Theorad Dreams (7)
Beynon could scarcely stop smiling.
For a moment, he imagined himself welcomed as an honored guest of the imperial household, enjoying all the privileges Professor Roylen had promised.
Then he cleared his throat and brought himself back under control.
Don't get carried away.
An opening was not the same as a victory. His opponent was the Third Princess of the Empire, commander of the Dawning Steps, an elite combat unit under the imperial family. Benelia was counted among the Empire's great stars. A change in her mood could decide whether he walked out of the palace at all.
It would be foolish to lose his head before the real contest began.
When he was satisfied that he could speak calmly, Beynon bowed slightly.
“Your Highness. Forgive me for asking, but may I use vulgar language when I tell you about the orc chieftain? I'll try to be restrained, but the story is difficult to tell without it.”
He couldn't describe an obscene episode honestly without speaking obscenely. Whether Benelia would indulge that much was another question.
The imperial knights nearby stiffened, fists clenching at Beynon's presumptuous request.
Benelia merely smiled, evidently amused.
“As long as you don't go too far, I'll overlook it. Speak freely.”
“Thank you. Then I'll start at the beginning.”
He cleared his throat.
Why had he ended up spending a night with the female chief of an orc tribe?
As a young mercenary, he had accepted an orc-subjugation job without understanding how dangerous it was. His company was defeated and captured. Desperate not to die, he offered to satisfy the chief sexually in exchange for their lives.
The tale drew Benelia in almost at once.
Roylen listened as well. Even the imperial knights, who had been so offended by his request for permission to swear, began paying attention to his story.
“…But once I entered the chief's hut, I had a problem. Think about it. Orcs are much larger than humans. If my equipment was only this big…”
Beynon held up his little finger.
“…then what would satisfy an orc would be more like this.”
He raised his index finger.
“That difference is simply a matter of race. I'm not saying I'm small, mind you. Not at all.”
A few of the knights struggled to suppress their laughter. Benelia's lips curved as she watched him.
“But humans are clever creatures, aren't they? We know how to use tools. Then I thought of the magician's wand.”
“A wand?” Benelia asked.
“Yes. I tied it securely to my penis with a rope. I could use mana to keep myself rigid enough to manage the arrangement.”
“And then?”
“What else could I do? I fucked her as desperately as a man fighting for his life.”
Beynon spread his hands.
“The wand gave me enough reach, and at first the chief seemed delighted. But her moans didn't last. The filthy-minded woman wasn't satisfied, no matter how hard I kept going.”
His face grew serious at the memory.
“I felt a chill run through me. If I couldn't please her, I was going to die. I kept moving and thinking at the same time, until an idea struck me.”
He raised a fist.
“I punched the chief in the stomach.”
“Pfft! You hit her?”
“I did. Orcs have a reputation for enjoying violence. I thought perhaps she'd like it rough.”
He nodded with the grave satisfaction of a man recounting a successful military maneuver.
“Fortunately, she did. She bared her tusks and yelled something at me. I couldn't understand the words, but I took it to mean she wanted more.”
“Your story is getting worse by the moment,” Benelia said.
“There's still one part left.”
Beynon paused dramatically, like a storyteller who knew his audience was listening.
“During that desperate, violent bout, I realized I couldn't finish without ejaculating. But with the chief's enormous body and that blasted wand, I wasn't exactly in a position to climax normally. So…”
He let the sentence trail away.
For the first time since he began speaking, he seemed embarrassed by the people around him. He leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“Would you lend me your ear, Your Highness? The ending is humiliating even for me.”
“After everything you've said, now you're embarrassed? Come here and tell me.”
“As you wish.”
Beynon stepped up to the princess and whispered the conclusion in her ear.
When he withdrew, Benelia stared at him, eyes wide.
“You… what…?”
For a moment she seemed too astonished to respond.
Then the breath escaped her in a laugh.
“Hahaha!”
She doubled over, clutching her stomach. Roylen blinked in surprise; it had been a long time since he'd heard Benelia laugh so freely, without an edge of mockery.
The princess laughed until her eyes watered, then straightened and wiped away the tears.
Beynon smiled in triumph.
“Did you enjoy the story?”
“Enjoy it? I've met plenty of madmen in my life, but none of them compare to you. If anyone ever asks me to name the greatest idiot in the world, I'll nominate you without hesitation.”
“High praise indeed.”
He accepted the insult with an easy nod.
Benelia took a breath, fighting off another bout of laughter.
“How troublesome. Next time we meet, cover your face. Just looking at you is going to make me laugh again.”
“Y-Your Highness…?”
“A joke. But the rumors about your mercenary years seem true. If the tribe you encountered was that far out in the mountains, this must have happened well before the Orc Conquest War.”
“That's correct.”
“Then give me your assessment of my swordsmanship. You were watching the sparring match, weren't you?”
Beynon hesitated.
Should he flatter her? Tell her exactly what he saw?
He doubted a woman like Benelia would be satisfied with empty praise.
“Your Highness tends to grip the hilt of her sword too tightly.”
“Too tightly?”
“Yes. I can see that you're confident in your strength and mana control. But when you clash blades with someone vastly stronger than yourself, that grip could destroy your wrists. Your ligaments could tear, your stance would collapse, and on a battlefield that would mean death.”
“Do you think I don't know that?”
“Knowing and staying aware of something are different. May I ask when you changed to your present kind of sword?”
“Two years ago.”
“Yet I see little sign that you've retrained your grip for this weapon. You've relied on your strength and mana instead of correcting the habit.”
He spoke without mockery.
“Perhaps you've never fought anyone who could match you. When you can break most opponents through raw power, it's easy to overlook a flaw in your technique.”
“That…”
Benelia fell silent. He had found a weakness she could not easily dismiss.
“Your Highness is a genius the world may never see again,” Beynon continued. “Even knights twice your age might fail to stand against you. But genius alone doesn't keep a person alive in battle. The smallest flaw can kill someone who has come to believe himself invincible.”
“You're telling me geniuses die young?”
“Often enough. I survived as a mercenary for years, but not because I possessed some extraordinary gift. I knew how to fear death. I knew how to fear my enemies, and I never despised the act of surviving.”
He met her gaze.
“Your Highness needs to learn how the weak fight.”
It wasn't an easy lesson to hear.
Benelia looked at him for a moment, then turned to Roylen with a satisfied smile.
“Roylen.”
“Yes? Ah—yes, Your Highness!”
“From this moment onward, Beynon is my guest. Treat him as an honored guest for the duration of his stay in the palace.”
“Your Highness?”
Roylen stared, bewildered. Benelia paid him no attention.
“Now I've become interested in something else as well.”
She studied Beynon with genuine anticipation.
“What sort of man is Theorad, that he can earn the loyalty of a fellow like you?”
The next day.
I stood in the mansion courtyard with both hands over my face.
“I'm going mad…”
Two days. That was all the time left until the date the elf had demanded that I have sex with her.
I still had no plan.
No matter how hard I thought, I couldn't imagine a way to satisfy her. A deep sigh escaped me as I dragged my hands down my face and looked up at the sky.
It was perfectly blue, without the slightest sympathy for my troubles.
Come to think of it…
I'd had an odd dream the night before.
I vaguely remembered comforting a woman who was crying. Yet I couldn't recall her face, her voice, or even her clothes. The entire dream seemed to be hidden behind thick fog, leaving only the outline of what had happened.
It wasn't the first time I'd awakened with such a feeling. Each time, that strange sense of déjà vu returned.
What a strange dream.
If I ever met that woman again in my sleep, I would ask who she was.
I was still thinking about it when a small sound drew my attention.
“Master…”
I turned.
The elf was approaching, accompanied by the woman who had arrived at the mansion yesterday.
But something was wrong with the guest.
What happened to her?
Her eyes had lost all focus. There was no strength in her expression. Yesterday she'd spoken with remarkable force; now she shuffled forward in a vacant, twitching state, barely more lively than a corpse.
While I stared, the woman held out a piece of paper with a trembling hand.
I accepted it cautiously and unfolded it.
An awkward sentence was scrawled across the page:
I'm sorry. I'm leaving the mansion. Please let me go.
The letters sprawled across the paper with no sense of order. Calling it poor handwriting would have been generous.
Is she drugged?
I cleared my throat.
“Miss… Petrad, was it? Why do you suddenly want to leave?”
“Ngh…”
“I'm sorry. I didn't catch that.”
“Nghh…!”
Her body trembled. Drool slipped from her mouth.
What on earth was wrong with her?
I stood there, at a loss, then slowly turned toward the elf.
If a person had been reduced to this state overnight in my mansion, there was one obvious suspect.
As though she'd read my thoughts, the elf averted her eyes and pretended to be occupied with something else.
No…
Whatever this woman had done, surely there had been no need to ruin her mind.
“Look, first take a deep breath…”
I felt so sorry for her that I reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.
At my touch, her eyes rolled wildly. She convulsed, throwing up both hands in a frantic gesture.
“Go away!”
…I really was going mad.