Editing Tales of Leo Attiel:Volume1 Chapter2 (section)

===Part 2===


Given that she called the warrior monk her brother, she must be his little sister. Thinking about it, there was a resemblance in their facial features. The sharp sweep of her eyebrows and the upturned shape of her eyes were as similar to the monk’s as though they had been carved by the same sculptor.

What differentiated her from her brother, who was still giving of a savage feeling, were her plump lips. They bulged out ever so slightly, and it gave her smiling face an indefinable charm.

Percy Leegan was dazzled for a moment. She appeared to be seventeen or eighteen years old; the same age as his fiancée back home. Between the two of them, whose figure was… Percy’s youth was to blame for that fleeting but unpardonable thought.

“And this gentleman is?”

“Sir Percy. He arrived last night with Lord Shalling,” the warrior monk spoke curtly. He then introduced her to Percy in the same brusque tone. 

“This is my little sister, Sarah. Like me, she can be a bit clumsy, so please don’t be too hard on her.”

Percy and Sarah shook hands. From up close, Sarah’s deep, dark gaze oscillated. The look in her eyes seemed to be appraising him, and it was a lot like the ones Percy received from the noblewomen that he met at social gatherings.

''Tall and muscular. Slightly curly light-brown hair: it suits his handsome face. Didn’t they say that he performed remarkably well at the horseback joust? There were rumours at one time about his womanising, but that much can be overlooked in a young man. He’s the ideal partner to drive off boredom on nights when my husband isn’t around…''

Although he casually warded off the silent but bold passes that married noblewomen made at him, Percy had gone through some pretty terrible times.
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He returned Sarah’s gaze, looking at her just as openly as she was him. She was wearing the white robes of novices, so she must be a nun, but those clothes, which were normally supposed to be loose fitting, clung tightly to her and revealed the graceful lines of her body. It must be a sore temptation for young monks. At any rate, the novice habit that she wore was supposed to be a cage of celibacy and poverty, but instead of being locked up within, the girl’s youthful figure was already bursting and overflowing from it. Feeling at risk, Percy quickly averted his gaze, and turned to question the older brother.

“You’ve kindly introduced me to your younger sister, but I have not yet asked you your own name.”

“Ah,” the young warrior monk looked slightly embarrassed. The ferocity which had filled his face vanished for a second, and a young man’s honest face showed through. “I’m called Camus<ref>Pronounced like the name of the French author, with a silent ‘s’.</ref>.” 

Just as the monk had finished giving his name, a commotion suddenly broke out behind him. It was coming from where people had been lining up for breakfast.

“Oi, what the hell is this guy saying?”

In the group which had nothing but rough-looking men, an especially large one spoke in a voice that boomed like a gong.

“I don’t get a word you’re saying. How about speaking in human language.”

It was clear at a glance that he was a bandit. He wore furs over his burly, muscular body, and he had a longsword and gun at his hip. Around him, men who seemed to be his companions struck suitable poses as they watched on, smirking.

Even among the other ruffians, this group seemed to be considered dangerous. Everyone else simple looked on from a distance or hastily turned away ad walked off, even if they had been in the middle of lining up for the meal.

On the other side, one person was squaring off against them on his own. From where he was, Percy could only see his back, but he had a small build for a soldier, and looked completely helpless against the huge man he was confronting. And yet –

“What I said was completely obvious. What part did you not get?”

What surprised Percy was that it wasn’t just that he was small, but that it sounded from his voice like he was still a boy. The boy stretched out a swarthy arm and pointed at the men who seemed to be the giant’s underlings.

“Those guys lined up three times and handed the food over to you. The rest of the bunch also took turns muscling in. Food is in limited supply. So I told you to stop. If you can’t understand that much, then the beasts who can’t speak in a human language would be you guys,” the boy valiantly fired back, but the men roared with laughter, their wide-open mouths revealing their filthy teeth.

The boy’s speech had an atrocious accent. He placed his intonations in a way that Percy had never even heard before. At the very least, he probably wasn’t from around here.

While he was being laughed at, the boy remained standing where he was, looking mostly confused. One of the men then stepped forward.

“Bumpkin brat. I bet you ran away from home after stealing from it. Anyway, when the fighting breaks out, a guy like you will be the first to die.”

He gave the boy’s chest a powerful shove. As he was stumbling backwards, the man threw the bowl he was holding at the boy’s face. The soup inside, with its small amount of meat and vegetables, splashed against him.

“If you want to eat, then eat,” he laughed again.

The very next moment though, the crowd’s voices were ringing out in a different way.

The boy had swiftly rushed towards the man and struck his nose with the top of his head. Blood gushing from his nostrils, the man fell backwards.

“You… You brat!”

“Don’t get full of yourself!”

Two others jumped at the boy. Both were far larger than he was. It looked as though it would be the end for him no matter where those fists landed, yet they did not hit him. The boy nimbly dodged them, moving left and right, and slipping below them. With the same easy rhythm, he gave a sharp kick to one man’s shin. The man collapsed with a groan. The other one tried to catch him from behind; the boy struck out behind him with the same foot that had just landed the other kick. The movement seemed almost nonchalant, but it hit the man right in the crotch.

“Wow,” Percy exclaimed in unintentional admiration. Although the boy was young, he was clearly used to fighting. Percy’s cause for surprise, however, was only just starting.

Finally enraged, the men swarmed him from all directions, but the boy continued dodging every one of them. Bending down as he sprinted, sometimes leaping up – one way or another, he never stopped moving. Neither did he miss the opportunity when his opponents were left floundering after they had thrown a punch or tried to ram him, and in that very same moment, with his fist, his elbow, or a kick, he would unerringly hit one of their vital spots.

''The wind… He’s like wind and lightning'', Percy thought feelingly. No one could ever catch the wind. Even when a master wielded a blade, even with a spear that could drill holes through solid rock, the wind would always evade them. The boy’s agile movements were exactly that. And when the moment came, he struck his opponents with the speed of lightning. However –

“He’s just like a monkey.”

Sarah, who was standing beside him, voiced a very different impression. And, now that she mentioned it… it was entirely accurate. Percy was about to smile in spite of himself, but just at that moment, the fight in front of them turned fiercer. 

One of the men that the boy had kicked flailed back and fell against the pot of soup. The pot crashed to the ground and its contents went flying. They splashed onto the boss’ face and his patience finally snapped. His face flushed bright red and twisted into an expression like a wild beast’s as he drew the large sword from at his waist.

“That’s it, brat. I’ll slaughter you first before Allion’s small fry soldiers!”

Perhaps encouraged by that, his fallen men each picked up their own scattered weapons.

''That’s not…'' but faster than Percy could step forward –

“Stop, enough!” Camus roared as he pushed through the crowd and dashed towards the centre of the fight. “Do not needlessly spill blood in the temple. You should direct that energy against Allion, who would set fire to these holy grounds. Now step back all of you. Step back!”

Impressive though he was, the over-excited men would not so easily back down. Since he looked as though he was going to get in their way, several among them seemed like they were going to start by dealing with him first.

“Fools!”

Camus spun the spear in his hand to bring up the tip – and jabbed the butt end into a ruffian’s stomach. He too moved with the speed of wind and lightning. His opponent collapsed without a murmur.

“Bastard!”

Another man swooped in to attack and was dealt with in the same way. 

By that time, Percy had was also rushing in, and he kicked back an opponent who was about to slice at the boy. 

''You’re helping me?'' said the boy’s face as he watched was happening. It was the first time Percy saw him from close up, but just as his voice had indicated, he was young. His eyes held an expression just as sharp as Camus’s, but the expression he fleetingly showed in that instant was very young.

The boy was about to immediately kick at the ground and launch himself at another target of prey, when Percy caught him by the shoulder. Completely unprepared for that, the boy turned a startled face towards him. Percy hooked his leg around the boy’s knees and collapsed with him to the ground.

“What’re you doing!”

As the boy squirmed face downwards, Percy quickly pressed his knee against the centre of the boy’s back to stop him from moving.

Just as the ruffians, seeing their chance, started to gather around, he raised his voice to bring them under control.

“You lot cease as well!”

Camus, who had just finished toppling the other men, ran up to Percy’s side and took up position as though to defend him. He once again spun his spear, and this time; it was the sharp tip that was pointed towards the men.

Either they had heard the commotion or someone had alerted them, but it was at that moment that monks from the temple came rushing up, their footsteps pounding. Even if the men were originally bandits or thieves, here and now, the temple monks were their employers. The man who seemed to be their chief gave a small click of his tongue.

“We’re not going to lose work over this. We’re off.”

His large back heaving, he left with his men. The only ones left were Percy, Camus and the boy who was still shouting “Lemme go, lemme go!” He was the only one who was not about to stop kicking up a racket. Despite his slender frame, he was terrifically strong, and Percy, who was pressing down on him with his full body weight, felt as though he might be sent flying at any moment.

Because of how violently he was acting, the monks took out a rope and trussed him up.

Percy could somewhat sympathise and was about to tell the monks that the fight wasn’t entirely his fault. Just then, laughter as clear as a bell rang out.

“Honestly, tied up like that, you really are just like a monkey,” Sarah stood next to the boy who was lying prone on the ground.

For some reason or another, she started to take off one of her boots. Her appearance, as she lifted her foot and nimbly unfastened the laces, was most definitely not that of a lady. The young monks looked away from the slender white leg that was now exposed to full view.

The boy, meanwhile, was glaring at her.

“The hell, who’s a monkey? Don’t go making fun of a man, little girl.”

“A man? Where’s this man you speak of? Isn’t there only a little monkey, screeching and squeaking?”

While speaking in a way that left Percy startled, Sarah went on to do something even more unthinkable. With her now naked foot, she stepped on the boy’s head. “You bitch!” as the boy growled, she trod on him once more.

“Don’t talk as though you’re an adult. Do you know what you just did? The meals that are distributed come from food that belonged to the people who live here. Everyone brought out their own provisions to help feed the soldiers. But you went and overturned the pot. Look at those children over there. Their stomachs are going to go empty until evening. You just go barging in without thinking ahead: how is that not exactly like a monkey?”

With her lovely face and the clerical robes she was wearing, Sarah’s figure as she trampled on a ruffian’s head was reminiscent of the legend of a saint who had once driven away a group of rowdy gnomes from a barn with nothing but her broom.

The boy gave a low groan but did not protest. Judging by his expression, he had only just realised that he had spilled the contents of the pot.

In the end, the boy, who was still tied up, was hauled away by the monks. Although Percy and Camus explained the circumstances, the rule about not fighting within the temple precincts had to be enforced. He was to be locked up in the temple cellars until the next morning.

“Honestly, what a needless fight,” Camus sighed as he brushed clean the hem of his clerical robe.

Percy walked up to him. “Your skill with the spear is amazing. Where were you taught?”

“What are you saying,” Camus modestly shook his head. “In the past, a wandering martial arts master happened to stay in the same place where I was. I learned from him as a way of passing the time. That was only for a month, and after that, I just trained by myself.”

If what he said about being self-taught was true, then he must have put himself through ridiculously rigorous daily training. Moreover, from what Percy had observed, his movements were free from hesitation and belonged to someone who had actual combat experience.

“Your younger sister also seems to have quite a temperament.”

“That’s… well, that’s how she is,” his expression grim, Camus turned his face away. The wild warrior monk seemed to have some trouble handling his little sister.

Sarah, meanwhile, had walked up to the children who had been among those watching the fight. The older ones were comforting a young child who was crying from hunger. Sarah handed each of them an empty bowl.

“Does everyone have one? Then let’s go.”

“Where to?” asked the children.

“We’re going to go around and ask everyone else to share a little bit each,” Sarah laughed.

''I see'', thought Percy. Although she was only a girl, her beauty was already like a flower in full bloom, so if she went with them to plead for food, the men in town would not be able to turn them down. Perhaps even the rough thugs would blushingly offer the contents of their bowls.

“Where are the two of you from,” Percy asked casually.

“It doesn’t matter where we were born,” answered Camus, in a somewhat brusque tone. “This temple is where we are now studying, it’s our home, and it’s the temple the we must protect even at the cost of our own lives.”

Percy gave a nod.

“It hasn’t been seven years since the temple was rebuilt. So there wouldn’t be any monks who were born and raised here. Everyone has gathered here from different places and with their own circumstance. That rowdy boy must also have had his own reasons. And of course, Lord Shalling and the principality of Atall do to.”

Perhaps because Percy was harking back to the conversation they had been having before the boy put on that display, Camus pursed his stubborn-looking lips and stayed silent.

Percy continued,

“As far as I know, however, you can take it that the principality of Atall will not take action. Some whimsical noble rushing over here at the head of his private army… that will also only happen this once. To what extent does Bishop Rogress have a plan for what comes next?”  
 
“The bishop isn’t one to commit mistakes,” Camus said sullenly. “We only need to follow his instructions. If we do, the path will surely be opened before us.”

''You don’t even believe that yourself'', Percy almost blurted out, but he kept his mouth shut. Even so, Camus raised the thick eyebrows that revealed his violent temper better than anything else could, and launched into a counterattack.

“Sir Percy, although it may be rude of me to say this to someone who has taken the trouble to come running here, but I can’t rid myself of the feeling that you are looking at this from afar. After all, as far as you’re concerned, none of this has anything much to do with you. Compared to you, those who gathered here in search of a daily salary and meal are far more implicated in this fight. If you don’t have a good reason for putting your life on the line, then war is just meaningless mutual killing. You seem exactly like a sulky child who feels hard done by because you were sent here. You have my sympathy.”

''I don’t need it'' – Percy stopped himself from saying while almost admiring Camus: he might be a little simplistic, but he was a good judge of people. Percy deliberately avoided thinking about how that was in line with his own bitter feelings.