The red colt was draped in magnificent silks, embroidered with the family crest of the Earl of Hereford. Upon seeing it from a distance, the surrounding people automatically cleared a path.
It was approaching noon, typically the busiest time at the market. Emma's arrival quickly quieted the noise and thinned the bustling crowd by more than half. Those citizens who couldn't move away in time simply pressed themselves against the sides of the road.
Even so, she still drew a great deal of attention. She was, after all, a strikingly beautiful woman, and female Nobility always projected a softer, more approachable air than their male counterparts.
However, people also quickly noticed the disheveled Monk trailing behind her, jogging to keep up.
Onlookers couldn't help but shake their heads, feeling an 'unnecessary' wave of sympathy for the 'poor' Monk, Eric.
Soon, they had left the city and were out in the open fields. Emma, who had been silent since leaving the castle, turned her head and looked back at Eric, still tagging along behind her, with a soft chuckle.
"You're Eric, right? I heard my father call you that earlier. I know that name; it has Danish origins. Are you Danish?"
The young woman's voice was clear and melodious, but to Eric's ears, it was like the whisper of a Demon.
"I say... *huff... puff...* before you ask someone a question... *huff...* don't you think you should consider... *huff*... whether they can even *answer* it?
"Do I look... *huff*... like I'm in any condition to answer?"
Eric retorted irritably, panting for breath.
'My stamina is level 12, which should be way above average. But this vixen keeps deliberately speeding up, and my stamina bar has been hovering in the red this whole time.'
'She keeps varying the pace—fast one moment, slow the next. My lungs feel like they're going to explode. The way she's running me ragged, even Captain America wouldn't last.'
"Giving up after such a short time? It seems your faith as a Servant of God isn't very steadfast."
Although she looked delighted by his misery, Emma was actually shocked by Eric's endurance. It had been a full hour since they'd left the castle.
And that was with her deliberately picking up the pace; an ordinary person would have no hope of keeping up on foot.
Even though Eric claimed to be exhausted, Emma saw no faltering in his form. He maintained the same perfect posture he'd had when they first set out.
"Did you know? When my father was eighteen, he made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem on foot. He walked the entire way. When he was attacked by the Turkic People in Armenia, he escaped with his life thanks to his own two legs."
"That is what I call true Devotion. Compared to that, Monk Eric, you have a long way to go. Sometimes, Priests can't even measure up to the Lay People."
"If you can't make a good comparison, you don't have to make one at all. Why not mention how King William became the Duke of Normandy at age eight? So young and accomplished! You're hilarious, milady."
"Besides, some people die at eighteen. Why don't you—"
"Hm? I don't think I quite heard that. Care to say it again?"
"I was saying... I was saying that I must train myself harder. A Priest like me ought to learn from the Lord Earl's pious heart."
Eric forced a couple of awkward laughs, trying to brush it off. He put a hand to his brow, feigning admiration for the scenery.
"Ah, what fine weather we're having. Hereford is so picturesque."
But he could feel Emma's gaze still fixed on him. Apparently, his little act wasn't going to work on her.
"*Ahem.* My mother is Danish. My father is a Norman. She's the one who gave me my name. I've never met her; it's probably the only thing she left me."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't get the wrong idea. It's not that she's passed on. The truth is, I don't know if she's even still alive. My father is crueler, more ungrateful, greedy, and cunning than your average Norman."
"He never speaks of my mother. Perhaps it was a good thing she never married him."
'The arrival of the system made this world feel like one big game.'
'But he was a real person living in this world, having been born and raised here every single moment. Everything was real—suffocatingly so.'
'Even with the system, he could never treat the people of this world like NPCs.'
'He still felt the pain of his mother's absence and his father's heartlessness.'
'Even though he was always talking about roasting them over a fire, if it ever came to that, things would likely play out very differently.'
'Perhaps the only time he could really feel like he was playing a game was when it came to things like theft and Lock Picking.'
"Actually... I don't remember my mother, either. She passed away when I was very little. The memories are all a blur now."
Emma's mood sank, and she let out a sigh.
Emma felt a pang of regret. Perhaps she shouldn't have brought up the subject.
In the Middle Ages, even in this later period, women rarely lived past the age of forty.
"So, how far are we from that, uh, Saint Martin Village?" Eric asked, decisively changing the subject.
"About three leagues. Not far now. We'll be there if you just hang on a little longer."
Eric: "..."
Eric's steps came to an abrupt halt.
'Three leagues? Not far? A league is two miles! How could she say that with a straight face?'
'I opened my heart to you, and this is how you repay me? By running me into the ground?'
'Fine. Fine. So that's how we're playing this.'
Eric turned right around.
"Where are you going?" Emma pulled her horse to a halt.
"I'm going to turn myself in."
"Alright, alright, I was kidding. It's only half a league."
Emma dismounted and tugged on Eric's Monastic Robe. It was completely soaked with sweat. Getting her fingers sticky, she flicked them in disgust.
But Eric, as if he hadn't heard, continued walking straight back the way they came.
"Trespassing on the property of Nobility is punishable by... having a hand chopped off..."
Before Emma could finish, a gust of wind swept past, messing up her hair.
Eric, who had already gotten a good distance away, was suddenly right beside her, striking a runner's pose.
"A young man must be full of vigor! How could I give up so easily? The people of Saint Martin Village must be impatient for your ladyship's guidance!"
"My, you're full of energy now," Emma said with a light chuckle, patting Eric's shoulder.
"But of course! I am prepared to serve your ladyship with my utmost devotion, until my dying breath. Forget three leagues—I could run thirty!"
As he spoke, Eric raised his right arm and flexed his bicep.
"Louder! I can't hear you," Emma raised her voice, shouting deliberately into Eric's ear. "You think you can run thirty leagues with a voice that quiet?" she teased with a playful shrug.