Siriel
The next morning.
Shiron sat up, scratching at his messy hair. When he turned his head toward the window, the morning sun was just peeking over the snow-capped mountains.
On any ordinary day he would have woken refreshed, right before dawn. But unexpected events the night before had left him sleeping in a little, and his body felt faintly leaden for it.
He was mid-yawn when he caught the faint reek of alcohol on his own breath.
"...What is this?"
Why does my mouth smell like booze?
"Ugh..."
Shiron's face twisted. An unheralded headache surged up, and the boy pressed hard between his brows, massaging the ache. It felt like needles jabbing both sides of his forehead, accompanied by a mild queasiness—clear signs that he was not in his usual condition.
He rolled his throbbing head and tried to piece together the previous night.
Right. He remembered.
Last night, Encia—unable to contain her joy—had insisted they simply had to throw a celebration, and had hauled a cask of liquor all the way from the underground cellar up to the bedroom.
The drinking bout had erupted in an instant. The maids who had been watching one another's faces for permission joined in one after another the moment Encia opened the floodgates, and the bedroom transformed into a banquet hall overflowing with food.
Somehow they had been of one mind; even Head Maid Yuma had been unable to stop them.
"Young Master, how could a day this moving possibly go without drinks? A toast! Let's do a toast!"
"Hey, do you even know how old I am? If you're going to drink, do it yourselves."
"Heh heh, what a shame. This is whiskey aged a full hundred years in the cellars of Dawn Castle, where the ice never melts year-round."
"A hundred years...?"
"Yes. A hundred years. Come to think of it, Young Master isn't an adult yet, is he? Heh heh. To think you'll never taste something this fine. Ah, what a pity. It's honestly too good for me to keep all to myself."
"I... am an adult, actually. I don't see why one glass would be a problem."
"Yes, yes. Young Master is the hero who will slay the Evil God, after all. You're already an adult carrying out your share of the work. No—such a plain word as 'adult' can't possibly describe you. This humble girl shall offer a cup to the Hero."
"Spare me the theatrics."
And so one glass had become two, then three.
True to her bold claims, the whiskey had been a peerless liquor. No harsh fumes stabbed the sinuses; instead a subtle blend of fruit and vanilla still seemed to soak richly through his mind even now.
Even with the smell of liquor clinging to his lips, Shiron smacked them lightly.
It really was good.
He didn't regret the choice. The chance to taste a liquor that could never exist in reality had been tempting, and he had always wondered what the food and drink inside the game would actually taste like.
Moments like these still set his heart racing now and then.
Shiron gave his throbbing head a couple of light pats and scrubbed his face dry with his hands.
Anyway.
The queasy stomach and pounding skull were annoying, but even on a day like this he could not skip training.
He downed the water left beside the bed, settling his insides.
"Haah... starting to feel human again."
His body still weighed a thousand pounds, yet he forced strength into his legs and climbed out of bed. Kneading the back of his neck again and again, he made ready to head for the training grounds.
On the way to the training grounds, Shiron ran into an unexpected face.
"Oppa! Good morning!"
Siriel greeted him with a bright, energetic face.
"Yeah, Siriel. Morning."
He gave a half-hearted wave in reply. No matter how many times he heard that cloyingly soft title, "Oppa," it never quite sat right.
In this entire mansion, only one person called Shiron by that tender word.
There were two children younger than him, but judging by Lucia's attitude, the idea of her ever calling him Oppa was unimaginable.
"Looks like I'm lucky today, running into you in a place like this."
"Guess so."
Siriel Prien.
The girl who had cried herself to sleep right in front of him the day before now greeted him without the slightest distance, as if she remembered nothing of it.
Does she feel no embarrassment at having shown her tears to someone else?
Shiron put on a friendly smile and gave the girl a quick once-over.
Her shimmering silver hair was gathered and tied with a blue ribbon; she looked completely unbothered, as though the long weeping of yesterday had never happened.
Or maybe she just doesn't dwell on things that are already over...
He revised his assessment: Siriel's heart was stronger than he had thought.
"You're going to train right now too, Oppa?"
"What else is there to do in this bleak castle?"
"Heehee. Same for me."
Whatever was making her so happy, Siriel beamed, and the corners of Shiron's eyes slowly curved in response.
...Well, look at this.
The reason he had smiled was none other than the subtle change in Siriel's appearance.
He tried to read her intentions. For someone supposedly headed to the training grounds, her outfit was oddly neat. While Shiron's own hair was pressed flat in every direction and a complete mess, Siriel's hair gleamed with a soft sheen and carried a faint scent of soap.
You're about to sweat buckets, and you washed up beforehand? Your motives are transparent, you little schemer.
"Cute little thing."
"Huh...? Oppa, were you talking about me?"
"Who else is here?"
Shiron stepped closer to his sly little cousin and cupped both her cheeks in his hands. Her cheeks were soft and springy like a child's, as plush as rice cakes.
Then the endlessly smiling Siriel suddenly looked worried and asked,
"Oppa, is the hand you hurt yesterday all right?"
"Ah, this."
He focused his awareness on his hand.
Earlier, while washing his face, the bandage had gotten in the way, so he had peeled it off—only to find the wound had closed to an unbelievable degree. Dried blood still clung here and there where it had not fully healed, but just as Yuma had said, it looked as though a few more days would see it completely mended.
Lucia may be a monster, but Shiron is clearly no ordinary human either.
"Doesn't hurt, so I figure I'm fine."
"Thank goodness."
Siriel brightened, the shadow vanishing from her face.
Shiron gave her shoulder a few pats and turned his steps toward the training grounds again. Siriel trotted after him.
"Do you always train at this hour, Oppa?"
"Normally I get up even earlier than this."
"I train in the mornings too, you know?"
Siriel said it while walking with the same adorable little steps that matched her image.
"Sometimes I sleep in and only manage to get up right when the visiting tutor arrives, so I skip training now and then."
"Is that so."
"Who do you learn swordsmanship from, Oppa? I learn from Grandpa."
"I haven't learned from anyone yet."
"So you do it on your own? Grandpa Yohan said it's important to learn mind techniques and how to handle mana from a young age. That way you can control Aura better than other people later on."
"What am I supposed to do about that? I'm already more than two years behind you."
"Then should I ask Grandpa for you? He almost always does what I ask."
"Well... thanks."
Shiron walked on, treating Siriel's cheerful chatter like background music, and before long they reached the entrance to the training grounds.
As expected, someone had arrived ahead of them.
Whoosh—! Whoosh—!
A terrifying sound carried all the way outside.
Shiron crossed the threshold and stepped inside.
Just as he thought, the early bird was Lucia. The red-haired girl did not so much as glance over to check who had entered. She simply kept swinging the iron bar in silence.
It was hard to believe such monstrous strength could come from that small frame—though when he thought about it, Shiron himself had already displayed feats no child should be capable of.
"You've arrived, Young Master Shiron. Lady Siriel."
The one who spoke to him was the golden-haired maid Encia, her hair tied back on both sides. She greeted the two of them while simultaneously holding out a towel to Lucia.
"Lucia! You were here too!"
Siriel called her friend's name and dashed over in a little run.
"Siriel? What are you doing here?"
"What do you mean, 'what'? I came because I wanted to do what you're doing, together."
The moment she finished speaking, Siriel bolted for the storage shed and returned a moment later carrying two iron bars identical to the one Lucia was swinging. Stood upright, each bar came up to Siriel's shoulder. Clutching the two heavy hunks of metal, one in each hand, she looked as light on her feet as if wooden practice swords were far too light for her to bother with.
"Here! I brought one for Oppa too."
"Siriel's so thoughtful. Looking out for Oppa and everything."
"...Since when did you two get that close?"
Lucia wiped away her sweat without a single hitch in her breathing and looked at Shiron. The weather had not yet fully warmed, and white steam rose from her small body.
"What, all of a sudden."
Shiron brushed off Lucia's sharp glance and chose a spot to start swinging. Encia trailed after him and murmured softly,
"Young Master, you're quite popular. Feeling good about it?"
She pointed toward the pair in the distance and smiled mischievously.
"...The alcohol hasn't worn off yet. I'm hearing strange things all of a sudden."
Shiron dug a finger in his ear and looked where she was pointing. There, Lucia and Siriel were whispering to each other while glancing his way.