Sevillea, the Plague-Ridden Polluted City (2)
"Sevillea looks the same no matter when I come."
"Because nothing ever changes here."
We arrived at Sevillea Castle on horseback.
"Where are you from... oh, it's you again."
"Yeah."
"Did anyone else come with you this time?"
"No. It's just Grey Gibraltar again. Pass that along."
"...Understood. Happy hunting."
The guards gave us a once-over, ran through their checks, and let us pass. One of them glanced at Robert before heading toward the lord's castle, but no one came out to greet us.
"I always say it, but doesn't it feel like they ignore us more every time we visit? Sir Robert Seville."
"What does the name matter to me when I'm not even part of the Sevillea family? Lady Mente."
"You still have a family name."
"It's more like a brand than a name, isn't it? Heh."
Family names. Symbols of noble bloodlines. In the kingdom, only nobles could bear them—commoners using one was an affront to the class system, a direct challenge. Yet Robert had one. From this very city: Sevillea.
"Sorry about this every time, young master."
"What's there to apologize for? Even on our second visit, that esteemed Baron Sevillea ignored us outright."
"Th-that..."
"Now they don't even send a single servant, even though they know you're with me."
Knightage was typically a noble's privilege, and nobles usually bore family names. But not every knight was noble-born.
"Really. Do they treat other knights like this too?"
Most issues like this stemmed from exceptions.
"A knight bearing their family name shows up once a month, and they still shut the door in his face."
Like a commoner who awakened mana and showed sword talent, earning knighthood.
"Sir Robert."
Just as Nostrum's kings had elevated commoner heroes, plebeians could rise to knighthood—and nobility.
"To you,"
what sort of man was Robert Seville?
"What does the name Sevillea mean?"
He wasn't noble-born. Yet he carried the name, spelled just like the baron's.
"Ahem. To me, Sevillea is a mark—a trace."
Robert took pride in his hometown but rarely boasted of the name.
"Proof that a native works as a knight for another house instead of theirs."
The empire labeled livestock origins clearly, a quality guarantee. Knights weren't cattle, but commoner knights were prime "merchandise" for houses to flaunt.
"Ever thought of changing it?"
"Plenty of times, but it'd cost a fortune to buy it off the Sevillea family."
"Find a lady from a house that can cover the penalty fee or dowry, and marry her."
"Easier said than done, and you know it means nothing anyway."
Marrying a noblewoman would require paying the Sevilleas handsomely to shed the name. Penalty? Dowry? Purchase price? No precise term existed—each house handled it differently, too ashamed to formalize the trade.
"For me, it's a name I never had, so having it or not doesn't matter. It even gives a sense of hometown pride. The problem is..."
"You never get courtesy or support from the baron whenever we come."
"I'm sorry."
"That's not for you to apologize."
We reached central Sevillea barony. The town wasn't large but had all the basics—no cultural facilities you'd expect in a count's domain.
"It's my fault for tying you to Grey Gibraltar."
Inns were the same. Visiting knights from elsewhere, especially Gibraltar's, usually warranted a house envoy.
"At least it lets me feel it fresh each time. Being snubbed means even a mere barony sees me as the disgraced eldest son."
"Young master..."
"From their view, a knight glued to such a man's side must irk them."
I understood. Gibraltar sent a knight, but he stuck to Grey—not Noir.
"It's fine. At least the inn won't gouge me."
"Only because we've been enough times. First visit, they tried to fleece us hard. I was mortified."
"Your face turned red more over your family than the hotel, no?"
Robert grimaced sourly.
"That's..."
"It's okay. They don't say it to my face."
"But I get fleeced by my family at home instead."
"Think of it as the fate of a knight who follows me."
I handed Robert a pouch heavy with gold coins.
"Take it inside."
"Young master."
"Too much?"
"It's not the amount—it's a waste."
"Even for your family?"
"They'll just curse you out regardless. They don't even know you..."
"Still, it'll cut down the cursing a bit."
I clapped his back.
"The Whites will prep for the polluted zone hunt. Spend time with your family."
"I'll take my leave."
Robert pocketed the gold and left, promising to rejoin in the afternoon. His steps dragged—he clearly hated going.
"Lady Mente. You'll dine with me at the inn. You lot..."
"We, uh..."
"...Eat wherever. It'll be awkward with me anyway."
"......"
Whip.
I tossed a gold pouch to White 36, who wore her epaulet on her left shoulder. She snatched it midair and bowed.
"We'll be off, Master."
Rustle.
The six vanished in an instant. Suddenly, it was just me and Lady Mente.
"Starting those conversations makes them uncomfortable, you know?"
"But it works, doesn't it?"
I nodded toward the stares from all around.
"How does he treat his servants that they all bail with one kid left?"
"......"
"No matter how often we come, plenty still think Lady Mente's just an Advanced Knight. That's the public's view."
They saw her as a child, me as dead weight.
"At least the innkeeper knows you as Gibraltar's young master with his guard knight."
"Without that, I'd have lost it."
"Lucky us. No weird looks."
"Weird looks? Wh-what kind?"
"Who knows."
Probably.
"Big brother and little sister?"
"......"
People judged by appearances, rumors, or first impressions.
"Mother and son, or at best—lovers."
I wanted to keep the dead-weight image, but Mente didn't.
"Once you hit Master, you'll grow tall and fine. Let's head to the inn."
I went to the hotel with Lady Mente.
Robert Seville knew exactly what kind of man Grey Gibraltar was.
The Grey from a decade ago had been precocious but childlike. After that day, he was a prepared count.
"How long will you cling to that rotten rope?"
This spot felt utterly uncomfortable.
"If you're guarding, why not Noir Gibraltar, learning directly from the margrave? Tsk tsk."
"What brings you here, Baron?"
Robert scanned his home. One of the few two-story manors in the territory. Aged parents lurked in the kitchen, eyes darting. His sister loitered like a maid.
"Any reason I can't come? Brat. Think I shoveled over ten billion gold on your family for this?"
The uninvited guest—an old man with a hunched back: Baron Plambel Sevillea.
"Thought you were thriving in Gibraltar, but you're just wiping that fool's ass... Tsk tsk."
"It's Gibraltar."
"Gibraltar what? A margrave who couldn't hack it—what's that worth?"
"I report regularly to Count Crimson Gibraltar."
"......"
Invoking authority to cow someone grated, but.
"Mind if I relay those words to the count?"
"Ha, haha. Come on... such a grim joke."
Crimson wouldn't tolerate his son—Grey—being mocked like that.
"Young master Grey will do great things someday. Best cozy up now."
Robert straightened, forcing resolve.
"He stays a week monthly, dropping near ten million gold."
"Two adults, six brats on 'expeditions,' burning ten million like trash."
"Filling your pockets off those 'expeditions.'"
"Hah. Full Gibraltar now, eh? Saying I line my pockets off hunt scraps? Hmph!"
The baron shot up, grinding his teeth.
"Don't forget! Vassal contract stands anywhere in the kingdom! You work Gibraltar, but...!"
"We're done. Please leave."
"You...!"
"Before I tell young master Grey to burn all the game."
"Tch...!"
The baron stormed out, kicking the door—no farewell. Robert gazed at the ceiling.
"...Just lunch, then."
They wore finer clothes and ate better than most crammed in tiny homes, but.
"...I'll check if I can buy relocation rights to Gibraltar with what I've earned."
Today, his family's clothes felt like prison garb.
Night.
Sunset yielded to darkness.
Humans unused to dark needed light to see, but beasts didn't. Some slept by day, hunted by night—darkness was a hunter's ally.
And for us—
"Everyone's ready, I see."
A boon.
"Move quietly to the polluted zone."
From me to Lady Mente, the Whites, and late-joining Sir Robert—we all wore skin-tight gray. Not black, my preference. Bandage-wrapped look, but gray-dyed leather armor.
"Robes?"
"Ready."
"Good. Put them on."
I took a darker gray robe from White 36 and draped it over.
"Don't forget warming spells—it's cold."
"Not to make us easier prey?"
"That too."
The plain gray robe hid intricate magic circles inside.
"Better if beasts hit us instead of bandits like last time."
The front gem-button flickered faintly, activating warmth.
"Sir Robert. Know snakes see heat in the dark?"
Not exactly.
Something like pit organs.
Some snakes had heat-sensing organs. Details in the imperial flora-fauna encyclopedia.
A memory surfaced.
—Hahaha! Snakes see temperature? Snake in your ancestry?
—See with snake eyes? How do you 'see' temperature?
An empire exchange student humiliated by kingdom nobles over a snake report.
"In a gray world, warm spots glow red."
"So we're obvious to snakes?"
"Yep. Grab 'em if they fly at us."
Chatting idly, we reached the dense, shadow-shrouded forest.
"Young master. Something to say."
"What."
Robert's mood was icy.
"If the hunt succeeds, you'll hand the rest to the Sevillea baron again?"
"For now?"
I pointed to the massive wagon the Whites unloaded.
"Load whatever fits."
"The baron will love it. 'Grey Gibraltar dumps valuables again.'"
"Clueless that we take the real prizes."
I lifted my robe's empty sack.
"Why. Something happen?"
"Well..."
"Speak, and if it's trouble, I'll fix it. Silence means ignorance."
Regression's long experience taught me this well.
"Talking helps too."
"Visited family. Baron was there."
"...Hm."
"As you feared, he pushed me to switch to Noir. I brushed him off curtly."
"He call you insolent?"
"Nearly."
As expected.
"I see. Don't sweat it."
"......"
"Ignore a dying old man's bile."
"...Pardon?"
Just a spoiler to console him.
"D-did I make you plan to kill the baron...?"
"...That how it sounded?"
Misunderstanding hardened.
"Sir Robert. The baron has a son, right?"
"Yes. We were friends once."
"Name?"
"Gamos. Gamos Sevillea."
"Right."
I knew it.
"No assassinations. We're fellow Nostrum nobles."
He fled to Gibraltar amid plague, abandoning citizens.
"No need anyway."
Before I became margrave, Gamos Sevillea ruled here—around my academy days.
"That old geezer's senile ravings from greed? Ignore."
The current baron would die soon.
"Not that he won't."
Death came regardless.
"No set order or date."
Grrr.
"If you insist."
I drew on shaking bushes ahead.
"Sending him early isn't bad."
Kyaaaaah!
Thud.
"I'm good at startling gifts that nearly stop hearts from joy."
The beast's heart stilled.