Reina tapped her cane firmly on the floor and quickly walked past him. Only after climbing into the carriage did she finally exhale in relief.

“Pipi… I told you, you shouldn’t have come.”

“But nothing happened.”

“By the time something happens, it’ll be too late.”

She prayed the Marquess of Berend wouldn’t recall the face of the former Marquess of Baltgar.

‘It’s been over ten years since he died. He probably won’t remember so easily.’

The golden eyes might’ve triggered his memory—but thankfully, Zephion had kept his head low just as she asked.

If Eldan had realized it, he would’ve spoken up then and there.

“Reina.”

As she stared silently out the window, Zephion gently reached for her hand.

“Don’t be too sad.”

At his words, she let out a soft, bitter laugh.

 “I’m not sad.”

If anything, she felt relieved.

To feel this way after hearing that her mother was dying—wasn’t she a terrible daughter? She really didn’t feel anything. Even if her mother were to pass away right this second, she doubted a single tear would fall.

Zephion looked more like the one who might cry.

“Pipi, what’s with that face?”

Reina gave a bitter smile and placed her hand on his cheek. He stared at her silently with eyes that looked ready to overflow. The boy leaned into her palm, then reached out and wrapped an arm around her.

Without a word, he pulled Reina into his chest and slowly ran his hand over her back.
She closed her eyes.

Her insides churned. No tears fell, but sorrow gripped her entire body.

“Haa…”

With a trembling breath that carried everything she felt, Reina pressed her forehead firmly against Zephion’s chest.

His hand, stroking her back, felt unbearably warm.

***

Reina skimmed through the long list and rubbed her forehead with her fingers.

‘Can I really manage to recover all of this?’

Still, she wanted to restore as much as she could. Whatever could be reclaimed—should be.

She began checking off each item whose location had been confirmed.

It had just popped into her head. After returning from seeing her mother and watching Zephion quietly beside her, she was reminded: the boy had no memories of his parents.

How could she have forgotten that? He had no recollection of anything from before coming to the Berend household.

But she’d also forgotten it because, in all the years he’d lived here, he had never once asked about his parents or expressed longing for the place he once called home.

And so, Reina had decided on the final gift she would give him. To restore the Baltgar marquessate to its original state and return it to him.

That would be the greatest gift. To reclaim everything that had been trampled, and then achieve revenge—surely, that would be enough.

When she asked Kaelid to “give” her the long-abandoned marquessate, he nodded without hesitation. He likely thought of it as a useless place by now—something he could part with easily.

They had managed to recover an inventory list from the marquessate which had not been destroyed in the fire. It was probably saved because it was just a stack of seemingly unimportant papers.

The document detailed everything, from the number of beds to the number of books on the shelves.

Dating back to the era of the previous marquess, it reflected a time when Zephion’s parents were still alive.

This made the list all the more meaningful. It provided a clear picture of what the Baltgar estate had looked like just before its downfall.

Zephion might not remember much now, but… who knew? If the marquessate could be restored to how it had been during his father’s time, maybe some of those memories would come back.

She had already ordered people to track down and repurchase items that had been sold off for scraps. What had been broken would be repaired, and what had collapsed would be rebuilt.

She would restore it all—recreate the scene once known as the “Ironblood Baltgar.”

“Young lady, a painting just arrived. Did you order it?”

“A painting? Ah, yes.”

“Where should we hang it?”

“Not here. Where is it now?”

“It’s in the lobby.”

“Move it somewhere else.”

Not understanding why she was being told to move it somewhere else if it wasn’t going to be hung up, Rose tilted her head in confusion. But without asking further questions, she simply replied, “Understood,” and left the room.

Reina pushed the list deep into a drawer and began walking slowly.

When she arrived at the empty room where the painting had been placed, she stood quietly before the large, cloth-covered frame.

She untied the securely fastened cords and pulled away the white cloth. Inside was a full-length portrait of two people, a woman seated in a chair, and beside her, a man standing affectionately close.

Reina gazed quietly at their faces.

‘They look alike…’

It was hard to say whom Zephion resembled more. He had inherited traits evenly from both his mother and father.

His eyes were exactly like the woman’s in the painting. Golden, with a firm, steady gaze. A high-bridged nose and tightly closed lips. The man’s jawline was nearly identical to Zephion’s now.

‘Is that what he’ll look like when he grows up…?’

A broad chest and strong shoulders. Neatly combed black hair.

Reina quietly studied the “Marquess and Marchioness of Baltgar” she had never seen before.

After their deaths, the portrait changed hands many times. Eventually, it was found hanging in someone’s house, bearing only the label ‘Noble Couple’. Reina bought it back.

Since the house it came from was near the capital, she decided to have it sent to her home first so that she could take a look at it, if only for a moment, before moving it to the Baltgar estate.

They looked like a truly affectionate couple—so much so that Reina could almost understand how Zephion, even after losing his memories, had managed to grow into such a cheerful child in this grim mansion.

She slid her fingers over the painted figures, as if she might actually touch them.

Worthless lines rose to her mind—Zephion is doing well, don’t worry… He inherited your sword skills…—but she let none of them escape her lips.

She had no right to say such things. She might care for the boy now and until he came of age, but afterward she meant to upend everything he believed.

With a wry smile, Reina drew the cloth back over the portrait.

‘I’ll hang you in Baltgar Manor again—please forgive me for now.’

When the estate is restored and the “Iron-blooded Baltgar” name is his once more, their son will come to see them; that would surely be the greatest joy for the marquess and marchioness.

Leaving the room, she had walked only a short distance when Zephion spotted her and practically flew down the hall. His cheeks were flushed—he must have been training with Yuta—and despite his size he looked every bit a boy.

“Reina!”

“Pipi.”

“How long are you going to keep calling me that?”

“All my life.”

The usual silly exchange. Reina laughed softly and rested a hand on his arm. Gazing at his still-youthful face, she was struck by how much he resembled the couple in the portrait.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Do I have something on my face?”

He muttered, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand. She wondered whether, once the last traces of boyhood faded, he would look even more like his father. A quiet chuckle escaped her. She would never see Zephion at the age the marquess was in that painting.

Still, she was glad she’d seen the portrait. At least now she could picture how the boy might look when he grew older.

“It’s nothing.”

Reina answered lightly, turning her gaze away.

“Mm, ah…”