Chapter 58 - Anna's Great Adventure <1>
I
"Good morning, Ritz."
Good morning, Ritz-san.
Ritz, just woken up, stumbled into the morning dining room where Anna and the live-in ghost maid, Annie, offered their cheerful greetings.
"…Morning."
Lately, Ritz’s day began with him taking his breakfast in a disheveled state, his hair a mess, still in his nightclothes.
He had no physical fatigue, but his mental exhaustion had piled up so high that he was so lazy he was starting to forget that mornings were supposed to be refreshing.
According to Anna, his face was so steeped in the previous day’s fatigue that, even first thing in the morning, it showed absolutely no motivation.
Ah, of course, he didn’t have a shred of it.
"You’re such a slob, Ritz."
Anna, who woke up early, offered her prayers to the Goddess and the water spirits, and even finished sweeping the garden before sitting down at the table, said this to him almost every morning.
"Yeah… my bad."
"It’s okay."
Anna smiled brightly. After the three weeks they had spent living here before the move, she understood how difficult his workplace was, so she wasn't really complaining.
This exchange was the daily morning communication between Anna and Ritz.
"Where’s Franz?"
"He stayed up late last night, so he said he’s going to sleep a little longer."
"Hmm."
It had been a week since they moved into the former haunted house.
All three of them were still dragging their mental exhaustion, so they had been spending their days living as they pleased, each in their own way.
Ritz had been going out drinking after work instead of having dinner at home, and Franz, who had been borrowing books and other things for his room, had yet to wake up in the morning.
How many days in the past week had the three of them been together?
But Anna didn’t seem particularly lonely; she appeared to be enjoying gardening and cooking with Annie. He hadn't seen it for himself, but when Ritz occasionally came home early from work, Anna would cheerfully tell him about it.
In this house, which had fallen into disrepair over several decades, there was a mountain of things to do. Even with all the craftsmen who had come in, it wasn't as if they had fixed all the wobbly furniture or the rusted-out kitchen.
Of course, Ritz also helped with repairs on his days off, but the reality was that he had left most of the household matters to Anna, Annie, and Franz.
As for Anna, when she got bored with housework and had free time, it seemed she was also taking spirit magic lessons from Franz and Annie’s husband, Evans.
For Anna, who had never been properly taught how to handle spirits despite being able to use powerful techniques, Evans seemed to be a good teacher.
In front of Laria and Raven’s grave, Anna had effortlessly manifested a water sphere in her palm. So now she was practicing to control it.
Thanks to that, he heard she could now create a water sphere to use when it wasn't necessary to summon a Water Dragon. But according to Franz, her control was still poor, and it didn't seem like it could be used in actual combat.
You're one to talk, he had thought, but as a half-baked member of the Clan of Light who couldn't handle spirits, he couldn't very well say that.
In any case, their life in this house had been peaceful and idyllic.
…Except for Ritz, who worked at the castle.
"Thanks for the meal."
After finishing his meal, Ritz stood up from the table.
You’re welcome.
Annie, as usual, smiled and saw Ritz off from the table. This, too, had become something of a daily ritual over the past week.
After that, Ritz returned to his room and, with a sigh, meticulously applied his disguise. It was preparation for going to work. This grand disguise had yet to be seen through.
A cheer for his own spur-of-the-moment idea at the farm.
"I don’t wanna go…"
As he fixed his hair, he muttered to himself as usual. For Ritz, being at his workplace was nothing but pain. In the first place, it seemed Ritz was not suited for a job where he had to go to work at a set time and leave at a set time.
A minister's job involved various tasks, but it was mostly desk work. For now, there wasn't much work that required him to be out and about, so he had few opportunities to meet people. For Ritz, who couldn't afford to make a mistake, this should have been convenient.
But being cooped up indoors all the time just didn't suit him. People have their strengths and weaknesses.
For the most part, he couldn’t make heads or tails of the documents he looked at. Having been away from this country for so long, there was no way Ritz could understand its various affairs.
Of course, Shasta and Edward were aware of that. All Ritz had to do was read the documents that absolutely required a minister’s signature, sign them if he understood, and pass them on to Shasta. The task itself was simple.
But having only simple tasks to do was also boring, and the time spent idling away the day was painful. He would rather be camping out in this freezing cold, traveling on the road, than this.
Even if he complained to Shasta, he would only be told, ‘This is the price for all your past actions. Please endure it.’
So Ritz, with nothing to do, would pace around the room, gaze out the window at the soldiers' training ground in the inner courtyard, and sigh. It was the same thing over and over again.
Incidentally, the unit using the training ground below was the Royal Palace Guard. He sometimes thought about asking them to let him take charge of the Guard's training, but there was no way a minister would be allowed to do such a thing, and so his days passed in idleness.
It couldn't be helped that he went out drinking every night, he justified his actions, but it seemed Anna and Franz understood. The pain of the two weeks they had spent in that suffocating royal palace was deeply ingrained in them.
Amidst these days of sloth and pain, a major commotion finally occurred. The beginning of it all was Ritz's habit of going out drinking every night.
That day, after returning from the castle, Ritz changed his clothes, removed his disguise, and went out for a drink as usual.
For the past few days, he had been frequenting a place on the outskirts of the port, in a vaguely unsafe area that was almost the slums, a place where it was dangerous not to have a sword at your side.
But Ritz's greatsword would stand out too much and be suspicious, so what he had now was a cheap sword that could be easily obtained at an ordinary weapon shop. It was something he had filched from the armory in the castle, but it was still safer than having nothing.
Just by his looks, Ritz seemed to be nothing more than a tall, cheerful young man, so he would sometimes get picked on by thugs. Well, the ones who started the fight would surely regret it.
And so, Ritz casually walked down the familiar path and opened the old door in a corner of the labyrinthine, jumbled port district.
The sign read ‘Cheerful Seaman Inn’ in strong, skillful calligraphy. That was Ritz’s favorite spot. It was cheap, and most importantly, the food was delicious. Even if he drank a lot and ate his fill, he could afford to come every day.
Because of that, the customers who came to this place were mainly fishermen and locals. The fact that the military men and government officials Ritz saw every day never came was also extremely appealing.
Basically, high-class places where those kinds of people went didn’t suit Ritz. It was obvious that a place where you could get a proper meal was better than a place that charged you more than three days’ worth of living expenses on the road for a single drink and a snack.
Ritz had long held a firm belief in the correctness of this theory.
"Coming in."
Opening the door cheerfully as usual, Ritz sat down at the counter before being shown to a seat. Perhaps because he had arrived at the shop earlier than usual, there were quite a few empty seats.
"Hey, you’re early today, brother."
The sun-tanned owner, a former fisherman, placed a mug of beer in front of him before Ritz could even order.
"Work ended early."
"That’s good. Stay as long as you like."
"I’ll do just that."
The owner didn’t know Ritz’s profession. He wasn't the kind of rude man who would ask about a customer’s private life. But from Ritz’s appearance, he seemed to know that he wasn’t a merchant or a farmer.
"What’s the special today?"
"The smoked salmon from this fall is just right."
The smoked food here was handmade by the owner. And if it was recommended, there was no reason not to order it.
"Then I’ll have that, and just bring me whatever else is good."
"You got it."
As he sipped his cold beer while waiting for his food, he glanced around the shop and noticed a group of rough-looking men furtively discussing something. In the cheerful atmosphere, that corner alone felt like a different world.
It was a rare sight in this homey establishment.
"It’s unusual to see rough-looking customers like that."
When he asked the owner in a low voice as he brought over the smoked salmon marinated with green peppers and the pork sauté with lemon-flavored mashed potatoes, the owner gave a troubled smile.
"Yeah, it’s a problem."
The owner scratched his hair, which had lost its oiliness from the sea breeze, and gave a wry smile. It seemed they were familiar faces. But he couldn't very well tell them to leave just because they didn't fit the atmosphere of the shop.
"It was fine when it was empty earlier, but it’s going to get crowded now, so it’s a problem. I hope nothing happens."
"Yeah, me too."
But things rarely go so smoothly. The worst future imaginable is always right next to the present.
It happened when Ritz had emptied his umpteenth beer and had started drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. The high-pitched sound of a glass shattering echoed through the shop.
Followed by the sound of chairs scraping as people stood up.
"Hm?"
Ritz looked in the direction of the sound. It was the table of those rough-looking men.
"You bastard! What do you think you’re doing?!"
"Sorry, I was drunk."
"Drunk isn’t an excuse!"
It seemed one of the customers had gotten drunk and knocked a glass off the men’s table.
"So it’s starting after all. Hey, old man, can I get a new bottle?"
Ritz decided to remain a bystander until the commotion got out of hand. Fights in drinking establishments were an everyday occurrence. It wasn't good to get involved and complicate things by speaking or acting carelessly.
"Here you go. You’re pretty calm, aren’t you?"
"If it’s a normal fight, it’s best to just leave it alone."
"Well, that’s true, but…"
He opened the bottle he received and, enjoying the rich amber aroma, poured the whiskey into a glass. Since he was on a budget, it was a slightly cheaper liquor, but it wasn't bad.
He could hear the men’s argument, but for now, it wasn't worth intervening. The deciding factors for Ritz to step in were when his favorite shop was about to suffer damage, and when someone was about to get hurt in a one-sided attack.
The friend of the man who had knocked over the table had also approached, but for now, it was just a verbal dispute, and neither side had thrown a punch. If it ended like this, there would be no need for Ritz to get involved.
He thought that Anna would have immediately intervened, saying, ‘Fighting is wrong!’, and the thought made him smile. Anna was a good person, but she didn’t realize that she often made things worse.
After a while of arguing, one of the rough-looking men finally punched the drunk customer. The drunk customer staggered and fell, crashing into the next table and knocking it over. A scream went up.
"What are you doing?! I said I was sorry!"
"Shut up! I don’t like the way you apologized!"
The rough-looking man continued to beat the man, who was unable to resist. It seemed the drunk man's side didn't have the strength to fight back.
"Stop it, please stop!"
The drunk man’s friends tried to help him, but they were blocked by the rough-looking man’s companions, who were grinning, and they couldn’t get through.
"Hey customer, he was just drunk. Give him a break."
The owner also tried to intervene, but the men wouldn’t listen.
"Shut up! This is between us and this guy! Stay out of it!"
This was no longer a fight. It was a one-sided assault. Even if he wasn’t Anna, he had to stop it. But looking around, he couldn’t see anyone in the shop who could stop them.
…Except for himself.
Ritz stood up from the counter and stood next to the troubled owner.
"If I settle this, will you give me a bottle on the house?"
At Ritz's lighthearted words, the owner looked back at him, confused.
"What are you talking about, brother? You don’t look very strong."
It was true that, dressed in cheap, worn-out winter clothes and with a cheap sword hanging from his waist, he probably looked inexperienced in fighting. It was understandable that the old man was worried he would be taken out in one punch.
In the first place, a man who was confident in his skills would take care of his weapon, but even a non-combatant could see that Ritz didn't care for this sword.
But Ritz cherished his own beloved sword and never neglected its maintenance. It was just that the one he was holding was a cheap one he had no attachment to.
"You can’t judge a book by its cover, you know."
At Ritz’s confident words, the owner, though half-doubting, gave a wry smile and nodded.
"Alright. If you can settle this, I’ll give you a bottle on the house."
"I’d prefer a pricey one, though. What’s the best you’ve got?"
"…I’ll think about it."
"Alright!"
The prospect of free, good booze filled him with motivation.
"Alright, alright, excuse me for a moment."
He pushed through the wall of the drunk man's companions and unceremoniously stood before the rough-looking men. For a moment, the men stood frozen, as if taken aback.
"This is terrible. Youngsters these days don’t know when to hold back."
As he muttered to himself, the men’s sharp gazes pierced him.
"What, brother, you looking for a fight?"
"Well, yeah. There’s free booze on the line."
While cracking a joke, Ritz slightly lowered his center of gravity. There were five rough-looking men in total. The one who was currently beating up the drunk man seemed to be the leader. If someone who flew off the handle at the slightest provocation was their leader, they couldn’t be that much of a threat. He could handle this with ease.
Calmly observing and concluding as such, the men laughed at Ritz’s eager attitude. They probably thought that with the odds against him, Ritz couldn’t do anything.
But that was a naive assumption.
Lately, he had been a bit out of shape and frustrated. There was no way he was going to miss this perfect chance to go all out and get free booze.
"If you don’t want to get hurt, you should back off…"
Before one of the men could finish, Ritz soundlessly dropped his hips and delivered a powerful kick to the back of the man’s knee.
The man fell backward ungracefully. He crashed to the floor with the table, making a loud noise.
At the pathetic sight, the men stood there, stunned. In that opening, Ritz calmly walked over to the man who had been beaten.
"Hey you, can you stand?"
"…Yeah."
"Alright, then stay back."
"Sorry about that."
Supported by his friends who were finally able to move, the beaten man retreated to a corner of the shop. The other customers also began to move to the corners of the shop, little by little.
In this situation, where a fight was inevitable, this was wiser than making a fuss or running outside. If they directed the opponent's anger toward themselves, there was no telling what would happen.
"Alright, this makes it easier to fight. So, what’ll it be, fellas?"
Ritz said this in a deliberately provocative tone and took a stance. The stunned men began to stir.
"Y-you bastard!"
"Get him!"
He kicked the first man who rushed in, in the stomach, and elbowed the second in the face. After kicking the two men who had fallen groaning to make sure they couldn't move, Ritz glared at the remaining two.
The two remaining men had drawn daggers. From the glint of the blades, he could tell they weren’t just for show.
They were well-sharpened. But they had probably never killed a person with those daggers.
They were too clean.
"You’ll pay for that."
The man who seemed to be the leader said as he slowly closed the distance with Ritz. Ritz drew the sword from his waist, sheath and all.
He couldn’t very well draw his sword and start a sword fight here. Ritz had a reputation to maintain. If the Military Police were called later, it would become a big deal, and he had a promise with Anna.
Ritz, for the time being, held his sword at the ready and stared intently at the leader. This man, if possible, wouldn’t he just go away somewhere?
At times like these, Ritz had a trick up his sleeve. Bluffing.
Franz called it cunning, but there was no problem with using his actual career to threaten someone.
"Just so you know, I’ve been a mercenary captain before…"
"So what!"
The man flinched slightly at Ritz’s words. He seemed to be doubting whether it was true or not. It was true that from Ritz’s appearance, it would be difficult to believe his words right away.
"So, could you please not make me draw my sword?"
"…"
The man saw Ritz’s sword stance and took a step back. That much should tell him that he was no amateur.
With one more push, this man might back down.
He completely changed his good-natured expression and tone, rewinding time to before he met Anna. Then he quietly stared into the eyes of the man burning with anger.
"I’m telling you to back off, unless you want to die."
A cold expression, as if smiling mockingly, enough to frighten his opponent… It was the exact attitude he had acquired during his mercenary days.
The leader took another step back.
It was safe to say that his attitude had decided the outcome of this fight. The conclusion was visible before the fight even began.
"…"
"If you want to die, then come at me. I’ll be your opponent."
As Ritz slowly closed the distance with a faint smile, sweat beaded on the leader’s forehead. His gaze began to waver slowly, and Ritz noticed that he was trembling with fear.
Well now, is he still going to do it? It would be a problem if he was so stupid he didn’t back down now.
His expression remained unchanged, but inside, he was calmly sizing up the man. Eventually, the man, as if to control his trembling hands, sheathed his dagger.
In front of his underlings, the man desperately put strength into his knees to keep them from shaking. He had probably never been in a situation where his life was in real danger before.
"Boss."
As his companions looked at him with concern, the man bit his lip and headed for the exit with a rough stride.
"B-Boss…"
"We’re outta here."
"Yes, sir!"
The man who had been taken down first and another somehow managed to stand up and, lending a shoulder to the two who were still unable to move, the men left the shop.
Finally, the leader was the only one left.
"Don’t think you can get away with this."
To the man who said this while looking at Ritz with eyes burning with anger, Ritz, having returned his sword to his waist, gave a playful shrug and replied.
"I’d rather you let me."
The man, who was about to leave, suddenly turned back.
"…What’s your name?"
"I’m not obligated to answer."
"That’s right."
Without saying anything more, the man left the shop. When the door closed with a bang, a sigh of relief flowed through the shop.
The customers also began to return to their seats in twos and threes.
"It’s been a while since I’ve had a good brawl."
Ritz, having vented the stress accumulated from his daily desk work on the men, took a deep breath.
It was probably terrible for the opponents who got beaten up, but the久しぶりの運動はやはり心地がいい. I would have liked to fight a more skilled opponent, but that was asking too much.
"Good work. You were a mercenary, weren’t you? So, from Tarnien?"
Tarnien was a country in the northeast of the continent that was perpetually embroiled in war. The westernmost city of Tarnien, Shujun, was a battlefield known as the city of mercenaries.
"Well, until this summer."
"Wow, that’s impressive. You really can’t judge a book by its cover."
"Well, yeah."
The owner would probably never guess that he was now a guardian to two children and a minister of this country.
"It’s been a while, so my shoulders are actually more stiff now."
As Ritz was rotating his arms, the man who had been beaten earlier approached him and took his hand.
"You saved me. Thank you."
"Don’t worry about it. I just fought for some free booze. Right, old man?"
"?"
The man didn’t understand and looked at Ritz’s face with a confused expression. The owner lightly tapped the man’s shoulder.
"That’s right, don’t worry about it. I just made a bet with this brother here."
"?"
"Well, from now on, don’t drink near guys like that."
"Yeah, I won’t."
The commotion had finally subsided, and the shop had returned to its usual lively atmosphere. But he could tell that people were glancing at him from time to time. It wasn't an unpleasant gaze; they were probably just using him as a topic of conversation over their drinks.
He didn’t dislike being the subject of friendly curiosity.
"It’s a stroke of luck that the table didn’t break."
As he was helping the owner right the fallen table where the men had been sitting, Ritz spotted something shiny.
It was a golden hair ornament.
"What’s this?"
It was small but heavy to the touch. There was no doubt; this hair ornament was made of real, pure gold.
"Is this yours, old man?"
"No, it’s not."
"Then, is it yours?"
Ritz showed the hair ornament to the man who had been beaten.
"It’s not."
"…Then it must be theirs."
But it would be strange to chase after them to return it. Looking at it, he saw that there were small words carved on the back of the hair ornament. ‘This shall be the key that brings you wealth,’ it said.
It didn't mean anything to Ritz, but perhaps it had some meaning to that man.
"I guess I’ll keep it."
Ritz picked up the golden hair ornament and carelessly stuffed it into the pocket of his winter coat. To Ritz, alcohol and food were far more appealing than accessories.
"Alright, I’m drinking tonight! Hey, old man, bring me the most expensive bottle!"
"…A promise is a promise, can’t be helped."
The owner reluctantly placed the most expensive bottle of whiskey in the shop in front of Ritz. This one bottle was worth more than a giltz.
"So, I have to pay for the food?"
"…Can’t be helped. Tonight, I’ll treat you to everything, brother."
"You’re a generous one, old man! Alright, I’m drinking my fill tonight!"
"Yeah, drink up, drink up!"
And so, that night, Ritz drank a lot and got very drunk. Normally, one would think that those men might attack him on the way home and drink accordingly, but he had somehow ended up drinking too much in a cheerful mood.
For Ritz, who had a high tolerance for alcohol, this was a rare occurrence.
Basically, since coming to the capital, Ritz had not had anything particularly fun or happy happen to him.
After about a month of living in a state close to house arrest, he thought that no one could complain if he got like this with a rare sense of freedom and elation, Ritz thought as he was getting drunk.
In the end, Ritz was not attacked by those rough-looking men that night, but he did face a life-threatening crisis on par with being attacked by them.
Ritz had confidence from past experience that no matter how drunk he got, he could always find his way back to his lodgings.
On this day too, he had certainly returned home.
However(however), returning home and entering the house to rest are two different things.
Somehow having made it back by instinct, Ritz had comfortably fallen asleep in his own garden.
And that night, the weather in Sears was snow.