* * *
Before he could come rushing out of the carriage, Ranshel shouted:
“I’m sorry, Young Master! It’s my fault!”
“…What?”
“I was being so arrogant! Please, don’t kick me again!”
“…”
“I’ll ride in the baggage cart, just like you said!”
The inn guests poked their heads out of the windows, watching the commotion.
“So that’s the noble they were talking about? What a temper.”
“Still, isn’t that a bit much? Treating a young servant like that?”
“Well, what can you expect? Nobles always treat their servants like dirt.”
Whispers and murmurs followed one after another.
“……”
Zavad, realizing how this was going to look, slammed the carriage door shut before his reputation could get any worse.
Ranshel dusted himself off and scurried toward the baggage cart.
“Hold on, Ranshel!”
He froze. That wasn’t Petro’s voice.
One of the guards had dismounted and was walking toward him, armor clinking.
He took off his helmet, revealing a surprisingly young face—he couldn’t be more than mid-twenties.
“You okay? You fell pretty hard—did you break your arm or anything?”
“Ah, n-no… I’m fine…”
Ranshel stepped back cautiously, visibly wary, his shoulders hunched in fear.
“Oh, sorry. I must’ve startled you, calling your name like that. I heard a bit about you from Gary, and it just slipped out…”
“You know Gary?”
“Sure do. We run into each other at the temple sometimes, when I go to pray. Got to know him a bit that way.”
“Ah, I see…”
…This guy’s probably a bit weird too.
Ranshel already had little to no trust left in Gary.
“Could I ask your name, sir…?”
“I’m Doter. Feel free to speak casually—I’m still a low-ranking guard, born a commoner.”
“Doter, got it. I don’t suppose I need to introduce myself?”
“Of course not, Ranshel. But seriously, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just got a bit shaken up, that’s all.”
“The Young Master, really… I knew he was a bit odd, but still…”
Doter looked back at the carriage and shook his head in disbelief.
Ranshel felt a flicker of guilt—brief, but there.
He suddenly remembered why Zavad had insisted on having Ranshel ride in the same carriage all this time.
‘He really kept me close like a living shield.’
It was like keeping a target dummy beside him, just in case something went wrong.
No wonder he’d be nervous with his usual shield suddenly gone.
Ranshel smiled at Doter, trying to ignore the inexplicable ache in his chest.
“Thanks for worrying about me. He kicks me around sometimes, but when he’s in a good mood, he’s actually nice. He’s not a bad person.”
“…You’re such a good kid.”
For some reason, Doter looked genuinely moved as he gazed down at Ranshel.
That flicker of guilt started to return again.
Zavad wouldn’t bother kicking someone himself—he’d make Petro do it for him.
Should he clear up the misunderstanding?
While he was still debating, Doter hesitantly spoke again.
“I think Gary might have misunderstood you. He said you were a nonbeliever who ignored the holy teachings about devotion to family, but someone who cares this much for their master can’t possibly be like that.”
“……”
He had a bad feeling from the start, and sure enough, this guy wasn’t normal either.
Ranshel just wanted to get away from this conversation as quickly as possible.
“I’m still worried. I have some medicine that works great on bruises and cuts—let me share some with you.”
“Ah, no, really—”
“You’re just in shock right now. It might hurt later, so keep it just in case.”
Before Ranshel could protest further, Doter was already heading for the baggage cart, and now they were walking in the same direction.
With his escape route blocked, Ranshel forced a smile and waited as Doter rummaged through his bag.
“Is it this one? No… Ah, here it is. It’s great for stopping bleeding and reducing swelling. Use as needed.”
“Wow, thanks. You’re really kind.”
“Just following the teachings—be kind to those in need.”
Seeing Doter’s bashful smile, Ranshel forced a grin and climbed into the baggage cart.
‘People from the Pomel Castle are all a bit off, I swear.’
The group finally got moving again.
Lying flat on his back, Ranshel decided maybe the baggage cart wasn’t so bad after all.
But just as the wheels turned and the carriage tilted slightly, he rolled right into a corner and banged his head.
“…!”
He winced, rubbing the spot and holding back a scream.
Of course it wasn’t meant for passengers—it was a cart for cargo.
Meanwhile, Zavad’s driver was unusually careful and steady.
Ride quality varied wildly depending on the driver.
Now that he thought about it, on the first day he arrived in this world, he’d already experienced what it felt like to be thrown around in a cart full of luggage.
He’d just forgotten because of everything else that happened after.
Ranshel gave up on lazily lying down and sat up.
He had to find something—anything—quickly if he wanted to return to Zavad’s carriage.
It was better to get scolded by Zavad than to roll around here like some luggage.
At least his body wasn’t in as much pain anymore.
Still, rummaging around blindly would take too much time.
Ranshel decided to first set a target.
There was a villain among the guards aiming for Zavad.
Not several—just one.
Ranshel opened his system window.
[Event Contribution Rate]
The Blood Seeker: 3%
The Soul Breaker: 3%
The Sleepless One: 0%
?*: 0%
…
The Most Villainous One: 8%
The anonymous villain once marked as ?* had now been replaced by a title.
He wasn’t sure of the exact criteria yet, but from experience, it seemed that when someone directly attempted harm against Zavad, their title would be revealed.
‘It must be the person who gave off that murderous intent in front of Zavad’s door back at the inn.’
None of the guards seemed to have any familiarity with Zavad.
Naturally, Zavad wouldn’t harbor even mild interest or hatred for them, so their contribution percentages hadn’t changed.
‘Still, they pose a threat.’
Even without emotional attachment, small interactions could influence the system—like exchanging names or bumping into someone at a dining table.
Recognition could still register even if it only moved the needle by 1%.
Ranshel couldn’t let his guard down.
A contribution—no matter how minor—meant the person would eventually commit a harmful act against Zavad.
Now the question was: what exactly was the villain planning?
They weren’t trying to kill him.
Their goal was to drive Zavad mad and get him expelled.
So what sort of interference could happen on a journey like this one to the capital?
Ranshel thought back on what had already been tried: hallucinations through Petro, purification spells triggered by monster blood…
‘…Monster blood.’
To mess with Zavad’s mind, mixing blood into his food… was a very real possibility.
Ranshel began searching through smaller personal belongings.
A whetstone for weapon maintenance, a heatstone for lighting fires, snares for catching rabbits…
And a medical kit for treating injuries.
Ranshel stopped rummaging. He pulled out a medicine bottle from his own pocket.
“It’s good for open wounds and works well for bruises too.”
The villain wouldn’t kill Zavad—but they might inflict a minor wound.
And aside from his personal servant, who else would be the first to offer medicine if Zavad were injured?
“Can’t trust a single damn one of them.”
With a sigh, Ranshel shoved the medicine back into his pocket.
The sun was already starting to set.
* * *
