Signs of Rain
When the sun rose and morning arrived, Annette came to Kadrian's room.
"You're hurt."
"It was merely a graze."
"Their claws can carry poison, you know. I distinctly remember telling you to be careful even of scratches."
"I will be more careful going forward."
Annette regarded her son with a worried gaze.
"Now that the girl has returned, there's no need to keep the fifth floor running, is there? I think it would be best to terminate the contract with the Magic Tower and be done with it. The monsters growing stronger by the day worries me as well."
At that, Kadrian walked to the window and stood still. Beyond the glass, the hired workers bustled about their morning tasks.
Freya was among them.
"Move the fertilizer over here! Just those two sacks!"
"I'll take this section!"
"Ah! The sack burst!"
Peals of cheerful laughter rang out from the workers.
Kadrian watched the scene in silence for a moment, then spoke.
"It's still manageable."
"…"
Annette shook her head at her stubborn son.
Kadrian gazed out the window, his mind drifting back to the hunt the night before.
Last night, he had traveled to the Hertia Mountain Range in the north.
To be precise, it was the region along the duchy's northern border where the range began.
The World Tree slumbered in the Hertia Mountains—or rather, it would be more accurate to say it was dying.
To protect the withering World Tree, the Cadea Empire had raised a temple around it.
Then, at some point, monsters had begun spawning in the area without cease.
Pilgrims stopped coming, and the temple was eventually sealed shut.
To keep the monster population in check, the ducal house regularly dispatched its knights to cull them—and Kadrian's solo expedition last night had been for that same purpose.
But not for the ordinary ones.
He had gone to capture, alive, the exceptionally strong and dangerous mutant monsters.
Perhaps because the World Tree was slowly stirring back to life, just as the High Priest had said, the number of monsters had dwindled noticeably of late. The mutant population had shrunk along with them, and it had taken considerable time to track any down.
"That damned Tower Master!"
Kadrian let out a quiet laugh at Annette's coarse language.
It had all begun twelve years ago, on the day Freya collapsed.
The Emperor, the High Priest, and the Tower Master had all gathered, and after a long council, they deliberated over the fate of the last remaining heir of House Flanker.
The meeting concluded with the decision that the Flanker heir would be placed under the protection of the Grand Duchy of Ballot.
"The imperial family will erase every trace of House Flanker for as long as it takes them to rise again, so they do not become a target for their enemies. We shall shield them from any unknown foes within our own borders, and ensure that nothing threatens the house's restoration."
"Then our temple will steward the World Tree Corridor. We will send priests regularly to purify the land surrounding the World Tree, monitor its condition, and share all that we learn."
And last of all, the Tower Master had spoken.
"Well then, I shall prepare a special space for the heir to reside in. In exchange, I have one condition. Bring me mutant monsters—alive. I need their cores to construct and sustain the space. That much, the Grand Duchy can manage, yes? They must be alive, mind you."
From that day on, Kadrian had hunted mutant monsters alongside Estan Ballot, the former Grand Duke.
Annette gritted her teeth at the memory of the Tower Master. Kadrian opened the window and said,
"Magic doesn't work on them, so there was little the Tower Master could do."
He was right.
Mutant monsters were immune to magic entirely; they could only be felled with physical attacks and aura.
As mutants, they were stronger than ordinary monsters—and since they had to be captured alive and hauled back intact, even Kadrian came away wounded more often than not.
Annette looked at his left arm and asked,
"Did they treat it properly?"
"…Yes. Quite thoroughly, in fact."
A cool morning breeze drifted in through the open window.
With it, the sounds from outside grew clearer.
"I told you, the ground's still frozen—it won't work!"
"Where should we move this, Lady Freya?"
"Just hold on a moment."
Kadrian watched quietly as Freya bickered with the workers in the garden.
"It hasn't been long at all, yet she's already so full of life."
"…"
It seemed Freya's voice had carried to Annette as well, seated on the sofa.
"Kadrian. I've grown fond of that girl."
"…"
Kadrian's head turned toward his mother. Annette's face was troubled as she continued.
"I simply cannot believe that another soul might be inside her. …To my eyes, she is simply Fredika. Just our poor Fredika, who lost her memories."
"…"
Kadrian turned his gaze back to Freya outside the window.
He watched her for a long moment before he spoke.
"Yes, Mother. …In my eyes as well."
"I beg your pardon?"
"As I told you, the moment she woke, a leaf grew from the dying World Tree. Why would I not want to believe it? Truthfully, I would declare to the world this very instant that she has come back to us."
"Then do it!"
"But, Mother."
Kadrian's eyes, fixed on Freya, settled into a deep calm.
"As I said before—there is no house left to protect her."
"She has ours."
"The factions hostile to House Flanker will attack her."
The rival empire, their adversary for generations, had kept a constant, covetous eye on House Flanker.
They believed that if the World Tree vanished, the Cadea Empire would crumble with ease.
That was why, when Freya's soul disappeared, Kadrian's first suspicion had fallen on the hostile nations nearby.
Though I never found proof that it was their doing.
If she were publicly announced as the returned Flanker heir, the Grand Duchy of Ballot would naturally step forward to guard her with everything it had.
And yet no one could flawlessly shut out the ceaseless tide of covert warfare and schemes that would follow.
Even if our house turns back every incoming attack, they will only come at her again—more cunningly, more viciously than before.
And when that happened, it would be her, and her alone, who bled for it.
Besides, the hidden intentions behind the Tenasis Empire's proposal of an alliance are still not fully clear.
And the black magicians who still held the Remarte Disputed Territory.
There are plenty of reasons yet to keep her hidden.
A low sigh escaped between Kadrian's teeth.
"On top of everything, the heir has lost her memories. Announcing her return now would be little different from suicide."
Which meant, at the very least, she had to recover her memories first.
That was the reason he kept taking Freya with him from place to place.
"Until then, it may be better for her to live on without knowing who she is. So please, Mother—pretend you don't know."
"Kadrian…"
"I will hurry. As fast as I can…"
"…"
Watching her son's back as he stood at the window, Annette swallowed her tears.
She knew all too well the anguish and effort he poured into this. She could not bring herself to stand against his will.
"Very well. We'll wait a little longer."
Annette slipped quietly out of the room.
"Rain's coming."
I murmured, tilting my head back to study the sky. Heavy pewter-gray clouds had swallowed half of the blue overhead.
At that, Celly—who had been a short distance away, turning over the frozen soil of the garden—came scampering over.
"How do you know that?!"
Her curious eyes sparkled like jewels.
I smiled with the serene composure of a sage liberated from every worldly worry, and answered.
"I can hear it. And feel it."
Celly squinted and glared up at the sky. When nothing came of it, she let out a strained little groan.
"But I don't hear anything?"
"That's because you're not butlers."
Her eyes went wide with astonishment.
"If you become a butler, you can learn things like that?"
"Why, yes. Of course," I replied, and patted her head.
"Once you train yourself to sense and hear the sounds condensed in the air, you can feel it just by looking up at the sky."
"Wow!"
Unlike the purely awestruck fifteen-year-old Celly, her older brother Jhon—fresh off his coming-of-age ceremony—stared at me with an expression that plainly asked what kind of nonsense I was spouting.
Cheap little brat.
Sharp ears on him, at least.
Truthfully, yes—it was nonsense.
With no real way to describe this sense, there was nothing for it but to spout something that sounded impressive.
Among those who wielded aura, only those who had reached the very extreme of mastery could perceive it: the humidity bleeding into the air, the scent of water lurking in the wind, the direction and strength of the breeze itself. Take in every one of those details at once, and the realization—it's going to rain—arrives in a flash.
Subtle sensations that ordinary people could never hope to catch.
How exactly am I supposed to explain something this profound to these children?
Then again, who could say. Perhaps, actually believing my nonsense and straining to listen for sounds condensed in the air, one of them might stumble onto a genuine realization of their own.
I fished a small glass vial of pills out of my inner pocket. Pop—off came the cap, and I dropped one into my mouth.
Crunch, crunch. Ever since I'd mastered the art of chewing pills dry, without water, I hadn't once choked on my medicine.
Perhaps thanks to these pills, I hadn't felt a single headache lately.
Good stuff, this.
The faintly bitter taste and aroma spreading through my mouth were surprisingly refreshing.
Just then, Celly spoke up in a small voice.
"Um… Butler? Is—is that a nosebleed?!"
Sorry, a what?
At that very moment, something warm came trickling, drip by drip, from my nose.