Ochiden V1 - Chapter 1: The Genius and the Hero

[idola]

 

Chapter 1: The Genius and the Hero

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A single horse ran.

It separated from the army and broke into a run towards him.

Sion watched it. “A scout…?”

Armies often sent a single horseman forward to survey the situation. In the blink of an eye, he was closing the distance between them.

Sion’s eyebrows knit in suspicion.

Because the fact that the scout was coming was plainly odd.

On this battlefield, Estabul’s strongest troops, the Magical Knights had come to massacre Sion and his friends. They should’ve already received that information. Because it was according to the plan they’d devised that the Magical Knights came here. So it was strange that a lone scout would dive headfirst into what should’ve been a hell covered in those violent Magical Knights, wasn’t it?

Even so, a lone scout was heading his way.

“…What exactly is their intention?” Sion mumbled.

At some point, the scout came to close by Sion’s side. The horse stopped. It was at that moment that Sion realized it wasn’t a normal horse - it was abnormally large. The man who’d been skillfully manipulating it looked down at him.

“…Whaaat?” he said.

Sion raised his face and looked up at the man riding the horse. His hair was bright red, almost as if it was burning, and his too-sharp red eyes held a heated power. His physique was strong enough to have been forged from metal. It was like he the embodiment of bloodthirst - just looking at him was enough to lose to pressure.

He wasn’t like a throwaway messenger at all. In fact, his face said that he alone was enough to exterminate the Magical Knights of Estabul.

“……”

Sion addressed the man who was strange down to his very existence as a messenger. “Did the army come as reinforcements?”

Though he heard Sion’s question, the redhead didn’t reply. He silently stared, evaluating the situation. His eyes shifted from Sion to Ryner, though he didn’t seem to mind Ryner’s presence much. Then his eyes continued to Kiefer. The destroyed Magical Knights of Estabul. Finally, he looked at the piles of bodies of Sion’s friends and spoke. “What happened?”

“Well…”

Sion started to explain, but the redheaded man rudely waved his hand and interrupted. “Ahh, just shut up. It’s fine. The plan was mad anyway. What’s your name?”

“Sion Astal.”

“Ah, so you’re him. Are you this area’s commanding officer?”

“I am.”

“Hmm.”

The redheaded man nodded, and with condescending eyes spoke. “So all your allies died, but you’re still standing shamelessly, aren’t you?”

Sion couldn’t counter his accusation. He watched as the man hmm’d and nodded.

“Well, whatever. Guess commanding officers are like that,” he said. His hands returned to his horse’s neck.

“Please wait,” Sion said, flustered, but the redheaded man didn’t hear.

“The Magical Knights aren’t here, so it’s got nothin’ to do with me. Ask the next guy if you have questions,” he said. It was like he truly believed that he alone was a match for the Magical Knights. Certainly, he did seem to hold that degree of inner strength. Sion scowled without meaning to. Because there wasn’t a monster-like existence like him within the network he’d formed.

Sion had a list of excellent people who almost seemed to possess superhuman powers, and were a bit above the level of regular humans - in that sense, they could be considered superior. It’d come from the Hidden Elites, the organization Ryner had been affiliated with. As he’d been in a hurry, he’d only seen the list, but of those on it, Ryner was said to be the most superior of them all. Though comparing anyone to the man once called Roland’s strongest magician may be unfair - there weren’t many people as talented as Ryner Lute.

But with just one glance at that redhead, Sion understood that he was a terrible monster. One that was on the level of Ryner.

Perhaps he was even a monster whose power exceeded Ryner’s.

Sion didn’t have any information on that monster. But he was part of the army. In all likelihood, he was a part of the army that Sion’s brothers planned to use to kill him. Part of the army that deceived Estabul as well as Sion.

If, by chance, he was Sion’s enemy, then…

“…Kind of feels like I won’t be able to survive,” Sion said, almost groaned. Even so, he hadn’t thrown away the possibility that he would live.

If that red-headed monster, a lump of killing intent, was a part of his siblings’ hands, it wouldn’t have been strange for him to kill Sion on sight. Instead, he’d just surveyed the situation with a bored expression.

Then perhaps he wasn’t an enemy? That meant the army over there wasn’t his enemy either, right?

But if they weren’t enemies, then why?

If the people who’d wrapped a trap around Estabul and Sion weren’t his enemy, then why did this happen?

Then, eleven more horsemen separated from the army to run towards him. The redhead from earlier was gesturing - raising his hands up like he was shocked and fluttering them about - and saying something to them. Once he did those 11 horsemen separated; the leading man groaned lightly and ran towards Sion.

Just what kind of exchange they’d had, Sion didn’t know. “This time the commanding officer is coming, isn’t he?” Even from such a distance, Sion could sense that his separation from the pack was disciplined and orderly. The single thread of horsemen who’d seperated’s movements reached the thousands of soldiers behind them in their entirety. From that, Sion understood. The entire army was perfectly under control. It was another, separate oddity, much like that of the red-headed man’s.

The man pulled his horse to a stop in front of Sion, and immediately descended from his steed. The men behind him moved to do the same, but he controlled them by the raise of his hand.

And so the man stood in front of Sion. The impression he left was certainly different than that of the redheaded man. He came off as horribly strict, and wore a scowl. If Sion had to place his age he’d say thirty, or perhaps just shy of it. Either way, his face was devoid of friendliness, and that made Sion think he was the type who looked older than they truly were.

He was well-kept in a clean Roland military uniform, and his spine was straight; his earlier assumption that he was an orderly, rule loving person was proven correct by his conduct down to how he wore his military uniform.

He looked at Sion. Then Kiefer, and then stared at Ryner for a good while, then darted his eyes across the battlefield.

Sion thought he ought to say something, but the scowling man beat him to it. “Take the man with the dark hair and the redhead woman and give them medical care.”

Several of horsemen behind him jumped down to do so. Kiefer raised her head and with a frightened expression, looked to Ryner and Sion.

“Don’t be afraid. We won’t add to your wounds now,” the scowling man said with a deep and heavy voice. For some reason, his words were very persuasive.

Kiefer didn’t look up or respond to her words. The men approached her and, despite their commander’s words, aggressively restrained her.

Sion thought Ryner would put up a bit more of a fight, but he looked at the scowling man, put on a bored expression, and was easily and completely restrained. They were loaded onto horses and taken away.

How would they be dealt with from here on out? In particular, he wasn’t sure what would happen to Kiefer, who’d been acting as a spy. However, now wasn’t the time to go against him.

The man with the severe expression was currently ruling the battlefield.

“…I,” Sion started.

But without looking his way, the man interrupted. “Don’t introduce yourself. I know your name. You’re that filthy mutt’s son, aren’t you?”

With that Sion was able to understand the situation, though it was already at this late stage.

He was the worst. Without a doubt, he was an enemy. But even so, Sion couldn’t say anything.

Sion had to keep living. Because if he died here, then everything would’ve been for naught. Because the lives all his friends had lost in this hell would be for naught.

But what should he do? How should he overcome this situation?

Sion used his eyes alone to confirm the situation. His enemies included the seven people around that man. Four horsemen had left with Ryner and Kiefer, so that left six horsemen.

Seven versus one, huh?

“……”

That was a little intense.

Sion bit back a groan. In his mind, he ran a simulation of his escape to see how it’d go. If he stole a horse from one of the men in front of him while simultaneously casting offensive magic to attack the remaining horsemen. Then, if he was able to hold on until he reached Roland’s capital, he still had allies within the country.

He could pull himself together.

But there was a problem.

Stealing the horse of the man in front of him—

Suddenly. “Stop, it’s pointless. You cannot escape from me,” the man said, like he’d been reading Sion’s mind.

He was not looking at Sion. He’d judged saying it to be a worthy precaution as he continued to survey the battlefield. That meant he was someone who could judge Sion’s changes in thought by his indistinct movements, and spoke accordingly.

Sion remained still.

He realized that outwitting that man and stealing his horse was absolutely impossible.

Then how?

How could he stretch this life of his out?

It wouldn’t be strange for them to kill him at any moment. No matter the timing, it wouldn’t be strange.

Even so, he needed to stretch his life out further.

How?

Sion’s whole body was strained. He used his head, every nerve he had, to search for a way to extend his life.

“A trade,” he said.

“That won’t be necessary,” the man promptly replied. “I am the one in control here. Whether you live or die depends on my whims…”

Sion understood that perfectly well. In these circumstances, he didn’t actually intend to strike a deal.

There was one thing Sion wanted to do: propose a trade. It was one that depended on his opponent’s inattention. He’d take the knife he’d been hiding out from behind his back. Take a step forward. Thrust the knife to the nape of the man’s neck. He’d cut through this place by making him his hostage.

“…Gah…”  

His knife hadn’t reached the man. It hadn’t even gotten out from behind Sion’s back before he was knocked down. Shock flashed across his face as he was thrown to the ground. The knife he’d been holding behind his back was stolen and lowered against his neck.

They were movements that Sion couldn’t perceive. Just the thought that he’d be able to get a knife behind him was idiotic - they were on completely different levels.

It was over, he thought. This was the end.

But the knife stopped. Just before it hit the nape of his neck, the knife stopped.

The man looked down at him and with a cold, harsh voice filled with darkness, he spoke. “You’re slow. You lack technique and battle experience. Your behavior lacks thought, and your thought patterns lack depth. ‘I can change the world, you’re safe if you follow me?’ You’re just a powerless brat - what’re you saying? I mean, what happened to the friends you coaxed into coming here? Why don’t you see if you can answer that first?”

He said that all very suddenly, then threw the knife to the ground, close enough that Sion could reach it. He was saying that even if Sion—even if a weak little brat could reach it, that was fine. The man separated from Sion, freeing him from his constraints.

But Sion couldn’t move anymore. He was bound by that man’s words.

What happened to the friends he’d coaxed into coming here?

Just what had happened to them?

Sion shivered. Shivered in fear. Shivered from regret. In the corner of his eyes, he could see his friends. A mountain. A mountain of bodies.

“They’re dead. Every last one of them. You’re the one who killed them, Sion Astal. Son of a common bitch. No, if you hear it too much from me, it’ll be like your name - and even giving you that is a waste. You’re just trash.”

“…….”

Exactly, Sion thought. He was just trash.  

The man tore his eyes from Sion and moved them about the battlefield. “Even so, I thought there was value in using you. Because you hold the strange ability to draw others to you. But I don’t think you have so much of a power that it’s really necessary. It isn’t a power that’s strong to the extent that I’d become your ally.”

Sion looked up. At the man. Because he’d said something strange. Just what was he saying? It took a few seconds to comprehend that.

To the extent that he’d become Sion’s ally……

He’d said that. That meant he was looking for allies. For what purpose? If he was a pawn of the nobles, he didn’t need allies. Because they already had all the political power.

But he said he was gathering allies. Just why would he be doing that?

There was only one possible answer to that. Within this country, there was someone who was tempted to make even Sion his ally. Why?

It was to change Roland.

This man was moving towards the same goal as Sion - to change this mad country. That was why he was looking for great political power from within the military.

The redhead from before. The thousands in the army on standby. It seemed like they were willing to obey him from the bottom of their hearts and followed him implicitly as a result. But Sion didn’t know why he held this influence over them. Perhaps they were against the monarchy system itself; but if so, they ought to have gotten in touch with Sion sooner.

Sion hadn’t known of anyone with this kind of influence. His information network should have penetrated to the deepest depths of the military, but he didn’t know this man at all.

Sion made to glare at the man and spoke. “What exactly are you?”

He didn’t think he’d get a reply. This was a man who held a great power that Sion - no, all of Roland - didn’t know about. Just how meticulous was his discreet preparation?

And yet.

The man looked his way. “Rahel Miller,” he said easily.

Sion’s eyes widened.

He knew that name. Because it was rather infamous.

Rahel Miller.

If he recalled, his class was captain. It was the name of a man who once abused the fact that he was called a genius. But he threw away that fame.

Instead of going through promotions for political power, he flattered the nobility, even going as far as to do so through women.

In spite of having been born an orphan, despite not being a noble, he was a man who’d climbed to the position of officer. Considering everything, it was no surprise that he did manage to curry favor with the nobles.

He was a man who gained political power, then drowned in it.

“A fallen genius of tarnished pride” - that was a phrase Sion and the nobles easily associated with Rahel Miller. Rumor had it that he would even lick the shoes of nobles to curry favor with them, or that he’d grovel on bare earth.

In truth, out of the rumors that were wrapped around him, there was only one good one.

Even in the military, he was always the chief follower of the nobility. If Sion were someone with power within the military, he thought that Rahel Miller would kill him before anything else.

However.

“……”

The man before his eyes did not seem like the man of rumor in the slightest.

He was exactly as Sion’s initial impression had led him to believe - a man of systematic order. He really, truly did not seem like a man who fell into good graces through women and licking the shoes of nobles.

No, perhaps it was the reverse.

Someone who would do that if it was necessary to rise. If it was necessary to change the world, even if it was disgusting, he would do it with composure.

“…The famous Captain Rahel Miller, who wags his tail at the nobility?” Sion asked.

With that, Miller looked his way. As if he knew exactly what Sion was thinking, he smiled. “I don’t need a brat who won’t throw away his pride or lick shoes as my ally.”

Exactly as he thought.

He had even more enemies than Miller. He had plenty just by virtue of being an illegitimate son of the king; going as far as to openly say he’d change the world may have been going too far. Because the world was too horrible, he’d gotten to impatient.

This was the result.

Sion looked to his sides. At the piles of his friends’ bodies.

With a face ready to cry, Sion spoke. “I suppose I intended to work hard.”

“Do you think anyone could do it as long as they work hard?”

Sion shook his head and stood. He moved to wipe the dirt from his clothes, but seeing his friends’ blood along with it, stopped. There was no point. There clothes were unwearable either way. There was no value in wiping away the dirt.

He looked at his friends a second time, then to Miller, the army on standby behind behind.

If only he could change this world. This messed up country of Roland.

“…Are you saying that you don’t need me?” Sion asked.

Miller readily agreed. “I thought that at first.”

“Then it’s different now?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Miller said with a sour face.

“But you’re already making a conclusion, aren’t you?”

Miller didn’t answer. It didn’t particularly matter if he did or not. What mattered was that he was here.

Because even if Sion wasn’t around, there were guys like Miller in Roland.

Even if Sion wasn’t here for it, Miller would change the world, right?

Even if Sion didn’t do everything he could, Miller would, right?

Then… right here.

If he took responsibility for his dead comrades here, it was fine.

Even if he took responsibility here and now for his friends who’d believed in him and followed him even though Sion’s power was never enough, it was fine.

If that was how he could be helpful to Miller.

If it was how he could be of use to the plan Miller had spent a long time polishing.

If it would make the Roland Empire fall, if it could help the revolution.

It was fine even if he was killed. That’s what Sion thought.

It was fine even if his neck was slit.

Miller, of course, didn’t say anything. He stared into the distance, deep in thought. Sion couldn’t begin to imagine what he saw in that distance. He wasn’t capable of forming conjecture about what the fallen genius thought. Then Miller’s mouth opened.

“At first, I didn’t intend to become allies with you. Because it seemed like you don’t really have the power to draw others in. However, since I touched you, I no longer feel such strong hatred for you. I can’t change that. But I am the nobles’ dog to the bitter end - the man that drowned in political power - and there are things I have to do. That’s why you’re supposed to…”

“Die here?”

Miller nodded.

“Wait a minute. Then the plan to kill me here was put into play by…”

Miller didn’t answer, but Sion understood it as confirmation. His face scrunched up, and he scowled at Miller.

That meant the one who executed the plan to kill not only Sion, used Sion as well as all of his allies as sacrificial pawns, was Miller. All to give the the nobles the strong impression that he stood by their side.

For that purpose alone, he used Sion and his friends as sacrifices.

…No, not just him.

Kiefer, too.

“Kiefer Knolles was also…”

Miller again nodded easily. “She was useful,” he said. “By the time I came into favor with Prince Shulio, Kiefer Knolles, who’d been a spy from Estabul, had already had her older sister killed and her younger sister taken hostage - I suppose one could say that’s how she was used. The trap to ensnare you and the Magical Knights of Estabul in a trap was proposed to the prince. Interesting things can be done with that toy of yours, see?”

He said it with such composure. As with all things, he did it because it was necessary. Was there something wrong with that? That was how he spoke. And there wasn’t a problem in his theory.

Shulio was the name of Sion’s brother - the third prince. Out of those in line for the throne, he wasn’t all that likely for the crown, but the fact that Miller was loudly in the prince’s favor while remaining able to move around without others noticing attributed to Miller’s unlikeableness.

In addition, Shulio’s rank should rise due to this battle. He set a trap for their greatest enemy of the past few years, the Estabul Empire’s strongest troops, easily and completely destroying them. An accomplishment so great would surely reverberate through all of Roland. He’d gain the popular opinion of the people who by large hated the royalty. Maybe the important nobles would even follow him.

Then Shulio would be enthroned, with Miller puppetting him from the shadows.

He could change this messed-up world.

For that purpose, it couldn’t be helped if sacrifices had to be made.

The life of a lowborn mutt’s son, the lives of his friends, the life of spy girl from Estabul, and others still - they were trivial matters.

That kind of philosophy was perfectly correct.

If it those sacrifices that couldn’t be helped change the world, then it’s fine. Good, even. Perfectly correct.

Even so.

Even so, Sion asked. “So… about Kiefer’s little sister…”

Again Miller didn’t answer. But Sion understood from his expression alone. She was killed.

While crying, Kiefer betrayed her prime minister, Sion, Ryner, everyone for a sister that was already dead and gone.

So that she could save her sister. Her sister who was already killed.

Was there ever a negotiation more horrible than this?

As he asked himself that, he felt the urge to laugh bubble up from inside.

Because there were all sorts of worse things. In this rotten country, there were tons of negotiations like that. That was why it had to be changed, no matter what methods were used or what dirty hand executed it.

Even if it meant killing Kiefer’s sisters, then sacrificing Kiefer herself. Even if it meant sacrificing the friends who’d believed in and followed Sion.

They had to change this country.

That’s right.

The things Miller did were perfectly correct. Even so, Sion glared at him. Just a little, his way of thinking changed. Just a little, he changed his pattern of thought that said that leaving everything to Miller was fine.

“…I don’t like the way you do things,” Sion said as he stared.

Miller looked at him and again, very easily, replied. “Me neither.”

“……”

“But is there another way?”

Sion didn’t reply. Rather, there was no need to reply. It’d just be meaningless noise coming from a powerless brat who’d never accomplished anything.

But, if he had the chance, he thought. If he was granted a second chance, he’d be more serious about finding an answer. He’d be more discreet, with determination that was both faster and stronger.

The man before his eyes had held great power that Sion still couldn’t comprehend.

“…Well, enough of this repetitive conversation,” Sion said. “In the roadmap you’ll draw, is there a place where I live? Or not?”

As soon as he said that, Miller suddenly crouched down. He pressed a single finger into the dirt. Then he raised it along with some ‘sand’ he’d scooped - it was the remains of the Magical Knights that Ryner had broken into pieces. “It still exists.”

In Miller’s plan, a place where Sion lived existed.

Miller looked up at the sky. He seemed to be observing the slope of the sun to determine the time.

A horseman separated from the men on standby and headed their way. Miller stood and looked to the horse. “I guess Prince Shulio is having another outburst,” he grumbled.

Sion turned to look at the horse as well. It seemed that, somehow or other, that army was assembled in Prince Shulio’s name. Though they were personally supporting Miller, they were still assembled under Prince Shulio’s name. In any case, was unlikely that they were against the monarchy system for that reason.

“The troops over there…”

“That’s all of them,” Miller interrupted as if he already knew what Sion was going to ask. “Excluding Prince Shulio, all of the troops here are my allies.”

“Then…”

Then there was still a chance of Sion living.

There was a chance that he’d continue to live and find a way to move forward. Surely Miller was thinking the same thing. By using Sion, he’d be able to cause a revolution at a much faster pace than he’d originally been envisioning.

Though Sion Astal was illegitimate, he still had the king’s blood flowing through his veins, and he’d single handedly destroyed the Magical Knights of Estabul. That was news so big that neither the nobles nor royalty could ignore it. It was such a mighty achievement that it was even possible that the majority under the nobility - the popular opinion - would be influenced. In that way, the fact that Sion was persecuted by the nobility would work in his favor. He may be able to ally himself with the anti-nobility movement. On top of that, the nobility who didn’t accept his more-or-less royal blood now would likely come around to him and become useful.

If Miller touted Sion now.

If Miller would be so kind as to tout Sion now, the world may soon change.

He might not have to wait for Prince Shulio to be enthroned, because they could overthrow the current king.

It was a miracle born from this hell of a battlefield. The miracle that Ryner caused by chance atop the corpses of their friends might be able to change the world.

But it was a gamble.

It meant bringing the anti-Roland power that Miller had cautiously built to the center of the stage right here and now. If he did that, he’d no longer be able to hide his fangs; the gears would already be turning, and they wouldn’t be able to stop it.

It would be total war.

A war between Rahel Miller’s faction, the king and nobility, and the other princes.

If Miller used him, he could use the power he already had to oppose the other factions.

But if he decided not to act yet, that he didn’t have quite enough power yet, Sion would be killed here.

Either way’s fine, Sion thought.

It was fine even if he was killed here. If he was killed here, then that meant his life only had so much value.

To be killed, or not to be killed.

He’d like it if Miller chose. If the world chose.

Miller didn’t say anything. He just complentated, as if he were waiting for something.

The galloping horseman arrived beside them. With a faint smile, he spoke to Miller. “The idiot prince, as usual, wants to hold a banquet as soon as possible. What should we do?”

Miller didn’t raise his head to look at him. He just continued to think.

Which is the right answer?

Which is faster and has less sacrifices?

“If you chose me, I won’t let you regret it,” Sion said with confidence. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes a second time. He wouldn’t lose himself in his own power again, or let his allies die meaningless deaths again.

So, one more time.

“…Give me another chance,” Sion said. “Another chance to change this country. I’ll change this crazy…”

Before he could finish speaking, Miller picked up the knife he’d flung on the ground before and threw it. But not at Sion. At the messenger from before.

With agile hands, the messenger caught the knife. He spoke pleasantly, like he was happy. “Then this is your answer? The idiot prince has…”

Miller nodded. “Served his purpose.”

“Sure thing,” he said, and again rushed off on his horse.

He was going to kill him. The prince. Sion’s brother.

That meant Miller had power to the point where killing even royalty wasn’t a problem. That he had it within Roland meant—

As if he was reading Sion’s mind again, Miller spoke. “I don’t have that kind of power yet. This is a gamble. Just how much can the man who single handedly destroyed Estabul’s Magical Knights shake the nobility up? Can we increase our allies here? Can we turn time into allies?

Sion opened his mouth to speak, but Miller interrupted again.

“Don’t speak. I’m not expecting anything from you. I’ll do everything. It doesn’t really matter if I kill you or Shulio. You listened to what I had to say, so I chose you. That’s all there is to it. So just perform the part you’re given.” Miller climbed back on his horse, and looked down at Sion. “That’s your special skill, right? Since you’re a master swindler who brought all your friends here to die.”

Miller turned his horse around and addressed his subordinates on standby. “Es. Tulio. Take this new prince and bring him to the capital. Genlu, have Carne manipulate the information. Prince Shulio was killed by the Magical Knights, and as revenge, his little brother Sion Astal single handedly defeated them… or something. Tell him to blend it with fantasy; make it a huge exaggeration.

“Bannel, prepare to dismantle the troops. They’ll disperse when Shulio dies. Be skillful; get a feel for if the opposing factions have penetrated our forces.

“Got it? From here on out, there’ll be no time to rest. We’re starting the revolution - it’ll turn everything on its head in one sitting. We’re biting back…”

With that, Miller’s horse began to gallop towards Roland’s capital. He gave one last order.

“…Massacre them.”

His subordinates replied with voices that blended together in in the color of joy; a resounding “yes, sir!”

Their long-awaited revolution was finally beginning.

Not a single person looked to Sion, the son of a lowborn mutt, still filthy with the blood of his friends. This revolution was entirely Rahel Miller’s doing - the work of a single genius. Sion was just his puppet with no will of his own, of whom no one expected anything of.

But that was fine. It was fine for now, it was fine.

“Hey, hurry up and ride a horse,” a man Miller had given orders to said with a rude tone.

Sion - the manipulated puppet with no will of its own - looked up. And smiled.

The marionette who once again slipped through the grips of death smiled.

There was light within that smile. A strong light that could draw anyone’s eyes in.

It exceeded Miller’s power, and that of the red head monster from before. It was his very own hidden power that worked even in hopeless circumstances, turning them completely around.

It was a power that could only change the world, hidden right here. What exactly it was is something that Sion hadn’t realized.

It was a strong light that completely distorted Rahel Miller’s plan.

In this gruesome hell, the berserk state that Ryner Lute had been in against his will - it was a power that pulled things like that to him. Perhaps it was a power that caused events to deviate from their normal course of action until he could call them good. Though it was something no one had noticed yet, not even the man himself.

But it’d certainly made something move - the gears that changed the world, the gears that drove the world mad.

Now, what shall we call that power?

The fallen, dark hero—

That’s a name no one knows yet. It stagnates at the deepest, murkiest depths of darkness.

With a small voice, without having realized anything, Sion spoke. “But not yet.”

Not yet. This was enough for now.

The horse he was riding ran forward along the path to Roland’s capital, Reylude.

He already understood what he had to do: change the world.

For that purpose, he’d do what needed to be done.

---

And so, time continued to flow. Several days passed.

However, in just those few days, anything and everything changed.

From the battlefield where he nearly died, to Miller who nearly killed him, he remained standing.

And so, time continued to flow…

---

He thought it was an explosion.

The ground shook, and a thundering, earsplitting roar resounded.

A warble like the world itself was shivering. He didn’t realize it was the screams of the people.

The Roland Empire’s capital, Reylude. By the time Sion returned, the pieces were already arranged. No, perhaps it was better to say that all the stories had already started?

Stories of the one and only fabricated hero.

It was just as well to call them stories. They were nowhere near perfect. Looking at them one-by-one, they lacked cohesion. They were nothing more than rumors.

“A secret prince who carries the king’s blood single handedly destroyed the Magical Knights of Estabul.”

“He took revenge for the murdered Prince Shulio - really showed those shits from Estabul what Roland’s made of!”

“No, the one who killed Shulio is actually this hero that’s suddenly appeared.”

“Seems like this prince is the king’s illegitimate son. Since he was persecuted by the nobility until now, I guess you could say he’s an ally of the common people.”

“No, no, he’s the successor, born to a splendid noblewoman. He’ll be the next king.”

There were endless rumors like that, each a different mix of truth and lies. They spread across the country at a speed that would normally be impossible. It was like it was scripted beforehand. Like the dams that held the cesspool, overflowing as it was, was finally forced open. Together, those numerous rumors painted a certain conclusion.

He didn’t think the information was merely controlled. Rather, to control such an extensive flow of information was nothing short of the work of a conjurer; a master manipulator.

They created a new hero.

They created a new hero that would break through the deepest darkness of this country. One by the name of Sion Astal, a patriotic prince who would bring salvation to Roland.

Their information drove the oppressed people mad with joy.

Filled the hearts of the nobles who’d always been smiling with dread.

Information that made the princes that were so used to living extravagantly indignant.

That transformation wasn’t limited to inside Roland. The news that a single man had destroyed the Magical Knights created unrest as far as Estabul.

The timing was so perfect that it appeared planned - Roland called for Estabul to surrender, and Estabul agreed. The war ended easily, in an instant: just what kind of magic did they use to end such a long, ever-present war? Just what was it, what kind of mechanism, and thanks to who did it happen?

The answer was easy, if you asked the right people - those who understood the situation.

For a long, long time the people behind the curtain had been waiting for the right opportunity to show themselves. The man who was always licking the boots of the nobility waited behind that stage. While they were laughing, while he was groveling on bare dirt, he waited backstage.

And then began his trick.

His trick, no, his strategy to deceive the world.

They were once on the brink of losing the war. There was no way Estabul would surrender, and yet.

There was no way the oppressed son of a lowborn mutt would become a hero overnight, and yet.

That long standing and meticulously planned trick became the truth overnight. As if it was pre-decided, meant-to-be from the very beginning, the trick reached completion.

And so, the moment that Sion’s feet tread on the ground of Roland’s capital.

“……”

Anything and everything had changed without Sion lifting a finger. There was no need for him to do anything. All he had to do was smile. When he did, delighted cheers rose.

The cheers of the people - voices of frenzied euphoria, rejoicing.

The people of Roland screamed like they’d gone mad at the birth of a new hero.

“Sion Astal!”

“Our hero!”

“Our prince, savior of Roland!”

To that, Sion smiled serenely.

Roland’s nobility and its princes.

With an impenetrably kind, gentle expression that could charm anyone, Sion smiled. While holding that smile, in a small voice—

“—Bullshit,” he spat.

Because everything he did was done in the palm of Miller’s hand. The trick he’d pulled was so wonderful that the path he was walking on now was pre-calculated down to the letter, progressing without a single mistake.

He had no idea how much planning it took to get here, but it seemed like the revolution would be a success. But Sion didn’t think he’d still be in this country by that time.  The monarchy system itself may cease to exist.

He didn’t think he’d mind if that was the case. Because he didn’t need to be king, because he didn’t have any political power, it isn’t like he thought it’d change this country. If another wonderful ruler should appear to guide the country, Sion was fine with that.

However.

“……”

Miller was wrong.

That wonderful ruler wasn’t Miller. He was too keen, to the point where he couldn’t grasp the feelings of others. Since the battlefield, in the few days it took to reach the capital, he knew there had been a considerable number of sacrifices. He thought about the instant that’d passed before his eyes, and what Miller had said.

“Slaughter everyone who gets in the way.”

So they did exactly that.

To keep information moving efficiently. To keep the situation moving. Miller executed actions in the fastest, most effective way possible, without hesitation. There was no room for human emotion.

Everything was efficiency, efficiency, efficiency, efficiency.

He did only what was necessary.

Certainly, that was correct. Correct to the point of perfection, however—

“……The world doesn’t only turn for what’s correct.”

That’s what he thought, looking at the crazed citizen’s fanaticism.

Because of Miller’s trick, this country was gradually being driven mad. Because that madness could be useful, Miller strove to hold it within his hands.

Forcing that madness to spread was easy. Perhaps it came hand-in-hand with pleasure. Because it must feel good to follow them on a path that’s too correct without thinking about anything yourself. It was so right that they thought it was fine even if they ceased thought.

In the world of uniform order and discipline Miller would create, it was fine to listen to his words without thinking at all.

But…

“What exactly is on that path?”

Was a perfect future made of rules, order, efficiency, and discipline waiting for them?

“I don’t think so,” Sion mumbled. “I don’t think that’s the case at all, you know, Rahel Miller.”

He mumbled, almost spitting the words, all while smiling at the masses.

Because people were not that simple.

Their allies laughed at meaningless things. They cried about meaningless things. When Sion saw that, he became happy. There was no efficiency in it. No order. It wasn’t disciplined.

Even though she was a traitor, she fell in love with Ryner.

Even though Ryner was loved, he was lonely.

Looking in from outside, those may look quite idiotic.

“Try to think more efficiently. Choose a more leisurely path.” You might say something like that. But the world doesn’t move to those words. It’s that people can’t live as smoothly as they like to think they can. Because not everybody was as smart as Miller. Everyone’s such an idiot that it’s depressing.

I’m among those idiots too, Sion thought.

But the world people live in is like that, right?

In a world where everything was efficient, in a world created by the genius Miller, would there be a place for Ryner, for Kiefer, for Sion, for people to just live?

Sion, manipulated to a sad extent, continued to smile at the masses who continued to scream with reckless abandon, like they’d all gone mad.

As he smiled, he set his eyes a little further. To the future a little farther down the path.

Miller would certainly change the world.

It was likely that he would start by killing Sion.

The hero that the people called their light would kill the nobility, or perhaps the royalty. Then the masses would stand up against him. Thanks to his preparations, Miller would wield the weapon of a just cause.

In that world.

In the world Miller would draw, there would be no sympathy for Sion. Even if he naively continued to say he wanted to create the world he promised his friends. The friends that were already dead.

To Kiefer, who was crying, forced into contradiction to be useful.

To Ryner, who has been alone and in despair for far too long.

To his mother, who continued to bare an obstinate hatred others forced on her while wearing a smile for Sion.

The future he promised them.

He’d like to create a world he could be proud of.

For that sake, just once, he needed to leave the path Miller had drawn.

He was capable of doing more than being manipulated. He wouldn’t just follow the flow of the world; he needed to face forward and use his own methods.

“I don’t have much time, do I?” Sion murmured.

Since Miller’s method valued promptness, it was likely that the outline said Sion would be killed and the masses would take a stand before three months passed.

So his life was extended three months.

“Now, then,” Sion said.

Now, then, where should he start?

This parade would end. The new hero’s debut would end.

His horse continued on the path, towards where army residence blocks were lined up. There, the atmosphere that the entrance of a new hero had created with the voices and crowds of the people was more of less dissipating.

He was not spoken to, and the dozens of horsemen that made up his guard left his side.

Sion strained his mind to ensure he wasn’t being watched or shadowed - at last, he could breathe a little. “Well, a guy of my grade might not notice one of his subordinates shadowing me,” he said with a laugh.

Whatever, it was fine. At the very least, someone had to be keeping an eye on him. They’d really only met for a short period of time, but he pretty much understood the kinda guy Rahel Miller was already.

He was a man who didn’t cut corners - everything had to be perfect.

But he had to tear that perfect man’s roadmap without Miller watching.

He’d go a place Miller didn’t know about. A place he’d think Sion couldn’t move at all.

Now just what was that place? He’d think on it.

In the meantime, there were two things Miller would need to find. Two additions to this extremely frazzled plan.

First was something concerned with the deepest, most extreme depths of Roland’s darkness.

That legend.

In this country, there’s an enigma surrounding the people of house Eris.

For generations, they have guarded the king. According to legend, no matter how many people may try to harm the king, they are unable to under the Eris clan’s guard.

What an absurd legend. No, it didn’t even deserve that. It was just a story.

They were well-trained guards that followed the king. They were strong guards - “there was no way they could pick a fight with the king!” But they just said it because it gave them a certain appeal from the outside. It was a legend only capable of fooling children.

But he thought Miller, who planned on removing the king from his position, would be thinking about how to kill those well-trained guards. Even so, it shouldn’t be too hard of a problem.

The more they said “because they’re powerful as guards,” the more their true degree of power became apparent. Because they already knew that humans had a limit.

For example, that red headed man. Just looking at him could make you shiver. A guard even stronger than him was unthinkable.

So he shouldn’t be too concerned with that.

No, because he’d made meticulous preparations to remove the king from power, they only needed to feel for enough information on the Eris family to straightforwardly assassinate the king.

That’s why Sion needed to find that information first. It was probably in a place Miller hadn’t thought of: the king’s guard.

The head of the Eris family.

The truth was that it wasn’t exactly a person.

In this country, there lived a soulless monster far worse than what Miller was thinking.

When Sion thought he’d go against Miller’s plan, he had a single reason: he knew the current head of the Eris household, Lucile Eris.

Because he knew the legendary swordsman clan’s head of house, he thought Miller’s plan had a gaping hole. Suppose the revolution was a complete success. Even so, there was no way that Miller would be able to defeat Lucile. No, in this world, there was nothing that could kill that monster. And so the king would not die, and the world would not change.

In a battle against Lucile, even Miller may lose his life. Even that happened, only the worst future awaited them. So Sion had to meet Lucile again.

He still had a means of contact - Lucile’s dango loving, beautiful little sister Ferris Eris was an acquaintance of his, and she’d find a way.

But if he couldn’t obtain that power, Miller’s roadmap would need huge changes to avoid having more problems.

If he was able to obtain that inhuman power, then…

“……”

Sion recalled the first time he met Lucile.

It was only a moment.

However, in that moment, a shiver ran down his back.

He smiled bitterly.

Surely he’d be killed. The probability was high.

Even so, he had to do it.

“…Anyway, how about I bring Ferris some dango as a present for returning safely from the battlefield?”

An answer came for his second plan.

He had another plan to destroy Miller’s roadmap. Without shaking the boat, he needed an answer for the problem of how to destroy the place Miller believed it.

As he made to cross the information division’s residence.

“Sion, sir,” a weak. formless voice echoed. As he was passing the residence, a voice called out from the dark window. It was unlikely that anyone else heard it.

It was such a faint voice that if he hadn’t here before the fact to receive information, he wouldn’t have heard it.

Sion didn’t look in the direction of the voice. He had the horse continue walking, slowly. The voice followed the horse’s pace. Little by little, through the gap in the window, the voice revertibrated.

Carefully. Meticulously. So that no one shadowing him or keeping an eye on him would notice.

“…The report.”

“…….”

 “As you ordered, all allies who support Rahel Miller have been cut off. The surprising thing was that two out of three of those in our network supported him.”

“…….”

“To continue, some of Miller’s noteworthy supporters have been selected.”

“…….”

“We aren’t able to look into all of them yet, but…”

“…….”

“Information about the most important matter, that character, is at the aforementioned location.”

“…….”

The voice broke off there due to Sion’s horse passing the residence. But that was plenty. He’d procured the necessary information.

His allies were down by two thirds.

He was being watched, so he couldn’t move openly. But that wasn’t a problem. The important thing was that he wasn’t suspected.

They shouldn’t realize that a hugely incompetent brat whose head is filled with nothing but dreams was deviating from that monster Miller’s roadmap. They must believe he’s a puppet that can only move by manipulation.

If they did, their match likely wouldn’t last three months. The storyline to kill Sion would start for real in… two months, perhaps.

Sion had to make a counterplan while Miller was still outlining a second plan into a big and sturdy plot. He didn’t have a second to waste.

So he moved. Discreetly, meticulously.

So that he didn’t lose his friends to his naivety a second time. So that he wasn’t called a brat a second time.

He’d slip through Miller’s information network, wrapped around Roland as it was, and draw a new roadmap.

Now, he’d enter the first gap—

Midnight at the library.

An unopened dictionary, written in the words of another country. Sion was looking for a written report in it - information from him, on the red headed monster from the battlefield.

Sion flipped the documents open. A name was written inside. His personal history. His reason to live. At that, a smile rose to his face. “From now on, then,” he quietly said.

It was an honest smile, befitting of a man called a hero. It didn’t look like the smile of a man controlled by string; it was the smile of a prince devoted to the salvation of his country.

If Miller were here, perhaps that’s what he would think. Maybe he thought that as he watched. That his map was already being torn.

But Miller was not here.

At that, Sion laughed. At the red head’s information, he laughed. “Now then, Claugh Klom… it’s about time you surrendered, no?”

The sound of a page tearing echoed into the night.

The sound of the genius and the hero’s deceit clashing.

The sky was still enveloped in darkness. It was a moonless night.

Though daybreak was nowhere to be seen, Roland was changing brilliantly.

---

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