Obilic Castle.

Marquis Moriham Obilic sits on one of the chairs surrounding the luxurious round table. 

"Lords, please sit."

The four other men with extravagant attire sit.

Count Jovan Nenad reads the paper on the table. 

Count Velja Mironic meanwhile just holds the paper before his eyes without reading it.

Moriham asks,

"Margrave Sigismund Jagiellon. I already knew everything until the latest failed skirmishes at the villages. What interests me more is your meeting with the invaders."

Margrave Sigismund Jagiellon turns his face towards his right hand man, Count Erakis.

"Count Erakis."

"Three nights ago, I visited their garrison at the location of that battlefield. The King of that Hezri Kingdom personally met me."

Everyone in the room suddenly turns their eyes towards Count Erakis. Whatever they are holding is thrown onto the table. 

"What the King look like?"

"He is very different from our king. His name is Hiro and he wears a very simple clothing."

Erakis adds, "He refused to return our land. He said the south, west and east regions were originally not Castall's. He said Castall took them unlawfully. By doing that, Castall committed unjust against the local residents."

Velja Mironic interrupts,

"How about the assassination by the assassin guild?"

Erakis shakes his head.

"Even those assassins failed."

"Where are them now?"

Jovan Nenad asks.

"I heard two of them were killed in a failed assassination attempt. One is captured."

"How about the remaining one? That old man must be the previous leader of the assassin guild." 

Erakis answers,

"After he gave the last report of a failed assassination attempt, where two of his men were killed, the old man never return."

"Great. We even lost our only connection to the assassin guild."

"But the invaders seem cautious. They no longer attack. As if they are satisfied with the current territorial gain."

"So, we are safe for now."

***

(5 years ago in central Dioral)

He closed his eyes.

His body had long since stopped feeling the cold, and now he lacked even the strength to open his eyes.

He could hear his own faint heartbeat in the darkness. The sound of the rain blended with it, but then he heard something strange intrude into this world of his.

A voice drowned out the sound of the rain. Amidst the fleeting remnants of his consciousness, the boy forced open his eyes, drawn by that curiosity unique to children.

“It” entered the narrow field of his vision.

The boy’s rapidly-closing eyes widened.

It was beautiful.

For a moment, he had no idea what it was.

The best description for it would be “gem-like”, or “glittering like gold”. Of course, someone like him who ate discarded, half-rotten food to survive the days could not think of such things.

Yes.

There was only one thing in his mind.

—Like the sun.

That was the most distant, unattainable thing he could imagine. That word appeared in his mind.

The rain had dyed the world grey. The sky was filled with thick, black clouds. Perhaps the sun felt that nobody would notice, and so it had taken a walk and appeared before him.

A thought like that ran through his mind.

“It” reached out a hand to stroke his face. And so—

The boy was originally not a human being.

Nobody had treated the boy as a human being.

But on this day, he became a human being.

***

***

The lanterns were out in this none-too-spacious room, and there was a bed in there. A boy who just reached his puberty lay on the bed.

His dark brown hair was cropped very short and his skin was tanned and appeared healthy.

Mehmet.

He possessed only a name, but no surname. 

He rose early, always before the sun rose.

When he realized his consciousness had emerged from a faraway world of darkness, his mind cleared up immediately, and his body was almost fully operational. Mehmet was proud of his ability to sleep and rise quickly. 

His eyes opened wide, and an iron will burned within them.

He peeled away the thick blanket covering his body — it was summer, but the nights were cold when one was surrounded by stone — and Mehmet sat up on his bed. 

He touched his fingertips to the corner of his eyes. They came away wet.

“...That dream again, huh.”

Mehmet wiped his tears away with his sleeves.

The heavy rain of two or three days ago must have made him recall that memory of his youth.

He was not crying out of heartbreak.

How many people could one meet in a lifetime who deserved respect? How many worthy masters could one serve, the kind for whom one would gladly throw one’s life away?

On that day, when Mehmet had the good fortune of encountering a certain lady, he had decided to give his life for her at any time.

The tears he shed came from joy. He wept out of gratitude for the miracle that encounter had brought.

Mehmet’s youthful face was filled with a steady determination as he rose to his feet.

There was no illumination here. In this lightless room, he touched a long crystal on the wall and rubbed it. Gradually, the crystal brightened until the room became viewable. 

The lamp on the wall shed white illumination in response to Mehmet’s rubbings, lighting up the room’s interior. 

Although some peasants in villages possess such items, his crystal light is the enhanced version. 

While items like these could be bought on the market, they were not cheap, and Mehmet only possessed one due to his unique position.

The white light revealed that the floors and walls were also made of stone. Several thin carpets were laid on the ground to lessen the cold hardness of the stone. In addition, there was a crudely made wooden bed, and a slightly larger clothes cabinet that seemed big enough to store his fighting equipments. There was a desk with drawers, and then a wooden chair with a thin cushion on its seat.  

An outsider might consider this austere, but it was more than he deserved, in his opinion.

He opened the dressing cabinet, and took clothes from within. Then he dressed himself as he watched his image in the cabinet’s mirror.

After that, he studied the mirror once more, inspecting himself for anything out of place or any oddities in his personal bearing.

Mehmet closed his eyes before the mirror, and imagined his Mistress’ face.

As expected of her high-born bloodline, she was surrounded in a sacrosanct aura, like a goddess descending upon the earth. She seemed to glow with compassion, and her mind produced many wise plans.

She was a noble among nobles. She was the perfect woman.

Her golden brilliance — like an immaculate gemstone — could not be marred in any way.

If one were to use a ring for comparison, she would be like a huge, brilliant-cut diamond. As for Mehmet, he would be the setting which held the stone in place. Any shortcoming in the setting diminished the value of the ring, so he could not do anything which might devalue her.

Mehmet’s chest burned uncontrollably as he thought about his Mistress.

For the past several months, Mehmet had suffered as her Mistress had been continuously scorned and pushed around by the upper echelon of Dioral Kingdom. She was treated even worse due to her gender despite being a high-born. 

Mehmet's heart had been shouting. 

This kingdom doesn't deserve someone as great as his mistress. 

If he had the power, he would abduct his mistress and leave this ungrateful lands. 

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door of his bedroom. 

"Mehmet. The mistress called you. She seemed to have a guest."

"A guest? Which noble is that?”

To think that Mistress would have a caller.

"A young woman."

"Someone meets mistress during this hour?"

At this time, no stranger would be allowed to meet his Mistress. It was possible if that person was personally close to her. Mehmet had considered that his mistress had almost no friends especially of the same sex. So, that possibility should be ruled out.

"She is a representative from Flitch company."

The maid answered coldly.