Gibraltar's Invitation (4)
Gibraltar is a remarkably static place. Part of it stems from its position at the continent's westernmost edge, part from the ongoing war with the Empire, and part from the margrave's near-total avoidance of outside exchanges.
"Young master, that..."
"Shh."
I had slipped out into the streets disguised alongside Robert.
"We can't get caught."
"Why go to such lengths..."
"Because I'm just here to scout for any orphans that might pop up."
"Pardon?"
Robert's face twisted, but I signaled him with my eyes and quietly handed him a piece of bread.
"Keep a close eye. Watch how those seeking Gibraltar move."
"...If you mean the people racing down the road—"
"What's with all this? Is it some special day?"
As we held our breath, a farmer approached a roadside vendor and asked the merchant.
"Why are there so many carriages? Did something happen?"
The barony's residents rarely saw carriages barreling down the roads. Luxurious ones, even less so.
"The margrave is hosting a victory celebration."
"Today?"
"That's right."
Merchants had sharp ears.
"How do you know that?"
Robert whispered in my ear. The knight's breath sent a brief chill down my spine, but thankfully, he wasn't the type with foul morning breath.
"Obviously, because we bought the ingredients for the feast from them."
"Ah."
"We might source wine from out-of-territory merchants, but local produce like cheese and vegetables is higher quality and faster from our own people."
The barony was fundamentally self-sufficient. This system had been in place since ancient times to procure military supplies internally if battles broke out in the canyon. Outsiders only came frequently once a year, during the autumn harvest festival.
"Good heavens. What day is it today? The lady's birthday?"
Other than special occasions, only merchants passed through occasionally.
"Why are they in such a hurry, racing like that?"
Their wagons were heavy, and they usually crawled along the roads—but
Rumble rumble rumble!
"Gah?!"
"Watch out!"
Carriages hurtling at speeds that could kill if they hit someone weren't a common sight.
"Ugh, watch where you're—"
"Shh! It's a noble's carriage."
An apology? If a noble's carriage was speeding along, it was the commoner's fault for being near the road. That was the noble mindset.
"Ha... Why would the margrave hold a celebration for the likes of them...?"
"Not our place to know. We just do as we're told. Keep the kids in line."
"Right. Make sure they don't dart into the road... Sigh."
With the roads now properly maintained, collisions with speeding carriages would become more frequent.
"Something tells me Gibraltar's starting to change..."
From today onward, nobles would swarm the place daily.
"Yeah. It's not just the kids to watch out for. Tell the adults not to cross the road's center carelessly either. They could get hit."
"Tch... If you're hit by a noble's carriage and die, what happens to your family? Who's gonna look after the kids?"
"......"
I silently chewed my bread.
What if.
An orphan loses their parents within the territory.
Say it's from a carriage crash caused by some noble.
'We can't raise every orphan at the orphanage.'
Cold, but realistic. The orphanage was for those with talent. Without satisfactory gifts, they'd have to fend for themselves.
"Robert."
"Yes, young master."
"When a child loses their parents and has no talent at all, how should they survive?"
"Er, well..."
"They might beg until adulthood, but what then?"
"...They'd have to make their own way, I suppose?"
"Exactly."
Thinking of Gibraltar's future meant prioritizing efficiency.
"If they lack talent but have working hands and feet..."
There was plenty to do.
"Put 'em to digging ditches."
Even if tasks were limited, we wouldn't just discard them.
"Soon as we get home, issue a proclamation to the residents. Carriages will be common now, so be careful on the roads."
I'm not the type to squeeze blood from peasants like some emperor.
"I don't want to create orphans or force parents to bury their kids."
I wouldn't kill on purpose. Unless they were already dead.
* * *
I don't remember people's names well. The ones I do recall are those who profoundly impacted my regressed life. Everyone else is just irrelevant.
Assuming the people from my remembered future match the present ones ignores the vast time gap between then and now. A future sycophant could be a present loyalist. From the moment I returned to the past, future intel became mere reference material.
'What matters is how I act on that intel.'
After regressing, I tried recalling the people from those nearly twenty years, but not many came to mind.
'I paid no attention to those around me.'
I had zero interest in worldly affairs. Whether the Empire passed some colonial law or not, as margrave, I just ran the territory as usual. Naturally, only what folks called "sycophants" gathered around, and they turned over frequently.
Poisoned to death. Or drunk-driving a horse cart into a tumble. Or hooking up with a lover in a tavern who turned out to be a revolutionary assassin.
I'd think 'Who died like that?' but couldn't recall exactly who or where they lived. Even if I did, I wouldn't know their current whereabouts.
'The ones I remember? I can count them on one hand.'
But those I did remember clearly?
'I need to pay attention.'
Those who'd caused me trouble. Those I'd deemed highly important. Those who'd significantly shaped my life. Anyone fitting one of those needed watching.
'Go recruit them?'
Should I wait around for such people to show up?
'A ten-year-old kid dragging knights along, touring the continent in a carriage?'
Did I really need to venture far to scoop them up?
'Only one person warrants that.'
Only one I'd fetch even from the Empire's near-enemy territory.
'No need for anyone else.'
The rest? If they came to Gibraltar in the next decade, great. If not, whatever. If they turned enemy—if the incompetent king or emperor reached out, or if we clashed and the 'future powerhouses' shunned us?
'Just raise their counterweight.'
History brimmed with powerhouses. But plenty wilted before blooming.
In other words.
'Raise a hundred, and when a remembered name pops up, verify their talent then.'
Why slave away hunting one master prospect when I could train a hundred knights? Why? 'Because we've already got Noir for master.'
As long as my brother didn't get lovesick and bedridden, Noir was a sure bet.
Of course, the orphanage's actual operations would differ from standard knight training camps.
'Empire-style.'
Running an orphanage wasn't originally my idea. It was borrowed from the Emperor—from the countless 'academies' he'd operated since his crown prince days, even now.
—I've run academies across the Empire since my prince days.
I'd once visited one with him.
—A place where even commoners could learn. There, I scouted countless plebs, selecting the talented to forge into my soldiers.
Recruiting talent under the guise of equal education? Sounded idealistic.
—Scholarships for the poor, dorms for orphans.
But reality differed.
—Unaware I'd toyed with their parents.
The Emperor created loyalists without scruple.
—Orphans need parents, after all. I forced that vacancy.
—Carriage 'accidents.' Travel 'disappearances.' Suspicious incidents plagued standout academy dormers. God's curse, or so they said.
I'd asked.
—Why not just say kingdom folk killed their parents?
His expression then—a fleeting one, hard to recall. I was more eager to get home and rest than note how he looked at me.
—Anyway, I merely became a benevolent father to kids orphaned by sudden tragedies. Haha.
What did I think then? Wow. 'Efficient.'
And that hasn't changed.
'I could still do it now.'
But I won't choose that method.
'Staging incidents is easy with the right people.'
Eliminating guardians to position ourselves as saviors was efficient, effective.
'As long as I'm not exposed. Like the Emperor.'
But.
'He'd notice.'
The Emperor collects futures. He's gathering talented kids stripped of parental sanctuary. If I dove into that 'market' the same way, he'd perk up.
'He'd turn his gaze here if it threatened his business.'
Even if my targets were far younger than his mid-to-late-teens academy students—kids younger than me.
Regrettable, but forcibly orphaning the parented was his way.
'No problem.'
It wouldn't derail the orphanage, the 'Gorge Children' plan.
'Plenty of orphans anyway.'
Who knew how many would survive.
'Ten years? At least one master.'
Even without talent, there were ways to forge masters. The Emperor proved it.
* * *
The festival day dawned. High-society parties usually started at evening, but Gibraltar's were unusually held in broad daylight.
'Get out quick.'
Don't linger till late, sleeping over—head home by carriage before sunset. Gibraltar tradition, amplified under Father's reign.
Quite different from capital galas, but—
'Already twenty families?'
Over twenty noble houses had arrived just at the mansion's main gate where I greeted them. Some raced from dawn; others had holed up in barony hotels days prior, awaiting the event.
Screech.
Like that middle-aged noble in the top hat and thin mustache stepping from the carriage now.
"Welcome to House Gibraltar."
"Hm."
The noble eyed me appraisingly. Even spotting the Gibraltar seal on my chest, he held his head high—naturally, since I was a ten-year-old boy.
"The crest on your necktie..."
But playing informed was a child's duty.
"Baron Ervant Langueir, yes?"
"Indeed. You know me?"
No. Not in my memories.
"Yes. Academy alumni with Father, same class, I believe."
"Ho ho."
Just crammed from Mother's invitations and kingdom noble genealogies. Names might escape me, but crests and backgrounds? Easy to memorize.
"Welcome. Father's in the hall."
"Impressive. The margrave's son knows me."
"Basic refinement for a kingdom noble. Is the lady and your two daughters arriving separately?"
"Haha. You even know I have two daughters? Remarkable, at your age."
Of course. I'd memorized till my brains bled.
Even considered swapping places with Noir swinging a sword outside.
"Sorry, lad, but no one brings wife and daughters to Gibraltar lightly."
Baron Ervant advised me in a silky tone.
"Pardon?"
"Ahem. Nothing."
The baron's face hardened. As a well-mannered ten-year-old, I didn't pry.
'Why bring wife and daughters to suffer humiliation.'
His wife would see her husband as a worm next to the margrave. His daughters? Lovestruck over a mid-thirties married man.
"Tough luck."
"Yes. Butler, escort him."
"Understood, young master. Baron Ervant Langueir, this way—"
I handed the baron to the butler, then tugged at my choking bowtie.
"Whew."
I don't care for parties. Precisely these 'dull' ones. As a child, being unable to enjoy them chafed.
Not just Gibraltar making them boring—these kingdom social affairs were stuffy and stagnant.
'Think of it as work.'
It was, originally. If the hall with Father and Mother was for socializing,
then this spot—the mansion entrance where I stood—was for forging political alliances with rebel Gibraltar.
"Hm...?"
Screech.
A carriage halted.
"Gasp."
The crest on its side was all too familiar; my spine chilled instantly.
"Damn."
Does he even know where he is?
"Viscount Hex Romana."
The man who'd slapped Mother in the past.
'The lunatic who confessed to Mother, got rejected, and struck her in rage—why's he here?'
Father loathed him as much as—if not more than—Duke Morgania.
'Here to get killed? Turn the celebration wine-red with his blood—'
"......Huh?"
As Viscount Hex descended, an utterly unexpected figure followed from the carriage.
"...Tch."
Someone whose name, age, origins, and background I knew precisely.
"Viscount Hex Romana. And..."
I bowed to the woman a head taller than me, her hair an eerily mint shade.
"Lady Mente, I presume."
A commoner-born knightess. Currently one of Duke Morgania's knights.
"You know me?"
"Yes."
The future.
"Quite well."
The Empire's vanguard commander.
"A pleasure. Sincerely."
A Sword Master abandoned by parents and kingdom alike.
Not yet.