#22. Beyond Commendable, to Moving.
Thump, thump. A heartbeat utterly out of place in the dead of night came to Isel.
She sniffled, wiping away the last of her runny nose and tears, then slipped into her room. Leaning against the closed door, she stood there.
'Master... you're truly incredible...'
The sight of her master effortlessly bringing Sregon—one of King Brikal's fingers—to his knees had looked so reliable, so dashing. As a slave, it stirred thoughts that overstepped her station, again and again.
But knowing they were improper, she still hoped this thump-thump would go on forever.
Isel scanned her pitch-black room, lit only by faint moonlight filtering through clouds. Tonight, it felt strangely cozy. Was it because of the forgiveness?
Her expression seemed lighter, somehow. Of course, the grudges against her former party members and Brikal remained unresolved. But the nightmares of torture felt like they might finally fade.
Not that she was joyful or ecstatic. She'd only received the apology she was owed, and escaping sixty-five days of hell through it wasn't cause for celebration.
Murky captured it better. Still, her master's efforts made the shattered fragments of her heart feel like they were gathering again. Not yet reassembled into their original form, but like picking up the pieces she'd left scattered.
One by one. If she kept gathering them like this, they might form a single heart again.
The reconstruction of a heart—something she'd never dreamed of, something a traitorous slave criminal like her dared not hope for—was slowly underway.
All thanks to her master, Rosel.
'I had such a huge misunderstanding... I'm sorry...'
At first, she'd thought the man bidding five hundred gold to buy her was a lust-crazed duke. Her shattered mind back then couldn't imagine any other path. Every gaze in the auction hall had reeked of lechery, seen through her rotten, swollen eyes.
'Come to think of it, only Lord Rosel's eyes were different...'
Rumors swirled that Duke Rosel of Rosel Territory never kept slaves, so she'd glanced at him curiously during the auction. His gaze had seemed somehow different, puzzling her. But back then, such questions were futile, so she'd brushed it off. Now, in hindsight, his eyes alone had stood out.
She was grateful—for buying her, for comforting her wounds, for cheering her on, and even for plotting revolution to save the kingdom. For everything.
So Isel resolved to live solely for Rosel from now on. If he wanted her healed, she'd overcome it no matter what. And if he needed help with the revolution, she'd see it through.
That was the only way to repay all this gratitude.
'...Does that mean the saintess's prophecy ends up right after all?'
With Rosel's virtue, history might record it as revolution, but for now, it was treason. The saintess's words would align perfectly.
Even if the revolution stemmed from false charges, she couldn't shake the eerie feeling. Prophecies spoke of outcomes, not processes.
'Well... she never said anything about defeating the Demon King. Just that I was the hero who would save the kingdom.'
Right. Saintess Yuria had never mentioned defeating the Demon King after Isel's arrival. Always, the hero who would save the kingdom.
'Hmm... does the saintess know the revolution will succeed...?'
As her wounds began to heal, past fog cleared from Isel's mind, filling it with visions of the future. No longer fleeing, staring only backward—she now looked ahead, ready to chase.
'Ah, right—Silia said she'd show the comic tomorrow...'
Lost in thought, Isel suddenly remembered and hurried to her table. She lit a single lantern.
No need to hide it—this was fulfilling an order as a slave.
Scribble, scribble.
The comic sparked by Silia, containing her own story—Isel drew it fervently, sacrificing sleep.
Just minutes ago, revolution had ignited, she'd received Sregon's atonement for the past, and wept as she forgave. Yet now, as if nothing happened, she focused on drawing.
Her ravaged body and soul hadn't dared attempt it before. Escaping the clutches of terror's remnants proved easier than expected.
Thus, under the fearless night sky, Isel drew diligently.
* * *
"Whoa... this is... a comic?"
"It's... actually... fun!"
"More!!"
"Super easy to read, and the art's so realistic... but it's... addictive!"
The second day of the banquet began, with King Brikal passed out from a brutal hangover all day. He'd never know Rosel had orchestrated the stage to let him sleep through it unscathed.
Thus, in the peaceful Rosel manor, young ladies and lords gathered at a round table in the garden corner under the warm autumn sun.
The pristine white tablecloth edged with lace felt elegant, laden with post-lunch teas and treats for their enjoyment. Macarons—Rosel Territory's signature delicacy—starred today.
But now, none touched the macarons.
All eyes were on the comic Silia had shrugged and presented.
"Hee-hee, knew you'd love it."
The reaction was explosive, as expected. Just three sheets since it was new, but the snug panels packed with art and dialogue captivated the young nobles fully.
The theme? Hero and adventure. Impossible for them not to adore.
Far fewer words than dense novels, far more intuitive—the children's eyes were hooked.
Of course, some balked at the faces mirroring their own. Isel had drawn in a 'modern' style, but it ended up photorealistic in this world.
To them, it was eerily realistic art—like pasting speech bubbles on photos.
Even so, this revolutionary 'book' enthralled them utterly.
Silia planned to give Isel this 'feedback' later.
"The style feels kinda classic... but it's so fun...! When's more coming?"
"Me too! Show us more!"
The frenzy made Silia scratch her cheek awkwardly.
"Well, that's... all for now. Takes time to draw."
"What? I'm dizzy! Who's drawing it?"
"A... uh, manor servant."
"Whoa, cool. So you get the continuations first? Jealous!"
The young nobles sighed enviously. Rare fun in their dull lives, gone tomorrow.
Silia's shoulders puffed up proudly.
"Hee-hee, wanna see more? Come anytime."
"Oh! Yeah! I'm close!"
Selon, son of the nearest Count Slanda, cheered triumphantly.
Farther nobles looked glum.
"Nngh... wanna see more..."
"Or...! Ask the servant for spoilers?"
"Yeah! So curious!"
They begged desperately, but Silia shook her head firmly.
She didn't want them knowing Isel drew it. Knowing the raw truth poured into it, she treaded carefully.
"No. Way."
"Waaah! At least beg for one more sheet by tomorrow!"
"Hm, I'll mention it."
Meanwhile, north of Rosel Territory—a full day's carriage ride away—Glon, the second son of the 'Ro' family, spoke to his butler behind him.
Glon was none other than the younger brother of Gleon, the mage who'd betrayed Isel.
"Butler Trun..."
Glon's big eyes brimmed with sadness. The butler's filled with dismay.
Glon's gaze pleaded: two-day round trip for that comic?
"Ah, well, that's..."
"Hiiing..."
Butler Trun surrendered. He lived for Glon, after all.
"Ahem... I'll... speak to the count, then."
"Yesss~! Butler Trun's the best!"
Glon beamed childishly; Trun smiled warmly.
Of course, this sparked a frenzy of 'Rosel round trips' for other butlers.
Same age as Silia, the kids had no personal butlers—only escorts for outings like this, pre-debut social practice. Butlers doubled as etiquette coaches.
Thus, Demian stood behind Silia.
Like another world, he stifled chuckles at fellow butlers fawning over the kids.
Isel's three-sheet comic had massive ripple effects.
Silia smirked smugly amid the chaos.
Her idol's true story could spread far now.
Vindicating Hero Emilia's grudge.
* * *
"Hee-hee."
Having triumphantly wrapped the comic tasting(?), Silia trotted into her father's study, clutching the three sheets.
"Daddy~"
"My girl, tea party go well?"
Rosel set down his pen with a smile at her entrance. He'd been double-checking western territory reclamation docs, but Silia came first.
"Yep! Total hit!"
"Hm? What was?"
She giggled, hiding the drawings behind her like a gift.
Secret from Daddy, as promised with Isel.
Flushed with excitement, Silia slap! placed the sheets on his desk.
"This is the 'comic' Hero drew! Showed it at tea—huge reaction!"
"...Comic?"
Rosel blinked in surprise, picking them up.
The title:
Hero's Adventure
His hands trembled faintly.
"Isel... drew this?"
"Yep! Asked what fun stuff's in Hero's world—said comics, so begged her to draw!"
"Haha... comics, huh."
Moisture gathered inexplicably in Rosel's dark eyes.
He'd momentarily forgotten her abilities. Or rather, hadn't thought to utilize them.
Impressed by his praiseworthy foster daughter's idea, he smiled warmly.
"Comics... intriguing."
"Eh? You know them?"
"No. But the story... it's Hero Emilia's, right?"
"Huh? How'd you know? Yes!"
"Haha, Isel drawing her own hero tale... Silia, was this your idea?"
Silia nodded proudly.
"Yep! Oh, told the kids a manor servant drew it. Felt safer...!"
"Good girl. No need for them to know. Commendable."
Had they known Isel drew it, reactions might differ. But Silia foresaw that, anonymizing perfectly.
Unbelievable judgment for a thirteen-year-old. Rosel beamed.
He knew she spent time with Isel, but no rumors among servants meant they were discreet. A thirteen-year-old's insight had limits, but Silia toed the line masterfully.
And he trusted her not to cross it.
"Hee-hee, they went nuts saying they'd rush back here!"
"...Is that so?"
A thought flashed through Rosel's mind. Silia's little breeze might become a mighty tailwind, pushing his advance.
It passed quickly. Gazing at the drawings, he murmured,
"...The art style needs tweaking, though."
"Hee, was gonna tell Hero that!"
Even to Rosel, Isel's style felt off. Comics demanded dreamy, fantastical lines.
He handed the sheets back, stroking her head.
"Commendable—no, utterly moving, truly. You thought of what even this father couldn't. Haha."
"Hee-hee."
"My moving girl, on your way out, fetch Butler Gellion? Seems we have urgent business."
"Yep!"
Rosel knew: might and voice weren't all that moved the world.
Culture's power transcended race and creed, forging unity.
He knew it well.