#34. Comrades Sorry for Not Being Together, Fortunate Comrades (完)
"Rapelon! Where the hell have you been?"
Isel blurted out the question the moment she sat across from him at the round table.
She'd been dying to know. He'd vanished without a trace.
"Ah, I couldn't sleep last night, so I went for a walk around the village... and ended up getting kidnapped by bandits."
"Kid...napped?"
"Yeah. Luckily, Duke Rosel came and saved me."
It was true—he'd saved his life. He owed him that much. If he'd been the one to bring down Emilia, he surely would've been executed by the kingdom.
With her doubts cleared, Isel glanced at Rapelon's hair. Now that she'd confirmed he was safe, she didn't want to pry further. A kidnapping would be a painful memory for him, after all.
Instead, she brought up another question.
"But what happened to your hair color?"
"Oh, this?"
Rapelon's hair had been stark white throughout their journey—a holy shade, almost divine for a commoner. Without his pack, he could've been mistaken for the hero himself.
But now, strangely, it was red.
"Yeah! How'd you do it? The color's so vivid."
"Duke Rosel did it for me."
Dyeing techniques existed in this world, but they weren't advanced enough to produce such a brilliant hue. Isel's eyes widened in surprise.
"Whoa... Master knows how to dye hair too? That's amazing... The color's gorgeous. But why change it?"
"Had to hide my identity, I guess. Apparently, the party members are searching high and low for me."
"Searching? Why?"
"To get the truth out of me, probably."
"Ah..."
The mood sobered at the mention of their former comrades.
Isel was the first to shake it off.
"I really thought you'd gone off wandering for real."
"I was planning to, after everything wrapped up."
"So, you're leaving now?"
Rapelon shook his head at her question. His dream of traveling the empire and mapping it all still burned in his chest, but he hadn't acted on it yet. They were culling monsters and demon king remnants in each territory, yet the numbers weren't dropping noticeably. Knights returning from hunts would mutter in taverns that they seemed to be increasing, if anything.
Once the demon king died, no new monsters should spawn. Dealing with the remnants should cleanse the world.
That's why he couldn't commit to his dream timeline—and Duke Rosel's request kept him lingering in the territory.
"Why not?"
"Monster numbers aren't down yet; it's still dangerous. Plus, Duke Rosel asked me to stick around—he has something to bestow on me."
"Bestow?"
"Yeah. I asked what, but he wouldn't say. Just told me it'd be worth the wait."
"If Master said that, you can definitely look forward to it. So, you'll stay here for a while?"
Rapelon nodded. Duke Rosel had invited him to live in the main mansion; starting tomorrow, he'd be in the annex.
"Yeah, that's the plan."
"Anyway, I'm just glad you're safe."
"...Worry about yourself. You're the lucky one—meeting Duke Rosel."
"Heh..."
Isel grinned sheepishly at his words. Back when prejudice against nobles clouded her view, she never could've imagined this. She didn't deny it. It truly was fortunate.
To have a benevolent lord like Duke Rosel as her master.
That said, a new fear had been creeping in lately—the dread that this daily life might shatter. The fear that her time with her master might crumble.
Of course, it was a happy fear, nothing like the terror of betrayal and torture.
Rapelon smiled warmly at her expression. Even if she'd fallen from hero to slave, with a noble like Duke Rosel at her side, her reputation would shine again. He had no doubt.
And so, the two talked late into the night, catching up on everything.
The next morning.
Rosel stirred on the office sofa where he'd dozed off, rubbing his eyes at the knock.
"Oh dear, my lord. Sleeping on the sofa again?"
Gellion approached with pity in his eyes, set two items on the sofa table, and poured a glass of water.
Rosel gulped it down gratefully, then picked up one of the objects—a small, soft gray rubber rectangle. The eraser.
Today, he'd present this second-wave invention to Brikal and claim the western territories.
"Test results: one eraser removed 2,850 letters. Out of sixty, only one broke—on the 752nd use."
Rosel nodded in satisfaction, setting it down. Beside it sat a long rectangular wooden case he didn't open. He'd tested it dozens of times himself for today.
"Excellent. How's that matter progressing?"
"We surveyed the territory's artists: about thirty. Twenty-three are willing to work for you."
"Twenty-three... That should suffice."
"Might I ask why you're summoning the artists?"
Rosel answered without hesitation. No point hiding it, and no need—especially from Gellion, who'd shown boundless admiration and trust since saving Roden on day one. Even as a pro-king loyalist, he was trustworthy.
"I'm planning to spread Isel's comics far and wide."
"...Comics? What might that be?"
Rosel handed him a sheet from the desk. Gellion raised an eyebrow at the sight.
"This is a comic? Quite the peculiar drawing."
"Think of it as a novel transposed into pictures."
"Ho... Ingenious. Easy to look at, easy to read—sticks right in your head."
"I'll have the artists replicate Isel's comics."
Gellion nodded approvingly and returned the sheet.
"Mass production, then. But if Isel drew it..."
"Correct. It's her story. The hero's true story."
"True... story?"
Rosel clasped his hands behind his back and gazed wistfully at the garden from the window. If a butterfly couldn't fly with clipped wings, he'd strap it to a dragon's back.
"Didn't I tell you? True retribution for a traitor is laboring for the kingdom. The hero's real, untold tale will unfold for the world."
He turned to Gellion. The man's experience would grasp the meaning.
He waited silently.
"..."
The untold true story. Imagining its contents, Gellion's face subtly hardened. Brikal wouldn't like it—might even call it blasphemy. Artistic freedom might cover it, but if they learned Isel created it... trouble.
He worried for his esteemed lord's safety.
"...Will you be all right?"
Understanding the concern, Rosel offered a gentle smile and turned back to the window.
The revolution had begun. The winds ahead wouldn't be a soft spring breeze—he knew that. Spring winds would doom it. It'd be a harsh winter gale.
It would leave countless wounds, but he wasn't afraid. For Isel's salvation—and the kingdom's—he'd risk it all.
Gellion's face cleared, sensing that resolve. His lord was wise and strong, even in extremes. He'd follow, head bowed, believing in whatever truth Rosel sought—even if it diverged from the king's path.
He didn't know Isel's true story yet. But if it aligned with Rosel's will, he'd trust it implicitly.
"As you command, my lord."
At that hour.
In Brikal's bedroom, hangover cleared, sounds unfit for early morning echoed—moans and screams.
"Mmph! Mmph!"
"Such a proper little wife! And these filthy noises!"
Dubel stood guard at the door to contain it. His face was neutral, but inside, it rotted.
King Brikal's depravity grew uglier by the day.
He'd always loved taking others' things. The throne sanctified it.
He knew limits once. Not a sage, but no tyrant. Then suddenly, booze, women, feasts consumed him—until this fall.
Guarding such a man was bitterly reality.
Dubel ground his teeth. He glanced at Viscount Droga, blankly leaning against the wall.
"...I'll tell His Majesty you were here, so you can go. I'll call if he summons you early."
"..."
He spoke with pity for the man who'd offered his wife, but Viscount Droga refused.
"It's fine."
"..."
Brikal's taste for theft—did he fancy taking from Droga too? But the viscount's next words silenced him.
"His Majesty is the god-given holy king. If offering my wife is my fate, I must accept."
"..."
A weak lament of defeat. Dubel knew Brikal didn't rape wives just for pleasure where husbands could hear.
His power law: Keep the despairing who submit nearby. If defiance flickered in their eyes at loss—instant execution.
Not for earls and above. Them, he tamed with money, power, mercy from such humiliations—turning them to sycophants. Weaker ones like Droga, he broke with despairing submission.
Perilous logic, perhaps, but it kept him on the throne in this eat-or-be-eaten world.
Viscount Droga was living proof.
Dubel pressed no further.
"...As you wish."
"If sacrificing my wife earns the king's favor, that's enough. Women are just tools to be used, after all."
Embracing not just defeat, but the perpetrator's values—Dubel swallowed a deep sigh. Fearing it might corrupt the whole kingdom.
But he didn't blame him. Human survival instinct was mighty, even if stained by submission.
Thus began the morning in Rosel Territory.
The morning after the final banquet day.