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Chapter 52: Leonhart

The meeting about the potential monster disaster from the corrupted land adjourned, its continuation postponed until the next day. Nikolaus went to rest in the lodging the Flower Witch had made for him, and since the rain had stopped, the green sprout entrusted to the witch gave a respectful little salute and left as well. With outsiders gone (well, technically there was still one monster among them), the knights began preparing for the night. Leonhart, too, was doing his usual pre-sleep routine, maintaining his sword and checking his equipment, when Ritter spoke to him.

「Today you were unusually tense, Leonhart.」

「…Yes. I’m ashamed of my lack of composure.」

「It’s not just inexperience… You really lose your cool when it comes to Witch-dono. Still, I get it. When it comes to someone you care about, your vision narrows.」

Leonhart chose silence rather than respond directly. He could agree that affection narrowed perspective… but he had never done anything as outrageous as displaying that bizarre lap-pillow position in front of everyone like Ritter had. At least do such things out of sight.

「But honestly, it’s almost reassuring. You were always too perfect, always too stiff. Ever since you got involved with the witch, it feels like a bit of your real self comes out sometimes.」

Leonhart glanced at him. Ritter was carefully applying plant tonic to the purple sprout’s leaf, not even looking his way. Leonhart returned his gaze to his sword, checking that no monster residue remained on the blade.

(…He can be sharp sometimes. I thought no one had noticed.)

He had always played the flawless knight, at work, in private, always. He never dropped the act, not even when alone. He never imagined anyone would see through it, but Ritter, for all his incompetence in romance, still had a keen knight’s eye.

「You always charge ahead, always shielding others, and you get hurt because of it. As your comrade, honestly, I worry. …If you want to get back to the woman you love, take better care of yourself.」

「…You’re right.」

A fair point. And yet hearing it from a man whose beloved was a female-shaped mandrake made it strangely hard to accept with sincerity.

Once their nightly routines were finished, the knights went to bed. The building the Order had borrowed as lodging had originally been a warehouse, just one large room. The Flower Witch had divided it with fabric curtains and prepared ten hanging beds, one for each knight. Those suspended beds were surprisingly comfortable, far better for the body than hard floors. They were truly grateful.

「I’ll take first watch. You’re all tired, rest.」

「Thank you, Captain. Then we’ll accept your kindness… Good night.」

They always posted a watch at night. They split shifts into front and back halves, and Leonhart volunteered for the first. Sitting at a table lit by lamp plants, he wrote up a summary of the day’s discussions. Normally, supply in remote regions was troublesome, but thanks to the Flower Witch, that worry was gone. They didn’t need candles, oil, or magical fire tools for light. They didn’t need to trouble the villagers for support. …They were truly fortunate. If this place ever became a battlefield, she would be a tremendous ally.

(But if possible… I want her far away from the battlefield, living peacefully. Is that selfish of me?)

She’d fought in hell five hundred years ago and survived. She’d lost all her kind, bore a curse that made her hated just for letting others hear her voice, and had been forced to live clinging to mandrakes in a corner of the Demonland. Surely she deserved peace now. But the world, and her kindness, wouldn’t allow it.

So Leonhart decided: he would stand at the front. If he defeated monsters as swiftly as possible, overcame the coming disaster, maybe she could return to a peaceful life. Ritter had told him to value himself, but Leonhart honestly didn’t mind dying for her sake.

(…How can someone who’s never once been loved, possibly learn to value themselves?)

His cursed eye grew stronger as he aged. Before it became lethal, he still lived with his family. Through strands of his overgrown bangs, he would see his family looking at him with disgust. He watched his siblings get praised, copied their deeds, and only got scolded. Sometimes he was even denied meals.

No matter what he did, nothing improved. As long as he had those cursed eyes, Leonhart would never be loved.

He severed ties with his family, hid his eyes, and built relationships while acting the 「ideal knight.」 Because the instant someone truly looked him in the eyes, everything, trust, affection, would be erased. If he showed his true self, he would be rejected. But if he wore a mask, only the mask would be rejected. The lesser pain was obvious.

He wanted to be loved, so he performed goodness. And hiding his heart was a way to survive.

(No one but the witch could ever understand… what it is to be rejected and hated no matter what you do… to have your very existence denied.)

That was why Leonhart cherished her so much. She alone judged him as a person. Her feelings toward him were the only true evaluation of who he was. They would never be overwritten by a curse. If they changed, it would only be because of his own actions.

(Which… makes it terrifying to show her my real self… So in the end, I’m a coward.)

He wanted to be loved, but feared rejection. So he couldn’t reveal himself. A weak, cowardly person. Some 「upright knight」 indeed.

(Still… even if I exposed something this pathetic… she wouldn’t laugh at me, would she…)

He wasn’t used to revealing his heart. And yet, with the witch, he felt that maybe someday he could. That was why he wanted to grow closer to her. But a man who had never been loved and had never truly loved, how was he supposed to know how to build proper relationships?

How was one supposed to approach someone? Especially in love? He had no idea.

(…In that regard, Ritter has more experience than me. …Though since his beloved is a mandrake, I doubt it’s of any use as reference.)

There was absolutely nothing he could learn from that is what Leonhart thought to himself