The Duke's Heir
A silver-haired man stepped into the carriage.
It was the Duke's heir.
The moment he spotted Rodeban, his face lit up with genuine pleasure.
"Rodeban. It's been a while."
He cut a striking figure overall—tall, handsome, capable, and the eldest son, somewhere in his early thirties. The ducal succession was already as good as his. Word was he'd even had a son recently. In short…
What a lucky bastard.
Rodeban bowed his head to that lucky bastard.
"I present myself to the Grand Heir."
At the stiff formality, Leuron's face fell a little.
"…Still with that title? I hear you've retired and everything. Can't you ease up a bit?"
"How could I possibly do that, my lord?"
"Honestly…"
The Grand Heir grimaced for a moment, then settled into the seat across from them and called up to the driver's box.
"We're ready. Move out."
"Yes, my lord!"
The carriage began rolling smoothly over the mountain road. Roughly an hour remained to their destination. With additional escort troops now joined to them, further ambushes were unlikely.
Leuron shifted his gaze to Luce.
"So this would be Miss Luce? I only just received the report—they say she contributed more than anyone to driving off the vampire clan."
Rodeban nodded.
"That's correct. Luce, greet him. This is Lord Leuron of the Crucias house."
Luce answered shortly.
"Hello, Grand Heir."
Leuron offered her a gentle smile.
"I'd heard in passing that Rodeban had a girl in his charge. So that was you. From now on, just call me Leuron. No need to stand on ceremony."
"But Uncle still calls you Grand Heir. Why should I?"
Leuron shook his head.
"That's because your uncle is the strange one."
Luce nodded.
"Uncle is a little strange, yes."
"…"
Rodeban glared at her for a beat, then got down to business.
"My lord. Do you happen to know why the Imperial Family is demanding the Holy Fluid?"
It was blunt, but if the Grand Heir had come all this way, he clearly had something to say.
Leuron's expression said he'd expected the question. A moment later tension edged into his features.
"Ah. About that. The Second Prince's wife has fallen ill with an incurable disease. They need the Holy Fluid to treat it."
"Incurable disease?"
At Luce's question, Leuron answered.
"She contracted it while working as a healer in a contaminated zone. There's been no improvement for years; these days she's confined to her bed."
Rodeban cut in.
"What are the symptoms, if I may ask?"
"Bruising all over the body, constant fatigue. Her limbs run cold as well. It seems magi has burrowed into her heart. The real problem is that no treatment yet exists for purifying magi from the body—which is why they want the Holy Fluid."
Rodeban tilted his head. He knew this disease well; it came up often enough in the game.
That's textbook Black Heart Disease. Why hasn't a cure been developed yet? It should have appeared ages ago.
Black Heart Disease—so named because the heart turned black. Midway through the game's story, a cure developed by his assigned healer, Ren, made full recovery possible. Ren had thrown himself into the research for the sake of his own ailing wife.
The memory brought Rodeban's hand to his forehead.
Wait. The timing of when I saved them…
He had once helped Ren's family while they were fleeing. That intervention had almost certainly been the decisive moment—because the wife never fell ill, Ren never felt a burning need to invent a cure. And because the Second Prince's wife never received that treatment, Rodeban's Holy Fluid was now being diverted to the Imperial Family.
What kind of bullshit butterfly effect is this?
Still. This one I can fix.
Fortunately, Rodeban knew the ingredients for the cure.
Meanwhile Luce offered the simplest solution of all.
"Then why doesn't he just find another woman?"
Leuron sighed.
"Given the Second Prince's station, that wouldn't be wrong either. The trouble is, he's famously devoted to his wife. They've been inseparable since they were children."
"Ooooh…!"
A tear-jerking pure love story, in other words. Luce's eyes sparkled with admiration. Then she looked at Rodeban.
"I've been stuck to Uncle since I was little too."
Rodeban shook his head.
"That's different. Look at the age gap."
Luce's face turned a shade more resolute.
"It's the same. I've been with Uncle…"
Mid-sentence her expression suddenly wilted. She mumbled, trailing off.
"…Never mind."
Rodeban asked,
"With Uncle, and then what?"
"It's a secret."
"…A secret?"
He cocked his head. No reason, no context, no basis—yet the thought surfaced unbidden.
Is she hitting puberty?
Not that it mattered right now. Rodeban turned back to Leuron.
"Understood. In that case, I'll try to find that cure myself."
The ease of his acceptance left Leuron's mouth slightly open in disbelief.
"…What?"
Rodeban spoke with perfect calm.
"His Grace is searching for a solution, so I can hardly sit idle. I trust the Crucias family. I've no intention of leaving the North for the time being, so please don't worry. I won't forget the kindness I've received over a single bottle of Holy Fluid. Hss."
He finished and swallowed hard. Spitting out that many lies in one breath had left his throat parched.
I don't trust the ducal house. I do plan to leave the North. And I've already forgotten every kindness.
Fortunately, Leuron looked moved.
"You… you really are…"
He had come here after hearing from his sister that Rodeban was furious, and after his father advised him to tread carefully. Even to Leuron, the house shortchanging its own reward had been outrageous; he had braced himself for a thorough dressing-down.
And he's accepting it this easily?
Leuron fought to keep the swell of emotion out of his voice.
"…Rodeban. Is there anything you need?"
Rodeban answered evenly.
"Money would help. Ah—and I'll need a skilled pharmacist."
"Lady Theresevan has been dispatched to Tiliard. Would she do?"
"Oh, that would be perfect."
Rodeban nodded—then suddenly froze. Elise being in the North was good news for him; it was not good news for Elise.
Was she demoted?
A flicker of schadenfreude mixed with the guilty suspicion that he might be the reason. Either way, not his problem. He cleared the thought and spoke again.
"In return, my lord, I only ask that you prevent the Holy Fluid from reaching the Imperial Family while I'm searching for the cure."
"Understood. That's the least I can do."
"Thank you."
Leuron said,
"It's a disease no one has cured in years… but with an Imperial hero on the case, things may turn out differently. I'll be looking forward to it."
"Ah. Yes."
Rodeban turned his gaze to the window. A nameless commoner officer announcing he would develop a cure for Black Heart Disease would have been laughed out of the room.
Times like this, the 'hero' label really does come in handy.
Silence settled after that. Before long Rodeban's eyelids began to droop. He was fairly sure he'd already slept once before the ambush—but the carriage was simply too soft.
Rattle—
The moment the wheels jarred over a stone, a wave of sleep crashed over him like a tide.
"Uncle. We're here."
Luce's voice pulled Rodeban's eyes open. A long yawn escaped him.
"Yaaawn…"
Leuron was already gone. Outside the window, a red sunset was settling between the mountain peaks.
Luce tugged his hand.
"Uncle. Let's get out."
"Yeah… alright…"
He climbed down in a half-daze, sleep still draped over his skull. The mushy state of his mind suggested, at least, that no ambush had occurred.
The carriage had stopped in front of a manor. A servant approached.
"Welcome to Rosefren, Lord Rodeban. Lady Luce."
Luce dipped her head politely.
"Hello. Uncle just woke up, so he's a little out of it."
"Not at all. Please take your time."
Hearing the exchange jolted Rodeban a fraction more awake.
…Since when does Luce talk like that?
Looking at her afresh, she was sixteen this year. In Imperial reckoning she would be an adult in only two more years.
Have I been treating her too much like a child?
The thought was still forming when Luce spoke.
"Uncle. If you stare that hard, people will get the wrong idea."
What fresh nonsense was this? Rodeban narrowed his eyes.
"What are you talking about?"
She shook her head with a piteous air.
"Just come inside. We'll talk inside."
Rodeban gave a small, knowing laugh.
"That's a line from a romance novel, isn't it?"
"…How did you know?"
"Obvious. Let's go in. Uncle's hungry."
Still a kid after all.
Rodeban started toward the manor. The servant walking ahead said,
"A meal has been prepared. Shall we proceed to the dining hall?"
"Ah—yes, please."
He nodded readily. He wasn't especially hungry, but after three months of near-starvation, food first made sense.
Once they entered the dining hall, the servant relayed Leuron's message.
"The Grand Heir was called away on business and has returned to headquarters first. He asked me to convey his apologies for leaving ahead of you."
The servant then held out several checks—family notes stamped with the Crucias crest. While they remained in the North, money would not be a concern; presenting a check simply billed the ducal house.
Rodeban's face brightened considerably.
"What a pity. Well, it can't be helped. Understood."
The moment he sat, dishes began to arrive. Meals in noble houses were not always delicious—but what the Crucias kitchen sent out was usually excellent.
He nearly asked for wine on instinct…
Luce is here. Better not.
After the meal, as they left the dining hall, Luce said,
"I want to go to the bakery. Roselupi."
Rodeban stared at her, incredulous.
"We just ate."
She countered with utter seriousness.
"Bread is dessert. There's a separate stomach for dessert."
The words little pig floated unbidden through Rodeban's mind.
Well. She's still growing.
After a brief hesitation, he gave in.
"…Fine. Let's go."
They asked the servant for directions, then stepped out of the manor. Sunset light lay soft across the streets.
Luce took his hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Rodeban asked,
"Luce. How old are you planning to keep holding hands until?"
It was habit. She had been doing it ever since she started trailing after him around the age of twelve.
Luce looked up at him.
"Dunno. Is there a rule?"
"Well… the Empire doesn't have a law about it."
"Then forever."
"…Forever?"
An unbidden image rose in Rodeban's mind: himself as a grandfather, with a still-relatively-young middle-aged Luce holding his hand. Why did such a context-free vision even occur to him?
When he stayed quiet too long, she changed the subject.
"Uncle. So are you going to make that cure for the incurable disease now?"
"Yeah. Planning to."
Rodeban nodded. Knowing the ingredients meant it wouldn't be especially difficult. It felt a bit like taking a long detour to claim a reward that should have been his by right… but that was life for a commoner.
If you don't like it, you should've been born a noble.
Which was why Rodeban lived in a permanent state of not liking it.
Luce's round eyes turned up to him.
"Oh… how do you make it?"
Rodeban answered shortly.
"Well."
"…"
Without a word, Luce let go of his hand.