Gale Winds. (2)
Under the scorching sun of the Kahal Desert, a people survives on camels and tents alone.
Originally indigenous to the eastern continent, they were exiled due to entangled interests—an unfortunate clan. The Altiegue, living witnesses to discrimination and oppression, are they.
Whiiiiiish...
In the darkness where sandwinds batter the tents, their leader is swept into anguish piercing through the clan's future.
"This is bad, Great Elder. Those bastards have finally..."
Great Elder Jubeiklen stares at the dark whirlwinds drifting across the desert.
Hatred is like those vortices. It swirls in endless cycles, unbroken. Grudges beget grudges, loathing begets loathing.
The only ways to end that chain: annihilation of one side, or harmony and reconciliation.
The latter has devolved into a mere mirage in this era. Jubeiklen watches the movements of the Altar.
Their religion superficially resembles that of the Altiegue.
"Rumors are spreading that Professor Deculein is building a detention camp at Rohalak."
Disappointed by Jubeiklen's passive stance, the Altiegue radicals—who saw the Altar as "similar" in doctrine—joined them, leading to this horrific incident.
"Our people will be dragged there."
Jubeiklen nods.
Deculein.
When the Yukline heir defended the Altiegue at Verhert, it was confusing but naturally grateful.
"Yes. He bought us time at Verhert, but this terror was our clan's doing. The new head must see it as betrayal..."
Jubeiklen recalls the former Yukline head, Deculein's father, Dikailen.
A hunter of endowments without a shred of mercy.
A pitiable man incapable of even fostering love for another.
More Yukline than anyone in Yukline, yet never bound by the family's yoke.
That is why Jubeiklen feared him.
"The price of betraying Yukline has always been vicious."
"...Yes. I know. 'Fear the Devil.'"
──Fear the Devil.
Yukline's categorical imperative.
A slogan highlighting vigilance against demons while revealing the clan's tradition and might.
Having hunted demons since antiquity, Yukline has become the most demon-like clan. Thus, the "devil" they urge fearing is not just demons themselves, but also "the Yukline who will become devils to you."
"A gale will rage. Our words will be mere excuses, and peaceful consolidation even harder."
The Altiegue spread like shadows in low places. Among them are well-organized militant groups.
"Can't control all the hot-blooded, immature clansmen. Suppress too hard, and defectors like now will stir trouble."
"...Yes."
"Leave it to the 'Cradle of Trees' folk. Elesol and Kariksel can lead them well."
Finishing his words, Jubeiklen gazes at the distant whirlwind.
A dust devil swelling by absorbing desert sand and mana. Beyond it, faces of long-departed comrades appear.
The howling winds sweeping through are like their screams, the spewed sand grains like their blood drops.
All of it seems to call to him.
"I've been shortsighted all this time... But what can be done? In this world, no answers exist..."
Great Elder Jubeiklen sinks into darkness. Buried in the desert's sandwind.
Three days later, in Hadekan of Yukline County.
"What nonsense is that?!"
Yeriel bellows at the head who visited after so long.
"Building a detention camp in our territory?!"
"..."
"Answer me! Yooo!"
Silent Deculein sits in the lord's seat for the first time in ages. Yeriel's usual spot.
"I hate Altiegue too! But not a camp! It's a hate facility! Yooo!"
"Cease that 'yoooing'."
Deculein waits for Yeriel to wind down. After much venting, she grumbles and sighs.
Only then does Deculein get to the point.
"Far from civilian homes."
"Where yoo gonna build it looong."
"...Defiance?"
"What lo rei hi."
"Ask again."
"Not defiance."
Yeriel snorts. Deculein shakes his head and answers.
"The camp will be at Rohalak."
"...You're kidding?"
Yeriel's face stiffens.
Yukline County's vast area rivals the Yuren Duchy—a nation—but usable land is half.
Including the demonic zone Marik and parts of the ruined Mieolji.
Thus, "jurisdiction" fits better than "ownership." Land filled with the duty "Don't let swarming beasts into civilian areas."
"Even Altiegue are human."
Among them, Rohalak is the worst—adjacent to Mieolji.
A prison at Phairden County's northernmost tip, rivaling hellish Recor Dak.
"No one can live th—"
"Do not ramble, Yeriel."
"..."
Deculein's gaze strikes like a blade. Yeriel flinches back.
Long free of his shadow, yet it still scares her at times.
"...Fine. Altiegue aside. What's our gain? None! Just stuck with 'the county with the camp' label!"
"Specific benefits will come from the imperial family soon."
Deculein rises from the lord's seat and strides out. Yeriel hurries to claim her original chair.
"I'll go. Procure base materials for groundwork yourself."
"...Do whatever."
Unilateral decision without consultation. Whining won't change it.
Yeriel glares at Deculein.
Creeeak—
He opens the lord's office door. Beyond: his entourage of imperial knights and bureaucrats, beaming welcomes.
Thrilled by Altiegue suppression, apparently.
"As expected of Professor Deculein. Or should I say Count Yukline here."
"With the count who subdued Rohakan and quelled imperial terror in an instant, we could go to the universe's end—"
Creeeak—
Their noisy flattery cuts off as the door shuts.
"Haa..."
Quiet office. Alone, Yeriel mutters with a sigh.
"Rohalak, of all places. Rohalak..."
Even she never considered cramming people into Rohalak.
Of course, she vaguely gets his intent. The utility is clear.
Imperial support will come, and like Recor Dak, the Altiegue camp becomes a "human bulwark."
A wall against beasts surging from Mieolji.
Place the camp at Rohalak, Altiegue fight beasts to survive—and if wiped out, no loss.
Icy, ruthless, quintessentially Deculein.
"Thought he was getting human lately."
Yeriel rubs her temple. Lately, Deculein is unreadable.
"...Whatever. Don't know what 'human' means anymore. Those idiots started the terror anyway."
As Yeriel mutters listlessly, the door opens. The butler enters.
"This week's Marik underground passage revenue tallied."
"Yeah. Gimme."
Casually checking the ledger, Yeriel's eyes bulge. Millions of elne reflected in her pupils.
"...!"
Money money money—pouring in.
"How?! Weekly revenue way exceeds estimates! Thought word-of-mouth would take time?!"
"Yes. Far more adventurers than expected. Boosting underground shops too..."
Pig's Blossom and eateries, hardware stores, gear shops, magic stores—prices 30% above city averages, but convenience-first adventurers pay without hesitation.
"G-good, great. Stay calm, can't let this cash flow clog. Keep it flowing. Got it?!"
"Of course."
Altiegue or whatever, Yeriel's priority is her territory.
Empire, palace, emperor—zero interest.
From childhood to now.
Her "own" is solely this county.
"Dismissed."
"Yes."
Sending the butler away, Yeriel cups her cheeks with both hands.
Hehehe—hehehehe—giggling childlike, she checks the ledger again.
Ten times projected revenue.
...Can't hold back.
Too excited!
"Kyaa kyaa~ kya kya~"
Warbling like a cuckoo, she cranks the turntable.
Classic melody echoes. Amid it, Yeriel dances a slightly clumsy waltz.
Sweltering heat and blazing sun. Barren wasteland near desert—no grass, just sandless.
Rohalak.
The game-only vista is desolate beyond barren.
"Professor."
Julie tugs my sleeve. I turn.
Fidgeting, she speaks.
"For a camp... isn't the ground too... unstable...?"
Cautious question.
Her Phairden house harbors ill will toward Altiegue and Altar.
Probably heard from Zeit. Thus, shyly, indirectly: "Isn't Rohalak too much?"
"It's fine. Containment over extermination."
I will build the largest possible camp here in Rohalak.
Far in the future, amid construction by various mage houses, literal slaughter will occur there.
So as many Altiegue as possible survive here.
"But... can people... survive here...?"
I view with "Midas' Hand" eyes. Rohalak's water sources snap into view. Base on that groundwater.
"Julie."
"Yes."
"Trust me. What you fear won't happen."
"..."
I smile reassurance. Soon Julie nods.
"Professor! Materials ready!"
Shout from nearby. Wagons laden with steel and girders.
Vroooom—!
I lift it all with Telekinesis.
Today's goal: iron walls framing the camp. Telekinesis excels in construction.
Then, suddenly.
"Eek!"
A small groan pierces my heart sharper than anything. I whirl around.
"Ah. I'm fine. Stepped on a cactus."
Julie forces a wry smile.
Heat or pain?
I silently watch sweat beading on her jaw, trickling down.
......
Dark night. Yukline lord's castle.
Julie, asleep after returning from Rohalak, bolts upright. Soul-jolting pain from her heart.
"Haa... haa..."
After massive agony, upper body stiffens, suffocating. Breathing deeply for ages, she steps out.
"Hoo..."
Yukline lord's castle corridor.
Julie wanders the ornate passage.
"Julie."
"!"
Sudden call tenses her.
Far corridor end, Deculein stands in shadows.
He says, looking at her.
"Are you well?"
"Yes. I'm fine."
Julie smiles. Now somewhat natural.
"..."
Deculein approaches wordlessly. His expression strangely wistful. Julie asks brightly on purpose.
"When does the imperial mission start~?"
"...What?"
"Ah... ahem. Throat's dry."
Coughing, Julie resumes normally.
"I heard everything. It's fine. I understand. I've learned some 'reason' now."
Hand on chest, she beams proudly.
Deculein nods, replies.
"Next week."
"Yes. Don't fail. I'll be mad if you do."
"..."
Deculein silently watches her smile.
Suddenly, long-simmering anguish revives.
"...Julie."
"Yes."
If his change poisoned her.
If Deculein shouldn't be by Julie's side from the start.
Is "Villain's Fate" literally stripping even his chance to be good...?
"Julie."
"Yes? Why call twice?"
Deculein removes his glove. Gently combs her tousled hair neat.
Julie startles but accepts quietly.
Full moon filters through the window, illuminating him.
"..."
Gem-like blue eyes glimmer. Deculein's sorrow ripples like an ocean within.
"I know your injury is my fault."
"...Why bring it up now? It's not that. And I got full compensation that day."
Deculein shakes his head.
From Marik,
what Kim Woojin saw as Deculein's diary,
that moment resurfaces.
"No. That's not what you received."
Knight Julie, who never abandoned Deculein even in worst straits.
Her irreparable wound's "compensation": Phairden's 50 million elne debt to Yukline forgiven.
Actual victim Julie got not a penny, not even thanks.
That Deculein was like that. Even branded her "mission failure."
Father's reprimand terrified him so; Julie understood all.
"So, by any means."
Hand trimming her hair falls to her shoulder. Hesitant, fearful—not caressing, just lightly placed.
"I will make it right."
Julie stares blankly.
Once it'd scare her; now, it reassures.
"...No."
Julie smiles softly, shakes head. Heart pain worsens slightly, yet her chest warms.
"I can overcome it myself."
That smile reaches Deculein like moonlight.
"So, choose your methods."
Immediately. Julie flicks his ear—snap! His expression turns ambiguous.
Julie chuckles.
"Your face is too gloomy. Lighten up. Students fear Professor's blank stare—"
Then, meow—!
Sudden loud cry.
"Eek!"
Julie dives into Deculein's arms with weird yelp.
Thud—!
Nearly a body slam, but his firm frame catches her easily.
"...?"
Julie's steel-like chest feels odd. Tap tap—fingers prod unconsciously.
Then blankly looks up.
Deculein shakes head.
"Where'd you read that fairy tale? Feigning fright is cliché. Is that why you grabbed me?"
"N-no! Not feigning! And you called me first! Th-there!"
Backing away greatly, Julie points somewhere.
"That cat suddenly..."
Meow—!
Cat cries, strides over. Coal-black.
"Know it?"
"Doubtful. Retainers or Yeriel wouldn't let it get that filthy."
Meow—! Cat rubs against Julie's leg.
"Seems it chose you."
"..."
Julie glances at Deculein. Rubbing, meowing...
"Gotta find its owner."
So saying, Julie scoops the cat and scurries to her room.
School—break—school—break—
School—break—school—break—
Aah—break time—
Ifrin frolicked wildly for three days. Of course, steadily reviewing magic tomes from Elder Rohakan and Deculein's "Understanding Pure Elements".
Not kidding—she still can't solve Deculein's midterm final problem.
"Phew."
But today: crucial matter.
"Hoo."
Ifrin deep-breathes waiting for Floating Island elevator.
Today: apply for Soda Rank promotion exam.
Body and heart tremble.
"Ipi!"
Julia appears behind queued Ifrin.
"Julia, here?"
"Yeah. Others late today. After OT, meat at my place."
"Obviously!"
Ifrin nods dead seriously.
Today, she will devour Roahawk.
—Prepare for boarding.
"Here. Let's go, Ipi."
"Yeah."
Ifrin and Julia board elevator. Tickets pricey, but professor's letter made it free.
Vroooom—
Magic elevator rises dozens of meters per second.
Ding—!
Arrive Floating Island in a minute.
Ifrin heads straight to Megiseion, to 1st floor "Proma" counter.
"Um, here for Soda Rank promotion exam application."
"Documents and ID please."
"Yep."
Pulls bundle of proofs and ID from backpack.
"Debutante Ifrin. Confirmed. Exam fee: 10,000 elne."
10,000 elne.
Ifrin deep-breathes, tenders card. Hand shakes.
"Yes. Orientation in that auditorium. Proceed inside."
Staff points to rear auditorium.
"Ah, yes."
"Ipi~ do great~ I'll hit magic shops~"
"...Yeah."
'Pig's Blossom' opened branches—huge success? Julia's loaded.
Spends 10-20k elne monthly, jeez.
Envy.
"So tense."
Anyway.
Ifrin clenches fist tight, shuffles into auditorium.
"Huh?"
Spots familiar yellow-haired nape in vast seats.
Sylvia. Sits beside.
"You too, huh. Hi?"
"..."
Sylvia glances, silent. Ifrin expects no reply, scans around.
"Huh? Sylvia, adventurers here too?"
"..."
"Right?"
"Common."
Sylvia clams up; Ifrin's neighbor answers. Man, mid-20s-ish.
"Many mage adventurers. Tower alumni skip credits; 2+ years adventurer cert allows exam."
"Aha~ really?"
"Also, this year adventurer exam coincides with Soda promo. Some overlap likely."
Adventurers and Floating Island seem worlds apart, yet share origins.
Floating Island founders and adventurer guild creator: same "Rehepel".
"Whoa, how'd you know?"
Man smiles, shows adventurer cert.
"Wow? Adventurer?"
"Yes. Nice to meet. 3rd-year Kariksel."
"3 years? No need for Soda?"
Adventurers graded by tenure. Idle, cert revoked in a year; tenure proves skill.
"Haha. Got three kids. Soda vs Debutante/Debutante mission pay 2-3x difference."
"Aha... wait, three? How old?"
Ifrin's eyes widen. Looks mid-20s even aged.
"Thirty-three. Married ten years ago."
"Gasp!"
As Ifrin covers shocked mouth.
"Now, brief OT begins. This one's handled by an actual Soda exam proctor."
Lights dim at mage's words.
Then, male mage ascends podium.
"...!"
Ifrin startles hugely. Beside, Sylvia trembles violently—near vibration.
"Pleased to meet you."
All-too-familiar greeting.
"I am a mage of Monarch Rank, overseeing elements."
Today's Soda promotion exam orientation proctor is.
"Deculein."
Imperial University Tower's chief professor, Deculein.