Return to Endeion
The North — a land of snow and ice.
At the farthest reaches of that frozen country stood a vast city.
Endeion: the city called the place where the Empire's North began, home of Duke Winchester, the rightful master and hero of the North.
The ancestral seat of House Winchester, whom the northern people had long trusted and followed, this city used its formidable military might to shield the northern populace from the enemies that prowled its borders.
Endeion's position as guardian of the northern frontier meant it had to watch not only for dungeons and monsters, but for the barbarian tribes that crossed the border to raid and plunder.
Proof of that vigilance was already visible even from a great distance — the tall, sturdy outer walls built to protect the people of the North.
"Young Master, it seems we have arrived at Endeion."
"So we have…"
A full week of travel by carriage, and at last we had reached our destination.
"Whoa! This is incredible!"
"Enri, we didn't come here to sightsee."
Angela scolded Enri, who was glued to the window and refused to peel herself away — though Angela's own eyes were sparkling just as brightly.
"I-I know that much! But still, it's really amazing. Wow! Water! Look over there — it's the ocean!"
"…That's a lake."
I corrected Enri and turned my own gaze to the scenery beyond the glass.
Past the forest of snow and conifers stretched a vast lake whose surface ran all the way to the horizon. At its center rose an enormous island, ringed by the outer walls we had spotted from so far away.
A lake set amid snowfields, and a city built upon it — the sight looked like a scene from a movie with CGI layered over every frame. I couldn't entirely blame the girls for the way their eyes lit up.
I just don't have the luxury of feeling the same way…
My stomach ached even though I hadn't eaten a thing. Between fretting over how to behave when I met Duke Winchester and everyone else who had known the original Taylor Winchester, I hadn't slept properly in days. The stress had only piled higher.
What matters is how I act from here on out.
Before setting out for the family estate, I had turned my lodgings upside down hunting for anything on Taylor and managed to unearth a single notebook. It was less a diary than an emotional dumping ground.
I had combed through it carefully, picking useful scraps from the flood of feelings, and pieced together a set of behavioral guidelines for myself.
The contents were simple.
First: survive. Second: also survive. Third: survive again.
…Well, there wasn't much useful information to work with, so what choice did I have?
What else could you expect to find buried under rage at himself, helplessness, and guilt toward everyone around him? I had at least uncovered the account number where his allowance was deposited, but money wasn't exactly a problem for me, so it wasn't much help.
If things go south, I should keep running as a backup plan.
The world would be fine — the protagonist would save it. And with this face and the coin in my inventory, I was confident I could live well anywhere. I felt bad for the teammates who had trusted me enough to follow, but if it truly got dangerous, I would just take them with me when I fled.
While I sorted through these thoughts, the carriage diligently carried out its appointed task. We crossed the sole drawbridge linking the mainland to the island, passed through the high outer walls that encircled it, and a city of stone and iron welcomed us in.
"It's remarkably lively."
"Endeion is the heart of the North. It would be no exaggeration to say that every good produced in the North gathers here."
Just as their conversation suggested, crowds of people were bustling about outdoors despite the bitter cold. The capital of the Empire was far away, the location was poor, and the city sat face-to-face with its enemies — yet Endeion remained the center of the North for one reason alone.
Because Duke Winchester was here.
That single fact said everything about what the Duke meant to the North.
We arrived at Endeion's carriage depot. When the coachman politely opened the door, a cold wind brushed my cheek and jolted me back to reality.
Get it together.
I stepped down first and offered my hand to the girls as they followed. Elizabeth took it and descended with elegant grace; Enri, even with my hand in hers, hopped out with a flourish and stuck a perfect landing; Angela fidgeted a little, looking embarrassed as she climbed down.
We had reached our destination, so this was where we would part ways with the Rock Bird carriage and the coachman who had driven it.
"Well done. Safe travels on the way back."
"Thank you, sir. I pray that the Little Star of the North may also be filled with the gods' blessings in all that lies ahead."
The Little Star of the North?
"Don't tell me you knew who I was?"
"N-no, not at all. How could a wretched old coachman like me know anything of the Young Master? I merely had the fortune, in my youth, of laying eyes on the previous Duke — and so I recognized you."
Bowing his head in greeting, the coachman explained that I bore a striking resemblance to the current Duke's father — that is, to Taylor Winchester's grandfather.
"Besides, not even members of the imperial family would do something so reckless as dyeing their hair black when they visit Endeion."
A fair point. He had cut straight to the heart of it.
"This old man will consider it the honor of a lifetime to have carried Young Master Winchester in his carriage."
His voice thick with emotion, the coachman spoke those words, then drove the carriage away.
"All right. Let's head for the estate."
"I shall escort you."
"Yes!"
"Understood."
I turned my gaze once more toward the mansion so vast it was visible from anywhere in the city.
The Winchester estate was staggering in scale.
Fitting, I supposed, for the headquarters of the house that ruled the North. It was so grand it felt less like a mansion and more like a fortress in its own right — a magnificence that rivaled even the Hero Academy, said to have been built by the first emperor.
"Oh? That is unmistakably the form of a dragon, is it not?"
Beatrix spoke as though she had spotted something intriguing. The "dragon" she meant was the family crest set large upon the mansion gates — a dragon motif worked into the design.
Ah. That's the crest of House Winchester.
"A crest? Does your house worship dragons, then?"
I recalled the explanation I had read in a book on the origins of the crest, back when I researched House Winchester in the Academy library.
Hardly. It's a crest meant to honor an ancestor of the Winchesters who cut off the head of the wicked Red Dragon King.
"Hmph! I simply went easy on him. To take something so trivial and make a symbol of it — how utterly ridiculous."
Beatrix, the wicked Red Dragon King herself, snorted at my explanation.
As we approached the estate, wariness crept into the eyes of the soldiers guarding the main gate. But the one who looked most senior seemed to recognize my face; he shouted something to the others in a flustered tone, and by the time we reached the gate they were bowing politely and swinging the doors wide.
"W-welcome home, Young Master! You must be weary from the long journey!"
"You've all worked hard."
"Young Master Taylor…!"
The guards looked genuinely moved by the offhand words of encouragement I had tossed out. Getting that emotional over something so minor only made me feel awkward.
We passed between the ranks of saluting guards, and a world utterly different from the one outside the estate unfolded before us.
"Whoa!"
"It's truly beautiful."
Beyond the thrown-open gates lay a garden so lovely it belonged in a dream. Brilliant flowers bloomed along paths of marble, and the trees beyond them stood in ranks as precise as soldiers on parade. On top of that, the air inside the garden was warm and mild — as if magic had been laid over the entire estate.
Heating a garden this size with magic and planting flowers in the freezing North… talk about creative ways to burn money.
Even for a house this rich, the upkeep on a garden of this scale felt painfully wasteful.
We were walking through that beautiful garden when I came to an abrupt halt.
"Young Master?"
"…That."
I slowly lifted my gaze to the staircase at the far end of the garden. At the top of my line of sight stood a woman dressed in a military uniform. She waited quietly beside the stair railing, looking down at us.
"You're a little late."
In appearance alone, I could almost believe that if I changed my gender and grew out my hair, I would look exactly like her. That rigid voice and the razor-sharp cut of her uniform left no doubt about the kind of person she was.
I looked up at her on the stairs and slowly opened my mouth.
"It has been a long time, Your Grace."