CH-068

Dunstan, the riding grounds.

Although the upcoming bishop selection was a significant occasion for the Church, it happened to coincide with Dunstan's annual winter hunt season for the nobility.

This time of year was the most suitable for hunting in the Northern Territories.

The land was blanketed in snow, making it easy to spot and track game.

Agricultural work had come to a halt, commercial activity had slowed considerably, and nobles whose livelihoods were less tied to economic cycles had more leisure time than usual.

Most importantly, this was not breeding season, so hunting would not disturb the animals' reproduction — and was therefore far easier to obtain approval from the upper classes as well.

Although the actual hunting would be arranged at an outdoor hunting ground in the countryside, the riding grounds remained tremendously busy.

This was, after all, the most important social venue for nobles in the lead-up to the winter hunt.

In preparation for the hunt, nobles would often reserve the riding grounds for their own children or kin to practice horsemanship or archery — warming up for what would be the grandest hunting event of the entire year.

Because of this, as long as the weather cleared in the morning and the snow had been swept away, the riding grounds were kept ready at all times, no different from any other day.

The only change this year was that the grounds' new owner was the Duchess of the Northern Territories herself — Lady Adele.

She had bought the entire riding grounds outright.

As for her reasons, no one could say for certain.

The grounds were certainly profitable, but surely not to the degree of the interest generated by Lady Adele's own considerable assets.

Some believed that since all the nobles in Dunstan who wished to use these grounds for practice would inevitably have to pay their respects to Lady Adele, buying up the whole place was simply a way of satisfying her taste for making a grand impression.

The management of the grounds, however, remained unchanged. If one wished to reserve the space, one still went through the groundskeeper — there was no particular need to deal directly with Lady Adele.

Others thought it was simply that Lady Adele wanted a large open space to gallop her horses, with qualified professionals to care for them.

Whatever the case, the morning snow had barely been cleared from the grounds when a small figure in a black hunting outfit appeared on horseback in the distance, riding toward them.

The young rider sat straight and steady, controlling the reins with ease. When the horse leapt over obstacles, his form barely wavered — not as accomplished as a trained adult knight, but already governed by proper technique.

No one would have guessed this young rider had taken up horseback riding less than a month ago.

He was the Duke's eldest legitimate son, and currently his youngest child — Lesley.

Because his face wore little expression, and the emotion in his eyes was kept low, the workers clearing away the snow couldn't read his mood and assumed he was simply being serious.

But lately they had been quietly whispering among themselves that ever since the bishop selection for the new parish drew near and Bishop Hugo arrived at the Dunstan Cathedral, the young master Lesley had been in a continuously off mood.

"I hear it was from Bishop Hugo that the young master's entrance examination results came up — and that his score was just below some commoner kid's."

"Well, not quite below, they say. But for a noble to tie scores with a commoner — that would sting a bit, wouldn't it."

"You don't think that commoner kid is going to get punished when school opens next year, do you?"

"Which poor kid drew that lot?"

"Who knows — I don't think exam results are shared with anyone except the examiners and the headmaster."

The workers watched the young man on the grey-blue horse, this familiar exchange echoing in their ears, and their expressions became a little more careful and wary.

They hadn't been noticed by Lesley, because his attention was already occupied by Carwen and Seamus, who were chasing after him on smaller horses.

"You little brat!"

"Lesley, you little brat! Would you dare to stop!"

The riding form of the two young nobles was noticeably rougher than Lesley's.

The moment the horses picked up a little speed, their bodies were thrown around by the horse's motion, swaying from side to side. As the pace quickened and the jolting became more intense, they both instinctively leaned forward, always seeming on the verge of wrapping their arms around the horse's neck, terrified of being thrown.

The result was that their pursuit was uneven — now quick, now slow, sometimes tight and sometimes slack, the hoofbeats erratic. It was hopeless trying to stabilize themselves.

It was obvious to anyone watching that in their current state they could absolutely never catch Lesley.

Lesley could see this perfectly well, and simply stopped in the middle of the riding circuit to wait for the two of them.

When they finally drew near, the shouting and cursing recommenced — the words by now unintelligible, but the intensity of their emotions visibly high.

Carwen was panting so hard his breath came in visible puffs of white. "You're too much! You said this morning we were going to practice riding together, and then you just took off on your own!"

Seamus was in slightly better shape, and once he'd caught his breath, he said, "You knew we're not very good at riding, and you still went that fast!"

Lesley didn't seem bothered in the slightest. His voice was as calm as if he were commenting on the weather. "You can go at your own pace, can't you? Besides," — at this point something was cut off — "…the horse."

At these words —

Carwen and Seamus looked at each other, absolutely itching to jump off and punch him.

"You—" Carwen said something.

"That's right, this is so heartless."

Deep down, they were a little put out.

At first they had genuinely disliked each other. But as time went by, the two brothers discovered that this new member of the household was neither vicious nor did he target their mother or themselves — nor would he compete for their mother's affections. Seeing that their mother Adele had accepted him, they naturally came around to accepting him too.

It was just that they had never encountered a stone wall quite like this before — silent, cold, impossible to read.

Carwen said without thinking, "We're all family now, aren't we? Of course we have to go out together — that's what family does!"

"Riding should be fun together — you charging ahead on your own, it's like going into battle, it's so dull!" Seamus complained. "Besides, being alone is lonely! If you want to ride, just come find us."

Lesley couldn't help glancing at them.

He'd originally expected them to be either malicious and hypersensitive, or lacking in empathy, or overbearing and cutting, full of self-importance.

But after spending real time together, Lesley found they were like Lady Adele — socially aware, and prone to assuming the worst of people. Yet once you got to know them, you realized they actually disliked complicated maneuvers.

Put down your defenses, and their thinking was almost embarrassingly transparent.

Finnian could wrap them around his little finger completely.

And they loved noise and company so much that the more people around, the more energy they seemed to have.

Unlike Lady Adele, who didn't particularly enjoy speaking up in groups.

But Carwen and Seamus genuinely loved talking, loved socializing. Whenever they saw someone sitting alone, it made them uncomfortable — they were always pulling people into the group. From the moment they arrived in Dunstan, they had already made a whole circle of friends, and told Lesley — who had run away and come back — that their friends were his friends.

Lesley had absolutely no interest in this kind of social web, and didn't understand it.

He was used to solitude. He was neither warm nor unkind toward people — his default was simply an indifferent, easygoing "whatever" attitude.

Usually when faced with that kind of response, after no more than three attempts, people would take the hint and drift away. But Carwen and Seamus, after three months of living together, had completely ignored it, naturally accepting Lesley's personality and way of interacting as simply how things were.

Every time they had a new toy or a new idea, they would come and tell Lesley about it — no sense of personal limits, and impossible to shake.

"……"

Lesley didn't reply, just fell silent, staring ahead, his eyes like a thin layer of frost had settled over them.

Carwen and Seamus didn't notice Lesley's mood at all and had already started chatting and laughing again.

"Speaking of which, isn't Dunstan choosing a bishop for the new parish now?" Carwen suddenly leaned over and brought up "serious business." "Should the three of us sneak over and take a look? The church clergy there definitely wouldn't stop us."

Seamus's interest was immediately piqued. Dangling his feet from his saddle, the stirrup clinking, he said, "That sounds interesting. We could go see who looks most like the next great figure!"

Lesley not speaking was fine — they could just take him along.

To their surprise, however, Lesley spoke up and refused: "I'm not going."

If he had spare time, he'd rather spend it reading.

Lesley had originally had no particular ambitions about getting into the Grammar School, and when he was told he'd scored full marks on the written exam, he hadn't made much of it either — just gave a nod, his expression unchanged, eyebrows not so much as twitching.

But then, one day, Bishop Hugo came to see him, and the very first thing he said was: "To think that Finnian, the shepherd boy from Savoy pastoral district, scored the same as you."

In that instant, Lesley's previously indifferent expression froze.

He blinked, and before he could even respond, the image sprang to mind of that perpetually grinning figure — Finnian, the one who was always so perfectly well-behaved in front of the priest.

Without even needing to think, he knew: this meant Father Alis would love Finnian even more now.

Lesley's heart sank for a moment. He asked, "Why tell me this specifically? Is it a reminder, or just an interest in seeing my reaction?"

Bishop Hugo had not particularly intended anything by it — only a momentary astonishment. Back in the meeting hall at the Carson Church, that young shepherd boy who had been sitting with Lesley had been so remarkably clever. The examination covered only three subjects, but the content had in fact exceeded what would be expected of children their age. Yet the boy had answered comprehensively, not to mention that in the oral examination, his fluent delivery and measured composure had made a deep impression on the examiners.

But the moment Lesley's barbed retort slipped out, Bishop Hugo found it amusing.

"I thought you and that child were close friends?" Bishop Hugo said with a light, nonchalant smile, probing in his tone. "Alis told me that if you heard this news, you'd surely be happy for Finnian too. Yet your reaction — it was quite unexpected."

These words, weighted with meaning, were like a hook — they lightly twitched, and in an instant Lesley was unsettled.

He feared Father Alis being disappointed in him most of all.

If Father Alis were to know that not only had he felt not the slightest joy at this news, but had in fact felt something like chagrin and resentment… he would certainly think Lesley was petty, unable to tolerate excellence in others.

Lesley had never bothered to explain himself to anyone. But this time, he chose to speak.

"I simply dislike losing."

"Ah, I see."

Bishop Hugo's voice was mild, but his eyes plainly weren't buying it.

Those eyes were like still, deep water — unfathomable.

But Bishop Hugo didn't press the matter further, just smiled lightly and shifted to other small talk, his tone so easy it was as if nothing had happened a moment ago.

And that was precisely what left Lesley unsettled.

He couldn't tell how much Bishop Hugo had seen through him, or whether that instinctive reaction he'd just had would be reported back to Father Alis unchanged.

After that day, Lesley had been slightly at loose ends.

But he had no way to genuinely feel happy for Finnian. Even if it was only pretending, he found it unbearable.

Lesley still couldn't manage to be that hypocritical.

And to make things worse, even his dreams had begun to disturb him.

In the dreams, he and Finnian were sitting in the same examination hall. Every time papers were turned in, every time rankings were announced, he fell one step behind that boy — not once had he ever won. And because his thoughts had been too dark, when Father Alis stood outside the crowd, though his face still carried a faint smile, that smile was always directed toward Finnian's direction, never toward him.

"……"

Lesley understood all too clearly — he had never been someone worth expecting anything from.

He could not lose again.

Or perhaps he shouldn't have placed expectations on Father Alis to begin with. If he had anticipated from the start that the priest would abandon him, he should have been the one to abandon Father Alis first. Only then could he protect himself.

……

The more Lesley thought, the lower his spirits fell.

But Carwen, completely oblivious to the fact that this was Lesley's first time turning down anything so flatly, simply said with enthusiasm, "You can't not look just because you haven't seen it yet — you'd be missing out!"

Seamus, tugging at his reins with one hand, added encouragingly, "Right. I heard adults say so many things. Only one line stayed with me as my favorite: 'If you want to have something you've never had, you have to do something you've never tried.' You need to try more things, only then will you know what you like and what you don't."

Lesley was completely unmoved.

Experience had taught him that the safest choice was not to let yourself get exposed to too many things — that way you wouldn't end up longing for things you didn't have.

Seamus tilted his head and studied the silent Lesley. "Are you unhappy lately? You didn't used to turn things down like this."

Lesley: "……"

Carwen, prompted by his younger brother, noticed that Lesley did indeed seem different from usual. "Is something wrong? Are you worried you won't catch anything in the winter hunt?"

He paused. "Then we'll catch nothing at all. We won't let anyone else catch anything either. Whoever tries to catch something, we'll beat them up. We'll gang up together and hunt something just for you." He said this with great animation and thumped his chest: "My riding may not be great, but my archery has improved a lot lately — this time I'll definitely shoot you the biggest one! You're the youngest among us and yet the most skilled — what do you say?"

Lesley glanced at him sideways, feeling both weary and unable to get his point across, so he simply lowered his eyes and said, "Not great."

Seamus had genuinely not expected Lesley to be in such low spirits, and now found himself on the verge of feeling deflated too. He and Carwen exchanged glances.

A moment later, Carwen seemed to remember something, and his eyes lit up. "No — I won't let you keep making that face. Let's race! Loser buys the snacks!"

The words had barely left his mouth when Carwen stretched out a hand, laughing, and gave Lesley's horse a sharp slap on the rump.

The horse gave a startled leap and bolted forward.

Lesley was caught completely off guard.

Behind him, Carwen squeezed his own horse's flanks too, and his horse also took off.

"You're cheating!"

Seamus finally realized what had happened, but the two horses had already pulled a huge lead on him. "How could you do that!"

Carwen glanced back at him with a gleeful grimace, looking enormously pleased with himself.

As for Lesley, who had been launched forward against his will — he had thought to pull on the reins and stop, but in the end did nothing of the sort. He listened to the shouts of the two brothers behind him, and his shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.

The wind rushed into his collar.

What should have been a cold gust — and yet the oppressive heaviness that had been sitting on his chest blew away a little, carried off by this snow-chilled wind.

On the way back, the three of them rode together in a carriage back to the Duke's residence.

Lesley sat by the window, his head resting against the side of the carriage, eyes wandering idly over the street scene outside.

The sky was overcast, and fine snow had begun to drift again outside. As the hoofbeats tapped lightly along the cobblestones, the carriage passed by a grain exchange.

His eyes swept over it by chance.

At the shop door, a figure in a deep-colored cloak stepped out — slender, with a composed and controlled quality to their movement that was unmistakably familiar —

It looked exactly like Father Alis.

He's here?!

Does the bishop selection allow someone that young to participate?

But then — isn't Father Alis perfectly suited to be bishop?

A tumult of fragmented thoughts flashed through his mind like lightning.

In that instant, Lesley's eyelids gave a sudden jolt. Almost instinctively, his whole body sat up straight.

But the carriage didn't stop. The curtain of snow blurred his vision, and the figure was left behind in an instant.

He couldn't help twisting in his seat, craning his neck back toward the window.

The curtain edge blew up in the wind, and cold air rushed into the carriage, stinging his eyes.

He couldn't see clearly. The two small bodies beside him were already pressing in close, their warmth blocking his view entirely.

Carwen, unable to stop himself, said, "Hey — what are you looking at? Tell us too!"

Seamus was craning his neck to look as well. "There's nothing there! What? What? Lesley, what are you looking at?"

After all this time together, this was the first time Lesley had ever found these two so annoying. "……"