Didn't Plan to Become a Companion (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 8

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Harold didn’t reply but turned around and picked up a wooden sword. This was precisely the weakness I had found in him. In the duchy, it was customary to cut off the wrist of anyone caught stealing someone else’s belongings.

Harold had arrived slightly late at the dining hall after training and saw a child stealing bread. The boy was the son of a maid who worked there, and true to his kind nature, Harold naturally forgave him.

After patting the boy’s head and telling him never to do it again, he even handed over his own portion of bread—and right then, as he turned around, our eyes met directly.

Having accidentally witnessed that scene, I desperately decided I had to seize it as an opportunity.

Of course, I never had the slightest intention of actually reporting the child so his wrist would be cut off.

From the very beginning, I hadn’t planned to suppress Ricardo’s artistic soul through such extreme measures.

The truth was, Ricardo drew at any given moment—and not by his own will.

The night Ricardo began drawing the labyrinth, I entered his room and stole every tool he could possibly use to draw.

Yet the next day, I was left utterly hopeless.

The young artist, utterly obsessed with his drawing, had turned the entire wall into his canvas and sketched the labyrinth upon it.

With no paint or brushes available, he had crushed ink with his fingers to draw—and the resulting image was breathtakingly beautiful, enough to steal one’s soul. Still, I had no choice but to erase that masterpiece myself.

Thankfully, the ink drawing on the glossy wooden wall faded when scrubbed with a soapy brush—though it certainly didn’t vanish with just one or two strokes. I had to scrub vigorously, over and over, truly putting in great effort to remove it.

Eventually, that day, I even removed the ink from his room.

The very next morning, the instant I burst through his door, I was left speechless.

Ricardo had injured himself somewhere on his body and used his own blood to draw.

The stench of blood hit me the moment I opened the door, nearly making me retch—but that was all. Yet again, I found myself instantly captivated by his artwork.

So once more, I took a soapy brush and carefully wiped away his drawing. By now, I felt I could practically memorize the labyrinth’s map.

And that day, I finally devised this dreadful plan.

Steel my resolve against my ever-weakening heart, I set out to lure Ricardo.

“Rica, what are you doing?”

He was sitting on a bench in front of the dormitory, reading a book I’d lent him—looking like a living masterpiece. Thankfully, he wasn’t drawing.

“Don’t call me that.”

Even though he scolded me every time, I stubbornly kept calling him “Rica.” It was my private nickname for him, used only when we were alone. It gave me at least a small sense of reward for all my efforts—a sort of personal compensation, if you will.

“If you’ve got nothing better to do, why not learn swordsmanship?”

My sudden suggestion narrowed his eyes slightly.

“What’s with the swordsmanship all of a sudden?”

“Everything has to start abruptly sometime. Come on, let’s go. The weather’s perfect for sword practice today.”

Ha-ha-ha—I laughed awkwardly and looked up at the sky, only to see pitch-black storm clouds gathering, threatening to pour rain at any moment.

Ricardo clicked his tongue and frowned deeply, yet obediently followed me without protest. But then he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“What?”

His gaze had fallen to my hand, which was firmly holding his.

“Does it bother you that I’m holding your hand? I’ve been doing it often lately.”

“…No, it’s fine.”

After a brief pause, he quickly shook his head. Coming from someone who once wouldn’t even let me near him without calling me a slave, this was tremendous generosity.

“Thank you.”

Yes—that’s right. After all I’ve gone through because of you, if you couldn’t even stand holding my hand, you’d truly have no conscience at all. Still, apparently not fully convinced, he sharply turned his head away when I beamed at him.

When we arrived at the training grounds, Harold approached us.

“Say hello. This is Sir Harold—the finest among the knights of House Fennel.”

I could sense Harold tensing slightly upon seeing fifteen-year-old Ricardo. Understandably so—despite his small frame, Ricardo’s eyes gleamed with a brilliance that could easily overwhelm most grown men.

“Pleased to meet you. I am Harold Hector.”

The household regarded Ricardo as a very distant relative of the head family. When Harold extended his hand for a handshake, Ricardo merely stared at it without letting go of mine.

I twisted my arm slightly to pull free and introduced him to Ricardo once more.

“Go ahead and greet him. Starting today, he’ll be your swordsmanship instructor. He’s my closest knight, so you can trust him completely.”

The moment my words left my mouth, Ricardo sharply turned to face me. For a brief moment, summer sunlight pierced through the storm clouds, making his hair shimmer brilliantly—and deepening the blackness of his eyes.

His flashing, dissatisfied eyes made it clear something had upset him. Like Resotia’s rainy season, his mood was always rather fickle.

“What’s wrong?”

“You and… closest?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course. He’s an incredibly impressive and admirable knight.”

“Impressive and admirable, huh?”

What was this? His persistent probing made me suspect he was onto my plan, so I hurried toward the rack lined with wooden swords. Ricardo quietly followed behind.

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“Pick a wooden sword for yourself. You really need some exercise—some physical activity. Spending all day drawing isn’t good for your health.”

“I haven’t been drawing lately.”

No—you’ve been drawing nonstop! Like a madman obsessed with nothing but drawing!

“Rica, learning swordsmanship is really important because—”

“I already told you not to call me that.”

True to form, Ricardo scolded me for using my pet name. Yet he still examined the wooden swords laid out in the training yard. Then, suddenly, he softly called my name.

“Lienne.”

His voice slipped into my ears like a spring breeze, making me close my eyes tightly. Every time I heard it, it felt as if a corner of my heart was being sharply carved away.

“You were the one who removed all my art supplies from my room, weren’t you?”

Caught off guard by his sudden question, I was momentarily speechless—but I didn’t want to lie to Ricardo.

“Yes, but it’s just that…”

“It’s okay.”

“Huh?”

“I know you did it for my sake.”

“…”

“So I’ll do as you say. Swordsmanship, or anything else.”

“What?”

“The weather is perfect for sword practice—and I… trust you.”

Having chosen a sword he liked, he picked it up and swung it through the air with a whoosh. Even though he merely held it lightly and gave it a small flick, it instantly captured everyone’s attention.

Normally, I would’ve clapped enthusiastically and gushed about how cool he was—but instead, I just stared blankly, too stunned by the weight of his words.

He trusted me…?

Even though we’d often clung to each other for warmth on bitterly cold nights, and even though I’d countless times saved my precious snacks just for him…

I never imagined I’d actually hear those words from him—“I trust you.”

Harold nudged my foot, snapping me out of my daze.

Now wasn’t the time to lose myself like this. I’m sorry, Ricardo—but it was time to betray the trust you placed in me.

“Have you ever held a sword before?”

For some reason, Harold’s voice sounded unusually grave.

“No.”

“Ahem… I see?”

“Yes—because I never felt the need.”

“Every man in the duchy must learn swordsmanship.”

“Why?”

“What? Well, um… because swordsmanship helps build… stamina, you see.”

At Harold’s words, Ricardo smirked, raised his wooden sword, and thrust it forward. Even to someone like me, who knew nothing about swordsmanship, his stance looked remarkably convincing.

Sensing something extraordinary, Harold leaned forward to study Ricardo’s movements more closely—but in that instant, Ricardo adjusted his grip and launched the first attack.

“Aaagh!”

Startled by the sudden strike, Harold yelped disgracefully and stumbled backward three steps. Even if the knights of House Fennel weren’t exactly exceptional, was this really how a grown knight should react against a fifteen-year-old boy?

Ricardo didn’t stop, continuing his assault relentlessly. Harold remained dazed, so I glared at him fiercely, urging him with my eyes to carry out the order I’d given earlier.

After a moment of hesitation, Harold steeled his resolve and aimed solely for Ricardo’s wrist.

Though the boy displayed surprisingly skilled swordsmanship for his age, he couldn’t possibly overcome a knight who trained daily and was now giving it his all.

With Ricardo’s steps thrown off by his reckless attacks, Harold seized the opening and sharply struck the boy’s right wrist as he raised it to block.

‘Success!’

The moment Ricardo grimaced and clutched his wrist, Harold—looking even more pained—immediately dropped his sword and rushed toward him.

In the meantime, I couldn’t help but flash a triumphant smile, making sure Ricardo wouldn’t notice.

The boy who’d just declared his trust in me now glared at me with eyes full of betrayal. Still, this was a choice I couldn’t avoid.

“Are you alright?”

I forced my lips into a worried frown and asked him. To my surprise, Ricardo suddenly smiled gently—as if he’d never been angry at all. There was no way this clever boy hadn’t realized I’d orchestrated it all and Harold had merely carried it out.

With shameless composure, I approached him as he lay on the ground and offered my hand. But he ignored it, standing up on his own and walking over to his fallen sword.

Then, with his uninjured left hand, he picked it up—and for some reason, the motion felt utterly natural. In that instant, the sun shining behind him transformed into a radiant halo framing Ricardo.

“What… are you doing now?”

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“The swordsmanship training isn’t over yet, is it?”

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