Chapter 116 - 39: [Idealism and Romanticism]

Chapter 116: Chapter 39: [Idealism and Romanticism]

"What do you mean, Ronov the Ghost Knight? Tell me, what does ’Ronov’ mean? The Cedar Knight Clan is over a thousand kilometers away in the north! Are you saying that one of the Four Knights resurrected as a heroic spirit, and went through the trouble of traveling over a thousand kilometers to the Imperial Mainland just to interfere in something like this?"

"It’s true, sir. You can go ask those farmers right now. They all said they heard it loud and clear—it was indeed Ronov!" Bert argued.

"And what is this thing?" The Centurion raised the Rusted Copper Blade Fragment in his hand. "Some kind of demonized metal that maintains a low temperature?"

"I don’t know, sir," Bert replied.

"A matter involving the four great Knight Clans, and right near the crucial Imperial Foundry to boot... What Ghost Knight... It’s utterly baffling." The Centurion snorted. "I will write a letter to report the situation to His Majesty. You can get lost, Bert."

"Yes, sir." Bearing two military boot prints on his rear, Bert offered a soldier’s salute and turned to push the door open and leave.

"And Bert, read fewer of those stupid novels!" his superior’s voice called out from behind.

He paused his steps.

"You have always been a baffling soldier," the Centurion said. "Ever since your time at the Imperial Institute of Technology and its military academy, you’ve spaced out in class, spaced out during training, and spaced out during meals. When it rained and everyone else took shelter, you ran around shouting and jumping in the rain wearing your dress uniform. After training, you’d sit alone on the hillside, staring blankly at the distant sunset and wheat fields. What is wrong with you?

"You have always performed well on official missions, which is why I promoted you to Squad Leader, but—stop having these delusions!"

"These are not delusions, but romanticism, sir," Bert replied. "I once hoped to become a writer, but my father demanded that I become a Professional Soldier."

"Then stop having ’romanticism’ too, Bert." The Centurion waved his hand. "Be a pragmatic person. Go."

Bert left the Centurion’s room, crossed the corridor, and slowly returned to his plain barrack room. After becoming a Squad Leader, he finally had his own single room, a privilege normally reserved for officers.

Pushing the door open, he sat at the narrow little desk by the window. The sunlight outside was just right, warm and flowing. On the windowsill, a fading pale blue pansy was planted in a broken, scavenged clay pot. A small stack of books rested on the desk, along with fallen leaf bookmarks, acorn shells, pinecones, and oddly shaped little stones he had collected in his spare time.

The nuts and stones lined up neatly, standing at attention in front of him like a row of little tin toy soldiers.

He stared blankly at the scattered books on the desk and the formation of stones and nuts for a moment, then let out a reluctant snort.

"I will become a writer." He pushed aside the small stack of books in front of him and picked up a small notebook and a quill. "This Ghost Knight story is a great idea. I will start writing in my spare time starting today, and once it’s finished, I’ll send it to a bookseller to have a look. When I become a great author and every literate young person in the Empire is reading my work, my father and the Centurion won’t call me delusional anymore."

"Don’t you agree, Sebastian?" He reached out and fiddled with a white stone at the front of the queue on the desk.

"Yes, Bert! You will definitely succeed! Believe in yourself!" He used his hand to make the stone nod, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. Then, fully satisfied, he leaned over his desk and began to write.

This was a story about a Ghost Knight...