After Raid was taken to the Verminant estate, the rest of the group was escorted by the knights to a villa...where they were immediately met by a young girl prostrating herself on the ground.
“And that is why Raid was taken away,” she said at the end of her explanation. Through her entire monologue, her forehead had never once lifted from the ground. “Just to be clear: Vegalta is on your side, okay?! Those guys just don’t know when to quit! Every single time, they keep finding fault with Raid and come in with a new complaint—and now, they want to accuse him of a crime?! They’re ridiculous, aren’t they?!”
“So, you made sure to give them an earful, right, Ms. Elise?” Millis said.
“Of course! Why, their ears must still be ringing from the sound I made when I slammed my forehead to the ground!”
Millis nodded. “That’s our little headmaster. As pathetic as ever.”
“Waaah! I can’t help it! I’m so used to apologizing, it’s practically a reflex by nooow!”
“There, there. Bad habits take time to get rid of.” Millis empathetically patted the wailing girl on the shoulder.
Ariel watched the scene play out with a blank expression. She’d heard that Elise had inherited the memories of Wallus Caldwin, the Demon Lord’s closest aide, but Ariel never would have guessed. All she could see was a miserable little girl.
Suddenly, Norn thrust her hand into the air. “I have a question! If they decide that Raid is a bad guy, then what will happen to us?”
Elise hummed. “Norn, Ariel, and...Valtos, was it?” she said, looking at each of them in turn. “If that were to happen, you three would essentially become prisoners of war. But don’t worry—that’s never going to happen because Raid won’t be found guilty.”
Norn blinked. “Really?”
“Like I said earlier, they’re just nitpicking. All they ever needed was to cast suspicion on him. Now, they’ll just hold off his appointment as a special-class magician until information about the First World is publicly revealed. Then, they will use the mere existence of this case to deter his appointment altogether.”
“Even if he’s proven innocent?”
“That’s right. Because of the nature of their work, special-class magicians can freely cross national borders and have the right to demand from the state whatever documents they need for their missions. Nobody—not even the neutral states or the citizens—would agree to give such authority to someone who’s had such a case on their record.”
Raid’s acquaintances would all vouch that he was a person of character and that he had the power to save countless lives. Alas, not everybody knew him that well. To most, he was no more than a man who’d been cast under suspicion by multiple states—and that impression would be difficult to overwrite. Once sown into their minds, this doubt would resurface no matter how many achievements and good deeds followed after. This was why House Verminant of the First World had to endure more than a thousand years of derision for a single catastrophic betrayal in the past. Now, Raid would be condemned to the same fate.
“This is absurd!!!” Fareg slammed his fist against the wall, his features warped in anger. “Raid Freeden, he... He’s saved so many lives! During the simulation exam and when we were in Palmare, he protected all the innocent people...and even offered his hand to the enemy combatants who came after his life! He is more worthy of respect than anybody I know!” As tears welled up in his eyes, Fareg tensed his fist so hard that his knuckles began to turn white. “And yet, for such a worthless political squabble, they want to throw all his feats to the curb...and even smear his name for the rest of his life?! This is just...so wrong!!!”
Anger boiled and indignation festered within Fareg at the sight of this cruel injustice. This sense of righteousness must have been what had led him to live a selfless life to erase his father’s betrayal in the First World.
“I will raise a protest to my father and His Majesty,” Fareg declared grimly. “This farce cannot be allowed to play out.” He spun on his heel and began stomping toward the door—until he was stopped by a single shoe, flying through the air and landing square on the back of his head.
“Quit acting out, ya red brat,” drawled a voice from the second floor. “Jeez... What’s with all the ruckus? I was tryin’ to take a goddamned nap.”
Ariel’s eyes blew wide open as she looked up toward the source of the voice. That irritated tone and that coarse language—she would recognize it anywhere. Her shocked gaze met a pair of crimson eyes belonging to a white-haired man grinning down at her.
“Oh, hey. It’s the red pooch. Looks like you managed to scrap your dumb loyalty bullshit after all.”
“D-Dian? Is it really you...?”
“Huh? Who else could I be?”
“A-Are you really Dian?!”
“Don’t make me say it— Ack!”
All of a sudden, Dian’s irked features blurred in Ariel’s vision. “I can’t believe it... You’re really alive...!” she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Dian clicked his tongue as he descended the stairs. “Ugh, you’re such a handful. What’re you crying for?”
“B-Because you’re alive... Waaah...!”
“How else do you think I made that recording?”
“B-But before you left for the Second World, you told me to take care of everything if you died... A-And I just...!”
“Goddammit! Stop cryin’ already, damn pooch!” Dian snapped, landing a chop on her head.
“Oww, that hurts! That means you’re real, and really actually alive... Waaah!”