Mille Village.
A remote settlement barely clinging to the southern edge of the Seraphium Empire.
Though it was isolated, it wasn’t completely desolate.
Buildings with worn, patched roofs, winding unpaved roads, ground that froze solid before dawn and cracked dry once the sun rose.
At its center lay a small plaza.
But today, the plaza’s usual bleak atmosphere was different.
Twenty children stood on the frozen ground, hoping to be chosen by the Elite Corps.
Their ragged, hole-filled clothes and lifeless stares spoke clearly of their circumstances.
“Your Grace, that last child you saw earlier was the final one.”
“……”
At Liat’s words, one of Grand Duke Elbadin’s eyebrows lifted faintly.
It wasn’t disappointment. Nor was it anger.
It was simply the reaction of realizing something that had been repeated for eight long years had once again ended the same way.
“We’re leaving.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The moment Elbadin rose from his chair, the village chief cried out in panic.
“Y-Your Grace! Please, just once more! Surely, surely there must be at least one—!”
But the words froze in his throat.
From the stage, Elbadin’s gaze cut down at him, cold and absolute.
A look that tolerated no further pleading.
The village chief staggered back. Only then did Elbadin turn away.
Liat followed behind, glancing back at the chief and the gathered villagers.
Every single one—adult and child alike—kept their heads bowed, stiff with fear.
It was because of the aura radiating from Elbadin: lofty, overwhelming.
No matter how many good deeds the Grand Duke’s house performed, no matter how positively the Empire gossiped about him…
The aura of a man once branded a butcher on the battlefield was not something ordinary folk could withstand.
Even trained knights struggle to endure His Grace’s presence.
Still, Liat gave the children one last look, hoping against hope.
Twenty stood there, waiting to be chosen.
And yet… not one. Not a single child with the Gift.
Their long journey had been for nothing; the children were plain, unremarkable.
Once aboard the carriage, Liat seated himself across from Elbadin.
“Lately, it’s been getting harder and harder to find children with latent abilities.”
“……”
“It’s not as though anyone else is stealing them away first…”
“……”
The carriage began to move. Elbadin only turned his head toward the window.
Liat sighed, then pulled a heavy stack of documents into his lap and began flipping through them.
“This expedition may have to end here, Your Grace. We’re falling behind on imperial obligations.”
“……”
“You know, of course—Her Majesty the Empress’s birthday is soon approaching…”
Liat glanced at him, then continued cautiously.
“You must attend this year. If you brush it off like last time, who knows what rumors will spread again.”
“As if I care about rumors.”
At that, Liat nearly crumpled the stack in frustration.
“I care! I am terrified of them! Do you know how many men and how much time it takes just to quash one of those rumors about House Descartes?!”
Elbadin only scoffed faintly, keeping his eyes on the passing scenery.
Liat exhaled, trying to calm himself before speaking again.
“In any case, you cannot miss this birthday. Understood?”
“……”
“And about the southern territories—”
He rambled on, reading schedules aloud like nagging chatter.
Finally, when he flipped to the last page and set the stack aside, he asked,
“Are you not tired, Your Grace?”
“Not particularly.”
“Still, you should rest a bit. It’ll be half a day before we reach the Southern Seventh Gate.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Elbadin’s gaze remained fixed outside.
Liat’s eyes softened faintly.
He looks calm, but inside he must be…
Others often said:
Thanks to the Elite Corps, House Descartes had grown stronger than ever. That the Grand Duke’s plan to recruit talent was a resounding success.
On the surface, they weren’t wrong.
Through the Elite Corps, the Grand Duke’s house unearthed hidden geniuses across the Empire.
Those talents, in turn, pledged loyalty to him.
The result: House Descartes was hailed as the strongest it had ever been.
Yes… the system succeeded.
But Elbadin himself had never once succeeded.
Because he never found the one he was searching for.
The true purpose of the Elite Corps had always been different.
It was to find the bloodline that vanished eight years ago.
—“If it’s Radia, she would have hidden the child somewhere safe. Even if it cost her own life.”
Elbadin believed it.
That his late wife must have found a way to save their child.
That finding that child would give meaning to her death.
That belief was what had sustained him for eight long years.
But on days like this, when the search proved fruitless yet again, shadows always crossed his face.
That was why Liat dared not joke as usual. Silence, he thought, might be the only comfort Elbadin needed.
The carriage pressed on toward the Southern Seventh Gate, which connected to the North.
The Grand Duke’s carriage halted just before the gate.
They needed to reorganize before passing through.
The sun dipped behind the mountain ridges, staining the sky crimson.
“Please, Your Grace, rest inside the carriage. We’ll inform you once the preparations are complete.”
“I’ve rested enough.”
Elbadin ignored Liat’s suggestion and stepped down.
The long journey had left him restless.
Breathing in deeply, he exhaled, watching the knights of the Elite Corps making ready.
Then—
Liat joined his side.
“It should take about an hour. The wind is bitter, Your Grace. Perhaps you should—”
“Wait.”
Elbadin raised a hand, cutting him off.
His gaze was fixed on one particular wagon—one of the covered supply carts.
“Your Grace? What is it?”
“……”
Without answering, Elbadin strode toward it.
Why…? Liat followed quickly.
The cart looked ordinary.
Elbadin drew aside the flap of its canvas cover.
Inside, it was dark and still.
Bundles of clothing were heaped atop boxes, half-folded blankets piled until they filled half the cart.
“Your Grace, what are you looking fo—ugh!”
Liat gagged and staggered back.
The stench hit him like a wall.
It was the laundry wagon, where soiled uniforms were thrown in. The stench was inevitable.
Elbadin stared inside, then spoke lowly.
“Come out.”
“……”
“Your Grace? Someone’s in there?”
Holding his nose, Liat peered inside again. But all he saw were the piles of filthy laundry.
Then Elbadin placed his hand on his sword.
“If you don’t come out, I’ll cut you down.”
Liat swallowed hard, tense.
The silver blade rasped halfway out of its sheath—
And then.
The mound of laundry shifted.
“Wha—!”
Startled, Liat drew his sword fully.
“Who’s—!”
But before he could finish, a small brown head popped up from the heap.
“…?”
Wide eyes met his in the gloom. Liat faltered, muttering in disbelief.
“A… child?”
“……”
A young girl. Brown hair, brown eyes—features so common they could be found anywhere in the Empire.
But something was strange.
Even faced with armed men, there was no fear in her gaze.
If anything… she seemed relieved.
Silence lingered before the child slowly pulled herself free of the laundry pile and spoke.
“Um…”
By now, more Elite Corps knights had gathered around the cart.
The girl glanced nervously at the crowd outside, then smiled awkwardly and said—
“Hehe… H-Hello, Your Grace?”
