Children of the Gorge (2)
The end of a traitor was never a good one. His mother had taken her own life, and his father had been executed by the emperor. Noir had died of syphilis. And he—
If that's called death, then was mine even more cruel?
In the heart of Gibraltar Canyon, crushed to death by collapsing boulders from the empire's magitech bombardment led by the emperor himself. The person by his side at the moment of death had been Princess Naria.
Personally, it was the worst death, but maybe not as bad as Letar's.
Opinions might differ depending on the person, but in his view, Letar had met the most brutal end. Summing up her cause of death in one line: 'killed by the dog she raised.'
Letar had a cruel disposition. Her surroundings didn't suppress it—they stoked it into an explosion.
The daughter of a traitor. A girl enjoying wealth and glory by selling out her country. The empire's second-class citizens, seeing the young Letar as an easy target, had insulted her. And Letar had tortured those who mocked her without mercy.
—Brother. Buy me this.
—...What for?
—C-Can't I do whatever I want with slaves?
He knew what Letar would do to those who weren't second-class citizens but true 'slaves'—those whose status had been demoted for resisting the empire.
She's asking for a whip and torture tools. How could I not know?
It wasn't like she was building a museum or anything.
—Keep it moderate.
He permitted it. There was no reason to stop her, nor any need. Even as traitors, the Gibraltar family was thriving, and he believed anyone pointing fingers at them deserved to lose their hands and tongues.
Sometimes, he was even grateful. There were revolutionaries who raided the count's mansion or attempted terrorism under the guise of rebellion.
—Throw this one to Letar.
No, should he have her come pick him up herself?
Among them, the ones with decent faces meant he no longer needed to test the lethality of newfangled muskets himself.
Years later. About a year before Letar's death, perhaps.
—To Letar...
—P-Please, just shoot me instead!
—My lord count, one last mercy!!
—M-Me too! Behead me, please! I beg you!
Letar's notoriety had spread not just through the colonies but across the entire empire. Captured revolutionaries begged to die by his hand rather than hers.
It got to the point where the Morgania leader sent him a personal letter saying, 'keep it moderate.'
At the time, he'd thought, What do you expect me to do?
He'd merely delegated the execution of those sentenced to death under imperial law. And in the process, he'd let her indulge a bit of personal desire.
—Grey Margrave.
—Yes, Your Majesty.
—The imperial princess said your little sister was quite frightening.
—......If it's Your Majesty's command.
He couldn't understand it on many levels, but under pressure from various quarters, he eventually decided to rein Letar in.
—Don't kill them off one by one. Raise one sturdy dog. Replace it when it dies.
If killing many brutally caused controversy, wouldn't tormenting one for a long time quiet the fuss?
Looking back now, that was probably the indirect cause of Letar's death. And the boy he'd brought specifically to sate her sadistic urges—the one right in front of him now—
"Your name?"
"...Ethan Sezar."
The silver-haired, wolf-like orphan, Ethan Sezar.
"Sezar."
He knew him well.
"I recall the Sezar barons from the western regions."
"........."
"Ah. They fell from grace."
The Sezar barons.
"I read in a book that the grandfather was brought to trial for losing five warships to pirates."
The last Baron Sezar had held a key position in the navy. And he'd been stripped of his title after the fleet he commanded was captured—by pirates, no less.
"Yet you're still using a noble surname even though you're no longer nobility?"
Ethan clenched his fists, grinding his teeth. Anyone could see he was suppressing his rage.
"Y-You...! How dare you glare at the young master like that!"
He'd delivered the insult, but those around him immediately raised their voices at Ethan.
"I-I'm sorry...! Ethan, it's your fault...!"
"Y-Yeah! S-Sorry! Young master! Ethan didn't know...!"
The other children from the same intake group panicked, fearing backlash from Ethan's actions.
"An apology? I was just asking."
He wouldn't have understood before, but now he could grasp their anxiety and fear.
"Pure curiosity. Is there anyone else here with noble blood like Ethan?"
When he casually asked the others, they fidgeted and exchanged glances.
"I see. Then it's just you."
"Uh...."
The venom slowly faded from Ethan's eyes.
"Relax. Gibraltar doesn't distinguish between fallen nobles and commoners. Angel's Gorge will take responsibility for you until you come of age."
If they asked why the orphanage was called Angel's Gorge, tell them to take it up with Lady Charlotte Gibraltar.
"I'm rather glad, actually. Do you know noble etiquette?"
"Y-Yes."
"Then teach the other children. Hiring a royal etiquette tutor costs a pretty penny."
"........."
Ethan's face flushed red, and he bowed his head with a small nod.
What a hassle.
The future master and revolutionary hero who killed Bloody White? For now, he was just a fallen noble orphan who could barely fend for himself.
Touch his insecurities a little, and he flared up like any kid.
Social status.
He gets it now.
That he didn't give a damn about his circumstances.
That it was purely innocent curiosity.
Did he realize?
Ethan will be this group's leader. They're already looking at him with envy.
That he'd defended a disgraced noble, risking the political burden of treating him differently from commoners.
"Normally, your mother would escort you to the orphanage, but today it's me."
"H-Hic...?"
The escort maid from the orphanage turned pale.
"Why? Is there a problem?"
"N-No! As you wish, young master...!"
A woman who looked well over thirty, terrified of him.
All the kids are scared too.
This wouldn't earn him any goodwill from the new arrivals.
"Um, brother."
The only one giving him a friendly—unbiased—look was Letar.
"Is that kid a noble?"
"Not anymore."
"Why?"
"His grandfather committed a great crime against the kingdom."
"Then his grandpa was wrong, not him, right?"
Letar tilted her head.
"Hmm, yeah."
The proper response would be, Letar, you're challenging Nostrum's sacred national laws on punishing defeated soldiers, long-standing customs of collective responsibility. But—
"He's not at fault."
He swallowed it and patted Letar's back.
"Go inside and get some early rest. Say hi to Mother."
"O-Okay!"
"Worried?"
"Uh, well...."
Letar blushed.
Fate's prank, it seemed. Before he could speak, the two had stared at each other, lost for words.
This, this.
He could tell at a glance. Especially since he'd seen the future.
Meeting young made them fall for each other like this.
Letar was at that age where she was starting to notice boys. Sorry to the other orphanage kids, but talent seemed to match looks—Ethan had the most potential of any so far.
"........."
"B-Brother?"
"Yeah, go to Mother. Tell her I'll take the kids to Angel's Gorge myself. You can do that?"
"O-Okay...!"
Letar nodded and turned, then whispered in his ear—
"D-Don't chase him away or anything...!"
—before demurely leaving.
That girl.
In the future, she'd dragged him around like a dog. Now she was acting like his owner from childhood.
"Let's go. And, Ethan Sezar?"
"Yes, young master...?"
"That form of address is fine. Let's chat on the way. Personal question."
He sidled up to Ethan, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Hic?!"
The others gasped in horror, but he ignored them and whispered to Ethan alone.
"Love at first sight? First love? Think that'll happen?"
"......!!"
"Personally, I support that sort of thing."
"P-Pardon...?"
"Because."
For most people.
"It's not easy to make it happen."
First loves rarely came true, after all.
* * *
Nostrum had a major superstition.
—If someone suddenly promotes you without any prior connection, pledge your loyalty to them.
It stemmed from an amusing anecdote in the Nostrum royal chronicles.
When the kingdom was in peril, heroes always appeared. And the Nostrum royals had an uncanny knack for finding those heroes amid the crises.
Nostrum's founder described this as the 'Divine Eye.'
With an eyepatch over his left eye, he'd remove it to scan people, and those chosen invariably showed extraordinary talent—in swordsmanship, command, magic, politics, whatever.
This atmosphere spread across the kingdom, birthing the proverb:
—People pledge loyalty to those who recognize them.
At some point, that sentiment dominated the realm.
The court mage, discriminated against as a commoner at the academy but elevated by the king to advance the kingdom's magic.
The sea battle king, starving in the slums until the crown prince sought him out personally and raised him.
The Sword Master queen who cleared the monster-infested pollution zones and married the reigning king.
All had been inexplicably championed by the Nostrum royals, said to possess the gods' eyes across generations.
In that light, it wasn't strange that 'Merrily,' an ordinary new maid, had become director of the Gibraltar orphanage in just three years.
—She got promoted for brewing good tea and grilling steak well in a crisis.
Many still belittled her like that, but he had trusted her with this role.
She had to do well. For Gibraltar's true powerbroker, visible only from the deepest inner circles.
"Phew. The rooms for the new kids are all sorted...."
No mistakes allowed. He might just sip tea while overlooking Noir sweating in the training grounds, but he knew everything happening inside the mansion.
"The escort for the kids... Oh right. The lady's not mobile right now. Will Malcolm the head butler handle it...?"
"D-Director—!!"
A young maid with glasses and pigtails came rushing in.
"Sigh. Cecil. Don't shout in the hall—"
"The young master's coming—!!"
"......!!"
Merrily shot to her feet.
"A-All childcare maids, assemble—!!"
Five minutes later.
At the orphanage's main gate, Merrily and the staff poured out en masse.
And they beheld.
Thud, thud.
A gray-haired boy approaching with utterly leisurely steps.
"Hmm."
Now nearly as tall as an adult woman—verging on young man territory.
"I always think it, but building in a breezy spot was a great choice."
But only Merrily, Malcolm the butler, and a select few knew.
This boy strolling with hands behind his back, like a casual garden walk, trailed by staff and ten new orphanage kids—this was the family's true danger.
"Hm."
Of course.
"Why's everyone out to greet me?"
His attitude alone—treating the entire staff's turnout as natural.
—Miss Merrily. I think Crimson the count wants to raise those two separately.
Malcolm, who had miraculously survived a stabbing, had whispered that once.
—Martial might as the sword for Noir. And 'politics' as the sword for Grey.
Gibraltar Margrave's political heir.
—Then what about the girls meant for Noir?
—Dunno. Damn it. I don't know what to do. Adults spying on adults...
For the household staff, nothing was more hellish.
"Merrily."
"Yes!"
"I want to check the 'flower garden' briefly."
"........."
"What's wrong? Is it not in good shape?"
A capable servant grasps their master's tastes, always ready to provide.
"It's spotless, and some of the children are tending 'those flowers.' Shall I call them?"
"No. Clear the reception room. I'll check the plants and head up right after."
"Yes...! Oh, young master."
"What."
Had she overstepped? Merrily swallowed hard.
"The last group from the orphanage behind you—can we process them right away?"
"...Ah."
Good, not over the line.
"Yes. I forgot for a moment, fixated on the flowers. Handle the paperwork."
"As you command."
"Good work, Merrily."
"Yes!"
Merrily bowed deeply. For Grey Gibraltar, being remembered by name was proof of selection.
"Now, everyone?"
Merrily flashed a bright smile at the tense children, mimicking her master's as best she could.
"A heartfelt welcome to Angel's Gorge."
* * *
Quick on the uptake, as expected.
Servants or employees needed to be competent. Or at least perceptive.
Ambitious too—she'll prove herself amid the jealousy.
Merrily passed with flying colors. Even if the future him or the Gibraltar family had never employed her—
Better to trust my own eyes than that info.
Judging with his margrave experience and insight was wiser.
Of course.
"Young master. This way. The basement is here."
"Your name?"
"C-Cecil!"
"Right, Cecil."
Merrily had assigned her right-hand maid to him already.
"Know what flower we're growing in this basement?"
He picked a white bloom from the entrance.
"It's called Somnus!"
"Correct. Good answer."
Not because she managed it—it was fairly common. Pretty enough for children's fairy tale illustrations.
"........."
The five-petaled white petals and soft purple center were truly beautiful.
"Um, young master. Just curiosity, but why grow it separately underground?"
"Why? Because."
He handed the scentless flower to the maid.
"It's pretty."
No one knew yet.
The alchemical result when juice from this common white flower, grown underground, met a certain substance.
Silver Dust.
This Somnus flower handled the 'white' part.
"With this flower, I'll."
In three years.
"Open a flower shop in the capital. Sell them. Make a fortune."
"........."
"Like those tulips that boomed in the capital."
He'd succeeded in mass-cultivating Somnus flowers in this basement.
"This means money. Definitely."
Not selling the flowers themselves, but the white pollen. But still.