🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 28
Two million rebl.
At the unreal figure, David felt dizzy for a moment.
Working as a knight at the lord’s castle of Pardon Island, he had earned 50,000 rebl a year. Two million rebl meant he would have to work forty years straight, without spending a single coin, to reach that sum.
It was four times the dowry of 500,000 rebl he had demanded before marriage. And now, they were offering that much as a personal annual budget.
Did this mean he could send money to the nanny? Could he bring her and Melania across from Pardon Island, build them a house here and settle them down…?
But they said records and proof would be required. Officially, he’d be sending money to someone with no recognized connection to him. He might be able to falsify records, but how was he supposed to forge proof?
…No. He didn’t want to resort to deception to siphon money. Besides, hadn’t he already left behind a substantial amount—500,000 rebl?
Just then, the Grand Duchess’s aide burst into the bedchamber. He hurriedly reported that a wild boar had attacked a farm. The Grand Duchess declared she would go personally to hunt it.
David was puzzled.
“A wild boar attacked a farm, so why must the lord go out in person? Isn’t this usually handled by the garrison?”
“As I said earlier, the garrison isn’t under my command… ah, though there is at least one person who would heed me.”
Someone in the Blansk garrison who would listen to her.
David easily thought of one person.
“Alisa, I volunteered for the Blansk garrison.”
“What? Why that remote valley on the Dvorka frontier?”
“Because it’s your territory. Because you’ll be there. Because it’s where I can see you.”
It must be that blond officer—the one who had kneeled before her on the terrace during the banquet, declaring he wished to be her lover.
“I’ll go,” David answered impulsively.
In truth, his body was crying out for rest. He had just spent five straight hours rattling along in a carriage. He hadn’t slept a wink, and the time was already nearing four in the morning. Dawn was close.
Yet he couldn’t explain why he wanted to go.
It wasn’t, he thought, that he wanted to see her with that man again.
When he came to his senses, he found himself already in the armory behind the castle.
Together with the Grand Duchess, now changed into comfortable hunting clothes.
The armory was a stone building. When she swung open the heavy iron door, the tang of metal stung his nose.
Inside, weapons stood neatly lined up, as if on display at an exhibition. The scale and variety far surpassed anything he had seen on Pardon Island.
His eyes widened. From spears and javelins to longswords, daggers, and rapiers—the craftsmanship was astonishing.
The greatest number were firearms. The Grand Duchess picked up a long-barreled hunting gun and wiped it with a cloth.
“Are you skilled at shooting from horseback?”
“If it’s a boar, I’d prefer a spear.”
“You favor the traditional way. Go ahead, choose.”
Though he didn’t enjoy hunting, David had hunted boars before. On Pardon Island, whenever they invaded the orange groves, Count Bogdan would send out junior knights.
After a moment’s thought, David selected two spears similar to the ones he used before—sturdy shafts with broad leaf-shaped blades. He crossed them on his back.
“Good eye. Let’s go.”
The Grand Duchess seemed pleased with his choice.
From the stables she brought out two fine horses, both larger than Ruby, the horse David rode on Pardon Island.
“I chose the strongest ones. Pick whichever you like.”
David mounted the horse on her right. She smiled faintly and mounted the one on the left.
The farm in western Blansk where the boar had appeared was in ruins.
One side of the fence had been smashed apart, crops torn to shreds, tomatoes and carrots strewn across the ground.
Squeeeal! Squeeeal!
The boar, charging like its tail was aflame, tore through the fields. At this rate, it would soon invade the orchard where the young apples grew.
The farmers watched in despair, wringing their hands. Some wiped tears with their aprons; others collapsed to the ground in hopelessness.
They had sent word to the castle, but over an hour had passed with no response.
At last, the sound of hooves.
They craned their necks to see.
A woman—clearly the lord—rode into sight, with a silver-haired man at her side and five knights in tow.
“She’s here! She’s come!”
The farmers rose and cheered. Though many disliked their lady under normal circumstances, at this moment she was their savior. A poor harvest from pests already threatened them; if the fields were further destroyed, their livelihoods were doomed.
David and the Grand Duchess approached the scene.
The boar showed no signs of stopping.
“I’ll drive it,” David said, spurring his horse toward the beast.
Meanwhile, the Grand Duchess studied its path and directed the knights to form a line, ready to fire from any angle.
David whistled sharply as he rode, steering the boar toward one side.
With a scrape and clang, he drew both spears and clashed them together, the harsh sound drawing the animal’s attention.
The boar, once set on charging the orchard, wheeled around instead toward the path it had already wrecked.
This was the moment. They had to take it down before further damage.
“It’s ready!” David shouted.
The Grand Duchess nodded. Her gun was already loaded. She ordered the knights to spread out, eyes fixed on the target. Raising the weapon, she aimed carefully.
A shot rang out.
BANG!
The boar screamed but did not fall; the shot had struck its belly instead of the chest.
The knights fired in turn—some shots missed, others hit its back and haunches.
Bloodied and enraged, the boar stumbled erratically, making aim nearly impossible.
Still, its speed slowed.
David judged it was his turn. At such close range, spears were more reliable than guns.
“Cease fire! I’ll finish it!”
The knights looked to the Grand Duchess; at her signal, they lowered their guns.
David gripped the reins, his palms slick with sweat. Everything now depended on him.
He urged his horse forward, coming alongside the boar, then hurled a spear with all his strength.
Thud!
It struck home, piercing between the ribs and chest.
The beast staggered, groaning, almost unable to run.
David dismounted. Sprinting forward, he drove the second spear up beneath its jaw.
Crunch!
The blade split the thick hide and drove through to the chest. Blood poured forth as the boar gave a final shudder and collapsed.
David stood, watching as the life faded from its black eyes.
It was over. His body sagged with exhaustion, sweat soaking his back.
After three chaotic days of wedding ceremonies and no real rest, he had fought on edge through the hunt. Even a strong body had limits.
Steeling his weakening knees, he turned.
The Grand Duchess and her knights were approaching.
“For someone who says he doesn’t enjoy hunting, you did well,” she said.
“…”
He couldn’t think of a reply. He only stared blankly at her.
The dawn light touched her profile, her high ponytail of red hair stirring gently in the summer breeze.
“My poor shot dragged things out, but thanks to you, no one was hurt,” she added.
“No… it was because you slowed it with your shot that I was able to finish it.”
“Ah, the farmers are coming. From here, it’s your part to play.”
“My part?” David asked.
Smiling faintly, she gestured behind him.
He turned. A crowd of thirty farmers hurried toward them, faces filled with relief.
They bowed deeply before him.
Most were women; one gray-haired matron stepped forward, likely the overseer of the western fields.
“My lord, thank you so much. Thanks to you, the orchard is saved.”
David opened his mouth to demur, but the Grand Duchess interrupted.
“Don’t call him ‘lord.’ This is His Grace David Mikhailov, son of His Majesty the King of Madilov, and Grand Duke of Dvorka!” she declared solemnly.
The farmers gasped and fell to their knees.
“Forgive our rudeness, Your Grace!”
“Your Grace! To descend personally to save us—what can we say?”
“We are unworthy of such favor!”
David froze. He had never meant to take all the credit. He had only followed her lead and ended up striking the final blow.
The Grand Duchess leaned close and whispered in his ear:
“Remember this. This is my land, Blansk—but officially, it is also the Grand Duchy of Dvorka.”
“…What?”
“I’ll take care of the aftermath. For now, speak to them. I’ll head back first.”
Before he could reply, she remounted and rode away without a backward glance.
David stared at her receding figure in the breaking dawn.
“Your Grace, how can we ever repay this kindness?” the farmers’ leader said, bowing again.
What was he supposed to say?
What did she expect him to tell them?
Their eyes all fixed on him, waiting. The weight of expectation pressed on him.
“You owe me… nothing,” he finally said.
“Oh, how gracious of Your Grace!”
But David thought carefully. What did they truly need? What assurance could he give?
There was an answer. Back on Pardon Island, whenever such disasters struck, Count Bogdan had always said:
“I will send stewards from the castle to assess the damage. Compensation will be given as is just, and resources and labor supplied to restore the fields.”
David repeated those words.
Then he turned again, watching the Grand Duchess ride away.
During the wedding she had been dazzling, the center of all attention.
Yet now, she had stepped back, leaving him the stage.
Her back looked lonely, even weary. The shoulders that always seemed so proud now drooped, as though weighed down.
In the brightening dawn, David found himself gazing after her for a long time.
The farmers’ repeated thanks faded to the background, unheard.
