Roland was just as mad then as it is now.
War, greed, and despair were all they had. No matter where you looked you saw dead bodies lying on the ground. The city was so stricken with poverty and starvation that nobody had the energy left to cry.
A country left like that would normally rebel before long, and then the rebels would gather to form a revolution. If the people stood up to fight, nothing should be able to stop them.
However.
Even though this had gone on for a long time, there were no signs of revolution to be found.
Of course there were uprisings. Many people with strong leadership abilities appeared to lead them. But their efforts were soon destroyed, and so the uprisings ended without ever reaching the full support of the people many, many times.
Miller had watched it happen time and time again.
His own father had been a leader of one said uprising. Miller had seen his decapitated head roll along the dirt when he was seven years old.
He’d screamed as his head fell.
“The embers we fanned… won’t disappear just because I’ve died!” He yelled, and then his life was over.
At the time his father’s dying words meant nothing to Miller.
The organization his father created to revolt with was destroyed.
Two assassins dispatched from the Hidden Elites killed everyone in it. They didn’t just stop there, either. They also killed everyone who the people of his organization greeted in day-to-day life.
And so Miller hid from them for three years, from age seven to age nine. That was how he learned to hide himself, to keep from standing out. He waited in the slums where the nobles didn’t dare to come. Waited for something that’d let him make an official appearance in the world, so to speak.
And then one day… a noble’s carriage appeared.
Miller had his allies attack it, then saved the nobles inside himself.
The noble invited him to join his private army. He’d made his appearance.
Two years later, the noble died. Miller was officially transferred to Roland’s military.
Naturally, he was just treated worse than slave thanks to the fact that he was from the slums. Even the soldiers born to commoners hated him. But he didn’t mind.
Because he’d seen it many times before. He saw his father and the other rebel leaders killed time after time. So he slowly did the things that needed to be done.
That was how the noble he’d served under for two years died, too - slowly. He burnt a weak poison into smoke for the noble to inhale as he slept until he died in order to profit.
“……”
His assignment was to patrol the slums. To kill his old allies who were against the nobility. To kill his old allies who were against this country.
So his former allies called him a backstabber. His current allies called him a backstabber, too.
Obviously. Because could kill his allies without paling in the slightest.
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t mind being called a backstabber at all. He could already see the path he was on, after all. He could see what he was supposed to do.
He just had to keep this up.
He didn’t mind even when people spat on him.
“……”
He was patrolling on that day, too.
The people looked at him with hatred because of the path he’d taken. Because he managed the people of this hell harshly. But it was because of him that this place had gone without any major skirmishes or individuals running amok in the past few months.
He felt like that was a good thing.
There was no reason for the powerless to bet their lives on that sort of thing. Those blessed with power could take care of it, after all.
The nature of a revolution was one that hurt those around the revolutionaries. Their families, friends, even neighbors. All were considered equally guilty and executed regardless of their crimes.
Say he fanned the flames of revolution once more.
If he fanned a bright flame like his father before him, he would absolutely not fail. He would start preparing long enough to give himself time to succeed without a doubt before raising his head against the world. So he kept his head down.
He didn’t think of fighting back even when people spat on him and called him trash.
He needed to stay hidden. Hidden within Roland’s army.
And so—
“…What’re you looking at?” Miller asked. “What’re you ignorants making that needy face for?”
The people grimaced.
So Miller smiled. “Get out of my sight,” he said.
And then…
“……”
He heard thunder roar from behind him. A sound like something being fired.
Miller turned to see what it was. It seemed like it’d been fired from pretty far away, so the fact that he could hear it from where he stood meant that whatever had made it was pretty significant.
His coworker at the time, a man named Emirua spoke. “Whoa, whoa, Rahel… isn’t that coming from the noble’s district?”
“…Seems so.”
“‘Seems so,’ huh? This is pretty serious. An instructor might’ve gotten into the noble’s district, and that’d mean that the guards there were all slaughtered, right?”
Miller shrugged. “Who says they’re our enemy?”
Emirua looked like he understood what Miller was getting at. “So you think it’s between insiders, then? An accident?”
Miller nodded. “It’s reasonable to assume so. Thieves aren’t capable of making it into that district.” That was how strictly guarded it was. Miller knew that all too well. His father had been captured trespassing in the noble’s district, after all. “But… even if it was just an accident, it sounded pretty big. They might come question us. Alright, Emirua. Let’s go back.”
With that, Miller began to walk away.
“But we’re supposed to be patrolling—”
“It’s possible that something major has just happened,” Miller interrupted. “They might call on us to go there if they don’t have enough people to deal with it. And if we weren’t back at headquarters then…”
“Whoa, you think they’d punish us for that?”
“It’s possible.”
“That’d suck.”
“Sure would.”
“Should we just go back then?”
Miller sighed. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
And so they returned to their division’s headquarters.
---
The Division of the Imperial Capital Reylude’s Protection was in an uproar when they returned. The reason was of course the incident in the noble’s district, and in the blink of an eye everyone there was given orders to deal with it, including Miller.
The deranged noble who created an explosion incident escaped. He is extremely dangerous and it is possible that he may cause harm to the Roland Empire. You are authorized to kill him regardless of your social position.
Those were his orders.
Miller looked at the profile of the deranged noble who he’d been given orders on. It wasn’t all that detailed, of course. Just his name and his appearance.
His name was Lieral Lieutolu. He’d been a duke, but of course this all meant that he was being stripped of his title.
He was blond and had dark blue eyes that were always sleepy and devoid of motivation… That’s what it said, but it was still unlikely that they’d be able to capture someone as strong as he was.
It’d be easier to find him if they at least had a sketch or portrait, but the army was in too much of a fuss for that. So they gave a simple description even to the lowest ranking soldiers like Miller to ask for help in chasing him down.
“…This is a witch hunt, isn’t it?” Miller mumbled to himself. They’d probably end up killing every man with blond hair and blue eyes in this search. Their one saving grace was that blond hair and blue eyes was an uncommon combination outside of the nobility.
Even so, there would be people who ignored that. Three hundred unrelated people were killed the last time the army chased down a runaway criminal like this, and they’d had a sketch and a set location to search then.
A stupid amount of blood would be spilt going about it like this.
Just like always.
“……”
Miller stood still and stared at his orders for quite some time. Because he was familiar with the name Lieral Lieutolu. He was sure that he’d seen it somewhere before. He stood there, thinking long and hard about when and where that might have been before he thought he got it.
It was a name he remembered from his childhood. That name was written on a grimoire that belonged to one of the soldiers who killed his father.
Lieral Lieutolu.
It was the name of the man sitting at the top of Roland’s magic scholars until a few years ago. He’d had a tremendous impact on the country’s magic composition, which in turn meant that its system of magic wouldn’t be complete without him. He recalled reading something like that about him.
He had created Roland’s most lethal spell castable by a single person - Abstract Phosphorization. He also created the large-scale spell Lightning Fall.
He’d created many, many spells for Roland, and made nearly all of their spells more efficient and generalized their usage.
He was a genius of magic to the point where other couldn’t even begin to comprehend his ability. He solved issues before others even realized they were there.
He was too smart, in fact. He surrounded himself with his own knowledge and ability to the point that those around him feared him. To the point where their mad country’s military was terribly afraid of him.
And so his life quickly fell into decline.
He lost his place as the Chairman of Magic Research. Though he should have had ample accomplishments recorded and attributed to him, by the time Miller entered the military at age seventeen, none were left. Lieral’s name was slowly moved to the back side of history until it was entirely gone from the public eye and faded from the people’s memory.
But now that name was right before his eyes. As the name of a deranged noble who had caused an explosion in the city, along with orders on how to deal with him.
“…So the genius who was chased into the shadows is deranged, is he?”
Miller felt like this happened often.
Someone would use this incident as a stepping stone. It was a bigger deal than anyone in headquarters now realized. Someone in the upper rungs of the military was likely terrified of Lieral Lieutolu. That was how powerful he was.
So what would happen if Miller captured Lieutolu?
Easy. His position would skyrocket. He’d be able to make his way deeper into Roland’s politics.
It was the perfect chance for him. He couldn’t miss it.
“…Everyone’s probably thinking that, though.”
Miller gave orders to his subordinates - those who he’d been moving in the shadows with since his father’s death, those who had no affiliation with the military: search for Lieral Lieutolu.
But it was like he was nowhere to be found. Obviously.
The whole military was searching for him and they hadn’t even found a clue. Miller’s organization was no larger than a bug when compared to Roland’s military. So why should they have any luck either?
Three months passed with ease. Lieutolu probably wasn’t even in the country more.
He’d missed his chance.
But that was fine. All he had to do was wait for another chance.
He’d lose if he got impatient. He’d die if he tried to rush things.
So Miller called the search for Lieutolu off. The days continued to pass by just as they had, failing to catch his interest.
They were days of tormenting the commoners and sucking up to the nobility, days of being hated by his comrades.
Three more months passed.
It was a day a full six months after Lieutolu escaped.
On that day, Miller’s prey suddenly made contact with him from the other side.
Roland was just as mad then as it is now.
War, greed, and despair were all they had. No matter where you looked you saw dead bodies lying on the ground. The city was so stricken with poverty and starvation that nobody had the energy left to cry.
A country left like that would normally rebel before long, and then the rebels would gather to form a revolution. If the people stood up to fight, nothing should be able to stop them.
However.
Even though this had gone on for a long time, there were no signs of revolution to be found.
Of course there were uprisings. Many people with strong leadership abilities appeared to lead them. But their efforts were soon destroyed, and so the uprisings ended without ever reaching the full support of the people many, many times.
Miller had watched it happen time and time again.
His own father had been a leader of one said uprising. Miller had seen his decapitated head roll along the dirt when he was seven years old.
He’d screamed as his head fell.
“The embers we fanned… won’t disappear just because I’ve died!” He yelled, and then his life was over.
At the time his father’s dying words meant nothing to Miller.
The organization his father created to revolt with was destroyed.
Two assassins dispatched from the Hidden Elites killed everyone in it. They didn’t just stop there, either. They also killed everyone who the people of his organization greeted in day-to-day life.
And so Miller hid from them for three years, from age seven to age nine. That was how he learned to hide himself, to keep from standing out. He waited in the slums where the nobles didn’t dare to come. Waited for something that’d let him make an official appearance in the world, so to speak.
And then one day… a noble’s carriage appeared.
Miller had his allies attack it, then saved the nobles inside himself.
The noble invited him to join his private army. He’d made his appearance.
Two years later, the noble died. Miller was officially transferred to Roland’s military.
Naturally, he was just treated worse than slave thanks to the fact that he was from the slums. Even the soldiers born to commoners hated him. But he didn’t mind.
Because he’d seen it many times before. He saw his father and the other rebel leaders killed time after time. So he slowly did the things that needed to be done.
That was how the noble he’d served under for two years died, too - slowly. He burnt a weak poison into smoke for the noble to inhale as he slept until he died in order to profit.
“……”
His assignment was to patrol the slums. To kill his old allies who were against the nobility. To kill his old allies who were against this country.
So his former allies called him a backstabber. His current allies called him a backstabber, too.
Obviously. Because could kill his allies without paling in the slightest.
He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t mind being called a backstabber at all. He could already see the path he was on, after all. He could see what he was supposed to do.
He just had to keep this up.
He didn’t mind even when people spat on him.
“……”
He was patrolling on that day, too.
The people looked at him with hatred because of the path he’d taken. Because he managed the people of this hell harshly. But it was because of him that this place had gone without any major skirmishes or individuals running amok in the past few months.
He felt like that was a good thing.
There was no reason for the powerless to bet their lives on that sort of thing. Those blessed with power could take care of it, after all.
The nature of a revolution was one that hurt those around the revolutionaries. Their families, friends, even neighbors. All were considered equally guilty and executed regardless of their crimes.
Say he fanned the flames of revolution once more.
If he fanned a bright flame like his father before him, he would absolutely not fail. He would start preparing long enough to give himself time to succeed without a doubt before raising his head against the world. So he kept his head down.
He didn’t think of fighting back even when people spat on him and called him trash.
He needed to stay hidden. Hidden within Roland’s army.
And so—
“…What’re you looking at?” Miller asked. “What’re you ignorants making that needy face for?”
The people grimaced.
So Miller smiled. “Get out of my sight,” he said.
And then…
“……”
He heard thunder roar from behind him. A sound like something being fired.
Miller turned to see what it was. It seemed like it’d been fired from pretty far away, so the fact that he could hear it from where he stood meant that whatever had made it was pretty significant.
His coworker at the time, a man named Emirua spoke. “Whoa, whoa, Rahel… isn’t that coming from the noble’s district?”
“…Seems so.”
“‘Seems so,’ huh? This is pretty serious. An instructor might’ve gotten into the noble’s district, and that’d mean that the guards there were all slaughtered, right?”
Miller shrugged. “Who says they’re our enemy?”
Emirua looked like he understood what Miller was getting at. “So you think it’s between insiders, then? An accident?”
Miller nodded. “It’s reasonable to assume so. Thieves aren’t capable of making it into that district.” That was how strictly guarded it was. Miller knew that all too well. His father had been captured trespassing in the noble’s district, after all. “But… even if it was just an accident, it sounded pretty big. They might come question us. Alright, Emirua. Let’s go back.”
With that, Miller began to walk away.
“But we’re supposed to be patrolling—”
“It’s possible that something major has just happened,” Miller interrupted. “They might call on us to go there if they don’t have enough people to deal with it. And if we weren’t back at headquarters then…”
“Whoa, you think they’d punish us for that?”
“It’s possible.”
“That’d suck.”
“Sure would.”
“Should we just go back then?”
Miller sighed. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”
And so they returned to their division’s headquarters.
---
The Division of the Imperial Capital Reylude’s Protection was in an uproar when they returned. The reason was of course the incident in the noble’s district, and in the blink of an eye everyone there was given orders to deal with it, including Miller.
The deranged noble who created an explosion incident escaped. He is extremely dangerous and it is possible that he may cause harm to the Roland Empire. You are authorized to kill him regardless of your social position.
Those were his orders.
Miller looked at the profile of the deranged noble who he’d been given orders on. It wasn’t all that detailed, of course. Just his name and his appearance.
His name was Lieral Lieutolu. He’d been a duke, but of course this all meant that he was being stripped of his title.
He was blond and had dark blue eyes that were always sleepy and devoid of motivation… That’s what it said, but it was still unlikely that they’d be able to capture someone as strong as he was.
It’d be easier to find him if they at least had a sketch or portrait, but the army was in too much of a fuss for that. So they gave a simple description even to the lowest ranking soldiers like Miller to ask for help in chasing him down.
“…This is a witch hunt, isn’t it?” Miller mumbled to himself. They’d probably end up killing every man with blond hair and blue eyes in this search. Their one saving grace was that blond hair and blue eyes was an uncommon combination outside of the nobility.
Even so, there would be people who ignored that. Three hundred unrelated people were killed the last time the army chased down a runaway criminal like this, and they’d had a sketch and a set location to search then.
A stupid amount of blood would be spilt going about it like this.
Just like always.
“……”
Miller stood still and stared at his orders for quite some time. Because he was familiar with the name Lieral Lieutolu. He was sure that he’d seen it somewhere before. He stood there, thinking long and hard about when and where that might have been before he thought he got it.
It was a name he remembered from his childhood. That name was written on a grimoire that belonged to one of the soldiers who killed his father.
Lieral Lieutolu.
It was the name of the man sitting at the top of Roland’s magic scholars until a few years ago. He’d had a tremendous impact on the country’s magic composition, which in turn meant that its system of magic wouldn’t be complete without him. He recalled reading something like that about him.
He had created Roland’s most lethal spell castable by a single person - Abstract Phosphorization. He also created the large-scale spell Lightning Fall.
He’d created many, many spells for Roland, and made nearly all of their spells more efficient and generalized their usage.
He was a genius of magic to the point where other couldn’t even begin to comprehend his ability. He solved issues before others even realized they were there.
He was too smart, in fact. He surrounded himself with his own knowledge and ability to the point that those around him feared him. To the point where their mad country’s military was terribly afraid of him.
And so his life quickly fell into decline.
He lost his place as the Chairman of Magic Research. Though he should have had ample accomplishments recorded and attributed to him, by the time Miller entered the military at age seventeen, none were left. Lieral’s name was slowly moved to the back side of history until it was entirely gone from the public eye and faded from the people’s memory.
But now that name was right before his eyes. As the name of a deranged noble who had caused an explosion in the city, along with orders on how to deal with him.
“…So the genius who was chased into the shadows is deranged, is he?”
Miller felt like this happened often.
Someone would use this incident as a stepping stone. It was a bigger deal than anyone in headquarters now realized. Someone in the upper rungs of the military was likely terrified of Lieral Lieutolu. That was how powerful he was.
So what would happen if Miller captured Lieutolu?
Easy. His position would skyrocket. He’d be able to make his way deeper into Roland’s politics.
It was the perfect chance for him. He couldn’t miss it.
“…Everyone’s probably thinking that, though.”
Miller gave orders to his subordinates - those who he’d been moving in the shadows with since his father’s death, those who had no affiliation with the military: search for Lieral Lieutolu.
But it was like he was nowhere to be found. Obviously.
The whole military was searching for him and they hadn’t even found a clue. Miller’s organization was no larger than a bug when compared to Roland’s military. So why should they have any luck either?
Three months passed with ease. Lieutolu probably wasn’t even in the country more.
He’d missed his chance.
But that was fine. All he had to do was wait for another chance.
He’d lose if he got impatient. He’d die if he tried to rush things.
So Miller called the search for Lieutolu off. The days continued to pass by just as they had, failing to catch his interest.
They were days of tormenting the commoners and sucking up to the nobility, days of being hated by his comrades.
Three more months passed.
It was a day a full six months after Lieutolu escaped.
On that day, Miller’s prey suddenly made contact with him from the other side.
