Only Assumed
Along the banks of the Rumel Canal, where the pale light of dawn was just beginning to spill across the water, two men sat side by side facing the current. A ferryboat bobbed gently before them, tied off by a rope.
One was Tool, second branch manager of Guris. The other was his escort, confidant, attendant, retainer, and ferryman all in one.
Tool was noisily working through a sandwich while poring over a stack of documents. He let out an admiring whistle and spoke to the man beside him.
"Damn… eighteen years old. How does anyone rack up achievements like this at that age?"
The man answered,
"They're born that way. People like him are beyond the understanding of ordinary men."
"Born that way, huh… Then this young lord must have been born with a hero's destiny."
The man wasn't particularly curious, but he asked the automatic follow-up anyway.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Tool waggled the finger he'd been using to point at the papers.
"Look at this. Look at everything this guy has done in the last six months. Does he think he's the center of the world or what? Why is it all so frantic and packed? Even as a novel, this stuff wouldn't be fun."
"You're getting a little worked up."
"Seems that way. Blame the sandwich. Tastes like cardboard."
Tool tore what remained of the sandwich into scraps and tossed them into the river. Fish rose to the surface and gulped them down with wet little snaps.
Watching them, Tool went on,
"Anyway, getting connected to this young lord was a stroke of luck. Best to leave a good impression if we can."
"You already torched that impression yourself. What was that about hunting down whoever coined the moniker? Why spout nonsense like that…"
"Shut it. I'm already regretting my big mouth. Anyway, like I said last time, I'm thinking of spreading a new moniker to bury that damned Gallant Hero title. Any thoughts?"
"Hmm."
The man considered it for a moment, then answered lightly.
"Anything related to the heavens is mandatory. He is a young lord of House Crusif, after all."
Tool snapped his fingers.
"My thinking exactly. Whatever name we give him on the Crusif side, 'heaven' has to be in it. Far as I can tell, that's why the young lord got angry—it wasn't in there. So I've come up with a few options. Hear me out."
"If Merry Heaven or Heavenly Hero is among them, do us both a favor and bury those."
"…"
Tool's mouth, which had been opening to speak, clamped shut.
"Your thoughts are transparent."
"…Do I look that simple to you? Of course I didn't recycle those two."
"Let's hear it, then."
"Throughout its long history, House Crusif has produced a great many legendary swordsmen. The monikers given to those who distinguished themselves early on usually pair characters like Advance, Attain, Ascend, or Stride with ones like Heaven, Vault, Firmament, or Sky."
"Meaning 'to press onward toward the heavens,' then."
"Exactly."
Tool raised his index finger with great confidence.
"From there, I chose Chang—as in 'to flourish'—"
"Mm."
"—and for the sound of it, I added Gung, for the vault of heaven. So: Changgung Sword! The Sword of the Flourishing Vault. How's that?"
"Not bad."
Tool grinned, pleased with himself.
"All that fretting paid off. Let's go with it. I need to get the rumor spreading fast. By the time the banquet starts tomorrow, there shouldn't be a soul who doesn't know the new moniker. Imagine how proud the young lord will be when that name is circulating through the Imperial Palace… And of course, I'll take a little credit later."
Muttering to himself, Tool worked a magic tool and sent orders out to the members of the second branch. The information fanned out in an instant.
A little while later, the man—who had been quietly turning the name over in his mouth—spoke up abruptly.
"…One thing, though."
"Hm?"
"You do know that chang can also mean 'to run wild,' right? As in frenzied. Rampaging."
"…"
"Hss. I've got a bad feeling the first character is going to flip to that one…"
"…Haha. Don't talk nonsense. That's an ill omen if I ever heard one."
Goosebumps prickled across Tool's entire body.
"Hmm…"
Celia turned this way and that before the full-length mirror, studying her reflection.
"Does this look all right?"
"Of course, my lady. You're absolutely beautiful."
Praise from the nearby maids followed in a steady stream.
Celia gave a single nod. She was satisfied.
An elegant dress paired with meticulous styling. It was a gown chosen under the eye of Riana, daughter of the second-wealthiest house in the Empire. There was no room for complaint. Even the makeup had settled especially well today.
Leaving her room, Celia headed for the first floor, her heels sinking into the plush carpet with every step. She was eager—almost giddy—to show Leon how she looked.
Halfway down the central staircase, a familiar voice drifted up. Celia's ears pricked.
— …You did? Right. Yeah. Yeah.
On a sofa set off to one side of the main hall, Leon sat with his legs crossed, a small communication orb in hand, speaking with someone.
— Got it. Take care of yourself. Eat properly. Yeah. I'm hanging up.
He glanced once at Celia as she came down the stairs, then ended the call.
Who was that?
The question had barely formed before Celia already knew the answer. Who else could it be? It had to be Aria, who had been away somewhere since yesterday.
…That's really too much.
Celia's mood sank. The day before yesterday he hadn't sent her a single word all day and left her worrying herself sick—and now he was dutifully checking in with Aria first thing in the morning?
She knew Leon and Aria were closer than she was to him. Still, having it confirmed right in front of her like this was bound to sting.
Ugh.
Celia forced her legs, which had threatened to lock up for a second, back into motion. She pressed the hurt down.
Stewing over it alone meant nothing. She had never planned on giving up in the first place. Getting her feelings hurt over something this small was almost funny.
Keeping her face carefully neutral, she called out to him.
"Leon."
Leon looked mildly startled by Celia's dressed-up appearance and offered a greeting.
"Morning."
His gaze, which had started at her feet and climbed in a slow sweep, stopped dead on her face.
He studied her expression carefully, then pointed at the communication orb he was tucking away and added,
"I asked Aria to handle something for me. I was just checking on that."
"…"
"It's not like I'm playing favorites or anything. Just in case you got the wrong idea."
Celia let out a short laugh.
"What are you even talking about."
Leon laughed along with her, and inwardly let out a breath of relief.
Celia asked,
"The carriage isn't here yet, is it?"
"Nope."
"Guess we'll have to wait a bit."
Celia sat down carefully beside him, mindful not to ruin anything she'd put on.
The banquet began at noon. It was currently ten o'clock.
And the proper way to make an entrance was by house. So the two of them were waiting for the carriages their respective families would send.
In the middle of that wait—
"…"
Leon stared blankly at Celia for a moment, then said without much thought,
"You picked that dress out with Riana, right? It suits you. You look beautiful."
Celia whipped around to face him, startled.
"…Huh? What did you just say?"
"Ah."
Leon felt a spike of regret.
Doesn't she hate this kind of compliment?
As far as he was concerned, Celia was a warrior who disliked being called feminine and preferred her spear.
But he'd already said it, so Leon decided to see it through like a man.
"I said you're beautiful. You wear that dress really well. It brings out that cool, aloof, catlike charm of yours."
The moment the words left his mouth, Leon squeezed his eyes shut. What had come out without passing through his brain was bizarre beyond measure.
Aloof cat? What kind of line is 'aloof cat'…
But Celia's reaction was nothing like what Leon had expected.
"…Ah— uh?"
Celia made a small, incoherent sound. Her neck and shoulders had gone rigid, stiff as boards.
"Y-you can't just come at me with that out of nowhere…"
Her cheeks were deeply flushed. She stared off into the middle distance.
"This is a little unfair…"
And then she muttered something under her breath, fanning her face with her hand as if trying to cool the heat.
Whatever gloom had settled over her earlier had vanished without a trace.
A few minutes after Celia climbed into the Helbridge carriage and rolled away—
"Young master, if you please."
"Right."
Leon boarded the carriage sent by House Crusif.
Not that any other family members were waiting inside. It was a single-passenger coach. The plan was to assemble in front of the Imperial Palace and enter together.
Once Leon was in, the coachman shut the door and climbed up to his seat.
"Departing now."
With a low rumble, the carriage began to roll smoothly forward.
Leon loosened the sword at his hip so it wouldn't dig into him, then pulled out a cigarette.
A banquet, huh…
He leaned deep into the backrest and thought.
The grand banquet held every year to commemorate the birthday of the current Emperor of the Latia Empire.
For Leon the reincarnator, this would be his first time attending. He had possessed this body sometime after last year's banquet.
It was a gathering large enough to be called the single greatest event in the Empire's social calendar.
Held as a matter of obligation to reinforce the authority of the modern Emperor, it carried far more weight than the seats opened on holidays like the New Year's court ceremony.
Nearly every noble in the Empire with any real standing—anyone seventeen or older, the age of majority—received an invitation.
A count's house or higher was the usual cutoff, but anyone whose rank, honor, and reputation measured up could be invited regardless of title. Billy, who had recorded both formidable martial prowess and the second-highest standing at Elprime, was a prime example.
For the two days the banquet ran, the capital itself entered a general holiday, and even the common folk held festivals of their own.
A noisy season when everyone was busy celebrating. Inside the Imperial Palace, every important noble and member of the imperial family in the Empire was gathered in one place.
In every respect, it was an environment and a set of conditions practically inviting foreign powers and hostile forces to strike at the capital.
But the capital's defensive forces were just as keenly on edge.
The entire garrison forwent any holiday and stood on five-minute alert. They maintained a state of heightened vigilance, doubling both patrols and punishments compared to ordinary days.
The imperial knight orders kept their eyes peeled, guarding the palace and the First District. They prepared thoroughly against terrorism and locked down every approach.
If anything, this was the period when the capital was at its safest.
And so Leon assumed that this banquet season would pass without incident.
"…"
He didn't expect it. He only assumed.