Chapter 104: Meeting Again
The old man looked between Sebas and the young man. A warm, genuine smile opened across his wrinkled face.
"What luck I've had today. Two good-hearted people, one right after the other."
Sebas gave a slight shake of his head. "Think nothing of it."
The old man thanked them both several more times, then took up the reins again. A gentle flick, and the old horse snorted and started forward. The cart slowly resumed its way, wheels pressing into the muddy road, leaving two deep ruts behind it.
Long after it had moved on, an arm could still be seen extended from the driver's seat, waving back in their direction.
Sebas stood where he was and watched until the cart disappeared at the end of the dirt road.
Touch Me-sama was right. Helping others — you yourself receive something from it.
He thought this quietly, and felt as though he was breathing a little more freely. The heaviness that had been sitting in him since the tavern seemed to have been gently brushed aside.
Beside him, the young man was also watching the direction the cart had gone, a satisfied smile on his face. Those deep blue eyes were especially bright in the dusk.
Then he seemed to remember something. He turned quickly.
"Ah — I'm sorry, Sebas-sama, I have to get back—"
He made a hasty bow and broke into a run.
Sebas watched that departing figure, full of the energy that belongs to youth, and the corner of his mouth moved slightly upward.
He straightened his jacket and continued into the town. He hadn't forgotten his mission.
*
The sun went fully down.
When Sebas reappeared on the town's streets, his expression had changed entirely from before. His brow was slightly furrowed, and even his step was a fraction slower than usual.
He had been to several shops in the town. Very little dragon intelligence had emerged. What he had found in abundance, however, was merchandise related to the queen.
Every shop carried something with the queen on it: portraits, carvings, even porcelain plates bearing her likeness. Sebas had made himself go through each item patiently, looking for any thread that might connect to a dragon.
In one of the last shops, he had found a shirt.
White, cotton-linen, reasonably well-made.
But the design printed on the front brought his thinking to a brief halt: a chibi portrait of Queen Draudillon, her petite, flat-chested figure somehow managing to be endearing. Beneath it, in crooked, uneven lettering: "Fight for the Dragon Kingdom's future."
Sebas quietly put the shirt back.
The people of this country are not entirely normal.
He arrived at this conclusion internally, then immediately revised it to "very unique."
Because he had just thought of one of the Forty-One Supreme Beings — Peroroncino-sama, Shalltear's creator.
That gentleman, if he recalled correctly, had apparently had similar preferences.
Sebas silently retracted every unkind thought he had formed in the last hour.
*
By the time Sebas returned to camp, the night had settled in fully.
His tent was positioned to the left of Lucian's command tent, set apart from the ordinary soldiers' section by a clear gap. It was not a large tent, but the canvas was thick and solid, enough to keep out the night wind. A small oil lamp had already been lit inside, its warm amber glow filtering through the fabric and spreading a soft circle of light in the darkness.
The arrangement itself, in its small ways, confirmed his status as a distinguished guest.
He had barely sat down when footsteps approached outside the tent. They stopped at the entrance, then came a small sound of cloth — someone composing themselves.
"Sebas-sama. I've brought your dinner."
A voice full of youthful energy. Sebas recognized it immediately as the young man from earlier today.
The tent flap was lifted and the young man stepped inside, carrying a tray.
On it: a generous steamed potato still giving off heat, two thick-cut slices of brown bread, a bowl of white, hearty soup with chopped herbs and minced meat floating on the surface, a small dish of pickled cabbage, a sausage grilled to a slight char, and a pot of hot water.
By the standards of a march, this counted as a proper meal.
"Lord Lucian specifically asked that food be set aside for you, Sebas-sama." The young man set the tray on the small camp table and straightened.
Sebas's gaze was not on the food.
He was looking at the young man.
The mud and the dishevelment from the cart had been cleaned up carefully — the smear on his chest armor had been wiped away, the silver-grey gleam restored. Only a streak of mud remaining on his cheek, probably unnoticed by the young man himself.
Sebas picked up one of the brown bread slices and took a bite.
It was baked to a good standard — a faintly crisp crust, a soft interior, carrying the characteristic warmth of wheat.
Then a small sound came from across the tent.
A stomach, making itself known.
In the quiet of the tent, it was entirely clear.
The young man's face went red all at once. He turned his head quickly away, color rising to his ears and down his neck.
Sebas set the bread down. A slight furrow appeared in his brow.
He had returned quite late. By the standard custom of a military camp, soldiers would have eaten dinner some time ago. The Aindra cavalry had fixed mealtimes; the dinner hour had passed.
"Haven't you had dinner yet?"
The young man sputtered, his eyes wandering left and right before coming to rest on the tips of his own boots. "I — I have eaten."
Sebas looked at that guilty expression.
The young man was a profoundly bad liar. His eyes couldn't even hold Sebas's gaze.
"In that case," Sebas said, his voice carrying no particular feeling, "I will be reporting the situation to Lord Lucian shortly."
"No — please don't!" The young man's head came up immediately, the panic on his face obvious.
A brief internal struggle. His shoulders dropped.
"The truth is..." his voice had gone quiet, "I gave my dinner to some children in the area."
He paused, then added quickly: "Please don't mention it to Lord Lucian, Sebas-sama. It's such a small thing — there's no need to take up his attention with it."