Eschard von Valentia
“Ho? A reckless little brat, eh?”
In an instant, the duke's blue eyes pierced the boy with razor sharpness. It was as if the carefree demeanor he'd shown moments ago had been a lie.
Tiny felt a crushing pressure, like the soul of a giant bearing down on him, but he just grinned as if it were nothing.
Soul Pressure... As expected, even the Sword Emperor was still quite unrefined at this point.
To the others around them, it probably hadn't registered at all. Soul Pressure. Grand name or not, it was merely a superhuman unleashing their vast soul to intimidate a lesser foe. Among equals, it cost no energy or mental strain and didn't even ripple the surroundings—it was a petty trick for putting small fry in their place.
He'd probably meant to quietly scare the chattering kid. But...
As long as he doesn't directly unleash his full presence...
Tiny's soul, far superior to the current Sword Emperor's even now, wouldn't buckle under this. If anything, it just let Tiny gauge the man's exact level.
Even at the Aura User stage, he's only at proficient... Impressive for nearly twenty years ago, but the Sword Emperor still has a long way to go.
Though called one of the continent's Seven Great Knights alongside him, there was a vast gap compared to Estina, an Aura Exceeder even now, or Zerik pounding at that wall, or the other racial champions.
Humans seemed to lump them together just for wielding aura.
If the Sword Emperor's like this, then Grid's probably in a similar state.
Tiny sighed inwardly and replied nonchalantly, ignoring the pressure.
“Would it be alright if I just tell you here?”
“What...?”
“Father, don't mind Tiny. The kid doesn't know what he's saying...”
“No, no. Someone clueless couldn't pull that off. Astonishing! It's impossible.”
“...Pardon?”
“I need to talk to this boy. Let's go inside.”
“Father?”
Cloi looked baffled, but Tiny inwardly cheered, clenching his fist.
Yes!
Finally, a chance to speak properly with the root of all this—or at least the culprit(?).
* * *
The duke led Tiny to his study. For one of the Aslan Empire's top magnates, Duke Valentia's office was surprisingly spartan. Just a plain desk and chair without ornamentation, a bookshelf with a few volumes, and stacks of papers on the desk. Nothing else.
It was a stark contrast to the dazzling corridors from the inner keep's entrance and the grand hall lined with art. Tiny couldn't help glancing around.
He'd felt it before, but this man really was...
“Quite austere, sir.”
A glint sparked in the duke's blue eyes at the words.
“You've been to many nobles' manors, I take it.”
“Pardon? Ah, yes... Haha.”
“You're a strange one in many ways. Definitely no commoner airs, though.”
His casual probe had backfired, drawing more suspicion. Tiny gave an awkward laugh.
Thankfully, the duke didn't press further.
“Formality suffices for guests. Excess is just waste. Now, shall we talk properly?”
As the duke sat, propping his chin on interlaced fingers, they cut to the chase.
“So, you know about the missing Temperus?”
“Yes, that's right.”
Tiny answered calmly.
“Assuming it's the artifact with the power I suspect.”
“Suspect? I'm curious what that is.”
Rumors swirled about the Valentia heirloom, but they were all empty. Only successive family heads knew the truth, so it stayed secret.
Tiny's words lacked proof, but the duke was intrigued by the boy who'd brushed off his Soul Pressure.
Curiosity—that was all, at first.
“What if its power rewinds time?”
The duke's blue eyes wavered visibly.
“...Care to elaborate?”
“You don't dismiss it as nonsense, then.”
“Hmph...”
The duke stared, then sighed deeply.
“Depends how convincing you are. Speak. Why that conclusion? And... why you are here.”
His blue eyes darkened heavily. Meeting them, Tiny knew his hunch was spot on.
That let him unburden the tale he'd kept buried deep.
“It began with the cataclysm twenty years from now...”
The story stretched till sunset. Starting with boisterous tales, building to epic saga, ending in tragedy—their tale.
“...All ten of the continent's Great Knights perished. Estina burned away with the Beast Legion's aerial forces. Hainen incinerated the subterranean beasts and turned to ash with them. As the allied races held the Beast Legion's main force, Zerik walked the path of death alone to clear a way to the legion commander, Beast King Glutterni.”
Recounting comrades' deaths choked him; Tiny gazed at the ceiling, steadying himself under the duke's blank stare.
Finally, the tale's end.
“The remaining seven fought Glutterni for seven days and nights, staking our lives. All but us two fell one by one. Then...”
He drew a sharp breath.
“You blocked his final, desperate strike. I crushed his throat. Only then did we realize—we'd burned our last life force.”
Youth made it raw again. Rage and injustice surged at his limit. The Might Knight, Tiny—that was all he'd achieved. Tears welled.
“And that nightmare? Just one of the Demon King's Seven Legions. As death loomed in despair, you told me there was still a way.”
Another breath.
“You said you'd save my talent. To find you. That I could smash the legion commanders' and Demon King's skulls.”
Not the Sword Emperor's exact words, but he'd thought it.
So he sent me in his stead.
Tiny met the duke's bloodshot eyes squarely.
“I awoke to your baffling words—twenty years ago. Me, the slum rat in Philes' alleys. A month and a half ago.”
Now explain. How? Was it for the reason I think?
Tiny stared expectantly, but no quick reply came. The duke's gaze drifted, then a quiet sigh and even voice.
“...Too intricate for a child's fabrication. A slum kid knowing the World Tree guardian, dwarf First Hammer, orc great warrior? Odd.”
They were the Seven Great Knights now, but their true names—racial champions—were unknown even to empire elites. Human-centric titles, after all.
“...A year as comrades.”
“Comrades... Hah, those rivals uniting. Unbelievable.”
Shocked, the duke stared blankly again. Then, abruptly:
“...'Temperus' means time or chance. Sacrifice a superhuman's life to send one person back once. Heir, use with utmost caution—only in extinction-level crisis.”
The Valentia secret, recited flatly.
“Passed with the heirloom, but I never believed it true.”
He continued softly, confessional.
“Ancestors probably same. Too costly to test; just preserved as relic.”
His sharp eyes fixed on Tiny.
“But in your scenario, I'd consider it. Yet... why you, not me?”
Aggression edged his tone. Tiny sighed in relief—belief meant such questions.
Unthinkingly: “...Future you would know. Babbling about saving talent—I thought you'd gone senile.”
Casual comrade-speak slipped out. He winced inwardly, but the duke ignored it, hitting an unforeseen point.
“If your talent's that great, I'd have sought you out.”
“...Huh!?”
Right...?
Stumped, then:
“Didn't ask where you lived?”
“...No. Vagrant life—hard to pin down anyway. ...Ah!”
Answering sparked a realization. Only Philes for years settled. But would rival-hearted Tiny admit a Valentia vassal origin?
No way.
The Sword Emperor knew that pride.
Damn, more debt.
Tiny eyed the duke awkwardly, but present duke didn't dig deep.
“...Vagrant life. Makes sense. Not knowing the return point...”
One snag, though.
“...Didn't know the regression point? You too?”
“Said to return at soul's greatest shock. Didn't believe, so no deep probe. No way to.”
What...?
“Seeing you, probably self-formation age. Future me guessed same.”
Grit. No—that's wrong. Then why Erina's death day...?
“That's...!”
Fury surged, but met calm eyes—only futility washed over.
Yeah, what sin in the sender? Grateful for even brief reunion. Steadying:
“...Not that, then. My mistake?”
“...No. No, sir. Hoo... It's fine.”
Tiny forced calm, refocused. Erina saved. Now change future.
But duke prodded:
“Why switch speech? Casual kid was refreshing.”
“...Sorry.”
“Asked why.”
“Then was then; I'm not yet your equal...”
“Ha... Hahaha! Fun kid! Hilarious, puhahaha!”
Tiny sighed at the burst, watching. Duke sobered, tossing casually:
“One last check.”
“...?”
“If true, and I chose you over me... I'd leave a message?”
Sharp blue eyes signaled the final hurdle.
Tiny faltered.
“Message?”
“Just 'find me'? Too thin proof.”
“Ah...”
Then it hit.
“...Daughter's pet name: Layla. From wife's favorite flower.”
“Common knowledge.”
The duke's sole love—tales empire-wide. Recalling lost wife hardened his face.
Till next:
“...But you said you hated that flower. The core...”
Crack in expression.
“Hmph... Heh.”
Crack to guffaw.
“Hahaha!”
Wooong. Mana quivered at superhuman laugh. Feeling it, Tiny knew trust complete.
“Yes, I'd say that.”
Deflated post-laugh.
“...Words I couldn't utter till she passed. Can't to anyone now.”
Gloom replaced mirth. Mana settled. Unintended environmental sway—superhuman feat. Hiding it, duke bellowed:
“Damn it!! All true!? Laugh or cry? Flinging heirloom for humanity's chance? Like me, but damn! How...!”
Un-duke-like curses.
Twenty years younger—temper intact, old man.
Recalling septuagenarian stoic, Tiny chuckled inwardly. Duke glared fiercely.
“...You said you believed.”
Tiny flinched back instinctively.
“Yes, explains heirloom vanishing from my chambers unscathed.”
Ferocious growl. Pride in skill over words—befitting superhuman. But acceptance thrilled.
“Phew, good.”
“But! Test your ability.”
“Pardon? You just...”
“Believe words, not power. Senile haze maybe. Tiny? Future Tenth Knight? Prove it!”
Condensed superhuman pressure crashed.
“...Heh.”
Tiny bared a feral grin.