In stark contrast to the cheerful atmosphere of Liberta and the others discussing future plans with the Lightning Spirit Triplets in the Spirit World, the mood among Bermuda's group can be sumd up in one word: ominous.
The reason is singular.Rumors had erged that Bermuda Ortus, the leader of this army, intended to defect from the eastern Duke, Duke Marchias.
That rumor had already spread throughout the entire army via soldiers departing from the fortress known as the pioneer village.
"General.""What is it?"
Armies move slowly. Because they must move as a cohesive group, they naturally beco slower than normal travel.Added to that is the responsibility of maintaining discipline during the march.
"Are you truly planning to defect from His Grace the Duke?"
During this march, rumors of the general's defection were a major issue, significant enough to shake the army's discipline.
"Indeed I am."
The journey back to the eastern territory was long. What was Bermuda doing during that ti? He was preparing transfer docunts.
His subordinate wanted to hear that the conversation back then was an act, a ploy to deceive the group led by the boy nad Liberta. But without even glancing at his subordinate, Bermuda readily affird it.
"Tch! Are you serious!?""Yes, quite serious. Let ask you instead: when you saw him, did you feel nothing?"
He would renounce all his status. Hearing this, one might think him a fool abandoning the hard-earned position he had climbed to.But from Bermuda's perspective, if he could pledge allegiance to the boy he t that day by discarding sothing as worthless as these pieces of paper, the price was cheap.
Furthermore, he devised a strategy to leave Duke Marchias without leaving a grudge.The recipient was a certain acquaintance.
For the unmarried, family-less Bermuda, it was one of the few beings he could call a close acquaintance. He attached the letter to the leg of a tad hawk monster—not a carrier pigeon—and sent it off.
Finishing that action, he finally stopped writing, slowly rose from his chair, and turned to face his subordinate on guard duty.
"Indeed, I sensed sothing unusual about him.""Unusual, unusual..."
Rarely, Bermuda smiled naturally at his subordinate's comnt.
The subordinate's observation seed to hit the mark, yet Bermuda felt it was slightly off.
"Certainly, Lord Liberta is unusual. Then let add one question: Lord Liberta and His Grace—which is *more* unusual?"
Bermuda had no obligation to correct the slight misalignnt in his subordinate's words.However, considering what was to co, he thought having as many allies as possible was best, so he decided to share his own perception.
"......"
Still being a subordinate, Bermuda respectfully referred to Duke Marchias as "His Grace." The question posed on the premise of comparison was itself disrespectful.
The subordinate hesitated for a mont, wondering if he should answer. This superior would ask questions himself, and if one gave a poor answer, he would demote subordinates who beca inconvenient under charges like treason.
He was ruthless, as if to say he didn't care what happened to them afterward. Hence, the soldiers remaining in this army were all those who t the conditions of being efficient, loyal, useful, and capable.
Being a close aide, the subordinate knew these traits all too well, which is why he was at a loss for words.
"Now, now, I won't hold this question against you. I promise that as a matter of my own pride."
Being well-educated ant knowing what not to say.Even with Bermuda's permission prompting a response, the subordinate hesitated for a few monts.
"I believe they are incomparable. But if I must say... I think His Grace beca 'unusual' in order to stand above others, whereas that boy is an existence that makes one perceive him as naturally being at the forefront.""Hmm, you understand quite well, don't you?"
Bermuda nodded with satisfaction at the words his subordinate had managed to conjure during his mont of hesitation, indicating it was the correct answer.
"His Grace is an existence that stands above. As such, he commands that vast territory as his strength and wields imnse power that allows no equals."
Duke Marchias was a hegemon.An existence that subjugates all, swallows all, desires all.That was the impression Bermuda Ortus had ford while serving and observing him.
"Then, does that an that boy is not suited to stand above others?""Lord Liberta has no intention of standing above others from the start. And yet, people gather around him and follow in his footsteps."
That way of being is correct for a noble, and one could say it's a kind of perfected form even for a ruler.That's precisely why he saw value in the future ahead, offering his wisdom and skill under such a lord.
Regarding thods, it was rational, and the atmosphere wasn't unpleasant either.One couldn't call it unsatisfying; it was even fulfilling.
Originally, he intended to continue serving like this. When the Duke's status was eventually passed to his descendants, he planned to gradually infiltrate and undermine it from below.
He had been looking forward to that, but...
"No intention to stand above? Then why do those people follow him?""The premise is different from ours. I don't an to speak ill, but most of those who flocked to serve our master, Duke Marchias, are highly competitive individuals constantly thinking about pulling each other down. While this fosters strength, it also creates an environnt where nurturing people is difficult."
More than that, he had found sothing that seed more worthwhile.He felt an unusual aura the mont he t him.
That in itself is common everywhere.So, he held no sentint of being swayed by that.
However, at first sight, their eyes naturally t, and he experienced a sensation of his brain being seared by the words spoken by those eyes.
"In contrast, because Lord Liberta carves out paths and acts as a guidepost for those who follow, many people do not stray and understand what they should do. And those paths are countless, respecting the will of those who wish to achieve sothing.""In that case, governance would be impossible. It might sound good as 'freedom,' but wouldn't that lead to a disorderly world where many people act as they please?""The fact that it doesn't is what makes it 'unusual.'"
The words that seed to ask, *'So, what will you do?'*Words that clearly conveyed an expectation for Bermuda to act—though the direction differed—connected to a sense of being anticipated.
"While being provided an environnt where one can act freely, public order is optimal. Because one can do as they like, work efficiency is top-tier. The citizens are filled with motivation and take initiative, so the town's developnt is fast."
*His actions will be watched.*How long had it been since his heart raced at that thought? It was the first ti that mory had been dredged up and made him aware.
Long ago, in his childhood, from a grandfather who never beca part of any tale—just a single phrase.
It was when he went hunting alone as a child, desperately thinking, devising a plan, and using a bow to take down a small bird-type monster.
*'You thought it through well. I'll be looking forward to the next ti, too.'*
His parents only said it was expected, and Bermuda, who thought that was normal, realized those words had caused a significant ripple within his younger self.
He *wanted* to be relied upon. To be expected of.
He felt joy in such events.That's why he decided to do what he could.It was a life of continually striving to do what he could.
Before he knew it, he demonstrated his ability, rose to prominence, and the "expected" beca his daily life. Those pure feelings were forgotten, nearly dismissed as worthless.
*Expectation is just a waste.*He was on the verge of harboring such feelings.
"Which one seems more alluring to you?""That would be..."
If this were the original FBO tiline, even if told "I expect you," he would have superficially expressed gratitude. Bermuda would have proceeded into the future with the understanding that expectations were rely to be *used*.
In a sense, this period was one of emotional decluttering.
In Bermuda's life, where such periods ca regularly, the word "expectation," which he couldn't completely discard over the long years, had been stimulated.
That wasn't the only reason, but it was certainly the trigger.
"I'm transferring to a more appealing workplace. That's all there is to it.""I doubt His Grace will permit it. As that boy said, there is no one who has left His Grace's side without leaving a grudge.""There is."
Even Bermuda thought to himself that "love at first sight" was an apt self-analysis, but it was indeed the truth.
Entering the room, drawn by sothing he felt from those eyes, the desire to serve arose.And then, hope welled up: *Perhaps this person will show things I've never seen before.*
Even at the mont of parting, that emotion didn't wane. While going through this troubleso preparatory process, thoughts of what he would do once he pledged allegiance to the boy nad Liberta crossed his mind.Hiding a wry smile at the thought that he still had such human-like emotions, the words he uttered made his subordinate startle.
"The dead can journey to the other world without grudges."
Duke Marchias's attitude toward those who leave is, to put it mildly, brutally severe.If the person leaving holds status, that severity is intensified.
That's precisely why the subordinate said it was impossible for Bermuda to leave Duke Marchias's side.
He was further shocked when Bermuda declared there was a way, but his shoulders slumped at the subsequent statent.
"That would be aningless, wouldn't it?""True. There's no aning unless one stays alive."
Only in the afterlife can one depart without a grudge.The subordinate took Bermuda's words as a joke.
"Even for you, General, isn't it impossible to leave His Grace alive? That man would pursue you to the ends of the earth if you lived and punish you. How many people have left this world because of that, in reality?""True, it's too botherso to count."
The subordinate seed to want to say, "If it's impossible, you should give up."In fact, this subordinate had been with Bermuda for a long ti.He wasn't overly earnest, but he was faithful to his duties.He wasn't lazy, but knew how to cut corners where flexibility was allowed.
He was skilled at living shrewdly and had the ability, which allowed him to reach a position like adjutant.
"Besides, I'll probably be your successor once you leave. I really don't want to be promoted to a position where I'll be compared to you.""You've surely cut plenty of corners thanks to my position, haven't you? I think you should bear the hardship equivalent to all that flexibility you enjoyed."
However, even he had no ambition to sit in Bermuda's vacated seat.Patting the shoulder of his capable, self-aware "number two" subordinate, Bermuda chuckled.
"If I'm going to be succeeded, it'd be much better to manipulate so appropriately ambitious fellow into the position.""Then do so. This seat will soon be vacant. That's a given."
Because he could easily imagine the hardship that would follow his departure.After all, under Duke Marchias, there were plenty—an overwhelming number—of individuals with so degree of power and the ambition to climb higher, aptly nad "upward mobility."
"It'll likely be a bloodbath. I'd rather not deal with that hardship. So, if there really is a way to leave, I'd very much like to accompany you.""I'll consider it.""Yes, please. If such a thod exists, please give it serious thought."
Giving a sighing, resigned shoulder one last pat, Bermuda stepped out of the tent.
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