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⁜ Chapter 5….
A Knight With Misplaced Talent
It wasn’t as if my mother had given me several years’ worth of living expenses just because I was going to the temple.
But she had provided a sufficient travel fund—and I also managed to squeeze extra money out of my father and older brothers.
Mother did give me money, but I worried it still wouldn’t be enough. Should I only eat one piece of bread a day while traveling? Still, could I at least buy roasted chicken dishes for the knights?
Just voicing those worries was enough for my father and brothers to tearfully dig into their pockets, saying, “See? This is why you shouldn’t go to such a remote place.”
On top of that, I also had allowance money I had saved since childhood.
From the age of ten, I was allowed to manage the allowances I received from various adults myself.
Even though it was called “allowance,” it wasn’t actually given in cash—it came in things like rings, fabric, books, and pens, which I could later manage freely.
And I regularly sold those items to merchants who visited the castle.
“An overseer, you say?”
Boeshel—the knight who took a commission whenever I sold items through the merchant caravan on my behalf—scratched his chin and looked down at me.
“This is Hamilkar. I really wouldn’t recommend meeting an overseer from another territory here.”
“It won’t reflect badly on my father.”
“Still…”
This man had been taking commissions from me for two years, and now suddenly he was treating me like a child.
“You need preparation if you’re going up to the Temple of Gerka. If you go up unprepared, we’ll die. And the mountain is extremely harsh. Have you found a guide?”
Hah. I’ve lived in this world for twelve years now, and I’m already casually speaking informally to adults.
If I ever go back to my world, I really need to stay sharp. Otherwise I’ll end up permanently labeled as some “problematic college girl” on the internet.
“We just arrived.”
“Exactly. If we need a guide or have to buy clothes or shoes or anything, we need to meet the overseer.”
“That’s not possible. There’s no one responsible here. And you’re far too young, young lady.”
If the polite approach doesn’t work, then use the harsh one.
“Then do you have a better idea? Go village to village begging people to help and sell things for us? Do you even know the fair prices? If you get scammed, are you going to cover the difference?”
Principles only matter when there’s no downside to you.
People who can uphold principles while accepting real loss are rare.
And Boeshel—who had taken commissions from me and secretly handled transactions for my father and mother—was definitely not one of those rare people.
It’s easy to talk about principles. It’s easy to complain.
But if you’re going to talk like that, then bring a solution.
At my attitude, Boeshel clenched his teeth—then suddenly let out a short laugh and leaned in close.
“If anything happens that brings disgrace to my lord, you’ll take responsibility for it, won’t you?”
His voice growled, but I couldn’t help smiling.
“Of course.”
He probably thought he was growling like a beast.
But to me, it just sounded like a defeated dog barking.
Jacques Boeshel left Lady Arian’s room with a long sigh.
He shouldn’t have gotten involved with that young lady.
He frowned as he recalled two years ago.
It was a common story. He had fallen in love and entered a jousting tournament for her sake.
To honor her ribbon and elevate her name.
But before the king and countless nobles, he lost in the very first round.
Count Danyer had even tried to stop him from entering the joust.
It was, in essence, a match where the winner was already decided. With the king and his heir present, winning was almost impossible.
Still, he thought he might at least manage a few wins. After all, the early rounds were usually meant to warm up the knights and entertain the crowd.
And Boeshel had believed he was a fairly skilled knight.
He was knocked off his horse in a single blow by the king’s guard knight.
He lost.
And as a result, his armor and horse were taken by the winner.
Of course, the “lady” he admired looked at him with contempt, and his love ended right there.
All that remained was the harsh reality: he had to pay to recover his armor and horse.
He begged the winning knight and managed to reduce the debt significantly.
But there was still a minimum amount required to retrieve his belongings.
And that money was paid by none other than the ten-year-old Arian Danyer.
“Armor and horses are a knight’s pride. If I save your pride, what will you give me in return?”
“I, as a knight of House Danyer, will naturally be loyal to you, young lady.”
“Don’t say such stiff things. I’d prefer it if we had something only you and I know. Of course, the money I give you would also be our secret. How about it?”
Boeshel, not in a position to refuse, swore he would agree—and Arian truly paid the money.
And naturally, Boeshel tried to pretend nothing had ever happened and avoid her.
Back then, he had thought: What could a little girl possibly do to me? I’ll just deny it.
But Arian was not an easy opponent.
She openly wore the ribbon she had taken from his former “lady” right in front of him.
That ribbon was proof that she had purchased his possessions.
And if Count Danyer ever discovered that Boeshel had used Arian’s money to recover his armor and horse, he would be expelled from the household.
No matter how much he claimed it was voluntary, it would mean nothing.
So from then on, Boeshel became Arian Danyer’s errand runner.
Even while blackmailing him, Arian occasionally gave him allowance money.
The blackmail was the whip; the allowance was the carrot.
And Boeshel had been properly trained by that whip and carrot for two years.
His brief resistance earlier had only been a precaution in case the Count found out.
In other words:
“I said I can’t do it.”
“Alright. Let’s say I forced you, so you had no choice.”
That was all it was—a knight and young lady’s understanding.
Being a realist, Boeshel quickly stopped regretting the past and began searching for the overseer of the village.
An overseer was just a peasant official anyway—he would be somewhere in this village or the next.
And the easiest way to find him was obvious.
“Ah, he went to the gambling house!”
Entertainment.
Except for his brief obsession with the “lady,” Boeshel had spent his entire life indulging in entertainment.
Scamming rural villagers like this was easy enough to do with one hand.
At first, the villagers looked down on him—but gradually they began to focus on his skill.
The air grew tense every time he shuffled the carved wooden pieces used for gambling.
When Boeshel entered the tavern corner and took over the gambling table, the stakes escalated rapidly, drawing in wealthier villagers.
From the second floor, Arian watched and smirked.
She turned away as if she had no interest and went back to her room, while the tavern below erupted into whistles and shouts as the gambling spread.
The next day, I woke up after getting plenty of sleep.
Boeshel had returned after an all-nighter and said in a condescending tone:
“By tomorrow night, you should be able to meet the overseer. Be sure to stay awake at night, so get some sleep.”
Judging from his arrogant attitude, it meant one of two things:
-
he was confident, 2) he had won a lot. Most likely both.
In this world, no one blinked an eye even if a child ate a meal in a tavern at midnight.
If child rights existed here, early marriage wouldn’t exist either.
But “human rights” were a luxury in this place.
The people eating here were all serfs—people with no freedom to move.
If a landowner sold the land, they were sold along with it, like disposable goods.
They simply survived day by day, with no concept of a future.
Taxes, rent, dues, and countless other fees…
Their lives were a constant struggle to survive, and even a natural disaster could wipe them out.
It was nothing like disasters in the 21st century. No insurance. No public safety. No support.
Just collapse.
A life like mayflies.
And because life was so dull, people turned sexually liberal and obsessed with dopamine-heavy activities like gambling.
Every tavern in every region had gambling in its corner.
But even that gambling was predictable. Familiar faces. Familiar situations.
They played just enough to avoid bloodshed.
Until an outsider appeared.
And that outsider had already taken a large amount of money from the village.
Taking money from villagers was a crime if done locally—but once it passed into an outsider’s hands, it was no longer “their” money.
The village became excited, deciding who would claim the “blind money.”
But Boeshel, while not talented as a knight, was a top-tier gambler.
These rural villagers stood no chance.
After he cleared out the small fry, the boss appeared.
The overseer.
