Power is always good. The items coming into the Glastia County, a representative in-law of the imperial family, were always valuable and rare.

The sword that came as a gift was quite sharp. It had the right weight and fit well in Gwenael’s hand.

Gwenael looked at the sword with satisfied eyes. A nonchalant question followed.

“Why are you so angry?”

‘Why?’

Gwenael’s attitude turned Count Glastia’s stomach. Count Glastia glared fiercely at his son, who was just playing with the sword.

“Gwen. Haven’t you heard the news yet?”

“News?”

Was he unaware of the seriousness of the situation? Gwenael flashed a mischievous smile. Once again, words that grated on his nerves followed.

“Ah, is it about you receiving a disciplinary action, Father?”

“You brat!”

Count Glastia burst out in anger, but Gwenael added a sneer to his not-so-ugly face. At times like this, he wanted to give his son a few good smacks.

Just as Astaire was terribly incompatible with Count Glastia, Gwenael’s personality didn’t match Count Glastia’s either. He wanted to ask God who this boy took after, growing up in such a manner.

Nevertheless, Count Glastia loved his flesh and blood. He had devoted himself wholeheartedly to his tyrant nephew and loved his rascal son unconditionally.

Of course, Count Glastia wasn’t always so devoted to his flesh and blood from the beginning. In his youth, Count Glastia used to sneer at people’s abnormal obsession towards blood relations.

But after having his own flesh and blood, he realized. How tearfully precious those who came into his arms were.

Gwenael, unaware of such feelings of Count Glastia, spoke lightly.

“The rumors are already widespread.”

“First the Empress caused a commotion by dragging that woman away, and now you, Father. From Mademoiselle Sehera’s first day back, Gabrienne is in quite an uproar.”

“This is not a matter to take so lightly, Gwen.”

Count Glastia, feeling a headache coming on, clutched his temples. He himself didn’t know how to explain the current situation.

But a strange uneasiness stirred him. The look in that woman’s eyes during their brief encounter was mysterious.

“Yes… It’s eerie, as if the dead have come back to life.”

“Father, please. You should say things that make sense.”

“What?”

“If God allowed the dead to return, wouldn’t Astaire be the first to jump out of his grave?”

Count Glastia momentarily lost all words at Gwenael’s retort.

“He would have gone straight for His Majesty’s neck, demanding his position back. Then he would have killed everyone in the Imperial Palace and usurped the throne again, right?”

Amusingly, it was rarely logical for words coming from Gwenael’s mouth. Given Astaire’s nature, he would have done exactly that and more.

Thanks to this, Count Glastia realized once again. That the dead cannot come back to life.

Count Glastia was more certain of Madame Marguerite’s death than anyone else in the world. He, Count Glastia, was the last person to see Cassian dressing the cold corpse in burial clothes, that poignant sight.

Yes… There are people in the world who resemble others. It must be the case this time too.

“Ha, anyway, a woman who resembles Madame Marguerite, you say.”

Gwenael’s eyes flashed as he muttered lightly with a sigh. Like a beast that had found its prey.

“If it weren’t for Astaire, I would have made a move on her long ago. How envious I was every time Astaire boasted.”

He spoke while licking his lips.

Count Glastia frowned at his son’s vulgar expression of desire. The incident with Cassian flashed through his mind.

* * *

It was the Emperor’s office, where he had been suddenly summoned without knowing why.

A space where only Cassian and Count Glastia existed, without a single servant to attend. Only faintly burning candles dimly lit the darkness.

Count Glastia approached Cassian and bowed.

“You called for me.”

“Count Glastia.”

Cassian’s voice calling Count Glastia was calm. As always, his neat sitting posture showed not even the slightest disarray.

Even at this late hour, the collar of his black uniform stood stiffly upright. Not a single wrinkle could be found on the crisp, tightly-tied white cravat. There was not a hint of discomfort in his neat appearance.

It was the perfect figure of an emperor that should only exist in portraits. This perfect appearance was not just about the outer shell. Cassian I, who opened a new horizon for Pendragon, was truly an ideal emperor.

So every time Count Glastia saw Cassian, he thought,

If only Astaire had been half like him, this terrible tragedy would not have happened.

Cassian opened his heavy lips.

“I called you to ask about the truth.”

“Pardon? What truth do you mean?”

“I’m asking because the person my sister brought seems to be related to you, Count.”

Count Glastia couldn’t understand what this meant at all.

It was the Empress who had caused a commotion, unable to contain herself at the mere sight of a lookalike. But why was he mentioning that person to Count Glastia?

“How could that be?”

Count Glastia unknowingly let out a hollow laugh. Rather, it was he who had even taken Lumière’s side against the Empress over that incident and saved face for her.

“It is.”

“……”

The words fell with utter firmness. The blue eyes staring at Count Glastia suddenly turned cold.

“I’m asking why you disobeyed my order, Count.”

That gentle voice made it all the more chilling. Count Glastia, momentarily overwhelmed by the aura, blinked once.

“…Pardon?”

Had Cassian given any orders recently?

The outstanding emperor was merciful, unlike the explosive Astaire. Rather than giving clear-cut orders, he tended to use persuasive tones and persuasion to manage people.

That’s why he was even more frightening. Without coercion, somehow everything flowed according to Cassian’s will.

A question followed.

“Your Majesty, I don’t understand… What order are you referring to?”

“Lord Matthias.”

The title addressing Count Glastia was downgraded. That subtle change carried a lot of meaning.

“I’m asking where you disposed of Belle’s body.”

Disposing of that witch’s corpse. It was a distant memory that even Count Glastia himself had completely forgotten.

He didn’t think Cassian would still be concerned about Madame Marguerite until now. The always cool-headed emperor was a person who looked towards the future he would pioneer rather than the irreversible past.

So he never imagined that he would now know the truth and question it. Because there was only one person in the world who knew about that incident.

Yes, only one person. Count Glastia had even managed to silence him with his clever words.

Recalling this fact, Count Glastia unknowingly frowned. Before making excuses for disobeying orders, words of inquiry forced their way out of his lips first.

“Was it Duke Blumir?”

“Why did you do it?”

There was no answer. He didn’t even pretend to listen to Count Glastia’s question.

His attitude, cold and sharp, clearly said something. The emperor, who usually didn’t coerce, was pressuring Count Glastia. That he would not listen to any words other than the answer to his question.

Count Glastia bowed his head, bit his lip, and clenched his fist tightly.

If he admitted his mistake and put his knees to the ground, the gentle emperor might overlook this matter. But…

“I think I should first ask Your Majesty… how could you give such an order?”

The next moment, Count Glastia’s eyes, as he raised his head, blazed fiercely.

“Is it even conceivable to bury such a wench next to Astaire?”

Yes, that.

For Cassian Pendragon, this country, Sehera, might be the priority. It might be possible for him to live solely for this land, this world, putting everything else behind, even sacrificing his own happiness.

But not for Matthias de la Glastia. Of course, he prided himself on his loyalty to Sehera no less than others, but there were things he could not yield.

For the greater good of his homeland Sehera or whatever, this was the most unbearable thing for Count Glastia.

Astaire was a lost cause that even Count Glastia had given up on. Nevertheless, his bloodline, his younger sister, should not leave a stain on history.

Tyranny is a momentary experience, but infamy is an eternity passed down through generations. He couldn’t let them be cursed for eons.

Astaire was not pure evil. There had to be someone who took Astaire’s hand and led him down the path of destruction. Marianne de la Glastia should not be recorded as the mother who bore and raised a tyrant.

There was always a villainess by the tyrant’s side. Everything was the fault of the wicked witch who deceived Astaire. It must be—so.

No, it will be so. That’s right. It was Madame Marguerite who ruined Astaire.

Does it make any sense for that witch, the cause of it all, to lie beside Astaire?

“Would that have been humiliating for Astaire?”

There was a strange irritation in Cassian’s voice, which was always composed.

“Astaire would have been delighted to meet Belle even on the path to the afterlife. But not for Belle.”

“Delighted, you say? He would have wailed at having to lie next to the lowly being who killed him!”

“Lord Matthias. Do not be mistaken.”