Chapter 14: Uninvited guests

Lesilus de Viela.

A 22-year-old only daughter of a count family exuding a mature charm, she was once a member of the Hero’s Party that saved the continent.

She always managed to obtain what she desired and achieve her goals, no matter the cost.

To revive her declining family, she tenaciously worked her way into becoming a member of the Hero’s Party.

Finally, after successfully defeating the Demon King, she led her family’s resurgence.

A promotion from viscount to count, along with riches and treasures.

Although it was only half the promised rewards, and she couldn’t achieve her dream of expanding into a “great territory,” she didn’t feel anger.

Instead, she considered herself fortunate when she looked at the fallen hero, Emilia.

She thought to herself how grateful she was not to have ended up like her.

This is why she had accepted the proposal of King Bricarle.

Coldly and mercilessly, she betrayed Emilia, with whom she had endured trials and tribulations for a year.

This betrayal was at the king’s urging—he claimed that Emilia, being an outsider, could not be properly recognized for her contributions.

Viela knew it wasn’t just because Emilia was an outsider. It was also because Emilia, like her, was a woman.

After all, Viela herself had only been able to join the Hero’s Party thanks to the prophecy of the Saintess.

Looking back now, it all seemed so contradictory.

That same king, who so openly belittled women and reveled in male superiority, would move heaven and earth at the mere word of the Saintess, Yuria.

Still, Viela had no regrets about her actions. She believed she would make the same decision again.

The false prophecy that the hero would commit treason was something Yuria, the Saintess, had taken to her grave.

And the lies about Emilia speaking of treason throughout the journey—those would remain buried with Dalton, Glaeon, and herself.

Sure, there had been the unexpected disappearance of a mere “porter” the day before they arrived at the capital, but Viela knew well that the life of a humble peasant like him wouldn’t change anything now.

She had long put any feelings of regret behind her.

All she wished for was for Emilia to accept her miserable fate and live out the rest of her days in silence.

After all, what choice did she have?

In an era of absolute monarchy, the king’s word was law and truth.

Those who defied it were rebels. She betrayed Emilia to survive, and she never regretted that choice.

However, she couldn’t help but feel deeply puzzled about one thing.

Why did Duke Rosel buy Emilia for 500 gold coins?

The same man who had never shown the slightest interest in her advances, the one who had only ever smiled at her while politely holding her hand at social gatherings.

His purchase of Emilia made no sense to her at all.

She tried to dismiss it as if he had simply acquired a new doll to amuse himself.

Yet, despite this, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had somehow lost to Emilia.

Even though, by beauty and figure, she clearly surpassed her.

That was why Viela had accompanied her father, Delmaron, to Duke Rosel’s estate.

As the Count or Countess of a family typically attended such banquets, her presence wasn’t necessary, yet Viela insisted on coming.

Stepping gracefully out of the carriage while holding the hand of a butler, Viela spotted Duke Rosel.

He had already exchanged greetings with her father, who had stepped out first.

“Ah, Lady Viela, you’ve come as well,” Rosel remarked.

“Haha, she was so eager to see you, Your Grace. That’s why she came along,” Delmaron replied with a sheepish smile.

For him, a marriage between Viela and Rosel would promise a bright future for their family’s revival.

Thus, Delmaron wholeheartedly supported their meeting.

What he didn’t know was that such a union was impossible.

Rosel raised a corner of his lips in a cold smile, his eyes devoid of warmth.

“Welcome, Lady Viela.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Duke Rosel.”

Lifting the hem of her dress, Viela offered a polite curtsy.

Rosel received the gesture with a mere glance, then turned his attention back to Delmaron.

“You must be weary from your long journey. Gellion.”

“Yes, Master.”

At Rosel’s call, Gellion, who had been recording the names of attendees a few steps back, approached and bowed.

“Escort them to the annex. They’ll need to rest and unpack their belongings.”

“Certainly. This way, Count Delmaron.”

“Heh, thank you.”

Delmaron, along with the coachman and butler, followed Gellion, but Viela did not move.

“Father, I’ll stay back to chat a little with Duke Rosel since it’s been a while,” Viela said.

Delmaron nodded with satisfaction.

As far as he knew, his daughter’s request for a “chat” would not be refused by the distinguished guest who had come to celebrate her birthday.

Thus, Viela approached Rosel.

Even when she noticed Rosel’s cold expression, she remained unfazed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“You’re still as distant as ever toward your debutante ball partner, Duke,” Viela quipped.

For nobles, a debutante ball was an important event.

It marked their first step into adult society and often served as a foundation for connections that could prove crucial later.

The fact that she could even approach him now stemmed from their partnership at that ball.

But for Rosel, it had not been particularly significant.

“…I’d prefer if you got straight to the point.”

“Hmph. We defeated the Demon King and saved the kingdom together, and yet you can’t even spare a word of gratitude?” Viela pouted, crossing her arms.

Rosel’s expression, however, remained cold.

He let out a quiet sigh.

“If you truly wish to chat, come to my study at 10 p.m. tonight.”

He had no intention of letting Esil see him engage in idle chatter with Viela.

Besides, there was something “important” he needed to discuss.

Unaware of his true intentions, Viela smirked.

“Oh my, are you finally inviting me to a private meeting?”

“Well then, I have no choice. I’ll be there by 10. See you then, Duke Rosel.”

With those words, Viela curtsied again, holding up the hem of her dress, and headed toward the annex.

Rosel watched her retreating figure.

She had no idea she was willingly walking into the tiger’s den.

“What could it be… so much he wants to talk about?”

Esil, still warmed by the embrace she shared with Rosel earlier that morning, tilted her head in confusion as she watched Viela.

Rosel’s words had been full of mysteries.

While she no longer questioned why he had purchased her—his embrace had conveyed all the meaning she needed—the statement that he had much to say still puzzled her.

“Am I forgetting something…?”

Esil racked her brain, searching her memories for anything she might have missed about her connection with Rosel.

Yet, aside from their encounters at the royal court, there were no “memories” worth calling special.

“…Strange.”

And yet, he spoke as if they shared many memories.

What could it be?

Esil’s deep contemplation was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Knock, knock, knock.

It was Silia.

When Esil opened the door, Silia entered, holding a plate of skewered pork dishes.

“Hero! I swiped some of these. There were so many that no one will even notice!”

“Oh… th-thank you, Lady Silia.”

“Hehe. How’s the comic coming along?”

In response, Esil showed her the comic, which she had drawn up to about 20 frames.

“Wow… did you draw all this in one day?”

The art style was much simpler than modern designs, so the process had been quick.

Moreover, since it was her own story, it had been easy to create.

“Yes.”

“That’s amazing! Can I read it?”

“It’s still in the early stages, so there’s no big story yet… but if you don’t mind…”

“It’s alright! Just eat that while I read.”

“Y-yes…”

Esil and Silia sat across from each other at the table.

However, Esil couldn’t bring herself to pick up the skewers.

Her stomach felt twisted, and she feared that eating anything might make her vomit everything back up.

The news of Briccal’s visit was enough to stir up old trials within her.

A brief silence filled the room.

After finishing the twenty frames of the comic, Silia’s eyes sparkled.

“Wow…! This is so good! Way better than novels!”

“R-really…?”

“Of course! The hero’s world is so special. You’ll draw more, right?”

“Yes…”

“Hehe, thank you! I need to get ready now. But make sure to eat every bite of that, okay?”

“Oh… yes, thank you.”

Silia stood up.

In the morning, the butler and her father would be hosting the distinguished guests, and the party would officially start in the garden in the afternoon.

She also had to practice a modest performance to entertain the guests later.

Just as she was about to leave the room, she paused at Esil’s call.

“L-Lady Silia.”

“Yes?”

“Could I ask you something?”

“Of course!”

Silia, delighted to receive a question from her idol for the first time, smiled brightly and approached.

Esil hesitated briefly before speaking.

“This might be a rude question, but… I noticed the lady of the house isn’t here…”

“Oh, my dad isn’t married yet,” Silia replied. “Are you asking about a madam?”

“…I see. But Lady Silia, you…”

“Oh, I’m adopted. He said he found me crying on the street and brought me home.”

“Ah…”

Esil nodded, finally understanding why the lady of the house was absent.

She felt a deep respect for Rosel, who had taken in a crying child off the streets and cared for her.

The more she learned about him, the more remarkable he seemed.

“Gellion says it’s quite the headache for him, though. My dad keeps getting marriage proposals but refuses them all.”

The appropriate marriageable age for nobles was usually between 17 and 22.

Rosel was already at the upper end of that range.

Though Gellion was actively searching for potential matches for him, nothing seemed to work out.

“…Refuses them? But isn’t he already of age…?”

“Well, he told only me, but…”

Silia covered her mouth and whispered into Esil’s ear.

With Roden busy preparing for the reception, there was no one around to overhear.

“He’s waiting for someone.”

“…Waiting for someone?”

“Yes.”

Esil had an inkling of who that person might be, but she chose not to speak.

“Phew, is everyone here now?”

Rosel sighed as he finished welcoming Duke Lucilan of the northern region, likely the guest who had traveled the farthest.

Gellion compared the visitor log with the invitation list and replied.

“Hm… It seems everyone is here except for His Majesty the King. As expected, Count Nebron is absent.”

“I see. Was there any word on when His Majesty will arrive?”

“I instructed each city gate to send a message immediately when His Majesty’s carriage is sighted near the estate, so…”

Flutter.

Gellion’s words trailed off.

A pigeon flying in from the south interrupted him, landing on his outstretched hand.

And on the pigeon’s foot was a message. After tearing it open, Gellion looked at Rosel.

“It seems the southern gate has been passed.”

A solemn expression spread across Rosel’s face.

Finally, his procession was imminent.

The storm was approaching.

Rosel silently hoped it wouldn’t be a cold, biting wind.

After waiting for about 20 minutes, the front gates of the mansion opened, and three carriages entered.

The carriages were all adorned with dazzling gold and patterns, and their windows were concealed so that no one could know which one held the King.

The horses pulling the carriages also wore golden saddles, a symbol of vanity and extravagance.

Rosel gritted his teeth at this display of excess.

Hiiing, purrk.

The horses stopped in front of the mansion, and the coachman opened the door of the first carriage.

Click,

The thick doors creaked open, revealing golden interior detailing.

Then, King Briccal stepped out of the carriage and gave Rosel a broad grin.

“Oh~ our dear Rosel. Were you waiting for me?”

His yellow teeth, disheveled golden hair, and crooked crown bore no trace of regal dignity.

Moreover, the smell of alcohol was already emanating from his breath.

Glancing inside the carriage, Rosel saw two women, drunk beyond recognition, naked and groping each other.

With boiling rage, Rosel swallowed his anger, straightened his back, and greeted him formally.

“Your Majesty, welcome. Thank you for the long journey.”

“Haha, long journey? What are you talking about? It’s only natural to rush when you’re invited,” Briccal said, laughing as he approached and gave Rosel a familiar embrace.

However, someone else stepped out of the first carriage.

It wasn’t a familiar face, but one that was still etched in his memory.

A grotesque face with a bald head.

Briccal introduced him.

“Haha, come down, Stegon.”

Stegon. He was none other than the torturer from the underground prison.

The one who had destroyed Esil’s body and mind. He was now here, invited without any proper invitation.

Briccal proudly patted Stegon’s shoulder and, with a mischievous tone, said,

“I heard you bought this friend’s work? He was desperate to see the fruits of his labor, so I brought him along.”

Rosel, hearing Esil referred to as ‘a work,’ felt a surge of blood rush to his head, but he forced a bitter smile.

Now was not the time for rash actions.

Acting on emotion would only leave him vulnerable.

Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Rosel lowered his head and said to Briccal,

“As this is a celebration of a birthday, it would be best if many people offer their congratulations.”

“Hahaha! I knew you’d think that way! I was worried about his appearance, but it seems I didn’t need to,” Briccal laughed heartily.

There were two uninvited guests.

Ironically, those guests were the ones who harbored deep resentment from Esil.

It seemed that the next few days would be filled with busy, turbulent events.