Uninvited Guests
Biela. The 22-year-old only daughter of a count's family, radiating mature allure. She had been a member of the hero's party that saved the continent. If there was something she wanted, she got it by any means necessary; if there was a goal she desired, she achieved it no matter what. To revive her declining house, she had clawed her way into the hero's party through sheer grit. And finally, with the demon king's defeat, she led her family's resurgence—from viscount to count, complete with gold, silver, and treasures galore.
Of course, it was only half the promised reward, so her dream of expanding into a grand territory remained unfulfilled. But she didn't rage about it. Not while watching the fallen hero, Emilia, meet her ruin. As long as she hadn't ended up like that, she counted herself lucky beyond measure.
That's why she had accepted King Brikal's proposal. She had betrayed Emilia—the one she'd shared a year of trials and tribulations with—without a second thought. The king had persuaded her that they couldn't honor an outsider's contributions. Biela knew it wasn't just because Emilia was a foreigner. Emilia was a woman, just like her. Biela herself had only joined the hero's party thanks to Saintess Yuria's prophecy, by sheer luck.
Looking back even now, it was a bundle of contradictions. A king who despised women and obsessed over male superiority, yet he mobilized the kingdom's scribes at the word of a saintess. Of course, Biela didn't regret it. She was certain she'd make the same choice again.
The false prophecy that the hero would commit treason—Yuria could take that to her grave. The lies about Emilia plotting rebellion throughout the journey—Daltan, Gleon, and she herself could carry those to theirs. Sure, the "porter" had bolted the day before reaching the capital, but he was just a worthless tenant farmer. Even if he showed up now, nothing would change. Biela had cast aside any regrets long ago.
She had only hoped Emilia would quietly accept her wretched fate and live out her days in obscurity. What choice was there? In an absolute monarchy, the king's word was law and truth—defying it made one a traitor. She'd betrayed to survive, and she harbored no regrets over that choice.
Only one thing gnawed at her: the Duke of Rosel, who had bought Emilia for 500 gold coins. The man who had never once shown interest in her overtures, the one who had held her hand and smiled at her social debut ball. She simply couldn't fathom why he'd acquired Emilia.
She wanted to dismiss it as him picking up a comfort doll, but she couldn't shake the nagging sense of defeat. Even by looks or figure, she far outshone Emilia.
That's why she had accompanied her father and family head, Delmarron, to the Rosel estate. It wasn't necessary for her—the daughter—to attend a banquet for family heads and noble ladies, but Biela had come anyway.
Grasping the butler's hand, Biela descended gracefully from the carriage. Rosel, having already greeted her father who had alighted first, turned to look at her.
"...Lady Biela has arrived as well."
"Ah, ho ho ho. She was so eager to see you, Your Grace, that I brought her along."
Delmarron chuckled awkwardly as he said it. From his perspective, a marriage between Biela and Rosel would secure the family's revival like a promised future. That's why he supported their meetings. He had no idea it could never happen.
Rosel lifted only the corner of his mouth in a cold smile.
"Welcome, Lady Biela."
"Delighted to see you, Duke Rosel."
Biela curtsied elegantly, gathering the hem of her dress. Rosel acknowledged it with a mere glance before turning back to Delmarron.
"You've had a long journey. Gellion."
"Yes, my lord."
At Rosel's call, Gellion—who had been standing a step behind, jotting down the guest list—stepped forward with a bow.
"Please escort them to the annex. They'll need to unpack."
"Yes. This way, Lord Delmarron."
"Ho ho, much obliged."
Delmarron, the coachman, and the butler followed Gellion, but Biela didn't budge.
"Father, I'll catch up after a brief chat with Duke Rosel—it's been so long."
Delmarron nodded with a pleased smile. He was a distinguished guest here to celebrate his daughter's birthday, so he knew Rosel wouldn't refuse a "brief chat." Biela approached Rosel.
Even seeing his icy expression, she paid it no mind.
"What is it?"
"Still so chilly to your social debut partner, Duke."
For nobles, a debut ball was crucial. It marked their entry into adult society, and since encounters were rare afterward, the connections formed that night mattered greatly later on. Even this meeting stemmed from being his dance partner at the debut.
But to Rosel, it held little importance.
"...I'd prefer you get to the point."
"Hmph. Can't you at least say thanks for helping defeat the demon king and save the kingdom?"
Biela crossed her arms primly. But Rosel's face remained frigid.
He let out a low sigh.
"If you'd like to chat, come to my study tonight around ten."
He didn't want Isel seeing him converse with Biela. And he had some urgent business to discuss.
Unaware of his intent, Biela smirked.
"Oh? Finally requesting a private meeting?"
"..."
"Well, I suppose I must. See you at ten, Duke Rosel."
With those words to the baffled Rosel, Biela curtsied once more and headed to the annex.
"..."
Rosel watched her retreating figure. The woman who had no idea she'd thrust her hand into a tiger's den.
"What on earth could it be... So many things he wants to tell me...?"
Isel tilted her head at Mila. The warmth of Rosel's morning embrace still lingered in her chest, leaving her lost in thought. His parting words were full of mysteries.
She no longer questioned why he'd bought her. The meaning was all in that hug.
But "so many things he wants to tell you"—that she couldn't grasp.
"Is it something I can't remember...?"
She racked her brain for any other memories with Rosel, but aside from their encounter at court, there were no "cherished moments" to speak of.
"...It's strange."
Yet he spoke as if they shared a wealth of memories. What could it be?
Her prolonged musing was broken by a knock at the door.
—Knock knock, knock knock knock.
It was Silia's knock. Opening the door, Isel saw her enter with a plate of skewered pork dishes.
"Hero! Snuck these for you. So many they won't notice~"
"Ah... Th-thank you, Lady Silia."
"Hee hee. How's the comic coming?"
At Silia's question, Isel showed her the twenty panels she'd drawn.
"Whoa... You did all this in one day?!"
The style was far simpler than modern art, so it went quickly. Plus, being her own story made it easy to progress.
"Yes."
"Amazing...! Can I read it?"
"It's just the early part, no big plot yet... If you'd like..."
"I'd love to! Eat up while I do."
"Y-yes..."
Isel and Silia sat across the table. But Isel hesitated to touch the skewers. Her appetite was gone, her stomach churning at the thought of food—she might just vomit it all up.
News of Brikal's visit dredged up torments she could scarcely bear.
Silence fell briefly.
Silia finished the twenty panels, her eyes wide.
"Whoa...! This is so fun~! Way better than novels!"
"R-really...?"
"Your world is special, Hero. You'll draw more, right?"
"Yes..."
"Hee hee, thanks! Gotta go prep now. Eat every bite, okay?!"
"Ah... Yes, thank you."
Silia rose. The morning held the head butler and her father's guest reception; the afternoon brought the main garden party. Then modest music practice for the honored guests.
As she reached the door, Isel's call stopped her.
"L-Lady Silia."
"Yes?"
"May I ask something...?"
"Sure! Anything!"
Thrilled at her idol asking her a question, Silia beamed and approached.
Isel hesitated, then spoke.
"It might be rude, but... I haven't seen the lady of the house..."
"Lady? Oh, Dad's not married yet~"
"...Pardon? But Lady Silia, you're..."
"I'm his adopted daughter. He saw me crying on the street and took me in."
"Ah..."
Isel nodded, finally understanding. No wonder there was no lady of the house. And Rosel—caring for even a street urchin—earned her profound respect. The more she learned, the greater he seemed.
"Gellion grumbled about it too. Lots of marriage proposals, but Dad rejects them all."
Noble marriage age was typically 17 to 22. Rosel teetered at the upper end. Gellion had scouted options tirelessly, but nothing stuck.
"...Rejects? But his marriage window is closing..."
"He told me this in secret."
Silia cupped her mouth and whispered in Isel's ear. Roden was busy with preparations—no one to overhear.
"He's waiting for someone."
"...Someone he's waiting for?"
"Yep."
Isel suspected who, but said nothing.
"Phew, has everyone who was coming arrived?"
After greeting Grand Duchess Rusillan of the North—likely the farthest traveler—Rosel sighed in relief.
Gellion compared the guest list to the invitations.
"Hmm... Everyone except His Majesty the King. As expected, Count Nebron is absent."
"I see. No word on when His Majesty arrives?"
"I've ordered sentries at every gate to notify us immediately if the royal carriage appears..."
—Flutter flutter.
Gellion's words trailed off. A pigeon from the south. He raised his hand; it perched on his finger. A note was tied to its leg. Reading it, Gellion looked to Rosel.
"They've passed the southern gate."
A grim resolve settled on Rosel's face. His arrival was imminent. The storm approached.
Praying its winds weren't bladed, they waited twenty minutes. At last, the estate's main gate opened. Three carriages entered.
Impossible to tell which held the king—all identically opulent with gold fittings and crests, windows veiled. Vanity incarnate: even the lead horses bore golden saddles.
Rosel bit his lip at the ostentatious procession.
—Neigh, snort.
The horses halted before the mansion. The coachman opened the first carriage's door.
Clunk. The thick door swung wide, revealing gold-leafed interiors.
King Brikal stepped out, spotting Rosel and flashing a toothy grin.
"Oho~ My dear Duke Rosel. Waiting for me?"
Yellowed teeth stained by greed, disheveled golden locks, crooked crown—none of a king's dignity. His breath reeked of liquor already.
Glancing inside, Rosel saw two drunken women, naked and entangled. Swallowing seething rage at the vulgar sight, he bowed deeply.
"Welcome, Your Majesty. An arduous journey—my thanks for coming."
"Ha ha, arduous? For whose invitation? I raced here in an instant."
Brikal laughed, approaching to embrace Rosel familiarly.
Then another emerged from the first carriage. Not familiar, but etched in memory. Ugly mug, bald pate.
Brikal introduced him.
"Ha ha, come down. Sregon."
Sregon—the underground dungeon torturer. The very man who had ravaged Isel's body and soul. Uninvited, here he was.
Brikal patted Sregon's shoulder proudly, tossing out a jest.
"Rosel, you bought this fellow's handiwork, eh? He begged to see his creation, so I brought him. All right?"
Calling Isel a "work of art," Brikal made Rosel's blood surge, but he forced a bitter smile. Not yet. Acting on emotion would only create openings.
Swallowing bile, Rosel bowed to Brikal.
"It's Silia's birthday celebration—the more well-wishers, the better."
"Ha ha ha! As expected! Knew you'd approve. Was worried about his looks. Pu ha ha!"
Two uninvited guests. Ironically, both bore Isel's deep grudge. The next three days promised to be busy indeed.