The Blue Eye's Agony and the Eldest's Resolve

"I'll be careful."

- Good. You're older now, so you'll watch yourself without me nagging. Contact me when it's done. I'll assemble a team and send them over.

"Understood. And thank you for your concern."

A brief silence hung in the air for a few seconds after Lieutenant Colonel Orpia's words.

- I brought you in, so I have to take responsibility. What choice do I have? Keep up the good work.

"Yes, sir! Loyalty!"

With Lieutenant Colonel Orpia's salute, the communication orb went dark.

"Whew."

The underground chamber fell silent once more, the echoes of their conversation fading ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠away.

Lieutenant Colonel Orpia placed her hand on the restored magic tool.

"You disgusting bastards."

Every circuit she examined turned her stomach.

"I can never forgive you scum."

Shlick.

She swept her hands back through her hair, unfastening the buttons on her eyepatch.

It fell away naturally, revealing her right eye.

Word was she'd lost it to an enemy attack, but the truth was far different.

"Nngh."

A blue eye more beautiful than anything else.

But in stark contrast to its beauty, she bit her lip against the pain.

"Let's get this over with."

Enduring the agony, she glared at the restored magic tool with her blue eye.

The moment she took in the circuits, her eyeball trembled violently.

The reason was simple.

Her right eye was a circuit-engraved magic tool.

"Aaaargh!!!"

The circuit patterns flooded into her brain through her eye, forcing Orpia to scream in torment.

Thirty seconds. One minute. Three minutes.

It seemed short, but to her, each second dragged like a year.

"Haaaah."

Having memorized all the key details, Orpia barely managed to cover her eye with the patch before passing out.

"No matter how many times I do it, I never get used to this."

She let out a deep breath and swept her hair back.

"How the hell did I even live like this back then?"

Frowning, she began working with the newly acquired knowledge.

"At the imperial council meeting, the Minister of Finance named our Oclo Trading Company as the model merchants to emulate. What a glorious day! Haha!"

Broad Oclo laughed brighter than anyone at the table with his retainers.

Getting excited over something like that? But the Minister of Finance's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠word carried nearly as much weight as the Emperor's.

"Congratulations! This truly feels like the Oclo family's golden age."

"If we keep this up, sales will rise 35 percent over last year. Nothing to fear!"

This had to be the happiest restaurant in the Empire right now.

"Still, we're at war, so keep your words and actions discreet outside."

"Of course. I've instructed all staff to be extra cautious."

Nodding in satisfaction, Broad raised his glass.

"It's bittersweet that our youngest, who led this revival, can't join us."

"Isn't Young Master Palan with the 7th Legion now?"

"So they say. Seems there's trouble there again—His Majesty dispatched our boy. Hope he's not overworked."

His tone was worried, but his face beamed.

"Talented people always suffer for it. Already a captain! Outstanding! Solid as a rock!"

No one here would miss that Palan's promotion was the Oclo Trading Company's promotion.

"Damn right. Rock solid. He's our treasure! Our treasure!"

As the drinks flowed, Broad's voice grew louder.

"Speaking of, eldest—did you learn a lot out there?"

He turned to Tems Oclo, who had been sitting quietly like a mouse at one end of the table.

"Yes. Even in wartime, I worked hard to ensure steady meals for the troops."

"Good. No need for sibling jealousy—just learn and help. That's a fine sight."

A faint wrinkle creased Tems's forehead at Broad's words.

Broad might have noticed in his normal state, but now he was too busy saying what he wanted.

"The family business goes to the youngest, so you should stay and support him. You know venturing out just means hardship, right?"

The question demanded a scripted reply.

Hating every word, Tems had no choice—Broad was father and family head.

Grind.

Tems ground his teeth and forced his mouth open.

"Yes, Father."

The people beside him noticed his state but said nothing.

Interfering in succession fights never ended well—a proven fact in Oclo history.

"Good, now that you've realized it, I feel lighter. Keep helping, build a brighter future together."

"Yes..."

The endless barrage tested his sanity.

Unable to endure, Tems rose quietly.

"Something I ate isn't sitting right—stomachache. I'll head out first."

Ignoring any reply, he left the restaurant—not for the bathroom, but his second-floor room.

Slam!

Unbearable rage.

Normally he'd smash something, but he'd crossed that line.

No—in truth, his mind had snapped completely.

"Hah! Help him? Me, who should own the company?"

A fate sealed from birth.

Just for skipping the army once, his father was stealing everything. To Tems, the old man looked insane.

"If the geezer's gonna cling to age, do it gracefully. Hand it to that punk?"

He grabbed yesterday's report from the intel guild, slumping into his chair.

"Fuck."

A probe into the scammers who'd fleeced him for big gold.

He'd expected something, but it was empty noise.

"So these fake-ass assassins played me for a fool?! Hah! I'm a joke."

Riiip!

Feeling the world mocking him, Tems shredded the paper and hurled it to the floor.

"Done. All useless. Idiot me for outsourcing."

His expression serene, enlightened, Tems stood.

"Kill that one punk, and it's over. No need to circle around."

Resolved, he left the room.

"Hyaap!"

Evening after sunset, Palan swung his sword at the training ground's edge.

"Hyaap! Hup!"

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Strong kiais sliced the air; results weren't bad.

"Damn, that's a big jump."

Seemed like yesterday he got zeroed; time flew.

'Military life's supposed to drag.'

Unlike enlisted days, no fixed end—constant crises left no breathing room.

"Yes."

Annoying system asked every time, despite always checking.

He nodded mechanically and pulled up the eval.

Feedback got more detailed with scores.

"Felt a slip-up, but spooky precise."

No fooling the system's eye, no matter his fixes.

"Discount event, though?"

Korean instincts couldn't resist sales; he opened the sword manual.

"20% off? Not bad."

No inflated base price BS—this was legit.

'Potions drained my wallet, but worth a shot.'

Felt salesy, but he'd wondered anyway.

"Might as well now?"

Training fresh; energy left.

"Time? Two hours to start."

One hour risked awkward cutoff regret.

"No hoarding, huh."

Planned to stock up if good; smart system.

Gibberish system walls.

Used to it; parsed slowly.

Conclusion?

'So what now?'

Access granted, no how-to. Question ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠marks everywhere.

"Way too user-unfriendly."

While digging system menus, a late message popped.

"Yes, I'm taking it."

Frustrated, he snapped at the system.

It processed instantly.

"What...?"

Sudden "close eyes" order, with timer.

'Damn it, warn me first!'

Complaints changed nothing—experience proved it.

Obey for now.

'Nap here? Nah, chaos incoming.'

Soldiers passed even evenings.

'Company commander's office.'

Ten minutes longer than thought; arrived with four to spare.

'No visitors, right?'

Locked door, lay on sofa.

"Just sleep like this?"

Determined, closed eyes.

Soon, dreamlike—consciousness shifted.

"Where's this?"

Sensing the shift, he opened his eyes to system text and unfamiliar scenery.

'Kinda like a kendo dojo.'

Wood floors, training dummies everywhere.

Clean—nice.

"You the one who wants sword lessons?"

A man's voice from behind as he scanned.

"Y-yes!"

Turning: young handsome guy, cross-legged, picking ear like it was a chore.

"Been ages since a pick—could be worse. Nah. Tsk."

Face said he hated being here.

'Instructor? Then teach, damn it.'

Two hours wasting—infuriating.