#23. The One Not Stained by the Crimson Petrified Substance
Late afternoon. At the hour when the sun was beginning to scatter the hues of sunset, Rosel's chief steward Gellion and Brikal's royal guard captain Dubel walked side by side along the garden's stone path. It was a companionship without destination.
Dubel had been patrolling aimlessly to safeguard the still-bedridden Brikal's well-being. Gellion, meanwhile, strolled to attend to the nobles gathered in small groups, enjoying the rare peace and engaging in pleasant conversation. Their paths had simply converged by chance.
"It's been a while, Sir Gellion."
Dubel broke the ice first. A lukewarm breeze whistled through, tousling his blue hair. The long scar on his right cheek lent his face a somewhat fierce air, but overall, he carried a melancholic impression.
Gellion inclined his head slightly toward Dubel in greeting.
"You've endured much hardship, Sir Dubel."
"No more than you, Sir Gellion."
"Haha, I won't deny it."
Dubel chuckled softly in response to Gellion's jest. Then, he decided to seek answers from him about the lingering question that had plagued him since the previous night.
"By the way... since when has Duke Rosel been able to wield mana?"
"...Pardon? He wielded mana?"
Gellion's surprised expression mirrored Dubel's own.
"...You didn't know, Sir Gellion?"
"Hahaha, of course not. Our lord cannot wield mana. Just two months ago, during the development of a magic weapon, he accidentally absorbed some released mana into his body and fainted on the spot."
A body incapable of wielding mana didn't necessarily mean one would always faint upon exposure. Dubel himself had achieved perfect resistance to mana through extreme physical reinforcement. Moreover, officially produced artifacts from the Alchemist Association absorbed mana on behalf of the wearer, preventing any internal effects.
Thus, noble houses unable to manipulate mana often wore artifacts in various forms. But those artifacts, being concentrations of advanced mana technology, were prohibitively expensive for commoners.
However, Rosel wasn't a man who couldn't wield mana. He simply chose not to. The fainting incident during weapon development had been due to an explosion, not mana absorption—at least, that's how it appeared to Gellion's eyes. Especially since wearing artifacts at the development site was strictly forbidden, as they could interfere with unstable prototypes.
Of course, Gellion now knew that Rosel had at some point gained the ability to wield mana. But honoring his lord's will to keep it secret even from close aides like himself, he shared only the past recollection with Dubel. After all, no one knew better than he that Duke Rosel was not the sort to create needless secrets.
Dubel furrowed his brow. True, last night had been chaotic, and the faint black mana shimmering in Rosel's hand had been hard to distinguish from the shadows.
"Hmm... then perhaps I was mistaken."
"Haha, he's never claimed he couldn't wield mana. But at least the lord I know isn't particularly intimate with mana."
"Haha, understood."
With that, their conversation paused briefly. Chirp chirp chirp—the sparrows gathered in the garden bushes sang in place of an orchestra, tickling their ears.
Gellion resumed the talk.
"Sir Dubel."
"Speak."
"Your knightly convictions remain unchanged, I presume?"
"..."
Dubel hesitated at Gellion's sudden question, knowing its intent all too well.
He and Gellion went back a long way. They'd stood together when the scar on Dubel's cheek was first carved—ten years of shared history. Back then, they'd served the same lord. Now, they served different ones.
Gellion knew the meaning of that scar on Dubel's cheek, which was why he'd asked. Dubel was an honest man, a knight who lived to uphold the oath sworn on his unyielding convictions. Surely, he didn't welcome Brikal's tyranny.
Dubel knew Gellion was a staunch royalist—or so he thought—and let out a low hum. The question probed whether the heavy conviction binding him as the king's protector had wavered.
...Gellion had asked in the opposite sense, but Dubel didn't realize it yet.
"Hmm..."
"Hahaha, no need to answer."
"...An oath is a knight's very life."
With a sigh, Dubel cast aside his hesitation and gave the answer Gellion wanted to hear. It wasn't a lie—just confusing.
"Haha, indeed. A knight must be so."
Gellion smiled bitterly. Then, as if reflecting the question's true intent, Dubel countered.
"Last night, Duke Rosel smashing that young servant's head... it resembled His Majesty King Brikal quite a bit."
"..."
This time, Gellion fell silent at Dubel's riposte—though for different reasons.
"Do you truly think so, Sir Dubel?"
"Haha, didn't you see it too, Sir Gellion? Well, it's inevitable. Anyone who soaks too long in the crimson petrified substance is bound to be stained by it."
"..."
Gellion fell silent again. The loyalty in his eyes toward Rosel remained utterly unwavering.
And it pained him that Dubel couldn't see that faith.
Ten years ago, they had fought back-to-back to protect Lady Ronsha, then just sixteen, now departed from this world. It was during an ambush on her journey to debut at high society.
Back then, he'd served a lord worthy of honor, just as Dubel had. But now...
Dubel, serving a lord who had forsaken honor, was truly pitiable. The "inevitability" he spoke of—being stained by prolonged immersion in the crimson petrified substance—was ironically applying to him. He probably didn't realize it.
Of course, no one said a tyrant couldn't be served. It was just that Gellion mourned how Dubel had forgotten the noble glory of serving that upright lord ten years ago.
Thus, after a moment of silence, Gellion said to Dubel,
"Sir Dubel, do you have a moment?"
"For what?"
"There's something I want to show you."
What could it be? Dubel followed Gellion, puzzled by the steward's suddenly solemn demeanor. His curiosity grew when they stopped before a door bearing a small plaque reading [Infirmary].
What was the intent? Arriving at the infirmary seemed to revisit last night's events. Was he perhaps holding his own lord accountable for being tainted by Brikal's tyranny?
Click.
The infirmary door opened. Following Gellion inside, Dubel saw Roden lying on the sickbed.
"...He's not woken from his stupor?"
"Haha, no. He's just sleeping peacefully."
"I see..."
At the words "peaceful sleep," Dubel offered condolences, interpreting it as eternal rest.
Gellion smiled again.
"Hahaha, he's truly just sleeping. He'll wake soon."
"...R-Really?"
Color returned to Dubel's grief-stricken face. He knew Roden—had seen him playing amiably with Lady Silia several times. Roden's collapse should have pained him too.
"But I clearly saw the wine bottle shatter..."
"Our lord sacrificed my hand for it."
"S-Sacrificed your hand? But he fainted, didn't he?"
"Haha, it seems he released the mana stored in the artifact into young Roden."
"Ah...! S-So he shattered the wine bottle with my hand and then channeled mana to knock Roden out?"
Dubel had never heard of a technique to release mana from an artifact, but it seemed plausible enough not to question. He was simply astonished that Duke Rosel had shown such ingenuity in that dire moment.
"Haha, that's what happened. I felt it necessary to show you, Sir Dubel."
With this, Gellion wanted to demonstrate to Dubel that there were still lords worthy of service in the world. He hoped this realization would remind him: even immersed in the crimson petrified substance, one need not be stained like his own lord. He wished Dubel, at least, would not lose the glory of ten years past—even if that glory had ended in failure, it could yet reemerge.
Gellion pulled the blanket up over Roden's chest and said,
"Our lord has shown that not everyone immersed in the crimson petrified substance is stained by it."
"...Haha... I was the fool."
Dubel laughed hollowly. Yes, Duke Rosel—renowned for his benevolence and gentle nature—couldn't possibly be like that. It was obvious, yet he'd failed to see it amid the confusion.
In the end, the one stained by the crimson petrified substance had been himself.
"...Thank you, Sir Gellion."
"Hahaha, no need. We simply hope the crimson petrified substance clears."
"Will that water ever be purified...?"
Gellion looked at Dubel, then warmly clapped his shoulder with a smile.
"Sir Dubel, you need only guard the pond until the crimson petrified substance is purified. Isn't that the role of a royal guard? Just like that day ten years ago."
Having witnessed countless nobles, Gellion knew humans could fall into corruption or rise to purity. The pond, once clear, was merely dyed red now. It was still a pond, and he simply hoped it would regain its clarity.
Dubel nodded, as if grasping something, his confused heart somewhat settled by Gellion's broad perspective.
"Haha, that doesn't mean Duke Rosel has raised a banner against King Brikal. He simply knows how to protect what's his in this chaotic world."
Dubel gazed at Gellion—brimming with loyalty, affection, and respect—with eyes of admiration.
"...There's no greater honor than serving a worthy lord with true heart. I'm envious, Sir Gellion."
"Hahaha, that day of glory will come for you too, Sir Dubel. Just don't forget the honor of ten years ago."
"Haha, I hope so."
Then—bang—the infirmary door flew open.
"Ah, there you are."
It was Silia, come to relay her father's summons.
Dubel nodded politely to her.
"Ah, Lady Silia. I haven't properly greeted you yet. Happy birthday, sincerely."
"Heehee, thank you, Sir Dubel."
"You can drop the honorific."
Silia had always addressed Dubel with "sir." He'd always asked her to use his name informally, but she'd always replied the same.
"Sir Dubel protects His Majesty the King—he does such an amazing job, how could I?"
"..."
Dubel looked at Silia and thought: She truly resembles Lady Ronsha from ten years ago, whom he'd protected with his duty.
That evening, peace lingered in the mansion's garden as faint darkness settled. Brikal still hadn't shaken off his hangover.
After exchanging greetings with various nobles, Rosel—the architect of that peace—slipped into Isel's room while all the servants were distracted by the noble houses. It hardly mattered if anyone saw; a master entering his slave's room was only natural.
After a brief private meeting with Isel, Rosel picked up the now-empty bowl and headed to the kitchen. Thanks to the ongoing party and banquet since yesterday, there was no shortage of food, and he wasn't hungry. Of course, he'd skip meals after the banquet ended.
Isel had insisted bread alone was fine, but for Rosel, who had resolved to cherish her, her meals were a grave matter. He knew a healthy body housed a healthy spirit.
Placing the bowl in the dish tub, Rosel turned to return to the banquet hall. But from the shadows in the kitchen corner, someone called to him.
"My lord."
The voice belonged to none other than head maid Jichel.