Episode 0-a. The Advancer (5)
Noble blood runs blue. It has to cool itself to bear the burdens that the warm hues of common folk could never endure, pressing forward with a bluish gleam. Or perhaps their skin stays pale white because they never stoop to menial tasks, unlike laborers whose flesh is scorched by toil, letting blue veins show through. It's the lineage they pursue, the class they embody, their noble pride.
They mouth the words noblesse oblige, but deep down, they care nothing for the commoners. They hoard every benefit for themselves while scorning the masses as lowly rabble. The tiny rift between nobles and commoners widens relentlessly until, no matter how high you crane your neck, you can't even glimpse the tip of their boots.
And that was a truth I felt keenly while living in this world.
There are no nobles who truly care for the commoners. They're too busy looking out for their own interests; any noble who claims otherwise is just a con artist. In a world disconnected from modern ideals, such utopians couldn't exist.
It's like me, saving the gray witch in defiance of the gods—a twisted cog rebelling against fate.
That's why, from the start, becoming a noble was never an option for my journey, my ending. Reaching out to them for help would only bring a cold spray of blue blood. Power and class I could never attain. I didn't view it negatively, but I never expected a noble to walk my path.
Yet in the Saravati Duchy, I met a noble who shattered my hardened convictions.
Lush dress more aristocratic than any other, golden blonde hair and wall-like blue eyes, thick wavy hairstyle. Always clutching a fan that matched her haughty expression and gestures perfectly.
“It is the duty of nobles to stand before the commoners…! I shall step forward!”
“Bullshit. You're in the way—move it.”
A noble miss stranded on a mountain path with a broken carriage wheel, clueless what to do. She looked the part but was downright weird. Even as I passed by, she hadn't solved it, flailing under bandit threats with her old knight and fat coachman in tow.
“Ah… Being cool is my role…”
“If you wanna die cool, be my guest.”
“Commoner, how rude!”
Even while I helped amid the danger, she couldn't shut her yapping trap.
“Kyaaak…! Goodness! Bandits are swarming us!”
“Are you insane? For real.”
Her chatter shattered my focus—and the bandits' too. It took forever to kill and chase them off.
And then.
“Noble sir, I fixed your carriage wheel. Off you go. Always carry spares.”
“Commoner! I am Lucia Vicente Todorica Simeo! I won't forget this grace—tell me your name!”
“…Just go.”
“N-No…! I, Lucia Vicente Todorica Simeo, can't be a noble who ignores favors! Commoner, let me grant your wish!”
“Then gimme ten billion dera and scram.”
“Ah… I don't have that much yet… Um, wait ten years—no, twenty… wait, forty!”
“…You'll croak of old age first.”
“Nobles don't age!”
“I'm a commoner like you said, so I will. Plus your knight back there was huffing like an old man.”
“Then something else…! Another wish…! Something I, Lucia Vicente Todorica Simeo, can grant…!”
The noble was stubborn and odd, clinging to my pants leg, refusing to let go no matter how much I begged her to leave. So I looked at her indifferently and spoke.
“Noble miss, act according to your blood and class. I'm a commoner, as you say, and you're blue-blooded nobility. You don't need to repay favors to the likes of me.”
She dropped her head with a thud at my firm refusal.
“Then fare thee well.”
“…”
As I turned back to my carriage, she drew a small dagger from her bosom and sliced her palm.
“What the—?”
Red blood flowed.
“Not blue. What does blood or class matter when repaying a debt? Don't nobles serve the commoners? Noblesse oblige—nobles bear duties. Wealth and power come with responsibility.”
“…”
Her weird speech normalized as she strode up and thrust out her bleeding hand.
“If you've enjoyed noble privileges, fulfilling duties is only natural, no? Many twist that meaning and live shamelessly, but not me. I'm no corrupt noble who forgets gratitude.”
“…”
She spat the truism everyone had corrupted, looking up indignantly. She was definitely different from any noble I'd seen. Maybe even a noble could be the kind of person I sought.
“So tell me your name.”
“…Ain.”
I let it slip carelessly.
“Ain… Yes. A fine name.”
“But noble miss, something more important.”
Where the rustle of leaves stopped, I voiced what I'd held back.
“Not 'noble miss'—third daughter of the Simeo family, Lucia Vicente Todorica Simeo.”
“Yeah, whatever. Time to pick up that fan again and switch back to your usual speech, don't you think?”
Her broken noble conceit, head always visible because she was short. I told her to drop it.
“Ah.”
“…”
“What do you mean…? I-I said nothing of the sort. So commoner, speak your wish!”
Her face flushed beet red as she fled to her carriage, pretending ignorance. From afar, she yelled, but her coachman and knight shook their heads behind her. Her antics were probably infamous even in her family.
Anyway.
The carriage rattled over the unpaved road. A long caravan trailed mine, loaded with high-quality timber from the northern Crepen snow country, dozens of wagons bound for the duchy.
This stemmed from when she asked what I wanted and I blurted, “Be my comrade.” She had little to offer, staking her life on my success, praying hard.
Perhaps another key to saving the gray woman—a noble path unfolding.
And into that tale intruded a dwarf's gravelly voice.
“This carriage is a total wreck. By the duchy, your ass'll be smashed.”
“Old man, you're a sturdy dwarf.”
Hours in the carriage made my butt ache, but the cranky geezer showed his true colors plainly.
“That's dwarf discrimination, you flimsy human who'd crack from one hammer swing.”
“That's not discrimination—it's just an insult. Kids are riding quiet, so why's the adult whining? You're hundreds of years old.”
“So?”
Not very elder-like words or actions. I glanced at his childish pout and shook my head.
“…If it bugs you that much, inspect the carriages before we left.”
“Brat, I'm a blacksmith, not some carpenter hack.”
“That's carpenter discrimination.”
He warned against dwarf slurs, but his own words were off.
“Log-choppers deserve it, like elves.”
“…”
No, that's elf discrimination, you fucking racist dwarf geezer.
Harboring those thoughts, I whipped the horses harder. No way I'd endure hours more of his grumbling.
I pushed the carriage hard, arriving at the duchy an hour early.
And.
“Commoner! Did my all-in stock buy succeed?! Can I remain a proper noble?!!”
“…”
“Commoner! Answer me…! N-No way, am I a commoner like you now…? Must I drop 'Vicente Todorica Simeo' from my name…?”
“Noble miss, can you shut up?”
“Not 'noble miss'—Lucia Vicente Todorica Simeo!”
“…Then why am I a commoner?”
“Obviously, that's the difference between noble and commoner!”
She'd once insisted I not call her noble miss, yet still hailed us as commoners. This noble twit greeted us.
I pondered. Burn all the wood, make her a commoner too. Drag her down with us?
I stared at the bouncing blonde head, thinking that.