Night fell, dim and hazy. Dawnbreak Cathedral had closed its doors. To save coins, Fate skipped dining out and made do with dried meat and canned goods scavenged from a goblin nest—a meager but filling supper.
Though once accustomed to gourmet feasts, adjusting to humble fare took him little time.
He found an empty prayer bench, curled up, and slept through the night.
Perhaps freed from a knight’s burdens, his body ignored its usual rhythm. He slept soundly till morning, stirring only groggily at the click of a turning lock.
“Mr. Fate, did you rest well?” Loraine, arriving early to clean, spotted the armored figure sprawled undignified across the bench.
“Mmm…” Fate rubbed his waist, saw her, rolled over, and buried his face deeper.
It had been ages since he’d enjoyed such a lazy lie-in. No way was he getting up early for work.
Loraine let out a soft sigh.
It wasn’t yet shift time—she’d come early for upkeep. No need to wake him.
At eight sharp, as the cathedral gates opened, Fate finally staggered up, stretching with a groan.
Loraine blinked. *How?* Sleeping on this hard bench… *in full armor?*
Then she shrugged. If he could nap standing up, armor was probably routine.
He swallowed the last dried meat and pickles—breakfast done.
Back at the entrance, Fate resumed his post.
Noon arrived. Worshippers had left for lunch; the priest was away. Only Fate and Loraine remained in the vast, silent cathedral.
“Mr. Fate, lunch is ready.” Not seeing him, Loraine checked the entrance—again finding the armored figure dozing against the doorframe.
*…Is he here to guard or to nap? Didn’t he sleep enough this morning?!*
Loraine’s patience frayed. Only the staff shortage and that young noble’s handwritten recommendation kept her from dismissing this lazy slacker.
“Huh? Food?” At “lunch,” the previously limp armor snapped upright, head swiveling eagerly. “Where?”
“…” Loraine’s smile tightened.
“Mr. Fate… you were sleeping again.”
“…Sorry.” Caught red-handed, Fate admitted it plainly. “Won’t happen next time.”
“*Next time?*” Loraine pursed her lips.
Honestly? She doubted he’d ever been a real knight. More likely fired for laziness.
What was the point of hiring a guard who napped all day?
Now she understood why young Master Buckley shoved him here. Establishing Dawnbreak Cathedral was an Imperial Capital decree—local lords complied half-heartedly, each with hidden motives.
The bread and stew in her hands suddenly tasted bland.
Beside her, Fate munched happily, *chomp chomp*, loud and content.
*Seriously… helmet on while sleeping, fine—but eating too?! How?!*
If she hadn’t seen his face, she’d swear the armor was haunted.
Sister Loraine’s head throbbed. *Working daily with this silent, slacking, eccentric man… ugh.*
————
“I say, attendant—did we take a wrong turn *again*?” On the rugged mountain path, the young noble grumbled from inside the jolting carriage.
“No wrong turn, young master. This remote route avoids attention… and trouble.”
“Ugh, this road’s numbing my backside!” He muttered resentfully but, remembering their shady errand, yanked the curtain shut and sank back inside.
“Shall we camp here tonight, young master?”
“Fine. Another bump and I’ll roll out stiff as a board.”
This was the very merchant caravan Fate had crossed in Fude Village. Now they passed a golden, ripe cornfield.
Several guards’ eyes drifted toward the crops.
*Tsk. So uncultured.*
Stepping down with his attendant’s help, the noble sneered at his guards’ longing glances. *Craving livestock feed? How provincial.*
“Young master—what’s *that*?”
“Don’t tell me you want corn too, after feasting at my table.” He shot his guard a disdainful look.
“No, milord—not the corn! Look—a wooden hut… and a *goblet* hanging beside it!”
“A goblet?”
He lazily glanced over. Skeptical. Rubbed his eyes. Stunned.
“What *is* that?” His gaze locked, utterly transfixed.
He wasn’t some bumpkin farmer. Years in this trade taught him one thing: that goblet’s value screamed luxury.
