As always, Yuder Aile wore his black uniform and coat, hood pulled over his head. He moved with a relaxed gait as he sat down on the chair. If anyone else had moved at that pace, it might’ve seemed sluggish—but with the cold air radiating off Yuder, the motion felt more like a predator stalking its prey.

The moment their pitch-black eyes met, Kiole forgot the fleeting mix of fear, relief, and resentment he'd just felt.

“So. Did you get it?”

“...Get what?”

“You said you wanted the truth. Did you get your answer?”

Right. Now that he thought about it, hadn’t it been right after that conversation that he’d been thrown into this ridiculous path as a labor convict? Only then did Kiole snap back to his senses and yell with a face full of pent-up injustice.

“And for that, you just threw me into prison?! Do you have any idea what I went through because of you?!”

“What exactly did you go through?”

Yuder asked, unfazed. Images of the ordeal he’d endured flashed rapidly through Kiole’s mind. So much had happened, and yet trying to put it into words, he couldn’t summarize a single thing. Kiole had never been particularly articulate, and now his tongue simply refused to work. After huffing and puffing for a while, all he could manage was:

“I-I went through so... so much...”

Why was it so hard to explain? He’d imagined countless times how he’d confront Yuder and demand answers for everything he’d suffered. Yet in reality, he couldn’t get a single proper word out.

‘Why the hell can’t I speak?!’

As Kiole clenched his fists in frustration, Yuder’s lips curled—so faintly the other wouldn’t notice.

“I heard everything about how you’ve been. You struggled more than I expected.”

Kiole lifted his head.

“Debran spoke very highly of you. It was surprising. Said you took a beating for the prisoners you worked with.”

“......”

“Why did you do that?”

The directness of the question once again emptied his mind. Kiole opened and closed his mouth several times. Anyone else might have gotten irritated, but strangely, Yuder didn’t rush him. Despite being someone who openly hated wasting time, he silently waited—and Kiole, not realizing what that silence meant, fumbled to recount the thoughts he’d had before falling asleep earlier.

“...It, it just... I moved on instinct. It felt like I had to. Because I was the only knight there. The only one who knew how to use a sword... If someone else had gotten hit, they wouldn’t have dodged like I could have. So, I just did it. It felt like the right thing to do. That’s not wrong, right?!”

“It’s not wrong.”

“Exactly! So, like... I just saved them! Like you guys—the Cavalry! ...Even if it didn’t go that well.”

The last part trailed off without him realizing it. He suddenly remembered that rather than heroically stopping the assailant, he had just been beaten relentlessly with a whip.

Objectively, claiming he’d saved others like the Cavalry did... felt a little far-fetched.

“Why do you think it didn’t go well? Because you didn’t beat that noble?”

“......”

“But thanks to you taking the blows, not a single prisoner got hurt. For someone with your level of skill, that’s an incredible success.”

...Huh? Was that—was that a compliment?

Kiole blinked in surprise, and Yuder coolly added,

“Of course, the biggest reason for that success is that noble bastard was too emotional and brainless. He could’ve used your attack as an excuse to kill you on the spot for assaulting a noble, or denied everything in front of Debran and gotten away with it. But he didn’t.”

You survived because your opponent was stupid.

It was true—but somehow, it still felt like a veiled insult. Kiole lowered his head again. Of course. It wasn’t a compliment.

“They say you got caught because you hesitated when others tried to stop you. In a fight, that’s no different than sticking your neck out and asking to be killed. You should be glad you’re alive.”

Kiole knew Yuder wasn’t exaggerating. He really could’ve died.

‘...He’s right. I was just lucky.’

It had been his first time in a fight like that. His body didn’t move the way he wanted, and he fumbled through the whole thing. The more he thought about it, the more ways he realized he could’ve done better.

“If I face someone like that again, I’ll do it better next time...”

Hearing Kiole’s mutter, Yuder blinked as if he’d heard something completely unexpected.

“You think there’ll be a next time?”

“...Oh, right. You said the labor sentence is over now.”

Still—

Kiole hesitated before speaking again.

“While I was there... I heard stories. About why they were imprisoned. What crimes they committed.”

People who had been punished far too severely for what they’d done. People who never even got a chance to properly argue the weight of their crimes. The underbelly of the capital, driven by their forced labor.

Those with nothing to their names couldn’t escape, no matter how much they begged. No one listened. No one believed them.

Helping people like that wasn’t even that difficult—but those who didn’t step forward, or worse, those who drove them further into debt—

The ones who preached “noble duty” with their mouths and did nothing with their hands.

Those who blocked and opposed the few who did try to fulfill that duty, just because it came from the Emperor’s policy.

His father and family, who had declared such people were the righteous ones.

Moments when the world Kiole la Diarca thought he knew was turned upside down.

Kiole recounted it all in fragments. Earlier, he hadn’t known what to say. But now, after being humbled by Yuder’s cold truths, the words came easier.

Once he finished recounting his thoughts, Kiole exhaled deeply.

“...I used to believe everything my father said. I was proud to be a Diarca. But... not anymore.”

He couldn’t put it into perfect words. But he was sure of one thing—the feeling he’d had when he realized how wrong his father, his family, and the nobles who followed them really were.

Anger. Sorrow. Fear. A desperate desire to run away.

But even if he ran, where would he go?

He wouldn’t even be here now if not for the Emperor, the Duke of Peleta, and Yuder Aile.

Kiole had never even known where his wages went, how money was handled or used. He was, for the first time, realizing just how clueless he truly was.

“So, what do you want now?”

Yuder Aile asked. Kiole stared down at his clenched fists before forcing himself to answer.

“I... I want to live as someone who deserves to be called a Diarca. As a noble. As a knight... If there’s a way to do that, I’ll take it.”

“Hm. Even if that means getting whipped more and living even harder?”

“...Ugh. Y-Yeah!”

He’d endured it once. Surely he could do it again. Kiole clenched his teeth and shut his eyes tight.

“Actually, the fastest way to get what you want is already on the table.”

“What is it?”

“Obtain the title of Duke.”

“......”

Kiole froze. He barely managed to shake his head.

“N-No thanks.”

“Then are you planning to help Kiorne la Diarca become Duke?”

“No. That’s... not an option either.”

His eldest brother was no different from his father. He would kill Kiole to get what he wanted. He would never listen to Kiole’s thoughts or wishes.

“Then how do you plan to make your dream happen? Got another method?”

No. If he had one, he wouldn’t—

Kiole glared resentfully at Yuder. He’d always found his eyes terrifying and unreadable—and they still were. But this time, he suddenly realized something.

‘Wait a second...’

Yuder clearly knew another answer. And he was waiting to see if Kiole could figure it out.

For the first time, Kiole started thinking hard. He clung to Yuder’s past words, his own recent experiences, and the fleeting thoughts that had brushed through his mind.

‘Ugh... Ngh...!’

After nearly frying his brain, something finally bubbled to the surface.

Something Yuder had said recently—If thinking is too hard, then follow someone who thinks for you.

A knight serves his liege.

The Imperial Guard had originally been formed to serve only the Emperor.

The current Emperor—who had tried, again and again, to give chances to prisoners and wronged commoners, even if he often failed.

Kiole had never once thought of him as someone to follow. But there was no denying that the Emperor had already given him countless opportunities. If his policies could be revived, then perhaps even those still trapped in labor sentences could be given a second chance.

What kind of world had the Emperor tried to build—before Kiole’s father and the nobles shut him down?

Did he still want to revive that vision?

For the first time, Kiole thought not of the vague, faraway "Emperor," but of the man Keillusa la Orr.

Before he could think more, the words slipped out of his mouth.

“...I want to meet His Majesty the Emperor.”

A strange gleam flashed in Yuder Aile’s eyes.

“That’s your answer, then.”

“Wait! But before that. The key my father gave me—I want to try using it first... H-Hey. You—”

“Fine. If you’re going to the Duke of Diarca’s secret vault, I’ll escort you. You won’t have to worry about dying.”

Yuder replied as if he'd read exactly what Kiole had been about to ask.