The Prince Doesn’t Cry From Mere Onions

The baby pig held in Bertram’s thick arms wriggled its snout.

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It was cute enough to scream about, but that wasn’t what was important.

‘Wasn’t the prize supposed to be a fully grown pig? Is it because Mr.
Bertram is too big? Is that why it looks relatively small?”

But no matter how many times she looked at it, it was a baby pig.

Bertram began explaining, perhaps because he realized why Anna had become speechless.

“I attempted to receive the original prize of the big pig, but the management seemed to find the request difficult.
They say they have a tradition of slaughtering the pig and shares the meat on the spot when someone wins.”

“What kind of tradition is that!”

“It was my mistake to overlook the fact that countryside festivals are usually held for that region’s residents.
I yielded the black pig and received the pig’s baby in return; would it be too difficult with this guy?”

“I’m sure he’ll also grow big one day, but….”

The plan to return confidently with a huge pig tucked under Bertram’s arm was now in pieces.
Carla too would not welcome this tiny piglet as some kind of tremendous fortune.

Bertram seemed to recognize how Anna’s shoulders sagged.

“I will go and capture a boar, if nothing else.
Little pig, you wait here.”

Bertram gently scratched the back of the piglet’s head.
Perhaps because he liked the touch, the pig also lowered his eyes into slits and slowly rubbed its body.

Seeing this, Anna spoke decisively.

“That’s okay.
We’ll go just like this!”

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“Like this?”

“Lara, you think so too, right?”

“Huh?”

“Look.
Doesn’t Mr.
Bertram look very harmless and pitiful with that baby pig in his arms? Like you need to lend him a roof or the such.”

“…Yeah, well.
He does look kinda sad.
……The pig, I mean.”

“Mom wouldn’t try to chase out someone like this Mr.
Bertram.
Let’s go as is.
I’ll go drag in the chief!”

Anna appeared to be completely serious.
After patting the piglet on its head, she ran to the village chief where he was passing out with alcohol.

Watching her go, Lara heaved a big sigh.

‘You’re a lost cause already, Anna.
He only looks like a bear holding a bite-sized snack in my eyes.’

***

Meanwhile, Franz had gone to the flocks of sheep with no big expectations only to be taken aback by an unforeseen reunion.

In a run-down stable falling apart was an excellent steed tied up that did not fit its surroundings at all.

A reunion after three years.

“What are you doing here, without your master?”

A treasure of the kingdom and Bertram’s horse, Monat.

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The silver mane flows like a moon river atop solid brown body.
It was a horse that suited the description ‘beautiful,’ but its build was so big that the average man would be hard-pressed to mount it in one move.

It also was a self-important horse that had a foul temper, rarely ever letting anyone else’s hand touch it apart from Bertram.

“Monat, do you remember me? I’m the guy who used to fight with your master from time to time.”

Fortunately, Monat appeared to remember his smell.
It allowed Franz’s cautious hand to stroke its mane.

The farm hand looked at Franz, his jaw dropping.

“Amazin’, sir.
This guy has such a temper that even my master can’t touch it well!”

“And where is this steed’s owner?”

“Master should be at the bookstore right now.
Why are you asking?”

The bookstore?

An ominous sense of foreboding came over Franz.

“Isn’t the owner of this horse a sword-user with a big build and black hair?”

“Maybe it was before.
But according to what the bookstore owner says, some wandering loafer came looking for him saying he was indebted to the previous owner who’d passed, and he paid him back with this horse instead of with money.”

“Why didn’t the owner take money as payment?”

“Probably ‘cause the wanderer didn’t have any.
But because it had such a bad temper, he couldn’t even sell it anywhere, so he left it in our farm’s care.
Oh! Are you trying to buy it, sir? If you’re going to buy, then I can call in the owner and….”

“….”

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“S-sir?”

The farm hand, who had been chattering away quite easily, closed his mouth.

Fury was lacing Franz’s eyes.

“In due course, I will go find him personally.
You’ve never seen me here today.”

“Ye- Yes, sir!”

The farm hand fled in a haste.
It felt like the sword at the knight’s waist would begin dancing if he so much as looked back.

The soldiers gathered at Franz’s side one by one.
One of them recognized Monat.

“Isn’t this His Highness’s horse? Aack, hey, don’t bite me! Its temper is just as bad as before!”

“That’s right.
Going by what that farm hand said, it looks like he left it here to ‘pay back his debts.’”

“Debts?”

“Don’t you fools know why His Highness left the palace in the first place? He went out saying he’d personally repay all the requisitions.”

“Weren’t all requisitions to be compensated by the state?”

Though they weren’t repaid back properly, the soldier didn’t say, swallowing those words back.

They couldn’t help it.
Postwar, the country had become desolate, and repaying a wagonful of flour with even a basket’s worth was the way to help the nation survive.

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Franz replied with a slightly gloomy voice.

“He must have judged that compensation wasn’t enough.”

“But how could there be a debt big enough that he’d have to give Monat for it?”

“That, of course, would be impossible.”

Or so Franz pronounced.

“No matter how much Bertram is a simple fool….
Wait, no.
No matter how he acts on an insight that penetrates into the true nature of things, there is no way he wouldn’t know the value of Monat.
It must have been his plan to leave Monat here as collateral and come back for him at a later date.”

“Then the fact that His Highness left this city and came back to it must mean…!”

“That he came to repay his debt and take back Monat.
It seems all we must do is wait here for His Highness’s return right here.”

While Franz made wrong guesses even as his insight penetrated into the true nature of Bertram, Monat leisurely took his time eating Erich’s hair.

“Urgh, my head feels like it’s splitting apart… Anna dear, is the festival over?”

“Yes.
You can sleep more, chief.”

“No, it’s time I woke….
Huh? What’s with this baby pig… and why is that guy driving the carriage!”

“Sleep longer, chief.
We’re preparing the excuse that we had no other people to drive the carriage while you were passed out drunk, so we had no other choice but to accept his help.”

While the village chief fell back holding his head in a soundless cry, Bertram leisurely took his time driving the wagon they called carriage.

The way back to repay his very last debt was a peaceful one indeed.