Free Web NovelIt was a letter. Written in a style so old it looked to be at least a hundred years old.
—Over the years, for a very long time, everyone has tried to find the cause and fix it, but nothing has worked. We no longer possess divine power, aura, magic—nothing at all.
—As you said, we are now less than commoners. No, in some ways, we’re even lesser. We've become ordinary humans. Utterly talentless, unremarkable people.
He thought nothing could surprise him anymore.
With no time to question whether the letter was real or not, Kiole blankly continued reading.
—But we don’t have time to despair. What would the other ducal families think if they found out about this? Those who still produce talented children of all kinds? And what about the Emperor, who already sees our Diarca as a thorn in his side, waiting for a chance to drive us out?
—My dearest Hillea, as the head of this house, I must make a decision. I bear the heavy and terrible fate of protecting both our family and poor Anchelita, who will succeed me.
—So I will no longer waste effort trying to revive the power in our blood. We’ve shed enough tears over the past centuries. It’s time to accept what we must, and move forward for the next generation. That is what we owe the ones who will follow us.
—I have some ideas for what we must do. I hope we can meet soon to discuss them.
The letter ended with a promise to meet soon. Kiole thought back to the ancestral portraits hanging in the main Diarca estate.
Anchelita la Diarca... Right. I’ve seen that name. She was a duke several generations ago...
Anchelita la Diarca was the brilliant duke who, despite the slanders of a paranoid emperor, remained unwavering in her loyalty and earned recognition after suppressing a rebel army.
It was thanks to her that the Duke of Diarca was permitted to station so many private soldiers near the Capital, just as they do today.
The mention of such a former duke confirmed that this letter was no trivial matter.
Since he refers to her as his daughter, then the sender must have been a duke from an earlier generation...
A Duke of Diarca from centuries ago had written this letter, staking the future of the house on it.
And what it revealed...
Kiole’s hand trembled as he held the letter. Gasping, he picked up the book from which it had fallen. There were more letters tucked inside. Hurriedly, he unfolded the rest. They were all correspondence between "Hillea" and the Duke who had written the first letter.
Hillea, as a member of the Diarca household, had wanted the Duke to continue striving to revive the "blessed blood." But the Duke insisted they must stop chasing the impossible and instead try something new.
Their conflict ended with the Duke’s victory. In what seemed to be Hillea’s reply to the very first letter, she wrote:
“I will follow Your Grace. I hope this is the best we can do for now.”
The Duke then issued several commands to Hillea, which the letters outlined:
In the final letter, the Duke wrote:
“La Diarca must remain with Orr from the beginning to the very end. So that we do not forget the history of blood and tears our ancestors gave to the Empire—no matter what.”
Blankly, Kiole folded the letters and closed the book. There were more books he should have checked, but he had no energy left.
And yet, the words from the letters burned into his memory like a brand, refusing to leave him.
“We must hide what we lost, and change our family laws so our children never dwell on its value...”
In House Diarca, they always told the children to live “like a true Diarca.” That phrase always meant avoiding “unworthy” or “ungentlemanly” pursuits.
That’s why no child of Diarca ever spent time on sword lessons. No one tried to learn magic or joined the temples. That just wasn’t their place.
The household atmosphere made it feel normal.
Even nobles outside the family admired the Diarca lifestyle and wanted to emulate it.
That the Diarca way was a model of aspiration and reverence felt as natural as the rising and setting of the sun.
He never questioned the claim that living “like a Diarca” was the right thing to do.
If he hadn’t begged to read knight stories and learn swordplay, Kiole’s life probably would’ve turned out no different from his other siblings’.
“......”
Kiole had no divine power, no magic. As far as he knew, his siblings were the same. Maybe there were relatives who had such abilities, but he’d always assumed they just chose not to use them out of irrelevance.
Because they were told it was meaningless for Diarca’s fine blood to become priests, mages, or knights.
That Diarca’s role was not to wield power themselves—but to lead those who did.
“They all said I was the strange one for wanting to be a knight...”
When Kiole said he didn’t just want to learn swordplay—he wanted to become a knight—his siblings mocked him, saying it was because he had a shameful mother. Even the Duke had asked multiple times if simple sword lessons weren’t enough, wondering why Kiole insisted on being a knight. When Kiole persisted, he clicked his tongue and said, “Then at least go for the Imperial Guard.” He clearly thought Kiole would give up soon.
But Kiole never gave up. He endured. And in the end, he was recognized.
He might be the odd one out in his family—but among the other ducal houses, there were knights, too. It didn’t seem all that strange.
He never thought he was especially lacking in talent. Sure, he couldn’t compare to someone like Commander Theorado van Ta-in, but there were plenty in the Imperial Guard worse than him.
Now that entire world he’d taken for granted had cracked apart.
Leaning against a pillar, Kiole bowed his head. A sense of shame and betrayal surged through him, terrifying in its intensity—as if his very existence had been denied.
“So... Father knew all this... and kept it hidden all along?”
And not only did he hide it—he tried to harm others, and may have even plotted rebellion.
That... was his father. That was his family.
Through blurred vision, he saw the books detailing Diarca’s history.
Everything he had once taken pride in—none of it felt worthy of pride anymore.
At last, the tears he’d been holding back spilled over.
“...That kid’s crying.”
Yuder frowned slightly as he heard the faint sobbing from within the pergola. Even if Kiole was trying to cry quietly, there was no way the three of them couldn’t hear it.
Kishiar’s brows softened, and he gave a faint smile.
“If the Duke of Diarca saw this, he might’ve denied Kiole was his child. He was famous for never shedding a tear—no matter what. Even when he buried his parents, his siblings, and both wives, it’s said he smiled at the funeral.”
None of them knew exactly what Kiole was seeing in there. But from Kishiar’s expression, it was clear he had a solid guess. He showed no particular curiosity. Nathan Zuckerman likewise remained calm—likely for the same reason as Yuder.
“Still, if someone sees something truly shocking, it might change them on the spot. What do you think about that possibility?”
Even as he asked, Yuder felt deep down that it wouldn’t happen—not this time. For someone who didn’t usually trust vague feelings like “somehow”, it was a surprising conviction.
Kishiar seemed to feel the same.
“Well... if that happens, I suppose it means I misjudged him. But from what I’ve seen so far... somehow, I don’t think it will.”
His gaze drifted toward the pergola.
“Looks like he’s done. Let’s see how much of what he saw in there he chooses to share with us.”
Kiole approached, wiping his tears.
Then, as if the wiping had been for nothing, he burst into fresh sobs—and dropped to his knees.
“I’m sorry! My father was plotting a rebellion!”
“...That kid’s crying.”
Yuder frowned slightly as he heard the faint sobbing from within the pergola. Even if Kiole was trying to cry quietly, there was no way the three of them couldn’t hear it.
Kishiar’s brows softened, and he gave a faint smile.
“If the Duke of Diarca saw this, he might’ve denied Kiole was his child. He was famous for never shedding a tear—no matter what. Even when he buried his parents, his siblings, and both wives, it’s said he smiled at the funeral.”
None of them knew exactly what Kiole was seeing in there. But from Kishiar’s expression, it was clear he had a solid guess. He showed no particular curiosity. Nathan Zuckerman likewise remained calm—likely for the same reason as Yuder.
“Still, if someone sees something truly shocking, it might change them on the spot. What do you think about that possibility?”
Even as he asked, Yuder felt deep down that it wouldn’t happen—not this time. For someone who didn’t usually trust vague feelings like “somehow”, it was a surprising conviction.
Kishiar seemed to feel the same.
“Well... if that happens, I suppose it means I misjudged him. But from what I’ve seen so far... somehow, I don’t think it will.”
His gaze drifted toward the pergola.
“Looks like he’s done. Let’s see how much of what he saw in there he chooses to share with us.”
Kiole approached, wiping his tears.
Then, as if the wiping had been for nothing, he burst into fresh sobs—and dropped to his knees.
“I’m sorry! My father was plotting a rebellion!”
