, shifting his horse to the left. “I’ll ensure Lady Renea is seen safely through.”

  He turned to the knights. “Charge forward!”

  Fighting against other humans was certainly not the specialty of the Azure Knights. And their horses, without exception, reared back fearfully once they were within spitting distance of the charging cavalry. Cursing their cowardly mounts, the knights’ holy auras flared on instinct, bracing themselves at a dead stop to meet the oncoming cavalry.

  Ailn was sweating. Lacking even holy aura, he had less capability to defend himself than any of Varant’s knights. And with Renea right behind him, he couldn’t afford to dodge the oncoming lance.

  He sure hoped the geomisil worked as advertised.

  Twisting his body just enough for the lancehead to glance off, Ailn felt the force of it slam against his rib. The lancehead snagged against the fabric of his trenchcoat, nearly pushing him backwards off his horse; though it failed to pierce through, the impact was enough to revert the geomisil back to its original web-like texture at the point of contact.

  The recoil of the blow had nearly thrown the attacker off as well.

  “Now, Renea!” Ailn shouted.

  Kylian, who’d taken her right, had managed to subdue his attacker faster than any of the others. A clean path through had opened and Renea, throwing an anxious glance back and ducking low in her saddle, slipped through the battle.

  The noise was loud and chaotic—concussive bursts of holy auras clashing with the shouts and screams of both sides, punctuated by the metallic clank of armor giving way to piercing strikes.

  Both sides’ horses began to buck so wildly that many threw their riders off.

  For Ailn’s part, he and his attacker were awkwardly caught, the snagged lance acting like a yoke between them. Their horses galloped in a circle, tugging forcefully to try and break free.

  Kylian rode in, his horse slamming into Ailn’s attacker to throw him off balance. Ailn saw the chance to thrust his sword right through his attacker’s chest.

  Except… it got caught. The attacker’s apparently rough-hewn tunic was actually—

  “Geomisil?!” Ailn shouted in disbelief.

  The attacker had lost his breath, but his sword hadn’t managed to pierce through. And now it was snagged just like the lance. Realizing the futility of trying to cut his enemy down, he grabbed the lance and used his advantageous leverage to throw him off, tumbling down after him.

  He wasn’t protecting his face, so Ailn drove his fist hard into the man’s jaw and knocked him out. Panting, Ailn stood up and scanned the battlefield to see how the rest of the fight was unfolding.

  However prepared their enemies had been, the strength of the divine blessing seemed to tip the scales.

  Their enemies were soundly defeated.

  Several of their own, however, had suffered injuries. The worst were two knights with gashes to their abdomens—superficial wounds, but the placement couldn’t be ignored. Those that had attacked them were not so fortunate.

  Unfortunately, they wouldn’t be getting any respite.

  The hypothetical second ambushing group did exist, and they’d already made it halfway across the bridge. Wising up to the battle that was happening, they’d hastened to join it.

  “I screwed up,” Ailn muttered under his breath, scanning the bridgefront. Three-fourths of the knights had retained their horses. He felt confident they’d win, but he wasn’t certain they’d all survive. “Form up at the bridge!”

  As Ailn remounted his horse, Kylian rode close with his.

  “Your actions were sensible, Your Highness,” Kylian said. He gave a look of solemn reassurance. Then his expression softened further. “You did well, Ailn. Believe me.”

  They formed a wall, ready to receive the second charge of cavalry. Having learned that trying to charge them was a mistake, they braced themselves instead, the knights’ holy auras all manifesting in concert.

  The charge, however, never reached them.

  When they were about twenty meters away, bursts of water sprang up from the river, forceful enough to push unsuspecting men off their horse. The sudden slick surface of the bridge led one horse to slip into another, and a number of them tumbled.

  “Huh,” Ailn said. “Would you look at that.”

  “It seems,” Kylian said, “that we’ve been saved by the Fleuve family.”

  “I apologize, Your Highness,” a middle-aged man’s voice came from behind. “We had intended to rendezvous with you, but assumed you’d need to take the wider bridge over yonder.”

  It was Count Conrad Fleuve. Ailn had heard he was a mage.

  In fact his entire retinue seemed to be mages, each clad in glyph-etched robes. Beside Count Fleuve stood a young woman, her robe matching his: cerulean, with the county’s rivulet heraldry embroidered in crystal. Likely the count’s daughter, she gave Ailn a serene, beautiful smile.

  Finally there was Renea—overcome with relief, and trying to blink away tears.

  “We humbly welcome you to Sussuro,” Count Fleuve said.