Chapter 81 - Crisis Averted
Translator's Note: Congratulations to the author. The light novel for [The Desire of the Third Son of a Knightly House] will be available on July 30. No news about an official translation yet. We've updated the cover here as well.
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...In such a love-predispositioned knightly house, I stood out as something of an oddity.
No romantic rumors ever swirled around me, and I had zero interest in the candidates Mother prepared. Truth be told, I was terrible at building relationships—especially with women. The moment I became conscious of one, I’d instinctively keep my distance.
Looking back, it’s no wonder the viscount’s fourth daughter—my former fiancée—ended up despising me. I knew I was awkward and socially inept.
With women I didn’t see that way, things were different. The mere fact that they were “comrades” fostered a sense of ease, letting me build what I thought were decent relationships.
――― And then, into this dynamic waltzed a person who looked every bit a woman—boldly declaring both affection and friendship toward me.
Even without Mother’s interference, the situation was volatile. But my eldest brother knew me too well. A single glance was all it took for him to dissect my relationship with My Friend, confirming it was purely platonic.
It was Brother who suggested we all dine together, extending the invitation to My Friend and his attendants. Given our house’s ethos—and the fact My Friend would soon be under our protection—he deemed it fitting to treat them like family.
Of course, for a high-ranking noble, this was unthinkable. At best, they might dine with the household head—and only if invited by the high count’s family as formal hosts. Yet My Friend accepted the proposal without batting an eye.
“Imposing on your household like this, I couldn’t give a damn about central nobility’s pretenses. No—I accept with gratitude. Forging strong ties with your family is paramount. My retinue includes a medic; we can even monitor the young mistress’s pregnancy if needed. Just say the word.”
“Why would someone like you—?”
“Because I got turned into a woman, damn it!! Don’t make me say it!!”
“I see. Your family must hold you in exceptionally high regard.”
“Stop understanding me!!”
The dinner passed quietly yet pleasantly. Thrown together on short notice, it was little more than our usual fare with a few extra dishes. No vintage wines graced our table—just the cheap local blend we kept for daily use.
Truth be told, it tasted like colored water, but it beat having nothing. Most nights, we didn’t even get that—just plain water. Even the meat wasn’t tender livestock, but processed magic beast flesh—tough, gamy, and commoner fare. My Friend’s attendants barely touched it, though My Friend devoured every bite with gusto.
My Friend’s social brilliance shone throughout. He could effortlessly engage with any topic under the sun. From political discourse to economic theory, from the latest gossip circulating among central nobility to the very incidents that spawned those rumors, he covered it all with ease.
What truly impressed me was My Friend’s intimate understanding of society’s lowest strata. With a self-deprecating laugh, he credited his time hiding in the slums—yet his insight into the minute emotional undercurrents of common folk left even me in awe. All of it, he claimed, stemmed from observations made to identify those in genuine distress.
As the dinner offerings gradually disappeared, post-meal drinks made their rounds. No sweets accompanied them—just palate-cleansing infusions or the potent, aromatic distilled spirits of the northern frontier. In this unhurried atmosphere, the conversation grew livelier still. Perhaps emboldened by drink, My Friend began recounting his slum days with almost cheerful relish before arriving at his conclusion, delivered with deliberate calm. Though thoroughly heretical by aristocratic standards, the words flowing from his lips carried a strange, undeniable conviction.
“Plenty feign hardship to exploit others. Wretches like me, living in the gutter without a shred of dignity—we’re still citizens of this kingdom, my friend. Abandon them? I saw why they had no choice. Could I fix the root cause? No. An individual’s power is pitiful. But a genius can chart a path—even a threadbare one toward light. For those souls, I played ‘fortune-teller’ or ‘curse-monger’—whatever role would show them a survivable path. Showed them what might change their plight. Admire me.”
“Admiration aside, you went that far?”
“I needed coin to live. Even scraps stave off hunger. If everyone gets a sliver of happiness, isn’t that good?”
“...An unconventional view. Noted.”
“Laws can’t save everyone. Some live outside reason. ...My friend. That I fled home and thrived barehanded? Likely my innate temperament. The ‘price’ of Mother risking her life to bear me was this filthy existence. Shedding power, prestige, honor, pride—all to live. She might’ve dreamed differently, but I’m satisfied.”
“I see. Then in this godforsaken hinterland, you might just become a saintess.”
“Must you use feminine nouns? Call me a ‘genius’ ascending to ‘godhood,’ at least!”
“Never invoke ‘god’ lightly. Luck will abandon you when it counts.”
“The borderlands’ creed, eh? Harsh—to deny even spiritual solace in daily life. ...Ah! More discoveries await me here. I’ll be grateful for the laboratory. Lord Knight—thank you. I vow to hone my craft and bring peace to this land.”
Caught off guard, Father fumbled a reply, likely assuming this was courtesy. But the light in My Friend’s eyes betrayed his earnestness. This was the true face of the eccentric Minister of Magic’s second son—a hopelessly decent youth who voiced oaths with blunt sincerity. No wonder I’d bonded with him.
“W-well! Heartening words, my lord. But don’t overexert yourself.”
“First, I must gather intel and review past research. It’ll take time. But eventually...”
“We’ll await results with anticipation.”
“Indeed.”
The dinner concluded without incident. My Friend retired to the manor—a wise choice, given his hazardous drunken allure. Even knowing he was male, that ethereal beauty could ensnare the fortress’s almost all-male camp. Brother, sensing my concern, endorsed my return to the fortress alone.
If even he was wary... a drunken version of My Friend spelled danger. And mistakes? They strike when least expected.
Besides, I was commander of the fortress. And so, as always, I made my way back to its walls for the night.
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