#39. For the Dignity of Humanity, to Ruin.
“Hmm~ Hero, do you want one son and one daughter, something like that?”
Thankfully(?), the boyfriend interrogation had wrapped up for now, and as Silia resumed devouring her diary, she glanced back at Esel upon reaching the part about family planning near the end.
Esel, having finished reading Silia's diary, closed it with a thud.
“Yes. Wouldn't that be the most ideal...?”
“Hmm, really? Most people want sons.”
Thanks to King Brikal's patriarchal ideology, the Kingdom of Elond had a stronger preference for male heirs than other kingdoms. There were even rumors among the nobility of aborting daughters upon determination of their sex—such was the extent of it.
Of course, there were powerful women too. Grand Duke Rusillan of the North was a woman, as was the Saintess who heard the words of the Lord God. And Biela from the hero party as well. Women in power existed everywhere, but the king's mindset led to subtle disdain and mockery in countless cases.
Grand Duke Rusillan was a prime example. A mighty magic swordsman, she had earned immense merit alongside the previous king, Hurion, in the First Defense of the Capital forty years ago, rising from countess to grand duke. History recorded that without her, the royal palace would have fallen, making the grand ducal title a deserved reward.
But that honor didn't last. Her fertile lands southeast of the capital were stripped away after Hurion's accidental death, and with Brikal ascending the throne, Rusillan was exiled to the barren northern snowfields.
New rulers typically poach loyalties to build their inner circle. But whether she saw through the rotten seedlings early on, the seasoned Rusillan avoided the ploy and was ultimately cast out.
Had she been a man, she never would have been sent to such a harsh northern wasteland. Brikal, who despised the idea of a female grand duke from the start, had simply seized a pretext to banish her. Officially, it was for “northern defense,” but among the nobility, Rusillan was seen as the prime victim of his womanizing prejudices.
Above all, it was common knowledge that Brikal's maneuvers weren't for recruitment but expulsion.
Besides her, Biela's family received only half the promised rewards because she was a female hero party member, and countless noble houses had suffered from Brikal's misogyny.
Thus, male preference took root among the nobility, rendering daughters pitiful existences allowed to be born only by the barest shred of human compassion.
Esel gazed warmly at Silia with a smile.
“Sons are nice, daughters are nice. I want a daughter just like you, Lady Silia.”
“Y-Yes? Really?”
Silia flushed, her cheeks turning red in surprise. For her idol, the hero, to want a daughter like her was the ultimate compliment.
“M-Me... like me...? N-No, you're joking...”
“Hehe, it's true.”
Esel covered her mouth, laughing gracefully at Silia's flustered reaction. It was sincere. Lady Silia perfectly matched the image of the daughter she'd always dreamed of. No, anyone would have to love this girl—she embodied perfection for her age, both outwardly and inwardly. Perhaps even too perfect for Esel herself.
“Eek, eee... That makes me so happy! I want a cool mom like you too...!”
“Y-Yes?”
Silia was no pushover. She topped Esel's confession with one of her own. Seeing Esel stunned, Silia asked cautiously.
“D-Do you hate it?”
“N-No... It was just sudden...”
“I bet you'd be an amazing mom, Hero.”
“Th-Thank you... truly.”
It was praise too grand for a traitorous female slave. Esel bowed her head, her expression touched with emotion as she expressed her gratitude.
“...”
The serene morning air enveloped them. They sensed words unspoken between them, but knew they couldn't voice them lightly. Just as the awkward yet pleasant silence was about to stretch on, Esel spoke first.
“You said you want to fall in love?”
“Yep! Debut properly at a salon and fall for some dashing young lord...!”
“Then, what's your type? Knowing that might help find a better match.”
“Hmm... My type.”
Silia puckered her lips playfully, tapping her index finger against them. She had no clear ideal, but vague images floated up.
“Looks-wise, I dunno. Just... loyal, manly, willing to die for me... strong... cool like that...?”
“...”
Esel listened, chin in hand, a pleased smile forming. She stared straight at Silia.
Loyalty, manliness, self-sacrifice, strength, coolness—ironically, a man fitting all five categories was right beside her. How could she not be pleased?
Silia wiped her mouth, thinking she'd gotten macaron crumbs on it.
“Wh-Why? Something on my face?”
“No. Your ideal type you just described popped into my head perfectly.”
“Huh? For real?! Who? Some noble's son? How old?!”
“Same age as you, Lady.”
“Eee, if it's someone the Hero approves of, he must be super cool! Tell me quick...!”
Esel paused. Not to tease Silia's anticipation, but because her excessive excitement made the name stick in her throat.
But delaying further would only inflate expectations, so she let it slip.
“Roden. Roden del Roden.”
“...”
As expected, Silia's beaming smile froze cold. She made a face like she'd heard the name of some repulsive younger brother.
“...Th-That shaggy-haired kid?”
“...Loyal, manly, self-sacrifice, cool, strong... Well, we'll have to watch for the last, but I believe Roden can grow strong enough. He seems perfect for your type... hehe.”
Esel laughed awkwardly at Silia's reaction. It was sincere, but she'd said the wrong thing. She thought they made such a great pair.
“...R-Roden's just a friend. An annoying one at best.”
But Esel wouldn't know. Beneath her poker face, honed from childhood training, Silia's heart had fluttered oddly at Roden's sudden mention.
'Roden... is my type...?'
The unexpected name left her bewildered yet thrillingly fresh. Roden had been her constant companion since childhood, always bickering. They'd squabble, sometimes laugh—a comfortable friendship. Especially since his commoner status meant no formalities, making him her closest, easiest friend.
So Silia had never once considered him as a partner.
That fresh shock morphed into a strange tickle in her chest.
“Sir Dubel...”
Alone in the infirmary, Roden gazed at his treasured sword. It felt like a dream. To receive such a blade from his eternal idol, Dubel—and one he'd worn personally, no less.
Overwhelmed, Roden stroked the scabbard gratefully.
A gift? Perhaps a reward for the choice he'd made that day, sacrificing for his lord and Silia.
Captain of the Royal Guard. The title alone evoked sacred, radiant prestige—the pinnacle even among knights. The sword bestowed by such a man was a priceless treasure to Roden.
He was thankful. For gifting such a blade to a green rookie like him. Especially one from the previous king, Hurion—a heirloom to pass down generations.
“What on earth happened to you...”
Yet Dubel's face, etched with resignation and optimism, had looked sadder than any Roden had seen.
Dubel, who envied him madly for serving Duke Rosel. His lament, like a knight serving the enemy, pierced Roden's heart.
It embarrassed him to serve the righteous side; Dubel's words felt like the plea of one driven to the brink.
Thus, Roden worried. What if something happened to his idol?
Of course, by recognizing Esel as the hero, Roden had effectively branded Dubel a criminal who harmed her—but such deep connections were beyond a 13-year-old.
That matter was separate from his idol.
“...I hope nothing bad happens...”
Shing. As he spoke, Roden drew the sword. A red gem adorned the hilt, the guard intricately carved. And in the center of the blade, words were engraved:
"The righteous sword cleaves water as life (生),
the cruel sword cleaves water as death (殺)."
Embodying those words, this ceremonial sword was a reverse-edge blade, forbidden from taking life—to cleave water as life.
Yet too profound for a 13-year-old boy to grasp. To Roden, it was simply...
“...So freaking cool.”
A cool inscription, nothing more.
* Meanwhile, having bid farewell to Esel and Roden, Dubel returned to Duke Rosel's office.
“Did you tell them everything, Sir Dubel?”
Temidro Dubel. He too had pointed his sword at Emilia alongside Biela and the others.
But Rosel showed no hostility. Had he not intervened, Emilia might have rampaged, leading to catastrophe.
That didn't mean forgiving Dubel's blade—the judgment belonged to Emilia. Rosel merely understood the man.
Besides, antagonizing the king's guard captain was foolish.
Above all, he was the first to step forward and apologize.
Dubel shook his head gravely at Rosel's question.
“Not everything. I was too ashamed... That day, I saw Emilia as a traitor. But today... Esel sees me as her master.”
In Esel's room, shame had prevented a proper apology. His “sorry” was mere evasion. Her gaze—pure as meeting an omnipotent goddess, devoid of resentment or blame—scraped at the guilt in his heart.
So he'd fled the room.
Rosel smiled warmly.
“That's Emilia for you.”
“Did you buy Emilia for 500 gold out of conviction, Duke Rosel?”
“Conviction... I'm no man of such lofty motives. I just... wanted to atone to her.”
Dubel eyed him curiously.
“Atone...? Why would you, Duke Rosel...?”
“Haha, just as you had reasons to draw your sword on Emilia, I have mine.”
“...”
Curious, but Dubel asked no more. His own circumstances mattered little now. As long as it brought Emilia peace, nothing else did.
That was his final wish as her pathetic master—and pathetic bystander.
“...Understood. Then, please take care of Emilia.”
Dubel bowed deeply, formally, as if before His Majesty. Custom dictated mere nods to nobles, yet he bent at the waist.
Rosel rose, approaching.
“Are you going far? It sounds like a farewell.”
“...Fate is unpredictable, isn't it? Like Emilia and me. Just... who knows when next.”
Noticing his empty belt, Rosel asked.
“Where's your sword?”
Rosel knew Dubel well: a man precariously neutral between conviction and oath, upholding his principles. For him to remove Hurion's sword outside sleep or bath was unusual.
“Ah.”
Dubel glanced at his now-empty right hip, smiling awkwardly.
The sword had simply found its place. Roden, that 13-year-old boy, was plenty worthy to become a swordsman upholding its conviction.
“It's found its home. Far too heavy for me.”
“...Heavy, you say.”
“Haha, pay it no mind. Farewell.”
Dubel turned for the door, but Rosel's words halted him just before.
“Emilia won't resent you, Sir Dubel. Nor do I blame you.”
“...!”
Rosel's words pierced him; Dubel's pupils trembled. As the king's guard, he answered to no duke—but Rosel spoke as if granting clemency.
Understanding the mercy's intent, Dubel's hand on the knob trembled faintly.
“...Emilia's fortunate to have a righteous lord like you, Duke Rosel. Farewell.”
Dubel glanced back once more, then exited.
Rosel watched his retreating figure—a back more dignified than ever.
“Farewell, Sir Dubel.”