* * *
Nael clenched his fists, fearing that if he reached out, Killian would simply vanish.
Even the gentle touch that had just caressed him felt like it would disappear at any moment.
“I won’t be long.”
The bed swayed as Killian stood, returning to its usual stillness.
All that remained was the faint imprint of where he had been.
No matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep refused to come.
The brilliant midday sun filtering through the windows seemed to remind him that this wasn’t the time for rest.
Unable to endure the restlessness any longer, Nael sat up and carefully opened the bedroom door.
“Where are you going?”
A deep voice cut through the silence before Nael could even step out.
Startled, his heart pounded wildly as he clutched his chest.
“Ren!”
“My apologies if I startled you. Did you wish to go somewhere?”
“Were you waiting for me? Why are you standing outside my door?”
The two questions overlapped, followed by a brief silence.
Ren didn’t respond.
‘Oh, he’s waiting for my answer,’ Nael realized.
Something about the way Ren treated him—as if he were a superior—made his feet tingle uncomfortably.
Nael still wasn’t used to it.
“Ren, may I go outside?”
“Ah, of course.”
“I don’t know where to go. I’m unfamiliar with this place.”
He wanted to ask, ‘Where can I find the Master?’
But he bit his tongue, holding the question back.
“I’d like to see the castle. Is that alright?”
“Certainly. I will inform His Grace first—”
“I’ll ask him myself! I don’t know the way, so if you could guide me…”
“…I understand. Allow me to escort you.”
Ren nodded slowly before leading the way.
As they passed through familiar hallways, Nael realized Killian must be in his office.
The thought of disturbing him made him hesitate.
Then, he heard it—a voice he had been longing for. Faint at first, but drawing closer with every step.
“It is the will of the retainers.”
“Your Grace, this is not something you can continue postponing. Please consider it more seriously—”
Despite the man’s persistent words, Killian’s expression remained impassive.
His icy demeanor was enough to chill the air.
But the man, seemingly convinced of his own righteousness, continued pressing his argument.
His voice grew louder, filling the corridor.
Nael could now clearly make out their conversation.
“I don’t understand why you’ve chosen the Southern front. His Majesty explicitly ordered you to head east.”
Nael’s heart soared at the sight of Killian—only to plummet moments later.
A terrible realization struck him, shattering his heart into pieces small enough to be crushed beneath Killian’s heel.
Thud. Thud.
His pulse pounded violently, fear surging through his veins.
And then, Killian walked right past him.
The faint breeze that followed carried his familiar scent, lingering at the tip of Nael’s nose.
The man beside Killian spared Nael a brief glance before dismissing him entirely, continuing his argument.
“The House of Deville has always—”
Their voices faded into the distance, yet they echoed painfully in Nael’s mind.
Killian should be heading east.
But he was defying the Emperor’s command.
Going south instead—was it for his sake?
No. That couldn’t be it.
Nael shook his head, trying to banish the ridiculous thought.
By the time he turned back, Killian had already disappeared.
“You think my words are a joke?”
“…What?”
“If you didn’t hear me properly, I can carve it into your skull.”
“No, that’s not what I meant…! But do you truly have a reason so grave that you would defy His Majesty’s orders?”
“Are you the Emperor’s man, or are you mine?”
A looming shadow fell over the man as Killian stepped closer.
So close that the man instinctively held his breath.
Even the air he exhaled felt as sharp as a blade.
Cold sweat drenched the man’s palms, his clenched fists trembling.
An unbearable sensation crept up from his toes, as if thousands of insects were gnawing at his flesh.
He bit his lip, suppressing a whimper.
A raw, primal fear gripped him.
“Your Grace…”
“That mouth of yours is the problem. It flaps too easily.”
“You claim to speak for the retainers? Since when did they have the right to oppose a Duke’s decision?”
The man swallowed hard, unable to meet Killian’s gaze.
For generations, the retainers had treated him like nothing more than a pawn.
Just as they had his late parents.
They spoke of the Emperor’s decree, yet they cared nothing for the man wielding the sword.
Would they dance with joy if Killian Deville perished on the battlefield?
The North belonged to House Deville, yet he had spent hardly a year there in total.
Since the moment he could hold a blade, war had been his only home.
Blood-soaked battlefields awaited him at every turn.
Like a hound on a leash, he had been thrown into war over and over.
Weeks, sometimes months, were all he had before he was sent back out again.
The ‘Mad Duke, drenched in blood.’ A fitting title.
The North had grown stable enough to function without him.
And if he died without an heir, this vast land would fall into the Emperor’s hands.
“The thought must be exhilarating for you.”
Killian sneered, his voice laced with venom.
“You must love the idea of me gone. Sitting comfortably here while I wield my sword and stare death in the face.”
He leaned in, a cold smirk playing on his lips.
“Next time, I’ll take you with me. I’ll put you at the vanguard.”
“Y-Your Grace! I—I am far too old for war—”
“According to you, age doesn’t matter when the fate of the Empire is at stake.”
“Your Grace…”
“If you’re unwilling, I’ll take your son instead. He must be of age by now.”
“He’s only sixteen—! Your Grace, please, I beg of you…! Send me instead!”
Killian let out a hollow laugh.
“How touching.”
“Forgive my foolishness… I beg your mercy.”
The vassal trailed off, his wrinkled face crumpling like a maggot as he bowed his head.
Only when driven to the edge of the cliff did his stiffly held head finally drop.
How utterly pathetic.
Killian clenched his teeth.
“Must I root out every last one who dares defy my will before you’ll speak plainly?”
Killian’s voice rose at last.
The deep, resonant shout sent a tremor through the floor, and the man collapsed to his knees.
Trembling, yet still trying to persuade Killian, as if he had no choice but to open his mouth.
“In truth, we vassals serve only the prosperity and eternity of House Deville. We have devoted our lives to this northern land, to its service. Expanding the empire’s territory is—”
Killian’s chilling laughter cut him off, and the man slammed his forehead against the ground.
“Urgh!”
Just as he tried to lift his head, Killian drove it straight back down.
The sheer force of it was so brutal that the pain shot through his skull like it would split in two.
Blood seeped from the gash on his forehead, drenching the floor in vivid crimson.
“There is nothing here worth the effort of that feeble mind of yours. Did you think that just because I do not reside here, I would be unaware of its affairs?”
“Your Grace…”
“Who ordered you?”
Groaning, the man grasped Killian’s ankle.
* * *
