The young Irish woman sighed. She stopped the video, and Ser Dalius raised one hand.

“No, wait. Show me more. That wasn’t a complaint.”

She smirked, but then saw his expression again. Longing. A hunger to see other people, even ‘captured’

on the screen.

Silently, she resumed the playback. Ser Dalius murmured.

“Ah, the music.”

He only focused on the scantily-clad women for a moment. After that, he just closed his eyes and listened. There was something…so forlorn about his expression. Cara looked up at him. And then she asked the real question.

“Dalius…how long have you been dead?”

The ghost-knight froze.

“T-three hundred years?”

He didn’t look very convinced by his answer. Neither was Cara.

“Are you sure?”

Ser Dalius hung in the air. He hesitated. And—for the first time, his face twisted. Into uncertainty.

“I think so. When I first—when I was first here, there were no roots. But after a while—there were. And mice. I—I count by generations of mice. I eradicate them, and they come back. I’ve slain about three hundred generations of them. I may have missed my count. But they reproduce quickly. So—one generation per year?”

Assuming they always burrowed into the tomb. Cara hesitated.

“From what you say, Dalius. It sounds like you weren’t supposed to become a ghost. So what happened?

Is this normal?”

“I don’t know.”

A flicker crossed his face. And for the first time, the proud [Knight] seemed worried. Upset. Uncertain.

He took a step backwards. Into the air. He looked around.

“Ghosts should not exist. In life I fought their ilk. I am—undead. I think. Or else, a summoned spirit, like the Stringfolk summon their dead. But no one prepared my corpse. Perhaps after my death…? All I know is that I died. I had taken ill of the plague. The Burning Fever was ravaging Noelictus. And healing potions just accelerated the illness. I—the [Healer] did his best. But I lay, raving. I was hot. And then—and then—I woke up.”

“And then?”

Cara held still. Ser Dalius’ face contorted as he remembered. He shook his head, turning his wide eyes to her.

“I only know that I died and woke up as…a ghost. Quite by accident. I thought I had survived the disease, actually. I kept banging on the coffin’s lid and begging for someone to find me until I realized I wasn’t breathing. Then, well—I learned I was dead.”

He almost smiled. But he looked—as if he’d been stabbed. The man shuddered.

“I—I thought someone had animated my body. I roamed around. A ghost of a [Knight]. It is not honorable.”

Dalius shook his head, troubled.