I was blinking blankly, but Stigma quietly called to me as if he had been observing me the whole time.
"Junior... do you know that your mood fluctuates between extremes?"
"Yes?"
"It looks quite dangerous, but I'd like to ask if you can guarantee that there will be no problem."
"Yes?"
"... It's not an area I can touch, so no matter what the answer is, the result will be the same."
After saying that, he reached out his hand and lightly brushed the area around my eyes.
"But you're not crying now. That's a good thing. It will be troublesome if something like this happens often, so I hope it can be resolved as soon as possible."
"..."
He saw it all. There was a short silence.
With only the military doctor busy, the nagging that seemed to have ended, as if the previous conversation had been treated as if it had never happened, continued.
"I'm sure my junior could have avoided it at that time. Is that not the case?"
"... Yes."
"Of course, killing a general is important. However, if that method involves thrusting yourself into the enemy's weapon and risking injury to kill him, then I would give you the worst possible score. You should have avoided him at that time."
Brown eyes looked again at my healing wound.
I'm not sure because I'm under anesthesia, but how serious is it? Just as I was about to slowly turn my head to look at the wound, Stigma pressed down on my head.
"Don't move as it may interfere with the treatment. Do you know why the enemies retreated when you killed the demon general?"
Is that because the general died?
"It's because I was nearby. If all you did was simply kill the general, there was no way they would just leave behind good, injured prey. Even if they retreated, they would have killed my junior and then retreated."
"..."
"Do you understand? The judgment my junior made today was the worst."
He's really hitting my sore spots... I know all this, but it still hurts.
"We killed the general, but our junior was also seriously injured, and we failed to boost the morale of our troops. However, it did not reduce the morale of the enemies. As a result, the allies had no choice but to let go of the retreating enemies. Why? Because my junior, one of the people with high status here, was seriously injured."
"..."
"We need to quickly stop the battle and look at my junior's wounds, because if we keep blocking the retreat, the battle will never end."
The battle continues whether a single soldier dies or not, but the higher the rank, the more sensitive they become to death and injury. Its influence is such that it can even influence whether to stop fighting and retreat.
"I'm not saying my junior's behavior is the worst. It was just bad judgment. Such actions should only be used when there is really no other way, after carefully examining the situation."
"..."
"My junior wouldn't have made a foolish decision without a reason..."
I wish I could just move on without mentioning anything.
It's just that I didn't have the confidence to fight in this mental and physical condition, so I just wanted to grab a general and show off.
"I think it was due to my junior's unusual condition, but I guess that's why you made the wrong decision, right? Rational thinking seemed impossible. If you think about it, this shoulder is not a wound caused by being completely distracted during the war."
When I came to my senses, I was flustered because the war was in full swing.
Ah, thinking about it again makes me crave medicine again.
"... You're drifting off again."
"Ah."
"Okay, junior, you must be tired too, so it would be better to get some rest. It looks like the treatment is over, so go in. I'll clean up after you."
He left. Even the military doctor left, saying that the treatment was complete, and stood up while fiddling with the bandage on my shoulder.
Dan, who heard the news of my injury and ran out nearby during the treatment, quickly came over and put a coat on me. Even though it wasn't, I felt cold as the cold air touched my bare skin, so I quickly took it and put on my coat.
"... I've felt this every time, but each knight has a strong personality."
"Hmm?"
I thought he was going to lead me right inside, but suddenly I heard something out of the blue.
I glanced at Dan, then turned my eyes to follow his gaze.
'... Ah.'
Dan's gaze fell on the three knights lined up under Stigma's command. To be exact, the attire of the three knights.
People covered in blood from head to toe... The Lofty Knights.
A nameless group of knights dressed in appropriately blood-splattered clothing, as if they had just fought a normal battle.
Stigma's Knights maintained a strangely neat appearance.
'No, Stigma is almost at the level of tearing his enemies to pieces when he fights, so how can he maintain such a neat appearance?'
The same goes for his knights.
Similar to their master, they never had a calm fighting style. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Like a wild beast let off its leash.
Yes, I can define like that. And yet, he was clean, without a single drop of blood...
As I was standing still and admiring it, Dan, who was busy looking at the three knights, muttered softly.
"... Three stages in which a person becomes soaked in blood..."
"Phew."
"..."
"..."
Let's go in.
***
Did his junior know? Every chance they get, there are people who try to take his life.
Even in the military camp, which provided a place to rest on the battlefield.
"Keuuuu–!"
"I don't want to make a fuss, so please be quiet. Everyone is tired from the battle, but I can't rest because of you."
Your life isn't worth that much.
Stigma tightened the hand strangling the guy's neck and raised the corners of his mouth.
"Who sent you?"
Although his junior had many enemies due to his political position, it was not to the extent that many people would come here without any break. So, rather than several people sending one or two people at a time, it would be one person persistently sending many people. If he just found that person and killed them, things will be resolved smoothly.
Even so, his junior was not in good condition these days, and on top of that, these flies have been caught in his way.
"Idiots who don't even know the dangers of this war."
You just want to ruin the human world, right? Wow.
"... Such a mistake."
Just kill him.
For a moment, he couldn't control his strength. He shrugged his shoulders and laid down the still warm body, then raised his head and fixed his eyes on a certain place.
"Do you know where they come from?"
"..."
"There is no answer. If you hadn't been dealing with the attackers coming towards him, my junior, you too would have died by my hands."
Perhaps his junior knew that too, so he was keeping them alive.
He could feel the person in the shadows getting tense in the darkness. Stigma laughed and turned his back as if he was not interested.
"I hope you take good care of my junior."
***
Cruel arrived at his office as usual, opened the door, and paused for a moment at the scene unfolding before his eyes. A familiar feeling of déjà vu arose.
"What are you doing if you don't come in?"
"... Your Excellency the Duke."
When did it happen? It wasn't that long ago. The Duke was in the office at that time, too. He wasn't that surprised, perhaps because he was used to it since he had already experienced it once, but the small round table was now in the middle of the room, so he seemed to have changed the layout of the furniture at will, was a bit unexpected, so his eyes immediately landed on the changed furniture.
"Cruel."
"..."
At a short prompting, Cruel, who looked alternately at the chessboard on the table and the smiling peacock sitting in front of it, silently closed the door and came in.
As if there was some kind of wind blowing, the Duke offered him a seat across from him and smiled.
He was always smiling, but perhaps because of his mood, he had a particularly strained smile.
"It looks like you enjoy playing chess. Would you like to play a game with me?"
It's ominous. The instincts trained as a prosecutor were warning of danger.
However, it was an unavoidable situation.
"... Gladly."
Cruel obediently followed his words.
Takkak.
The chess pieces were placed without hesitation, as if any hesitation had been thrown away. Turns changed quickly without time delay, and each person's eyes moved busily, examining the opponent's movements and the resulting change in the game.
They were too busy concentrating on the small world that was running without stopping, so there was no talking between the two. In fact, the last conversation between the two was probably before the game started.
"What color are you going to choose?"
"... I will choose white."
"I see."
Cruel was white and the Duke was black.
Takkak.
'...'
The flow was broken. Purple eyes looked up from the board and slowly looked at Cruel. The eyes, which had completely hidden emotions, were examining the other person tenaciously as if trying to uncover their intentions.
The white horse was placed in the wrong place. It was a place that was not bait, much less an attack, but an impractical move.
"... I received a very interesting note."
The situation was clearly one in which Cruel had the upper hand. The Duke pretended not to notice the mistake and began speaking slowly.
"I thought it would be good to see the landscape, so I came here in person."
"..."
Takkak.
The tables had turned. If it weren't for Cruel's mistake, this would never have happened.
No, was that really a mistake?
The white camp, which was gaining momentum, collapsed.
The black side that did not miss the opportunity gradually became suffocating, and, eventually–
"Checkmate."
The Duke won.
The Duke stretched out his hand and picked up the white king, rolling it in his hand and then putting it down as if he was throwing it. What was thrown in front of Cruel was not only chess pieces.
A small note lying next to the chess piece.
Cruel, who was staring at it, couldn't resist the Duke's gaze telling him to open it, so he slowly stretched out his hand.
"..."
It was a report note that always came.
The problem was that it was a report note personally requested by Cruel, not the Duke. A report on the request to protect Deon Hardt, how many people attacked Deon Hardt and how many were dealt with just today.
The Duke, who waited patiently for his green eyes to focus on him again, met his gaze and smiled.
"Unfortunately, there was no name of the client."
But he already knew.
The fact that he got that note meant he already knew everything. He couldn't have gotten it without knowing the route through which the messages were sent.
Cruel kept his mouth shut even though he knew that he was playing with his neck on the line, as if giving a cornered rat some breathing room. Since the note was revealed, he was in a position where he had to bow down.
The Duke traced the note with his finger, fixing his gaze on Cruel.
"Cruel. Is this note yours?"
What answer should he give?
Cruel seemed to know what answer he wanted.
"I don't know."
"..."
"..."
There was no further conversation beyond that. The two quietly looked into each other's eyes as if something big would happen if one avoided eye contact first, and the subtle tension was cut off when the Duke moved his eyes first.
He picked up the note again and made a strange voice.
"Is that right?"
Swoosh.
The note thrown into the fireplace burnt up in an instant.
Cruel's eyes turned towards him for a moment as he said, "Kneel."
The green eyes returned to their original position at the words, which did not match the neat behavior of the Duke, who was leaning against the back of a chair with his legs crossed and his clasped hands placed neatly on his knees.
Cruel, who was looking at the Duke calmly without answering, stood up and slowly knelt down on one knee.
The Duke, who was quietly looking at him, spoke in a low voice.
"More."
"..."
The mask of laughter was removed and a cool, expressionless face was revealed, staring at Cruel.
Cruel, who made eye contact with him for a moment, lowered his eyes and bent his remaining knee.
"..."
There was no answer even though both knees touch the floor. In response, both palms touched the floor and his head was lowered. His head, which was lowered until there was an answer, stopped only after the forehead touched the floor.
Perfect prostration.