How He Repays the Favor (1)
The late autumn chill warmed under the midday sun. Dozens of party tables dotted the vast garden, and a platform stood adorned with vibrant flowers. Skilled servants stood between the tables, trays laden with wine, napkins, and delicacies at the ready to serve the noble houses.
♪ ♬ Orchestras flanked the platform left and right, piping lively tunes on flutes, organs, and viols, as if celebrating a birthday. But all instruments fell silent at the entrance of the day's host.
It was Rosel, splendidly attired. He ascended the platform, first nodding politely to Brikal at the nearest table before addressing the crowd.
"I sincerely thank all you distinguished guests for traveling far to celebrate Silia's birthday today. The clear skies suggest even God Kallis offers his blessing. Please enjoy the food, wine, and music we've prepared with utmost care."
The crowd erupted in applause. As the brief speech ended, Silia climbed the platform, clutching a small harp, her face taut with nerves. Rosel gazed at her fondly for a moment, then turned back to the assembly.
"To greet our honored guests, our Silia has diligently practiced her harp."
Clap clap clap. Sadly, Silia's singing left much to be desired, so they'd opted for instrumental. Hopeless with music, she'd spent a full month perfecting just one piece. Amid the cheers, Silia—frozen stiff—crossed her legs demurely and bowed.
"Thank you so much for coming to celebrate my birthday. My meager talent... please, listen well...!"
Clap clap clap. Applause rained down once more. Silia drew a deep breath, her eyes catching Roden.
'Fighting!' he mouthed with a nod. She nodded back and began her harp melody. Rosel listened with equal tension.
♪ ♬ Thankfully, a month's toil bore fruit; Silia nailed the performance flawlessly. The beautiful strains moved the crowd, who responded with thunderous acclaim.
Clap clap clap clap.
Whooo~! Best ever~!
Superb, Lady Silia~!
Finest playing I've heard lately~!
Whistles and cheers filled the air with praise. Of course, some managed only tepid claps, faces sour. Among them lurked Lubran Count, nursing deep grudge against Rosel since the slave auction. His 500-gold bid had felt mocked by that insulting 200-gold snatch.
'Hmph, garbage playing. Sycophantic pigs.'
He'd come only because, like Rosel, he was pro-king. A mere count couldn't snub the king's presence.
"Thank you."
Silia bowed and descended. Lively orchestra strains signaled the party's true start, delighting the throng.
"Dad... did I do good?"
"You bet—the best. Great job."
Rosel ruffled her hair, leading her to Brikal's table. Time for Silia to make her rounds. First stop: the king, naturally.
Brikal had already drained a bottle of wine. Hard to tell if he'd come to celebrate or carouse.
"Hahaha! Lady Silia, maturing nicely, eh? Fine playing too. Ha ha!"
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Can't greet such talent empty-handed. Hey!"
His aide swiftly handed over a glossy black gem: a one-carat black diamond, worth five gold coins.
"Payment for the treat. Masterful."
"Y-Your Majesty, it's too much. Please, take it back."
Rosel flustered, trying to intervene, but Brikal's glazed eyes brooked no refusal.
"Bah, just a trinket."
Gifting a five-gold one-carat black diamond for a single tune. Rosel yielded to the king's blatant vanity, arrogance, and excess. Silia accepted it; Brikal chuckled, patting her cheek.
"Adorable. Sharp as your father."
"Th-thank you..."
"Heh, sure. But."
Brikal pulled back, chugged wine, and slumped against his chairback. The mood flipped; Rosel tensed.
"Gifting trash like a black diamond—what a blunder."
"N-no, it's already overly generous."
"Birthday girl gets 500 gold from Daddy. Mine looks pathetic by comparison."
Brikal's quip nearly stopped Rosel's heart. Mentioning Emilia before Silia—as a gift—was unforeseen.
Rosel glanced anxiously at Silia. He knew her ideals of freedom, equality, peace... and her sisterly devotion to Isel. He swallowed hard.
"Well, Lady Silia? Like Daddy's birthday present?"
Brikal fixed her with a predator's stare. Knowing the probe via his daughter, Rosel moved to reply—but Silia spoke first, unflinching.
"The slave Isel, you mean?"
"Ah, renamed Isel?"
"Yes. Father gave her that name so she never forgets her station."
"Haha, cruel touch. You've a ruthless streak, Rosel? Ha ha."
Brikal laughed, swigging wine—yet his eyes tracked Silia's face.
"Not cruel, Your Majesty. She's a regicide traitor. Spared by your mercy alone, but no more favors here. Only fitting."
Silia met his gaze steadily. Pleased, Brikal bellowed laughter.
"Ha ha! Hahahaha! Rosel! Daughter-raising suits you. How's she so sharp? Ha ha ha!"
"Her wit's the capital's gossip. True indeed, Your Majesty," the aide added.
Rosel exhaled, stroking Silia's hair.
"Ah... ha ha. Overpraise."
Silia beamed up at him. Needless worry, after all.
* * *
The noon-to-midnight revelry left all deep in cups. Brikal's indulgence demanded it. Rosel feigned sips, discreetly dumping his wine, mind sharp.
"Dad... sleepy."
Around ten, Silia rubbed drowsy eyes.
"Go bid His Majesty goodnight, then bed."
"Okay."
Silia pecked Rosel's cheek, greeted Brikal, and slipped inside. Rosel wearied of the ticking bomb but, as family head, stayed glued.
'Please... just pass out drunk.'
Brikal was sloshed—stumbling, refilling brims. Oblivious. Rosel prayed for night's end, seated—till someone plopped beside him at the round table.
"Duke Rosel~ Ha ha, looking pleased?"
"Pardon?"
Lubran Count. Face beet-red, hammered. Rosel bristled inwardly.
"Ah... ha ha, grand mood."
"Hahaha, congrats."
"Thanks."
"Nah, that."
"...Pardon?"
"Congrats snagging continent's top beauty as sex slave~ Ha ha ha."
Rosel froze. Desperate to defuse the line-crossing, but sloshed Lubran barreled on.
"How's she? Gutted missing at 300 gold~ Ha ha."
"How's what?"
"Aw~ C'mon, Duke, you know~"
"..."
Silia's party. No wish to shatter it first; Rosel turned away mute.
"Eh~? Haven't sampled yet? Hahaha. Pity. Hoped for your bedroom tales—vicarious fun."
"..."
The swine count yammered on. Rosel crushed his napkin, fist clenching. Lubran's clout? Laughable. Could muzzle that filth for duke-insult. One more slip, and 'ducal offense' charges—but Brikal's roar yanked all focus.
"Alright~! Lady's off to dreamland~ Real party's on~!"
Brikal teetered onstage, bottle in grip. Lubran clamped shut, rapt.
"First~ Introduce castle pride: our torturer~ Sregon~ Up here."
Sregon mounted grinning sheepishly. Burn scars sheared half his hair; witchy hooked nose screamed menace.
"Sregon runs our dungeon. Confessions? Fills five wagons. Ha ha ha."
"Too kind."
Torture post-confession. All knew; none spoke.
Brikal slung an arm, thumping his chest.
"Heh, killer skills. Nabbed that traitor wench's confession lately. How long?"
"Sixty-five days."
"Hahaha! Right—sixty-five. Dungeon record."
"Yes, ha ha. Big effort."
All knew the target; silence held. Rosel shut eyes, sighing. Hoped gale was zephyr—but Brikal's mask slipped, unleashing blizzard.
"Now~! Rosel~!!"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Rosel rose, schooling his face.
"You shelled 500 gold for this guy's masterpiece, right!?"
"...Yes."
"Ha ha ha! Show our Elond nobles a peek. Fetch her."
Rosel's heart thundered. Calm facade held; eyes sought Gellion.
The hated order escaped.
"...Bring Isel."
"Yes, family head."
* * *
"Hehe hum~ Full tummy now?"
Rubbing sleepy eyes into the mansion, Silia sneaked from her room, raided the kitchen covertly, and headed off—food in tow.
Excuse. Sleep tugged, sure—but sharing party treats with Hero-sama mattered more. She'd feigned bedtime.
Silia padded lightly down the hall. Servants swarmed nobles—no detection risk. Debut distant, no valet yet. Third floor? Off-limits sans business.
Knock knock, knock knock knock.
Announcing herself at Isel's door. No stir within.
"Huh?"
Knock knock, knock knock knock. Still nothing. Party roar precluded sleep.
Head cocked, she twisted the knob—it swung open.
"What? Hero-sama?"
But Isel's room stood empty.
"W-what? Where'd she go? Something happen...?"
Silia dumped the dish on the table and bolted out.