Episode 153 side story: Dance in the sky - The Saga of Lioncourt

Rolo, who took the second spot in the popularity poll, here. I wrote this story with the intent of it being the practical finale. Thirty-five years had passed since the death of the Great King. The Kingdom of Lioncourt, which had been in the throes of turmoil, had found stability under the reign of Emma the Resolute King, though its territories were now reduced to merely the Lioncourt Basin and the northeastern part of Amoros. The dynasty had since shifted to the Benyuro Dynasty, and now it was the era of Varian II, the son of Emma the Resolute King. Though the entirety of Amoros was embroiled in intermittent conflict and strife, Lioncourt enjoyed peace. Just west of the Lioncourt territories, nestled in the Sisiku Mountains, stood a small monastery that was home to an elderly man. His name was Rolo. People respectfully referred to him as "Royal Servitor-in-Chief," though he bore no last name. "I am truly grateful for accommodating my request today." Rolo knelt before the aged priest, the head of the monastery. His bow was neither excessively humble nor arrogant, executed with remarkable grace, which the priest silently admired. The Sisiku Mountains were a holy site of the Saiten faith, often frequented by high-ranking nobility, yet this old man's demeanor stood out above those associations. "However, a pilgrimage to the summit is quite an ordeal. Are you really planning to go alone?" The priest hesitated for a moment, then surveyed the room. Rolo had a few attendants, nephews, and grandsons, accompanying him, but they were to remain at the monastery while he climbed alone. It seemed the attendants had no objections, nodding in agreement. "Yes, fortunately, my legs are still strong, and I can wield a sword. I won’t fall behind any beast or bird yet." Rolo's gentle smile radiated robustness. Though his eyes possessed a slight cloudiness, he appeared far younger than a man nearing seventy. "No one among us can best Grandpa," a young boy among Rolo's company declared proudly, to which Rolo chuckled, "Is it right to boast of inexperience?" Rolo was undoubtedly a hero to them, their endearing camaraderie making even the priest chuckle. "Inexperience, indeed; quite embarrassing." "No, my apologies." As the priest lowered his head, the young boy followed suit hurriedly, and laughter spread among them. The family seemed to share a close bond. "I understand you'll ascend alone. Allow me to prepare a room for you. Please rest today and—" Rolo politely declined the priest’s offer, saying, "No, I’ll undertake my challenge immediately." Taken aback by Rolo's unwavering determination, the priest chose not to press further. The group exited the monastery, seeing Rolo off from the pilgrim path leading to the summit's shrine. His silhouette portrayed a dignity that belied his age. The priest watched in admiration, thinking, "What an amazing individual, yet to be just an attendant to a great king," recalling the shadow of the legendary hero who once ruled these lands, feeling a surreal sense of awe. ―――――― Rolo walked the pilgrim path alone. The early section was neatly maintained for easy passage, but the path soon vanished, leaving him to rely on mere markers toward the summit. Though the season was early summer, there was an icy chill in the air, and as he neared the summit, snow lingered. Rolo’s pilgrimage to the holy Sisiku Mountain was to offer solace. He journeyed to pay tribute to a once dear friend and his sister, who had passed away the previous year. Step by step, Rolo walked, as if retracing distant, faded memories. Though cherished, some details remained indistinct, likely due to his age. Were his friend and sister in a loving relationship? Rolo wasn’t sure, but there was an undeniable sense of something special between them. Having started later than planned, Rolo waited for dawn to resume his journey. His approach was that of a devout pilgrim. Suddenly, as the morning sun rose, his surroundings opened up, and he arrived at the summit shrine. A simple, stone structure, yet the breathtaking view took Rolo's breath away. Clouds lay beneath him, and in the far distance, the Lioncourt Basin was visible; it was truly the realm of the gods. After standing in awe for a while, Rolo remembered his purpose. He took out a small pouch from his robe and inspected its contents. Inside were strands of black hair dulled with age, and a thin tuft of white hair from his elderly sister. His friend had once expressed a desire to climb this mountain. He intended to bury their strands together here at the peak. However, as he opened the pouch, a gust of wind swept away half the hair. "Damn it," Rolo exclaimed involuntarily. In the morning light, the strands intertwined, scattering into the vast world below. The sight evoked visions of childhood memories, and Rolo squinted at the bright scene. ...No, this was how it should be. Nodding, Rolo opened the pouch wider, letting the rest of the hair ride the wind. The black and white strands danced in the air. Far and away, the land of Lioncourt lay in view.