One Word Incurs a Debt of a Thousand Nyang. (2)
October 22nd, 1 AM. The lord's mansion housed an underground dungeon. Though there was a separate facility in the territory for holding criminals, this one was reserved for when the lord wished to administer personal punishment—keeping the offender close to witness their remorse and torment firsthand.
Rosel Territory was a duke's grand domain, so by convention, it should have featured a proper lord's castle. Yet Rosel had forgone building one. Instead of erecting a towering fortress and spires on the high ground to the north of the territory, he had opted for an ordinary mansion.
When Gellion first arrived, he had asked Rosel about it.
—Why do you live in a mansion rather than building a lord's castle?
Anyone with power dreamed of castle life, so Gellion couldn't help but wonder. Every noble he'd served before had resided in a castle. Even Fellod, a mere baron of a minor fief, lived in a grand one.
But Rosel's reply that followed had shocked him deeply.
—A lofty castle would force the people to crane their necks in awe. I merely wished to spare them the stiff necks, haha.
It was a jest-tinged answer, but from that moment, Gellion realized it: Duke Rosel was no ordinary noble.
In any case, Rosel had insisted on the mansion, but it lacked for nothing a castle might have—including an underground dungeon. For two years, dust had layered thickly over that cell. Now, out of nowhere, it had a guest.
The presence scattered the long-reigning vermin with a rustle, sending them skittering into the shadows.
"Ugh..."
And there, bound to a chair and unconscious until now, Sregon groaned as he opened his eyes.
"Awake, are you?"
"Ugh...?"
As Sregon stirred, Rosel approached. A single torch flickered lonely, illuminating his field of vision. No mercy glinted in Rosel's eyes, reflected in that flame.
Clank.
Sregon, limbs shackled to the armrests and legs of the iron chair bolted to the floor, lifted his head. He bellowed at Rosel, who gazed down at him with icy detachment.
"Wh-what is this outrage?! Duke Rosel, have you lost your mind?!"
"...The debt proved larger than expected, so I'm giving you a chance to atone for it."
"What? Atone? Quit fooling around and untie me now!!"
Rosel knelt, leaning in to meet Sregon's repulsive face. His heavy bass rumbled chillingly through the cramped cell.
"...Does this feel like a joke?"
"Wh-what?! Why are you doing this all of a sudden?! I'm Sregon!"
"And I'm Rosel. No need for introductions between us, surely?"
Rosel smirked, patted the stunned Sregon's shoulder, and brushed off his hands. Terror-stricken, Sregon wailed desperately.
"Do you even grasp what it means to lay hands on me?!"
"I do. It means severing one of Brikal's fingers. The thumb, no less."
"...What?"
Sregon's hooked nostrils flared wide at Rosel's calm tone.
"Afraid? I had this chair made to match the one in the royal palace dungeon exactly. It should be quite comfortable."
"Wh-what...?"
Sregon's trembling purple pupils darted over the chair. He realized Rosel's words weren't bluster. The color, shape, height—all identical.
"H-how did you...?"
"No need to be impressed. So, do you like the chair?"
"...Wh-why are you doing this?! This is treason! Think King Brikal will let it slide?!"
Sregon spat flecks of saliva, veins bulging in his neck. Rosel fought the urge to plug his ears at the nauseating voice—but held his composure.
"Not treason. Revolution."
"What? You're truly mad?! Untie me now! If you do, I'll pretend this never happened!!"
"I told you. I'm giving you a chance to atone for your debt."
"Atone? What nonsense are you spouting?! Rosel!!"
Finally overcome by fear and rage, Sregon shrieked. Rosel winced briefly at the grating voice, then exhaled slowly.
"...The way to atone is simple. Repent sincerely. That's all."
"What? Repent for what exactly?!"
"For the atrocities you committed in that underground dungeon. From here on, it's entirely up to you. I hope I can show you mercy."
Rosel crossed his arms, eyes flashing with menace. He meant it literally. It was now Sregon's move entirely—and Rosel sincerely hoped for mercy's sake he chose wisely.
Yet unexpectedly, a fawning obsequiousness crept into Sregon's mismatched eyes, like a pup facing a tiger. The mana Rosel had unleashed before he passed out had been that overwhelming. His black mana felt alien, more potent than any Sregon had sensed.
And he knew better than anyone: stubbornness here meant no escape. As the royal dungeon's torturer, Sregon knew the strong-willed, the frail, the resilient—all met the same end. Conviction and oaths were futile vanities in this chair. He, of all people, knew it well.
"It-it wasn't your doing, was it? But how am I supposed to repent? Even if I do now, will you accept it as sincere?"
"...Show me your sincerity. I'll help."
With those murmured words, Rosel unlocked the cell door. Isel stepped through the dim shadow first—and for some reason, Sregon felt dread at the reversal of master and servant.
"E-Emilia...?"
October 22nd, 12:30 AM. Having spent intimate time with Silia, Isel sat alone in her room—not on the cold floor anymore, but in a chair at the round table. She nibbled slowly at the jerky Silia had left her, staring blankly at the moonlight.
"..."
A knock came. Hearing her master Rosel's voice, Isel smiled softly and opened the door at once.
"Master."
"All clean now?"
"Yes... yep."
"Ah, you were eating. Sorry to interrupt."
Rosel's gaze flicked to the obviously cold jerky. Isel shook her head.
"No, I'm grateful you came, Master. Roden... he's okay, right?"
"...You saw?"
"Yep... that hand of yours... is it alright?"
Rosel raised his bandaged hand. The deep wounds throbbed, but he paid them no mind. He had no time for such trifles now. Still, Isel's concern drew a wry chuckle.
"...Today, you're the one who hurts. And here you are worrying about me?"
Thanks to Roden, disaster had been averted—but Isel was the only one in this group who had swallowed her grief. It pained him that she fretted over mere scratches when her heart must ache.
"Ah... your hand looks badly hurt..."
"It's nothing compared to your wounds. Don't worry."
"M-Master..."
She hadn't been hurt. Just a bit weary. But his warm words—It's nothing compared to your wounds—made her realize the truth: she had been hurt, and it had wearied her. Her pain-numbed heart had hidden the injury.
Isel's eyes welled up, misty and tender.
"Isel."
"Yes...?"
Rosel spread his arms. Today had been grueling for him too. He wanted to hold her, sharing their weary hearts.
"You endured today's trials well. May I hold you?"
"...Of course."
Isel gladly stepped into Rosel's broad embrace. He drew a deep breath, then exhaled long and soft. Holding her like this—much like holding Silia—melted away his fatigue. A soothing balm for the harsh day.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't protect you properly."
"No. Roden and you kept me safe. This much, I can bear. Thank you."
"...Such a good girl."
Releasing the tight hug, Rosel looked at her.
"But... is something wrong?"
Noting his heavy, sunken air, Isel asked anxiously. Rosel stroked her arm and spoke.
"...We need to talk."
His expression, a mix of joy and sorrow, made Isel swallow hard. And soon, she was stunned. It was utterly unimaginable.
"I've locked Sregon in the mansion's underground dungeon. He can't move a muscle."
"...P-pardon?"
Isel doubted her ears. What was this sudden talk? She knew better than anyone that Sregon was Brikal's favored torturer—making Rosel's claim sound like fantasy.
But Rosel's face showed no great change, as always.
"What was destined to begin has now started."
"...B-but surely not because of me...?"
Fear gripped her. She knew without asking: he'd imprisoned Sregon for her sake.
Rosel smiled gently, as if to say not to worry.
"Didn't I promise to save you?"
"B-but... if you touch him..."
Her fear wasn't for herself. It was for her master, Rosel—and Silia. Imprisoning Sregon was a direct challenge to Brikal. She could endure her own pain, but not if it hurt them.
Anticipating her dread, Rosel kept smiling at her.
"Don't worry. I'm not that fragile."
"But... if King Brikal finds out..."
"Sregon is just the beginning. Your salvation will become the kingdom's. How could I stand idle?"
"Pardon...? The kingdom's salvation?"
"As you know, the current king is steeped in arrogance, debauchery, vanity, extravagance—all manner of vice."
Enthralled by his eloquence, Isel nodded.
"Ironically, exiling powerful nobles to the borders deters foreign invasion. But arrows can turn direction anytime."
Isel's pupils widened gradually. His words echoed her own crimes—but unlike her shrinking self, Rosel's presence seemed to grow immense.
"Th-then... King Brikal..."
"It's not time yet. His military might is the kingdom's strongest, after all. But starting with Sregon, I'll spread my wings."
"..."
"Wings folded away for far too long. So don't worry. No matter what, I'll be with you."
Isel's mouth fell open. She knew her lord's grand ambitions were no bluff. He achieved what he desired, executed what he willed—that was Duke Rosel. Her fear didn't linger. She believed him utterly, even unto death.
Her trembling eyes steadied; her smile returned. It wasn't just her salvation at stake. If it led to the kingdom's too, she had every reason to set fear aside.
"Understood, Master. What should I do...?"
Perhaps she truly was fated to save the kingdom. Though shipwrecked by trials, meeting Lord Rosel proved it. Had Saintess Yuria foreseen this destiny?
Rosel smiled with her.
"First, let's overcome your trauma."
His smile brimmed with unprecedented conviction and kindness.
"I'll fulfill your destiny as the Hero. For you."
The revolution he'd awaited so long—for her—was now beginning.
October 22nd, 1 AM.
"E-Emilia...?"
Sregon's panicked eyes sought Rosel.
"Surely you're not telling me to beg forgiveness from that slave bitch?"
"Don't want your debt forgiven?"
"N-no, but this is too much! She's a traitor, and I merely disposed of her justly!"
Killing intent flickered again in Rosel's eyes. As it sharpened, Sregon flinched. It was an overwhelming force unlike Brikal's wrath.
"Do you truly believe her a traitor? I won't ask twice."
"...What?"
Sregon looked dumbfounded. The king had declared her traitor; he'd extracted a confession via torture. Fact. History. Yet he hesitated.
Suddenly, he strained with all his might to snap the chains—futilely, of course.
"Don't be foolish. I used the same material to bind even a half-orc's strength."
"Urgh! You bastard!! Think you'll get away with this?!"
Isel, faced with his mad visage, hadn't yet entered the cell. Fear held her back. His ugliness lingered vividly.
"I won't show ugliness before Isel. Last warning—listen well. Did you truly see her as a traitor and torture her for it?"
"..."
Sregon fell silent. Rosel's gaze pierced him like an omniscient god, dragging out his secrets.
"...N-no... Sorry... I had no choice."
In the end, he gave the answer Rosel sought. This steel chair always produced the desired response. And it was true. Knowing Brikal's scheme, he'd tortured her anyway—for the thrill of corrupting the radiant Hero's honor.
Satisfied, Rosel—leaning against the wall—approached and freed Sregon's arm from the armrest. Chains clattered limply to the floor.
"...Y-you forgive me?"
"I'm not the one to forgive you."
But Rosel left his legs bound. As Sregon stared puzzled, Rosel glanced at Isel, still outside the cell.
"Kneel and prostrate yourself before Isel. Beg her forgiveness."
"What...?"
Ordered to grovel before the slave he'd broken, Sregon despaired.
"For the debt of a thousand nyang—beg her that much."