Compared to the picnic basket, the other pouch was relatively heavy, and Dolan couldn’t even guess what was inside. But the moment he took it in hand, his brows twitched at the cool, fishy scent unique to iron. From the stale, rusty smell soaked into it, it seemed a very old item. And Dolan’s guess was not wrong. What came out when he loosened the pouch was a prosthetic leg made of iron.

And an obscenely heavy one at that—so heavy it made you wonder whether it could even be attached to a human leg.

“Why is this… why are you carrying this, my lady?”

Even as he pulled the iron prosthetic from the pouch, Dolan couldn’t understand why such a thing was in his lady’s hands. Turning it over and examining it this way and that, he suddenly widened his eyes, stepped close to Estella, and asked in a hushed voice.

“Could it be… the owner of this prosthetic, did you…?”

“What, do you think it’s a war trophy?”

She asked back with a faint smile, unlike his whispering tone, and only then did relief flicker across Dolan’s face.

“Why? Were you worried I might have killed someone?”

“Perish the thought. If you did kill someone, my lady, that person surely did something worthy of death. Of course!”

Dolan spoke loudly, as if he had never worried at all. Even as he answered, he couldn’t take his eyes off the prosthetic. It wasn’t the expression of someone admiring a painstakingly crafted object; rather, he looked distinctly displeased.

“What do you think?”

“This prosthetic, you mean?”

“Mm. Is it usable?”

At Estella’s question, Dolan’s expression twisted at once. He let out a long sigh and inspected it with the care of appraising a gem. The more thoroughly he looked over every nook and cranny, the more his eyes pinched, and he clicked his tongue now and then.

“Is it no good?”

Before answering, Dolan drew in a breath—siiip—and set the thing down with a thud.

“The person who wore this must have been a noble.”

“Right. How did you know?”

“To afford an iron prosthetic, you’d have to be a noble or a very successful merchant. But see here—the motto engraved here suggests it belonged to a lord. Do you see it? It says, ‘Courage and Honor.’ Merchants don’t use phrases like that.”

Like finding a hidden picture, Dolan pointed out the words that had been tucked away. Estella hadn’t noticed them at all. When she looked impressed, he continued, a little puffed up.

“Also, the family crest is engraved in silver and brass on the shin. Is this… a ladle?”

He pointed to a silver scale so worn that part of it was missing.

“No, it would be a silver scale. Looks like the top part is gone. So, is this a usable piece, or is it utterly poor?”

Dolan shook his head.

“It looks like a tremendous amount of work went into making it, but I doubt it ever functioned properly.”

“Reason?”

“The biggest problem is weight. If you make the iron plates this thick, one whole leg becomes a block of metal, so the body’s balance is inevitably ruined. It wouldn’t walk so much as drag. Wearing this would be a punishment, not a prosthetic. And all this flash for the exterior… tch, tch! Who puts this much decoration on a prosthetic?”

The more he explained, the more dumbfounded he sounded, and he shook his head again.

“Right? It looked terrible to me too. I wondered if it was just my eyes, so I wanted the opinion of Wintfall’s master of arms and foremost expert on ironwork.”

Estella laid the flattery on thick and furtively watched his face. As expected, the corners of Dolan’s mouth twitched.

“You’d never make something like this, would you?”

“Of course not! It goes on a human body—you have to make it comfortable to use.”

“You said the center of gravity is important. But a person’s body weight isn’t always the same. They might gain or lose weight. Could we make the prosthetic’s weight adjustable during use?”

“Hmm… It’s possible. We could do it like the small dumbbells you used for training—add tiny iron weights, like buttons, so they don’t dangle.”

“As expected! You’re a truly excellent blacksmith. I knew you’d have an answer. And with this type of prosthetic, isn’t walking uncomfortable? The ankle is fixed like a boot.”

“Correct. As it is, it would be uncomfortable to walk, and lacking flexibility, you’d be prone to falling.”

“It would be nice if there were a way to make the ankle flexible…”

Tilting his head, Dolan fell into thought for a moment, then continued with a careful expression.

“You must never fix the ankle in place. At the very least, you need forward-and-back flex if you want to walk properly. Two, maybe three small hinges, so it can move front-to-back. Even if it can’t rotate sideways, it must permit the stepping motion. And if you sheath everything in iron, it’s only heavy. Better to reinforce lightly with wood or leather. Also, if we make the heel slightly heavier, the toe will naturally lift when stepping.”

He demonstrated as he explained, clearly enjoying the game of devising something new.

“Good! Then I’ll leave it to you!”

“…Pardon?”

Fresh off his enthusiastic explanation, Dolan snapped to attention at the sudden order.

“With Nevrion steel, we can make a prosthetic far thinner and lighter than this. Oh, and I want a feature where, if you flick the heel, a blade pops out from the toe. So in a pinch, it becomes a weapon. Size the prosthetic to match this.”

Blinking, Dolan accepted the prosthetic as Estella handed it over as if he were a baby to be entrusted with it.

“It’s a gift for my benefactor. I’m counting on you.”

He had looked like a man struck by lightning at the sudden increase in work—but at the word “benefactor,” fire flared in his eyes. Passion surged up where there had been none.

“If she’s your benefactor, my lady, then she’s an even greater benefactor to me! I’ll do my utmost to make it!”

“Thank you. You really are the best. I’m sorry to heap more work on you when you’re already run off your feet, but no matter how I think on it, there’s no one but you who can make this.”

At her thumbs-up and praise, a pleased smile spread over Dolan’s lips again.

“Ah, I can whip up a repeating crossbow—this? I’ll have it done in no time! Don’t you worry.”

When Dolan spoke with brimming confidence, Estella shot him a double thumbs-up.

“Our Dolan is the best!”

“My lady is the best!”

As if returning the salute, Dolan set the prosthetic down and gave her a thumbs-up. Yet, watching Estella’s back as she walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d been swept into something.

“Well, what can you do. She says I’m the best. Says there’s no one else who can do it. Whew, having too much talent is exhausting.”

Even with more work on his plate, Dolan’s steps—prosthetic tucked under one arm and picnic basket in the other—were as light as a young lady off on an outing.

News had gone around that there would be a family dinner that evening for the first time in a while, and Luka changed clothes with a fluttering heart. A clean shirt, neatly combed hair, shoes polished till they gleamed. After carefully checking his reflection in the mirror, he was about to leave the room when he walked over to the teddy bear lying primly on the bed.

Making sure the servant was busy with the curtains, Luka patted the bear’s head with its sparkling black eyes, then quickly stepped away from the bed. The soft feel that had touched his palm seemed to make even his heart feel plush.

It was not a living being and surely had no feelings, yet strangely he felt as if it were smiling at him. As he was about to leave, Luka turned back, gazed at the bear for a long moment, then, arms held straight at his sides like at attention, gave a small wave before hurrying out.

Greeting a teddy bear.

No matter how he thought about it, it was a foolish thing to do—but since it was a gift from his sister, it felt all right. A bright smile blossomed over Luka’s face as he headed for the dining room.

But his happy mood cooled the instant he saw Ciel sitting beside his sister at the table. Feet that had been bouncing like a ball suddenly grew heavy, and the dinner he had so looked forward to became, thanks to an unexpected intruder, a very uncomfortable time.

“Luka, why are you standing there? Come and sit.”

Leonora called to her son when she saw him lingering at the entrance to the dining room.

“Yes, Mother.”

Only then did Luka drag his feet to the table like a calf to the slaughter. As luck would have it, his seat was directly across from Ciel. His sister was smiling brightly at Ciel.

'She’s my sister…'

His insides boiled. He wanted to seize Ciel’s seat at once, but Luka did as he’d been taught—he stilled his see-sawing emotions and bowed politely to him. He had known his sister would have to marry someday, but he hadn’t thought it would descend on him like this. It felt like something precious had been torn from him, and he was wretchedly heartsore.

“It’s been a while. Have you been well?”

Ciel addressed him kindly, looking at Luka’s expressionless face.

“Yes.”

Luka’s answer was so short it made it awkward to hear.

'Uh-oh. This is bad.'

That was Ciel’s first thought at the sight of Luka’s puffed cheeks. Everyone in Wintfall Castle knew how dearly Estella loved her one and only younger brother. Because Estella loved him, Ciel too found him dear and had wanted to get along. But to Luka, he seemed to be the one who had stolen his sister.

“You look like you’ve grown a bit taller.”

But Ciel was not one to give up. He spoke kindly again, pretending nothing was wrong.

“Thank you.”

Head lowered, Luka didn’t meet his eyes, and though polite, his voice was chilly.

Ciel smiled awkwardly and glanced at Estella. Her gaze toward her prickly little brother was brimming with affection, as if she even loved his quills.

'I will—absolutely—become close with Luka.'

In this moment, Luka felt like an even tougher challenge than Aslan.

Meanwhile, Leonora’s eyes narrowed slightly at a side of her son she had never seen.

'Acting like such a child.'

The thought was followed by a short realization.

'Luka is still a child.'

She realized that, because of his overly keen mind and calm temperament, she had come to treat him like an adult. To meet her expectations, Luka had grown even calmer, even more adult. Now that she thought about it, whenever he had, on rare occasions, acted like a child, she had looked at him with disapproval.

Luka, who had been growing up in shades of gray and dullness, had begun to turn colorful after growing close to Estella. And Leonora did not dislike this more variegated Luka.

It was obvious even at a glance that Ciel was trying hard to win Luka over.

What a thing for a grown man to be doing.

And yet, that too must be an effort to earn Estella’s love.

The river that had been frozen solid all winter was beginning to thaw under Estella’s warm, passionate sunlight. And Leonora was no exception.

Chapter 180

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