* * *
Ranshel imagined hauling a box bigger than himself on a cart, then shook his head.
Better leave it to someone more suited.
He just wanted to work smart, not hard.
If only Zavad didn’t insist on having him stick around all the time, he could’ve coasted a little more.
They stepped out of the building and walked to another dormitory nearby.
As soon as they opened the front door, a faint scent of oil greeted them.
Someone on the first floor was probably working on equipment.
The atmosphere was completely different from the previous dorm, which had smelled only of books and ink.
Weapons like the Pavise Shield and Gladius Sword hung on the wall directly in front of them.
It was a stark contrast to the neighboring building, where ornate decorations were proudly displayed.
Looking around, Ranshel let out a quiet sigh.
“The time has come…”
Every character had their own traits and corresponding skills.
Ranshel was an assassin; Zavad, a knight.
That alone was as good as declaring their fates.
This wasn’t reality.
It was a game.
And in this game, each character inevitably followed the path laid out by their unique traits—just as Zavad had transitioned from the general dormitory to the knight trainees’ quarters.
But maybe it was because Zavad had outstanding stats in multiple areas?
Unlike others, he seemed to have the rare potential to become not just a knight—but a scholar as well.
“Such a cheat character.”
Zavad had completed his foundational studies entirely through self-learning, without the help of a private tutor, and even showed considerable academic success.
If he’d wanted to, he could’ve become a star student at the academy, known far and wide.
But he had rigged his entrance exam scores from the start.
Just enough to pass—but not enough to stand out.
Ranshel had fully expected that.
Zavad didn’t just fall out of a persimmon tree one day and suddenly flunk a test without reason.
Even after enrolling, Zavad kept his grades deliberately low.
Ranshel didn’t need to ask why.
Idle whispers filled the air everywhere they went.
—The Duke’s second son doesn’t seem to have much talent for studying. I don’t remember Young Lord Stein being that bad.
—He’s clearly not fit for administrative work in the Ministry of Interior. And since the succession will go to Lord Stein, how’s a hollow shell of a royal supposed to survive in the palace without backing? He’d be better off going back to his hometown after graduation and sucking up to his brother.
—Who says he has no backing? Isn’t he from House Pomel?
—If he really had support, wouldn’t his family at least show up in the capital? They haven’t even visited to encourage him. He’s probably been disowned.
Even hearing all that, Ranshel had trained himself to stay calm.
Those were all rumors Zavad had intended to spread.
He couldn’t risk interfering and messing up Zavad’s plan.
As a servant, it was enough to wait in silence until his master needed him.
And so, without drawing any suspicion, Zavad successfully transferred from the academic program to the knight trainee division.
After all, if a noble lacked scholarly talent but wanted a foot in the imperial door, he had better pick up a sword instead of a pen.
Knight trainees were a different breed from the general students—mostly sheltered noble brats raised like hot-house flowers.
These were typically nobles from lesser houses, ones far removed from succession lines—discarded spares, so to speak.
Of course, there were rare exceptions from prestigious families, but those cases were few and far between.
Zavad happened to be one of those rare exceptions.
Everyone in the building was probably paying close attention to Zavad’s every move.
By now, word of his transfer to the knight trainee dorm had undoubtedly spread throughout the building.
Because of that environment, they moved quietly.
Ranshel closed the door, locked it, and only then opened his mouth.
“Are you officially choosing the path of a knight, now?”
Zavad slowly crossed the room and sank into a chair.
His answer came with a sigh.
“Until I need the Empress’s support.”
“…Did Her Majesty wish for you to become a knight?”
“More precisely, she wanted me to become someone’s knight.”
As if the thought alone exhausted him, he pressed his fingers to his temples.
“She ordered me to become the Crown Prince’s escort.”
“…His Highness the Crown Prince?”
“Yeah.”
The Crown Prince—destined to become the Empire’s blazing sun.
For the Duke’s second son, an imperial bastard who had never left Pomel Castle until now, to serve him as an aide—he needed a legitimate reason.
The odds were slim, but Zavad was of imperial blood.
Not entirely out of the succession line.
Almost impossible, sure—but if something were to happen to the Crown Prince, he could feasibly become a candidate.
In such a delicate situation, if he became the Crown Prince’s aide, anyone with a brain would suspect something.
And the role Her Majesty proposed wasn’t just to be a conversational companion.
“She wants you to become His Highness’s bodyguard?”
“That’s right. But I have no intention of getting dragged into their petty power struggles. What I need is a faction to support me in inheriting the dukedom—not the emperor’s golden crown.”
Zavad needed to approach the Crown Prince in a way that minimized suspicion.
To do that, he had to tarnish his own reputation—just a bit.
“Ranshel, I’m the slow-witted, incompetent second son who got pushed out of the inheritance race. That’s why I’m clinging to whatever scraps of imperial connection I can find, fawning over the Crown Prince. Got it?”
So that was the setup.
Ranshel nodded, then suddenly remembered something.
“Oh—was that why you asked me that question before?”
On the path to the garden where Frey had been waiting, Zavad had asked:
—What would you do if people thought I was just a pathetic noble?
So he had been planning this from the beginning.
Zavad’s fingers twitched on the table.
“…I don’t care what you really think. But if you’re going to run away, I’d prefer to know in advance.”
“What did I say back then?”
“You said you’d serve me with your whole heart and soul to the very end of your life—regardless of my status.”
“Oh, I said that…?”
Ranshel was surprised at his own loyalty.
Maybe not until the very end, but he did intend to devote most of this life to Zavad.
After all, after betraying him, there probably wouldn’t be much time left to live anyway.
In any case, it finally made sense.
Ranshel had always found it odd that Zavad had such high intelligence despite not being built as a scholar character.
Was it the same in the game?
He hadn’t attended an academy like this in the game world, but it wasn’t as if someone had swapped out his brain—he must’ve been just as sharp back then.
And yet, that brilliant child had lived in a tiny room, acting as if the space behind a closed door was his entire world.
What a waste.
Whatever Zavad did, wherever he was—it wouldn’t have made a difference to Ranshel.
“…You’re a pretty decent person, my lord.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
Ranshel burst into laughter.
Glancing at Ranshel’s suddenly bright expression, Zavad replied lightly.
“You’re not bad either.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
This time, a faint smile crept across Zavad’s face as well.
Ranshel clenched his fingers as he looked at that beautiful face.
* * *
