Once Again, the Winds of Revival Blow
"...What the hell."
The pre-dawn hours before sunrise raced toward the peak of silence. No sounds of nature, no chirping insects, no human voices. Everything held its breath, waiting for the sun to rise. In that comforting quiet, Isel stood blankly by the window, staring outside.
Why is he doing that?
Isel was deep in thought. She could understand her master being kind as a ploy to win her over for some grand scheme with sweet words. But the tears? No matter how she racked her brain, she couldn't make sense of it.
Isel turned and sat in a chair at the wooden table. She propped her chin on her hand and gazed at the birdcage.
"Mila, you saw it too, right...? He was crying."
After Lebion left, Isel had named the parrot Mila. It was the same name as the baby bird that had accompanied her throughout her journey.
Mila blinked its tiny eyes.
Of course, conversation with a mere animal was impossible. Yet Isel found small comfort just in having a living creature nearby. It made her feel less alone. The suffocating solitude from the underground dungeon was easing, thanks to that little life—just as Lebion intended.
"What could it be...? I haven't even properly met him..."
Mila tilted its head a few times.
Isel didn't mind the lack of answers. Just meeting Mila's gaze felt like the bird was listening to her.
So, for the first time in a while, Isel continued her soliloquy.
"...A master who cries for a slave? Where in the world does that exist? Right?"
Though she'd only met Mila a few hours ago, Isel spoke to it familiarly. Maybe because of its identical appearance—it felt like the Mila from her grueling journey had returned as a companion.
"Hmm... But I really don't get it. Why was he crying?"
At the time, shock had kept her from asking. An awkward silence had hung in the air as her master suddenly sobbed, then applied cream and simply ordered, "Then rest," before leaving.
Chirp chirp chirp.
Dawn was breaking. As sunlight crept from the window to the center of the room, Isel, lost in thought, walked back to the window.
Pity? Sympathy? Those were the only emotions she could guess at for her master right now. And that meant the man was deeply empathetic, with a warm heart. Anything less wouldn't make sense. Though even those feelings were hard to accept at face value.
Duke Lebion del Rosel. Isel knew well of his legendary rise—from commoner to duke in just a few years.
But she'd only heard rumors, never met him face-to-face except once. Her only memory was a brief encounter at the palace. Just a quick greeting before the expedition ceremony.
For such a man to empathize with her pain and cry in her stead? It was utterly incomprehensible. Especially since they weren't childhood friends or lovers.
"Ah...! Come to think of it..."
Suddenly, something flashed through Isel's mind.
The day they first met at the palace. She'd shaken hands with Duke Lebion del Rosel, who had politely extended his.
It started as a normal greeting. But his parting words had been oddly memorable. To Isel back then, they'd even been unpleasant.
"Once you've succeeded in subjugating the Demon King, please don't head straight back to the palace. Visit our Rosel Territory first. I have important words for you. I earnestly request it."
Rosel Territory lay in the opposite direction from the Demon King's castle and the capital on the return path. Detouring there would mean a major deviation from the capital.
Of course, Isel had refused back then. It wasn't a solo return; she had party members and porters. No need to unnecessarily lengthen the journey.
And Duke Lebion's request to visit his territory before the palace had seemed impure—flattery, riding her coattails on her achievement.
So she'd brushed it off.
But looking back, it was quite suspicious. Why insist on a detour to his territory? Really just for flattery?
"...My head hurts."
The more she thought, the more questions piled up.
And he knew her food preferences too well. Even gifted her a parrot identical to the Mila that had joined midway through her journey, without ever traveling with her.
Was it all coincidence? It felt like dealing with someone she'd known for ages—intimately, exceptionally close.
But with no evidence to back it up, Isel shelved her worries. Three hours of pondering had taught her answers wouldn't come.
And maybe it was all just cunning manipulation. Nobles were masters of arrogant, sly power plays—experts at handling people.
Too early to let her guard down.
"What could it be... Master..."
Isel murmured, watching trees sway in the wind. They seemed like her—shaking in whatever direction the breeze blew.
"Hup!"
Whoosh!
With a solid kiai, Roden's wooden sword sliced through the air.
Training alone in the field since early morning, sweat beaded on Roden's upper lip after just a few shouts, despite the cool weather.
Roden was a commoner boy. More precisely, a street urchin. Orphaned, he'd wandered the streets, begging to survive day by day.
Until he collapsed on the road near starvation, and Lebion found him, bringing him to the mansion. Over a year had passed since he'd settled here.
Humans are creatures shaped by their surroundings. At just thirteen, Roden was unnaturally pragmatic for his age. Days of survival had drilled harsh reality into him.
He knew when to swallow sweet lies over bitter truths, and when to ignore the sweet ones. Street life had forged his realistic, flexible mindset.
So Lebion had allowed him to live in the mansion and asked him to befriend Silia.
Silia, unlike most noble-blooded children, brimmed with dreams and ideals. Usually, the dreamless chase lofty goals, while the privileged turn conservative.
Not Silia. She cared deeply about peace, freedom, equality—and aimed to achieve them as a hero.
Thus, Lebion placed Roden beside her to temper those dreams. He knew better than anyone how great heights amplify the fall.
Fortunately, Roden played his role well. Unbounded dreams erode limits. Roden kept Silia's in check.
Whoosh!
"Hup! Hah!"
Inhale as he swung, exhale as he recovered. For self-taught mimicry from watching the mansion guards, his swordplay was disciplined and swift.
Clap clap clap.
Applause came from somewhere. Roden turned to see Silia approaching, clapping.
He smirked.
"What, impressed by this big bro's sword skills?"
"Nah, just clapping for how cool you look slacking here while everyone's working."
"..."
Roden deflated at Silia's retort. Once again, he realized she wielded noble wit effortlessly.
He sheathed his wooden sword with a grumpy expression.
"Figures from a great noble. Sheesh."
"Everyone's busy prepping my birthday party, and here you are, living the dream~? Sir Roden?"
To outsiders, Silia seemed to tease Roden, but she was worried. If he'd neglected duties for personal training, the head butler would scold him harshly.
"My shift starts afternoon, Lady Silia."
"Afternoon? Why?"
"Once the hall's ready, the serving staff gathers for practice."
"Oh, got it. But you're serving?"
Roden pouted and shrugged. He understood worlds beyond a normal kid.
"Noble ladies love commoner boys waiting on them. Especially cute, cool, refined ones like me."
"Pfft. Not one thing you said fits. Planning to tarnish the del family name?"
"Ugh, forget it."
Roden clicked his tongue in exasperation, grabbed his sword, and assumed an attack stance.
Swish!
He lunged forward, slashing horizontally—a rudimentary iaijutsu imitation.
"Tch. If only I could use magic."
Roden burned with desire to grow stronger. He'd learned young that only raw power protected what mattered.
But without mana control, he was hitting a wall. Knights could thrive without it—but only so far. Higher peaks demanded mana.
For safeguarding what was precious, too.
Roden glanced at Silia, then irritably tossed his sword down and flopped onto the ground.
"Damn it."
"Tsk tsk, such a temper. Think that'll let you catch up to even Hero Emilia's toes?"
Silia sat gracefully, adjusting her skirt over her shins—comfort disguised as provocation, from her view.
Whoosh. A gust kicked up sand in the field.
Staring blankly at the swirling dust, Roden spoke.
"Just in case."
"What?"
"You know the king's coming to the birthday party, right?"
"Yeah."
"And a bunch of pro-king nobles too."
"So?"
"Be careful. Faith can be poison sometimes."
Silia feigned surprise at Roden's unchildlike words, then turned away.
Roden rarely got this serious amid his usual bravado. It felt odd, but she grasped his meaning and giggled fresh-faced.
"Hee hee, worrying about me? Roden?"
"W-What? No!"
Silia leaned forward, hands on the ground, peering up at him. Flustered by the sudden closeness, Roden blushed and stammered.
"...If you get hurt, the family head hurts too. She's my benefactor."
"Pfft, what a loyal vassal."
Silia sighed in mock exasperation, straightening up.
"Fine, just be careful... Words don't always go as planned."
"Yes yes~ Don't worry, loyal Sir Roden. Thinking of switching to babysitter?"
Roden chuckled at the jab. His impish young face bore a weary, veteran sarcasm unfit for his age.
The Rosel lord was his savior—granting a beggar like him a full belly. Thus, his adopted daughter Silia was no different.
Roden truly worried for her. A careless slip could invite danger.
Swish.
The harsh sand gust faded, replaced by a pleasant autumn breeze.
Meanwhile, at that hour.
Lebion, having finished early breakfast, headed somewhere with head butler Gellion. His stern expression held a touch of gravity. Gellion followed with equal solemnity.
"How's the eraser development going?"
Gellion answered promptly.
"Prototypes are complete, and long-term testing is underway."
"Good. No delays for the birthday party reveal?"
"Of course not. But, family head."
"Yes?"
Lebion halted at Gellion's call.
"How do you come up with such ideas? This old mind couldn't even imagine it."
"Haha, really? I just thought if there's writing, there must be erasing—like how meetings lead to partings."
Gellion's face lit with awe and reverence. How brilliant must this young duke—half his age—be to invent such things?
Turning simple logic into reality demanded daring and genius.
And his lord did it.
Gellion clucked his tongue in admiration.
"Heh heh heh, you truly seem from the future, family head. You amaze me every time."
"Haha, thank you. Shall we go? Hearing the future-shaping weapon's ready makes it hard to stand still."
"Ah, forgive me. This way, family head."
Gellion gestured politely, his hearty laugh fading, and they resumed walking.
Their destination: a clearing northwest of the territory.
Surrounded by walls and fences barring outsiders, it was the so-called Secret Weapon Testing Zone.
Secret Weapon Testing Zone
"Welcome, Lord."
A man greeted them—short-cropped hair, rugged macho features, burly build. Total Siege Captain Duraton.