Return to Ortara National School
It didn't take long for everyone to return to Ortara National School.
The Solemnute students felt a mix of relief and lingering unease, while the Ortara students were simply relieved. They had shaken off their earlier gloom remarkably quickly.
One of the Solemnute students muttered,
"It's kind of a shame."
"Huh?"
"The kids."
"Can't be helped. They're weak, so that's what happens. It's common here in Ortara. We don't have to save every child. This is a place where the weak are despised."
The surrounding Ortara students said as much. The Solemnute students nodded. They'd seen plenty of respect for the strong here.
So it made sense there'd be contempt for the weak, too.
"Still, we're worried about them because it's us. Most people wouldn't care the moment they step outside the school. You can't move forward if you're hung up on the past."
Another student chimed in.
"......It's so different from Solemnute."
"Has to be. I hear pretty much everyone in your empire awakens divine power. That means everyone has the seed to grow strong, so it makes sense you'd care about the kids."
"Yeah."
The Solemnute students realized this was a cultural difference. Nothing grand or foreign—just how people treated each other, how they treated children. That subtle gap was what made cultures distinct between nations.
As soon as she returned to the national school, Sione sought out the king, Herhata.
He had anticipated something like this and hadn't yet returned to the palace, allowing Sione a private audience with him easily.
Sione's expression was grim—a blend of pity, foreboding, and sorrow.
Herhata noticed it the moment they met alone.
"Don't look so sad."
Even at Herhata's words, Sione didn't soften her face.
"Why do you say that? The kidnapped children aren't from Solemnute—they're Ortara's children."
Herhata nodded at Sione's words.
"I know you care about children because you're from Solemnute. There, every child is a child of the gods."
"......"
"But Ortara is different. This is a land where divine blessings are rare. We build most things on human strength alone. The weak aren't respected here. The kidnapped children were orphans with no ties anywhere, or kids dying day by day in the slums."
"Is that what you mean by cultural differences?"
"Exactly. You probably wouldn't get much sympathy even if you shared your feelings with other Ortara people. That's how this country is."
"But yesterday, the other Ortara warriors looked dejected."
"Those who rushed to save people have strong pride and know how to cherish what they protect. But they're a tiny minority. Look at the school students—they'd shake it off rather than mope about the inevitable. They're taught to despise the weak. Only when they become full-fledged warriors do they start learning what to protect."
Herhata sighed as he spoke.
"......Is that how it is?"
"You can't truly understand a culture unless you grow up in it. It's bound to be different from Solemnute, so it's hard for you to grasp."
Sione nodded at Herhata's words, her melancholy expression unchanged.
"Then we'll have to give up on rescuing the children after all."
"Anyone except Intelligence Chief Elan or me would say preserving our forces is better than saving them. Those kids are the weak discarded by society."
"Just because they're weak doesn't mean they deserve to die pointlessly or miserably...... Isn't that too harsh?"
"It's regrettable, but that's Ortara."
Herhata wiped away his bitterness and spoke firmly to Sione—not as her grandfather, but as Ortara's king.
"Changing perceptions built up over generations is incredibly difficult. The strong are honored. The weak suffer. That's why Ortara has survived as a nation. We can't shake its foundations over mere sympathy or self-blame for our mistakes."
"......"
"When I ascended the throne, Ortara was in chaos. Its foundations were crumbling, bad luck piling up. I thought about where our roots lay, recalled the days when Ortara thrived. A nation where the strong were honored—that was the Ortara I lived, learned, and survived in."
"You're repeating yourself, but your homeland—Mother's birthplace—was truly harsh."
"Harsh. Incredibly so. But that harshness made us strong. It enforces inequality but rewards achievement without favoritism. Status can reverse anytime, so no one stops progressing. Noble or commoner. Priest or warrior."
Herhata reminisced as he told Sione the story.
"Back then, if you weren't strong, you couldn't protect anything. And I had to protect the nation. The weak being ostracized by society stems from that. I don't think I'm a great king. I just couldn't let the country fall."
"......I see."
"There were probably other ways. But that was my limitation. I did my best, and this is Ortara now. The silver lining is my children think differently from me. Change will come gradually."
"I'm not sure."
"No one ever is. Nothing's certain. You keep questioning, reflect on whether you're right, and move forward. You'll become empress of a vast empire, after all. A heavier burden than mine will weigh on you. Don't get stubborn—always reflect on yourself."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Sione bowed to her maternal grandfather once more. Not just as kin, but as advice from a king who had lived an era ahead to the next generation's empress.
It wasn't anything extraordinary, but that's how people change—with ordinary words.
"What are your plans now? Will the exchange match proceed?"
"It will. That's why your father Rajeta sent you here."
"Actually, His Majesty's message was to check on Heydel's condition."
"Think I'd miss that? Rajeta knows too. With the Salvation Cult resurfacing, the old peace is shattered. Exchanges between nations matter more now."
"......Yes."
"Anyway, the cult's schemes have given us headaches all around. It's like our safe walls were breached. Internal anxieties will start bubbling up. So I need your permission."
"Permission for what......?"
"Delay the exchange a bit, expand its scale, invite other nations to join. Basic idea, really—throw a grand festival to shout we're still strong. Common, but effective. Cover the faint unease in Ortara before it spreads."
"Other nations meaning......?"
"Abaran and Istaltin."
"Abaran......"
"Tricky for you, but we face a common enemy. Time to improve relations, no?"
"Sigh. Aren't you escalating too suddenly? This is troublesome."
"What? You've seen me do this before."
"Shouldn't you discuss this with Crown Prince Heydel?"
"He knows and agrees—that's why I'm telling you. Perfect timing. With you here, Abaran will at least send their saintess."
"I never want to deal with that woman again...... Anyway, understood. The professors will have migraines."
Sione nodded and ended her audience with Herhata. She had much to relay to the faculty.
"This means...... finals will be delayed too. Poor professors. Can't be helped. And...... Eve. I'll have to see that woman again."
Sione grimaced.
The exchange was postponed and expanded in scale. Solemnute students were thrilled; the faculty despaired.
The reduced finals scope would burden them later, but students live for the moment.
They cheered wildly at the lighter exams.
"Why are they like that?"
"Dunno. Something about finals. Funny seeing the gloomy ones from yesterday go nuts."
Ortara students eyed the Solemnute kids curiously. But the next news dampened their joy.
"Hey, you hear?"
"Huh? What?"
"Overheard professors...... Abaran and Istaltin are joining the exchange!"
"What? Abaran? Those lunatics?"
"Yeah. Istaltin's fine, but Abaran...... y'know."
"Ugh, hate facing them."
Mostly second- and third-years reacted like that. Also.
"Abaran...... is coming?"
"Heard so. Just rumors, but...... Tara, what's wrong?"
Ludenberg noticed Ashytara's face stiffen visibly and asked.
"Oh, nothing, Rud. Do you know where Sis is?"
"Sione? Why suddenly?"
"Got something to ask. They really coming from Abaran?"
Her uneasy demeanor was unlike her usual self.
Ludenberg sensed something off.
"......Did something bad happen with Abaran?"
"Nothing."
"Doesn't look like nothing. You said find Sione, right? Let's go together."
"N-No......"
'This guy's clueless about everything else, but sharp on this? Headache......'
Ashytara's head throbbed. She recalled the past.
Three years training with the Solem Church, learning priestess conduct.
At fifteen, a chance visit to Abaran.
And there, Abaran's saintess, Eve Arcadia.
The worst encounter she never wanted to remember flooded her mind.