Life in this world resembled the Middle Ages on Earth.
People rose with the sun. They drew water from wells, lit their hearths, baked bread, and went out to the fields. Most roads were dirt tracks, which became mud in the rain. When winter came, the amount of firewood one had became a matter of survival.
Nights were dark.
Wealthy homes had lamps, and noble estates lit several candles, but for poor households, the day ended when the sun went down. Keeping a light burning cost money. Oil, candles, and firewood were not free.
In that respect, this world was backward.
Yet there were too many exceptions for it to be called merely medieval.
First, there was magic.
There were people who could create water at their fingertips, kindle flames, move earth, and summon wind. There was healing magic that closed wounds, eased sickness, and purged poison.
There were swordsmen who cut down monsters with a single blade, and warriors clad in battle aura who displayed speed and strength impossible for an ordinary human body.
Second, there were races unlike humans.
Beastfolk with animal ears and tails, long-lived races, demonfolk from the Demon Continent, peoples close to the forest, and peoples close to the sea.
Life in this world was therefore more inconvenient than medieval Earth in some ways, yet far more convenient in others.
And in some ways, far more dangerous.
---
Water was precious.
It was ordinary enough for those who lived beside a river or a well, but carrying it into one’s home was still a person’s work.
Every morning, children went back and forth carrying buckets while women went out to wash clothes. Their hands cracked, their shoulders ached, and in winter their fingertips froze.
If someone could use water magic, that burden lessened.
But not every village had a water magician. Even if it did, that person would not spend all day making water for everyone else’s homes. Magic required talent and education, and education cost money. Those who learned magic generally wanted better work.
At noble estates or homes with magicians, water could be obtained easily.
Ordinary farmhouses, however, still went to the well.
That was this world.
Magic looked like a miracle, but miracles did not take over every part of daily life.
Fire was the same.
Fire magic could light a flame without firewood. But maintaining a fire was another matter. A hearth had to retain heat, bread had to bake slowly, and meat had to cook through. Creating a flame with magic and tending a fire so a family could eat dinner were different tasks.
So people still chopped wood.
Even with magic, hands were necessary.
Even with magic, time was necessary.
Even with magic, people grew hungry.
---
Food followed the seasons.
In spring came shoots and young vegetables. In summer, fruit and grain grew. Autumn brought the harvest, and in winter people ate what they had stored.
They salted, dried, smoked, and packed food into jars. Meat was precious. When a hunt succeeded, several village households sometimes shared it. Livestock was property, so it was not slaughtered carelessly.
Preservation was at the heart of life.
Having nothing to eat in winter was not a simple inconvenience.
It was a problem close to death.
Magic could not create food. At least, ordinary magic could not.
One could make water, but not grain. One could light a fire, but not make meat appear. One could move earth, but that did not remove the work of plowing fields, sowing seeds, and waiting for the seasons.
Farmers were strong because of that.
Not strong in the way of someone wielding a sword against monsters.
They were strong in the way of survival: rising at the same hour each day, working the same fields, and never stopping their hands whether rain fell or wind blew.
Such things could not become songs. They were not romantic.
Storytellers preferred tales of heroes, kings, and adventurers.
But the bread of cities, the tables of nobles, and the travel money of adventurers all rested upon those tedious routines.
---
Roads were dangerous.
Between one village and another lay forests, hills, and rivers.
And between them were monsters.
Even small monsters were dangerous enough to people. They could carry off a child, bring down a horse, or ruin a merchant’s wagon.
There were bandits, too.
Some became bandits from poverty. Others had always been accustomed to taking what belonged to others. Soldiers scattered after war, forest paths beyond a lord’s gaze, men from villages that had failed to survive the winter.
All of them became dangers on the road.
Travel therefore had a cost. It required guards, horses, food, and somewhere to spend the night.
Traveling in this world was not simply walking a distance.
It was stepping beyond the boundaries of the world to which one belonged.
The neighboring village was close to a villager. The royal capital was distant. Another country was almost a place from a story.
As for a continent beyond the sea, or the Demon Continent, they were places most people would never visit in their entire lives.
Many places were connected on maps, but not in people’s lives.
Merchants and adventurers filled those gaps.
---
Adventurers were a strange profession in this world.
They were not heroes. At least, most of them were not.
They exterminated monsters, carried cargo, gathered medicinal herbs, escorted people, searched for missing livestock, and sometimes collected bodies.
It was not work one could do for romance alone.
If they failed, they died. Even if they did not fail, they were injured. Even when they earned money, it vanished into weapons, armor, and medical expenses.
And still people became adventurers.
Because they had no land to farm. Because they could not inherit the family. Because they had been pushed out of the city. Because they believed they could survive on strength alone. Or because they truly wished to see the world.
The Adventurers’ Guild accepted such people. It divided up work, assigned ranks, paid rewards, and organized responsibility to a certain extent.
It was not a perfect system.
But without the guild, more people would have disappeared into the forest without leaving any record behind.
In that sense, the guild was close to civilization.
A very practical civilization built atop swords, magic, and the smell of blood.
---
Nobles lived differently.
Within city walls stood stone houses. Estates had servants, and several dishes were set upon their tables. Children learned letters, etiquette, and what their family name meant.
But nobles were not free, either.
Bloodline was both a right and a shackle.
Marriage was a contract, meals were politics, and smiles were weapons. Who greeted first, who sat where, and what gifts were sent all carried meaning.
For commoners, the concern was the bread they would eat today. For nobles, it was next year’s marriage negotiations, the taxes of their territory, and the factions at court.
It was difficult to say which life was happier.
But one thing was certain: both had daily lives.
Everyone had to rise in the morning, eat, speak to someone, and pay a price for mistakes.
In that respect, farmers, nobles, adventurers, and magicians were no different.
---
The Asura Kingdom was a prosperous nation.
A great power in the western part of the Central Continent.
It had fertile land, a long history, a dazzling noble culture, powerful knights, and intricate politics.
That prosperity was most visible in the royal capital and the large cities.
Broad streets. High walls. Shops. Noble estates. People educated in magic.
Yet not everyone in the kingdom lived amid such abundance.
At its frontiers were small villages.
Places smaller than dots on a map. Places whose names were not even remembered by people in the royal capital.
Yet life existed there as well.
There were fields, wells, livestock, children running about, and hands preparing for winter.
The Fittoa Region.
A small village deep within it.
Buena Village was one such place.
It was not large. Nor was it splendid. It was neither a crossroads busy with wagons nor a place nobles deliberately visited.
Its people lived by watching the seasons.
Whether this year had received enough rain. Whether monsters had come down too close. Whether the livestock had fallen ill. Whether the stored grain would last the winter. Whether the children were growing safely.
Such things were the world of Buena Village.
And at the edge of that small world stood the Greyrat household.
---
The Greyrat household was somewhat unusual in the village.
Paul Greyrat was responsible for the village’s security.
He was flippant, quick with his mouth, and sometimes irritating.
But when he held a sword, he could be trusted.
He was the first to run when a monster appeared. The one who checked forest roads when signs of bandits were found. The one who scolded children when they played somewhere dangerous.
Whether he was a good man and whether he was a man the village needed were separate questions.
Zenith Greyrat could use healing magic.
That alone made her precious in the village.
She could wash wounds, examine fevers, tend to a child’s cough, and assist with childbirth.
To the villagers, her home was not simply a noble house.
It was somewhere they could go when they were sick.
Lilia supported the inside of that home.
Meals, cleaning, laundry, children, guests, and keeping possessions in order.
Her work was not conspicuous. But when unobtrusive work stopped, a household fell into disorder within a day.
There were children in the Greyrat household as well.
Rudeus Greyrat.
Eugene.
Norn.
Aisha.
And Sylphiette, the child who often came and went from outside the home.
The house was not small, but neither was it a grand estate.
Still, many different kinds of lives overlapped within it.
A swordsman’s life. A healer’s life. A maid’s life. A child’s life.
And one more.
The life of a child who viewed this world’s daily existence less as life than as a structure.
Eugene grew up in that house.
When he saw fire, he first considered fuel efficiency. When he saw water, he considered transportation routes. When he saw a meal, he considered nutrition and preservation. When he saw village roads, he considered drainage and ground conditions.
When he heard someone cry, he considered the cause and the order of solutions.
There was nothing wrong with that.
In fact, it reduced many problems.
But life was not simply a collection of problems.
People did not sit at a table only because they were hungry, gather around a fire only because they were cold, or seek someone’s hand only because they were ill.
Eugene did not yet know that.
No.
He thought he did not know it.
After Rudeus left, the days of Buena Village continued just the same.
Roosters crowed. People gathered at the well. Footprints remained in the fields.
Fires were lit in hearths, soup boiled, and children cried before laughing again.
Life did not stop.
That was the cruel part of life.
Morning came even when someone left. Water still had to be drawn even when someone cried. Meals still had to be prepared even when someone did not return.
And at the Greyrat family table, an invisible empty place appeared.
That vacancy did not yet have a name.
Rudeus was alive, so it was not quite loss. Letters might come, so it was not death.
Separation, and growth.
And so everyone in that household endured it in their own way.
Zenith smiled less often.
----
Buena Village lay within the great Asura Kingdom, but it was far from the royal capital.
Power struggles at court, noble marriage negotiations, and the commerce of great cities all arrived slowly here. Rumors came on merchants’ wagons, and letters took days or weeks to arrive.
Here, tomorrow’s weather mattered more than the kingdom’s affairs.
Would it rain too much? Would the fields dry out? Would monsters come down from the forest? Was there enough firewood for winter? Did the children have fevers?
Such things were the village’s politics, economy, and survival.
Eugene grew up in that small world.
But his sight did not remain within it.
---
From childhood, Eugene used the night.
During the day, he was a child.
Zenith’s son. Paul’s son. Rudeus’s brother. Norn and Aisha’s family. A child Lilia had to look after.
To the villagers, he was the quiet, pretty, slightly strange child of the Greyrat household.
But at night, he changed.
After the house had fallen asleep, he rose silently.
He made no sound opening the door. He remembered where the floorboards creaked. If Lilia had not slept deeply, he did not go out. If Zenith was tired, he stayed longer. If Paul returned late smelling of alcohol, he did not move.
It was vigilance.
At first, it could be explained that way.
The sleep patterns of family members. The likelihood of danger. The possibility of intruders. The chance of being discovered during nighttime activity.
It was the result of considering such factors.
Yet even after he knew enough, Eugene never stopped calculating.
He checked whether Zenith slept well. Whether Lilia had fallen asleep holding Aisha. Whether Norn had kicked off her blanket. Whether Rudeus had fallen asleep with a book open by the window.
It was vigilance.
Probably.
---
His reason for leaving every night was simple.
He needed to understand this world.
Eugene was strong. That fact did not change.
Whether holding a wooden sword, using magic, or fighting barehanded, most threats in this world did not pose a genuine threat to him.
But being strong and knowing were different things.
Being able to kill an enemy did not mean knowing where that enemy was. Being able to destroy a city did not mean knowing the laws and customs by which it functioned. Being able to cross a mountain did not mean knowing whom the people beyond it feared or to whom they paid taxes.
Strength erased distance.
It did not erase ignorance.
So he traveled every night.
Sometimes he passed above forests. Sometimes he walked in the shadows of mountain ranges. Sometimes he followed coastlines, and sometimes he stood in wastelands where no one traveled.
From the sky, the world was close to a map.
Rivers were lines, mountain ranges were folds, cities were concentrations of light. Villages looked like tiny points, and roads were pale scars connecting them.
But on the ground, it was different.
Roads had smells.
The smell of livestock. The smell of sweat. The smell of old blood. The smell of woodsmoke. The smell of fear.
The map seen from above was accurate, but people’s lives were not written upon it.
---
He saw many places.
The rural lands of the Asura Kingdom. The forests of the Fittoa Region. Great roads leading to major cities. Merchant camps. Signs left by monsters. Abandoned villages. Old fields through which wars had passed. Caves where adventurers had died. Valleys where bandits hid. Small shrines where someone had prayed to a god. Uninhabited mountains. Coastal cliffs. Wastelands of exposed black stone.
And, far away, part of the Demon Continent.
It resembled hell.
At least, it would seem that way to someone raised in a human farming village.
Barren earth. Harsh winds. Unfamiliar vegetation. Life that did not conform to human common sense.
Creatures that were large, tenacious, swift, poisonous, and whose eyes gleamed even at night.
The monsters there differed from those near Buena.
If Buena’s monsters were beasts that threatened people, the monsters of the Demon Continent looked like natives of that land.
There, the weaker side was the outsider.
Eugene could not see all of the Demon Continent.
Not because he lacked the ability.
He lacked time.
And he lacked reason.
Checking terrain and understanding a continent were different things.
One could not learn in a few observations what language demonfolk used for trade, which tribe controlled which road, or what memories they shared.
---
He also learned the name of the Seven Great Powers.
At first from books. Then from rumors.
Adventurers’ drinking tables. Merchants’ exaggerations. Knights’ reverence. Stories used to frighten children.
The Sword God. The North God. The Water God. The Dragon God.
And others called the pinnacle of the world.
Their names were told a little differently from region to region. Some spoke of them as gods, others as disasters. Some believed they truly existed, while others laughed and called them old heroic tales.
Eugene did not dismiss those names.
In this world, individuals truly could change the balance of a battlefield.
Battle aura. Swordsmanship. Magic. Racial traits. Ancient bloodlines. And laws unique to this world that Eugene had yet to understand.
The Seven Great Powers were therefore likely more than mere legends.
But Eugene did not seek them out.
He had felt certain presences from afar.
A strangely heavy sense of existence. A direction where space itself seemed denser. Something neither mana, battle aura, nor bloodlust, yet something that made him calculate whether to approach.
Such things existed.
Eugene did not approach them.
The reason was simple.
There was no need.
Fighting them was not gathering information.
It was dangerous contact wearing the shape of information gathering.
Eugene was strong, but he did not fully understand the laws of this world.
There were exceptions here that he did not know.
To deny that would be foolish.
Sometimes he avoided them.
Sometimes he only confirmed their traces.
---
History was the same.
History existed in books. But books always took someone’s side.
Books of the Asura Kingdom were written through the eyes of the Asura Kingdom. Records of the Millis Church were written through the eyes of faith. Merchants’ ledgers were written through the eyes of profit and loss. Adventurers’ accounts were written through the eyes of those who survived.
The dead could not leave records. Defeated nations could not preserve their stories for long. Destroyed villages disappeared from maps.
Eugene therefore did not believe history exactly as it was written.
If a book said a king was great, he looked to see who had written it. If it said a war was just, he looked to see who had won. If it called a race barbaric, he considered whether that race had been able to write such records.
He tried to find facts in history.
But even when facts remained, their meaning changed.
The same war was unification to the victor and invasion to the defeated. The same tax was order to the lord and exploitation to the farmer. The same faith was salvation to one person and coercion to another.
It was an area difficult to calculate.
Eugene did not like it, but the world of people did not move on facts alone.
People moved according to the stories they believed.
---
Economics was more blatant.
Money moved.
More honestly than people.
Copper coins. Large copper coins. Silver coins. Gold coins.
The price of goods differed by region.
Salt was expensive inland and somewhat cheaper near ports. Iron changed in price according to the distance from mines and smithies. Wheat changed with good harvests and bad ones. A horse was not simply transportation, but an asset with upkeep costs. A wagon carried goods, but poor roads created losses. Guards cost money, but being robbed by bandits created greater loss.
Eugene watched the flow of goods.
From village to city. From city to the center of a territory. From territory to royal capital. From royal capital back to nobles, soldiers, and merchants.
Grain became taxes. Taxes became soldiers’ wages. Wages returned to markets.
Monster hides became armor. Armor kept adventurers alive. Adventurers hunted monsters again.
Everything circulated.
But the cycle was imperfect.
There were leaks along the way.
Corruption. Excessive taxes. Bad roads. Bandits. Merchant guild monopolies. Noble pride. War. Failed harvests. Disease.
Eugene could understand those things as numbers.
But numbers alone were not enough.
Some villages continued making inefficient trades because of old trust. Some merchants traveled the same route at a loss because it had been their dead father’s trading connection. Some farmers would not change crops even when advised to use something better, because failure would leave their families starving.
Eugene judged all of it inefficient.
---
Politics and governance were more complicated still.
A village had a headman. A territory had a lord. A kingdom had a king.
Above and below them existed countless relationships.
Orders came down from above. But the place where orders were actually carried out was below.
Taxes were collected in a lord’s name. But the table that faced those taxes was the farmer’s.
Laws existed by the king’s authority. But in a village, Paul’s wooden sword and Zenith’s healing magic were felt more immediately than law.
Authority. Responsibility. Collection. Security. Judgment. Military matters. Supply. Records.
All were necessary.
But governance was not completed by structure alone.
Why should people obey that order? Why was that person the lord? Why did that person collect taxes? Why should that person’s judgment be accepted?
Without answers to those questions, governance could not endure.
Legitimacy.
One could issue orders by force. One could compel obedience with fear.
But fear was expensive.
It required constant surveillance, constant punishment, and constant overwhelming force.
It was possible.
For Eugene, it was especially possible.
But it was not efficient.
And above all, it could not create a life.
Fear could make people move.
But it could not make them come home.
---
He saw war as well.
Not great wars. At least, not wars where whole nations collided head-on.
But he saw border clashes. Traces of mercenary companies. Abandoned encampments. Burned villages. Bodies without graves. Shields cut by swords. Luggage left behind by fleeing people.
War was different from battle.
A battle was brief. Kill, stop, avoid, or subdue the enemy, and it ended.
But war left traces after it was over.
Fields were ruined. Able-bodied adults grew fewer. Children went hungry. Merchants changed their routes. Taxes increased instead of falling.
Even the victorious side paid a cost.
The defeated side paid it longer.
Eugene could resolve battles. That fact did not change.
Even if an enemy army arrived, monsters swarmed in, or city walls collapsed, he could resolve most situations.
But war was not the sum of battles.
War was a structure that tore apart people’s lives.
Even after a battle ended, torn lives did not immediately resume.
And the smell of a battlefield lingered for a long time.
Even after blood dried, fires went out, and bodies were removed.
Its traces remained inside people’s lives.
---
Finance and currency had seemed simple at first.
Coins were metal. Metal had weight and purity. If purity and trust were maintained, exchange was possible.
But people did not trust metal.
They trusted faces. Family seals. Merchant caravan names. The church’s guarantee. The words of trading partners they had known for years.
Sometimes they pretended to trust even when they did not.
When coin was scarce, credit arose. When credit piled up, it became debt.
Debt was a promise, but it was also a shackle.
Some lost land because of debt. Some married off daughters because of debt. Some became adventurers because of debt.
Money was a tool for exchanging goods.
But in this world, money often moved by taking a person’s future first.
Currency was a tool that transferred present lack into future responsibility.
The problem was that the future was not guaranteed to come.
---
Eugene saw many things that way.
But he had not seen everything.
He had not walked every continent, seen every nation’s court, understood every race’s way of life, met every person, learned every reason for every war, or grasped every current of currency.
He saw terrain. Roads. Monster habitats. Merchant movements. Noble estates from a distance. Soldiers training. The traces of war.
He read books. Heard rumors. Secretly examined ledgers. Sometimes he picked up discarded documents, and sometimes he remembered tavern conversations.
But knowledge came in fragments.
Information was incomplete.
This world was too wide, there were too many people, and life ran too deep.
Eugene was strong.
But strength alone could not unfold the whole world before him.
He admitted that.
And because he admitted it, he was more careful.
---
The people of Buena Village did not know any of this.
To them, Eugene was merely a quiet child.
A child who spoke little, had pretty eyes, seemed mature, and sometimes asked strange questions.
"How many days’ worth of grain does this village have stored for winter?"
"Why is the drainage channel around the well angled that way?"
"Who handles danger response when Paul is not on patrol?"
"Why has the price of salt risen since last season?"
At first, the villagers laughed.
Both children of the Greyrat household were strange, they said.
But over time, changes followed Eugene’s questions.
The mud near the well decreased somewhat. Rat holes in the storehouse were plugged. Less smoke blew back from hearths. Parts of the village road washed out less after rain. Stones were laid on the slope where children often fell. At one house, firewood was stacked a little earlier before winter.
They were not great miracles.
No one praised him.
Most assumed Paul had paid attention to it, Zenith had requested it, or Lilia had quietly handled it.
They were not wrong.
They simply were not entirely right.
Eugene solved problems.
Problems so small that no one would remember them.
To him, they were cracks in life.
Small cracks grew if neglected. Larger cracks injured people. When people were injured, a household’s function faltered.
Therefore, prevent them.
That was Eugene’s explanation.
But he did not prevent the cracks in every home.
He began with places close to the Greyrat household.
Homes Zenith often visited. Roads Paul passed on patrol. People with whom Lilia entrusted goods. Paths Sylphiette traveled. The edge of the forest where Rudeus and Sylphiette used to walk together.
That range had not been chosen by accident.
Eugene judged it an efficient priority.
That explanation was mostly correct.
---
After Rudeus left, Eugene’s nights changed.
Before, he had spent much of his time going outward.
The world beyond the map. Beyond the mountains. Part of the Demon Continent. The scars of war. City lights. Merchant roads.
He had observed such places.
But after Rudeus departed for Roa, Eugene did not travel far for a while.
There were reasons.
Zenith’s sleep had grown shallow. Paul’s return times had become irregular. Sylphiette cried late into the night. Norn woke often. Aisha did not cry, but she remained awake in Lilia’s arms for a long time.
The priority of guarding the area around the house had therefore increased.
That was one explanation.
But one day, Eugene stopped at the edge of the forest.
It was the path Rudeus and Sylphiette had often walked.
The ground was wet after rain.
There were small footprints.
Sylphiette’s.
Signs that she had come and gone.
Eugene looked at them for a while.
There were no threats. No monster tracks. No signs of bandits. There was a risk of slipping, but it was not fatal.
The analysis was complete.
Yet Eugene did not immediately turn back.
He moved several small stones beside the footprints.
So water would not pool there.
Even if it rained the next day, the path would be slightly less muddy.
It was only that kind of measure.
It had use.
But it was not important enough to require his doing it personally at night.
Eugene knew that.
He did it anyway.
The reason had not yet been organized.
---
When he returned home, the Greyrat household was quiet.
The embers in the hearth. The sound of children breathing. The faint noise of cooling wood.
Within it, Eugene sometimes looked at the table.
Rudeus’s place was empty.
Empty was a physical condition.
It meant that no one sat in one chair.
Nothing more.
But whenever Eugene looked at that seat, he felt something unlike the various sensations and information he had encountered during the day.
Maps of battlefields. Merchants’ ledgers. The wastelands of the Demon Continent. Rumors of the Seven Great Powers. Noble genealogies. The flow of currency.
All of those things were complicated.
But Rudeus’s empty place was simple.
He simply was not there.
That simplicity was harder to understand.
Eugene wanted to know the world.
He traveled far every night.
He observed nations, governance, war, currency, and history.
But in the end, the place he returned to was Buena Village.
And even within Buena Village, it was the Greyrat family table.
He did not yet consider that important.
No.
He judged it unimportant.
But his footsteps returning each night differed slightly from that judgment.
----
"Eugene," Lilia said softly. "I think you have cut those rather too finely."
The knife stopped.
On the cutting board lay carrots of uniform size. Uniform was not enough to describe them. They were nearly identical in shape, thickness, and length.
Lilia looked at them for a moment.
They were too precise to have been cut by a child’s hand.
But if the child was Eugene, it was not particularly strange.
"They are an easy size for Norn to swallow," Eugene answered.
Lilia lowered her head slightly.
"Norn does not like carrots."
"..."
Eugene’s hand stopped.
It was a very brief pause.
But Lilia saw it.
"That information was missing."
"Yes."
"Does the cooking method need to be changed?"
"She will eat them if they are minced and put in soup. But if she can see their shape, she picks them out."
"Understood."
Eugene picked up the knife again.
This time, he minced the carrots even more finely.
An odd feeling came over Lilia as she watched.
Eugene did not appear to enjoy cooking.
He did not look happy while making food. He did not smile as he imagined its flavor, nor did he seem to move his hands while picturing someone’s delight.
To him, cooking was a procedure.
The storage life of ingredients. Calories. Salt content. Digestibility. Cooking time. Hearth fuel consumption. Sizes children could swallow. The sugar Zenith needed to recover from fatigue. The protein Paul required after training. Portions that would prevent Lilia from reducing her own share.
It was the task of balancing such things.
But Lilia knew cooking was not only that.
Even the same soup tasted different depending on who had made it. The same ingredient was different when cut while thinking of the person who would eat it.
Eugene did not seem to know that yet.
No.
He seemed to think he did not know it.
"Lilia."
"Yes, Eugene?"
"Norn dislikes carrots, but does she not reject them completely?"
"No."
"Does she consider their appearance and texture the problem?"
"Probably."
"Then I will mince them together with the meat. It will lessen the smell and conceal the texture."
"That is a good method."
Eugene nodded.
It was not the reaction of a child who had received praise.
It was merely confirmation that the method was correct.
Lilia swallowed quietly.
This child had always been like that.
He did not receive emotion.
Nor did he return it.
---
After Rudeus left, the Greyrat family table changed.
One chair was empty.
At first, Zenith said, "Leave that seat as it is."
Paul could not say anything. Lilia lowered her head.
Eugene looked at the chair for a moment.
Then he did not put it away.
Not the next day.
Nor the day after that.
Zenith stopped mentioning it.
But Eugene still did not put the chair away.
Lilia did not ask why.
She thought he would answer if she did.
"It is necessary for Zenith’s emotional stability."
That was likely the kind of answer he would give.
It would not be wrong.
Yet for some reason, Lilia did not want to hear it.
Eugene did not place a dish at Rudeus’s seat.
But he did not push in the chair.
The empty place remained.
A chair no one sat in.
An object that was nothing more and nothing less.
Zenith often looked at it. Paul tried not to. Norn reached for it without knowing why, while Aisha watched it and looked to the adults’ faces first.
Eugene saw all of it.
He said nothing.
He only changed the meal portions.
Zenith’s plate received a little more sweetness. Paul’s portion of meat was not reduced. Lilia’s bowl always held the same amount as everyone else’s. Norn’s food was cut smaller. Aisha’s baby food seemed calculated even for how quickly it cooled.
And at Rudeus’s place, he set nothing.
That was the household’s new table.
---
"It is not soup today?" Zenith said from the kitchen entrance.
She was smiling.
But Lilia knew that smile had grown thinner than before.
Eugene paused while carrying dishes and answered, "Yesterday was soup."
"I know that."
Zenith smiled gently.
"But normally, you would have made soup today as well."
"Soup is efficient."
"It is."
"It makes nutrient distribution easy, is easy for children to eat, and is useful for processing leftover ingredients."
"Mm-hm."
"But if the frequency of repetition is too high, meal satisfaction may decline."
Zenith blinked for a moment.
Then she gave a small laugh.
"Who told you that?"
Eugene did not answer.
Lilia knew.
No one had told him.
Zenith had merely sighed very faintly when she saw yesterday’s soup.
Most children would not have noticed. Paul probably had not noticed, either.
But Eugene had.
He had seen it and changed the menu.
That day’s table held baked bread, finely shredded meat, thinly cooked eggs, tender vegetables, and fruit compote with a little extra sweetness.
It was not a noble banquet.
But it was a meal that had taken more effort than usual.
Zenith ate a spoonful of fruit compote.
"It is delicious."
Eugene’s hand stopped for the briefest moment.
Lilia saw it.
Eugene promptly replied, "The sugar content is higher than yesterday. It is effective for recovering from fatigue."
"I see."
Zenith took another spoonful.
"It is still delicious."
This time, Eugene did not answer.
As Lilia set down a plate, she lowered her gaze.
That small silence seemed somehow to change the temperature of the kitchen.
---
Dinner was quiet.
Paul came home late.
He brushed the dirt from himself, washed his hands, and sat at the table with his usual unaffected expression.
"Something smells good today."
His tone was light.
But no one laughed much.
Zenith looked at him, then lowered her eyes again. Lilia served plates instead of soup. Norn sat near Zenith’s knees, and Aisha blinked quietly in Lilia’s arms.
Eugene sat in his own place.
Rudeus’s place was empty.
Paul did not look at it.
He tried not to look at it until the end.
He put a piece of meat in his mouth. Chewed. Swallowed.
Then he did not touch the next piece.
That was something the usual Paul would never do.
Paul was a swordsman. He trained heavily and used his body constantly.
He was not a man who left meat untouched.
Eugene asked, "Do you lack an appetite?"
Paul forced a smile.
"No. It is just, today..."
"There is no issue with the quality of the meat. It is also cooked appropriately."
"It is not that kind of problem."
"Then what kind of problem is it?"
Paul’s hand stopped.
Zenith closed her eyes. Lilia held her breath.
There was no malice in Eugene’s question.
He asked because he truly did not know.
Or perhaps because he knew, but had not yet found a name for it.
After a long while, Paul said, "It is just... hard to chew."
"Is there an issue with your jaw or teeth?"
"No, Eugene."
Paul laughed softly.
This time, it was truly a tired laugh.
"It is not that."
Eugene looked at Paul for a moment.
Then he pushed the plate of meat slightly aside and moved the soft eggs and bread closer to Paul.
"Then this is better. It requires less chewing."
Paul looked down at the plate.
For a while, he could not speak.
Then he said quietly, "Thank you."
Eugene nodded.
"You need to maintain your food intake."
Watching them, Lilia thought, Eugene could not comfort people.
But neither would he let them go hungry.
How different was that from comfort?
---
Near the end of the meal, a faint sound came from outside the door.
Norn looked up first. Aisha moved her eyes as well.
Lilia rose and opened the door.
Sylphiette stood there.
Green hair. A small body. A folded sheet of paper in her hand.
It was probably the writing practice sheet she had wanted to show Rudeus.
The paper looked as though it had already been folded and unfolded many times.
"Hello," Sylphiette said quietly.
Lilia was momentarily unable to speak.
"Welcome, Sylphiette."
Sylphiette looked inside.
The table. Zenith. Paul. Eugene.
And the empty seat.
Her gaze stopped there.
"For Rudy..."
She could not finish.
Zenith slowly rose.
"Sylphie."
"Did a letter come?"
It was a small question.
Only Eugene answered.
"Not yet."
Sylphiette lowered her head.
"...I see."
"Then, I will go."
"Eat before you go," Eugene said.
Sylphiette’s foot stopped.
"I am not hungry."
"You have not eaten anything since this morning."
Sylphiette raised her head.
"How do you know that?"
Eugene did not answer.
Lilia could guess what that silence meant.
Sylphiette had barely drunk water at the well that morning. No smoke had risen from her home around midday. Her footprints had gone to the edge of the forest and returned in the afternoon.
Eugene must have seen such things.
And having seen them, he would not pretend otherwise.
Sylphiette bit her lip.
"You..."
Her voice trembled.
"Why are you always like that?"
Eugene looked at her.
"Like what?"
"You pretend not to know while knowing everything, and when you know, you do not say anything."
Tears gathered in Sylphiette’s eyes.
"Did you know Rudy was going to leave, too?"
The table fell silent.
Paul lowered his head. Zenith clenched her hands. Lilia said nothing.
Eugene was silent for a moment.
"I knew."
Sylphiette’s face stiffened.
"Then why did not you stop him?"
The question was sharp as a blade.
An adult would have spoken around it.
But Eugene did not avoid it.
"I could have stopped him."
A tear fell from Sylphiette’s eye.
"Then why?"
"Because you and Rudeus depended too much on each other."
"Why is that bad?"
Eugene could not answer immediately.
Lilia was surprised by that silence.
It was rare for Eugene to be unable to answer.
When he did not know something, he said he did not know. When he did know, he answered with excessive precision.
But this was different.
He looked as though he possessed the answer, but did not know how to say it.
"I did not say it was bad," Eugene said slowly. "But it is dangerous."
"I am not dangerous."
"I do not mean that you are dangerous."
"Then Rudy is?"
"Not Rudeus, either."
"Then what is dangerous?"
Eugene looked at Sylphiette.
His eyes were not cold.
At least, they did not look cold to Lilia.
They were simply too clumsy.
"One person becoming another person’s entire world."
Sylphiette stopped breathing.
"That is dangerous."
"..."
Sylphiette could not say anything.
It was impossible to know whether she understood. She probably did not understand all of it.
She wiped her tears.
"You should have told me anyway."
Eugene did not answer that.
Sylphiette turned to leave.
Then Zenith approached her.
"Sylphie."
Zenith embraced her.
Sylphiette resisted at first.
Then the tension left her body, and she cried like a child.
Her crying resembled the way she had cried on the day Rudeus left.
Lilia watched while holding Aisha. Paul could not rise from his seat.
Eugene stood still.
After a while, he silently went to the table and prepared a small bowl.
Soft bread. Eggs cooled slightly. Fruit compote with reduced sweetness. And soup that was warm, but not hot.
When Sylphiette stopped crying, Eugene held the bowl out to her.
"Eat."
Sylphiette looked at it with a tear-streaked face.
"...I really hate you."
It was impossible to know whether she meant Eugene or the situation.
Still, Sylphiette took the bowl.
She ate one spoonful. Then another.
And while eating, she began to cry again.
Zenith stroked her back.
Eugene stood beside them.
He offered no words of comfort. He did not apologize. He did not make excuses.
He merely kept water at a suitable temperature beside Sylphiette, so she would not put down her bowl.
---
That night, Lilia washed dishes.
Eugene dried them beside her.
Normally, Lilia would have stopped him. It was not work for a child.
But Eugene had already helped many times. And, honestly, there was nothing to criticize about the dishes he dried.
"Should we prepare a meal for Sylphiette tomorrow as well?" Eugene asked.
Lilia stopped her hands.
"We do not know whether she will come."
"I see."
"But I do not think it would be bad to prepare one."
"Why?"
Lilia looked at Eugene for a moment.
The question was pure.
He truly wanted to know the reason.
Carefully, Lilia answered, "Sometimes, simply knowing that someone is waiting makes it easier to return."
Eugene did not answer at once. He seemed to think as he dried a wet plate.
"Do you mean preparing a meal can be a factor that encourages someone to return?"
"...You could put it that way."
"Understood."
Eugene nodded.
Lilia nearly smiled.
"Eugene."
"Yes."
"You do not have to explain everything."
Eugene’s hand stopped.
"If explanations are insufficient, misunderstandings occur."
"That is true."
"Misunderstandings create conflict."
"That is true as well."
"Then explanations are necessary."
"But for some things, it is better not to explain."
Eugene looked at Lilia.
Lilia did not avert her eyes.
Perhaps she would have in the past.
Eugene was still a frightening child. More unfathomable than any noble or swordsman Lilia had seen in her life.
But now Lilia knew something.
Eugene did not watch people in order to punish them.
"Sylphiette did not cry because your explanation was wrong," Lilia said. "She cried because Rudeus is gone."
Eugene said nothing.
"Zenith is the same. So is Paul."
"Rudeus is alive."
"Yes."
"He has most likely arrived in Roa."
"Yes."
"Ghislaine Dedoldia is accompanying him. His chance of survival is high."
"Yes."
"Then the present situation is neither death nor loss."
Lilia answered quietly, "Even so, an empty place remains."
Eugene did not move when he heard that.
The dying embers in the hearth flickered softly. Aisha stirred faintly in the room beyond. Norn muttered something in her sleep.
Only after a long while did Eugene ask, "An empty place is not merely a matter of physical space?"
"No."
"I see."
It was a short reply, but Lilia could tell the words had remained somewhere deep within Eugene.
---
No letter came.
Not the next day.
Nor the day after that.
It did not mean Rudeus had died. Roa was far away. He might not have been able to write immediately upon arriving at the Boreas Greyrat family estate. His work as a tutor might have been busier than expected.
Or perhaps he was still angry.
There were many possibilities.
Eugene could arrange them in order.
But possibilities did not comfort people.
Zenith looked outside every day. Paul left whenever letters were mentioned. Lilia set the table while pretending nothing was wrong.
Sylphiette sometimes came, ate a little, and went home. Norn turned her head when she heard Rudeus’s name, and Aisha watched Norn.
Eugene still cooked.
The soup was an appropriate temperature. The bread did not burn. The meat was not tough. Norn’s carrots were minced until unseen, and Sylphiette’s bowl always held food cooled a little.
Lilia’s share did not decrease.
As a meal, there was no problem.
But the table was not complete.
Lilia saw that every day.
And Eugene probably saw it, too.
Whether he acknowledged it was another matter.
---
Several nights later, Lilia happened to come into the kitchen.
She was thirsty.
The fire in the hearth had nearly gone out.
And Eugene was standing before the table.
He was looking at Rudeus’s empty seat.
He did nothing.
He simply looked.
Lilia did not speak to him.
Eugene did not turn around.
After a long time, he placed a hand upon the chair.
It looked as though he meant to push it in.
But he did not.
His hand remained on the chair’s back for a moment.
Then it fell away.
Eugene spoke quietly.
"It is inefficient."
Without thinking, Lilia replied, "What is?"
Eugene did not seem surprised. It was as though he had known from the start that Lilia was there.
"Continuing to leave an unused chair in place."
"Yes."
"It obstructs movement."
"It does."
"It also creates inefficiency during cleaning."
"That is true."
"I judged that maintaining a visible absence would help emotional stability, but it may have negative long-term effects."
"It may."
"But..."
Eugene looked at the chair.
"When I try to put it away..."
His words stopped.
Lilia stopped breathing.
It was rare for Eugene to stop speaking.
Slowly, he withdrew the hand he had placed on the chair back.
Then he looked toward his own chest.
"Something hurts."
Lilia could not say anything.
Eugene tilted his head slightly.
As though he were confirming whether that sensation truly came from his own body.
"There is no injury. My breathing is normal. It is neither a toxic reaction nor a symptom of illness."
"..."
"But when I try to put it away, it hurts here."
This time, his hand barely touched his chest.
He did not clutch at his clothes. He did not curl up like a child complaining of pain.
He merely touched the center of his chest with his fingertips, as if confirming the location.
But when Lilia saw it, she swallowed.
Eugene was in pain now.
Not because he was wounded.
Not because he was sick.
Not because he was hungry or tired.
Lilia spoke slowly.
"There are times when that happens."
Eugene looked at her.
"Does this phenomenon have a name?"
It was the same kind of question he always asked.
But his voice was slightly different.
Only slightly.
Very slightly.
It was closer to the voice of a child asking an adult for an answer.
Lilia tightened her grip on the plate in her hands.
She could not cry.
If she cried before this child, Eugene would try to find the cause again. He would ask why she was crying and try to find a solution.
So she could not cry.
Lilia answered quietly.
"It likely has many names."
"Which is the most appropriate?"
Lilia thought for a moment.
Then she said, "I think it is longing."
Eugene did not repeat the word.
Longing.
He did not say it aloud.
He only looked at the chair.
The unused chair.
The chair that obstructed movement.
The chair that created inefficiency during cleaning.
The chair that threw the balance of the table out of order.
And the chair that made something hurt when he tried to put it away.
Only after a long while did Eugene lower his hand.
"I see."
Rudeus’s place was not put away that day, either.
---
Life in Buena Village continued.
Morning came. Water was drawn. Meals were made. Children cried, and someone laughed.
People went into the fields, animals moved through the forest, and Paul went on patrol.
Zenith saw patients. Lilia tended the house. Sylphiette continued practicing her letters, little by little.
Eugene held a knife in the kitchen, checked the area around the house at night, and sometimes, rather than traveling far, fixed puddles along village roads.
The world was wide.
But regardless of all that, this household needed dinner every evening.
It was a small fact.
But small did not mean light.
No letter had come yet.
There was still an empty place at the Greyrat family table.
Each person made it through the day in their own way beside that empty place.
And around that time, at the Boreas Greyrat family estate in faraway Roa, Rudeus Greyrat faced a red-haired storm without even the time to miss that empty seat.
Comments (0)
Please log in to leave a comment. Login or Register