The caravan traveled all day.
The new female knight drew an unusual amount of attention from her comrades. It was not just because she was the only woman in the party, but because of her relationship with their young master.
After all, she had walked out of his room the night before.
And in a single day, she had returned to pledge her loyalty.
Beneath that attention lay a tinge of… envy.
Pure, simple envy.
This woman had just earned the title of **real knight**.
It must be made clear: the so-called "family guard knights" were not true knights at all. It was merely a title, a name that included the word "knight" — much like a seahorse, which bore the word "horse" but was nothing like a real steed.
In truth, they were little more than cavalrymen, household guards, not members of the knightly class.
A woman they had known for a single day, a fighter with third-rate skill, had just been given what these men had dreamed of for years. It was enough to make them bitter.
Being exiled to the backcountry with their disgraced young master was miserable enough. Their only hope was that he might one day favor them and elevate them from guard cavalry to honor knights.
Everyone knew the young master would never inherit the count's title; at most, he would be a baron. And by imperial law, a baron could only recruit **ten personal knights**.
Now, one precious slot had been given to a woman of unknown origin — and on the very first day!
It felt deeply unfair.
The only explanation they could think of was that their thirteen-year-old master did not understand the weight of a knighthood. He was treating this sacred honor like a child's game, handing it out on a whim.
Or… perhaps it was simply because she was beautiful, with those long, shapely legs.
They could only resign themselves to it.
Jolin felt the dismissive stares of her new comrades. Even her own two companions seemed confused.
But Jolin stood by her choice.
This new master, Dwight Rollin, was no ordinary man. Swearing loyalty to him would not be a mistake.
When sunset painted the sky in crimson, Dwight's caravan crossed a great river.
The bridge, built from huge round stones, was nearly a hundred years old. Moss clung thickly to the stones near the water, glinting emerald green against the clear, rushing current.
This river was known as the Emerald River — but it had another, official name:
**The Rollin River**.
It was named for the Rollin family.
The Rollin River cut straight through Cote Province in the southern empire, splitting the rich land in two. Cross it, and you stepped onto the private territory of the Rollin family.
The entire southern half of Cote Province belonged to them.
South of the river stretched a vast, flat plain — rare in the mostly hilly south. It held fertile farmland, lush forests, warm weather, plentiful sunshine, and gentle rain.
It was one of the richest regions in the empire, and a key source of its grain.
This plain, exactly half the size of Cote Province, also bore an official name:
**The Rollin Plain**.
Again, named for the Rollin family.
This unusual naming tradition began roughly two hundred years ago.
Back then, the Roland Empire had fought a great patriotic war. Historical records told of northern foreign tribes invading south, dragging the empire into a bloody quagmire. With rebellions breaking out amid a declining dynasty, the empire had teetered on the edge of collapse.
Among the great heroes of the war was a general from the Rollin family. He rose through the ranks with brilliant victories and eventually became an Imperial Marshal — the only one in the Rollin family's three-hundred-year history.
To bind this war hero to the throne, the emperor had married his own sister to him.
Before a decisive battle, the emperor, hoping to inspire his brother-in-law, had pointed his whip toward the southern bank of the Emerald River and declared:
"If you return victorious, all land south of this river, all of southern Cote Province, shall be yours!
This river, this plain — they shall bear your family's name forever, in honor of the Rollin family's greatness and service to the empire!"
The marshal was inspired. He led the empire to a crushing victory, saving the nation — and earned the emperor's promise.
From that day on, the Emerald River became the Rollin River.
The southern plain became the Rollin Plain.
Two hundred years had passed, and no one even remembered its original name.
In every official imperial document and local register, it was written: *Rollin River*, *Rollin Plain*.
Though two centuries had passed, even these low-level guard cavalry felt their hearts lift as they crossed the river and set foot on the plain.
It was a sense of belonging, of family pride.
This was Rollin land!
Where the great ancestors of the Rollin family had carved their name into history!
Inside the carriage, Dwight felt the vehicle slow. He rolled down the window and saw the knights cheering, hats in hand. The gloom of the journey was gone; every face shone with pure joy, pride, and reverence.
"We're home! Rollins, we're home! Back to our land!"
The cavalrymen shouted, some forgetting discipline and galloping back and forth, hooves thudding on the dark soil. Even their officers did not restrain them, smiling as they watched.
Unlike other noble families, the Rollins kept an ancient tradition:
**their knights and warriors were recruited only from people born on the family's territory.**
Many of the cavalrymen with Dwight were natives of the Rollin Plain — true Rollin people, whose families had lived here for generations.
By tradition, every private soldier, guard cavalryman, and even the lord's personal guards was chosen from "one of their own" on the Rollin Plain.
Every head of the family believed this ensured loyalty and devotion to the house.
Captain Alpha, the Count's personal guard and young Gabriel's combat tutor, was a born son of the Rollin Plain.
These cavalrymen, exiled from the capital with Dwight, had been bitter — but the joy of coming home finally washed away their despair.
Dwight watched the cheering knights and quickly understood.
"Mad," he said, "have we crossed the Rollin River?"
"Yes, my lord," Mad replied at once, riding up to the carriage, his face bright. "We're home."
Dwight looked at him. "Mad — are you from Cote Province?"
"I was raised in the capital, but my father was a true native of the Rollin Plain." Mad smiled proudly. "He served the Rollin family as a stable hand his whole life. I followed in his footsteps."
He hesitated, then glanced at Dwight carefully and lowered his voice.
"My lord… I must say something. It's important."
"What is it?"
"The way you spoke just now… it was not quite right." Mad's face was unusually serious.
"How so?" Dwight smiled. "Tell me plainly."
"You asked if I was from 'Cote Province.' That is not the proper way. Though the Rollin Plain lies within Cote Province, a true Rollin never says 'I am from Cote Province.'
We only say: **'I am from the Rollin Plain.'**
Every true Rollin takes pride in that name.
Please, my lord — when you speak to our people from now on, never say 'Cote Province.' Always say 'Rollin Plain.'
To do otherwise would wound them. And as the family head's eldest son, you must not hurt the feelings of your people."
Dwight was surprised to hear such earnest, proud words from a former stable hand.
Perhaps… he had underestimated this family.
He looked at the joyful cavalrymen, their faces glowing with genuine pride.
Only a truly great family could inspire this.
In that moment, he began to understand the Count.
The Count, back in the capital, had been the head of this legendary house. When his firstborn son — the heir he had placed all his hopes in — had turned out to be an "idiot," his disappointment and desperation must have been unimaginable.
As a father, he might have tolerated a useless son.
But as the leader of a great house, he could not afford a worthless heir.
He bore responsibility for the family's future.
In that light, his coldness, his rejection, his choice to cast Dwight aside… it was all understandable.
Dwight fell silent, lost in thought.
Mad was surprised to see his young master's dazed expression.
Since the age of six, Dwight had always been calm, unshakable, indifferent to gain or loss. He had never shown such a lost, unguarded look.
"My lord… should we continue on home?" Mad asked gently.
"Home… yes, home." Dwight murmured.
And in that instant, a thought burst into his mind, unstopable.
**Home.**
For the first time in years, the fog in his heart lifted.
He had never belonged to this world.
That was why he had felt empty, why he had hidden his feelings, why he had acted cold.
He had always seen himself as a spectator, an outsider looking in.
Home… such a warm word.
And that was exactly what he had been missing: a sense of belonging.
For years, he had cared about nothing.
But now, for the first time, he felt a strange, eager anticipation toward returning to the Rollin ancestral home.
He looked at the proud cavalrymen.
Rollin Plain…
Perhaps here, he could finally find a place to belong.
He could only hope.
He could never return to his real home.
But maybe… he could build a new one, a place for his heart to rest.
He was in this world now.
Life had to go on.
Bathed in the last golden light of the setting sun, Dwight Rollin pushed open the carriage door.
He stepped out of the dark, enclosed carriage, out of the shadows, and stood in the glow of the evening sky.
The light fell on his face, chasing away all gloom.
For the first time in a long while, the boy smiled — a smile with real emotion in it.
It was the emotion of:
**Hope.**