The festival was in full swing.
The reason?
Naturally, it was to celebrate Commander Theodore’s return and their victory in battle.
Of course, there were still tens of thousands of orcs left, so the war wasn’t completely over yet.
However, with the Orc Chieftain and the King Sandworm both defeated, finishing off the remnants wouldn’t be too difficult.
“Where on earth have you been all this time before returning?”
“Could you tell us now? We’re dying of curiosity.”
“Haha...”
Commander Theodore could only give a good-natured laugh at his subordinates’ pointed questions.
After all, he couldn’t tell them that he had become a demon and then returned.
“There were... certain circumstances I couldn’t share. During that time, Commander Lloyd helped me a great deal.”
“Is that so... We had no idea and only resented him.”
“We thought he had schemed something during the operation to take the commander’s position.”
“Tsk tsk. How could you be so blind about people? Make sure you apologize to him later.”
After sternly scolding the knights, Theodore turned to Oscar and winked as their gazes met.
Right.
Only three people knew what had happened to him, and it was a secret they would take to their graves.
Oscar, who returned the smile, started looking around as if searching for someone.
‘But where on earth is Lloyd?’
Lloyd, who could be considered one of the stars of this celebration, hadn’t been seen since earlier.
Noticing the subtle glance, Theodore spoke up.
“By the way, where is Commander Lloyd?”
“Hm? Now that you mention it...”
“He seemed to go somewhere earlier, but we haven’t seen him since.”
“I’ll go look for him.”
Oscar rose from his seat and headed off with a familiar stride.
He didn’t head toward Lloyd’s quarters or the underground chamber beneath it but instead went to the castle wall.
‘Lloyd hasn’t changed at all in this regard.’
He had always disliked loud or crowded places.
Even at the White Tower, whenever there was a party, Lloyd would often hide in the gardens or on the rooftop.
Sure enough, after checking several watchtowers, Oscar found him reading a book and sipping tea.
When their eyes met, Lloyd looked as though he had seen a ghost.
Then, composing his expression, he asked,
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“I just searched around. What are you doing here while the festival is in full swing?”
Lloyd simply turned his gaze back to his book and replied,
“I don’t like noisy and crowded places.”
“Even so, it’s a victory celebration.”
“One person missing won’t cause a problem.”
Why had he grown so cynical?
Oscar let out a small laugh and sat down in the chair next to him.
From there, he gazed out over the barren wasteland beyond the castle walls, littered with the corpses of orcs they had fought just hours ago.
Holding out his empty teacup, Oscar said,
“Pour me some tea as well.”
“Hmph.”
“...Wait, are you hesitating because you’re being stingy? Wow, that’s cold. After all the time we spent researching together.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Lloyd finally tipped the teapot and poured tea into Oscar’s cup.
Oscar's eyes widened in surprise as the reddish-brown liquid filled the cup.
“Wait a second, isn’t this Hongru Tea?”
Hongru Tea, or “Red Tear Tea,” was known for its unique color and was brewed from the rare Hongru flowers, notoriously difficult to cultivate.
The village that once grew these flowers was the only one on the continent to do so.
And calling it “once” was fitting, as that village had been destroyed during the war against the demons.
“I thought the recipe for these flowers was lost when the village was destroyed. You managed to create them through magic?”
At that, Lloyd replied with a reluctant expression.
“...How does a young mage like you even know about Hongru Tea?”
“I read about it in a book.”
“Don’t lie. You recognized it just from the color. No book describes it in such detail.”
Faced with Lloyd’s narrowing, suspicious gaze, Oscar slowly parted his lips.
“When you take your first sip, a deep bitterness spreads across the tip of your tongue. Then, astringency and dryness coat your palate, spreading further. As it goes down your throat, a crisp finish like the dawn air lingers. The aftertaste remains faintly, leaving a subtle yet long-lasting impression. Am I right? The book described its flavor in great detail.”
Of course, no book would include such an absurdly detailed description.
Oscar could describe Hongru Tea so well because he had frequently drunk it in a past life.
It was also the only tea Lloyd, who had tried to imitate him in everything, had refused to drink, calling it too bitter.
‘I thought I’d never taste it again after the village was destroyed....’
For a moment, he smiled faintly at the memory.
Then, as if sensing his gaze, Lloyd glanced at him, sipped his tea, and murmured.
“I didn’t create it with magic.”
“Pardon?”
“I cultivated the flowers myself. It took a very long time to restore them. I dry the petals carefully, carry them with me, and brew the tea whenever something pleasant happens. You should consider it an honor to share it with me.”
Oscar wanted to ask.
Why, despite claiming to dislike flowers, had Lloyd gone through so much trouble to restore this one?
Why did he carry it with him everywhere?
Could it have something to do with someone named Oscar Sage?
Unable to resist his curiosity, Oscar cautiously asked,
“You have a unique taste. Is there a special reason you like this tea?”
Lloyd sipped his tea silently for a long time before answering.
“To not forget.”
“Forget what?”
Could it be... to not forget him?
Just as an unbidden hope began to rise, Lloyd fixed him with a gaze drier than the barren desert.
“To not forget how much I hate someone.”
For a moment, Oscar was speechless.
He couldn’t believe Lloyd drank this tea to suppress joy and sustain hatred.
It seemed clear how Lloyd thought of him now.
As Oscar took a sip, he muttered.
“...It’s more bitter than I expected.”
“Is it?”
Lloyd stared blankly into his teacup as though lost in thought and said,
“I think it used to be even more bitter.”
“Used to be?”
“There was a time when this tea tasted... exceptionally bitter.”
And with that, Lloyd fell silent.
The unspoken tension suggested he didn’t want to elaborate further.
In the end, Oscar changed the topic and asked another question.
“When you fought the King Sandworm, was it really necessary to fight that way?”
“...Are you trying to give me combat feedback?”
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
“I’m just genuinely curious.”
If he wanted, he could have avoided the underground King Sandworm’s charge.
Considering he was once a mage of the White Tower, he should be capable of using the Flight spell.
“Are you talking about Flight magic?”
Lloyd, who had already finished his tea, set the teacup down and shook his head.
“...Ah, is it because of the regulations?”
Breaking this rule often results in the tower dispatching a mage to destroy the violator’s magic circuits.
“But in a life-or-death situation, following regulations seems... wouldn’t the White Tower overlook something like that?”
“You’re mistaken.”
Lloyd chuckled faintly and shook his head.
“It’s not because of the White Tower. I cannot use it because of a promise I made to my master—the Red Tower Master.”
“What does that even—”
“That’s enough talk for today. Any more would be too much.”
Lloyd’s refusal was clear as he shook his head.
Oscar hesitated briefly at the invisible line Lloyd had drawn but cautiously took a step forward.
“Why did you leave the White Tower?”
A thoughtful gaze, deep in contemplation.
Finally, Lloyd closed his eyes and murmured:
“Because it was the most efficient choice.”
“What do you mean—”
“You’ve performed better than I expected. As promised, I’ll ensure the military receives a steady supply of high-grade potions from the White Tower.”
A clear dismissal.
Oscar desperately wanted to ask how Lloyd truly felt about him—Oscar Sage—but he couldn’t muster the courage.
“Go back, White Tower mage.”
After all, Lloyd had never once called him “Oscar.”
A nameless mountain in the desert.
Two figures, a man and a woman, were gazing at a red fortress on the horizon.
The man spoke first.
“I didn’t expect much from inferior species like orcs, but failing despite wielding that level of power... how pathetic.”
“...Shall I report this?”
“Yes, yes, report it immediately upon our return.”
Attempts to use the Nightmare Baron to bring down Vince had failed.
Attempts to use the orcs to topple the Red Fortress had failed.
At the center of all these failures was one man.
“It’s clear now.”
The man grinned as he stared at the Red Fortress.
“Oscar Crucian. That guy’s definitely a nuisance.”
Now that they understood the problem, the solution was simple—eliminate him.
But since they’d failed once, they would need to prepare a more certain plan.
“Dirge. Summon him.”
“Hmm...”
Sasha Maestro, the White Tower Master, had recently been troubled by one thing.
‘What could it have been?’
The power that had healed her pain during her ordeal with the Fairy Tongue.
It was a mana that felt so nostalgic.
She even knew who it belonged to.
The moment she regained consciousness, she had sought out the deputy-tower master, who revealed an entirely unexpected answer.
“Oscar Crucian, was it...?”
His magic felt like something she had longed for, something motherly?
A warm, comforting sensation.
Of course, this was merely a metaphor.
She had no memories of her parents’ magic.
She had only ever resented them for abandoning her, never yearning for them.
‘In that case, who could I have thought of as a parent and missed so dearly...?’
A delicate frown creased her brow as she delved into her memories, eventually conjuring the image of someone she had once followed like a parent.
‘Could it be... my master?’
Someone she had loved so deeply, trusted so completely, that now she hated them fiercely.
Because he had discarded her and the White Tower like they were nothing.
For someone like Sasha, who had already been abandoned once by her parents, the betrayal had been an indelible wound.
‘Though I understand the meaning behind his choice... it doesn’t make it easier.’
She understood.
Between the White Tower and humanity, between the magic towers and the world, choosing one over the other was rational.
Perhaps her resentment was nothing more than a childish tantrum.
‘But still...’
What could she do about her hatred?
What could she do about her inability to forgive?
She had believed that even if the world abandoned her, her master would never do so.
“Phew.”
Sasha lightly slapped her cheeks and resumed her pondering.
‘Then why did I feel that same sense of comfort from Oscar?’
It was a mystery she couldn’t unravel alone.
She would have to ask him directly.
Resolving herself, she buried herself in her work for the next few weeks.
“Tower Master, Oscar has returned.”
And the day finally came.
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]

Comments

Loading...