#28. Memories: Their Circumstances, Their Efforts
A sweltering summer day in the year 1025 of the Continental Calendar.
Wearing a straw hat, a man sweated profusely as he tended his fields. His name was Rapelon. Once an ordinary commoner and tenant farmer, he now lived a free-spirited life. He went wherever he pleased, driven by instinct and wanderlust. Though his only gift was a sturdy body, he roamed the kingdom fueled by a thirst for adventure and a strong sense of justice.
Of course, a commoner like him couldn't afford to travel the whole country. He had no wealthy patron. So he put his robust physique to good use, working as a porter for merchant caravans moving between territories. It was a win-win: he earned coin and traveled safely under the protection of the caravan guards.
That didn't mean dangers were absent. He'd nearly died crossing a mountain range after encountering a red mountain goat, and he'd been wounded fighting off bandits alongside the guards. Yet he never stopped wandering. During those journeys, he'd even sketched a map of the kingdom, cherishing those happy days.
After five years of traversing the land, one spring day he settled into a small nest on the western mountains of a minor territory. Midway up a breathtaking slope, he'd built a humble cabin for a temporary respite. One step back for two steps forward—a brief rest after five years on the road, all to plan a grand ten-year continental odyssey.
"Ugh, it's filthy hot. Time for lunch."
Finally surrendering to the blazing sun, Rapelon doffed his straw hat, fanning himself with it as he ducked into the cabin.
It was sparsely furnished, meant only as a pit stop for regrouping. Still, he cooked wise recipes picked up from his travels, enjoying meals that lacked for nothing, and slept soundly on his simple bed. Perhaps those very skills destined him to be the hero party's porter. With his adventurous spirit, justice-driven heart, battle-hardened muscles for hauling heavy loads, and superior survival know-how, anyone could see he was a top-tier 'porter.' His notes on shortcuts and escape routes across the land would later help the hero party reach the Demon King's castle swiftly and safely—he was born for the role.
"Hmm, harvest in autumn, stock up on travel funds, and hit the road right after."
Finishing a simple meal, Rapelon sprawled on the floor, eyeing a continental map as he muttered to himself. His gaze fixed on the Bellarun Empire. The rough sketch showed only kingdoms, empires, capitals, and major territories. He planned to chart the empire in detail over the next ten years.
Of course, those plans would all come to naught due to the saintess's decree, but for now, such dreams still burned in his heart.
"Yaaawn~ Getting sleepy. Might as well nap."
Rolling up the map and tying it with string, Rapelon stretched with a lazy yawn and closed his eyes.
But an approaching presence snapped them open again. Grabbing a kitchen knife from the makeshift kitchen, he pressed against the wall by the open doorway—no door was a luxury here. This remote mountain valley saw no human traffic; any visitor's intentions were likely foul. Tense, he gripped the handle tight and held his breath.
Thud. Thud.
The footsteps drew nearer. No effort to mask them, but survival lessons from the road preached suspicion upon suspicion.
As they reached the threshold, Rapelon raised the knife.
"Anyone home?"
A man's voice, as expected. Polite tone, but Rapelon held his doubt. No close friends or comrades would trek this deep into the wilds. Silence met the intruder, who then crossed the threshold into the cabin.
...A noble?
Rapelon crept behind him, knife poised to strike. The antique black cloak and neatly groomed black hair screamed high birth—worlds apart from his own. Suspicion surged. What noble wandered these mountains without attendants?
"Don't turn around. Unless you want a hole in that precious body of yours."
"...Quite the rude greeting."
As Rapelon pressed the blade to the man's waist, he raised his hands to signal no threat.
"How'd you find this place?"
No bandits or thieves nearby, and with the Demon King defeated a century ago, even remnant monsters were long purged. No beasts lurked here—that's why he'd chosen it for rest. A hiker? Hardly, given his garb.
"I have a message. Stay calm."
"...For me?"
"Hmm, a sort of proposal."
"State your identity first."
"Will you believe me if I do?"
Rapelon's grip tightened on the knife.
"I don't want to gut a noble and face the headsman. Your identity—now."
The grave tone hinted at status, but Rapelon kept the blade ready. The cabin might already be surrounded. Best to take a hostage if things went south.
The man turned his head just enough to glance back. Gentle black eyes, straight nose, and a faintly upturned mouth—no malice there.
"My name is Lebion del Rosel. The world calls me the Duke of Black Flame, a rather embarrassing moniker."
The Duke of Black Flame, Rosel. The free-spirited commoner Rapelon. That was their first meeting.
"You expect me to believe that?"
Now seated together in the cabin, wariness gone, Rapelon stared at Rosel in disbelief.
The Demon King Belkus, vanquished over a century ago by the previous hero party, was set to revive—in ten days. Rosel, who'd conquered territories from west to east, south to north, was famed for his prophetic gifts; Rapelon had heard the tales aplenty. But the timing was one thing—the idea that he, of all people, was chosen as porter for the next hero party? Hard to swallow.
He knew Rosel's achievements. But prophets, in his mind, tossed out a hundred guesses and got praised for the one hit. This was surely just another miss. Though trekking to this wilderness for such a wild prophecy was baffling.
"...I get it's hard to believe. I won't force you."
"I'd love to trust Your Grace, but I'm just a lowly commoner with nothing but this body. How could I shoulder such a grave duty?"
Rosel smiled faintly. He knew Rapelon better than anyone; no need to press faith.
Donning his cloak, Rosel rose.
Rapelon stood too. "W-wait, Your Grace. You're just leaving?"
"I had a request, but without your trust, it's impossible. This ends our meeting. If faith in me grows, seek me in my territory."
With that, Rosel departed. Rapelon followed to the entrance, gaping at the receding figure.
"...What the hell."
He'd come all this way just to drop an absurd prophecy about joining the hero party as porter, then leave? Complex emotions swirled. What was the angle? Why trek here to prophesy and vanish, when a retainer could summon him? It felt like he wanted something—trust, maybe—but gave none in return. To Rapelon, it was pure bafflement.
"...Duke Rosel. What an inscrutable man."
Pondering long, Rapelon shrugged it off. Whatever. If such a grand role fell to an adventure-loving, justice-bound soul like him, great. Porter work? Right up his alley.
"Eh, screw it. Nap time."
He lay down for that sweet siesta as planned.
Exactly ten days after Rosel's departure, a retainer from the royal palace arrived, citing the Demon King's descent. Rapelon was led to the palace.
"Me?!"
Upon arrival, the royal decree named him—by saintess's oracle—the hero party's porter. Rosel's face flashed in his mind. It was true. The casual prophecy left in the mountains was real.
Rapelon raced to Rosel Territory, reuniting twelve days after their first encounter.
"Why me, of all people?!"
"What do you mean?"
"You dropped that prophecy without asking anything in return—and it hit perfectly."
"Not without return."
"Huh? What..."
"Trust. I left it to earn yours."
The heavy, perilous tales ahead demanded Rapelon's full faith. Hence the personal visit and prophecy. As expected, doubt was gone from Rapelon's eyes—only awe and belief remained.
"Trust... You trekked all that way for that?"
"Not 'just' that. What you'll do next needs more than any weapon—your trust."
"Do...? What do you want from me?"
The hero Emilia had descended in the capital. Rosel yearned to rush to her, reveal her fate—but shaking her before the Demon King fell risked failure, dooming all. Thus, at the send-off, he'd only whisper to Emil: Visit my territory first upon return.
That's why he'd met Rapelon. If preemptive salvation was impossible, postmortem measures were essential.
In casual tones, Rosel shared the long-withheld truth. Rapelon reeled in shock.
"After a year's journey, hero Emilia falls to the saintess's false oracle and her comrades' betrayal, enslaved. And you... die."
"...W-what? Betrayal? Enslaved? Wait—me, die?!"
"Her comrades frame her as a traitor, plotting in secret. You stand by her to the end, proclaiming the truth—and perish."
"...."
Rapelon's jaw dropped. This was no vague prophet's toss—it was precise. The shock hit hard. He dies? After aiding the Demon King's defeat?
His face twisted in despair at the one-year death sentence. And a false saintess oracle? In the Absolute Divine Society, her words were God's own!
"W-wait. The saintess issues a false oracle? Impossible!"
Rosel replied bitterly. "...She's human, after all."
No resentment colored his voice—only regret and sorrow. Rapelon blinked blankly; Rosel smiled.
"Don't worry. I'll change that fate."
"...Change fate?!"
"You've given me trust as payment. I must repay in kind."
"What... repayment?"
Rosel opened a desk drawer, placing an object down. A necklace, its sapphire-blue gem exquisitely cut.
"An artifact I crafted myself. Wear it and porter for the hero party as fated—outward and return journeys alike."
"...Artifact?"
"One day before reaching the capital, leave the party and come to my territory."
"...Just me? What about the hero? If I bail alone, she'll still get betrayed and enslaved!"
Rosel smiled warmly. Even unseen, Rapelon fretted for Emilia. He was that kind of man—bound by justice and chivalry.
"No choice. She couldn't understand me now. Maybe never."
Rosel's face mingled with regret. He longed to ambush the return path and rescue her, but five short years weren't enough to topple the kingdom. Warning of betrayal en route? She'd ignore it; until the royal audience, her comrades would play the loyal friends.
A clumsy attempt risked catastrophe. This was the best path now.
Rising, Rosel approached and clasped the necklace around Rapelon's neck.
"For your faith, upon completion: rewards for saving the kingdom—and Emilia."
Having staked his life, Rapelon cared little for 'rewards.'
"You'll... save the hero?"
Rosel smiled deeply. "Not just Emilia. I'll save this kingdom."
"...."
Rosel's words rang no bluff; Rapelon furrowed his brow. He'd seen the toll of King Brikal's tyranny—skyrocketing taxes starving the people.
"...May I ask why you care so much for the hero?"
Rosel answered readily. "...Her fate is too pitiable."
#28. Memories: Their Circumstances, Their Efforts
— fin.