Resolve
Days had already passed since the first newspaper went to print, and still the capital burned with gossip about the Hero.
It could hardly have been otherwise. The affair was far too vast to sink in a day or two.
The other face of the hero once lauded as savior and guardian of the eastern kingdoms—a truth shocking enough to still the blood—had broken the surface at last. The Hero Rian, whom they had cheered without reserve, was in truth a criminal of the foulest kind?
The blow that struck the people was greater than anyone could have imagined. To think he had ridden the fervent trust they had given him and done such things in secret. It was a betrayal no one had seen coming.
When they first read the articles, what most of them felt was confusion and disbelief. How many things had the Hero done until now? Who could swallow a story like that so easily? A few fell in with the accusations, but the greater number kept to a wary neutrality.
Then fresh scandals poured out day after day. Those doing the exposing were, every one of them, public figures of credible standing, and it was not the Kadema Kingdom alone—other kingdoms as well were ripping the Hero's true nature into the open. Little by little, the claim that the Hero was a villain could only grow.
And the stroke that finished it, the mark that sealed the darkening mood, was none other than the Hero's own conduct. Just one day before the controversy first broke, word got out that Rian—who for ten years had carried out every mission without a single failure—had, for the first time in his life, thrown down his work without leave and vanished.
Every scrap of circumstance propped up a single claim. There could be no mistake. He had gone on committing evil in secret until the tail grew too long, and the moment it was stepped on, he had gone to ground.
The public's shock at so absurd a response hardened at once into rage, and now not a soul in the capital could be found who still spoke in his defense. Hostility toward the Hero swelled with each passing day until it reached its peak.
And Rian, who had only just entered the capital, felt the fury of the entire city pouring down upon him.
To his left.
"Filthy hypocrite. It's a mercy his real face came out, even now."
To his right.
"Goddamn bastard. I regret ever cheering for him."
Ahead.
"Where'd they all go, the ones who ran their mouths saying that unmatched piece of trash was greater than His Majesty Emil?"
Behind.
"War with the Demon King? What a load of shit. If you're that hungry for a war, go charge in by yourself. I'd be delighted if the Demon King just killed you."
Whichever way he turned in the street, the curses never broke for so much as an instant. Every person there was baring their hatred at Rian.
His fist clenched of its own accord. Rian's senses stood so far above other men's that he saw more, heard more, felt more. Until now that gift had been an immense help in battle. Now it had turned to poison.
It was not only the slander of those nearby. The abuse of people beyond counting reached his ears intact, and among it were no few outbursts so raw he did not want them in his head—words no one would dare speak on a public thoroughfare. Venom close to a curse.
"……."
Rian bit his lip without a word. He had heard the general mood from Khalifa, and he had thought he knew it. He had known. And yet—wasn't this far too much? The capital had heated past any pitch he had imagined.
No… why are the people like this…
Khalifa was no less shaken. When she had taken the report only a few hours ago, the mood had certainly not been this inflamed. Could things sour this badly in so short a time? The thought crossed her that some other faction might have stepped in from behind, but this was not the moment for that.
She studied Rian with care. Unfortunately the robe was drawn low over his face, and his expression was hard to read. She gathered her muddled thoughts as best she could and spoke. It was not easy.
"Um… well, I think we've gotten a rough sense of the mood, so… shall we step into a restaurant or something?"
"……."
Rian nodded, slow. Khalifa took the man standing stock-still and led him off in search of a quiet place to eat. Her ears gave a small twitch. A worsening of relations with the kingdom was certainly good for the Empire. If this went any further wrong, though, it looked as if they were going to be fucked in an entirely different way.
The place they entered was an inn set some distance back from the busy streets. It was late afternoon, too early for the taverns to be properly open, and the inside was quiet. Khalifa ordered warm white bread and soup, a roast chicken and pickles, and two cups of honey wine, then glanced sidelong at the seat across from her.
From the moment they had entered the capital until now, Rian had not spoken a single word. He simply sat in silence, chin propped on his folded arms, staring at the floor.
"Well… the common herd gets swept along easily, doesn't it? Falls for things…. Please don't take it too much to heart…."
Even as she spoke, she felt the oddness of it. She had come to win the Hero over—why was she making excuses for the kingdom's people? She didn't know. She only knew she could not ignore the instinct warning her that if things went on like this, something bad would happen.
"Enjoy your meal."
Perhaps the innkeeper had food already made in preparation for the evening trade; the dishes came out quickly.
"You must be hungry—at least eat something…!"
At Khalifa's words, Rian unlaced his fingers and took up a spoon.
Just then the door opened, and new customers came in. They were a party of men only. Regulars, by the look of it—the moment they sat they ordered drink and began talking loudly.
"You see the paper the Eastern Merchant Company put out?"
"I saw it. That fucking rapist piece of shit, Rian. They say the women who hanged themselves because of him number in the double digits."
Rian's arm, lifting a spoonful of soup, went rigid. As for Khalifa, there was nothing to say. Face gone white, she shot the group a desperate look that begged them to shut up. They were seated at a table behind her, though, and her gaze had no chance of reaching them. Whether or not he knew the man at the table in front of him was the Hero, the speaker prattled on at his ease.
"Heard the madman even tried to lay hands on Duke Shtaniel's daughter. Snuck into her bedroom naked, they say. Lucky it ended as an attempt. Absolutely horrific…."
"That never happened."
Khalifa had no gap in which to stop him. The moment the man opened his mouth, Rian had shot to his feet.
"Hm?"
The man turned. There stood a figure with a robe pulled deep over his face.
"I swear by heaven I never laid a hand on those women, and the one who hid in the bedroom to force herself on me was not I. It was that young lady."
The man looked dumbfounded.
"What are you—more than that, who even are you? Showing up out of nowhere and…."
Khalifa rushed after him, caught Rian by the arm, and tried to smooth the moment over.
"I'm sorry! He's had a bit too much to drink!"
"Hah. Of all the things."
She hurriedly called the innkeeper.
"Here! The bill, and one room, please!"
A man from outside, in a bedroom with her. And the two of them alone. Ordinarily her face would have gone past flushed to a bursting red. Not now. The air in the room was a long way from any pink flutter of the heart. The mood inside was cold and sharp, and Khalifa felt as if she were standing on thin ice.
Rian sat on the edge of the bed, both hands clasped over his head.
"Are you… all right…."
"I'm fine."
…Huh?
Khalifa blinked. The voice she had expected to be on the verge of breaking was, unexpectedly, calm. Had his rage climbed so high that it had flipped the other way into detachment? Was the surface mended while the inside rotted through?
"I've truly calmed down, so don't worry. I'm all right."
Perhaps sensing her doubtful look, Rian stressed it again. Khalifa hastily lowered her eyes.
"…I only needed time to think."
At first he had been angry. The false charges against him had swollen even larger in so short a time. But that feeling did not last. Had he not known from the start? That the eastern kingdoms had used not only the papers but their own power to incite the public and twist opinion. Surely the fault of those who deceived outweighed the fault of those who were deceived.
Of course, that was not to say the people bore no blame at all.
It leaves a bitter taste. Disillusionment.
A little thought would have been enough. Their knowledge might not let them declare every claim a lie, but the greater part of the accusations were pure fabrications that could have been disproved with ease.
From the beginning, no one could fail to know whose merit had been greatest in raising a kingdom that, only ten years ago, had been a minor state into one of the great powers of the east. If they were citizens of this country, they had watched it with their own two eyes.
He had lived for the kingdom ready to lay down his life. Nights spent without sleep were too common to count, and more than once he had crossed the line between living and dead. Ten years of tearing his own body apart to survive.
The promise that ought to have been kept had shattered into betrayal, and the labor of all that long time had turned to foam in an instant—and still he had tried to settle it by the gentlest means he could.
But the result was this. The kings of the Alliance, to fit a perfect collar around the neck of a man who had slipped their control, had driven the dignity he had built into the dirt overnight. Sadder still was that the very people who had survived countless threats because of Rian were now agreeing with them.
"It seems… my devotion has come to feel like something owed."
The reason they were going to such extremes? Simple. They must think his worth was not high enough to be worth bearing even the slightest loss. Or else they believed he was already fully in their grasp, a rat in a jar, and so no longer precious. Either way, it no longer mattered which.
Rian was sick with revulsion toward the Alliance, and he was asking himself whether he truly had to remain in the east even through humiliation like this. He finished the thought and at last opened his mouth.
"The Empire… what kind of place is it."
Khalifa swallowed.
Years as director of the Central Intelligence Bureau told her as much. He was on the verge of coming over. A little more sweet talk and he would defect to the Empire at once. But why? Instinct said she must not do it that way.
Not only instinct—the judgment she had formed from watching Rian, brief as the time had been, said the same. Deception was absolutely not the right method. Had she not just witnessed, right in front of her, where a relationship paved with lies and deceit came to an end?
"Honestly… it is not such a pleasant place to live. As you know, it takes merit as its motto and grew its strength through war, so it believes power stands above every other value. The weak are bled, the strong plunder, and everyone treats that whole process as only natural. I can't call the structure a good one."
Rian looked quietly at Khalifa. She met his gaze without looking away.
"But it is getting better. Clearly. After the war, His Majesty came to feel that force alone eventually meets its limit, and he has thrown everything into rebuilding what the Empire is. Bringing me in—someone from the Great Forest—was part of that, and coming to recruit you, Sir Rian, a symbol of peace, was also a way for the Empire to become something better."
She drew a breath, and said the last of it.
"And I swear, when it comes to how we treat talent, our Empire is more certain than any other nation. Having faced you myself and felt that martial might to the bone, we would never hold your worth cheap, and above all, we would never commit so shameless an act as driving a knife into the back of someone who has devoted himself to the Empire."
When her appeal ended, silence returned. To Khalifa, one second felt as long as an hour. Sweat beaded along her spine, and her lips went dry.
How much time passed? At the end of a stillness that felt nearly eternal, Rian asked.
"If I go to the Empire… will the Empire make war?"
Even with every other choice effectively gone, he hesitated for one reason alone. The fear that his choice might call down a horrific slaughter. War between the Empire and the Alliance. The difference in strength was overwhelming. Had Rian not held the Empire's host at the defensive line with everything he had, the Eastern Alliance would already have been imperial land.
If the Empire invaded as the price of his leaving—if, as the cost of turning his back because he could not swallow a moment's feeling, the east of the continent ran red with blood beyond counting—could he keep his sanity even after seeing that carnage?
But as if Rian's anguish were a useless worry, Khalifa drove a wedge straight through it.
"Before I crossed into the kingdom, I received a firm word from His Majesty the Emperor."
Rian's face said he hardly dared believe it. Khalifa smiled faintly, as if to tell him that disbelief was the right one, and spoke.
"On the Emperor's name—there will be no more war. Even if the Hero comes over to the Empire and victory becomes all but certain, there will be no clash of arms that would cost so many lives."
"…Haha."
His heart was anything but at ease, and yet Rian let out a laugh. As if they had seen straight through him. The Empire was clearing away every stone that made him hesitate.
…Which means they investigated thoroughly before they came.
What he liked. What he disliked. What he could never accept. It was ironic. The kingdom and the Alliance, which had reaped endless benefit from his existence, were not content to scorn and slight him—they were desperate to tear him apart—while the Empire, which had obstructed him and seized him by the ankle at every turn, was treating him as far more precious.
Hero, savior—grand titles, but Rian was a person in the end. Just as there is no jeweler who wishes to hang a pearl necklace around a pig's neck, he could not help thinking better of the side that treated him as someone special than of the place that ignored him and looked down on him.
…He would have to admit it. A method he had never even set among his choices—a last resort in the literal sense. It had swelled in an instant, grown larger and larger, and before he knew it had climbed to the first place in his heart.
"…All right. Fine."
At Rian's words Khalifa started and asked again. Color returned to her face.
"…You mean—?!"
The wage for ten years of grinding his body down and working like a dog for the kingdom had been betrayal and slander. He could not remain in a kingdom that treated him like this.
"I mean I'll turn."
"To the Empire."
He would leave. For a place that knew his true worth.