I Returned with the Cheat Holy Sword

"…So it wasn’t actually a date, it was just a rehearsal…?"
"Yes. At least, that’s what the lady said when she called me over."

That evening.
I barely managed to hold Vespa down long enough to explain the situation.
…She kept trying to wriggle away in every direction, so just keeping her pinned in place was already a real ordeal.

She seemed horribly bothered by the very fact that Gray and I had gone out together, so I had to sit her down and finish the explanation first.
"So, you really don’t have to worry too much. You just looked upset about it."
"I-I see. That’s a relief…"

Vespa’s lips closed tight in the middle of speaking.
It was the kind of reaction that said she’d just realized something.
"But."
Clutching the hem of her skirt with both hands, Vespa spoke.

"The lady deliberately didn’t tell me that, did she?"
"She’s just not very talkative, isn’t she? I don’t think there was any intention behind it."
Rather than lacking words, it was closer to her simply not caring at all about what others might think—but in any case.

"…Yes, she wouldn’t have had an ulterior motive."
Vespa forced a smile and agreed.
Though there was a shadow hanging over that smile, it was understandable.

Of course she’d be bothered.
It was Vespa, after all—always alert to Gray’s relationships with people around her.
Wasn’t she so wary of me back when we first met?

For someone who always wanted to guard Gray’s side, watching anyone else cling to her could hardly be pleasant.
[…Half-right, you’ve guessed it.]
Half-right?

[Forget it. Better than explaining to a blockhead like you—]
There’s no way Vespa seriously likes me more than she does you.
[…….]

For an instant, the Holy Sword fell silent.
[…Maybe being stuck in the sword too long has scrambled my mind. I must have misheard.]
What do you mean?

[How can you so casually discuss feelings like that…?]
…
What’s she even talking about.
The very trait Vespa has open is literally called “Archmage’s First Love” or something.

Only an idiot wouldn’t know what kind of feeling that was supposed to be.
[No, how could someone who knows that still act like such a clueless moron—]
The sword grumbled, but Carlyle still spoke evenly.

Still, I don’t think it’s sincere.
[…And what’s that supposed to mean. Don’t tell me she’s pretending to like you—]
No.

Carlyle said,
Someone like me… there’s no way she’d like me to the very end.
It would never last.

Not anyone’s affection.
—Can I call you oppa?
Just as always.

[……]
The Holy Sword, about to continue speaking, shut her mouth.
Just now.

For the briefest flicker.
A fleeting trace, barely brushing past at the end of a sentence.
Rotten through.

A festering pit, swollen with pus.
…Emotions pooled and stagnant across countless “lives.”
[…You, listen.]

The sword’s voice stammered.
[You’re not as ignorant as you pretend—]
"But, Vespa."

Whatever the sword was trying to say, I had other matters.
"What’s Visel—no, what’s Lady Vissels been up to?"
Since I’ll soon be heading into the Imperial Palace, it’s about time to ask.

She used to serve as something like a bridge between the First Prince and the Second Princess. She must have valuable information.
To be precise, this concerns…
Princess Illia, whom I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I recalled hearing from Dean Sior that the two of them were inseparable these days.
She was supposedly studying all sorts of things at the Academy. I wondered how she was doing.
"…"

And the moment Vespa heard that question, a reaction surfaced that was almost unthinkable for her.
She snapped her head aside and began to sweat profusely.
As if I had just touched on some unspeakably awkward subject.

"…Ah, Lady Vissels?"
Avoiding my gaze, Vespa scratched her cheek.
"She’s probably in the cafeteria right now."

"She’s been eating there lately? As royalty, I’d have thought she’d be far too picky for that."
The only image I had of Vizil was that of a thoroughly spoiled prince.
I hadn’t heard how he’d been doing recently—but now he was even eating in the cafeteria? Looked like some of that arrogance had worn off.

"…"
But hearing that, Vespa only sweated harder.
"N-no, it’s not about eating…"

"Not eating?"
Then what was she doing there?
I tilted my head, and Vespa rubbed her face with both hands before replying.

"Just… don’t be too shocked when you see her."
"…"
…What?

***
The dining hall and cafeteria inside Yoram were always packed.
It was only natural. In a place constantly brimming with people, it was the cheapest way to get a filling meal.

Which also meant working there was as undesirable as it was underpaid.
Who would want to work at a battlefield that broke out three times a day? Nobles with even a shred of strength or pride preferred to pay several times more for private catering just to avoid the chaos.
So—

When a sophisticated beauty strode through such a grimy place without batting an eye, she couldn’t help but stand out.
"Food’s here."
"…Huh, without even taking orders?"

"Eat what I give you."
"…"
"If you don’t like it, don’t order from me. Don’t make me work. Shut it and get lost."

"…"
All around, people sat in silence, staring at the lethargic-eyed server.
She was undeniably beautiful. Perfect proportions, long blue hair, and a body whose curves showed through even the baggy uniform.

Her nametag read “Vissels.”
"Excuse me, Miss Vissels."
One customer sighed deeply at her attitude.

Her rudeness to customers was already infamous.
How could anyone stay still in the face of that?
"Would you mind treating me a bit more like trash?"

"…"
"That’s the whole reason we order from you."
Vissels’s eyes turned glacial.

…Which only made the customers even happier.
"Would you be willing to insult me harder if I tipped you extra?"
"I could kill you. Really, one swing and you’d be dead."

"Five gold coins."
"…"
Her eyebrow twitched.

"…Up front."
The deal was struck.
"…"

She cleared her throat lightly.
"Your life is pathetic—wasting money on garbage like this—"
Her contemptuous eyes and her disgust-drenched voice meshed perfectly.

With just five gold coins, humiliation rained down on human dignity, and the room erupted in cheers.
"Over here too, Miss Vissels!"
"Insult me next—!"

"…"
Insane perverts.
Vissels, her eyes dead, began slaughtering the cafeteria with the blades of her tongue.

It wasn’t hard. She only had to pour out what she truly felt, no decoration required…
"Good work, Vissels."
"…Yes, Manager."

Returning from the floor, she was greeted with a wry smile from the middle-aged man behind the counter.
A commoner, the owner of this restaurant. By rights he shouldn’t even have been able to look her in the eye, but to Vissels he was god, savior, light and salt all in one.
The reason being—

"Strange people always show up during your shifts, but sales go through the roof because of it. You’re a real help."
He slid over a pay envelope.
"So I put in a little extra. About one and a half times the usual?"

"…Thank you…!"
Light, salt, savior and salvation.
If that wasn’t god, then what was…

In her royal days, this amount of money wouldn’t even have registered as spending, but now, with all support cut off, it was precious reward for her day’s labor.
"Haaah…"
Vissels heaved a deep sigh and stripped off her uniform.

Quickly changing into the women’s clothes she had grown horribly used to, she stepped outside.
On her wrist was a cheap, repaired wristwatch salvaged from the junkyard. She checked the time.
"If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late for the bakery shift…"

It was a long way off. If she didn’t move fast, she’d be late.
But at least I always get to eat leftover bread.
She found herself smiling brightly as she walked with light steps.

Sweet things were delicious. Even better with cream inside. And most importantly—free. That was what mattered most.
It couldn’t get better than this. She would never give up the bakery job!
No matter how depressed she was, as long as something sweet was in her mouth, she could endure—

"…"
Suddenly, Vissels froze, clutching her forehead.
No, no, no—!

Get a hold of yourself, Vizil Lionheart.
Even if mind follows body, how could a former prince demean himself like this?
It couldn’t be helped that she was now forced to work part-time, even double shifts, just to survive in Yoram. But her dignity should remain untouched.

To prance about in delight over free bread? Like some common peasant woman?
If not for that bastard…!
If not for the one who had done this to her body, she would never have ended up like this…!

"That bastard, if I ever see him—"
Her words cut off.
"…"

"…"
She looked up—
And there he was.

Carlyle, standing right before her, staring straight at her.
Vissels froze in place.
"You seem busy."

"…"
"But who exactly were you calling a bastard just now?"
"…"

"Could it have been me, perhaps?"
Carlyle spoke with a broad smile.
And Vissels, pale as death, reflexively raised a professional smile in return.

It was almost admirable, how she managed to force a grin with her face drained of all color.
"…Of course not, Sir Carlyle."
"…"

She’s really been through it.
Her socialization had gone far further than I’d ever expected.