Seeing the large strawberry that Lentz had picked from the wooden basket and offered, Blayden let out a slight chuckle.
“Eat your strawberries. Is that your way of telling me to shut up?”
He took a moment, savoring the subtle scent of the fruit before Lentz replied, his voice calm and even.
“Interpret it as you wish.”
Blayden’s smirk widened.
“Sharino says Lord Crobe was cheerful and mischievous when he was young. How did he become such a bland adult? You’d probably kill people politely even on the battlefield.”
Lentz’s gaze remained steady, unperturbed by Blayden’s teasing.
“William said Lord Rehart was a polite and kind child. How did you become such a prickly adult?”
Blayden frowned, a mock scowl crossing his features, and snatched a strawberry from Lentz’s hand.
The lusciously ripe strawberry, crimson against the fading light of dusk, seemed to hum with sweetness.
He bit into it, the juice bursting on his tongue, a fleeting moment of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
“What’s so funny?”
Lentz’s question, soft and curious, pulled Blayden back from his brief reverie.
“Because for someone so meticulous in battle, you keep saying things that get you nowhere.”
Blayden’s tone was light, almost airy, a stark contrast to his usual reserved demeanor.
“Because I’m in heaven.”
He spoke the words with a quiet sincerity, his eyes briefly sweeping over the tranquil scene around them, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirping of crickets.
A place where he was with people who believed that even if their weaknesses were exposed, their lives wouldn’t be in danger.
That was his heaven.
He had found solace in this unexpected camaraderie, a sense of belonging that had long eluded him in the harsh realities of their world.
He had spent so long building walls, creating distance, that he had almost forgotten the warmth of genuine connection.
Here, under the soft glow of the moon, surrounded by comrades who saw him for who he was, flaws and all, he felt a profound sense of peace.
The burdens he carried seemed lighter, the constant vigilance that had become second nature to him momentarily lifted.
It was a fragile, fleeting moment, but he clung to it, cherished it.
The simple act of sharing strawberries, of exchanging playful barbs, was a luxury he rarely afforded himself, a rare indulgence in a life dominated by duty and conflict.
He relished the feeling of being truly present, of not having to constantly analyze threats or strategize defenses.
This was a sanctuary, a brief respite from the relentless demands of their existence.
The air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and blossoms.
The stars were beginning to emerge, pinpricks of light in the deepening blue, and the moon, a sliver of silver, cast long, shifting shadows across the ground.
It was a perfect night, made even more perfect by the company he kept.
“Though there is one tiny thorn.”
Blayden’s voice dropped, a hint of something unsaid lingering in the air.
Lentz was about to say something, with an expression of incomprehension, when the ground shook from the shrubbery behind them.
The sudden tremor, a deep, resonant rumble, sent a shiver down their spines, a stark reminder that even in their personal heaven, the outside world could intrude.
At the rustling sound, a sharp, quick rustle that seemed to announce a presence, Blayden and Lentz simultaneously put their hands on their swords, the familiar weight of the hilts a comforting presence in their palms.
Their movements were synchronized, born of countless battles and an unspoken understanding forged in the crucible of conflict.
They stood up, their posture alert, ready for whatever might emerge from the shadows.
Their eyes, accustomed to discerning threats in the dimmest light, scanned the trembling foliage.
The air, which had been so still and peaceful just moments before, now crackled with a subtle tension.
The faint scent of strawberries was suddenly overshadowed by the earthy smell of disturbed soil and the crisp, cool night air.
The chirping of crickets had momentarily ceased, replaced by the pounding of their own hearts.
They held their breath, waiting, their senses sharpened, their minds racing through countless scenarios.
Was it an animal?
An enemy scout?
Or something else entirely?
The silence stretched, pregnant with anticipation, broken only by the continued rustling in the bushes, growing steadily closer, more insistent.
Gustav, peering out like a ghost from beyond the cherry tree bush, his form slowly solidifying in the moonlight, looked at the two men and the basket and shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips.
His appearance, so sudden and unexpected, instantly defused the tension.
“Two men eating strawberries under this magnificent moonlight. What a tough life.”
His hair was disheveled and his sleeves were covered in dirt, showing where he had been, a testament to some unseen, muddy adventure.
Gustav dusted off his sleeves with a dismissive flick of his wrist, stepped over the bush with a surprising agility for someone who had just emerged from the depths of a dense thicket, and flopped down in the middle of the rock, making himself comfortable with an air of casual ease.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he then picked up a strawberry from the basket, examining it with the discerning eye of a connoisseur.
“Where did these strawberries come from? They look deliciously ripe.”
His voice was a low murmur, filled with a theatrical appreciation for the fruit.
“I picked them from the estate forest…”
Before Lentz could finish his answer, Gustav popped the strawberry into his mouth, his eyes closing in a brief moment of blissful contemplation.
He exclaimed, “Aha!”, a sound of pure delight, and then, as if unable to resist the siren call of the delicious fruit, gobbled down three more strawberries in a row, his movements quick and unashamedly greedy.
Then he gestured towards Blayden and Lentz, who were glaring at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
“What are you two doing? Come on, sit down. Anyone would think I’m snatching strawberries from my comrades.”
“Weren’t you?”
Lentz asked, his tone dry, a slight arch to his brow.
Blayden shrugged, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Apparently not.”
Lentz, conceding the point with a small sigh, took a seat to Gustav’s left, and Blayden, after a moment of consideration, settled to his right.
Gustav, with the basket now firmly on his lap, looked back and forth between them and frowned, a dramatic furrowing of his brow.
“This is an awkward situation. Which side should I put the basket closer to? Which side should I line up with to lengthen my life?”
He held the basket aloft, as if weighing the delicate balance of allegiances and longevity.
The knights simultaneously wore bewildered expressions, their faces a comical blend of confusion and mild irritation at Gustav’s theatrics.
The magician, sandwiched between the two sturdy bodies, hugged the basket tightly to his chest, as if protecting its precious contents from any further strategic distribution.
“Oh fragrant strawberry, my love’s lips. Oh gentle breeze, oh tranquil moonlight.”
As the aimlessly rambling melody repeated a few times, a slender figure appeared, heralded by the rustling of grass, a soft, rhythmic whisper that grew steadily louder.
“Three men eating strawberries under this magnificent moonlight. What a tough life.”
It was Sharino, her voice carrying a playful lilt as she surveyed the scene.
“The moonlight is magnificent, but there’s only one man eating strawberries.”
Blayden glared at Gustav, who merely grinned in response, a smear of strawberry juice on his chin.
“Are you sulking again because he didn’t coax you to eat together? Honestly, the captain is so narrow-minded.”
Sharinoh plopped down on the grass in front of the rock, her movements fluid and unconstrained.
Gustav, with a grand gesture, picked up a strawberry and held it out to her, a peace offering.
Sharinoh leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and took the strawberry with her mouth, a silent acceptance of the truce.
While Sharinoh was munching on the strawberry, Lentz looked at Blayden, a question in his eyes. “Why?”
“Because you keep saying things that are worthless once spoken.”
Blayden’s voice was firm, yet tinged with a familiar weariness.
“A person needs to be consistent.”
Lentz countered, his gaze unwavering. Watching the two bickering, a familiar dance between them, Sharinoh interjected, a small smile playing on her lips.
“The person who doesn’t understand is getting upset. Would someone explain this situation to me?”
As Lentz and Blayden exchanged glances, deferring the answer to each other, a large shadow fell across the grass, momentarily eclipsing the moonlight.
“What are you all gathered for? Oh, aren’t those strawberries? Eating something delicious under this magnificent moonlight, leaving your comrades out. What a disloyal life.”
The voice was deep, resonating with a theatrical indignation.
“Come and sit here, Master William.”
Sharino gestured to William, who, with a dramatic sigh, plopped down beside her, his long limbs folding gracefully onto the grass.
Gustav, with exaggerated gestures that made his sleeves flutter like a magician’s cloak, picked up a strawberry, perfectly red and plump, and ceremoniously placed it in William’s palm.
“It’s full of the moon’s energy. Tonight, strengthen yourself and have a joyful time.”
“Sew his mouth shut, Sharino.”
Blayden snatched the basket from Gustav, a flicker of irritation crossing his face, and sat diagonally across from William, establishing a new, more strategic, position for the coveted fruit.
As if on cue, Lentz also got off the rock and sat close beside Sharinoh, forming a protective barrier around her.
When Blayden placed the basket in the space in front of the rock, the unit members formed a loose circle around the strawberries, a silent agreement to share the bounty.
William, who had reached for the basket, his fingers already anticipating the sweet taste, turned at the sudden sound of footsteps, light and quick on the damp earth, and called out into the darkness.
“Gabriel, come on over. The strawberries are delicious. Everyone else is eating them without you.”
“Yes.”
A slender shadow approached gracefully, like dancing, preceded by a polite voice, its tone calm and composed.
Behind Gabriel’s shadow was another, smaller, more hesitant.
Blayden’s eyes sharpened when he saw Leni walking closely behind Gabriel, her steps almost merging with his.
Gustav, munching on a strawberry, his mouth full, asked, “Did you two go for a moonlit stroll? Did we interrupt your sweet time?”
“No. We stopped by the library and came out to the garden for some fresh air, and Leni was looking at the tree.”
Gabriel’s voice was even, devoid of any hidden meaning.
Blayden’s gaze, however, remained fixed on Leni as he listened to Gabriel’s reply.
There was no color in her face, a pale mask under the moonlight.
Her lips were tightly sealed, making her seem angry, or perhaps deeply troubled, and it looked as though her body was here but her mind was elsewhere, adrift in some distant, private world.
Her eyes, usually so expressive, were distant, unfocused, betraying a deep preoccupation.
The delicate lines of her brow were subtly furrowed, a faint frown etched upon her features, as if she were wrestling with an internal conflict.
Her shoulders were slightly hunched, a defensive posture that spoke volumes of her discomfort.
She seemed to shrink into herself, almost invisible in the gathering shadows, a stark contrast to the lively chatter and easy camaraderie of the group.
The soft glow of the moon seemed to accentuate her pallor, making her appear even more fragile and vulnerable.
A subtle tension rippled through her, a silent tremor that Blayden, with his keen observational skills, immediately noticed.
Blayden was about to ask what had happened, a question forming on his lips, but stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.
It was obvious she was thinking of her imprisoned father and the troupe members she’d been separated from, their faces haunting her thoughts.
The weight of her past, the burden of her present circumstances, pressed heavily upon her.
It was a relief, a small, unexpected mercy, if she wasn’t cursing him, remembering her cut hair, the physical manifestation of her loss, the symbol of her shattered life.
He knew, with an unsettling certainty, that his presence, his very existence, must be a constant, painful reminder of her captivity, of everything she had lost.
He saw the flicker of something akin to resentment in her distant gaze, a subtle withdrawal that spoke volumes.
The urge to explain, to apologize, to somehow lessen her burden, gnawed at him, but he knew, with a grim understanding, that words were insufficient, perhaps even counterproductive.
The chasm between them, built on circumstance and power imbalances, was too vast to bridge with simple platitudes.
Gabriel, sensing Leni’s hesitation, or perhaps her discomfort, motioned for her to sit next to Blayden, a seemingly innocent gesture that, for Leni, felt like a deliberate placement, a silent command.
Gabriel then took a spot beside her, effectively sandwiching her between the two men.
Leni suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if she’d been caught between the two, a pawn in some unseen game.
The thought, unbidden, whispered in her mind: I wasn’t invited, so can I even join?
She felt like an uninvited guest, an intruder in a private gathering, despite Gabriel’s gentle invitation.
Her hands, clasped in her lap, clenched almost imperceptibly, a silent manifestation of her inner turmoil.
She felt exposed, vulnerable under the collective gaze of the unit members, even though most were preoccupied with the strawberries and their own conversations.
Gabriel, ever observant, offered a strawberry to Leni, who was still hesitating, her eyes darting nervously around, glancing at the unit members as if seeking permission.
“Here, eat. They’re delicious.”
His voice was soft, encouraging, a stark contrast to Blayden’s usual gruffness.
Oh, thank you.
The thought, a fleeting whisper of gratitude, passed through Leni’s mind.
“Yes.”
She quickly accepted the strawberry, her fingers brushing against Gabriel’s for a brief, almost imperceptible moment.
Just as she was about to bring the plump, red fruit to her mouth, the tantalizing aroma filling her nostrils, Blayden suddenly grabbed her wrist, his grip firm and unyielding.
Startled, Leni turned her head sharply, her eyes wide with surprise, and their gazes met, a silent collision of wills.
His eyes, usually so inscrutable, held a strange intensity, a mixture of warning and something unreadable.
“Don’t eat that.”
The firm command, sharp and resonant, sliced through the cheerful atmosphere, freezing the moment in an instant.
The air, which had been light with laughter and conversation, became thick with unspoken tension, the silence stretching taut and uncomfortable.
It was William who broke the awkward silence, his voice surprisingly mild.
“Captain, don’t be so petty about food.”
Blayden, without a word, released Leni’s hand, his grip lingering for a moment before he withdrew.
He then picked up another strawberry from the basket, carefully examining it, almost as if he were performing a ritual.
He held out a slightly smaller but perfectly ripe one to Leni, its crimson skin gleaming invitingly in the moonlight.
Then, with a subtle shift of his eyes, he gestured, a silent command, at the strawberry she still held in her hand.
“That one has a worm in it.”
His voice was low, devoid of emotion, yet the words carried a chilling certainty.
It looks perfectly fine to me.
Leni’s internal monologue was a mixture of disbelief and stubborn defiance.
“We’re hardly in a position to be picky about a little spoilage.”
Even if there’s a worm, I can just pick it off and eat it, right?
Muttering to herself, her defiance simmering beneath the surface, Leni still accepted the strawberry Blayden offered.
She didn’t refuse strawberries offered to her, especially not now.
She’d eat her fill while she could, a small act of rebellion in the face of his rigid control.
“How many times have I told you to sharpen your senses? There’s no cure for dullness.”
Blayden grumbled coldly, his voice a low, harsh murmur.
He’s the kind of person whose heart sprouts horns if he sees someone enjoying themselves, Leni thought, a bitter taste in her mouth.
She could have just scoffed back, retorted with a cutting remark, but Leni felt strangely glum, the joy of the strawberries suddenly gone.
He’d grumbled even when she caught a lot of fish, a simple act of survival, and now he’s calling her stupid over just two strawberries, a mere trifle.
If he was going to be like this, why did he even clean her hands, a gesture of unexpected kindness that had briefly confused her?
It just messed with her head, twisting her thoughts into a tangled knot.
Her appetite plummeted, the sweet scent of the fruit suddenly nauseating.
As she just stared blankly at the strawberry in her hand, the vibrant red seeming dull under the moon, Blayden muttered dryly, his voice laced with a subtle threat.
“If you just hold it like that, worms will swarm.”
He reached out his hand, his fingers hovering, as if to take the strawberry back, to reclaim what he had offered.
“I’m going to eat it!”
Leni twisted her body sideways, a fierce protectiveness surging through her, clutching the strawberry to her chest as if to hide it, to shield it from his possessive gaze.
What’s with giving and then taking away?
Does he have a grudge against worms or something?
Leni glared at Blayden out of the corner of her eye, a spark of defiance rekindled within her, then, in a defiant act, bit into the strawberries in each hand alternately, juice dribbling down her chin.
“It’s a delicious strawberry, so even worms desire it. That just means Gabriel has good eyes for recognizing it.”
Her voice was muffled by the fruit, but her indignation was clear.
If you nitpick the strawberries, Gabriel will be embarrassed!
He’s like a captain who knows about worms but not human feelings!
“A slave, yet so greedy.”
The words, sharp and cutting, fell from Blayden’s lips, a cruel reminder of her status, designed to wound.
Who was it who told me to eat while I could?
The silent question echoed in Leni’s mind, a fresh wave of anger washing over her.
Just as Leni was about to snap back at Blayden, her temper flaring, Sharino chimed in, her voice calm and steady, cutting through the rising tension.
“That’s the right attitude. Leni, you’re doing great. Once something is in your hand, never let it be taken away. Especially food. War and travel are all about surviving and eating.”
Her words were a balm, a sudden burst of encouragement that resonated with Leni’s own nascent desire for self-preservation.
“Yes, absolutely!”
Leni replied vigorously, a flicker of genuine enthusiasm returning to her eyes, and nodded with a serious expression, taking Sharino’s words to heart.
Blayden stood up, his gaze lingering on Leni as he watched her take bites alternately from her left hand, then her right, back and forth, a small, defiant act of enjoyment.
As Blayden turned and walked away, his form slowly receding until he became one with the darkness, blending seamlessly into the night, Gustav quietly slipped away from the group, a silent shadow melting into the shadows, leaving the others to their strawberries and conversation.
Blayden walked along the path that connected the garden to the cemetery, a familiar route that offered a quiet solitude he sometimes sought.
The air grew cooler here, tinged with the scent of damp earth and old stone.
As he strolled among the tombstones that rose like ghosts under the moonlight, their silent sentinels marking the passage of time, he heard muffled voices from a quiet street corner nearby.
The sound, indistinct at first, grew clearer as he approached, carried on the gentle night breeze.
Judging by the conversation, which was in the local dialect, a language he understood intimately, it was two men from the vicinity, their tones low and conspiratorial.
They seemed to be on their way home after obtaining medicinal herbs from Mother Superior Ercanine, their voices laced with the fatigue of a long day.
“By the way, did you hear the rumor? The princess’s head that was displayed in Zetto Square has disappeared.”
The words, spoken casually, yet with a hint of awe, jolted Blayden.
His steps faltered, his attention fully captured by the unexpected revelation.
“The princess? Princess Kiabel?”
The second voice, equally surprised, questioned, confirming the identity of the person in question.
“Yeah. They had it on the execution block, but it vanished without a trace overnight, they say.”
The hushed whispers faded as the men continued their journey, leaving Blayden standing alone amidst the silent graves, the startling news echoing in the stillness of the night.
The implications of such an event, the audacity of it, began to unfurl in his mind, raising a host of unsettling questions.