Priest (6)
Servants rushed up all at once onto the platform where clouds of dust were thickly rising. Since the duel was over, it was time to clean up the aftermath.
Among them, the one who clearly needed the most urgent help was Delia.
With that small body, she had run around the platform for a long time, fallen and gotten wounded, and even drawn out her mana beyond its limits, leaving her in a complete wrecked state.
Watching her coughing and sneezing while tears kept dripping down, rather than recalling her usual vicious look, she just seemed pitiful.
Looking down at Delia, who had become tattered like a rag, Raig found himself at a loss for words.
"Uh... uhkh...."
The way she sobbed while clutching her wounds was full of misery.
It had only started as a formal magical spar between nobles, but even Raig had not expected it to end like this.
"Mi, Mia..."
As he was about to say that, Raig suddenly came to his senses. Had he just been about to apologize? To that rabid Delia whom even the heavens would click their tongues at?
However, the Delia he had seen during the spar was far too different from the one he had always known.
Had she changed.
He did not know what or how she had changed, but at the very least, he could tell that Delia had truly tried to prove herself through this spar.
The result was not good, but sometimes the process is given more meaning.
That was why Raig could not mock or criticize the Delia who had fallen over and was crying.
To someone who had challenged with all their might, there flows a strange kind of nobility that cannot be explained in words.
To laugh at that lightly was bound to be accompanied by a sense of guilt. Raig stood there for a long while, with a face that did not know what to say.
–Tap.
"We will guide you to the inner chambers. You need to receive treatment first."
Delia, who had stood up with the support of the maids, soon pushed them away.
Then she stood up straight on her own and strode toward Raig.
There was still a trace of resentment left in her red, swollen eyes.
However, a loss was a loss.
Delia quietly bowed her head to Raig and walked past him on her own.
Raig could only stare at that sight with his eyes wide open.
–Tadat, tadat.
Next, the place Delia headed after coming down from the platform was in front of Derrick, who had been quietly watching the spar among the servants.
She walked up in front of the motionless Derrick and straightened her battered body. A drop of fresh blood was running down her cheek, and her shining golden hair and pretty frilled dress were covered in dust.
Even though the girl had been crying her eyes out just a moment ago, she tried to keep her dignity as a noble. Whining and complaining in front of commoners was not fitting for her status.
A noble family's Young Lady must always be proud and noble. Delia too had always been like a proud, noble cat. A proud and dignified stray cat always walks proudly along the wall even in the dust.
Therefore, even while biting her trembling lower lip, the girl spoke in a lowered voice.
"I lost."
Her heart, overflowing with emotions built from noble authority, was being tightly suppressed.
Even so, she still had to press down with her hand the emotions that were trying to leak out in streams.
"I'm sorry."
The girl apologized briefly. The other party was nothing more than a commoner.
Delia quietly bowed her head to Raig and walked past him on her own.
Raig could only stare at that sight with his eyes wide open.
–Tadat, tadat.
Next, the place Delia headed after coming down from the platform was in front of Derrick, who had been quietly watching the spar among the servants.
She walked up in front of the motionless Derrick and straightened her battered body. A drop of fresh blood was running down her cheek, and her shining golden hair and pretty frilled dress were covered in dust.
Even though the girl had been crying her eyes out just a moment ago, she tried to keep her dignity as a noble. Whining and complaining in front of commoners was not fitting for her status.
A noble family's Young Lady must always be proud and noble. Delia too had always been like a proud, noble cat. A proud and dignified stray cat always walks proudly along the wall even in the dust.
Therefore, even while biting her trembling lower lip, the girl spoke in a lowered voice.
"I lost."
Her heart, overflowing with emotions built from noble authority, was being tightly suppressed.
Even so, she still had to press down with her hand the emotions that were trying to leak out in streams.
"I'm sorry."
The girl apologized briefly. The other party was nothing more than a commoner.
Miriela, who had moved her steps toward the front of the garden where the platform was set up, was followed by several servants.
Miriela, walking with her fists tightly clenched and striding forward, had a face full of anger.
And that anger shot straight to the top of her head the moment she saw Delia, who was covered in wounds and crying loudly.
"Delia!"
Miriela ran out in front of Delia, who was going to receive treatment while being attended by servants. She lowered her posture and looked at Delia's wounds. They were not big wounds, but she worried that scars might remain.
Unable to even brush off the dust all over her, Miriela first pulled Delia into a hug.
"My... Delia...! You must have had such a hard time.... It's okay... now just trust this mother..."
"Mother..."
"First, we have to treat your wounds. Follow the servants and hurry to get treated first."
After sending Delia out of her arms like that, Miriela sharply turned her gaze toward Derrick.
There was anger flickering in that blazing stare.
Miriela strode right up to Derrick and grabbed him by the collar.
"You bastard... do you even know what you've done?" "..."
Derrick only quietly kept his hands behind his back and slightly raised those terrifyingly red eyes.
"Do you think you've accomplished something great? 1-star magic? That kind of thing can be learned slowly even if you're a bit late.
You taught something vulgar and ugly to the Young Lady of the Duplein Ducal House, who should be a noble lily. You don't even know how serious that is, do you."
–Slap!
Miriela's slap, her anger pushed to the limit, flew toward Derrick.
Derrick turned his head back to the front after it was whipped to the side. His cheek was swelling, but Miriela did not even seem to care.
All the servants gathered nearby broke out in cold sweat and swallowed their dry saliva.
It was as if Miriela's anger toward Derrick was spreading through the surrounding air.
"What would a lowly thing like you know about noble culture? Do you even understand what kind of brutal, icy place Ebelstein's High Society is? That's where beings above the clouds gather. You wouldn't understand how desperate it is to have to adapt there while being stained with the filth of the bottom."
"..."
"There is a world that a lowborn like you doesn't know. A world where one must observe etiquette, keep dignity, show one's skill through magical spars, and protect values with that authority. A world that someone like you... from the bottom... can never understand."
–Slap.
Miriela, gritting her teeth, slapped Derrick again.
Derrick quietly remained standing with his hands behind his back.
"I... I would do anything for Delia. Getting rid of a bug like you that's stuck to my precious Delia is nothing. You, right now, no matter what it takes..."
–Step, step.
It was at the moment when Miriela was raging like fire.
The Duke Duplein, who had slowly come down toward the platform following her, revealed himself.
All the servants gathered at the scene bowed their heads at once.
The Duke Duplein, walking out among them with a solemn expression and his hands behind his back, was the master of this duchy.
He was the kind of person that ordinary commoners would have to bow their heads just from encountering.
With his appearance, silence fell, and the only person here who could still raise their voice was just one.
"You! You saw the spar too, right?! This is all... this is all because of what this frivolous lowborn taught! If you have a mouth, say something too...!"
What happened next was more than enough to shock everyone at the scene.
–Slap!
A silence as if time had stopped swirled in front of the platform.
Not only the servants but even the retainers could not help but look on in shock.
Only then did Miriela, her head turned to the side, realize that she had been slapped.
Her trembling pupils revealed her chaotic inner state.
Only after feeling the stinging sensation rising along her cheek did she see her husband's figure, still looking down at her with a solemn face.
"Do you not know who is behaving the most frivolously here right now?"
"You... this... what is this..."
Miriela spoke again, her lips trembling. Everyone gathered nearby was breaking out in cold sweat.
As a noble lady belonging to a ducal house, she had never experienced such a primitive act of violence. Because there had been no one who could do such a thing.
However, strictly speaking, there had been exactly one.
The moment she realized that well-known fact, her head could not help but fill with confusion.
"Y-you... why... this person is lowborn and a worthless commoner from the start. You also know well the nobility of Duplein."
"Yes. What you say is correct. This man is nothing but a worthless wandering mercenary from the slums.
And also someone who would only bring disgrace to the name of the Duplein family."
"Then... then why..."
"Even so, he is our daughter's teacher."
At those words, Miriela's eyes widened. The Duke Duplein's solemn face looked the same as always, but it seemed that something inside had changed.
"What parent in the world treats their child's teacher like this?"
Once the Duke Duplein, the master of the duchy, had decided so firmly, there was no one left who could oppose his will.
Her chest trembled from the shock of being slapped.
As the duke walked past Miriela just like that, her legs gave out from the shock. The nearby servants hurried over and supported her.
The Duke Duplein did not even spare her a glance and walked, hands behind his back, straight up to Derrick.
This was not the appearance of a man who had been moving a quill in his office, but the Duke Duplein, appearing with many servants and looking down solemnly. An oppressive presence surrounded him.
He spoke to Derrick in a low, heavy voice.
The words that followed made all the servants doubt their ears.
"There are many ways to love one's child. I ask that you forgive her."
"..."
Even Derrick, who always maintained his composure, could not help but close and open his eyes once, as if he had not expected this.
The situation itself, where a duke of a nation apologized like this, was something no one could have predicted.
Because the other party was nothing more than a commoner from the streets.
"No, it's fine."
"Then there are words we must share privately, so follow me to the audience hall."
With that, the duke quietly headed toward the mansion, crossing the scene filled with shock.
All the retainers gathered at the scene bowed their heads toward the duke as he walked back toward the mansion.
*
When Derrick entered the audience hall, the Duke Duplein was checking a document spread open on a sofa inlaid with gold. Duke crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand was the same as always.
He was such a busy man that he had to use even this brief moment for work. Bearing responsibility for this vast duchy was no easy task.
He glanced sideways at Derrick, who had opened the door and come in, then flicked his gaze toward the chair across from him.
It meant roughly that he should sit there.
Derrick quietly offered his greetings and went to sit in the chair.
–Rustle, rustle.
For a while, only the sound of papers being turned filled the room.
Then suddenly, the duke asked as if throwing the words.
"If you have something to say, say it."
"...."
The duke said it as if testing Derrick. If there was something he wanted to say first, he should say it.
However, Derrick had nothing more to say. He was the type of person who proved things with results rather than words.
"Nothing in particular."
"I see, good."
The Duke Duplein also seemed to quite like that temperament of his and did not show any particular sign of anger.
Soon, he tossed the documents onto the table and stroked his chin as he spoke.
"Let me say this in advance, I do not particularly like appointing commoners like you."
"I know."
"Even so... what must be acknowledged should be acknowledged."
The duke's dry eyes turned toward Derrick.
"You are capable."
The duke neither acted unnecessarily emotional, nor was he completely indifferent. That seemed to be his own way of leading people.
"A ruler is someone who appoints the capable and gives rewards befitting their achievements."
"I already have a promised reward."
"The small change that Aiselin promised?"
Only nobles could call 15 aidel gold coins small change. And, coincidentally, the one in front of him was a noble among nobles.
When Derrick gently closed his eyes, the Duke Duplein let out a dry laugh.
And as always, he spoke in a voice full of force.
"You taught Delia 1-star magic well. But that level of achievement is not enough to survive in the harsh society of nobles."
"That is true. But are there not many fine people in Duplein who can guide Young Lady Delia.
Now that she has grasped the sense of magic, she will grow further."
"What my daughter needs is not a magic instructor, but a master."
There was firmness in the Duke Duplein's voice.
"But my eyes cannot be deceived. You harbor a great ambition that is not even permitted to be dreamed of by someone of commoner status."
"...."
Duke Duplein's eyes, trying to see through Derrick, flashed.
He was someone who had lived his whole life evaluating and measuring people. He had already seen through the fact that Derrick was aiming beyond 3-star, into the realm of 4-star or higher.
"I would not fail to know how insulting that would be taken by those noble nobles of Ebelstein.
However, since you have achieved something, I will turn a blind eye."
"Still, if you harbor such intentions, you cannot possibly stay in a noble family like this for long. I already know that you are prepared to leave for Ebelstein at any time. Perhaps from birth, you are the type suited to be a wandering mercenary."
"That is true."
"I do not fail to understand your ambition, but still, you must teach Delia a little longer."
The higher one's level of magic became, the more the meaning of Derrick's talent would gradually change.
Because the Duke Duplein knew that well, he also knew exactly what to offer in order to keep someone with a wandering disposition like him.
"They say the highest realm permitted to commoners is 3-star. Do you wish to reach that realm?" "...!"
"Of course, at this point it would be a reckless goal. Still, you would want to at least build a foundation."
Seeing Derrick's reaction, the duke snorted once, then took out a small silver key from his bosom.
He tossed it onto the table in front of Derrick.
"Do you know what that is?"
"I do not."
"It is the key to the underground archive that only the direct line of the Duplein family and higher-level retainers can access."
The duke said calmly.
"There, 3-star Magic Books worth hundreds of gold coins are lying around to the point that you would trip over them."
This time, Derrick's eyes could not help but flash.
The Duke Duplein was a man who more coldly than anyone else understood what he needed to do to keep Derrick at the ducal residence.
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