Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

In the dead of night, Henry sat on the edge of the bed, breathing slowly. A single candlelight filled the room—just right. It was neither so dim that he couldn't see his hand before his face, nor so bright that it failed to cast enough shadows across his features, tracing the tangled emotions hidden within.

The entire Devil's Den had drifted into sleep. The only sounds to be heard were the insects in the woods and, from downstairs, the occasional lapping of water as a horse, woken by thirst from its deep slumber, drank.

Mutt must have yawned, too. Henry stared at his fingers, suddenly unable to recall whether, before leaving Kuttenberg, he had given Krabat—his pet raven—one last serving of hazelnuts.

Not far away, the faint rustle of bedsheets stirred. In the silence that enveloped the den, even such a small sound was enough to pull Henry's thoughts back to the present.

Hans lay on his side on his bed, propping his head up with one arm. His eyes just cleared the table in the middle of the room, cut through the candlelight, and landed on Henry's pupils.

"What are you waiting for?" Hans' voice was as light as a feather.

Usually, he would have been asleep by this hour, but tonight, Hans had decided he wouldn't let his page set out on the road alone.

"Getting nervous?"

"A little..." Henry admitted, a hint of shame in his voice.

"Don't worry. Didn't we agree? I'll still be with you once we get there."

Henry nodded. He was the kind of person who charged straight ahead—once he started something, he would barrel through to the very end. Sometimes that heedless, tunnel-visioned drive bothered even himself. And that was why he always lingered at the starting line, afraid to take the first step.

Hans might have guessed it—no, he must have seen right through Henry long ago. That was why he insisted on staying up past his usual hour to see Henry off, just so he could say those words—

"Go on, Hal. I'll see you on the other side."

Hans gave him the most beautiful smile, one full of trust and anticipation. Henry imprinted that smile deep into his eyes, then slowly closed his lids.

Falling—

Henry felt himself falling. He kept his eyes shut, waiting for the fear to pass. Then suddenly, a deafening gunshot rang in his ears. Suchdol was being eaten away by the enemy, one piece at a time. An arrow flew past three wagons behind him, nearly grazing his ear. Musa led him through the camp and turned to ask if there was someone he loved. Samuel roared as he charged toward a tide of murderers. The ginger fox raised his glass in a toast to him and his child. Erik rushed out of Maleshov like a madman. Rosa's arrow struck its target square in the brow. Liechtenstein pointed at him with wild excitement. Adder and Janosh pressed him to sing the dirtiest tavern song. Toth's head struck the cliff with a sickening crack. Godwin laughed loudly at him for failing to deliver even one letter. Zizka's sword traced a deadly arc through the grass. Von Bergow twisted the ring gem with arrogant pride. Katherine yanked her arm from his grasp. And Hans—Hans, standing in the heart of Skalitz engulfed in flames, held his face in both hands and said, Everything will be all right—

You'll be fine...

The warmth of Hans' palm seeped into Henry's face, giving him the courage to finally open his eyes.

Woof, woof, woof...

The sunlight was blinding. Henry hadn't yet adjusted to the sudden change in brightness. He squinted like a newborn, his eyes squeezed into narrow slits. In his ears came the sound of water, laughter, and the constant barking of Mutt.

"Henry."

Suddenly, a gentle voice stripped away all the fog in his mind in an instant. Henry blinked and found himself standing beside Pebbles, as if waking from a dream—as if the long fall had never happened. He stomped his foot against the ground. It was solid. Pebbles puffed a breath into his face, then ambled off to join the other horses grazing.

"Henry! How much longer do you mean to keep Sir Hans waiting!"

The gruff shout jolted Henry's nerves fully awake. He quickly looked around and saw Hans leaning against the fence of the combat arena, watching him intently.

Realising it had been Hans calling for him, Henry started to walk over when Hans gave a slight tilt of his head, gesturing with his chin toward their camp. Mutt was circling Oats' feet, barking nonstop, looking as if he was about to tip over the steaming pot.

"For God's sake, do something about your dog!" Oats groaned.

Right... this was where it all began.

Ch.1 Easy Riders

Having sorted out Oats' ring and the sausage for Mutt, Henry walked up to Hans with an embarrassed look on his face.

"So, are you awake now, my dear blacksmith boy?" Hans looked at Henry with a self-satisfied air.

Henry scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, Hans. I blacked out… did everything go smoothly on the way here?"

"Ha! I knew it! You were like a lump of wood—no response at all. I'm amazed you didn't fall off your horse." Hans planted his hands on his hips and laughed heartily. "Don't worry, you haven't missed a thing. Same as always: fortune favours the brave, adventures lie ahead—and yet my bodyguard is a monk who can't speak Latin!"

Hans' laughter drummed against Henry's eardrums like the song of a bellbird in the woods. The afternoon sunlight caught the curve of Hans' lips, casting a graceful glint that made Henry's head feel light and hazy.

Ah, that damned fall—it's stolen away the precious time when Hans and I could laugh together.

"Pull yourself together, my big boy." Hans grabbed Henry by the shoulders and gave him a shake. "You're in hardcore mode now, and carrying ten negative perks—TEN of them!" He went all out to express his frustration at Henry's decision. "One wrong move and you'll get yourself banged up. Even a toad in Rocktower Pond could finish you off!"

Warmth welled up in Henry's chest. How could one person be such a drama queen? One moment Hans was enveloping him in care, and the next he was an overprotective parent.

Ha. It's the same thing underneath.

"What are you grinning about?"

"I'm just happy to see you." Henry tilted his head to one side, revealing the soft curve of his jaw. "Thank you, my lord, for keeping your word and being here with me again."

Hans let out a snort. He remembered that this little move was the same one Henry had used when he'd goaded him into placing a bet on their sword practice. He pointed towards the combat arena. "Well then, shall we get started?"

Henry shook his head and looked in the opposite direction. The surface of Rocktower Pond was dappled with golden light from the midsummer sun.

"Have you noticed? The view here is beautiful. Let's go sit by the water for a while."

"I noticed—when you were drooling over your horse."

"Ah—aye, aye, I'm always quite hungry!"

Henry gave Hans a light push. The gesture was restrained—after all, to everyone else, he was still just a country boy who had only recently been taken on as a page.

Hans was about to head towards the pond when Henry called him back. Henry framed a rectangle with his hands in front of his eyes. "Let me take a couple of portraits of you first." He moved the frame closer, then farther, as if searching for the perfect angle.

Hans looked resigned as he let Henry study him. Truth be told, he rather liked this armour himself. It was the suit Henry had specially picked out for him before they set out from Rattay. Only this suit befitted his status and pride as lord of Pirkstein.

"Someday I'll get them all back..." Henry murmured to himself. Hans smiled. To recover all the armour they were about to lose would take immense resolve and patience. He offered Henry his silent support.

"Are you done yet?"

"Yeah. Just one more for myself." Henry noted down his own equipment list.

The two of them walked to the edge of the pond and sat down together.

"That armour of yours should be easier to find."

Henry nodded. "The names look familiar. I think I can buy them all in Kuttenberg."

Why would you want to wear the old one again, when there are so many new and varied sets of armour to be had? When the two were squeezed together on Henry's little bed in the Devil's Den, and Henry said that the first thing he wanted to do on their new journey was to make a note of their equipment, Hans showed his confusion. But for Henry, wearing the yellow and black of Rattay—Hans' colours—filled him with immense pride. When he rode behind Hans in that armour, or holding formation around their lord with the other four, any villager, traveller, nobleman, or bandit who crossed their path would think twice. No one would ever know that among them was a green boy who had only just learned to draw his sword, they were all Sir Hans' knights. Having lost his home, Henry felt adrift about the future. He wouldn't abandon "Henry of Skalitz", but he needed a new place to belong—to build a new life for himself. Before, his body had been covered only in the blood-dark stain of vengeance. Now, clad in brilliant yellow, Henry knew that he belonged by Hans' side.

Wherever I go, I'll wear your colours. No matter how many times we part, I'll come back to you. Because I am yours... Henry pressed his forehead against Hans' and whispered these words to him until he drifted off to sleep.

"Were you just thinking about me?"

Henry's voice brought Hans back. Henry had his face resting on his arm, turning his head to look at Hans. Even with only the upper half of his face visible, Hans could see the smirk at the corner of his mouth.

"Who else but you, my loyal hound." Hans chuckled and tossed a pebble into the water.

Henry gave a smug laugh. "You want a stone-skipping contest? You picked the wrong opponent!" He swept his hand through the air, and a stone appeared from nowhere, skipping almost to the far bank.

"Don't push your luck, you turnip-digger!" Hans shoved Henry over.

Mutt trotted over, gave them a thoughtful look, caught no scent of food, and wandered off.

"Little realist."
"Your hound's not as good as mine."

The two sighed at the same time, their eyes met, and a soft, warm laugh melted into the breeze.

The breeze brushed across the surface of Rocktower Pond and stirred the slender reeds, setting them to dancing as they whispered to the air.

A little way off, Nicholas was preparing spots for the horses to sleep. Oats was nearly done with supper. Tankard had been chattering away, and had finally convinced Konrad to sit down for a game of dice. Konrad pulled out the dice and gritted his teeth. "I swear to God, this is the last time I'm playing with you." Tankard merely scoffed at him, but Henry's brow darkened. So Henry decided to stay a while longer, at least long enough for them to finish the game.

"With so many fish in the pond, not a single water bird in sight."

"Henry, you don't need to stall. What's coming will come." Hans had seen through him, making no comment on the sudden mention of water birds. "... Ha. 'What's coming will come.' Is there anyone who knows that more than I do?"

Thinking of the grip of Hanush's hand at his nape, his mouth quirked in a sardonic smile.

"That thing—it's the same for both of us. I won't let you face what's to come alone." Care showed on Henry's face. He reached out and placed his hand on the back of Hans' neck.

It was pure coincidence. He had no idea that Hans had just been imagining an invisible shackle, in that very same spot. The warmth of his palm swept away the gloom in Hans' chest in an instant.

"Is that why you decided to bring me along?" Hans brought the hand to his front, kneading it casually like a colt. "Your hardcore journey. Christ, you cunning Henry—daring to do as you please. This was supposed to be a trial of will."

"Ten handicaps will test my will well enough, noble sir, no need to worry. Besides, how could I bear to leave you alone in the den?"

With the hand that Hans was still holding, Henry pinched his chin, his thumb accidentally brushing across his lower lip.

Hans had always enjoyed it. On those nights when the past came back to haunt him, nothing calmed him like Henry's thumb. All it took was an arm around his lower back and a thumb slowly tracing his lower lip—five strokes, no more—and he would surrender, letting sleep take him. Well, the hand on his lower back was important too.

It was on one such night that Henry told him he was going into the next cycle. They had returned from Suchdol to the Devil's Den to rest, the whole pack either drinking and singing at the table or passed out beneath it. Henry had no problem with it (even though he and Musa would need to brew countless Hair o' the Dog). This was the indulgence they had fought tooth and nail for, and he just needed to make sure Hans recovered fully. So every night he would drag his lord back to their room by midnight, before Hans could protest.

The two lay squeezed together on the bed farther inside the room. Henry let Hans' hand swim through his chest hair as he explained that he was about to go on this adventure called hardcore mode, which he had already done a few months ago in Rattay. When Hans learned that not only had he failed to help Henry back then, but had actually been the last thing in his way, he made a face no one had ever seen before.

This time, however, Henry decided to do things a little differently. Unlike before, he was now surrounded by brothers-in-arms, supported by family, cherished by the one he loved... he wouldn't have to face it all alone. Henry didn't know if Hans would keep his promise and take him on that pilgrimage, but he could take Hans back to the beginning, let him feel the world through his hand. Wasn't that a kind of pilgrimage in itself?

Every night, like telling a bedtime story, Henry would tell Hans about the journey ahead. Hans would listen eagerly, closing his eyes and imagining adventures that felt familiar, yet somehow different—and would always end up drifting into dreams. For several days, they never got to be any closer. All Henry could do was press a tender kiss, tinged with longing, to the corner of Hans' mouth. It didn't matter. He'd think of it as a warm-up for a different kind of shared adventure.

...

Was it just his imagination, or had the sun shifted a little further west since they'd dismounted? The golden light dancing on the pond was tinged with a hint of red. It had to be imagination.

A faint, drifting song came from somewhere nearby, its lively rhythm making him want to hum along. "Alleluia Domine, Alleluia Domine..." It had to be imagination.

The other four squires had already taken their places, waiting for their lord to announce supper. They were getting restless with the pointless delay, but none of them had the nerve to come ask. It all had to be imagination.

This place was a sanctuary. Henry knew that as long as he stayed here, he wouldn't feel hunger or exhaustion, he wouldn't hear the screams of the dying, he wouldn't make that fall. He could stare at the reeds until they grew another inch, or play eight hundred rounds of dice with Tankard—though that wouldn't be fair to the other three... God, now he understood why these four weren't called "soldiers" or "guards". A name was a miracle, a bond, a curse. It was meant to take root in one's mind, might be forgotten, but would never disappear.

The song grew clearer. Henry's brow was tightly furrowed, and he didn't even notice that Hans' hand had stopped moving.

"Henry—"

"Maybe I should go beg the captain to tell his men not to shoot at us. What do you think?" Henry forced a weak, awkward smile.

"Hmm... while it's true I don't want to see you hurt at all—even by that damned nettle." Hans traced his fingers gently over Henry's thigh, where an arrow had once struck him, setting him on an eventful path. "But these scars are like landmarks on your body. Without them to guide the way, my tongue would get lost."

"Christ, have some measure, my lord!" Henry let out a crisp, clear laugh, the first time he'd truly smiled all day. "Well then, that little dent on your noble arse counts as one too?"

"Of course!" Hans said it as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

And in fact, he wasn't entirely wrong. Henry rather liked staring at that little dent too (under certain circumstances, of course).

"And don't you look down on nettle. Half my life depends on it, you know." The other half belonged to Mutt and Pebbles.

"I've heard it a thousand times. 'Only marigold decoction can save Bohemia.' Right?"

"Of course!" Another truth was added to the world.

Their easy banter was like a signal. In each other's eyes, they saw the silent answer.

Let's go.

Hans stood waist-deep in the pond, staring at the shore. Henry fixed his eyes on the same direction, trying not to look at the gruesome scene nearby.

Two bandits had Katherine trapped between them. As a brave and chivalrous man, Henry had a thousand reasons to help her. Now that he knew Katherine's story, even Hans wouldn't stop him. Henry took a deep breath.

"—Let her go, or I'll shove the loach from my trousers up your noses!!"

Hans nearly choked, shooting Henry a glare. "What the hell are you saying?!"

Henry wasn't trying to make a dirty joke. A wayward loach had actually found its way into his underwear.

Katherine glowered from the shore. Whether at Henry for messing up the lines or for keeping her waiting so long, it was hard to tell.

Just then, a man on horseback appeared. Luckily, he was wearing a helmet. Henry was certain that what he really couldn't handle was this man's death stare—after all, no troublemaker wants to face the alpha.

After dealing with the two bandits, the man looked this way, as if to say: Get ready, you fool.

Henry nodded firmly. The two exchanged a look, then sank into the water and swam with all their might.

"Don't forget your little loach!" Hans called out between strokes.

"Say that again—" Henry flailed like a newborn octopus, barely keeping the water out of his mouth. "—and you'll find out for yourself!"

"I look forward to it!"
Thwack—

Just as Hans finished speaking, Henry heard the dull sound ring through his bones. One more landmark on his body, from now on.

The two finally reached the other side, so exhausted that Henry saw stars. The arrow in his back was nothing, but the doggy paddle almost killed him, apparently. Why hadn't he learned to swim in the River Sasau before coming home from the monastery?

"Well... maybe I'll learn in the next game..."

"Stop talking nonsense. Are you... alright?" Hans was breathing heavily too.

"Not... at all," Henry grimaced. "It's all your fault... I didn't have time to brace myself."

"Sounds like Little Henry's fault to me."

"Hans, I swear to God—"

"Alright, alright. I'll be sure to comfort him someday." Hans moved closer to examine the wound on Henry's back. Blood was seeping out steadily, but Hans remained calm this time. "So, are you ready now?"

Normally, pulling out an arrow with nothing to clean or dress the wound would be a foolish thing to do. But with the cliff fall ahead, leaving the arrow in might pierce right through him. Then Henry might be a one-armed knight for the rest of his days.

Henry gritted his teeth. He should have done it long ago. "Go on."

Without hesitating, Hans gave it a sharp tug. Blood sprayed out with a scream, splattering his arm. A twisted, gaping hole now marked Henry's shoulder blade. It stared at Hans, pinning him in place. He even felt the dust of crushed bone floating in the air.

"It's alright, Hans... it'll pass..." Henry held Hans' ankle. The burning heat snapped Hans back to his senses.

"Ah—right, yes! Let's get out of here!"

Walking barefoot on the muddy ground, Henry felt nothing unusual. It took him a long time to realise otherwise—only after his boots had been pinched from some tavern he couldn't even remember.

Lying shirtless on the muddy ground was another story, especially with an open wound on your back, yet you still sprawled out without a care.

Henry felt a hand shaking him and slowly opened his eyes. Rest was over—time to hit the road again.

Come on, Henry. You're almost there.

Hans propped him up. The two of them staggered forward as if sharing one body. Henry's fever was spiking, though he'd tried his best to break the fall earlier.

Fireflies traced ancient runes in the night with their trails of light. Henry glanced at Hans. The man beside him stared ahead, his face grave.

"You're beautiful."

Hans startled at the sudden words. He turned to Henry, eyes wide. "Have you lost your mind? Talking nonsense again."

"This is exactly the scene where I'm supposed to talk nonsense."

Right. Hans felt himself deflate as if hit by a cat.

"I reckon Katherine will grumble at me the next time I see her."

But Henry wouldn't stop.

"She might even take her anger at being harassed by soldiers out on me."

He looked rather pleased with himself.

"You'll have to stand up for me then, my leman."

"Christ, Hal!" Hans finally burst out. "Why are you pretending to be so calm? You're trembling. I know how much pain you're in—I can take it."

"Honestly? It's much better than last time." Henry sounded so sincere that Hans relaxed a little. "You mean the visions? I've been through it." He pressed a kiss to Hans' tangled hair. "I didn't want you to go through that despair again."

Mine is still to come, Hans swallowed the words. Instead, he said, "How do you know? Maybe I quite enjoy it."

"... You never let me down."

"Huh?"

"My favourite words. When I was deep in the visions, you said, 'You never let me down.'" Henry looked at the ground beneath his feet—the very spot where, in his visions, he had lain beside his parents. "That was the first time I realised you'd been truly seeing me all along. Not just treating me like some turnip-digger."

Hans drew a deep breath, unsure what else to do.

"I realised you weren't just my lord anymore. You could be something else. Everything I'd lost—suddenly, I felt that you would make me whole again."

Hans' eyes pricked, yet he wouldn't blink, unwilling to lose a single trace of Henry's face.

"I think that was the moment I fell in love with you..."

Hans sniffled. "... So, I'm not a smug wretch anymore?"

"Oh you certainly are," Henry smirked, watching a drop of snot finally escape. "Otherwise why the emphasis on me back then!"

"You—!" He barely stopped himself from throwing the wounded man into the mud.

Henry wanted to laugh, but pain tugged at his nerves. Before Hans could start worrying again, Henry lifted his head. Hans followed his gaze. The soothing scent of herbs drifted toward them, and the light of hope was there, waiting ahead.

Chapter Text

"Fear not, good wife! We are not bandits. Please, my friend needs help."

Bozhena froze in fear at the two men bursting in. God help her—no one should have to face such terror on a night when the wind was raging.

"Hans, stand there. Don't move." Henry pointed to the shadows behind the door, then eased one cautious step towards Bozhena. But without support he could barely stay upright, and dropped to one knee to steady himself. "God be with you. Forgive us this shameful entrance. We're being hunted, but I give you my word—no decent Christian in this cottage will come to any harm. As you can see, I'm unarmed."

Henry forced his arms open as he spoke, and Hans followed at once. Bozhena's eyes darted between the two men. Her tense shoulders eased a little.

"…Very well. I believe you. Are you wounded, young man?"

"I've been shot in the shoulder…" The dizziness was closing in, he was nearing his limit. "Can you dress it for me?"

"Of course. I have clean bandages by my bed. I'll fetch them."

The moment Bozhena turned, Henry shot Hans a glance. Hans swallowed.

The storm hammered the hut walls, a wild clatter that only made the hidden footsteps clearer. Five paces, four, three, two, one.

"Got you now, you two—"

"Go to hell!!"

Before the bandit could finish, Hans charged out like a boar, slammed him hard against the ground with a massive thud. A sword flew from the bandit's hand and slid right to Henry's feet. This time he didn't let the chance slip but grabbed the sword and held tight.

The bandit struggled and landed a heavy punch in Hans' side. Realising he was outmatched, he bolted. Hans swallowed the pain and scrambled to his feet. He ran to the door only to find the bandit lying in the mud, groaning, while a dark shape stood on the threshold barking at him.

"Thank God—you're always man's best friend!"

From what he saw, Hans could easily picture it: the bandit had burst out without looking, tripped, and fallen flat on his face, thanks to a black dog standing in the night.

Hans lunged again, grappling with the bandit on the muddy ground. By then Henry had finally made it to the door, limping, sword in hand.

"What in God's name is going on?!"

"Bozhena, stay inside!!"

Henry roared. He didn't have the strength left to shut the door. All he could do was pray it all went as planned. He had one last task remaining.

Hans yelled, "This one's for Oats!" and slammed an uppercut into the bandit's jaw. Henry couldn't believe he had once beaten this noble savage with his bare hands. Maybe Hans hadn't been making excuses when he said he'd only lost because he was drunk.

Henry had read somewhere that a man's life flashes before his eyes in his final moments. Was it the blood loss that brought back that brawl at Rattay tavern?

The bandit hit the ground again. Henry pushed Hans aside, raised his sword. He had only one last task remaining—

"This is for Hans, you bloody animal!!"

—Revenge is a dish best served in the next life.

Ch.2  Fortuna

No one in this world could kill Henry—not really. So they took the person most important to him instead. For Henry, that kind of loss was like a dagger through his heart. And every loss went on the list.

The first time this thought welled up in him was when his father Radzig was taken hostage by Istvan Toth.

He didn't care whether Radzig would ever formally acknowledge him, didn't care if he would ever cross the threshold into nobility, didn't even care if he remained a servant ordered about by his lords for the rest of his life.

But Radzig was his father—like Martin, a part of who he was. Henry had already lost both parents and his beloved. Radzig's coming into his life had brought him confusion and anger, but also new hope and fixation, rekindling the dying embers inside him.

If he lost Radzig, Henry would be utterly alone. Even if the day ever came when being recognised as an heir might make him want to punch the man, he couldn't lose him. His father's mere existence was the greatest meaning of all.

Like the sword, it was a spiritual link that connected him to Martin, and an emotional bond that tied him to Radzig.

So Toth had to die. Henry had repeated it to himself a thousand times through the nights, behind his closed eyes.

On the pillory, watching Hans walk away; his lonely shadow stretching across this foreign land—that feeling, it came back to haunt him. Henry missed home. He longed for a hot meal made by Theresa, for drinking through the night with Fritz and Matthew. He missed little Mutt, gentle Pebbles, and the young lord who was always getting him into trouble. Only then did he realise how much he hated that gang of bandits at Rocktower Pond. They had taken everything he had brought from Rattay—every last thread that still tied him to home.

Henry swore he would get it all back: whether it was Hans' armour or Pebbles' saddle. He swore that anyone who took what was his would pay.

Hans... that's right, Hans...!

Henry opened his eyes. The soft light gently greeted him.

"Hans is safe."

A gentle voice came from above. Henry looked over and saw the herbalist sitting by his bed. A relieved smile spread across his face.

"Thank you for taking care of him... and me."

"Perhaps you could tell me how you know my name, before you thank me." Bozhena smiled as she spoke.

Henry froze. Had he let something slip last night?! Before entering the hut, he and Hans had made a plan that would keep everyone (except the bandit) from getting hurt, but now he couldn't recall a single detail. He stammered, searching for a plausible lie, only to find his speech skill wasn't nearly high enough.

... That damn cliff!!

"I—we heard—"

"You see, I don't truly care." Bozhena cut short his fumbling reply. "I believe that, if there are men who'd kill me for no reason at all, then there must also be knights who'd come to save me without being asked. It's all the Lord's doing."

Henry gave a wry smile. "I'm afraid I'm neither. Just a bodyguard trying to protect his lord."

"Then you've done just that. I'm glad you're an honest boy who keeps his word." Bozhena rose to her feet. "Now I can let you rest in my bed with an easy conscience."

"Thank you, good woman. I will repay you."

"Take your time, young man... oh, it's Henry." Bozhena placed a linen shirt by his pillow and headed for the door. "I'll brew you some marigold decoction. Your friend should be back soon."

Henry let out a long sigh. Then he heard voices from outside the hut—his noble master, the one he'd been so worried about, was putting his social skills to good use again.

"My dear boy—! Are you feeling any better?"

Hans bounded to Henry's bedside like an overgrown hare, his beaming smile practically hanging a tiny sun inside the hut.

Henry squinted. "You're too bright, my lord."

"Oh, am I? How about this...?" Hans bent down and slowly brought his face closer to Henry's until their noses touched.

"And if I go blind, do you plan to look after me for the rest of my life?" Henry murmured.

"Don't worry. I'll feed you like a mother bird, little nestling..." Hans lowered his voice and gave Henry a quick peck on the lips. "I'll chew the food first, then push it into your mouth. Like this..."

Hans gently parted Henry's jaw and slid his hot, soft tongue into Henry's mouth. Henry closed his eyes, focusing on sucking the juicy food, swallowing the liquid greedily. His bobbing Adam's apple brushed against Hans' fingers.

Hans lifted his head. Henry looked at the moist lips before him. "Hmm... Looks like the breakfast at Bozhena's was cheese."

"You're half right. There's also chamomile and sage that I picked for you from the hill. I've tried them myself!" Hans waggled his fingers proudly. "While you were lying here drooling in your sleep, I wasn't idle."

"Ate breakfast, fixed your hair, did some labour... truly an admirable lord."

Hans let out a snort of laughter, sat down on the floor against the bed, and rested his head on Henry's arm.

"Does it hurt...?"

"Much better than last time. Our efforts weren't wasted." Henry buried his fingers in the soft hair.

"I can't believe we went through all that trouble just to save me from a beating!" Hans sighed dramatically. "And yet you're still in such a state. Henry, my guardian angel, are you satisfied?"

"More or less. Though it's not perfect."

"What's not perfect?!"

"You took a punch from that bandit." Henry said with a serious face. "If I'd been clear-headed enough, I'd have definitely started o—"

"Shut up, you numbskull!"

Hans wanted to hit him for a moment, but was afraid of hurting Henry, so he settled for kneading his face instead. Henry was like a big dog being gnawed on by a clumsy toddler learning to walk—he accepted his fate.

"You've no idea... when I watched Bozhena dress your wound," Hans' voice dimmed along with his face. "I froze up again, couldn't move, couldn't help at all—just like by the pond."

"Now you understand how I felt, watching her treat you while I could only kneel and pray."

"Fair enough." Hans rolled his eyes, then gently stroked the bandages on Henry's chest. "...Honestly, I like this landmark much better now that it's finished."

"Ha. What a poet. I think you're about to write a ballad for it."

"Did you say something, little loach?"

"Oh, Christ—" Henry groaned.

Just then, a quarrel came from outside the hut. As Hans looked at the door, Henry suddenly remembered something.

"It's Mikesh and Kozliek."

Hans caught on at once and stood up. "I'll talk them away."

"No, I'll go. I—"

"You stay put. That's an order." Hans pressed a hand against the wounded man's chest. "I can handle this."

Hans walked out. Henry slowly propped himself up on one arm to check his wounds.

Need to change the bandages. And if I don't eat something soon, I'm going to pass out...

The health and nutrition were subpar. But what really crushed him were his pathetic skill levels—his robust physique and silver tongue that he had worked so hard for at Rattay, and all his combat techniques—shattered to pieces when he fell off that cliff.

Henry shook his head and went to the hearth, wolfing down the stew in the pot. Normally, that would have been enough to fill him, but now the Hangry Henry left him only eighty per cent full.

What am I even putting myself through all this for...?

The quarrel outside gradually died down. Henry put on the linen shirt and went to the door. The two uninvited guests were nowhere to be seen; Bozhena stood by the fence, looking out. Hans was crouching down, stroking the dog that had helped them last night, and the sight reminded Henry of his own dog, sending a flicker of sadness through him.

The dog let out a soft bark at him, drawing the attention of the other two.

"Henry, you look much better," Bozhena said with relief. "Two men showed up just now, said they were soldiers from Trosky, searching for the bandits who were at the pond last night."

"They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"They were quite aggressive, so I thought there would be another bloodshed." Bozhena made the sign of the cross on her chest. "Thank God Hans came in time. He send them off with just a few words."

"We can't afford to add any more corpses to Bozhena's yard, can we?" Hans chimed in as he joined them.

Bozhena looked at the two young men with a hint of unease. "Though it's true you've never harmed me, this whole affair has been a bit off... I can't be sure you aren't the bandits they spoke of. God help me... hope I'm not helping the real villains."

Henry and Hans exchanged a glance. In the end, it was Hans who spoke. "All right. You do have the right to know the truth. After all, you're our Fortuna."

Hans invited Bozhena to sit at the table and began to tell their story. Meanwhile, Henry washed himself by the trough and changed his bandages. When Bozhena's daughter, Pavlena, returned home, she was surprised to find two strangers there. Hans, however, acted as if he were the master of the house and even had both Henry and Pavlena join them. What followed turned into a lively storytelling session filled with laughter.

The sun was beginning to set. Despite Hans' objections, Henry insisted he had recovered well enough to set out again. With a package filled with food and potions, and a few groschen as heavy as steel, all from Bozhena, the two set off on their journey with grateful hearts.

"By the way, was it you who took care of the bandit's corpse?"

Henry walked behind Hans. He could tell Hans was deliberately walking slowly, and had taken the package to carry himself. Who was the page here, really?

"Of course," Hans said as he walked. "You saved me from my first disaster, so I wanted to do the rest for you."

"Looks like I can convince my lord to carry a sack this time." Henry gave a cheeky grin. "And how did you convince Mikesh and Kozliek?"

"Oh, that was simple. I just told them—with a straight face." Hans turned, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "Go back and tell your captain to tremble in wait in Nebakov. Henry's coming to you!"

Henry rolled his eyes so hard. "Damn it. Now the captain's going to punish me properly in the duel. All your fault."

"He certainly won't. You'll see."

The two made their way slowly toward Troskowitz, planning to stop by the bathhouse in Zhelejov for a soak. But the few coins they had weren't nearly enough for two people to bathe and for Henry's healing (though Henry kept saying he was fine). Hans gave Henry a wink, as if to say: Leave it to me. A few minutes later, he had convinced the bathhouse owner to accept his brutal haggle.

Lord, forgive his sins. There aren't many women in this world who can resist that handsome face, let alone all those sweet words.

Henry's ears turned as red as boiled crayfish, knowing better than anyone how tempting that charm could be.

"Your friend is adorable, sir. Is this his first time getting naked in front of a woman?"

The bathmaid noticed Henry's reaction as she tended to his wounds, giggling and teasing him.

"Actually, he's a monk who just escaped from a monastery!"

The maid burst out laughing. Hans looked like he was back in his Rattay days, while poor Henry silently endured the torment of the Bashful.

"Are you sure you don't need any... other services?" Even after finishing the treatment, she lingered, clearly interested in Henry. "I could talk the owner into letting you pay later."

Hans gave a hollow smile. "His little radish isn't worthy of you. Let him hide in the bushes and watch the cattle mate."

The maid left the room, looking disappointed. Henry scooped up a handful of water and splashed it at Hans' face—though most of it landed between their two tubs. (Yes, they each had their own. There was no tub big enough for both of them.)

"Radish, eh? Where's your poetic talent now?!"

"You should be thanking me for upgrading you from a loach to a radish."

"That's even worse than a loach! At least a loach... uh... has energy!!"

Henry's flustered, lame excuse sent Hans into a fit of laughter. Water flew between them until the maid threatened to throw them both out on their bare arses.

As they left the bathhouse, dusk was falling. The villagers had gathered in the tavern yard for their evening drinks. Flat broke, the two could only watch as the serving maids brought out trays of beer and sausages (that golden, crispy roast pig was particularly torturous). Before losing all self-control, they made a quick retreat from Zhelejov.

Fortunately, Henry knew of a campsite nearby, just past the covered bridge by the tavern. It was a spot where bandits sometimes set up camp. Henry went to scout the surrounding woods while Hans stayed behind to build a makeshift shelter large enough for two.

Later, they sat by the fire.

"That bloody castle is damn magnificent," Hans grumbled through clenched teeth, his eyes fixed on Trosky Castle. "And look at it—lit up like a thousand torches! You can see it hanging there in mid-air, even at this hour!"

Henry stirred the stew in the pot as he listened to Hans complain. It was true: no matter where he was, he could always look up and see that unmistakable silhouette—so close, yet so far. Henry remembered how he had once dreamed of that castle, and a bitter smile crossed his face. But in the end, it was thanks to that very castle that they never lost their way. When he couldn't find his location on the map, nothing was more reassuring than a clear landmark. Before falling asleep, Henry silently thanked Trosky Castle.

Affected by the Heavy-Footed, Henry's soles had almost worn through—and they were still halfway from the only tailor in this region. Henry didn't mind walking barefoot (God knows why), but Hans slowed his pace as he could. And still delivered a long-winded lecture on Henry's caveman-like habits.

Henry had noticed it for a while now: ever since they left Bozhena's, Hans had been watching him closely, caring about every little change, trying to be as thoughtful as he could.

Thinking back to the arrogant noble who used to make him run behind his horse, Henry felt a wave of emotion. He had wanted to reach Troskowitz early, to earn some coin so Hans could have warm clothes and a full belly. But Henry realised he had underestimated what the siege of Suchdol had done for Hans. The man was completely transformed. Henry couldn't wait to see this Hans rule over Rattay—his achievements would be sung for generations. But before that, Henry would pray to God to forgive him, for keeping this man all to himself for now: the tenderness in his eyes, the breath on his lips, his soul and his glory.

To avoid losing their way, they stuck to the road, moving from one path to another. After one more day's trek, they finally reached a campsite near Troskowitz and decided to spend the night there.

Henry managed to catch a hare with his hunting sword. It wasn't very fat at this time of year, but it still added a touch of comfort to their otherwise plain stew.

"Honestly, this is the first time I've hunted since we left Rattay." Henry frowned at the bowl of meaty broth.

For certain reasons, it had been a long time since Henry had killed any animal or eaten any meat. The greasy taste of hare made him somewhat uncomfortable.

"Huh? Are you hinting that you miss our hunting days?" Hans chewed on the hard-won fat. "We could go into town tomorrow and buy ourselves two bows. You, me, some wine, and hares. Get it?"

"Ha, just 'Like Old Times', right?"

"We could hunt every last animal in this region! Make von Bergow eat nothing but pickled cabbage!"

"Hares are enough for me," Henry said with an exaggerated shrug. "The rest can be for my lord—no, I mean, for a mysterious poacher."

"It was a fallen noble's endurance and compromise!"

By the time they finished supper, it was nearly midnight. Hans kept yawning. This wandering life had exhausted him, but he never complained.

"Same rule. You sleep on the inside."

The shelter they had built was larger than the usual ones. Ever since learning about Henry's sleepwalking, Hans made him sleep on the inside every night, keeping a hand on his chest, so that Henry would have to push him aside if he tried to wander off.

"You haven't had an episode so far... good boy... keep it up..." Hans murmured as he fought against his heavy eyelids, nestling his head into the crook of Henry's shoulder. Then he put his hand in position.

"...I love you too." Henry whispered. But he was sure the man beside him had already carried those words into his dreams.

Chapter Text

Betty placed a plate of freshly cooked deer ribs on the table, the aroma hitting both men square in the face. The blond-haired man flashed a charming smile and said to her, "Fair lady, could you fetch us some more ale?"

"Anything for you, noble sirs!"

The innkeeper, well past fifty, blushed to her cheeks, her barrel-like waist swaying as she waddled toward the kitchen. Just then, a woman in a blue dress stepped out from inside.

"What's put you in such a good mood?"

"Oh my, it's not every day these days that someone calls you a 'fair lady'," Betty said, nodding toward the generously spending guests behind her. "Especially from a handsome young man."

"You still have your charms. Any man would want to take a second look."

"Hmph, I'll take that as genuine." Betty snorted, her gaze sweeping across the woman's pale bosom, threatening to spill over the bodice. "Just between us, I think that man might be a guest from Trosky. The way he talks is pure noble—nothing like a commoner."

"But he's dressed in rags and has no attendants." The woman glanced at them as well. "Just one harmless goof sitting with him."

"Maybe this noble wants to have fun with commoner women without being recognized!" Betty made the sign of the cross. "God save me. I shouldn't have put on that perfume today."

The woman waved a hand dramatically. "If you ask me, those two are nothing more than gamblers who just bled some poor fellow dry. Besides, I've never seen them in the castle." She stepped aside to let Betty pass and raised the jug she was carrying. "I'd better get back. Thanks for the ale."

Betty shuffled into the kitchen, muttering something under her breath. The woman in the blue dress approached the two men's table and glared at them coldly.

"If you don't tone it down, you'll become the talk of Troskowitz!" Katherine said in a low voice. "This is your plan? Disguise yourselves as foreign lords for the wedding?!"

"But Sir Hans is already a—"

"Shut up!" Katherine glanced toward the door to make sure Betty hadn't come out yet. "Henry, don't make me regret giving you that money. Zizka and I are sticking to the plan. I need you two boys to keep your heads down and remember our real business."

"Don't worry, my lady. I'll keep Henry in line." Hans puffed out his chest.

Katherine let out a weary sigh, as if the ridiculous exchange with the innkeeper wasn't his doing.

Betty's figure appeared out of the corner of her eye. Katherine quickly whispered, "Stay safe," and hurried off.

"Your ale! Enjoy." Betty had apparently come to a realisation: no matter how suspicious the guests, as long as they could dig groschen out of their purses, she would welcome them warmly, be they the Pope or a beggar—and show them the door if they couldn't. "Are you gentlemen enjoying my cooking?"

EASY "This is the best meal I've ever had in the Trosky region." Henry chose the safest answer. "Lord Semine should have you cater his wedding feast!"

"Oh, such a sweet tongue!" Betty beamed—just as Henry had hoped, he 😌gained reputation. "But I'd rather attend the wedding as a guest than steal the cook's job."

Henry smiled and nodded, turning his gaze back to the table, taking a sip of ale. He was satisfied with the reputation, but hadn't satisfied Betty's curiosity.

"If you gentlemen want to attend the wedding, bribing that castle maid is a waste of time. You'd be better off buying new clothes and giving our bailiff a handsome gift." She rubbed her fingers together. "He and Lord Semine are the only ones who can issue invitations—if your purse is heavy enough, that is."

Betty had drawn her own conclusions about why Henry kept "bothering" Katherine. Henry scratched his head awkwardly. Luckily, a customer called out for beer, getting him off the hook.

"That's a good idea." Hans rested his chin on his hands, having already finished his plate. "Why didn't we think of this shortcut? The hell with poaching and hard work—why not just buy off the bride's father?"

"I might as well pay the Praguers to piss off." Henry remembered the 120,000 groschen he'd once had. "I know you're not serious, but we still have to take it one step at a time. Let's make a plan with this little fortune."

This little fortune—when they'd first arrived at Troskowitz an hour ago, they'd planned to shamelessly feast at the tavern like they used to. Little did they know Katherine had a surprise in store for them.

No sooner had they sat down at the table than Katherine walked past them, perfectly timed, and shot Henry a meaningful glance.

Henry's legs went weak at the thought of how long he'd made her wait at Rocktower Pond. He gave Hans a pitiful look.

"Henry. Haven't you ever heard of the three states of man?"

"Those who pray, those who fight, those who work. You taught me last time." Henry still remembered how confused he'd been when Hans first explained it, but the man's erudition, and the sound of those strange Latin words—Oratores, Bellatores, Laboratores—rolling off his tongue, had left a deep impression on him.

His erudition, mostly!

To Henry's surprise, Hans' face dimmed. "...Do you know there's a simpler division, beyond those three?"

Henry shook his head. He hadn't expected Hans to choose this moment for another social lesson.

"The ones who hold the weakness, and the ones held by it." The man's face broke into a grin he could barely hide. "Lady Katherine's got all our balls in her purse, for God's sake! I don't want to cross her and get the cold shoulder while you're away from Devil's Den. So off you go, brave fighter. I'll pray for you."

"Then who's the worker?!" Henry pressed, unwilling to let it go.

But Hans kept silent on purpose, clasping his hands together and closing his eyes. Feeling thoroughly played, Henry finally dragged himself to his feet.

Katherine and Betty were still talking. Henry walked over to the trough to wash himself—now he sweated twice as fast as before, he needed more than a splash on the face, or he'd smell in no time. It didn't matter when it was just him and Hans (maybe Hans even preferred him that way), but now he had to face Katherine. Henry decided to minimise the risk of rubbing her the wrong way.

Here's the one held by it...

The innkeeper noticed Henry standing off to the side, hesitating. Her sharp eyes raked over him from head to toe: a grimy linen shirt, patched trousers, and his shoes—God Almighty, could those even be called shoes?! The tattered uppers stuck up like gaping jaws, as if he was wearing a pair of trout on his feet!

"Ha! A delusional simpleton, trying to court a goddess." Betty turned to Katherine. "Look what you've done to my little tavern. Now even beggars can't sit still."

Katherine offered a strained smile. "Men are all the same. Only where they were born: a palace or a pigsty."

Betty burst out laughing and went off to tend to new guests, letting out a dismissive snort as she passed Henry.

"Katherine... how are you?" Henry finally found a chance to speak, timidly.

Katherine let out a soft sigh, her face touched with worry.

"That's what I should be asking. How are you two? How's your wound?" When Henry had taken off his shirt by the trough, she'd noticed the scars on his back.

"It's completely healed. Sir Hans even took me to the bathhouse for treatment." Seeing her doubtful look, Henry quickly added, "Truly, just treatment!"

"Fine, it's your business." Katherine waved a hand. "Zizka wanted me to give you something."

She stepped closer to Henry, glanced around carefully, and lowered her voice.

"His men found it at your camp." Katherine pulled something out of the empty jug and handed it to him.

A small, heavy pouch. From the clinking inside, it could only be coins. From the weight in his hand, about 1,403 groschen.

"No way...!" Henry stiffened. Only now did he remember that Radzig had given him 1,500 groschen as travel money when they left Rattay. He'd spent some on tavern meals with Hans, on sausages for Mutt...

Memories of travelling with the others flooded back. Henry felt a burning in his throat. He should have hidden it in the cave behind their camp back at Rocktower Pond, to retrieve after the attack... but the weight of his grief had made him forget entirely.

"Zizka said this money would make things easier for you. He knows very well you're hardworking, that you'd never be short of coin anywhere." Katherine's voice took on a complaining tone about the absent man. "Can you believe he made a special trip to Trosky just to deliver this?! Right into the enemy's stronghold!"

Henry let out a short laugh. He could picture it: their captain stripping off his signature clothes, dressing up as a humble peasant, carrying a sack through the castle gates.

Katherine noticed the bitterness in his smile and said softly, "So I thought, well, none of us want to see you go hungry again."

She reached out and touched Henry's arm briefly, then quickly withdrew. They couldn't afford to draw attention. But Henry understood what she meant. He could almost feel her hand against his cheek, warm and reassuring.

"Go buy your young lord and yourself a proper meal." Katherine turned and walked into the kitchen.

Henry tucked the pouch into the hem of his shirt and went back to the table.

"Oratores, who ask the Lord for forgiveness. Bellatores, who protect the people from invaders."Rattling off the lesson Hans had taught him once, Henry sat down. He dropped a handful of groschen onto the table. The clatter drew a look of astonishment from Hans.

"Laboratores—the ones who fill our bellies."Henry smiled in satisfaction, looked up and called out, "Bring us some deer ribs and ale!"

Ch.3 Laboratores

After a good meal.

"Next step, the tailor." Henry patted his belly. "Time to dress up my noble master properly."

"So you're still going with the 'foreign lord' plan?"

"Sadly, as much as I'd love to proudly introduce the future lord of Rattay to Lord Semine," Henry said with a shrug, "in the current situation, they won't trust a well-dressed stranger with no connections. I doubt even Brabant could pull it off."

Hans threw his head back, a guttural snarl rising from his throat. The Frenchman's face—an even more Punchable Face than Henry's—must have flashed through his mind.

"We'll get an introduction to the wedding through Radovan, the blacksmith. I'll go have a word with him."

Henry walked over to the table where the blacksmith and the miller were sitting. After the usual exchange of names, he took the blacksmith's offer.

The miller's requests were just too much of a hassle... I can't ask Hans to dig up graves with me, can I?!

After bidding farewell to the innkeeper, the two had just stepped out of the tavern when Hans came to a sudden halt.

"Ugh... where it all began..."

The entrance faced the pillory directly—a convenient setup for the drunkards who brawled over trivial matters, no doubt.

"If you feel like you haven't had enough, I can go get Svatya right now," Henry said with a mischievous grin, looking back toward the tavern. The bailiff's son was still drinking.

"...I'd rather know how you got so chummy with him last time."

"He's not a bad bloke. We patched things up after I apologised." Henry looked purely innocent, completely missing the implication in Hans' words. "You two should really get to know each other. I think you'd get along famously."

"You really do make friends with everyone you fight..." Hans sighed. What could he do? He'd fallen for a charmer. Henry always seemed to earn everyone's respect, trust, and adoration. Hans knew he had to learn to be magnanimous, or he'd be jealous of all Bohemia.

The two skirted around the pillory and entered the tailor's shop. Henry picked out two sets of clothes for Hans: one dashing noble's outfit, full of elegance, and one plain set for easier movement. They'd already agreed that Henry would take care of all of Hans' needs—food, clothing, everything. As Henry put it, he'd long been keeping Pebbles and Mutt fed; what was one more mouth? Treated like pets, Hans left bite marks on Henry's shoulder in protest—which only made him seem more like Mutt.

Henry decided to buy only one pair of new boots (along with ten cobbler's kits), but wouldn't buy any clothes for himself. While the shopkeeper wasn't looking, Hans leaned close to Henry's ear. "You're going to spoil me like this, you know. Or do you prefer the old me?"

Henry smiled, his eyes still on the shoes he was examining, and whispered, "…Maybe I'm just born to be a worker. I might even enjoy it." He picked up a pair and carried them to the counter. "Don't worry. Once we get to Tachov, I'll have everything I need."

After buying the clothes, Henry went to the general store and bought a torch, a dagger, bandages, soap, and such. Then he stopped by the apothecary across the street for a few potions, just in case. When everything was set, before leaving Troskowitz, Henry pressed a hundred groschen into the hand of a beggar kneeling at the town's entrance. She—Bara—was both surprised and grateful. Henry only gave a faint smile, then led Hans away.

The two stood under a large tree outside the town. A road stretched out before them into the endless distance.

"Hans, follow this road, you'll reach another large tree. Just a bit further lies Semine."

With food and clothing taken care of, only shelter and transport remained. Henry had chosen the blacksmith over the miller for another reason: the blacksmith would provide him with lodging, with a tavern right outside. Henry's only thought was to make Hans as comfortable as possible. Before heading to Tachov, there was one last thing to do—find his good old Pebbles, and buy Hans a horse.

"...I remember this place!" Hans stared at the shrine at the crossroads ahead and called out. "This is where we finished our race on the way to Nebakov!"

Henry smiled, pulling Hans close and kissing his temple. Surely the view before Hans now must seem gloriously bright. He had said how wonderful the free air felt back then—after all, he had just experienced his first true despair. The kind that stays with you, never fading. Just as Henry would never forget the road to Talmberg, the one he had dragged his half-dead body along after Skalitz.

"Ha! I get it now," Hans said, his eyes glinting. "You're planning to challenge me to a horse race on the way back from Semine, aren't you?"

"Wrong. I'm going to race you to Semine!" Henry dropped into a starting stance. "On your marks—go!"

"Are you yanking my pizzle?!" Hans was half a beat slow, but he still took off after him. "Since when do nobles run like peasants?!"

"You'd better save your breath if you want to beat me!" Henry shouted from ahead.

"Those boots will fall apart! Just you wait! Hahahaha!"

"Then why do you think I bought ten cobbler's kits?!"

"You—! Bastard—! Henry—!!"

Hans' curses startled a cow grazing by the roadside. It lifted its head and watched a pair of two-legged creatures run off into the distance.

"...I can't believe it," Hans said, watching Henry's back. "After all that running, you've still got the strength to hammer iron."

He sat on a scrap metal chest, his head against the wall, eyes fixed on Henry's arm as he worked the bellows.

By the time they reached Tachov, evening had already fallen. Henry reported to Radovan, introduced Hans to him, and officially began his work as a blacksmith's apprentice.

Henry still has the memories of being a master blacksmith in Kuttenberg, but his crafting skills had to be relearned from scratch. So even though it was late, he got straight to work, hammering away at the forge.

At first, Hans drank outside the tavern and played a few rounds of dice—no luck. Then he went back to the small room Radovan had lent them, hoping to rest, but the endless clanging kept him from settling down. He wandered out to the meadow near the proudly standing maypole, trying to annoy every sleeping sheep he could find. Before he knew it, darkness had swallowed everything. He realised he'd forgotten to bring a torch—but the rhythmic clanging guided him home.

Now, after his little adventure, Hans sat lazily on the chest not far from Henry, close enough to keep him fully in view without getting in the way. The whole of Tachov was silent, even the tavern had closed. Only the fire in the forge still burned.

He was bored. Henry hadn't looked at him for two hours. When was the last time that had happened? God, he couldn't remember how he'd survived the days without Henry.

Pebbles had been returned to her rightful owner, and Hans had a new mount. The two horses were drinking from the trough by the smithy. They stood close together, neither saying a word, like a pair of lovers deep in feeling but too shy to speak. A cloud of restlessness rose in Hans' chest.

When Hans stepped into their small room, his first thought was: this looks just like that cramped hovel Henry had in Pirkstein—a bed, a candle, a storage chest. Radovan hadn't expected Henry to bring a friend, and there was no spare room. Henry explained that he'd sleep on a pallet on the floor, though both he and Hans knew that wasn't the truth.

They'd grown used to squeezing onto a single bed together. Sometimes Hans admired his own adaptability.

...And yet, another hour had passed. Why weren't they squeezing onto that bloody bed already?! Pebbles and the new horse seemed even closer than before. Hans glared at Henry with impatience, but Henry didn't notice. He was still whistling—off-key, from time to time—and his puckered lips were driving Hans mad.

Henry was wearing the smith's apron and leather gloves he'd pulled from his storage chest. The bare arms between his gloves and short sleeves were particularly eye-catching. Hans had been watching those muscles rise and fall, the firelight from the forge making every contour look like an invitation.

That's it.

"What are you doing?!" Henry shouted in a low voice, his body completely frozen.

Hans had appeared silently behind him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

"...I wanted to feel the impact from the hammer striking up close."

"Hans... that's too dangerous. I could hurt you." When Hans didn't back off, Henry added, "Your hands will get burned by the sparks!"

"No, they won't. Look closer—I'm wearing gloves." Hans had apparently seen this coming and borrowed the pair Radovan had left right there.

Henry rolled his eyes in frustration, refusing to give in. Hans refused to budge either. They stood there, locked in stalemate, while the horseshoe on the anvil slowly lost its heat.

"...Fine. But only one strike," Henry said at last. "Then you let go of me."

"I think I can handle more."

"No bargaining." Henry adjusted his stance, making sure Hans' arms stayed clear of the anvil. "Ready?"

Hans closed his eyes and pressed his face against Henry's neck. "Anytime."

Clang—!

Hans had once asked Henry what it felt like to be forging. Henry couldn't find the words to describe it, so he'd shown him in the backyard of Devil's Den. But before Hans could try it himself, Henry had been called away on some errand.

His disappointment cut deep. Fine, no more attempts. Watching Henry forge was enough for him.

The clanging that had gone on all night finally stopped. The last echoes faded into the night breeze.

The acrid smell of hot metal stung Hans' nose, a bead of sweat rolled down Henry's neck and into Hans' mouth, sending a shiver of pleasure through him.

He felt a force, briefly pushing their bodies apart, then pulling them back together; he felt the muscles in Henry's shoulders, his back, his buttocks tense all at once, impossibly dense; he felt the tremor deep in Henry's gut, the impact passing through their skin and into the ribs.

Hans remained still, eyes closed, savouring that force. He wanted to give it a name, to recreate it, to pour it into Henry.

"...Hans? We had a deal." Henry set down the hammer in resignation and wouldn't strike again. "If you—"

Then Henry noticed the pulse throbbing between them, thump-thump, knocking at his back door. The heat Hans had been building had finally crested.

Henry's face flushed instantly, and he quickly set down the tools. Hans leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Isn't that rather strange? You're working the forge in the middle of the night, and no one's come out to curse at you."

"Maybe they're... used to Radovan's hammering by now..." Henry frantically tried to keep calm.

"Hmm. Interesting."

Hans suddenly pushed himself off Henry's back. He took off the gloves and put them aside, keeping his face hidden from Henry.

"Does that mean whatever noises we make, they won't hear a thing, will they?"

Without looking back, Hans walked into the room, leaving Henry there, blushing, at a loss for words. Henry glanced at the long-cold horseshoe and the two innocent horses, took a few deep breaths to let the blood return where it belonged, and slowly made his way toward their room.

Chapter Text

Henry found an odd die in the grass. He picked it up, wiped off the dirt, and slipped it into his pocket.

Lucky me. Whoever lost it, my thanks. 

He'd spent the whole morning gathering herbs around the Tachov tavern. The variety and number of plants here rivalled those in Troskowitz. It would probably take him another full day to pick them all.

The passing villagers shot him puzzled looks. They had no idea what value these wild plants held—perhaps they even secretly thanked Henry for weeding their fields.

Henry glanced toward the smithy. Only Pebbles stood by the trough. Earlier that morning, Hans had decided to go wash his horse in a nearby stream.

"I'll lose my mind if I don't find something to do," Hans had said as he dressed. "What do you prefer? Me going to the bathhouse for fun, poaching von Bergow's roe deer, or giving my horse a bath?"

"...Do I have a choice?" Henry had resignedly pointed out the stream's location on the map.

I'd better find a way to cheer up my lord today...

The memory of last night still made Henry's face burn. Back at Devil's Den, stealing moments away from eyes had been common, and Hans had always been direct. But last night—holding back until he finally burst—had caught Henry off guard. He shook his head, banishing the sensual images from his mind, and reached for a poppy at his feet—

"AAAAGH—! CHRIST, MY BACK!!"

Henry lost his balance and fell to his knees, one hand pressed to his lower back, teeth clenched in pain, drawing gasps from the passersby.

It is said that every back has a God-given number of times it can bend—and Henry's must have passed its limit, having pulled up 10,000 nettles back home.

Ch.4 Alchemy: Secret of Equilibrium

After resting in place for a while, Henry finally got to his feet and limped back to their room, dragging the bundled herbs behind him. He'd planned to kill three birds with one stone: gather herbs for alchemy, sell the extras for coin, and exercise his leg muscles along the way. But harsh reality had shattered his perfect scheme.

Since he could barely walk, let alone work the forge, he decided to take the day off. He left the door open to let the midday sun pour into the room, sat by the bed, and leisurely repaired his boots. Thanks to last night's forging, his crafting skill had improved by a good measure. Just then, a figure appeared in the doorway—Hans was back.

"I brought you a gift." Hans stepped inside, pulled a book from his pack, and handed it to Henry. "Found it by the stream."

He'd noticed the book was as hard as stone and wouldn't open, so he realised this was a book only for Henry.

"Great. Thanks." Henry took it and glanced at the title page. "Oh, a scholarly book. Just what I needed."

Seeing the book open naturally in Henry's hands as if by magic, Hans sighed. "I envy you. I'd like to read some books myself to pass the time."

Something in those words made the corners of Henry's mouth curl up.

"Remember when we besieged Talmberg? From building the trebuchet to storming the gates—it dragged on for a whole week."

"God, Henry, don't remind me!" Hans shook his head dramatically. "Hans Capon's first campaign to go down in the history books, and it was as slow and tedious as an old drunkard's piss! I was starting to grow mushrooms just standing there!"

"Ha! I wasn't much better off." Henry's grin widened as he gestured with his hands. "To kill time, I moved every book I had to the camp. Over a dozen of them! I sat and read, lay down and read, even read in my sleep... Thank God I finally made it through."

"You cunning Henry." Hans pouted, a look of envy on his face. If only their relationship had been like it was now back then—he'd have at least had an excuse to slip into Henry's tent for some bed-reading.

Henry sank back into his memories, staring at the pages, lost in thought. His lowered eyelids made Hans' heart skip, so he quietly closed the door behind him. The sudden dimness made Henry look up—and meet Hans' lips reaching for his. Henry gave a faint smile, tilting his head just enough to avoid their noses bumping.

"Still hungry from last night, noble sir?" Henry breathed the soft words into Hans' mouth.

"Are you jesting with me?" Hans straightened up and pouted again. "I had been ready to draw my sword, and you told me there was no oil?! Good God, why would you go to the apothecary for perfume instead of a damn bottle of buck's blood?!"

Henry had no answer. Indeed, it was his oversight. He'd been so worried about his smell putting Hans off that he'd forgotten what they actually needed most.

Hans sat down beside Henry with a dejected sigh, dropping his head heavily onto Henry's shoulder.

"...Thank you, my lord, for not forcing the issue."

"Hmm. I suppose I am a gentle and considerate lord." Hans nuzzled against Henry's neck. "...Besides, I quite enjoyed your tongue."

This very spot—where he was sitting—had witnessed it: Hans cupping Henry's face, releasing his own molten desire.

But it was far from enough. He needed to feel Henry tremble, to hear him beg beneath him, to plead for him not to stop.

Hans let his hand wander across Henry's back, testing the waters once more. Henry understood what he was after.

"Sorry, Hans. I'm not avoiding you..." Henry said with a bitter smile. "I really can't today... I hurt my back picking herbs."

"What?! Why didn't you say so earlier?!" Hans sprang to his feet. "And you're still sitting here stitching?! Lie down at once!"

Hans' sudden shift in attitude filled Henry with sweetness. He knew that once Hans turned protector, he was the most stubborn man alive. So Henry obeyed, lying down with a contented sigh.

"You could go to the tavern for a while," he said, looking up at Hans standing by the bed.

But Hans was silent, stared at the knapsack Henry had dropped on the floor. "Did you buy any painkiller brew yesterday?"

"I did, but I'll be fine just lying down. No need—"

"Henry, take off your shirt and lie on your stomach." Hans rummaged through the knapsack for the bottle. Though puzzled, Henry obeyed nonetheless.

No sooner had Henry settled than Hans straddled his thighs and uncorked the bottle with a soft pop.

"Any wise words from Physician Capon about my back?" Henry teased, though most of his voice was muffled by the pillow.

"Hal," the man said, a confident smile curling on his face where Henry couldn't see it. "Let me show you what I can do."

In the minutes that followed, Henry had no idea what was happening. He only felt a pair of wet palms pressing, kneading, rolling across his back. He'd guessed Hans might pour the brew over his back, but hadn't expected these extra moves—and the technique was surprisingly skillful. Henry had seen a bathmaid offering this kind of service once, but was too shy to look at girls in those days, only imagining what those fingertips might feel like.

"Ah... mm—" Before he realised it, only broken moans were escaping his mouth. Henry prayed the pillow would swallow them all.

"Feels good, eh?" Unfortunately, no such luck.

"...God, where did you learn to do this?"

"Who else? Katherine, of course." Hans answered. "When you went to fetch the papal legate, only me, Lady Rosa, and Katherine were left in Ruthard Palace. I didn't want to seem useless, so I went to chop wood. And then—"

"Pfft—hahaha...!" Henry had no idea such a momentous event had happened during their brief absence. "Haha—ow, ow, ow! Sorry, I'm sorry!"

Hans let go. "Katherine couldn't stand it anymore. She stripped off my shirt, pinned me down on the bed, and then like this—" Hans pressed his thumbs hard into Henry's lower back. "—gave me the most painful intimate contact of my life!"

"Not the sweetest?" Henry tried to hold it in, but his voice was full of laughter.

"You have no idea how nervous I was, pinned down by a woman like her. And what was waiting for me? A massage! And it was total torture!!"

Henry was shaking with laughter. Hans couldn't even be bothered to pinch him anymore.

"I was humiliated and aching... I wanted to prove my manly strength, and in the end, I was howling under a woman's hands..." Hans covered his face, his voice fading to nearly nothing.

Aha. That's why you're running from her.

"After we got back to Devil's Den, every time I saw you doing heavy work, I thought—if only her skill could be put to use—"

"And so you became her disciple?"

Hans said nothing. He poured more brew into his hands and went back to massaging Henry's back.

"...Wasn't she curious? Why would a noble lord want to learn this?" Henry asked softly.

"She just said she didn't want to know the details, nor want to be misunderstood. So she'd only teach me once." Hans' hands roamed across Henry's back. "...I think that 'didn't want to be misunderstood' was about you."

Henry fell silent. Katherine had always been perceptive. It didn't surprise him that she would be the first to discover their secret.

But something felt wrong. Henry realised Hans' hands were no longer where they should be—they had moved lower. Hans was kneading his buttocks.

"Don't tell me she taught you that too?!"

"What were you thinking? It's just part of the treatment." Hans' voice was full of mischief, his hands pressing relentlessly against Henry's hose. "Your arse is as hard as a doorstop loaf, dear customer. Doesn't it ache when you ride?"

Seeing Henry bury his face in the pillow, ears turning red, Hans grew bolder. He forced his right knee between Henry's thighs and drove forward, hard, drawing a low growl from Henry.

"Sakra! Hans—"

Henry tried to rise, but Hans was shockingly strong, pinning Henry's buttocks firmly between his hands and knee. The strain in his back kept Henry from moving freely. All he could see from the corner of his eye was Hans' sharp, burning gaze.

"Please lie still, sir knight. Let me ease the stiffness in your muscles." Hans parted Henry's buttock cheeks, and began rocking against the cleft with his knee, rhythmically.

Henry was gasping, gripping the bed frame. He knew this rhythm well. But what left him breathless was that Hans, it seemed, was trying to use his knee to get what he'd failed last night.

"Hans... please...!"

"Huh? Something about my service displeases you, sir?" Hans' tone remained unchanged, a stark contrast to the force of his hands. "There, your buttocks are growing softer—oh dear, looks like somewhere else is stiffening up again."

Henry's body had fully awakened. To ease the pressure building in his lower belly, he instinctively lifted his hips slightly—but that only made Hans' knee grow more aggressive. Summoning the last shred of his senses, slap, Henry grabbed Hans' thigh.

It was a signal between them. Hans stopped abruptly, watching the back of Henry's head, waiting.

"...I need your hand..."

The faint words came from inside the pillow. Hans smiled in triumph. A bead of sweat traced his curving lips, hung for a breath on his chin, before falling onto Henry's waist.

Hans got off the bed, helped Henry turn over, and pulled down his hose and braies. Then he stripped off his own clothes and tossed them aside.

He slid onto the bed. Henry had already made room for him, as always—they were used to squeezing onto a single bed together.

Hans sniffed Henry's neck. "Mmm... the scent of herbs."

"I knew it..." Henry was still breathing heavily. "My lord would punish me gently... for his disappointment last night..."

"At least I'm keeping the 'gently' part, aren't I?" Hans left a trail of kisses along Henry's jaw, his hand wrapping around their combined length.

"So..." Henry was nibbling Hans' lower lip. "Next time we pass an apothecary, I'll remember to buy oil."

Hans chuckled. "Oil won't be enough. Wine, fruit, poetry, a warming hearth..." His hands stroked up and down, searching for the angle that made Henry's breath catch. "Only then, when everything is perfect will Hans Capon unveil his finest 'smithing' skills."

Henry frowned, wriggling eagerly. It seemed his little slip would cost him a much longer wait.

When the door to their room opened again, the sun had shifted considerably. After sharing a late lunch at the tavern, Henry left Hans behind for a while, mounted Pebbles with the dried herbs, and rode to the alchemy workshop in Troskowitz.

Henry loved brewing potions. It let him earn skill points while building a fortune. Selling surplus potions was always the easiest way to fill his purse. Henry also hated brewing potions. The process was dull and endless. He had to endure the smoking and roasting for at least two full nights, with no amusement other than staring at the bubbles in the cauldron.

This time was different. As he brewed, Henry let his mind wander: brew enough potions (especially fox, which would do wonders for his numbskull), earn enough coin from selling them, and once they reached Trosky, buy Hans the finest weapons and armour. This time, made him a proud noble entering that castle.

After finishing the basic healing ones, it was finally time for buck's blood. A wave of happiness washed over him again. Henry covered his face, savouring the memory of the long-missed intimacy.

Maybe I should make the first move next time...

"You don't need to watch the hourglass?"

"Christ!!" Henry nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice behind him. "For God's sake, what are you doing here?!"

The newcomer—Hans, of course—approached Henry as if it were nothing, curiously examining the alchemy bench.

"Darling, you forgot to pack any food." He made a gesture of handing something over, then kissed Henry's neck. "What, tired of me already?"

"You came from Tachov by yourself?!"

"Please. I was once the most legendary poa—ahem, traveler, in the Trosky region!" Hans raised an eyebrow. "Remember? I made it to the wedding on my own."

"And how did you know I was here...?" Henry was still confused.

"Pebbles is right outside."

Henry had to concede. After all, he himself often located his lord by that unmistakable yellow caparison. Seeing Henry fall silent, Hans rested his chin on Henry's shoulder and asked softly, "Hal... are you angry? That I came here like this to bother you?"

"Of course not." Henry pressed his cheek against Hans' nose. "You know I can't keep you company when I'm working. That's why we split up, isn't it?"

Henry had decided to spend a day or two in Troskowitz earning coin. In the meantime, Hans could enjoy their room all to himself. It was hardly fit for a noble, but surely better than trudging around with him.

"True. But just as I was lying in your bed, about to sleep, something suddenly became clear to me." Hans raised a finger earnestly. "If I can't be with you, castle or shack, what's the difference?"

Henry dropped the decoction he was brewing—which was burnt, apparently—and glanced outside. It was completely dark. He'd worked straight through until midnight without noticing.

"What's your plan, then? I have to brew all night. You'll have to sleep on a tavern pallet."

"Simple. We can fix it right here." Hans walked over to the drying rack and sat down. "You do your work. I'll just talk to myself, and lean back to sleep for a while when I'm tired."

"Hans..."

"Haha, so this is what Mutt feels like waiting for you. Next time I see him, I'll give him a treat."

Henry sighed, turned back to continue brewing, since Hans seemed determined to stay up all night with him. To give Hans a sense of company, Henry began saying the steps, which he knew by heart, just for him to hear.

"What are you brewing now? That smell is familiar."

Henry smiled to himself. "The buck's blood you've been wanting, my lord."

"Good. Keep it safe." Hans stared at Henry's cleft with a mischievous grin. "Otherwise, next time you won't be so lucky."

So Hans sat behind Henry, sometimes chatting, sometimes just watching his back in silence (Henry thought he was sleeping). When morning came, they went to Betty's tavern for a meal, rested a while, then returned to the workshop to continue. Henry said that if it weren't for Hans, he wouldn't leave the bench at all—he could go for days on potions alone. That earned him another stern lecture from Hans.

They talked about many past things: the memories of Suchdol, life at Devil's Den. The one story Henry never got bored of was always Hans' "solitary adventures in the woods."

"Those days I spent wandering around Trosky, my mind was full of resentment and regret about you. If fate gave me another chance... well, we'd probably still argue, but at least I wouldn't be suffering the loneliness."

Henry crushed mint as he spoke. "Regretting not carrying sacks with me back then?"

"Pfft. In your dreams." Hans stretched his limbs—he'd been sitting on the floor for a long time. "Even if I tied you up and dragged you into the woods, I'd never labour for a farmer."

"With all due respect, my lord," Henry grinned smugly, "labouring for a farmer kept me from sleeping in the open."

"Watch your tone, peasant!" Hans kicked Henry's calf. "You left your lord alone out there, hungry and cold, while you had food, shelter, and company! I could put you in the pillory for a week!"

"If that pillory were in your room," Henry shot him a wink, "...I could last a month."

Henry's tease successfully sparked Hans' imagination. He wrapped his arms around Henry from behind and rested his head on Henry's shoulder again.

"You really do love my back, don't you?" Henry chuckled.

Hans didn't lose his composure like he had that night. He simply leaned against Henry, relaxed. Though it slowed Henry down, he let Hans stay like that, keeping at his brewing.

"—So I told him, 'My hands aren't small at all! Let's compare ours, they're the same size!' But he just wouldn't listen."

Henry worked as he talked, eagerly recounting the strange people and odd encounters he'd had. By the sixth story or so, he realised Hans hadn't responded for a while.

"...Hans?" Henry turned his attention to the weight on his back.

Slow, deep breathing reached his ears through the bubbling of the cauldron. Henry could hardly believe it—Hans had fallen asleep standing up. After all, he hadn't closed his eyes since leaving Tachov. Henry let out a soft sigh and shifted his shoulder. The faint movement made Hans' head jerk.

"Huh? ...What? ...What did that sheep say...?"

Henry gently stroked Hans' head. "Go splash some water on your face. I'll give you something to wake you up. Then we'll head to Zhelejov and get some proper rest."

Hans shuffled out, half asleep. Henry began tidying up the alchemy bench. Thanks to Hans' company, the otherwise tedious brewing had flown by in the blink of an eye.

What a willful lord...

The loss of Hans' warmth left a faint coolness on Henry's back. He shook his head helplessly, pulled out a bottle of his own special cockerel and took a mouthful.

"Already done?" Hans returned, a few drops of water still clinging to his face. "I thought you said it would take much longer."

That's because you drifted off halfway.

Seeing Henry silent with his back to him, Hans stepped closer. Before he could steady himself, Henry grabbed Hans by the neck and pulled him in, letting the fragrant liquid slip into his throat.

"Mmm—..." Hans sucked the last drops from Henry's tongue, and wiped his damp chin. "No wonder you like drinking this. Works like a charm. I'm wide awake now."

Henry held the bottle up proudly. "One of a kind—Henry quality!"

The sun was about to set. Henry squeezed into the apothecary just before it closed, sold off fifty potions, and gave the owner a decent discount as an apology.

The two rode to Zhelejov, washed away the day's fatigue in the bathhouse, and enjoyed a hearty meal after their soak. Both rooms of the inn happened to be empty that night. They stood by their respective doors and exchanged smiles instead of goodnights.

Hans slept until he naturally woke—or rather, for the first time since their journey began, no one lay beside him. He rubbed his eyes, picturing Henry passing time with dice in the yard. When Hans lazily went downstairs, the innkeeper told him that his friend had left early that morning, and asked him to wait for his return.

Henry off brewing again? Had he set Henry back? Hans ordered a beer and sulked in the yard, drinking alone.

"Woof! Woof!"

A bark came from the gate. Hans looked over instinctively and saw a familiar little figure running toward him.

"—Mutt?!"

Henry was right behind him. It turned out he had left at dawn to fetch Mutt. Seeing his loyal hound come back to him with the little one, Hans felt an overwhelming sense of relief. He kneaded Mutt's face just the way Henry usually did.

"Still know me, doggy? Did you miss us?"

"My lord, I reckon he misses the treat you promised more." Henry grinned.

"Oh! Right!" Hans remembered what he'd said yesterday and hurried off to the innkeeper. Mutt, catching a hint of sausage, wagged his tail and followed. Henry watched them go, tiny wrinkles of happiness gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Chapter Text

"A swordmaster?"

"Aye. He's quite famous among the poor folk around here."

Henry and Hans were having lunch in the tavern yard. Mutt lounged by Henry's leg, leisurely gnawing on a bone Hans had left, though he'd already gobbled down two roasted sausages.

"Why among the poor?"

"Just listen to his name—Tomcat!" Henry swallowed a mouthful of food. "He's one of the nomads. They live right by Rocktower Pond."

Henry decided to visit Nomads' Camp that afternoon and receive training from this swordmaster. He didn't plan on becoming the invincible fighter he used to be, but he still needed to learn the basics, to build up his strength and resilience.

After lunch, Henry excused himself to prepare something in his room, so Hans took Mutt for a walk in front of the inn. They had walked this road at night a few days ago; by daylight, it looked completely different. This place was called Bohemian Paradise—peaceful ponds strung together, glittering, like jewels set into the earth. If not for the attack, Hans would have roamed and enjoyed the scenery here without a care in the world.

A moment later, Henry appeared leading their horses. Hans was about to ask what had taken him so long, when he noticed Henry's outfit looked rather different.

"Where did you get that armour?!"

It turned out Henry had taken a detour after finding Mutt—to the camp where they'd first been attacked. The place had been overrun by bandits, and their belongings had long been looted. But Henry wasn't after coin. What he had needed was the gear those bandits were wearing (not like corpses care about fashion). Tomcat was a proper master; he wouldn't let a peasant in a cloth shirt into his training ground. And Henry didn't want to spend good coin on some just-in-case armour. So he'd improvised.

Ch.5 The Jaunt

After arriving at Nomads' Camp, Henry took Hans for a stroll around the grounds first. The people here were peaceful and friendly, and they warmly welcomed the two outsiders. Henry left Hans with the nomads' community and went off to the training ground to sweat buckets (and a bit of blood, inevitably).

The sun was beginning to set, another day away from war drawing to a close. Hans walked over to the combat arena, seeing Henry utterly absorbed in his training duel. The sight reminded Hans of his Rattay days—the tournaments, Captain Bernard, his beloved archery range in the afternoons.

A long round came to an end. Tomcat, backed into a corner, conceded defeat. Henry's shoulders rose and fell as he gasped for breath; it seemed he had given it his all to finally win recognition from the master.

"Come on, Henry! My life depends on you!"

Henry turned at the call. Seeing Hans leaning against the fence and whistling, he chuckled. "Have no fear, my lord. My whole set of boosting potions will keep you safe!"

"God help me," Hans made a praying gesture. "My bodyguard wasn't a knight—he's a wandering quack."

Henry wanted one more go before dark. Tomcat readily agreed, but they both needed a little rest first. Henry went to the fence, picked up a cloth, and wiped the blood from his face—some already dry, some still seeping. Hans felt a bit of heartache.

"What did you chat about with them?" Henry asked, as if it were nothing.

"A lot. I learned a few words of their language, like you suggested. Tasted the nomads' mare's milk." Hans pulled a face—it was awful. "Aranka, the Voivode's wife, told me a lot of prophecies about you. She said you'd become their saviour."

"I know." Henry smiled with apology. "But I can't spare the energy to help everyone this time. Hope she'll understand."

Hans leaned close to Henry's ear. "...I also met my fair beauty."

Seeing Henry's skeptical look, Hans smirked.

"Ah...!" It took Henry a few seconds to realise. He'd forgotten that Enneleyn—the beautiful woman who'd had a rendezvous with Hans at the wedding—lived here too. "Fine," Henry pulled his helmet back on. "If you still have feelings for her, now's your chance. I'm going back to toughen my body and will for a certain heartbreaker."

Hans gave him an innocent look at once🥺. Henry's mouth curled up in a smirk, he tapped Hans on the nose, and returned to his training.

The training continued until they could no longer see each other's moves in the fading light. The pair followed Tomcat back to the camp; tonight, they would join the nomads' evening meal.

"By the way, where's Mutt?" Hans looked around. "I thought he was with you."

"I sent him to deliver a letter." Seeing Hans' puzzled look, Henry added, "You'll understand soon enough."

They followed the local custom, sitting in a circle on the ground with the nomads and eating stew. The new flavours were a revelation for Hans.

"I always imagined my first taste of foreign food would be Italian or French," Hans said, tasting it carefully. He found it hard to get used to, but the noble upbringing kept him from showing it.

"The first foreign food I ever had was probably Janosh's sausage."

"Well, I'll just assume you're not dropping some metaphors." Hans took another bite, trying to adapt. "I heard French cooking is very refined—even commoners eat quite well there."

"Did Brabant tell you that?"

"If only half of what he said were true." Hans shook his head. "It was Musa. He was such a storehouse of knowledge—God, I miss him. He even promised to try making some French dishes for me!"

"If you're so interested, I could tell you more things about France."

A soft voice came from the other side. Hans turned in surprise—his "fair beauty" had somehow appeared beside him.

"I lived in France for many years, handsome traveller." Enneleyn tilted her chin up, revealing her slender neck. "If you feel like it, we could talk for a long time..."

Even though Hans wasn't wearing fancy noble clothes, his charm still shone through. That face alone could make half the women stop—and the other half fall. Henry grumbled inwardly: why didn't any woman ever strike up a conversation with him?!

"Ah—well—this is truly an honour!" Hans immediately shifted into his noble self. "Such a pity—as much as I would dearly love to learn about French culture, we're in a hurry. We have to leave right after the meal, wasn't it, Henry?"

Henry's mouth was full when Hans called his name. Cheeks bulging, he said, "Do we really have to leave? It's already late. Wouldn't it be better to stay the night?"

Hans shot Henry a hard glare, secretly, so Enneleyn wouldn't see. But Henry ignored him on purpose and turned to Aranka, who was sitting opposite. "Excuse me, is there somewhere we—I mean, I could sleep tonight?"

"I'm sorry, young man. The empty tents here belong to my children..."

"Never mind, my lady! We must reach Tachov by tomorrow morning."

"In that case, you'd better set off soon," Aranka said with a nod. "The night roads are dangerous. Be careful."

"Yes, thank you for your hospitality!" Hans raised his bowl.

Henry said nothing and quietly went back to his meal. Hans shot him a sideways glance, then turned to Enneleyn, whose face showed a hint of disappointment. "Like a rose thou art—radiant enough to steal the breath from me. Before you, all Bohemia pales."

"Oh my, such a poet." Enneleyn placed a hand on her bosom—a trick, perhaps, to draw a man's gaze.

"So I have a hunch that somewhere, someday, we might meet again."

Hans lifted her other hand and landed an elegant kiss on it.

Finally, Henry swallowed the food.

Late at night, the two rode along a forest path. After confirming they were heading the right way, Henry folded the map. He noticed Hans had been trailing behind, silent, neither speaking nor catching up. Henry slowed Pebbles' pace to let Hans come back into view.

"So... 'the rose of Bohemia,' eh?"

Henry grinned foolishly, but Hans didn't react. Henry tried to read his expression, but only saw the torchlight casting shadows across his face.

"Keep your eyes on the road. I don't feel like running into the woods to rescue you in the middle of the night."

The coldness in Hans' voice made Henry realise something was wrong. He quickly shut his mouth and stared ahead, his burning cheeks stung by the night breeze.

They finally made it back to Tachov just before dawn. Henry opened the door to their room—but saw Hans heading toward the tavern.

"Hans...!" Henry grabbed his arm and said in a low voice, "I know I—"

"Just go to sleep. I'll take the granary behind the tavern."

Hans didn't look at him. Henry knew this wasn't the time to argue. "I'll go. Please take my bed."

Hans glanced back, and Henry thought he'd agreed—but Hans just shook off his hand softly.

"Don't treat me like a child. Think only you've slept on straw?"

With that, Hans strode off, his retreating figure so full of rejection that Henry's hand, left hanging in mid-air, had nowhere to go.

Why did it... have to end up like this...

Henry collapsed onto the bed, his brow furrowed, as if bearing the weight of mockery from the very air around him.

I was just teasing! ... Did I go too far? But... Hans should understand... Ahh, damn it!!

That night, Henry dreamt of Skalitz for the first time in a long while. He walked out of his house. Somewhere, Pa was striking the anvil, steady, rhythmic. Ma was sitting by the door, calling him to fetch Pa for supper. So Henry headed toward the forge, but no matter how far he walked, it stayed just ahead, always out of reach. Pa's face grew blurry, and Ma's voice faded. Panic surged as Henry reached out blindly, grasping through the haze until he finally caught something.

"Henry!"

Henry followed the voice and saw that it was Hans' arm he was gripping. Did he return to last night? No, wait. He looked closer: it was Hans who had been gripping him.

"Woof! Woof!"

Mutt circled him anxiously, while Hans simply watched him in silence. Henry lifted his head. The rustling in the trees cast shifting patches of sunlight across his face—Henry was back in somnambulism.

Splash! Henry scooped up some water from the trough by the smithy and splashed it over his face. The cool sensation stirred his brain, waking every nerve in his body. He did it again.

Mutt was still pressed against his leg. Only then did Henry realise that Mutt had returned from his errand. He rubbed the dog's face with his dripping hands and untied the cloth bundle strapped to him. Mutt shook his fur in protest.

"Are you all right, Henry?" Radovan, who was resting nearby, asked. "Your friend was worried. He searched all over the village for you."

"I'm fine, thanks. I just, um... went for a walk in the woods."

With that, Henry hurried back to his room in embarrassment, got dressed, and put the important item📜 Mutt had brought back into the storage chest.

That's done over there. Next is...

Henry scratched the back of his head, slapped his face to pull himself together, hoping he wouldn't mess things up again.

He went to the tavern, ordered a plate of cheese, and sat down across from Hans. Hans had already finished his lunch, but seemed to have been waiting for him. Henry felt relieved.

"Hans... thank you for coming to find me."

"Go thank Mutt. If he hadn't found you first, I'd still be running around like a headless chicken."

But his voice lacked its usual expressive tone. A shadow rose again in Henry's chest.

"Hans, I—"
"What's the plan for today?"

Once again, Hans cut him off. The message was clear: I know what you're going to say, but I don't want to talk about it. Henry fell silent for a few seconds, pressed his lips together, and forced himself to focus on work.

"...Today we're going to Apollonia to look for a wagon of lost cargo for Radovan. Then we'll prepare for the wedding."

Hans nodded and bent down to play with Mutt. Henry glanced at him, then lowered his head and started eating.

"Where did you go on your adventure, huh?" Hans scratched Mutt's chin. "What goodies did you bring back?"

You know, you could just ask me...

Henry lifted the plate to block his view and dumped the food into his mouth.

The two rode out of Tachov, heading south to Troskowitz, then passed through the town and continued east toward the rocky jungle of Apollonia.

They hardly spoke along the way, exchanging only brief words when necessary. Without Mutt's lively presence, the atmosphere would have been even more tense.

"That's it. Over here."

Following Henry's direction, the two walked deep into the woods from a branching path off the roadside, where they found a wagon covered with leaves.

"Is this Radovan's cargo?"

"Aye. It was meant for Semine. His two assistants sided with some bandits and diverted it for themselves." Henry crouched down to examine the cargo. "But then the assistants tried to betray the bandits and hid the wagon here. They're probably being tortured by the bandit chief right now."

"'The bandit chief,' you mean me?"

Henry's head snapped around. Five or six figures stood around them, dressed in rags and carrying weapons. Only the man in the centre wore a heavy, gleaming suit of crimson armour. He was clearly their leader—the bandit chief.

Henry and Hans had been surrounded. How come they hadn't even noticed a thing when walking into the woods?! Henry immediately rose and pulled Hans behind him, and scolded Mutt—but Mutt just tilted his head in confusion.

You stupid dog! Why didn't you warn us?!

"Don't be angry at the little fellow." The bandit chief saw right through Henry, and wore a mocking smile. "He was quite friendly with me. Looks like he knows he's about to find a new master, heh."

Danm... I forgot he's neutral... Sakra! Such an idiot I am!

"Well then," the chief took another step forward. "What's the story of you two? How do you know about our wagon?—I had to work it out of those two morons myself."

With that, he rested his hand on the pommel of his longsword—a habit typical of the highborn. Or perhaps it was his way of showing his opponents exactly how he had worked it out.

The gesture reminded Henry: he was wearing only a light armour, battered from yesterday's training, along with a cheap hunting sword. And Hans—didn't even have any protection.

Henry instinctively spread his arms slightly—if only his bones and flesh could become a wall.

Behind him, Hans was breathing his name.

No... I can't let the duel at Nebakov happen again. Now's not the time.

"If you don't want to answer, fine," the chief said impatiently. "Leave your groschen and the dog, get lost."

"Casper, is that you?" Henry suddenly spoke. "Been a while. I barely recognised you."

The chief froze, and Henry cut in just as he was about to speak. "Wait... no, not Casper. You're Charlie, aren't you? You're not wearing that fancy hat today, so I took you for him."

Henry gave a dramatic shrug; the chief had had it. "Shut up!!"

He drew his longsword and pointed it at Henry's throat, radiating a terrifying menace.

"—Who the hell are you?!"

"It's Henry! Have you forgotten? We used to run trade together." Henry stared right into his eyes. "That scum Canker, he was there too."

This time, the chief's fierce look slowly shifted to suspicion. He stepped closer to Henry, blade pressing against his neck. Henry then dropped the provocative act, appearing calm and unflinching. He slightly tilted his chin up, exposing his throat to the edge on purpose.

"What do you really want... 'Henry'?" There were only inches between them. The chief lowered his voice so that no one else could hear.

"I don't want to cause you any trouble. I just need this cargo." Henry answered quietly—now he had finally got the man's full attention.

The chief raised his sword a little, pressing it against Henry's jaw. "And why should I give up what's mine?"

"I'll pay you. You can leave with your men and the money. We never saw each other."

The chief snorted. "Then why should I give up my money—when all I have to do is slit your throat?"

Feeling Hans stir nervously from behind, Henry quickly covered him with his body again.

"The reason is this: you're a noble knight at heart. Even fallen to this life, you still value loyalty, and men who will live and die by your side."

"Hahahaha!" The chief laughed out loud, but his eyes didn't. "So you're a cleric! You don't really think preaching is going to save your skin, do you, you fake priest?"

Henry was silent for a few seconds. Then he raised a hand and, with two fingers, gently pushed the blade a trace away from his neck.

"...You know I'm telling the truth. That's why you're not going to hurt me." He tried to sound as convincing as possible. "Because I'm not like those three scums—Canker, Charlie, Casper..."

The chief didn't withdraw his sword. Instead, he let it rest on Henry's shoulder.

This madman before him, bold yet eerily confident, had caught his interest. He began to study Henry: a beardless boy with deep blue eyes, wanting to play the hero even without a chance of winning, somehow knowing his past... Had God sent an angel to punish him?—Perhaps it was he who was truly mad.

"Boy, chivalry is not a game." As a sharp gaze passed over Henry's shoulder, brushing across the blonde hair hidden behind him, an unreadable look came over the chief's face. "Who do you think you are? That you can stop all of us by yourself?" He pressed closer again, their breaths nearly mingling. "...Is that precious boy behind you so important that you'd risk your life for him?"

Though the chief's voice was barely a whisper, Hans heard him—then noticed Henry's signalling: don't move. Henry knew full well that the chief had just played his last trick: using Hans as a threat.

"Yes." Henry nodded, deciding to make his own final move. "You see, a friend of mine once faced this same situation. His name was Johnny, but everyone called him the Gob."

As Henry had expected, the chief's face grew grave. "...You know him?"

"We had a drink together. He told me about a companion he treated like a brother—someone he'd fought beside, saved each other's lives. He said no matter the odds, he'd throw himself before that man like his living shield, because the man was worth it."

"Ha! Hahaha...!" The chief suddenly let go of Henry and laughed as if nothing had happened. He finally sheathed his sword and called back to his men, "You lot head back to camp. I need to catch up with an old friend."

The bandits looked at each other in confusion. "...But Chief, what about the wagon?"

The chief shot them a glare, making them shuffle off, disgruntled.

"What's your connection to Semine?" He walked over to a rock and sat down.

Seeing this, Henry gave a nod to Hans, letting him know they were safe. "...I'm just a blacksmith's helper. I'm doing this for Radovan."

"Ha, 'a blacksmith's helper,'" the chief called Mutt to his feet and scratched the dog's head. "A preaching blacksmith's helper."

Henry ignored him and set to work with Hans, preparing to haul the wagon back to Tachov with their horses. The chief sat there, just watching.

"You're heading to the wedding tomorrow, aren't you?" he said. "What a celebration it'll be. I wonder if Lord Semine would welcome me."

"If you're going to rob it, not only Lord Semine, but I'll 'welcome' you too." Henry said casually as he busied himself.

"Really, a wolf in sheep's clothing, baring his fangs at last."

Soon, the wagon was hitched to the horses. Henry and Hans took their seats, and Mutt squeezed in between them. Henry picked up the reins and glanced at the chief.

"How are you going to explain this to your men?"

"Are you worried about me, lad?" The chief, leaning against a tree by the roadside, snorted. "I'll just say you're mercenaries sent by Semine, or something. Those idiots won't care."

Henry felt a twinge of guilt. "Thank you..."

"By the way, the name's Gules." The man walked over to the wagon and looked up at Henry. "But I suppose you already knew that, didn't you?"

Henry didn't answer.

"One last piece of advice, Henry. Next time you try to scare off your enemies with that kind of hocus-pocus, you'd better get your facts straight." Gules flashed a cunning grin. "You think Johnny got the name 'the Gob' because he couldn't keep his mouth shut? He just ate a lot—never talked too much. That's why I trusted him."

Henry was stunned, his mouth agape. Even Hans, sitting beside him, looked surprised.

"Then why did you—"

"I don't believe a single word you said. But your eyes told me you weren't bluffing." Gules slapped the horse on the back. "Go on. Next time we meet, I hope we're not enemies."

Henry flicked the reins, and the wagon moved forward. Hans glanced back at Gules' shrinking figure, his mind full of questions. What had just happened...? But more than the tangled truth, it was the sight of Henry's back, firmly shielding him, that left a dull ache in Hans' chest—one that refused to fade.

After riding for a while, Henry stopped the wagon and went into the woods. A moment later, he emerged carrying a longsword. He told Hans it was a material that Radovan would need, and now they could finally turn back.

Still, the two hardly spoke on the way. Henry's face was heavy with thought, and Hans couldn't find a chance to speak. The weight in the air held a slight shade of difference from when they had come. Perhaps only Mutt understood It.

By evening, they had returned to Tachov. After reporting to Radovan about the wagon, Henry immediately set to work forging the gift sword for Semine. Everything was ready—tomorrow, Radovan would take them to the wedding they had been dreaming of.

As night fell, Henry sat on the bed in their room, his head hanging low. After supper, Hans had left without a word—maybe to sleep in the granary, maybe still playing dice at the tavern. Henry felt utterly dejected, as if his body were slowly sinking into a bottomless mire.

Then the door opened. Henry looked up and saw Hans walking in, carrying a bundle of hay.

"Didn't you already tell Radovan? That we'll put a pallet on the floor." Hans urged Henry to lie down on the bed, while he spread the hay by the bedside and lay down himself.

If you sleepwalk, you'll have to climb over me first—Henry remembered Hans' words from before.

Soon, soft snores reached his ears. Henry lay on his side, facing the door, imagining Hans' sleeping face in the darkness. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Henry took out a fine silk attire from his storage chest—specially kept for the wedding, too precious for everyday wear. The dazzling patterns on the silk, paired with courtly dagged sleeves and hem, instantly transformed Henry into a elegant young noble. If he hadn't seen Sigismund's lavish attire with his own eyes, Henry would have thought the king himself dressed no better than this.

Picking up his knapsack, Henry got out of the room. Hans was talking with Radovan in front of the smithy, wearing the golden noble clothes Henry had bought for him a few days ago. Radovan and his wife had also changed into their finest. When they saw Henry approaching, their eyes widened.

"Holy Father Almighty! Henry, are you trying to steal the groom's thunder?!" Radovan exclaimed in admiration.

Henry smiled bashfully. He noticed Hans studying him with a thoughtful look and felt a little awkward. "I'm ready. Let's go."

The Radovans got onto the fully loaded wagon. Henry and Hans mounted their horses. Mutt sat by the roadside to see them off.

"Be good," Henry said to Mutt, having entrusted his dog to a neighbour for now. "Remember, come to us in Trosky tomorrow."

"Woof!" Mutt answered cheerfully.

The two set off, following behind Radovan's wagon. After watching them ride out of the village, Mutt flopped down on the ground and let out a lazy yawn.

The weather had been fine lately, and that day was especially clear—as if heaven itself was blessing this joyous day the whole region had been awaiting.

Bathed in sunlight, Hans looked radiant, even his back was straighter than usual. Seeing Hans in his true self for the first time since Rocktower Pond made Henry's heart flutter.

"You look really energetic today," Henry finally said, unable to hold back.

"Didn't I tell you, Henry? Clothes make the man." Hans shot him a glance. "Still, you're not bad either. For a peasant, you've done your best."

"Thank you, my lord."

Hans' reply left Henry relieved, yet he knew all too well that this was still just a conversation between "Lord Capon and his page." ... Would this be the end of their relationship? Had Hans grown tired of this adventure—a brief escape from his responsibility—and no longer wanted to be entangled with him? At that thought, Henry gripped the reins tighter, biting his lower lip as he frantically searched his mind for a chance to turn things around.

"By the way, are you two heading to Trosky tomorrow?" Radovan turned back. "I hear the castle gates are locked. No one's allowed in."

3, 2, 1, 0 ...What? Ah!

"If I get to meet Lord von Bergow at the wedding," Hans answered instead of Henry, who had just missed the window. "I'll convince him to take us inside."

"Ah, you might just succeed today. If you were still wearing those rags from the other day, you'd be sent packing like beggars, hahaha."

Henry looked at Hans apologetically. But Hans didn't look back. He only whispered, "Pull yourself together, Hal."

Ch.6 Wedding Crashers

Due to Radovan's introduction and their help in recovering the lost cargo, the two were accepted as wedding guests.

The blacksmith presented the sword Henry had forged as a wedding gift, proudly introducing his apprentice to Lord Semine.

"I've heard rumours about you," the old lord said, admiring the gift in his hands with great satisfaction. "The women in Troskowitz and Zhelejov are all abuzz about two young outlanders, whose speech and bearing are like fallen nobles. One of them is always buried in work. Even my daughter-in-law has mentioned you."

What Lord Semine said left Henry astonished. He had prepared a bunch of excuses to tell their story.

"Never underestimate women's mill of gossip." The old lord laughed and patted Henry on the shoulder. "And this morning, I also learned that two mysterious knights wiped out a bandit gang terrorising the area. That was you too, wasn't it?"

"What?! No, my lord, I didn't—"

"In fact, Lord Semine." Hans, who'd been standing aside, stepped forward and bowed to the old lord. "I am Sir Hans Capon of Pirkstein. This is my page and bodyguard, Henry of Skalitz."

He briefly described their travels since leaving Rattay and their purpose in attending the wedding. Lord Semine shook his head, sighed at the troubled times.

"We encountered those bandits while recovering your cargo," Hans shot Henry a meaningful glance. "We defeated them in self-defence. Please forgive us for not reporting it to you sooner."

"It's no trouble. Bailiff Thrush will send men to deal with it later." Lord Semine handed the sword to a servant and waved toward the courtyard. "In any case, welcome. Please enjoy today's feast. Lord von Bergow will arrive later."

Hans nodded in thanks. Henry, nudged discreetly by Hans, hurriedly bowed as well.

"Excuse me, mysterious knights," Radovan teased with the new title he had just heard. "I must go and greet the other neighbours."

In the blink of an eye, the two were left alone. Henry's gaze wandered helplessly. Noticing the tables laden with food and drink, he steeled himself and invited Hans to have a drink with him.

I must apologise to him quickly... I'll go mad if this goes on!

Hans hesitated for a moment, then pointed to the doorway and said, "All right. I'll wait in the courtyard. Bring some decent ones."

Watching Hans walk away, Henry's heart leapt. He was determined to seize this chance and bridge the rift between them. He surveyed the surrounding tables. Every dish gave off an enticing aroma, and the drinks were a dazzling array—any commoner would want to lose themselves in this paradise. But Hans needed fine drink, worthy of his noble palate—and Henry knew exactly where to find it.

Gathering a few cups of beer, he open the door to the pantry. A guard sat inside, muttering to himself. Before the man could say anything, Henry pretended to be a drunken guest and eagerly shared the beer with this unlucky man, who had been ordered to stand guard on the wedding day. Once he had a few in him, the disgruntled guard accepted Henry's suggestion to go out and drink his fill, and left his post.

I hope Lord Semine goes easy on him...

With a slight twinge of guilt, Henry picked up the bottle of Moravian schnapps stored in the pantry. He wasn't sure if this was worthy of a nobleman, but after all, it was the only rare one at the feast. Since Lord Semine's nephew had such a discerning taste for drink, Henry decided to borrow the Moravian's gift to present to his own lord.

Thanks, Jurko. I'm counting on your good taste!

Seizing the moment when no one was looking, Henry slipped out of the pantry, picked up a freshly roasted platter of lamb as if nothing had happened, and headed toward the main courtyard. Imagining how this pairing of delicacies would delight Hans—a comfortable, tipsy pleasure to restore how they once were—Henry's steps grew lighter.

The main courtyard was adorned everywhere with flowers and ribbons, the great tree at the centre decorated like a sacred gate to heaven. Henry was overwhelmed by the festive atmosphere. As a country boy who had never seen much of the world, the most splendid wedding he had ever attended was just getting drunk at the Skalitz tavern.

Henry set the drink and food down on an empty table and searched the crowd for Hans. Troubadours were playing merry tunes, and guests were dancing in pairs, their steps light. His gaze swept across every face in the courtyard—but Hans was nowhere to be found.

Hans...? Did I keep him waiting too long?

After looking for a second time, it dawned on Henry that Hans was really not there. His shoulders sank, his hollow eyes reflecting the smiling faces of the happy guests around him.

The next thing he knew, Henry was standing by a barrel outside the doorway, a cup of red liquid in his hand, gulping it down. The wine tasted cheap—clearly meant for common folk. It was exactly what Henry wanted at that moment: an ironic, pathetic taste that suited his situation perfectly. He swallowed it as if downing the ache in his heart, his throat bobbing.

"Drinking like that—will you even make it to the wedding?"

A voice, both strange and familiar, reached his ears. Henry lowered the cup and lifted his clouded eyes toward the voice.

"I thought you were a smart, quiet fighter," a man said, leaning against the wall by the barrel, with his usual playful smirk. "And turned out, you're nothing but a miserable drunkard. How foolish of me to have expected better of you."

Though his vision was blurry and spinning, Henry could still tell a horse face from a human one by the voice and tone—it was Gules. He wasn't wearing his conspicuous crimson armour, but proper formal clothes, blending completely into the festive atmosphere.

"...How did you get in here?" Henry found himself strangely calm. He should have been on guard at the presence of an outlaw in the feast, but suddenly, none of it seemed to matter.

"You must have heard Lord Semine. Two men took care of the troublesome bandits. As a reward, I'm now officially a member of the garrison at this fortress."

"Ha!" Henry lifted his jaw with a loud, scornful laugh. "So you were the mysterious knight?"

"I never said I was mysterious." Gules leaned closer to Henry's face. "I just told him my partner was a hothead who likes to play the knight and hero."

"When the hell did I become your partner?" Henry pushed him away.

"Right, right. You've got your own partner." Gules leaned back. "Speaking of which, where is he? Aren't you his keeper?"

Henry stared at the man, itching to smash his fist into that face—but his brawling skill was still too low. As the drunkenness faded, Henry slowly began to realise what he meant.

"...You said you 'took care of' the bandits? All of them?"

"When I decided to mend my ways and live honestly, the first thing I had to do was make sure no one would come after me for revenge or extortion." Gules raised his cup and took a drink. "Besides, those lackeys' days were numbered anyway. Heh."

That's right... just the kind of man he was.

"Then why drag me into it? What does that have to do with me?"

"Didn't you take care of Canker, Charlie, and Casper for me?"

What...?

Henry froze, his eyes widening, followed by a prickle across his scalp. How was this possible?! This man's unexpected appearance at that wagon's hiding spot, had already forced Henry to take the unusual approach—and now...

Gules let out a string of satisfied snickers at Henry's reaction. "Lad, think only you could play that little trick?"

Henry's body tensed, not daring to move. He couldn't tell which of this man's words were serious.

A sly shadow crept to the corners of Gules' lips.

"Losing your composure that easily isn't a knight's doing, Henry—if you want to be one."

There seemed to be a hint of knowing in his tone—Henry didn't want to think too deeply about it.

"Relax, I was just throwing back what you told me yesterday. As for those three scum, let God decide their fate." Gules patted Henry on the shoulder. "But getting you this flustered, I have to say, it's hard to resist." With that, he waved and walked away.

Henry closed his eyes and let out a long breath, Gules' breath still lingering in his ears.

...Like you have the nerve to talk about God.

Henry stood at the side of the main courtyard, listening to the troubadours. Only an hour had passed since they arrived at Semine, yet he already felt exhausted. And now he didn't want to talk to anyone, just wanted to find some peace in the music.

Behind him, a dice contest was being played in the stable, and next door, in the barn, Lord Semine was holding a tournament. Cheers and curses mingled in the air, making Henry regret his choice of spot. Perhaps he should have sought the quiet of the tower.

"Fair creature, may I have this dance?"

The familiar voice and phrasing came from behind, making Henry sigh. He didn't need to turn around to know that the pleasure-seeking young lord had finally showed up. Which lucky lady would be blessed by Lord Capon today?

Henry watched the dancing guests, imagining Hans soon taking a delicate hand and joining them.

"...Please, grant me a chance to win your heart. At least, shall we take a walk by the lake?"

Was Hans rejected? Was there really a woman in this world who could say no to that face? Curiosity made Henry turn his head for a peek—but he saw no cold beauty. Instead, he found Hans standing right behind him, one hand hanging in mid-air.

It took Henry a beat to realise what was happening, his mouth hanging open stupidly. Hans smiled.

"At last, my beloved one, you've deigned to look at me."

His smile was so sweet that Henry was speechless for a moment, unable to tell whether this was a dream or reality.

"My lord... I didn't expect you were speaking to me."

"Who else could capture my heart so completely but you—the most radiant jewel in all this courtyard?"

The flowery words sounded like a love letter to some butcher's daughter, yet Hans' face and tone were so sincere that, in his eyes, Henry truly seemed a creature of such beauty.

Henry felt a warmth rise in his stomach, melting his heart, the heat of it prickling behind his eyes.

"Now... shall we go to the lake?" His voice sounded restless—he couldn't wait another breath.

"In fact, the lake's already taken." Hans shrugged and pointed toward the bustling building behind him, a triumphant grin on his face. "I know a better place for a rendezvous."

During a break in the tournament, the guests had started fistfight gambling of their own. Two drunk men were staggering around and trading clumsy punches. Hans led Henry through the rowdy crowd outside the fence and up the stairs to the upper floor.

The air smelled of dry hay, mingled with a trace of hidden fragrance. The floor was spread with a suggestive rug, along with two cushions, which drew a diagonal line with the candlefire by the wall.

"This is where—"

Hans' words were swallowed by the dull thud of his back hitting the rug, which was itself swallowed by the cheers and shouts rising from below.

Henry pressed down on Hans, kissing him wildly: the lips, the tongue, the jaw. Fingers digging into Hans' neck and waist, rolling and grinding against him with all his strength, as if trying to melt himself into Hans' body.

Hans had finally dropped his "Lord Capon" mask. Henry could no longer hold back his raw desire. He missed Henry and Hans—longed for that familiar warmth he had lacked for days. He now realised how fragile he truly was: without Hans' love, he was nothing but a hollow shell filled with hatred and loneliness.

To hell with sin. He wanted Hans. If Olda wouldn't give Agnes her rightful wedding night, then Henry would drag Hans to claim that bridal chamber for themselves.

"Henry, stop. Stop!" Hans was starting to have trouble breathing. He grabbed Henry's collar with difficulty. "—Hal!!"

Henry froze, looking utterly lost. If he were rejected by Hans now, he would be completely driven to despair.

"God, darling..." Hans rubbed the moisture from his mouth and pushed Henry back a little. "Don't you think we should talk first?"

Henry blinked, then shook his head. "Where have you been?! I've been looking for you!"

"Oh, please—that's not it!" Hans let out a helpless laugh, folding his knees to let Henry straddle him. "And you haven't been looking. I know you went off drinking."

Henry had nothing to say. Watching Hans prop a cushion behind his head, he realised that Hans intended to stay like this and have their talk.

"I'm sorry," Henry finally said, confessing what had been eating at him. "I shouldn't have teased you with Enneleyn."

"Teased?"

"...Tested." He frowned, lowering his head in shame. "I was testing you with her... I was wrong."

"Henry, do you know what makes me angriest?" Hans' face grew serious. "You were ready to accept it even if I sleep with her, because sooner or later I'm going to marry and bed some other woman. And you're right, that's how it is."

Henry kept his eyes down, not daring to meet his gaze.

"You feel miserable, and use this fact to pity yourself. Do you think I don't suffer the same torment? Do you think my feelings for you are just a game?!"

"..."

"You've crossed the line, Henry. Using a woman to test my loyalty, while leaving yourself an excuse to play the understanding one."

"You're right..." Henry's shoulders trembled slightly. "I really regret it, Hans. And I'm sorry."

Hans sighed.

"Every time I see Enneleyn... I think of the two of you leaning together here." Henry glanced around. "And how much I gave for you, yet you wouldn't even give me a second look—just held her in your arms and danced under that tree..."

"Henry..." Hans took Henry's hands and pressed them to his own cheeks.

"I'm sorry... I was blinded by jealousy. I swear, I'll never do that again." Henry shook his head firmly.

They gazed at each other. Straddling Hans' lower belly, Henry cradled his face and leaned forward. Their bodies cast a triangular shadow across the rug.

"If you kiss me, I'll forgive you just a little." Hans broke the silence, his familiar smile returning. "Be gentle."

Henry smiled in relief as well. Slowly, he lowered himself and touched his lips to Hans'—a peck, then a pause, then another, like a bird's feet hopping on a branch.

"Uh-uh!" Hans pushed Henry away again, raising a finger to signal stop.

"Was that not gentle enough?"

"Kissing only. Nothing else." Hans glanced down at where their bodies met. "Don't think I haven't noticed your little moves."

Well, Henry was caught. He had been grinding against Hans' lower belly as he kissed, trying to wake the passion within them. After all, things had already gone this far—what else could he do?

"Hans, please..." Henry didn't want to give up. "Just with my hands. I really miss you..."

"Are you jesting? What do you take someone's wedding for?!" Hans waved his arm, speaking grandly, as if his own conscience were spotless. "No hands! No arse! Either obey, or begone!"

Henry covered his face and let out a dramatic sigh, but through the gap in his fingers, he caught the smirk on Hans' lips and realised his intention.

"This is your revenge, isn't it?! You're punishing me!"

"Finally realised, you peasant! No one humiliates Hans Capon like that and gets away with it!"

With that, Hans burst out laughing like a child who'd just pulled off a prank, the bounce of his belly patting against Henry's thighs. Henry felt both dejected and thoroughly embarrassed, the naturally downturned corners of his eyes drooping, as if they might fall to his ears.

Hans looked utterly satisfied. He took Henry by the arm and guided him down until he lay on top of him, pressing his lips to Henry's ear.

"Listen well, Henry the sinner." Hans breathed, his voice soft and honeyed, his finger tracing down Henry's spine. "You are sentenced to chastity. I'll let you suffer, tortured by your own desire. But I will show mercy in the end, since I'm a gracious lord." He gave Henry's buttocks a sudden squeeze, making him shudder. "—I'll forgive you, please you, ravish you in the sweetest way."

Henry felt a twitch in his stomach—or somewhere lower. Hans' teasing drove him nearly mad. His fingers were gripping Hans' clothes tightly.

"Then..." Henry's voice was barely a whisper. "...ose to..."

"—Huh? Speak clearly. Is this how you talk to a noble?"

Henry hesitated, then braced against Hans' chest and pushed himself up. His face was as red as a ripe tomato. Eyes half-closed, lips trembling, he lowered his head and forced out words he could scarcely believe were his own.

"...Then when does my lord choose to ravish me...?"

"Well done, Hal." Hans had heard him the first time, naturally. "I've already chosen the perfect moment. Surely you're not getting the answer now. That's what we call a punishment, isn't it?"

A thunderous cheer rose from below—someone had won the tournament. But Henry knew only one thing: he had been completely defeated by the man lying beneath him.

"...As you wish, Sir Hans. But... what are we supposed to do now?" Henry looked down disappointedly at the two small hills rising between their thighs.

"What else? Enjoy the wedding." Hans patted the space beside him. The rug was more than large enough for them to do nothing.

After Henry went to fetch the drink, Hans came to the main courtyard and found them a table with a good view. But right after sitting down, he was spotted by Enneleyn—who had sparked this whole mess in the first place.

To avoid making things worse, Hans took her to the lake and gave her a harmless explanation.

When returning from the lake, he found a platter of roasted lamb and a bottle of drink on the table. It looked like Henry had brought them, but Henry himself was nowhere to be seen.

Hans sat down and waited, while the crowd grew livelier by the minute. This spot, he decided, was not suitable for the conversation they needed to have. Remembering the place where he had once spent a pleasant time with Enneleyn, Hans picked up the food and drink and headed toward the barn. But then he realised that wandering guests and drunkards might show up at any moment. So he turned to a man watching the tournament outside the fence and offered a deal: keep the stairs free of curious eyes, and the food and drink would be his. Well, the man happened to be a Moravian.

So that bottle ended up in Jurko's belly after all...

Henry nestled against Hans, listening to his side of the story while eating a peach from the fruit platter. Although reluctantly, he had to admit that Hans' method had worked. Their little impulse had now settled into calm.

"I set things up here and went down to the main courtyard to find you. That's when I saw you drinking with that man from yesterday."

Henry quickly explained, "I wasn't drinking with him, just being pestered."

Gules was a dangerous man. Henry didn't want to get involved with him.

"Seems he's quite interested in you," Hans said, looking sideways.

"He only taught me a lesson—never use 'last time' memories as a trick again..." Henry buried his face wearily in the crook of Hans' neck.

"Lord von Bergow has arrived—!"

A soldier's shout came from a distance, and the two sat up and looked at each other.

"So he actually came." Hans shook his head. "What now? Are we supposed to start a brawl right in front of him?"

"About that..." Henry smiled and pulled a crumpled roll of paper from his pocket. "As it happens, I have a way."

The wax seal on the paper bore a crest Hans knew better than any other: the Lords of Leipa.

Chapter Text

Dear Captain,

Sir Hans and I are preparing for the wedding. Everything is under control. There is just a small trouble.

As you know, Sir Hans was once escorted into Trosky as a poacher. That stubborn Chamberlain, Ulrich, unlawfully sentenced him to hanging, a grossly unjust treatment (not that I am trying to excuse his poaching). Though Sir Hans was spared in the end, the wound of such an ordeal is hard to heal, not to mention the damage to his reputat–

"Damn it, Henry!" Zizka slammed the letter down on the table. "Enough bloody rambling, just say what you want already!"

The image of Henry's chastised face appeared in Zizka's mind. Strange to say, that boy was naturally fearless—he showed no weakness before any of the Devil's Pack, yet to Zizka only, he always carried an air of reverence. Zizka had heard of Henry's background. He had sometimes wondered if the boy saw in him the shadow of his noble father. But after meeting Radzig himself, Zizka began to think otherwise.

He sighed, turned his attention back to the letter.

–nnot allow such a thing to happen again. That is why I must insist that Sir Hans travel with me. This time, we wish to enter Trosky with our heads held high.

However, if we follow the original plan and your attack prevents von Bergow from attending the wedding, my efforts will be for nothing. Therefore, please forgive me for making this bold request: do not carry out the attack on von Bergow. Sir Hans will meet him in person at the wedding. If all goes well, we will soon receive a formal commission, and then proceed to Nebakov as planned to rejoin you. Sir Hans and I look forward to that day.

Yours sincerely,
Henry

PS: Please tie the letter we brought from Rattay to Mutt and send him back.

Zizka lifted his experienced eyelids and glanced at the paper scroll lying on the corner of the table—the one they had found during the attack at Rocktower Pond. The conspicuous wax seal announced the standing of its sender. Thinking of that cunning, self-serving face behind the letter, Zizka let out a contemptuous snort.

"...I should've given this damn scroll along with that money to Katherine, if I'd known." Zizka put down the letter helplessly and turned to the messenger, who was sitting on the floor watching him with a tilted head. "Your master truly is a handful, isn't he?"

Mutt let out a grunt and unbothered scratched his ear. A flicker of tenderness softened Zizka's sharp eyes. He reached out to pat the dog's head, but harsh footsteps echoed from the corridor. He glanced up warily, and the door was shoved open roughly.

"Ah, there you are, my Captain."

Zizka fixed the newcomer with an icy stare. "It's the middle of the night. Where else would I be if not in my room? Wandering around like some idler?"

"Well, that makes sense! The master of the fortress ought to sleep in his own bed. Forgive my rudeness, 'Lord Nebak'."

The newcomer—a man wearing a black noble chaperon—not only missed the irony in Zizka's words but bowed to him in a mocking gesture. Zizka felt the urge to grab his mace and smash the man's skull right then and there.

"...What do you want?"

"I've come to confirm the details of the ambush on von Bergow—wait." The man noticed Mutt on the floor and grimaced with disgust. "What's a stray dog doing here? I didn't know you had such a meaningless kind heart, Captain."

"The attack is cancelled," Zizka said, suppressing his impulse and ignoring the man's jab. "Too many uncertainties, too much risk. I was planning to inform you tomorrow."

"What?! But Erik is already prepared!"

"He'll have other chances to make himself useful."

"But Captain—"

"I. Have. Decided." Zizka bit out the words in his usual hard tone, the ice-blue in his eyes chilling to the bone.

"...As you wish."

The frustrated man turned to leave, but Zizka called after him, "Since you're here, go fetch me some sausages and one beer."

"My dear Captain... I am not your servant." The man's voice was seething with anger.

"Then have your Erik bring it up." Zizka turned back to the letter on the table. "It's not as if he has anything better to do."

The man's eyes widened, his nose twitching. Realising that Zizka wouldn't look up at him again, he was left with nothing but to shoot Mutt a vicious glare before storming off.

Zizka listened to the footsteps fade and let out a sigh. "That boy is rubbing off on me," he muttered to himself. Mutt sensed something and rested his head on Zizka's thigh. Feeling the little warmth and weight, Zizka allowed himself a fleeting smile. He took a piece of sturdy cloth, wrapped the letter from Rattay, and tied it onto Mutt. Mutt sniffed at it.

"Your reward sausages will be here soon. You can go home after eating." Zizka patted the dog's head. "Take care of your troublesome young master for me."

Ch.7 For Whom the Bell Tolls

Clang—!

Another bell toll echoed through the sky, startling the crows atop the tower.

Henry ran up the slope towards the Maiden Tower in his tattered cloth shoes, his legs as heavy as lead, his feet felt as dead. How many times had the bell tolled? Seven? Eight? He had no time to count. He just ran desperately—it wasn't a bell he was hearing, but the footsteps of death closing in on Hans.

He'd finally been allowed up to the chapel where Captain Thomas was being treated. If only Thomas would testify, Hans would be saved! Henry gritted his teeth and climbed the last flight of stairs—but then the sole of his shoe split, throwing him off balance. He missed a step and tumbled down like a clumsy bear, landing in the mud. Rain pattered against his face with crisp slaps. He reached up to wipe it away, but something felt strange.

This rain... why is it sticky?

Henry opened his heavy eyelids. Mutt's face filled most of his view, blocking the dim ceiling. A big, soft, wet tongue was licking his cheek, drool threatening to drip into his ear.

"Christ, Mutt! Stop it!" Henry frowned, wiping his face messily with his sleeve. Mutt always "woke" him like this when he camped alone in the woods. Groggy, Henry threw his arm around Mutt's neck, pulled the dog onto the bed to hug him, closing his eyes again.

Henry began to piece together how he'd ended up in this bed. At the wedding in Semine, von Bergow had arrived as expected. Hans delivered the letter Henry had managed to retrieve, and the two of them finally stood before the lord of Trosky as messengers. Von Bergow was understandably suspicious, so Henry proposed that Captain Thomas could vouch for them. After the wedding, they rode with von Bergow's company to the castle. Wounded Thomas came to after the physician's care, and Hans and Henry were formally recognised. Von Bergow decided to officially receive the messengers from Rattay the following day. The generous lord, displaying all the grace of a noble house, provided them with a rich dinner and lodgings—Hans was given a superior guest room befitting his rank, while Henry was assigned to sleep in the craftsmen's quarters, on a spare plank bed under the stairs.

The air smelled damp. Mutt's doggy odour mingled with the smell of mud, stinging Henry's nose and reminding him of that unpleasant dream: Hans, calling out to him in a desperate voice—

"Save me—Henry—I don't want the gallows—"

This time, Henry opened his eyes fully and looked toward the voice (Mutt too, as if by telepathy). Hans was leaning against the wall by the door, his hands clasped together, his face as wretched as if he were facing judgment.

"Lord... forgive my soul. That rope isn't meant for me! I'd rather die on the battlefield!"

"...Or in women's breasts?" Henry asked lazily.

"Get up, you rude peasant!" Hans rolled his eyes. "What kind of page are you, waking up later than your lord?"

"I had a nightmare... haaah—" Opening his mouth wide, Henry let out a long yawn, then suddenly came to his senses. "...Were you watching me sleep?"

"You mean that lamb-like face waiting for its mother's milk? I didn't see it." Hans grinned smugly. "Mutt washing your face with his full attention—now that was amusing. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt him."

"I've told him several times, but he just won't listen." Henry scratched the scruff of Mutt's neck and looked at Hans with a teasing, narrowed glance. "If it were your tongue next time, I'd enjoy it a little longer."

Hans didn't respond; instead, he looked flustered, letting out a couple of dry coughs as if he had a fishbone stuck in his throat. Henry was confused. Hans hadn't been awkward by flirting before, had he?

"—I'm the one who should be awkward."

"Christ!!" Henry sprang out of bed. This was the second time this week a sudden voice from behind had scared the daylights out of him.

But when he saw who it was, his face turned from pale green to bright red in an instant—Katherine was sitting on the stairs in the corner of the room, one hand propping up her chin, looking at him with a complicated expression.

"Katherine...! What are you do—" Henry quickly shook his head. "I was just joking!"

Hans silently covered his face.

"Henry, save your breath. I can pretend I didn't hear anything. But for God's sake, do be extra careful!" She sighed with a hand on her forehead. "You're all battle-hardened men, yet still needing an old woman to teach you how to do it."

I haven't had that much! It's Hans... not me...

"Ahem... It was Katherine who brought Mutt in, when he was wandering at the gate." Hans decided to accept this mortifying reality. "Go clean yourself up! How long are you going to show your braies before a lady?!"

"Oh, never mind, boys. I worry too much." Katherine stood up and dusted off her skirt. "Come on, Mutt. Let's leave these two goofs to play by themselves. Ma will take you to get something tasty."

Mutt hopped off the bed joyfully like a rabbit seeing a carrot, wagging his tail as he followed Katherine up the stairs.

"Katherine, you're not old at all! And thank you for the soup..." Hans called after her, but his voice faded into the air.

Henry blinked, still seeming not fully awake. The light filtering through the window was too dim to tell the hour. He stared blankly for a long moment before finally asking, "Why didn't she leave through the door?"

Hans felt a little deflated and picked up a bowl of soup beside him, handing it to Henry. "Because lady Katherine isn't like you. She's very cautious, worried that coming in or out through the door would draw suspicion, so she used the corridor upstairs to sneak in. No one knows she was here."

Henry took a sip of the soup. It was a bit cooler than he'd expected—likely having lost its heat while Hans and Katherine chatted beside his sleeping face. Still, it was delicious. A rich, floral fragrance seeped into every corner of him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Why do you ask?" Henry was pulling on his favourite hunting hose.

"Your shoulder," Hans said with concern. "It's raining now. Katherine was worried your wound might ache, so she made that soup especially for you."

Henry looked down at the empty bowl he'd just drained; instantly, a warm feeling spread through his chest.

"She really cares about you." A hint of melancholy crossed Hans' face. "Sometimes I think... if fate had played out differently, perhaps it would be her with you now…" He lowered his eyes. "...Not me."

"Hey, don't say that." Henry smiled a little bashfully. "You know every girl in Bohemia would fall for me, but I still chose to settle for you."

"Dream on!" Hans gave Henry a shove. "You've still got Mutt's drool marks on your chin!"

A light, steady rain had been falling without pause, creating countless shallow puddles in the muddy ground. Henry and Hans stood on the walkway between the two towers, leisurely watching the busy figures hurrying in and out; raindrops would hit their noses if they peeked out even slightly.

"Did you see that feigned look on his face?" Hans was leaning against a pillar and muttered. "Pah! That old lynx has been playing us like fools from the very start."

The two had just finished their meeting with von Bergow. To secure an alliance with Trosky, the envoys from Rattay had to prove their sincerity by traveling to Nebakov Fortress to seek aid—though this time, both sides harboured their own ulterior motives.

"Indeed. He even pretended he'd never heard of Istvan Toth," Henry said through gritted teeth, shaking his head. "If only we'd known their schemes from the beginning... how many needless sacrifices could have been avoided."

But "if only" doesn't change anything. Even now, seeing through the undercurrents beneath the surface, Henry still couldn't prevent the fall of Nebakov or the despair that engulfed Suchdol—Sam's people, Adder, and all those soldiers whose names he'd never had time to learn...

"Had Zizka not struck first, you and I might have ended this war with our own hands," Hans raised a finger and said excitedly, "—for the enemy!"

Henry turned his head just as a Trosky soldier passed behind them. The two fell silent at once.

"...What next?"

"It doesn't look like this rain is going to stop today, and we've missed the best hour to set out." A familiar clanging drifted up from below. Henry glanced down and nodded at Hans. "Sorry to keep my lord waiting. It's time to spend the groschen I've been saving!"

They went to the smithy, where Osina, the Trosky blacksmith, was hammering away at the anvil. Henry, flashing Hans' noble status and a heavy purse, "politely" asked the blacksmith to bring out his finest armour and spread them across his workbench, then helped Hans try them on piece by piece.

"Hmm... this cuirass is of excellent quality, but it doesn't quite match the plate legs. That cuirass looks more suitable, but it's too thin and not very practical... hmm..."

Propping his chin on one hand and supporting his elbow with the other, Henry hesitated between the two cuirasses. Osina looked impatient, muttering complaints from time to time, but nothing he did could get Henry's attention.

"Just pick this one. Quality is what matters most!" Hans looked rather uncomfortable, hoping to urge Henry to stop his deliberate charade.

"Yes, exactly! Since the lord himself has spoken, let's go with this one. The price is negotiable."

"Alright. Next, gauntlets. Are all your wares here?"

"Could you please hurry up?!" Osina finally snapped. "The chamberlain ordered me to repair his armour before sunset, and you've already held me up for two hours!"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "I've seen you chatting with the soldiers the whole time, and now you're using that excuse to fob us off? Do you want me to tell Master Chamberlain that if anything happens to my lord on the battlefield, he will be held responsible?!"

"Wh... Fine! What do you want?!"

"I've already told you." Henry seemed to have been waiting for this moment. "Bring out your finest gear."

The blacksmith shook his head in agitation. "That is reserved specifically for Master Ulrich!"

"Suit yourself. As a distinguished guest of Trosky and an envoy from a neighbouring region, if Lord Capon must purchase his armour from the countryside, I wonder what Lord von Bergow would think." Henry turned his head. "Let's go, Sir Hans. I've heard there's a better blacksmith in Tachov."

Osina quickly stopped Henry. Looking thoroughly defeated, he brought out a clearly superior set of armour from the warehouse next door.

"...Surely you're satisfied now?" He asked dejectedly as Henry fitted the armour onto Hans.

"Now this is worthy of the lord of a castle." Henry admired Hans' renewed charisma with satisfaction, and handed Osina a pouch of groschen.

He weighed it in his hand and flew into a rage. "This is only enough for a set of junk!"

"Isn't that exactly what you're selling?" Without waiting for a reply, Henry rushed Hans to leave, throwing Osina a triumphant look over his shoulder. "Oh, and don't worry about the armour still needing repairs—I'm a blacksmith myself."

Leaving Osina stamping his feet in fury behind, Henry stored Hans' new gear in the chest inside his temporary room, and led him to the bathhouse at the foot of the Maiden. Just as he was about to open the door, a bathmaid came out carrying a basin of water.

"My apologies, noble sirs," she said upon seeing them. "Captain Thomas is unwell and has summoned me to tend to his wounds. If you require service, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until I return."

"It's alright. I can attend to my lord's bath," Henry said. The bathmaid nodded and hurried off.

Henry ushered Hans into the bathhouse and, imitating the maids' routine, filled the tub with hot water and sprinkled herbs and dried flowers. Noticing Hans still standing motionless by the door, he gave him a puzzled look.

"For the love of the Virgin Mary," Hans said incredulously, "Henry, what the hell happened just now?!"

Henry smiled. "Please get into the bath first, my lord. Then I shall explain it to you.

"You're getting more and more insolent. Dragging me into this just to get back at a fool who once cheated you?!"

"But he really did swap the armour von Bergow promised us for some crap!"

"So what?!" Hans slapped the water in anger. "I was stuck standing there like an armour rack all afternoon!"

Although it wasn't as bad as Hans made it sound, Henry admitted he'd gone a bit too far and didn't dare talk back.

Hans sat in the tub while Henry stood outside washing his hair. As his rough palms brushed against Hans' scalp, Henry almost worried that the calluses on his hands would cut those delicate gold threads.

"Don't be angry..." Henry took a handful of water and let it trickle slowly down the sensitive skin behind Hans' ear. "So I'm making it up to you, aren't I?"

"You're just taking the chance to grope me," Hans snorted. "When you heard the maid had to leave, you were secretly overjoyed, weren't you?"

"I'm not that lewd!" Henry pouted, trying to hide his embarrassment at being caught out. "Look how well-behaved my hands are—they haven't touched anywhere I shouldn't."

"Then keep it that way! Don't forget you're still being punished." Hans reminded him seriously. "I'm clean enough now. Pour me some wine."

Taking the goblet from Henry, Hans draped an arm over the tub and closed his eyes in contentment.

"What else do you require of me, my lord?"

"Wine. Refill it when I've finished. Otherwise, no talking, no touching." Hans tipped his head back and downed the wine in one gulp. "I don't want the people of Trosky to misunderstand that I like being touched by men." Then, without a word, he raised his empty cup.

The lord had given his command, and Henry had no choice but to obey. He stood behind Hans with the wine jug, waiting to serve while quietly watching him lift the goblet to his lips over and over. After the first cup, Hans slowed his pace, savouring each sip; each roll of his Adam's apple drew Henry's hungry gaze. Hans knew all too well that Henry would stare at him like a predator eyeing its prey, which was exactly why he wanted to keep Henry watching but unable to touch—nothing whetted the appetite quite like stoking the fire within Henry.

Hans raised his empty goblet again. Henry stepped forward to refill it, his gaze drawn to Hans' neck, glistening with water droplets. Those beads were reflecting the flush beneath his skin, plump and crystalline: some from the bathwater, some from his sweat, and some from condensed steam. Henry felt his throat go dry and glanced instinctively at the goblet—only to see the crimson liquid trickling down Hans' hand.

"Ah! I'm sorry, I was daydreaming!"

Henry hurriedly put down the wine jug, grabbed a towel, and frantically began wiping his hand, when he found Hans was smiling and peeking at him.

"Such a useless servant." Hans pulled his hand back, licked the lingering traces of wine away with his teasing tongue.

Henry knelt down beside the tub with a plaintive look, gaze level with Hans'. "I could lick it clean for you too… as long as that proves I'm useful."

"Ha, not even Mutt would come up with something like that." Hans turned around and leaned on the rim of the tub, chin resting on his folded arms. "Let's see what this dog is capable of."

The tempting lips were just inches away. Henry felt a restless stirring in his chest. All he needed was to lean forward ever so slightly—

"Ahem... Please forgive my clumsiness, my lord."

He picked up the wine jug and goblet and set them back, using the towel to clean up the wine spilled around the tub. His lowered lashes seemed to be holding back the urge inside—Henry hadn't fallen for Hans' trap. The sly noble laughed and leaned back against the tub once more.

Just then, the bathmaid opened the door and entered. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

"Good heavens, you're finally back!" Hans immediately let out a dramatic yell. "My servant has been standing there like a wooden dummy—can't even tell a joke! I'm bored to death!"

The maid smiled and offered to take over, asking Henry if he'd like to bathe as well. Henry glanced at Hans, who just waved to him casually.

"Leave us, I have no further need of you," Hans said with a meaningful sidelong look. "Go reflect deeply upon your sins."

Henry gently closed the door behind him. It was still drizzling outside, and the temperature difference between indoors and out sent a shiver through him. The sound of playful laughter drifted from behind the door; Henry took a deep breath and stepped into the misty rain.

Leaving the bathhouse, he returned to his room, took out Hans' armour from the chest, and sat on the bed to mend it. Ever since he'd picked up the habit of whistling while working the forge, he'd hum little tunes without even thinking—whether brewing or stitching, whenever his hands were busy.

Henry's favourite melody was a nocturne. It was during his days running a smithy at Kuttenberg. Late one night, while stumbling home in a drunken haze, he spotted a figure sitting in the darkness outside the smithy's gate. The man was playing a flute, with only a faint candle by his feet. But Henry was certain he was a bard, for his music had such a lulling peace—much like the moonlight that gently caressed Kuttenberg that very night. Henry hadn't interrupted him. He went to his bed, embraced by both drunkenness and the sound of the flute, and drifted into a sweet dream. The memory of that night was so beautiful that the melody became etched in Henry's mind. He'd wanted to buy that man a drink as appreciation, but he never saw him again.

Thanks to his improved skill, the mending was soon finished, yet Hans still wasn't back. Henry glanced out the window at the rain; with nothing else to do, he decided to go find Katherine for a chat. However, in the servants' quarters, all he found was Mutt, sprawled out in a loose, well-fed sleep. Then he went to the stable, thinking he might take a quick ride out of the castle, but Pebbles was also fast asleep in the hay. Henry sighed. The dim light and heavy air made even him yawn.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something that brightened his spirits: a black pearl that still glowed faintly even on this gloomy, rainy day.

Henry brushed the mud off his clothes and stepped out with a lighter step.

Chapter Text

"Good afternoon, Master." Henry came to the combat arena in the castle's inner courtyard. "The way you stand there in the rain, truly resembles a fabled knight from a troubadour's tale."

The black pearl—Bartosch—seemed puzzled by the unexpected compliment. Henry bowed at once. "I'm Henry, serving as a page to Lord Capon. An honour to meet you."

"Likewise, Henry." Bartosch nodded. "I haven't yet had the chance to speak with Lord Capon, but he must surely be a wise and valiant lord—I can tell just by looking at you."

Henry smiled bashfully. "Since no one's training, and with this rain, why don't you sit in the tent?"

"Ah, I've faced far harsher battlefields, this little rain doesn't bother me." Bartosch gazed out across the wide landscape beyond the castle walls. "I enjoy the view from here. The plains shrouded in rain and mist are quite enchanting, and clear."

"Clear? Isn't it more like hazy?"

Bartosch chuckled softly. "Try to see with the eye of your mind. Look beyond the mist, and imagine the birds shaking the raindrops from their feathers, or the leaves glistening with dew."

An image rose in Henry's mind—the neck, just within reach, in that steamy bathhouse. He quickly shook his head to banish the impure thoughts.

"I see you understood what I mean," Bartosch said with a knowing air.

"...I thought this was a place for learning warfare," Henry said, trying to hide his embarrassment. "Instead, you're teaching me high philosophies. Are you a scholar by trade?"

"Was it not you who spoke so poetically with your very first breath?" Bartosch laughed heartily, his shoulders bouncing like a hare. "I do the arts I'm good at—be it the sword, philosophy, or the appreciation of poetry and wine. As long as someone has a need, I am happy to share." He fixed Henry with a deep, searching gaze. "So, have you come to me for the sword training? Or for something else?"

Ah... damn. That was reckless.

Memories from the past came flooding back, and Henry secretly felt relieved that Hans wasn't nearby. He cleared his throat and raised a finger to reassert his position.

"The sword, of course! After all, I am a knight who guards his lord."

"Very well. Choose your weapon." Bartosch turned and vaulted into the combat arena.

Ch.8 Back in the Saddle

"You were soundly thrashed out there."

Henry clutched his ribs as he limped out of the combat arena. Hans was sitting at the dice table with his legs crossed, clearly having enjoyed Henry's knightly struggle.

"Master Bartosch is a sword master from Prague... I'm honoured just to have crossed blades with him at all."

"You're too kind." Bartosch walked over to join the pair. Unlike Henry, who was gasping for breath, he looked fresh and seemed to have quite enjoyed their swordplay. "Lord Capon, your page may not be the sharpest sword, but is undoubtedly the most loyal shield. I can see in Henry's eyes a resolve that will never yield."

Hans burst into hearty laughter. "Truly worthy of the University of Prague—your reputation is well deserved! Train hard, Henry, don't let Master Bartosch's high opinion of you go to waste."

Henry nodded. As it was getting late, the three of them moved together to the Crone Tower for supper. During the meal, Hans and Bartosch engaged in a lively discussion about politics and economics, leaving Henry dumbfounded. He could swear he'd never seen such an eloquent and refined Hans. After all, whenever the young lord was with his usual drinking companions, the story always ended up being about pigsties.

"The hour is late." Hans set down his goblet. "We should head back and rest. There's still tomorrow's task to prepare for."

"I hear you'll be forming an alliance with Trosky. I look forward to fighting alongside you both," Bartosch said with a nod. "Henry, if you ever need me, come to the arena anytime."

"I will. Thank you, Master."

After bidding goodbye to Bartosch, Henry and Hans walked through the long courtyard back to the Maiden's side. The puddles on the ground reflected the flickering torchlight. The rain had finally stopped.

"Ah—I was dying of nerves!" Hans sat down heavily on Henry's bed. "One more minute of that and my mask would have slipped!"

"You held yourself well." Henry closed the door to their room.

"I had to drag out every sermon I've ever heard at church just to sound like a proper noble." Hans pouted, muttering that if only Godwin had been there.

"Ha, so that's the truth." Henry chuckled, pulling out a bottle of moonshine—his nightcap. "Then again, even if you'd just talked about women and pigsties like usual, he wouldn't have minded."

"But I would." Hans fixed his gaze on Henry's raised chin. "I didn't want to show any crack in front of him—especially the one who took my beloved's innocence."

Just as Hans had expected, barely had the words left his lips when Henry choked on his drink, dissolving into a fit of coughing. After finally catching his breath, Henry looked up at him reproachfully.

"Hans... I've already explained that..."

"I know." Hans stood up and walked over to Henry. "Just want you to know that I'm also a man who gets jealous for no good reason."

Henry looked ashamed. "Alright... you have me there. But I swear, I have no improper feelings for him now."

"So you won't run to him for release just because I've been neglecting you?"

"Are you serious?!" Henry's eyes widened.

Hans smiled—a complex smile, tinged with both relief and loneliness—and only then did Henry realise just how drunk the man really was.

"I'll take you back to your room."

"No need. I can manage on my own." Hans pressed his body against Henry's chest, deliberately puckered his lips. "Hal... give me a goodnight kiss, and I'll go straight to bed."

"Let me guess: even if I move my head slightly, you'll instantly pull away and have cause to tease me, won't you?"

Hans said nothing, his lips still pursed, so Henry simply closed his eyes and turned his face away.

"Hmm, clever enough." In the end, Hans brought his lips to Henry's ear, whispering in the same seductive tone he'd used at the wedding. "Remember, until your sentence is over, you're not allowed to touch me—and surely yourself."

Henry held his pose, eyes tightly shut, and nodded.

"Good. This is your reward." Hans opened the door, gave Henry a quick peck on the cheek, and strode away without looking back.

After a full day of rain, the air felt remarkably clear. Trosky Castle seemed to pulse with life in the summer morning light. The guards and servants looked brighter, exchanging praise for the sun instead of their usual greetings, praying for this fine weather to last longer—unaware of the brewing storm that would soon break.

Henry leaned against a stable post. Their horses were already saddled, nostrils flaring now and then, eager to stretch their legs.

Hans appeared in the distance. Henry straightened up, greeting his lord with a broad smile.

"Good morning, Sir Hans!" He led their horses forward. "You're looking well."

"Thanks to the hair o' the dog a certain caring servant prepared for me." Hans wore a helpless smile.

The two mounted and ambled toward the gate. When they passed the gallows, Hans paused, predictably.

"Come to think of it," he said, gazing up at the empty noose, "my journey has been quite tragic. I almost got hanged, crushed, even starved... not to mention all those narrow escapes on the battlefield!"

"Sir Hanush would be proud of you." Henry nodded. "Your experiences are more fascinating than any story. Imagine troubadours singing your name across the land."

"Then they'd better skip the part where I got my face splattered with dung." Hans let out a dry laugh, lightly kicking his horse to move. "But at least when I finally meet my father in the afterlife, I'll have more to talk about than poaching."

"Would you introduce me to him?" Henry asked with a smile.

"Well, since you insist." As soon as they passed through the gate, Hans spurred his horse forward. "I'd tell him how I met you from the very beginning: Once upon a time, there was a country boy who didn't know city rules, and emboldened by a shred of petty authority, dared to beat up his lord!"

"Haha, like you said, I like to make friends through a good fight." Henry urged Pebbles forward to keep up.

"Then my father would ask me: 'Son, what did you do with that churl?' And I'd answer—" Hans turned to Henry with a beaming smile, "—I ordered him to offer his maidenhood, and to belong to me alone, forever!"

"Christ! I thought this was going to be an inspiring epic!" Henry rolled his eyes, then carefully checked that no one was around. "...So you remember?"

Hans slowed his horse slightly to ride alongside Henry. "Of course I remember. You probably don't know that I prefer experienced women, so I rarely go after virgins." He gazed at Henry with deep affection. "But taking your innocence… it's my most precious memory."

Henry's face flushed red. Unsure how to react, he only felt an ache between his buttock cheeks rubbed by the saddle. Bartosch had shown him the thrill of being released within masculine breath, but Hans was the man Henry had willingly given himself to.

"Wait—why are we talking about this now?!" Henry finally snapped out of his daze, realising the absurd situation. "Don't forget our task! The Captain is waiting for us!"

"Just so you won't be bored on the road!" Hans, having pulled off his mischief again, kicked the horse's flank and galloped off. He knew that Henry would be tantalised by their sweet memories for the entire ride.

"Captain," noticing the other man's glare, the soldier quickly corrected himself, "er... my lord, there are two riders at the gate. Said they're envoys from Trosky, requesting to meet you."

"Very well."

Zizka did not move at once, but instead gazed out over the walls and sighed. So far, everything had gone smoothly, and Henry's little schemes had all worked too, much to Zizka's surprise. When Henry had told him about this "hardcore" task at first—one that would involve himself and Katherine as well—he'd had no idea what would happen. It turned out to be nothing less than sending their souls back into their old bodies. Zizka could only marvel at what an incredible figure Henry was.

In the fortress courtyard, Lord Capon and "Lord Nebak" exchanged greetings. Zizka was going to invite Hans into the lord's chamber and leave Henry waiting outside, as last time. But one look at Henry's pitiful eyes softened Zizka's heart, leaving him no choice but to bring him along as well. Zizka felt helpless; ever since meeting Henry, he'd lost the ruthless side of himself.

It was Henry's first time entering this mysterious room. Last time, he could only hear Hans laughing and chatting inside through the door. Then during that brief stay guarding the fortress, the pressing defensive situation had made him forget to explore. The room was smaller than he'd imagined. Though it had two tables for working and dining, most of the space was taken up by a large noble bed. Clearly this was Lord Nebak's bedroom, not a meeting room.

Hans sat down by the dining table at the corner of the room, while Zizka, by habit, perched on the desk. Henry hesitated for a moment, then finally sat on the bed that lay between them.

"Captain, forgive my boldness... the hall downstairs looks more like a place for important discussions."

"Don't be picky, Henry." Zizka tossed him an apple from the desk. "You know yourself that the hall is open to anyone, but this room is completely private. From now on, nothing said here will be heard outside."

Henry nodded and looked at Hans. "Last time when you had meeting in here, there was a bed next to you—didn't you find that odd?"

"I had no room for that!" Hans spread his hands. "All I could think about was acting confident and dignified, convincing this 'lord' to send out his soldiers, so I could report back to von Bergow, and finally getting to go home!"

A string of seasoned snickers came from Zizka's throat. "I was the one who should've been nervous, but thanks to Lord Capon's unshakable composure, we even drank while talking."

Henry chuckled, but Hans shook his head in displeasure. "I even toasted you! Right by this table!"

"Yet in the end, the hidden truth was uncovered by me!" Henry said smugly.

"Heh... that just proves you're the biggest uncertainty in this war." Zizka's sharp gaze swept over Henry. "And perhaps our secret weapon for victory."

Henry was flattered to receive such recognition from the man he most respected. He smiled shyly and took a bite of his apple.

"...And that's why you wanted to keep Henry by your side, isn't it?" Hans broke the silence. Seeing Henry's surprised look, he raised his chin. "Yes, I heard. Zizka wanted you to join his ranks, right after we'd broken the siege."

"As a commander, recruiting talented men is also my duty," Zizka interjected before Henry could speak. "Sir Hans, with over thirty years of battlefield experience, I can tell you: this young man is destined for greatness. His wisdom and courage are once in a lifetime—and of course, his loyalty too." Recalling Henry's polite refusal, he let out a soft, wry laugh. "In a sense, it is envy—if that's what you mean."

"Envy? You're being too modest." Hans waved his hand airily. "I should be grateful that Henry met me first—if that's what you mean."

Hans and Zizka locked eyes. The air grew thick with tension. Henry awkwardly held his apple, unsure whether to regret coming along at all. Finally, he summoned the nerve and took a bite, the crisp crunch shattering the silence.

"So! Let's get down to business!" Facing the stares of both men, Henry forced a sheepish smile.

I might achieve greatness, but definitely not cut out to be a peacemaker…

"So the ambush on von Bergow was suggested by that swine Toth?!"

"Not only the suggestion, he even made all the arrangements." Zizka stood by the window, his back to the other two. "Don't you find it strange? If von Bergow had already planted a spy beside me, why would he have allowed such a thing to happen?"

"Indeed... normally, Toth's purpose is to sabotage your plans." Henry nodded.

Zizka let out a deep sigh. "He played me for a fool... Ambushing von Bergow was always part of my plan, but I lacked a solid scheme. Instead Toth seized on the idea—staged a fake attack to fool me. And I trusted him even more because of it!"

"Ha! Sounds familiar." Hans thought of Toth's nasty tricks back in the Sasau region.

"We had questioned a prisoner back in Trosky, one of your men," Henry recalled. "He said Toth was a complete coward, never actively took part in any actions."

"I should've realised sooner," Zizka said gravely, returning to his desk. "He and his Erik—they'd hardly stand guard, yet were so eager to ambush von Bergow."

Erik... so he was the one who had "carried out" that attack.

"Didn't they get suspicious when you called off the ambush?" Hans asked.

"Hmph. All Toth can do is curse me behind my back. That devious weasel."

"So what are they doing now?" Henry was curious.

"Who knows? Maybe they're running back to Trosky to whisper to their master, or hiding somewhere doing something untoward. Use your imagination—I don't care anymore." Zizka's voice was cold.

It turned out Zizka had noticed the unusual bond between those two as well; Henry couldn't help feeling his ears burning.

"If we stayed a few more days, we might just run into them." Hans raised his eyebrows at Henry.

"...Let's leave it at that for today." Zizka gazed out at the reddening sky. "You'd better get on your way, if you want to make it back to Trosky before midnight."

"Right, thanks for your time. Hnghh—" Hans stood up and stretched his limbs with a grunt. "Hah... time to go watch von Bergow's little charade."

"Give my greetings to Katherine."

Henry nodded and followed Hans out of the room. When they came down to the courtyard, Hans spotted Mikesh and Kozliek repairing their gear in the smithy. He gave them a greeting with a smug look, causing the two brothers to flee immediately. Hans pouted and muttered, "How rude."

A soldier had already saddled their horses. Henry mounted and looked back at the fortress, where Zizka waved to them on the ramparts. The setting sun was stretching shadows long across the land. The two riders exchanged a smile, and bid a farewell to Nebakov Fortress for now.

"Hans." The horses shifted between gallop and trot, with Henry keeping half a length behind Hans—the position he knew best. "You and the Captain... what was that all about?"

"Nothing for you to worry about." Hans replied in a light tone, looking straight ahead.

"Sorry I didn't tell you about the offer. I turned him down at the time, so I thought it wasn't worth mentioning."

"Indeed. There's no need to explain; it's not weighing on me." Hans turned his head. "What you're really wondering is how I knew it, isn't it?"

"Aye... honestly, I haven't told anyone. How did you find out?" Except for Henry's Pa and Ma in his dreams, of course.

"Haha, walls have ears!" Hans let out a hearty laugh that sounded as pleasant as a breeze brushing across Henry's cheeks. "Same in the streets as in the army. But you'll never guess who the informant was!"

"Godwin? ...Surely wouldn't be Katherine, would it?"

"It was your 'brother' Samuel!" Seeing Henry's surprised face, Hans looked quite satisfied. "All I can say is—we've had our differences, he and I, but I reckon he likes Zizka even less."

Henry pictured Sam's face, which he hadn't seen for a while. Sam's eyes carried a trace of Martin—something that left Henry both comforted and envious.

"You think Sam doesn't want me to join Zizka's ranks?"

"Well, maybe he doesn't want to see you grow as sly as the Devil's Pack." Hans gave Henry a teasing smile. "Especially since you're still so pure."

"How am I pure!" Henry protested, yet a blush rose on his cheeks. "It may not have been long, but I'm still a warrior who has fought through life and death!"

"Ha ha ha! What kind of warrior blushes before speaking!" Hans left Henry behind with a cloud of dust, snapping the reins as he sped along the road to Trosky.

Although Hans had shown a token annoyance at Zizka's recruitment, deep down, he felt a certain comfort for Henry. Sooner or later, Hans would have to take someone else's hand and ascend to the lordship of Rattay, and both of them knew all too well what that would mean. If staying by Hans' side were to trouble Henry's soul... if so, Hans would rather let him go, to find a place of his own. Zizka was a trustworthy man; Hans had to admit that, aside from his strong leadership, the man's personal charisma was above his own. Under his wing, Henry might truly be the one to change the world. Yet Hans knew he was being somewhat sentimental—after all, Henry's path depended on Radzig. Hans just couldn't help but imagine a future for Henry—only, these were things not for Henry to know.

"You did well, Lord Capon."

Von Bergow sprawled in his chair as always. Once, Henry had thought it was because of the wounds; now he saw the truth—this man was using his very posture to assert his rank, forcing all who stood before him to bow their heads in humility.

"It was right, handing that prisoner over to you. With this intelligence, we can gain the upper hand and root all the bandits out of Nebakov."

On the morning after their return from Nebakov, the two went to the Crone Tower to report their "findings" to von Bergow, then followed orders and "tortured" a captured bandit. The lord heard them out without changing a muscle. Henry and Hans secretly exchanged a glance, silently cursing this old lynx who had caused them so much suffering.

"So, have you decided to strike right away?"

"No, attacking a fortress is no small matter. We must be thorough." Von Bergow set his hand upon the papers on the desk. "I've already summoned certain allies to help; they shall arrive in the next day or two. Tomorrow evening I'll hold a banquet to hearten the warriors—and also to honour you two. You must grace me."

"Of course! If I can form the alliance with Trosky on such an important occasion, that would be the greatest honour of my journey." Hans nodded deliberately.

Von Bergow gave a dry chuckle. "The alliance can wait, Lord Capon. You have just finished your travels. Do have some rest, and enjoy the feast."

He twisted the giant ruby on his ring. Henry knew this was von Bergow's signal to end the audience. The high and mighty lord wouldn't even trouble to open his mouth again.

No sooner had they stepped out of the Crone than Hans let out a deep breath.

"It's so unfair," he muttered. "Even knowing he was feigning, I still feel overawed by his presence."

"We're facing not only the lord of Trosky, but the chamberlain of the Bohemian League of Lords..." Henry covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes tracking the movements of the soldiers nearby. "Come to think of it, it's quite unbelievable that we've been locking horns with such a powerful figure."

"Heh... You've once served the ginger fox himself, aren't you used to it yet?"

The two walked towards the Maiden's side, where a lively little creature appeared, circling around Henry's legs.

"Did you miss me, eh? You silly mutt." Henry knelt down and rubbed Mutt's face. The dog looked full of excitement, his tail wagging incessantly.

Hans smiled with delight. "Just in time, go have some fun with him. Remember to be back before tomorrow's banquet."

"And what about you?" Henry asked, scratching Mutt's neck.

"I need some peace and quiet." Hans spread his arms dramatically. "Ever since you dragged me on this journey, I've been nothing but your keeper. Good Lord, send down some 🛡️task to summon this knightly boy away!"

Henry giggled, while Hans waved and walked up the Maiden Tower alone. After all, there was still much to prepare for his and Henry's feast.

Chapter Text

"It seems the nobles much admire your attendant, Lord Capon."

The voice, familiar and magnetic, reached his ears. Hans turned to see Bartosch standing beside him, a goblet of wine in hand.

Von Bergow's banquet was a veritable courtly feast compared to Semine's wedding. The hall was filled with nobles drinking and chatting, and the tables were laden with delicacies. Although Hans had dearly missed the lights, the fine wine—a life he had known—at this moment, he found that he would rather be back at the wedding, breathing the free and open air.

This, he supposed, was the social life that came with being a lord. For Hans, the future seemed to have grown a shade darker.

"Can you imagine? Only a few months ago, that boy was merely a muddy turnip-digger." Hans curled his lip.

At that moment, Henry stood across the hall, conversing with a few nobles. His face, lively and shifting, vivid amidst the crowd, made Hans wonder what they were talking about.

"From the choice and timing of his swordplay, I can see his training is but brief." Bartosch looked at Henry, a smile touching his lips unbidden. "A boyish, quite artless air still lingers about him, yet he is adept with the nobility."

"Well, I reckon it only proves that blood will tell, whatever the birth." Hans gave a light sigh. "He is the base-born son of the lord of Skalitz, though he only learned the truth not long ago. Who knows? One day, he and I might even sit together to discuss some serious matters."

A look of understanding came over Bartosch's face. "It makes sense now. So your relationship is more like friends than lord and servant?"

"You can tell from his usual casualness. He has never once looked upon me as his lord!"

"Are you certain?" Bartosch narrowed his eyes. "To my mind, Henry is a most loyal servant. He told me today that the very purpose of his hard training is to protect his lord."

"...So, Henry sought you out yet again today?"

"This afternoon, while receiving guests in Lord von Bergow's stead, I happened to see him practising archery in the camp outside the castle."

Hans said nothing, his gaze drifting back to Henry, who had somehow already joined a circle of nobles and was deep in a game of dice.

"May the Lord watch over us, and grant us victory on the morrow," Bartosch murmured.

Hans had given Henry the day off yesterday. He had claimed he needed the rest himself, but he knew full well that Henry was the one who'd hardly had any. Yet while Hans had imagined him out enjoying his freedom, Henry had slipped back to sweat for his lord's sake. What a hopelessly loyal dog.

"Master, excuse my curiosity—why do you call yourself 'Black Bartosch'?" Hans changed the subject.

"Heh, that was my 'title' back in Prague." Bartosch gave a laugh with a touch of self-deprecation. "My black hair was a rare sight there. It drew some to me out of a certain interest, while others cursed me as the devil himself. Then I crushed all those rats underfoot in the tournament and had the last laugh—the crowd in the stands erupted in a deafening roar... and so the name was settled upon me." He shook his head lightly. "After that, all the Prague merchants vied with one another to sell me their black armour, and I've worn this style ever since."

"Truly worthy of a master swordsman of such renown—even your life story is so legendary." Hans raised his goblet. "A toast to you, Black Bartosch!"

"To our noble king!"

The two men drank together, draining their goblets. Out of the corner of his eye, Hans caught Henry winning at dice and celebrating with undisguised delight.

Ch.9 The Feast

Why was every man around Henry so damnably charming? Whether it was Zizka, steely and decisive, or Bartosch, gentle and refined, or even that unfathomable Gules, who carried a dangerous aura about him. When Hans listened to them, he could easily imagine Henry being drawn to such charisma. For Henry was so pure, like an unpainted canvas, and these deadly predators were all seeking to imprint their colours upon him. And Henry, as it happens, was just like a newborn lamb, full of curiosity about the world.

Hans walked along the corridor between the two towers, his steps heavy. He had left the feast a few minutes ago to rest up for the coming battle. But this time, along with ordering Henry to have his armour and wine ready, Hans had added another request: come to my room later.

Yet then the cool night air soon sobered him. He stopped, propped both hands against the wooden railing, and became lost in a spiral of self-doubt.

Even this far from the Crone, he could still hear the troubadours playing. Hans stared blindly into the dark, frantically searching his own memory for some experience worth boasting of. His conversation with Bartosch had left him deeply restless. He hadn't expected a question tossed off so casually to receive such a splendid answer. Hans felt certain that from now on, every exchange with Bartosch would end with the same bitter refrain: "Truly worthy of it."

Ever since coming to this land, Hans had been striving for the honour and dignity of his own rank—Lord of Pirkstein, future ruler of Rattay. He told himself to hold his head high, to speak with firmness and force, and never to show weakness before any lord, great or small, or no one would ever take him for a nobleman. Yet reality had taught him otherwise: a lord of true authority, or a battle-hardened knight, had no need for bluster. The dignity of nobility pierced through their very gaze, and lived in their presence.

If he hadn't just happened to be the nephew of Radzig's friend, and a present lord to Henry, what reason would Henry have to be attracted to him? ...Was Henry even attracted to him at all? Bartosch seemed to still hold many untold secrets, and Zizka exuded the ripe composure of a seasoned man... Then what of himself? He had drunk himself stupid with guards after curfew, and had been held underwater in a bathtub by a peasant. He had been locked in the pillory, and put on the gallows. He had been caged like a wild boar caught in a trap, and imprisoned in a tower like a bird with broken wings. He told Henry—the only one who stayed by his side—to get lost, yet shamelessly screamed his name when crushed by rocks...

Smack! Hans slapped his own cheeks hard, forcing himself to stop. This was supposed to be a wonderful night. The favour he had promised Henry—he had prepared for it well enough. He could not allow any unforeseen thing to come between them.

Hans rose on his toes, drew a deep breath, and let the refreshing night air fill him. He had imposed chastity on Henry, but had also bound himself by it. Every teasing since then had been like walking on thin ice. He closed his eyes and pictured Henry's flushed face—the pleading look he would wear when begging for release—and rekindled the stirring in his blood. Hans raised the corners of his lips in satisfaction, eyes gleaming, and stepped towards their love nest for the night.

Henry wiped his favourite badge—the gold doppelganger—thanks to which three hundred groschen had come easily into his purse. He politely declined the opponent's offer of another round, stood up, and thought to reward himself with a drink. Looking around, Henry spotted Hans leaning against the wall by a wine barrel, quietly sipping his wine, keeping to himself.

Heh. When this man wasn't the most dazzling noble in the hall, you could really see how lavish tonight's feast was.

Henry walked straight towards him, their eyes meeting in mid-air.

"Are you enjoying the evening, Sir Hans?"

"Not at all." Hans rolled his eyes at the crowd around them. "Not one of von Bergow's allies is willing to exchange more than a few words with me."

Henry scratched his head, looking troubled. "You could try not frowning all the time… perhaps?" he murmured.

"Never mind. I just don't want to waste my time on them." Hans waved his goblet. "You, on the other hand, seemed to be having a fine time. I saw you leading that lady out by the hand earlier." He leaned closer to Henry. "Her eyes were upon you all night, you charmer."

Henry chuckled inwardly. "It seems she wasn't the only one whose eyes were upon me, then."

"And so? What did you take her out there for?" Hans raised an eyebrow. "Confess. At the very least, you let her kiss you!"

"Wronged, I am!" Henry raised his hands in mock innocence. "She only needed me to escort her outside for some air. Heaven is my witness—I am entirely innocent."

Well, she did extend a sincere invitation to me...

"Hmph. You can prove it with your actions tonight."

Henry froze for a moment, then understood what Hans meant. His gaze darting about in a fluster—all quietly tracked by Hans from the corner of his eye as he drank the wine, savouring every shade of Henry's blush.

"I'm going back to my room. Have my armour ready in the morning, and the wine, of course." Hans pulled a key from his pocket. "Don't follow me out immediately."

Henry took the key, which read: "🏷️Key to Hans Capon's room in the Maiden Tower."

He looked up and saw Hans already walking towards the hall's exit.

Tonight… So the perfect moment he mentioned before… he meant tonight?!

Henry had, indeed, shared a bed with someone on the night before a fateful battle—more than once. But this was the sweet night he had been longing for, and he truly wished for enough time to linger with Hans. With a faint disappointment in his heart, Henry shook his head, fixing his eyes on the ground, terrified that someone might read his thoughts.

"Has Lord Capon already gone?"

The sudden voice made Henry's shoulders twitch. His choice of such a conspicuous attire for the night now felt like a trap.

"We were just talking not long ago, and he didn't seem to be enjoying the feast much." Bartosch glanced around. "Perhaps he's too nervous? Is this his first battle?"

"We've fought together before, in the Sasau region," Henry said, trying to sound calm. "I think Sir Hans is just tired. He's been through a lot since leaving Rattay."

Bartosch nodded and took a sip of his wine. "And you? Are you confident about tomorrow?"

In fact, I've seen more battles than Hans…

"I'll do my best." Henry glanced at him and noticed something. "You've been holding your goblet all evening, yet there's no trace of drunkenness on your face."

"Heh. You caught me." Bartosch raised his goblet and "drank" again, but upon closer look, his Adam's apple didn't move. "Between us, I prefer French wine to the local brew. I always carry a few bottles with me, wherever I go."

"Ah—so you're saving room for drinking alone later."

"Alone, or not alone. I'd rather it be the latter." Bartosch gave him a meaningful look. "What about you, Henry? Care to try some French wine?"

Their tongues intertwined. Bartosch gripped Henry's waist with one hand, while the other stroked rapidly over their burning shafts. Henry's brow furrowed; for the first time in his life, he felt a surge of pleasure and suffocation wash over him together…

Henry blinked and offered a silent, faint smile. He was about to speak when Bartosch let out a long sigh.

"What a pity. It seems luck isn't on my side tonight." Bartosch raised his goblet and, this time, truly emptied it. "But my wine will wait for you. When we return victorious from the battlefield, do come and celebrate with me. Trust me—it will taste like nothing you've ever known."

Bartosch's long, slender fingers repeatedly bent and straightened inside Henry's body, with every brush against that sensitive spot sending shivers down Henry's spine. Bartosch smiled, pressed his lips to Henry's ear, and whispered, "I wish I could just take you here and now—"

"I—I'm not sure…"

"True. The outcome of war lies in God's hands. No one can be certain." Bartosch watched Henry's flushed face. "But my wine is absolutely exquisite—much like myself."

Henry's face was flushed red to the roots of his neck. Bartosch looked quite satisfied and bowed to Henry. "Forgive me. I must not keep him waiting on my account."

With that, Bartosch turned and left, leaving Henry standing there in a daze. He cast a nervous glance at the clinking goblets and chattering crowd around him, then hurriedly fled the hall.

Henry returned to the quarters and changed into his usual clothes, giving his throbbing body a chance to cool down as well.

It's all Hans' fault!! I'm not such a frivolous person!!

He sat on the bed, covering his face with both hands, his ears steaming like boiled apples. With just a few suggestive words from Bartosch, that night they'd once shared rushed back to Henry—Hans' chastity punishment had indeed been effective. Henry cursed inwardly, praying that all this torment would end tonight. He stood up, smoothed his hair and clothes, and stepped out of the room.

The wooden steps creaked under Henry's feet. Compared to the brightly lit Crone Tower, the Maiden was as quiet as a midnight field, so the sound seemed all the clearer.

Reaching the appointed door, Henry took a deep breath. Just as he was about to push it, he noticed there was a word boldly displayed on the handle: (hard). As he instinctively reached into his pocket for a lockpick, he finally remembered Hans' key.

"Lock the door."

No sooner had Henry poked his head inside than Hans' voice drifted from the depths of the room. The torches near the entrance seemed to have been deliberately snuffed out; all he could see was nothing but gloom, and Hans was nowhere in sight. Doing as told, Henry turned to lock the door. He fumbled in the darkness until the key found the keyhole, then pushed the door carefully to ensure it was fastened.

"Why all the mystery?" With a smile, Henry asked the presence lurking in the shadows, yet received no reply.

Henry scratched his head and cautiously advanced towards a faint candlelight flickering ahead. He had entered this room before while exploring the castle; it had a door at both ends, separated by a distance so great it felt almost like a corridor. The room had a lavish fireplace, a nobleman's writing desk, and a spacious, comfortable bed—if he remembered correctly, the bed was set near the door at the far end.

He picked up the candlestick—the simplest, cup-style holder typically used by country folk, holding a candle shorter even than his finger. Its wavering flame lit only a small pocket of air before his nose.

With every step forward, the fragrance in the air grew richer, and the vague outlines ahead slowly took shape, teasing his heart like a pair of playful fingers. His anticipation grew ever more eager until, at last, he saw what awaited him.

Hans stood in the centre of the room, draped in a piece of exquisite brocade that, even under the faint glow, still caught the light with the subtle gleam of fine jewels. Yet, that was not what astonished Henry the most. The fabric was larger than a bedsheet, stacking in lively waves around Hans' feet, setting off his fair skin—his ankles, calves, knees, thighs, and hips...

Henry's gaze finally drifted upward to Hans' chest. His arms were crossed and wrapped within the brocade, leaving his upper chest bare, as if he had just stepped out of his bath. A captivating smile played upon Hans' lips, while the brocade fell in a clean slope from his waist to the floor, concealing what lay beneath, but quite deliberately exposing the beautiful hollow of his hip.

Feeling a dryness in his eyes, only then did Henry realise he had forgotten to blink. Yet he did not want to miss a single second—every closing of his eyelids would be nothing short of a crime.

"Hal," Hans finally spoke, "you know what to do."

That voice sounded like heavenly music, like grace bathed in holy light—Henry knew that he had finally received his absolution. He set down the candlestick and began to undress, but the fever in his blood made his fingers clumsy. The urge to rip his clothes apart drove him to struggle, his burning cheeks all but forgotten. At long last, Henry tore them all away, down to nothing. His body was revealed as a perfect statue, like a faithful sinner awaiting judgment.

Henry's wick had already been lit, its slight rise filling Hans with deep pleasure. Hans opened his arms, baring his whole flesh as a silent invitation.

Henry tried to swallow, but his moisture had long been consumed by the heat within, only a dry, clicking sound escaping his tight throat. He stepped towards Hans slowly—one pace, two—until their breaths mingled and their eyes reflected only each other. His expression flickered in the candlelight, inked with excitement and unease, with a plaintive trace and a longing to be ravished. Hans suppressed the urge to force that face against his belly and claim his own release; he had a more tender plan in mind.

"Did you miss me, eh? You loyal dog."

Henry could no longer contain his hunger. Seizing Hans by the shoulders, he lunged at him, roughly pried Hans' mouth open, and shoved his own teeth and tongue inside, all in a rush. With his right hand clamping tightly against the back of Hans' head, his forehead pressing hard against Hans' own. Their noses mashed so deeply into one another that their crooked bridges looked almost ridiculous.

Hans rested his arms upon Henry's shoulders, while Henry controlled the angle of Hans' head with his hand. Keeping his eyes firmly shut, Henry focused every nerve on the tip of his tongue. He sucked, he swirled, he rolled, he licked. Their lips met and parted time and again, their saliva splattered like spray in a stormy sea, and their teeth clashed violently, sounding like thunder and lightning. Within the confined space of their mouths, two sea gods waged a fierce, primal combat.

And Henry's lower half was not idle. At last, he could rub his flint against Hans' thighs without restraint. From toe to nose, their bodies pressed flush together. Neither reached for the other's skin; instinctively, they had slipped into a silent agreement: only through their flesh could they fan each other's fire. Aside from their hardened shafts, the sensitive buds on their chests had long since joined the fray. Two pairs of nubs mercilessly trampled each other's tender gardens, at times locking peak to peak, at others chasing tail to tail. If things continued in this vein, Henry—clearly the less experienced—was bound to be defeated. Just as he hesitated over the next move, Hans suddenly grabbed his face and pulled their heads apart.

Hans panted heavily as he wiped the saliva from his chin, yet his face remained mere inches away. Sensing that something was amiss, Henry glanced back over his shoulder. Amidst their passionate kissing, Hans had quietly tied the brocade behind his neck, and now Henry, too, was enveloped within that vast canopy.

The exposed part had now shifted from Hans' hips to the cleft of Henry's buttocks. Imagining if someone were to burst through the door behind them (only to be greeted by the sight of his undignified backside), Henry pursed his lips in protest.

"Patience," Hans said, reading his mind. "Savour the appetiser I've prepared for you."

With his tongue, Hans traced the fullness of his lips, and drew it back into his mouth with a wink. Then slipping beneath the brocade, he sank lower and lower until his knees touched the floor. Henry gasped, finally realising what Hans intended.

A gentle kiss landed upon Henry's hair, causing his muscles to contract like a shy mimosa. Hans chuckled mischievously; extending his tongue between his lips, he pressed it against the base of the fleshy pillar and slid it all the way to the tip, leaving three faint trails of moisture behind. Henry could hold back no longer. He gripped Hans' shoulders, silently urging him on. Yet Hans was in no hurry to grant him release. Instead, he took the lotus pod into his mouth, stubbornly sucking it as his tongue worked back and forth. Henry merely endured, while beads of nectar, trailing a thread, dripped down onto Hans' face.

After all this teasing, Hans finally took Henry fully into his mouth. He gripped Henry's buttocks firmly, massaging him with his searing throat, while his hands kneaded those taut mounds. Life on the road had made Henry's buttocks increasingly lean and supple. Back in Devil's Den, Hans had often stolen glances at that graceful curve, imagining himself straddling it—bouncing high as if on horseback—and waiting for a chance to make it real. Henry cupped Hans' head, summoning every ounce of his self-control to suppress the urge to thrust violently into his mouth. Yet those fingers, wandering near his entrance, stirred up a tempest of desire. Occasional grazing against the delicate folds sent helpless shudders through Henry's body.

Henry longed to see that face, but the brocade blocked his view. The only sight before his eyes was the fabric, rising and falling in wild waves with the movement of Hans' head, kindling his nerves. Henry breathed in ragged gasps, his neck and chest drenched in sweat, glistening with a wicked sheen in the flickering light. Under the eyes of God, the brocade had become their last veil, and Hans hid inside, obsessively chasing the sinful taste upon his tongue.

Feeling the fingers against his head tightening their grip, Hans realised Henry was nearing his limit. He stopped, rubbing against Henry's belly as he rose to full height.

"There you are," Hans said with a smile, his swollen lips tempting Henry to kiss them.

And Henry did.

This time, it was slow and gentle. He wrapped his arms around Hans' waist, feeding his still-restless breath into Hans' mouth. Despite his desire straining near the ceiling, Henry was filled with gratitude; he caressed Hans' tormented lips with his tongue, licking away the lingering slick. Hans relaxed, leaning his full weight against Henry, his eyes closed to quietly enjoy the kiss. At that moment, they did look like true lovers.

"... I'm not the best..."

Hearing the murmur that escaped Hans' lips, Henry paused, looking at him in a puzzled daze.

Hans opened his eyes, a faint smile on his face. "I realised tonight, I was never the best in this world."

"You mean your tongue?" Henry smirked. "For a lord with as little experience as you, it's more than enough." He gave Hans a nudge with his hips, letting him feel just how hard he was.

"I was willful, and all about wenches," Hans said in a sincere tone. "And you, Henry—a man so perfect he is mouth-watering. Just look at how many people around want to claim you. Sometimes I do feel grateful to be standing here."

"Hmm... let me think." Henry propped his chin on his hand and tilted his head slightly. "When my home lay in ashes and my enemies were running rampant outside, all I wanted was to storm into their camp as soon as possible. But then, some arrogant little lord got in my way of revenge. Not only did he cost me a precious chance, but I was even forced to serve him. I truly wanted to give him a sound thrashing back then."

Hans wore an innocent look, but Henry ignored him.

"But soon I realised that little lord was far less happy than I'd thought. At least I still had my fellow villagers, while he was always so alone."

"To him," Hans cut in, "your arrival was like lighting a lamp in his life. A reckless rogue who never bowed to rank, the companion his heart had yearned for."

"You're right. Soon enough, the joy he brought me filled the void in my soul, even if it always came with a mess." Henry looked at Hans with deep affection. "Gradually, I began to accept him as my lord. Because by his side, I was never empty."

"But he kept dragging you into trouble, again and again…" A shadow fell across Hans' face. "You risked your life for him, while he could do nothing for you, only stand by helplessly and watch you leave."

"Who says he did nothing for me?" Henry lifted Hans' chin with his fingertips, making their eyes meet. "He kissed me! Good Lord, the man I'd been dreaming of night after night, when I thought I would never have him—damn, that little lord actually kissed me!"

"But you pushed him away!"

"How was I to know my dream would suddenly come true?!" Henry cupped Hans' face, his voice trembling with emotion. "Just one touch of his hand was all I could handle! The greatest wish I had was that when I returned with reinforcements, I would see him open his arms and welcome me!"

"You think far too little of yourself—it's just unfair." Hans pouted.

"At that moment, I thought: I am the luckiest man in the world, and the person I adore seems to feel the same about me. But how could that be? That man was a lord! No—no, I couldn't let this chance slip away. He might change his mind at any second—and see, he really did start to apologise."

"God, we both know that's not why it happened!"

"So I lunged forward, drinking in everything he offered me without hesitation. A miracle like this would never happen again. My lord, I belong to him alone."

Hans fell silent, simply gazing back at Henry.

"So, you see?" Henry held his gaze. "It turns out I was just as grateful as you. We're even, isn't that a blessed fate?"

Henry's face was incredibly calm. No one would have believed that just minutes ago, he had been caught in a storm of pleasure. The urge to own him stirred in Hans' gut, sending a throbbing heat low between his hips.

"...You belong to me alone?" He leaned slowly towards Henry until their noses touched. "—Prove it to me."

Chapter Text

Do you know how long I have waited for this moment?

The brocade had finally fulfilled its purpose, lying on the floor, crumpled and neglected like an abandoned fishing net.

Hans lay on the bed, watching as Henry, a bottle in hand, swung one long leg through the air and straddled his thighs. On the bedside table stood a lantern of gilded latticework, its flickering flame peeking through the gaps at the two silent figures. The calm before the storm.

Henry noticed another little flame beside the lantern, burning atop a strangely shaped candle.

"Scented candle?"

"Mm. I told you, I wanted everything to be ready."

"If Hans Capon is to 'unveil his finest smithing skills'... what does he need again?" Henry propped his chin on his hand, pretending to recall. "Wine, fruit... pastry and a serving wench?"

"Poetry and a warming hearth!"

Henry burst into laughter. "Where's the poetry book? Did you hide it under the bed again?"

"Hmph. It's right before your eyes," Hans said smugly. "If you have the patience, I'll recite them until you've had your fill."

"Good Lord. Did all those ladies before me have to endure the torment too? Thirty love poems to sit through before being allowed to ride your towering pillar?"

"No, I'd just say, 'My pillar is still sleeping—why don't you wake it up for me, wench!'"

Hans gave Henry's buttocks a nudge, urging him to get on with it. Henry narrowed his eyes and uncorked the bottle in his hand.

Ch.10 The Best for Last

Buck's blood—Henry had carried it with him ever since he brewed it in Troskowitz, and after moving into Trosky Castle, he had secretly placed it by Hans' bedside, along with the hair o' the dog. It was an essential part of their nights: drink it down, it hardens the flesh; rub it on there, it eases the way. But there was a third use Henry knew nothing of—when made into a scented candle, its smoke could kindle desire in whoever breathed it in.

Henry tipped his head back and drank, but deliberately let the potion spill from his lips, trickling down his raised chin. Over his full chest and taut stomach, past his enticing navel and the hair that hid his modesty. Until finally, it dripped onto the two embracing nestlings. Hans stared at him, his breath quickening, his throat bobbing in restless hunger. And Henry drank in every bit of Hans' helpless arousal from above.

He leaned forward and poured the rest of the bottle into Hans' mouth. Hans drank as if he had been a thirsty root, gulping down the liquid, then snatched the empty bottle and tossed it to the floor.

The bottle rolled all the way to the door, stopping among a heap of discarded clothes. Henry recognised Hans' golden coat among them.

What were you thinking when you took this off?

Henry sucked the pulse beating in Hans' neck, licking his earlobe.

What was going through your mind, when you bent your noble knees before me?

The scene from earlier still played on Henry's nerves. He had never expected Hans to serve him so devoutly tonight, so he decided to repay him with something bold.

Henry gathered the potion pooled between their thighs and slicked it over Hans' length. Then he leaned back, seized his own ankles, and locked his body into a perfect triangle. Lifting his hips gently, he took the swelling pillar between his buttocks and began to slide back and forth cautiously.

Hans dug his fingers into Henry's knees, his grip biting into the flesh. The long-delayed touch and the sight before him awakened his inner wildness; the slow, grinding motion was exquisite torment. As a so called battle-hardened man, Hans knew this pose well. But the one now watching him through desire-glazed eyes, rubbing against him with a body of pure temptation, was Henry—who used to blush at a woman's glance. In Hans' fevered daze, a single lucid thought surfaced: they had never tried this before—it looked so beautiful, and yet…

Henry rolled his hips, trying different angles to trace slow circles on Hans' thighs. He felt the pressure between his buttocks grow more intense, and each time the slick tip grazed his entrance, Henry lost a little more of his reason, soft moans spilling from his parted lips.

With a sharp smack, Hans suddenly slapped Henry's thigh—a signal to take control. Henry stopped, catching his breath as he awaited his lord's command.

"Your back."

No sooner had the words left Hans' lips than Henry moved, switching places with him. He rested his forehead against the pillow, supporting his body on his knees, and exposing his eager, twitching depths to Hans.

Now, please. No more waiting...

"What's this?" Hans' delighted voice came from behind him. Henry squeezed his eyes shut, doing everything he could to hide his shame.

Hans prodded the centre of the folds with his fingertip, only for it to be swallowed deep as if sinking into quicksand.

"No wonder you kept me waiting so long. Don't tell me you prepared yourself?"

Henry didn't answer. Yes, he had stayed in that room for an extra five minutes. The night was already past midnight, and Henry could think only of being pierced immediately by Hans, of staying joined as long as possible.

"Hal." Hans withdrew his finger and shook his head. "Who gave you permission? Such a foolish dog—can't you even follow a simple command like 'Don't touch yourself'?"

Please... Hans...

"Too tight, Hal. Do you take my pillar for a loach?" Hans teased. "What a pity. If I'd done it myself, I'd be inside you by now."

"I can take it…"

"Shut up, you fool." Hans let out an exaggerated sigh. "Poor Henry—this is as far as we go tonight. You've held out for so long, only to break the rule at the very last moment."

Henry's chest trembled. Having come this far, he would pay any price to reach that longed-for release.

"Then punish me, my lord… I beg you… command me…"

A silvery thread of essence stretched down from between his legs, trailing until it let go—drop, drop—onto the bed. Like a despairing body weeping its longing.

A satisfied smile crossed Hans' lips.

"Spread yourself. Use your hands. Right now," he said, each word deliberate, "spread yourself for me."

The thrill of being ruled made Henry dizzy, and just imagining his obedience made him throb with want. Bracing his weight against his forehead, he timidly reached behind himself, spreading his fingers and digging them into his buttock cheeks. The folds around his entrance smoothed out a little, their moist inner skin catching a dark, inviting light.

"Wider."

Henry swallowed and shifted his fingers inward, opening himself even more, revealing the writhing flesh within.

"Wider!"

Henry bit his lower lip and shifted inward again, his fingertips almost touching the folds. He pulled himself apart so hard his fingers sank deep into his buttock cheeks. The heat inside met the cool air and trembled under Hans' gaze.

"Hans! Please, take me!"

The cry filled the room. Hans seized Henry by the elbows and drove his rigid shaft straight into the waiting opening. He arched his body backwards, unwilling to waste a single measure of his length, until his hips pressed against the back of Henry's hands.

"Ah—aah—aaaah—" A long, tremulous cry escaped Henry. He was only a hair's breadth from release the moment he was pierced.

Hans savoured the secure warmth of being wrapped so tightly, reaching a depth he had never known, all thanks to Henry's yielding help.

"Well done. As a reward, you may ask for one thing."

Henry caught his breath. "I don't want—… too soon…"

"Don't worry," Hans said. "Tonight, I won't let you finish easily."

Hans grasped Henry's forearms and pulled them back, lifting his upper body slightly. A sense of weightlessness washed over Henry the moment his forehead left the pillow. Sensing Hans' intent, he turned his head uneasily.

"Hans…?"

"Don't you want to try?" With those words, Hans pulled him upright until both knelt on the bed, pressed close together. "We've been brewing this night for so long… I'm confident I can tame you completely."

To be tamed completely by Hans—what a beautiful verse. Henry's ears burned. He nodded silently.

Hans smiled with satisfaction, pressing soft kisses against the nape of Henry's neck—that familiar skin, its texture and smell known to him—always a solace to his soul. Gripping Henry's arms firmly to keep him from touching himself, Hans drew a deep, steady breath and began to move.

Henry's body swayed with Hans' rhythm, their shadows dancing upon the wall. Henry stared at his own silhouette—the outline of his arousal, rising from between his thighs and curving in a graceful arc, flying up and down with each thrust. Hans fixed his gaze on Henry's back. Sweat trickled from his jutting shoulder blades, streaming down the valley of his spine before flowing straight into their secret garden. Hans imagined the sweat seeping from Henry's body, dripping onto his own shaft, only to be driven back inside him—what a beautiful cycle. He straightened his back and thrust vigorously, trying to enter that deepest vortex of flesh again. Yet Henry's buttocks acted as a cushion, bouncing him back at just the right point every time. Unwilling to yield, Hans understood this to be a trial sent by the gods. So he drove against those twin sacred peaks time after time, vowing to claim the sanctuary hidden deep within them as his own.

Henry's thighs began to tremble from kneeling so long. The pleasure teetered at the edge of his nerves, so close, just one more push. He reached back and palmed Hans' firm seat, wildly pulling him closer. Reading the signal, Hans quickened his pace, rubbing in short strokes against Henry's most sensitive spot. A tingling numbness spread through Henry's body. He opened his mouth wide, gasping in short, ragged breaths. His head thrown back so far that his chin and chest nearly formed a straight line. Moans spilled from his throat like lavish rosary beads, shattering in the air and teasing Hans' eardrums, a timbre utterly different from Henry's usual deep voice. The thought of driving this man to such mindless ecstasy sent a surge of heat rushing to Hans' loins. He hurriedly bit his lower lip, using the sharp pain to rein in his impulse. He certainly could not reach the finish line before Henry—the night was still young.

"Remember what you said the first time I wanted you?!"

Rather than endure, better to turn defence into offense.

"... I— I am... yours—"

Hans quickened his pace once again. Those teasing buttocks trembled frenetically, a scattering of droplets flying from each violent slap.

"Ahhh—! I—"

The bed groaned and creaked beneath them, the furniture around them rattling with the frenzy.

"I am—yours... ah, Hans—"

The entire Trosky Castle rumbled under its own quaking, crumbling into shattered pieces.

"I'm yours! Yours—Hans, Hans, Hans, I'm yours—ahhhh—!"

As white pearls traced an irregular arc through the air, two bodies collapsed like stringless marionettes onto the ruins below.

Henry opened his eyes, expecting to see the light of dawn filling the room, yet darkness still surrounded him.

The warm weight of Hans still lay on top of him. Feeling a wave of weary satisfaction wash over him, Henry let out a blissful sigh—but immediately sensed something amiss.

"Hans…? You didn't…?"

"Mm… I held it in."

Before Henry could utter a word, his limp body was turned over by Hans.

"... There you are," Henry said, echoing Hans' tone.

"Hal, stay with me a little longer." Hans lifted Henry's legs and wrapped them around his own waist.

"So it wasn't my back you liked?"

Hans smiled. "I like having you look at my face." He guided his still-erect shaft to Henry's entrance and, with a gentle push, slid inside. "I want you to remember what kind of ruler I am."

"… A devious one—who made the people beneath you suffer such humiliation."

"Is that so?" Hans grinned more broadly. "What I see is a loyal man who willingly gives himself to me."

With that, he lifted Henry's hips, folding his body deeply and cradling his lower back against his own thighs. Henry took a steadying breath, reaching above his head to grip the pillow, while Hans braced his arms on either side of him, supporting himself.

Hans was nearly there. He had already had enough inside Henry, but he still had one last wish for the night.

"How did it feel, coming untouched for the first time?" Hans thrust slowly.

"I feel… ah…" Though Henry had gone soft, the rubbing against his sensitive spot still sent tingling through him. "Like a… bathmaid…"

"Oh? So that's what you've been fantasizing about?" Hans gave a sly smile. "A bathmaid? My love, you deserve far better."

"Then what would it be…?"

"Why, a pure princess, of course. One secretly pining for a strapping knight, dreaming every day of being swept into his massive arms, and having him claim her innocence."

What Henry admired most about Hans was his ability, in such a situation, to keep talking—without letting it affect the rhythm of his lower half.

Is this the power of all those poetry books…?

"But I… don't have… ah… my innocence anymore…" Henry gasped. His length lay soft upon his belly, swaying with the motion, new nectar beading at its tip.

"In my eyes, you'll always be a virgin, Hal." Hans kept a steady pace, sweat dripping from his brow onto Henry's chest. "The way you blush, it's as if no one has ever touched you before."

Henry's belly tightened a little; his imagination was rekindling his wick. When Henry had given himself to Hans for the first time, he had been overwhelmed with emotion, shedding tears of happiness. What if he could relive that feeling every time…

"Ah—ha…" Henry furrowed his brow. His inner walls began to twitch, the wet grind between them and the intruder making a lewd, sloshing sound.

"You see, we happen to be right here in a castle, my princess. Tonight, your wish has come true."

"My… knight…"

"You look so beautiful. To merge with you—even if the king hangs me tomorrow, I would die without regret."

As Hans slightly quickened his pace, Henry began to moan, his dangling toes curling tight in the air. His length had not grown hard, yet he felt something deep inside straining to break free.

"Your eyes are like stars in the night sky. Your lips are like aged fine wine. And your collarbones, a tender haven…"

Henry hooked his feet together, wrapping his legs tightly around Hans' waist, pulling him to drive deeper.

"But do you know where the greatest allure lies, my princess?"

"Ha… ha… Please, tell me!"

The moment Henry's words fell, Hans stopped moving. The sudden halt of the pleasure made Henry's face twist in pained longing. Hans was also breathing heavily. He lifted one hand and placed it on Henry's chest, then the other.

"Your breasts, like two mysterious clouds, shift and change beneath my hands."

With that, Hans resumed his thrusting, quickening the rhythm even more than before. He kneaded Henry's chest muscles in slow circles, as if molding every ounce of flesh to his will. Under his palms, the hard buds danced with each motion. Henry could no longer endure it. He reached down for his own length, stroking up and down, rubbing the tip.

"And two ripe fruits, brimming with sweet juice."

Hans spread his palms over Henry's chest, trapping the buds between his thumbs and fingers. Now roughly pinching, now teasingly nipping. Below, at last, he entered his final sprint, slamming into Henry's buttocks at a furious pace. Two sensitive spots were besieged at the same time, and Henry let out a string of plaintive cries.

"Your flesh envelops my soul, your smile melts away my loneliness. How I wish to be your husband, beautiful princess, yet I am but a mere warrior. The king will never forgive our love, tomorrow, I will walk to the gallows."

"Ha…! Ha…! I'll plead with him!"

"But what meaning would there be to live, if I cannot be with you?"

The sound of violent slaps of flesh filled the room, their shadows on the wall intertwined like beasts in the forest, fierce and wild. Hans was nearing his release. Summoning his last shred of reason, he tried to pull out, but the feet locked behind his waist held him fast.

"If this continues… I'll soil your honour, my princess."

"I don't care…! Haah…! Let me have your heir!"

Henry's body was ruled by instinct. He tossed his head ceaselessly, tightening his entrance and inner walls, forcing Hans to pour out his molten seed—the proof of his life.

"Please, let me go!" Hans stared sharply into Henry's face. "I am a dead man walking. Your child cannot be without a father!"

"No! No!" Henry locked his legs even tighter, trapping the shaft inside him. "Give it to me! I beg you! Give it to me!"

All mine—!

A bolt of lightning struck them both. A scorching flood surged up Henry's spine. His inner walls clenched tight, his belly convulsing wildly. Hans gritted his teeth, veins bulging on his forehead, trembling uncontrollably inside Henry. With the last drop of his release, Hans collapsed, exhausted, into Henry's arms.

The heat in the room slowly began to settle, forming a thin mist on the headboard. Two chests pressed together—one rising as the other fell, pushing each other, fitting in perfect cadence. A moment later, they finally drifted back to reality from their bittersweet dream.

"That wasn't fair…"

Henry and Hans lay on their sides, arms around each other's waists, legs still tangled. Although they wanted to pick up the brocade from the floor and cover themselves, both were utterly spent, only having the strength to breathe.

"You brought me twice, and you only had once," Henry complained.

"You only had once too. Look at your belly—there's nothing on it."

To be precise, Henry's belly was covered with rivers of essence, some already dried, but indeed, there were no white spots.

"But I felt the same!"

"Don't fuss over details." Hans gave a soft, languid yawn. "Let's clean you up down there before we lose consciousness."

Henry's eyelids were also drooping. "It's fine. It'll just come out on its own tomorrow…"

"Good Lord, poor Pebbles."

Henry breathed a soft laugh. They looked at each other for a few heartbeats, then, as if by unspoken agreement, pressed their lips together.

"I really must thank Bozhena."

The sudden mention of the name confused Henry, but then he remembered a question of his own. Earlier that day, he had visited Bozhena to repay her for saving their lives, and an offhand remark she made had struck him as strange.

"She said, 'I'm glad to see you both doing well.'… Now I understand. You went to see her too."

Hans giggled. A bad feeling tugged at Henry. "What exactly did you tell her?!"

"I only asked her to make me some candles to set the mood."

Henry glanced instinctively at the bedside table behind Hans' head. That scented candle had almost burned down to nothing.

"The bathhouse in Rattay use candles like that," Hans said smugly. "Your second release—you can thank the candle for it."

"God… so this was your doing!"

Henry punched Hans in feigned annoyance. Hans laughed even harder, pulling Henry into his arms.

"Besides that, we must also thank the tailor of Troskowitz. He generously gave up the perfect brocade for tonight's feast."

"Let me guess… you didn't tell him what the fabric was really for, did you?" Henry didn't even have the strength to roll his eyes.

"Of course not. The lord of Trosky will remember his contribution—at least, that's what he believes." Hans kissed Henry's eyelids.

The candles burned out. The sky began to pale, the first light about to spill over the brocade on the floor.

"How much longer can we sleep…?" Henry asked. Both had their eyes closed, resting with their foreheads touching.

"It's nearly dawn. But who cares? Let's just oversleep, let the army march off without us, and go die on their own."

"That doesn't sound too bad…" Henry said with a smile, his mind already half slipping away. "Hans…"

"Mmm?"

"Will you raise… our child…"

Hans opened his eyes, but only heard Henry's steady breathing. So he closed them again.

"Of course… I would build a secret chamber for you both in Pirkstein. When night fell and our little one was asleep, I would slip under your covers…" Hans pressed a kiss to Henry's forehead. "And then we would have even more little ones."

The Maiden Tower lay in the dimness before dawn, the stars above shining with their last light. God watched over all living things, and on one warm bed, the seeds of love were sinking into the soil.

That is just enough for me…

A faint, barely there smile curled at the corners of Henry's lips, before he drifted into a sweet dream.

Chapter Text

A fateful weight hung in the air.

Zizka's longsword traced a deadly arc through the grass, severing a few wild blades in two. With a twist of his wrist, he raised the blade high above his head, forming a perfect mirror image with Henry standing on the opposite side. A streak of icy-blue light pierced the air—the killing intent shining in Zizka's eyes. Henry tightened his grip on the hilt, as if that could give him more strength.

"So, my boy... Let's see what you've got!"

Ch.11 Divine Messenger

Bright daylight spilled over the castle walls. A fresh sun awakened the still-drowsy souls—whether they were warriors who had drunk too much ale, maids who had bustled about the banquet, or lovers who had held each other tight.

Von Bergow's mustered army assembled outside the gates, while nobles trickled out of the castle in scattered groups, some still reeking of alcohol. A serving maid opened Hans' door, only to find the room in utter disarray: sheets and pillows lay strewn across the floor, her missing candlestick had turned up there as well. Seeing the bed was covered with traces of last night's pleasure, she pressed a hand to her forehead and let out a weary sigh.

In the small room beside the smithy, Henry was helping Hans into his armour. With every buckle he fastened, he gave it a firm tug to ensure it held. Hans chuckled softly.

"What is it?" Henry's eyes never left his work.

"Look at you—just a few hours ago you were snoring in my ear with your bare arse in the air."

"Thanks to my lord's blessing," Henry rolled his eyes, "my arse feels absolutely terrible right now."

"Same here. Kneeling for so long, my knees are killing me."

Henry immediately crouched down to adjust Hans' leg armour. "So, back when you decided last night was the night, did you ever think about the next day?"

"Was there ever a better occasion?" Hans raised an eyebrow. "What, in Nebakov Fortress? Zizka would've killed us."

"I meant, maybe wait until we reach Kuttenberg…"

"Kuttenberg! Lord Almighty, this man would have me locked in a cage and shipped to Kuttenberg in that horrible state!"

Henry thought about it and realised Hans had a point. From the moment they stepped out of Trosky today, they would face a separation of a dozen days and nights. To keep up the chastity during all that time? He'd probably go mad before Hans did. Then again—

"Maybe Maleshov is worth a try," Henry said with a sly smile. "We could tie Brabant up, toss him in a corner, and then go wild in your bed."

"Never thought shy little Henry had it in him." Hans' eyes sparkled. "He'd find it worse than death—he'd be hard as a rock!" But Hans wouldn't tell Henry that he had already tormented a certain black knight that way in his own mind.

A blush crept across Henry's smiling face. His old, confident self was returning, much to Hans' delight. He caught Henry's chin and gave him two quick pecks on the lips.

The pecks turned into a string of kisses, then into a tangle of tongues. The clink of metal sounded in their ears, and Henry realised this was the first time they had kissed in armour.

"We're finally going to war… I need you to do one thing for me."

Still kissing Hans' jaw, full of feeling, Henry murmured, "Anything."

"—Let me take on Zizka in your stead."

"Out of the question." Henry gave him a mock shove.

Hans laughed. He knew that when it came to guarding his lord, Henry would never give an inch.

The two led their horses to the main gate. The other nobles were already prepared, and Ulrich, the chamberlain, was none too pleased with Hans' slackness.

"It's my fault, Master Chamberlain," Henry called out. "I was too clumsy to put on my armour."

"Hmph. Perhaps Lord Capon ought to bring a seasoned man to war—not some beardless boy!"

"Master Ulrich, Henry is a good lad," one of the nobles who had played dice with Henry last night spoke up in his defence. "Besides, they arrived just in time. Some of us are only now recovering from the goblets."

A wave of laughter went through the group. Henry gave them a silent nod of thanks.

One by one, the nobles rode out through the gate. Henry was about to mount when a figure leaned in from behind.

"I half-expected to see you come running out dishevelled and breathless," Bartosch said with a suggestive smile. "You seem to have handled yourselves well."

Henry looked at him. "Master, I—"

"Rest assured, I drank too much last night and remember nothing," Bartosch said, turning to mount his horse—a steed as black and gleaming as its master. "—Except for my French wine."

Henry smiled bashfully. He thought for a moment, then looked up at Bartosch. "There's one more thing, Master, I hope you'll keep it in mind." Seeing Bartosch listening, Henry lowered his voice. "Please stay at the rear of the column and keep an eye on what's ahead. No matter what happens, I'll sort things out for you."

A flicker of confusion crossed Bartosch's face. Henry seized the moment to swing into the saddle and, turning his horse toward the gate, called out, "May God grant us victory—!"

Godwin smacked his lips. The beer in the Trosky region tasted finer than the brew back home in Uzhitz—fine enough that he was almost tempted to settle down here. Then he thought of the land he'd left behind, not far away, gave a soft snort, and dismissed the idea.

Sent by the two lords to find Henry and Hans, Godwin had already been in the region for two days. Apart from picking up some news of the wedding of Semine, he had found almost no trace of the pair. That was quite unusual. In normal times, that meddlesome commoner-knight would have been the talk of the countryside. Yet now all he heard was that Henry was working as a blacksmith's apprentice in some village.

For God's sake, what the hell are you doing, banging iron and leaving Sir Hans all to himself? Are you telling me you've lost him and don't dare go home?!

Guessing would get him nowhere, so Godwin decided to seek out this blacksmith and get to the bottom of it. He bought a few more bags of wine for the road, then set off from the Zhelejov Inn towards Tachov. However, drunk and befuddled, he took a wrong turn; by the time he came to his senses, he was already seated in the Troskowitz tavern, and ordered a mug of ale. Recalling that the two young men's task had been to deliver a letter to Trosky, Godwin gazed up at the grand castle perched on the hill—since he was here anyway, might as well take it easy, and enjoy his drink.

"Excuse me, Father." A man dressed like a nobleman took the seat opposite Godwin. "My friend Henry asked me to wait here for a middle-aged man with a rare sapphire ring, yet who doesn't look like a noble." The man glanced at the ring on Godwin's finger. "I believe that must be you."

"Thank God! That wretched boy left a clue at last!" Godwin spread his arms in relief. "I am indeed—as I assume you've heard, a former man of the cloth. And you are…?"

"My name is Voyta, a painter." The man appeared to be about Godwin's age, though he carried an air of refined elegance. "I live in Kuttenberg, and have been invited here to paint for Lord von Bergow."

"A pleasure, Master Voyta. Is Henry in the castle, then?"

"Perhaps not any more. He comes and goes like wind." Voyta smiled mysteriously.

"...Are you an old friend of Henry's?"

"Oh, no. We met for the first time only yesterday." Voyta glanced at the empty seat beside him. "Henry saved my life. He also promised to come back and save my other two friends."

"Well… from what I know of him, that does sound like something Henry would do." Godwin nodded. "But where is he now?"

"...Henry is my savior. I won't have you insult him like that!"

Suddenly, Voyta growled at the empty seat beside him, leaving Godwin utterly bewildered.

"Sir...?"

Voyta blinked, as if coming back to himself, and gave an apologetic smile. "Forgive me. I was lost in thought. What did you say?"

"Henry—never mind. Just tell me what exactly Henry said to you!" Godwin asked anxiously.

"Oh, yes, Henry!" Voyta looked up, staring outside the tavern, his face lighting up. "Look—there he is!"

Following the direction the man pointed, Godwin turned his head. He had thought this madman was toying with him, but to his surprise, he saw a massive army marching just past the tavern—and among them, one face indeed looked much like Henry's.

"Good Lord!" Godwin gasped in astonishment. He quickly gathered his belongings and hurried to the stables.

When he led his horse to the doorway, there were many townsfolk watching the march along both sides of the road. The army was at least a hundred strong. Henry seemed to be riding at the very front, his back already hard to make out.

"What's happening here?" Godwin asked Betty, the innkeeper, who was also standing by the door.

"Lord von Bergow's army. I hear they were carousing in the castle all night long." Betty gave a cold smile.

Christ! Does everyone in Troskowitz like to answer without answering?!

Still, now that he knew von Bergow was involved, Godwin decided to follow the column and look for Henry when the chance came. He finally caught sight of the rear of the column, mounted, and glanced back into the tavern, seeing Voyta waving at him with a smile. Although there were two conspicuous figures at the corner of his eye—a nobleman shrouded in black, and a warrior in white armour—Godwin gave them no further thought and fell in with the marching column.

"If I remember correctly, you weren't at the feast last night."

Godwin had thought he was being careful, but a knight at the rear had noticed him all the same. The man wore black armour from head to toe, standing out sharply among the red waffenrocks and banners.

"Pay me no mind, young man. I'm just an old fellow who likes a bit of excitement."

"Heh. Judging by the sword at your side, I won't lower my guard so easily." Bartosch calmly placed his hand on his own sword. "State your purpose, or I'll make you the excitement."

God... leave me alone...

"I swear by Heaven, I'm merely looking for a friend." Godwin resorted to his final gambit—he spoke the words in Latin, hoping this black knight would understand and believe him.

Bartosch was silent for a moment, then replied in Latin too, "What is your friend's name?"

Godwin breathed a sigh of relief. "Hen—"

Boom—! Boom-boom—! Boom—!

A deafening explosion crashed down from above, followed by blood spraying, horses and men collapsing in chaos. Heart‑rending screams and the shrieks of horses echoed through the valley.

"Henry! Will you just get the hell on with it!"

"B-but, Captain..."

"Enough! Don't make me go beat your arse!"

Godwin had no idea what he was looking at.

He had been thrown from his horse in the ambush and landed on a rock with his side. By the time he'd managed to find his horse in the chaos, the field was strewn with corpses, and that black knight was nowhere to be seen.

Leading his horse, dragging his bruised body, Godwin followed the trail of blood along the road, hoping to see Henry at the end of it. He was not disappointed—Henry was there, locked in a duel with another man. Or rather, being forced.

Before Godwin lay an open field, perfect for two knights to settle their dispute in honourable combat. But the duel seemed to lack witnesses: apart from himself, only one young man sat leisurely on the ground, cheering them on.

"Henry—! For the sake of your arse, just make a move—!" The man's jeering calls stripped the duel of all tension and almost told Godwin who he was.

Blond hair… yellow armour… Hmm…

"Forgive me, but would you be Sir Hans of Rattay?"

"Oh! Father, you're finally here!" Hans' face lit up at the sight of him. "Come, sit with me. You're about to see a rare show."

Godwin was surprised by Hans' reaction. Had Henry told this noble about his experience? Just then, the man facing Henry roared.

"For God's sake, Henry! Stop stalling! This is no game!"

"Because it's no game! That's why I don't want you to lose an eye again!"

"Who lost an eye?! You know very well it was just a scar!"

"It's only because I was lucky last time! What if I really hurt your eye this time?!"

The two men stood facing each other in the middle of the glade, swords raised, neither willing to make a step. On the contrary, their duel of words was reaching a fever pitch.

"Henry! Don't make me order you!" Zizka shouted through gritted teeth. To make things easier for Henry, he had even sent all his men back to the fortress.

But Henry stubbornly shook his head, and just then he spotted Godwin in the distance. He cried out as if grasping at a straw, "Godwin's here, Captain! We can get him to give you a fake scar—he certainly has a way!"

When Godwin was confused why the conversation had suddenly turned to him (not to mention he had no idea what the two were arguing about), the other man threw down his longsword, drew a dagger from his belt, and held it up before his own face.

"Captain, no—!"

Henry screamed and rushed at the man. Hans looked stunned. Only Godwin remained not sure whether he was sober yet.

Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on—?!

"I've heard of you—a robber baron, marvelous in battle," Godwin said as he carefully applied the herb to Zizka's wound. "Never thought the first time we'd meet, I would be dressing a wound you gave yourself. What a lunatic!"

"That's flattering… You should see the other man…"

Despite the searing pain on his face, Zizka still managed an air of nonchalance, replying like a drunkard after a street brawl. Godwin knew he was only jesting, but still glanced back at Henry standing behind him—the unharmed other man. The corners of his eyes and his shoulders drooping, he looked exactly like a dog being scolded after some mischief.

"Don't blame yourself, Henry... it's just a scratch." Zizka pressed the bandage on his face. "From the moment that arrow hit you in the shoulder… you should've known… that some things can't be avoided…"

Henry nodded dejectedly, while Godwin shook his head in annoyance. "Well, I'm getting used to you lot's nonsense. Don't bother explaining anything, I'm perfectly fine."

"Henry… go take a walk. I'll handle things here." Hans lightly patted Henry's shoulder.

Henry left the room, disheartened. To prepare for the coming battle, he still had much to do. Learn to use a handgonne, tend to the wounded soldiers, help the clumsy blacksmith sharpen their weapons, and once Godwin understood (or not) what had happened, ask him to say prayers for the fallen. But before all that, Henry decided to visit a friend in trap.

"You look calm," Henry said to the man behind the iron bars.

"I hear the footsteps of Death. The Lord's judgment is at hand." Bartosch sat in the cell, eyes closed in meditation. His wounds appeared not too serious. "So I am looking back on my life."

"Is there anything you need to confess?" Henry opened the cell door and stepped inside.

"No. I have been pious and just. I have committed no sin."

"Really? What about your French wine?"

Bartosch slowly opened his eyes, and saw Henry crouching before him with a knowing smile.

"...I never do anything that isn't worthwhile," he said with a sigh. "But looking at it now, I should've done whatever it took last night to lure you into my room, and to make you too spent to go to battle today. Then perhaps I could've changed the fate I'm facing now."

Henry chuckled. He took out a potion and a few rolls of bandages, and placed them in Bartosch's hands.

"...Are you a demon? Or an angel? If this is to be my grave, at least let me die knowing the truth."

"I'm just one of von Bergow's enemies." Henry urged Bartosch to drink the potion. "But unlike you, I haven't always been a man of honour. Sometimes I would play dirty to achieve my task."

Bartosch sniffed the bottle; a faint floral scent drifted out. From experience, he knew it was marigold decoction. "In that case, why save me?" he asked, then tipped his head back and drank.

"Let's just call it... repayment." Seeing the man's puzzled look, Henry smiled. "I brewed this potion myself. How does it taste?"

"Unforgettable," Bartosch answered without hesitation. "I've never tasted marigold decoction so fragrant. In a single moment, it's filled me with life."

"Your wine was the same." Henry stood up and walked toward the cell door. "Unforgettable. Just one sip and I felt sweet grapes dancing on my tongue. That rich aroma was something I would always remember."

Henry stepped out of the cell and turned around. Bartosch's face was filled with confusion, yet there seemed also a glimmer of awareness. He tightened his grip on the bandages.

"Henry, have we—"

"Stay here, you'll be safe." Henry closed the door without locking it. He gazed into those deep eyes, and said, "Farewell, Black Bartosch."

In the fading light, soldiers were busy at work throughout Nebakov Fortress. They had no time to celebrate their survival from the last battle before being thrown straight into the next, yet most of them still unaware that they were marching to the end.

Killing and being killed wove through Henry's fingers—he felt as though he could almost control anyone's fate. War is a cruel affair, Radzig and Zizka had taught him so; war is a nasty business, Toth and von Aulitz had taught him too. Now, Henry understood the truth of it more than ever. He gazed out from the ramparts, picturing himself alone in the middle of a blood-soaked field, the last man standing. Let Toth sneer all he liked. No matter how monstrous he became, for his lost parents and home, for the oath of his loyal love, he would survive.

"Godwin gave up halfway through listening," that calm, seasoned voice came out of nowhere beside him. "Now he thinks it was all a plot by the bishop, that he colluded with your father to punish him."

"Heh. He almost led the son of my father astray. Maybe Sir Radzig really should punish him."

Henry laughed, but his voice lacked its usual colour. Zizka glanced at him, then turned to gaze out at the vast landscape beyond the fortress walls. The bandages on his face obscured the sharpness in his eyes, pain tugging at his nerves, yet his jawline made him all the more tough for it.

"Whether you tried to protect my eye or to make me feel your helplessness, I'm grateful you brought me here."

Like Henry, Zizka was doomed to watch his soldiers fall upon the battlefield with his own eyes, powerless to prevent it. He laid the blame on the sins of war, knowing himself to be nothing but a grain of sand swept along by the tide.

Henry said nothing. His gaze never left the world beyond the ramparts—red banners spread across the hills, the footsteps of Death drawing closer.

"Fight for your Capon, and I'll fight for you." Zizka leaned out between the battlements and called down, "Lord von Bergow, what do you want?!"

Von Bergow's army had arrived outside Nebakov a day earlier than the plan. No wonder. Before launching today's ambush, Zizka had already sent Toth and Erik packing. It seemed those two weasels had made it back to Trosky in time, though they were nowhere to be seen among the troops now below.

"A pleasure, Lord Nebak!" Von Bergow rode his magnificent Attila, one hand arrogantly planted on his hip. "I've been informed that a reckless band of bandits is hiding in this fortress. Open the gates and show me the inside!"

"Oh? I haven't heard such news." Zizka played along with the other man's clumsy act. "Surely it wasn't this messenger beside me who reported that to you, was it?"

Henry snorted softly, watching the enemy below with contempt and disgust in his eyes.

"Oh, Henry! I never thought you'd side with such rats and lure my army into an ambush!" Von Bergow shook his head. "A pity. There will be no alliance with Rattay. Whether Lord Capon is aware of this or not, I cannot tolerate him sheltering a spy!"

"Speaking of a spy, how could I ever hope to compare with your tethered little Toth?!" Henry finally spoke. "But Lord Capon knows nothing of this. As a future lord, he is merely a pawn in my hand."

Henry quietly placed one hand behind his back and made a fist, signalling to the man behind him not to approach or make a sound.

"That means he's just another hostage, like the true lord of Nebakov!" Von Bergow narrowed his eyes. "And what do you intend to do now?!"

"Let's make a deal! After all, that's the point of all this rubbish, isn't it?"

"Hmph. Let's hear it, then!"

Henry steadied his breath. "We have three hostages: Nebak, Capon, and your loyal retainer, Bartosch." He exchanged a glance with Zizka. "Three lives in exchange for our freedom. From this day on, you need no longer trouble yourself over this region."

"Are you saying you'll disappear from the Trosky lands entirely?!"

Henry nodded.

Von Bergow's mouth twitched upwards. He raised a hand, telling his men to prepare to receive the hostages, and another thing besides—a sorcery that could make anything in the way "disappear" for good.

"...The Finger of God."

Henry and Zizka murmured it together, and exchanged a knowing smile. But then, rushed, angry footsteps faded into the distance behind them. Henry did not turn around. His gaze fell.