Rohiter
“Here they come again!”
“Where's that one from?”
“Let me see... the crest... It's the Troth Count family!”
With the sun high in the midday sky, crowds far larger than usual had gathered at the east, west, south, and north gates of Valentino, all gawking at the procession entering the castle.
“Just how many nobles showed up?”
“Probably every big shot from the Empire who farts in the right direction. It's the Valentia Duke family's celebration, after all.”
“Even so, does a coming-of-age ceremony usually draw this big a crowd?”
“His Grace dotes on Lady Cloi like she's the apple of his eye—word's spread across the whole Empire. Of course they're all kissing ass.”
The whole town buzzed like a massive spectacle was underway, and truthfully, it was warranted. The nobles from the territories under Valentia Duchy had flooded in the moment the sun rose and the gates opened. And behind them marched delegation after delegation of nobles, right up to broad daylight.
Every noble who'd received an invitation to the coming-of-age ceremony of Valentia Duke family's youngest daughter, Cloi von Valentia, had come rushing like their lives depended on it. Starting a full week before the guests were even expected to arrive, all the way up to today.
This had the inner castle of Valentino growing busier by the minute.
“...There are more guests than we expected.”
“It feels like every noble who got an invitation showed up.”
“Butler Chief, it looks like we won't have any more room in the lord's residence...”
At the servants' reports, the Valentia Duke family's head butler and estate manager, Krin MacDowell, could only wipe cold sweat from his brow.
Formal invitations we sent out as courtesy—why did they all actually come?
They'd only prepared for the local nobles under their domain and nearby delegations. At this rate, food and lodging would fall woefully short.
“F-First, go to the kitchens and triple—no, quadruple—the ingredient orders. And rent out all the high-end inns in the inner castle under the family name!”
“Will the nobles stay in inns?”
“If they don't like it, tell 'em to go home! What're we supposed to do—no rooms left!”
“As for assignments in the lord's residence...”
“By rank... No, prioritize domain nobles first, then by rank after that! Send the rest to the inns!”
As he struggled with this unforeseen disaster, the castle's master had also received word of the situation.
“The Rohiter Duke family has sent a delegation as well. It's their infamous third son, the wastrel, though...”
Silver hair neatly combed back, dressed in a impeccably tailored officer's uniform—he was the very picture of prim and proper. At Jenas Priwell's report, the duke furrowed his brow slightly.
“This is blatantly suspicious. Wasn't it just you, me, and the family who knew? We haven't even told Lady Cloi yet.”
“...Indeed.”
Though one more person knew, but still.
“The only conclusion is that the information leaked from the imperial court. Well, ultimately, it doesn't hurt us.”
“...You're right.”
As long as that incident doesn't happen.
The duke kept his inner turmoil locked in his chest as he gazed at Jenas.
'He said he wasn't in the future, right?'
That gaze carried a weight unrelated to their current topic.
Jenas was like a nephew to him—the friend of his late comrade and former knight captain, Clen Priwell, who had taken over as Blue Wing Knights' captain. And it wasn't just bloodline; at merely thirty, he'd reached the 6th stage mana user, Challenger level—a genius.
'Just thirty-two now.'
Plus, he'd declared he'd never marry, devoting himself solely to swordsmanship and family duties. The duke already felt guilty enough about that.
—Jenas Priwell? Never heard of him... That much of a genius?
Wait, that's weird?
The words he'd exchanged with Tiny gnawed at him.
...He's gone in the future? Why?
Setting aside personal fondness, this was a prodigy who could reach the superhuman realm by his forties at latest if he kept growing. If he truly stayed single that long, the duke had even planned to teach him one of Valentia's secret arts: the aura attribute technique.
But why?
“Jenas.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“...Is there some illness you haven't told me about?”
“...What brings this on, Your Grace?”
“Just... your complexion looks poor.”
Jenas's face flushed slightly at the abrupt excuse.
“No, Your Grace. It's just my inexperience—poor condition management on my part.”
A Challenger knight struggling with condition control?
“You're just too busy. You didn't need to handle Cloi's coming-of-age preparations personally.”
“Lady Cloi is like a niece to me... My apologies, Your Grace.”
“No need to apologize for that. She's always adored you since she was little—practically thought you were one of her four brothers.”
“...Yes. That's why I've prepared meticulously. You won't be disappointed.”
“Of course not—you handled it.”
Even as he spoke, the duke's expression remained stiff.
'On the bright side, maybe he marries and retires. But...'
No matter how he spun it, that didn't fit.
“...Jen, still no thoughts on marriage?”
He'd used the childhood nickname deliberately, to shift from official to personal talk. He'd even mustered his kindest smile.
“Absolutely. None.”
Her response was a voice like glacial wind.
“You promised not to ask again about that.”
The duke hurriedly averted his eyes at her frosty glare.
“R-Right... Understood. Sorry.”
Jenas's stance was unchanged, that much was clear.
'Clen, my friend...'
He should have paid more attention to his family life. Perhaps because of his poor parental relations, Jenas still had no interest in marriage.
This ruled out the hopeful scenario.
Just recently, upon reaching Challenger, she'd boldly declared she'd serve as knight captain unmarried until she could no longer wield a sword.
Even charitably, then...
...Severe injury forcing retirement? No. I'd have healed her somehow.
What remained was...
...Death.
This precious child. The nephew-like figure he always felt guilty toward, like a sore thumb that ached constantly.
“...Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No, nothing.”
The duke massaged his throbbing head, lost in thought.
There weren't many scenarios where Blue Wing's captain—a genius Challenger in her early thirties—would die. The most likely? The incident he'd discussed with Tiny recently.
'The imperial tragedy.'
She might not enter the wedding hall due to status, but as family knight on external guard duty, caught in the disaster.
'I'd have brought Jenas along, naturally.'
But now, forewarned, he could prevent it.
'If I know ahead, I can change it.'
Alter the future, and she'd become another aura user saving humanity in the apocalypse.
No—he would make it so.
'I will, no matter what!'
Sensing the duke's fervent gaze, Jenas asked with a hardened expression.
“Is something wrong, Your Grace?”
“...No. Good work. You're dismissed.”
“...You're acting strange today, Your Grace.”
“Cloi's coming-of-age is approaching. My mind's all over the place.”
“Understood, then...”
“Ah! Almost forgot. Make sure everyone knows about that Rohiter wastrel. Overlook minor stuff. And warn him: this is Valentia, not Rohiter.”
“Already handled.”
“...Good? Reliable as ever.”
“No need for praise. Please rest, Your Grace—your color's off.”
Health concerns from an aura user? He nearly chuckled but swallowed it.
“Don't worry about me—rest first. Krin will handle the rest.”
“Yes, sir.”
The duke family's midday bustle seemed to settle with that exchange.
Though neither realized one boy outside the family hadn't gotten the message.
* * *
“This is Valentia land, so mind your manners...? Ha, arrogant...”
Bang.
“Ow! What the—?!”
Chewing on pent-up rage, Tiburon von Rohiter went to kick the table but ended up hopping on one foot, clutching his shin.
“My apologies, young master. I'll clear it away.”
The waiting Rohiter valet impassively removed the table.
“Damn it, I hate every damn thing about this shithole!”
Face flushed beet red, Tiburon kicked the porcelain flowerpot beside him too.
Crash!
He didn't know it cost dozens of gold, but even if he did, it wouldn't have stopped him. He needed to vent somehow.
Tiburon, who'd never held back his temper once in his life, had suffered major humiliation just hours ago—and forced himself to swallow it.
“Those no-account barons without even a mid-tier castle dare question who I am?!”
Crash.
With each replayed memory, shards of broken objects piled up around him.
Jenas... whatever. He looked like a spineless pretty boy who couldn't fight, but up close, that eerie pressure crushed his soul—he couldn't even retort.
It only fueled his rage more. Hours of lashing out at random objects hadn't helped.
But then.
Knock knock.
—Young master, it's Griem.
Unable to ignore the voice outside, he barely reined in his fury.
Creeeak.
At Tiburon's glance, the valet cautiously opened the door. Rohiter Duke family's head knight, Griem, strode in without hesitation.
He frowned at the room's wreckage, then shifted his displeased gaze to Tiburon.
“...Young master, please heed His Grace's words. We can't have you causing trouble.”
Tiburon, who would've exploded normally, could only endure, face nearly bursting red. He knew Griem was his minder for this delegation.
“...I'm holding back fine, aren't I?!”
Absurd, as if he even knew what restraint meant. But...
'Better smashing furniture than hitting people right now.'
Griem grimaced but said nothing. Trinkets didn't matter.
“Remember His Grace's command, given in exchange for covering your past mess?”
“...How could I forget.”
—You worm, this is your last chance before I disown you. Listen well.
Tiburon shuddered, recalling the world's scariest man—his father, Alon von Rohiter.
“...Seduce Valentia's lady. That's my specialty.”
“Yes. And reports say the lady just left her room for the knight training grounds.”
“What? Why?”
“No idea. But shouldn't you make a good first impression?”
Tiburon perked up and nodded eagerly at Griem's beckoning smile.
“Right—no woman's ever resisted my charm! Let's go.”
With striking blue hair, red eyes—Rohiter's signature look—Tiburon was objectively handsome.
But Griem's gaze was ice cold.
'Women flock to you for your family, idiot. And that's ending now.'
Seduce the duke's daughter before her ceremony? Believing such nonsense outright made the wastrel almost innocently pure.
—If that Tiburon bastard just gropes Eschard's daughter and causes a scandal, that'll do it.
—By the time you reach Valentia, he'll be disowned. Pretend you don't know and follow the forged orders to Valentia. Got it?
—No matter his schemes, it won't work. When he snaps and causes his usual mess, you immediately...
A ruthless lord who used even his own son. Griem's lips curled into a feral smile as he recalled the order.