Wandering Winds
“Lily, what did Mister Hyland mean just now? Are you really getting married?”
“Hm? Oh, that... Well, maybe yes, maybe not. But certainly not anytime soon.”
“To Uncle Vincent’s son? What’s he like?”
“He’s a good man, I think. At the very least, he’s not an idiot and he can brawl.”
That response made Viena pause. Was that really the minimum requirement for a man? Her books described ideal men as handsome, strong, and commanding—not just not dumb and able to throw a punch.
“Is he handsome?” she asked, grinning mischievously.
“Hm? So you like handsome boys?”
“Eh? Don’t you?”
“I guess I don’t really care that much. Beauty’s relative anyway. I care more about what kind of person someone is,” Lisabelle said, casually twirling a strand of her hair.
Then, she suddenly stopped walking and turned to face her little sister.
“Sure, good-looking people are nice to look at, but sometimes that very charm can blur our sense of judgment. ‘He’s handsome, he can’t be a thief! It must be that ugly one who stole the bread!’ You’d be surprised how many people actually think like that, Vivi.”
Viena placed her hands on her hips and smiled.
“You’re just like Papa.”
“Is that so? Then you should try thinking like us too.”
Lisabelle pinched her sister’s cheek before continuing down the street. Viena hurried to catch up.
“Okay, new question then: who’s more handsome—Armes or Claude?”
“Oh come on, you're still stuck on this? How am I supposed to compare? They’re in completely different age brackets anyway. Armes is twenty-five, and Claude’s our age—we’re both sixteen this year.”
Viena gasped dramatically.
“Whaat?! You’re gonna marry an old man?!”
“I told you nothing’s certain yet… and hey, seriously? Twenty-five doesn’t make someone an old man!”
They laughed and joked as they walked. In truth, Viena had no idea where they were going. She simply followed her sister like a duckling trailing behind its mother.
Eventually, they arrived once again at the Great Gardenia. The area was bustling. Rough-looking men, knights, adventurers—even shady figures who didn’t seem like they belonged anywhere civilized—all crowded the space.
“Huh? We’re back here again?”
"It’s the last day to sign up for the Open Duel," Lisabelle explained. "The prize is an entire island gifted by Emperor Ethelar Aramid, remember?"
“Oooh! So what are we doing here?”
“Nothing much, probably just going to watch the crowd while having lunch, who knows? Maybe something fun will happen. How about that place over there? Looks like we’ll get a good view from the balcony.”
Lisabelle pointed toward a busy restaurant not far from the main dueling square. A few customers had just finished their meals and were leaving their seats.
“Ooh! Looks good! Let’s go!”
They made their way toward the eatery. But just as they reached the entrance, Viena’s shoelace came undone.
“Go on ahead, Lily! I’ll catch up!”
“I’ll wait. We’re not in a rush,” Lisabelle said, crouching beside her.
“No! Just go claim us a table before someone else grabs it! Go!”
“Oh, right. Good idea. Okay, I’ll head in first.”
Lisabelle stepped into the restaurant while Viena knelt to tie her shoe. As soon as she finished, she stood and dashed toward the entrance—without checking the street.
She ran straight across the road.
She didn’t see the speeding horse-drawn carriage coming from her right.
A woman nearby screamed.
Time seemed to stop.
Disaster was only a heartbeat away.
But then, without warning, a powerful gust of wind swept through the street—so strong it hurled Viena off her feet and toward the edge of the road. Her body lifted into the air like a rag doll, until the loop of her belt caught onto something. Eyes clenched shut, she braced for the worst… only to find herself dangling several meters above the ground, like a sack hanging from a hook.
“Watch where you're walking, kid. You nearly turned into douhua.”
The voice came from a man with a thin beard and his long hair tied back into a ponytail. He had caught her using the sheath of his sword. With practiced ease, he lowered Viena back to the ground and leaned casually against a nearby tree.
Still in shock, Viena said nothing—trying to process the whirlwind of what just happened: the sudden gust, the airborne moment, and the fact that she was now safe thanks to the man in front of her.
“A-Ah… Thank you, sir!”
“Vivi!”
Lisabelle burst out of the restaurant’s front doors. She had heard a woman scream and her body just moved on its own. Panic surged through her as she sprinted across the road.
“Vivi! Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”
“I’m alright. This uncle just saved me.”
Lisabelle dropped to her knees beside her sister, nearly trembling in relief. Only then did she finally take notice of the stranger who had rescued Viena.
She studied him—his curved blade, the high ponytail, and his peculiar clothing: a tattered haori hanging loosely over wide-legged umanori hakama, both clearly eastern in origin. Torn in places and worn thin, the outfit had once been fine—something only a true fashion enthusiast like Lisabelle could have identified.
“Thank you so mu—”
Before she could finish her gratitude, a loud rumble echoed between them. The man's stomach grumbled with such intensity it turned heads.
It seemed Viena’s rescuer hadn’t eaten in quite some time.
“Before anything else, sir… do you happen to speak our language?” Lisabelle asked, her posture so polite it bordered on servitude—a reflection of how deeply grateful she was to the stranger who had saved her sister.
“O-Oh, sorry about that—and yes, mochiron,” the man replied with a chuckle. “I’ve been traveling across the western lands for seven years now.”
“Incredible.” Lisabelle smiled brightly. “In that case, please join us for lunch. It’s the least I can do to thank you for saving my little sister.”
With both hands, she offered him a warm handshake, her gratitude radiating from every gesture.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Lisabelle, and this is my little sister, Viena. Once again, thank you for helping her."
The man responded with a wave, his mouth still full as he tore into the food like a starved beast at a harvest feast. Not a hint of shame crossed his face. If anything, he seemed to revel in it.
Lisabelle wasn’t offended in the slightest. On the contrary, she found it oddly satisfying—watching him devour the meal made her feel that her treat had been well spent and the debt fully repaid.
"Come on, Vivi. Let’s eat too. No need to rush things," she said, smiling gently.
The three of them settled in, deciding to enjoy the meal in peace, without unnecessary conversation, except for when Viena is praising the food and sharing it with her sister.
Only after their stomachs were full and their lips no longer parched did the stranger from the East begin to look truly at ease—his demeanor softening into something almost pleasant.
"Did the food suit your palate, sir?" Lisabelle asked, swirling her cup with casual elegance.
"If I could’ve eaten stones, I probably would have," the man replied, stretching his arms across the seats beside him with a satisfied groan. "That’s how hungry I was—everything would have tasted divine. But seriously, Rosmayne’s cuisine is meccha sugoi ne. Damn good food. Arigatou na, young lady. And, uh—sorry for eating like an animal."
"No need to apologize. Would you like some wine for a closer? I could order a bottle."
He quickly raised a hand and shook his head. "Sore wa dame yo. I’m mecchayabai when I’m drunk. That’s why I only drink at night. Besides..."
He turned his gaze toward the distant Great Gardenia, where a line of hopefuls stretched all the way from the registration gates into the street.
Lisabelle followed his eyes, sipping her lemon tea with quiet poise.
"I see... In that case, may I at least ask your name?" she said, placing her cup gently down.
"Hah! Just think of me as a nobody traveler. Doubt we’ll run into each other again."
"O-Oh… I didn’t realize you were so protective of your privacy. Very well, I won’t pry any—"
"Shikashi! if you're that desperately curious! I can't help it right?"
"Er, not really, we were just trying to be—" Lisabelle’s brow began to furrow.
"People call me Daigo, Tenkaze no Daigo." he declared with a grin.
Viena, who had been quiet all this time, tugged at Lisabelle’s sleeve and leaned in to whisper while the man rambled on, sometimes even slipping into what must have been his native tongue—strange and unfamiliar to their ears.
"He’s kind of weird, Lily. And he sounds funny."
"M-Maybe… but still, he did help you. So, we have to be nice, alright?"
Viena gave a small nod, then finally gathered the courage to speak to the eccentric man who called himself Daigo.
"Uncle Daigo, where are you from? Your clothes look really different from everyone else's. And... is that your sword?" she asked, pointing toward the blade that hadn’t left his side — not even while he was wolfing down his meal.
Daigo gave a toothy grin, glancing at the weapon as if seeing an old friend.
"I'm from Sankoku-shū — a group of islands far to the east. Everyone there carries a tachi like this. Nothing special to be honest."
"Really? But even just the scabbard looks so well-made! I love the reddish wood and those carvings of coins and lines!" Viena said, eyes sparkling.
"Sore wa 'kōin'to 'line' ja nai," Daigo chuckled. "They are prayers made into calligraphic shape. My masters carved them. Want to look?"
"Yes, please!"
With a casual motion, Daigo handed her the sheathed blade. Viena didn’t expect the weight — the sword nearly slipped from her hands if not for Lisabelle’s quick reflexes. Stabilizing it with her sister’s help, she began running her fingers over the carvings, squinting at the unfamiliar characters. It really did seem like a language she'd never seen before. Also, what piques her interest the most is that unlike Daigo’s worn clothing, the scabbard and sword looked immaculate — not a single scratch or dent on its polished surface.
"This is amazing… but it feels heavier on one side."
"Curved swords are like that, Vivi," Lisabelle explained, inspecting the weapon. "The balance is different from the straight swords commonly used around here."
"You’ve used a curved sword before, Lily?"
"Of course. I’m actually quite confident with a sabre."
"Then show us what you’ve got!" Viena said, handing the sword to Lisabelle with a grin.
"May I?" Lisabelle glanced at Daigo for permission.
"If you can draw it," Daigo said with a smirk, throwing his foot lazily up on a nearby chair, "it’s yours."
"S-Seriously? Don’t take that back, okay?!"
Lisabelle braced herself, gripping the hilt. She tried pulling the blade free — but it wouldn’t budge. It felt as though the sword itself rejected her touch. Not even a whisper of movement.
It was as if she were trying to undress a stubborn, chaste maiden who refused to be unveiled.
Determined, Lisabelle and Viena began inspecting every inch of the scabbard, looking for hidden mechanisms or latches. But there was nothing. No trick.
Nearly five minutes passed. Lisabelle, growing frustrated, took a deep breath and gathered all her strength for one final attempt. Across the table, Daigo burst out laughing again, fully entertained — until something caught his eye.
The guard of the sword had trembled.
Just for a second. Barely noticeable. But it was enough for Daigo to suddenly stop laughing. He straightened his back, now fully alert.
"...What in the world is that sword?" Lisabelle muttered, panting.
Daigo peered at her with newfound curiosity.
"Hey, young lady… what was your name again?"
"Lisabelle," she replied, catching her breath.
"Risa… Risa…be… got it. I’ll remember that," he said, stumbling a bit over the r sound.
"I don’t know what you’re implying, but at least try to say my name properly…" said Lisabelle with a flat face.
Daigo suddenly stood as Lisabelle handed his sword back. With an unexpectedly solemn air, he gave a deep bow, then refastened the blade at his side. As if shrugging off the seriousness of the moment, he casually plopped a worn straw boater hat onto his head—the kind seen in Rosmayne’s sunlit vineyards. It clashed spectacularly with his Eastern warrior attire, but he wore it with pride. He’d told the sisters earlier that his homeland’s traditional hat had long since fallen apart, and he’d grown unreasonably fond of this one.
“Risabe, Pina…” Daigo began, clearly attempting a heartfelt farewell.
“LISABELLE!”
“VIENA!”
The sisters protested in unison, their voices half-laughing, half-scolding.
“Yeah, yeah. Whoever you two are.” Daigo grinned, the lines around his golden-brown eyes crinkling. There was a strange warmth in them—like autumn leaves catching fire in the late sun, tinged with a glint of gold that almost didn’t belong in this world. Beneath the hat’s shadow, the scruff of a wild beard lined his jaw, unshaven and sun-worn. A faint trail of chest hair peeked out from his slightly open collar, and a pale scar traced the curve of his neck on the left side, half-hidden beneath his cloak—like a relic from a story he hadn’t yet told.
“Uh, where was I? Oh, so I actually came all the way here for the Open Duel. There’s someone I need to fight,” he said, voice dropping a note lower, rougher. “If you happen to be around... cheer for me, will you? It’d mean a lot, seeing familiar faces in a foreign land. And who knows? I might show you something interesting!”
“If you make it into the top 64, I’ll watch,” Lisabelle replied with a sly smirk. “And I’ll be loud.”
“M-Me too! I'm going to be super noisy!” Viena chimed in, puffing out her cheeks in mock seriousness. “But only if you don’t wear that hat. It’s a crime.”
Daigo laughed heartily, flashing them both a thumbs-up.
“Alright then! It's a deal! No hat—only victory!”
He turned to leave, the curve of his back still carrying a relaxed swagger, but for a second, the golden glint in his eyes caught the light again. It wasn’t just mischief—it was resolve. And perhaps, somewhere behind that casual charm, something much older, and much heavier.