Chapter 42: The Vow of a Knight

“That’s the best thing they had here. I wish there’d been proper wine, but beer was all they offered—and even that felt too poor in quality to serve to you, my lord.”

Bel had no need to eat. Yet, in situations like this, Lema always made a point to set something down before her, only afterward ordering his own meal.

While waiting for Lema’s food, Bel lifted the small dessert to her lips. With a crisp bite, sweetness spread across her tongue.

“…Not bad.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Lema often watched her eat like this.

When Bel caught his gaze and held it, he would always lower his eyes. She knew he was watching, but never called him out for it.

It was curiosity, plain and simple.

To him, this strange being—this monster, this thing beyond definition—was something that devoured men whole. And yet, here she was, nibbling at sweets like an ordinary woman.

“Are you really satisfied with just this?”

“Mm. It’s fine when it’s you who gives it.”

Lema’s brows knit, as if he couldn’t comprehend.

The first time they’d met, his impression of her had been nothing but slaughter and devouring. To now see her content with human food—it clashed with everything he thought he knew.

Especially when she’d once stalked the outskirts, idly scouting for someone edible.

“This kind of food can be a sacrifice too.”

“…Would you explain that a bit more, my lord?”

“I take in human will. If enough will goes into making it, even food works.”

“You mean—the sincerity of the preparation is what matters.”

Exactly. Desserts that took great effort, wines aged for years, or dishes made from rare ingredients—such things carried power as offerings.

If money was the means, then such foods worked well. Ordering whatever the inn took the most pride in would suffice.

Bel mused. For all that he looked so stoic, Lema was still a man who once commanded knights—his habit of fussing over others ran deep.

Always prying about sacrifices like this, too.

And the more responsibility he felt, the more effective he became. The Lema she saw now was nothing like the broken man she’d first met—the one who had poured his entire will into her out of sheer desperation.

Bel’s lips curved, amusement in her eyes.

“No matter what food is served, it’s never as delicious as you.”

“…Ah.”

“I wonder what the summoner will taste like.”

Lema flushed crimson at once, choking on her words.

“My lord—you mustn’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“People will misunderstand. If you draw too much attention, finding the summoner will only get harder.”

“ Then tell me what I should say instead.”

She toyed with her dessert, waiting, but the stiff knight offered no clever alternative.

“…In any case, I’m relieved we reached Isen without trouble. I thought we’d meet monsters on the road.”

“Changing the subject, are you.”

“Ahem.”

“Here’s your food,” the innkeeper broke in, rescuing him.

Lema folded his hands in brief prayer before eating.

Unlike Bel, his body demanded much to sustain itself—he easily ate twice as much as the average man, though he was no glutton. Bread, soup, and simple fare suited him. He avoided rich meats and never touched alcohol, true to the discipline of a knight-priest.

Even on the road, he trained with his sword at every chance, living with restraint and rigor.

Bel watched him eat, then asked idly:

“Don’t you have a path of your own?”

“My lord?”

“You must know I’m not your god.”

“You underestimate me.”

“How so?”

“I have already sworn myself to your service. If I have a path now, it is to follow yours.”

He set his food down, falling into thoughtful silence before speaking again.

“…After my house fell, my elder brother abandoned faith at once. I clung to it longer. But the years of flight eroded even that. Suspicion became second nature. After so long, nothing new can truly surprise me.”

His gaze lowered.

“Perhaps this—what I see now—was the truth my brother sought all along. At the time, I couldn’t understand why he chased after the shadow knight. Now I think I do.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes met hers steadily, without a trace of fear. In that moment, Bel could see the knight he once had been—someone others surely admired.

“In Luxlon’s order, blind faith was the virtue. The moment I began to doubt, I lost the right to call myself their knight. But as your apostle, Belmias, I see it differently. Doubt lets me think. And thinking allows me to choose.”

And he had chosen her.

Yet to Bel, it felt less like “following” and more like “protecting.” She couldn’t quite explain why—but that was the sense she got.

“I am already your knight. Though there was no formal investiture, the oath was sworn.”

“Did you? I don’t recall.”

“…If you call me a knight, then I am one.”

He must have meant the moment she had purchased him from the s*ave market, declaring offhandedly that he was her knight. Just words, yet they had rooted deeply in him.

“Is there a formal way to appoint one?”

“You are my sovereign. Whatever you do is the way.”

He meant she needn’t follow Luxlon’s rituals. Yet even as he said it, the faint flush on his face betrayed how much the idea pleased him.

“I am content simply to have someone to follow again. To be your first apostle.”

Then, almost sheepishly, he added:

“Ah… unless, by that reckoning, I am the second?”

His meal finished, he stacked the empty dishes, placing the untouched bottle of beer on top.

“You still have a summoner to find, after all.”

“True.”

It didn’t seem to bother him. Still, he was keenly aware of the summoner’s importance.

“To you, my lord, the summoner must be someone extraordinary.”

“Yes. Their will is far greater than most.”

Bel explained: once, it had taken thousands in grand ritual to call her forth. Now, one man’s will alone had done so—equivalent to all those thousands combined.

Lema’s brow furrowed in thought.

“Then you don’t yet know who he is—or where.”

“A man.”

“How do you know?”

“His voice. Deep. Resonant. It couldn’t belong to a woman.”

“I see…”

Lema’s eyes narrowed.

“Deeper than mine?”

“Mm? Probably.”

She tilted her head, bemused by his odd question.

In truth, it seemed Lema cared more about the summoner these days than she did herself.

“Then, how will you recognize him? If he bore some mark only you could see, you could tell me and I’d search more easily.”

“If I’d taken an offering from him, I could know. But I haven’t. Right now there’s no link at all.”

“Then how?”

“I have to touch him.”

“Touch him?”

“Like this.”

Bel rose and reached out, fingertips brushing Lema’s cheek, then slipping down to his neck.

At once his throat bobbed, the thick line of his Adam’s apple shifting under her touch. She slid her fingers inside his collar, tracing the hard muscle of his chest. His lips pressed tight, veins standing out blue along his neck.

Training had made him harder, stronger. His body radiated heat under her hand. His ears flushed crimson, face blooming red like a rose.

Yet he didn’t push her away. He froze, trembling, caught in place.

Around them, startled coughs and shuffling echoed from onlookers.

“This is how I’ll know.”

When she withdrew her hand, Lema exhaled heavily—only for his expression to go slack with disbelief at her next words.

“So I’ll have to touch every man I meet.”