However, unlike before, the knights were not tense at all. The heavy, resounding footsteps that made the floor vibrate were all too familiar.

“Well, everyone seems lively.”

A man with a rugged appearance fit for a bandit and a massive physique that seemed ready to burst out of the largest-sized knight’s uniform strode in, throwing the door wide open.

It was Lionel, the vice-commander of the Snowfield Knights.

“Vice-commander, where have you been all this time…? No, what is that in your hand?”

“What else? Booze.”

Xenon made a dumbfounded expression, as if asking whether Lionel thought he didn’t recognize alcohol when he saw it.

If Kazerre was a Northerner who didn’t resemble a Northerner, then Lionel was someone who wasn’t even from the North yet embodied its spirit more than anyone.

“It’s still work hours.”

“That’s exactly why we need a drink. How else are you going to get through all those letters without it?”

Humming a tune, Lionel sauntered in and flopped onto the sofa, making himself comfortable.

“But what’s with this atmosphere?”

“Oh, Lady Croeta was here just a while ago…”

Xenon trailed off, unable to bring himself to say that she had turned the entire place upside down. Still, that alone was enough for Lionel to roughly grasp the situation.

He let out a thoughtful hum and slowly scanned the office. His gaze first landed on Kazerre, who was focused on his paperwork, then moved to Thierry and Jacques, who were standing around idly.

“And why are you two here?”

“This guy turned the training ground into a riding arena on a whim, so I came to report it.”

“And since when did you start caring about proper locations and decorum…?”

Jacques muttered, and Thierry glared at him. On the other hand, Lionel burst into laughter, his deep voice echoing through the room.

Xenon subtly glanced at Kazerre. Fortunately, rather than looking displeased, Kazerre seemed completely indifferent to the commotion.

For someone who carried the weight of the world’s coldness on his shoulders, he had an unexpectedly soft spot for his knights.

“But, Vice-commander.”

“Hm?”

“Lady Croeta… has she always been like this?”

Jacques’ eyes sparkled with curiosity, while Thierry’s expression darkened visibly.

Regardless of his intent, showing unnecessary interest in his lord’s fiancée was never a good look.

Thierry glanced at Kazerre, trying to gauge his reaction. However, Kazerre remained entirely unresponsive, as if he hadn’t heard a single word.

“What about the lady?”

Instead, Lionel furrowed one brow and leaned toward the young knight in a way that felt almost threatening.

Gone was the carefree demeanor from moments ago. His cold gaze now looked as though he might slice someone’s throat at the slightest provocation. His already rough features became even more severe.

Yet, the ever-innocent boy wrinkled his nose and continued speaking as if unaffected.

“I just find it curious. She’s supposed to be afraid of swords but doesn’t seem scared of knights. That’s not something most people can manage with sheer nerve alone, is it?”

People who feared swords typically recoiled or shrank away even at the sight of knights. Considering that, Aveline’s boldness was certainly unusual.

Lionel, somewhat convinced by Jacques’ genuine curiosity, leaned back against the sofa.

Stroking his graying beard, he sifted through his memories.

“Well… now that I think about it…”

He suddenly hesitated mid-sentence, tilting his head.

‘Wait, was she really?’

Looking back, she had seemed utterly fearless through the eyes of an adult, but young Aveline had always been different from her peers in certain ways.

Whether it was her unwavering confidence in any situation or the way her eyes sometimes held a maturity beyond her years…

‘Especially when it came to His Grace, her obsession was something else.’

From the very first time they met, Aveline had claimed the spot right next to Kazerre and never let go. Even when Kazerre, annoyed by her clinginess, tried to shake her off, she would somehow end up right back at his side.

Meanwhile, the other candidate—a girl who had initially been considered a potential oracle—gradually faded into obscurity. Over time, she became so intimidated by Aveline’s dominance that even when Kazerre spoke to her first, she hesitated, glancing at Aveline for approval before responding.

“Well, even back then, she was extremely fond of His Grace.”

Kazerre had been an extraordinarily beautiful boy—so much so that it was understandable for someone to want to keep him all to themselves.

In fact, as Kazerre’s personal guard at the time, Lionel had been tasked with a secret mission that Kazerre himself never knew about—protecting his young lord from crazed perverts.

But Aveline’s fixation on Kazerre wasn’t just that of a child unwilling to share a cherished toy. There was something… different about it.

If asked to explain what exactly it was, someone as straightforward as Lionel would struggle to put it into words.

“There was this one time… She jumped straight off a second-floor balcony just to see His Grace. I remember nearly having a heart attack back then…”

“What? She jumped off a balcony?”

The knights exchanged hurried glances, their shock evident.

So she wasn’t ordinary after all. She had been exceptional from the start. Though they didn’t voice it, they all shared the same thought.

“Yes. And as luck would have it, she landed right on His Grace, breaking his arm. He had to recuperate for quite some time… Do you remember, Your Grace?”

Leaning back against the sofa, Lionel suddenly tilted his head back to look at Kazerre upside down.

Kazerre shot Lionel an irritated glance before lowering his gaze again.

Though he didn’t respond, he remembered that day vividly. It had been such an absurd incident that forgetting it was impossible.

The event had been simple.

Spotting Kazerre from the second-floor balcony of the temple, Aveline had, without hesitation, leapt toward him.

Standing below, Kazerre had instinctively caught her, only for his left arm to fracture in the process, forcing him into an unexpected period of convalescence.

After accumulating such experiences, he had become reflexively tense whenever Aveline was involved. If he disliked unpredictable situations, she was undoubtedly the reason.

‘But compared to now, I suppose that was almost endearing.’

She had caused trouble the moment one let their guard down, yet back then, there had been something lovable about her.

Sometimes, when she smiled brightly at him, he found himself entertaining the foolish thought that none of it really mattered.

But that had only ever applied to the past. Aveline was no longer endearing, nor was she a child.

Kazerre had realized this the moment they reunited.

‘Where is Aveline?’

Upon his return to the capital, amid the unfamiliar servants’ welcome, Kazerre had asked.

There were several familiar faces missing, but none concerned him more than Aveline.

At first, she wrote letters and sent gifts at every opportunity, but she stopped at some point.

He, too, had often been too preoccupied to properly reply, and he wondered if she had been hurt by that. That thought had driven him to wrap up matters in his territory as quickly as possible and ride straight back to the ducal estate.

‘She’s in the annex…’

At the time, Kazerre had assumed she was simply sulking. She had always been stubborn. He had only thought he needed to see her quickly and make amends.

When Kazerre stared silently at the hesitating servant, the man sighed and reluctantly led him to Aveline’s quarters.

Still clad in his armor, Kazerre had followed in haste—only to be struck by a strange sense of unease.

The air in the corridor was unnaturally cold, as if the biting winds of the North had seeped into the estate itself.

It was only then that he realized the absence of familiar servants. Those he had expected to be at the forefront, welcoming him, were nowhere to be seen.

Where had they all gone? Why was there not even a shadow of them?

Just as the feeling of unease took root, faint sobbing and the sound of flesh meeting flesh reached his ears from a distance.

At first, he thought he had misheard.

But the sounds only grew clearer, and with each step forward, his mind turned icily rigid.

‘Your Grace…!’

A maid standing outside a room gasped in alarm upon seeing him and tried to stop him.

But no mere maid could outmaneuver a knight honed on the battlefield. In the blink of an eye, Kazerre slipped past her and, without hesitation, threw the door open.

And there, at last, was Aveline.

The beautiful girl who had grown into an even more breathtaking woman. The one who had been bound to him since birth.

Their first meeting in eight years—A reunion where, by all rights, they should have embraced each other in joy.

If only there hadn’t been a kneeling maid at her feet, swallowing back sobs.

‘Aveline…?’

Kazerre called her name in stunned disbelief. Slowly, Aveline turned her head toward him. A radiant smile bloomed on her pale face.

It was the very same lovely smile Kazerre had always known.

‘You’re back, Kazerre.’

How could a person’s smiling face feel so unsettling? Aveline stood poised, her posture flawless.

Before her knelt the trembling maid, struggling to suppress her cries. Her hair was disheveled, her skin mottled with red marks.

The other servants stood at a distance, making no move to intervene.

The air, stiff and frigid like the winds of an icebound forest, pressed heavily upon him. And in an instant, Kazerre understood.

This was not mere obedience—it was submission, cultivated through prolonged helplessness.  That suffocating, barren air he had sensed in the corridor—it, too, was Aveline’s doing.

‘Welcome home. I’ve missed you so much.’

Aveline spoke with a sweet voice, her lips curling into a gentle smile.

But Kazerre could not bring himself to respond in kind. He had never felt the weight of time’s passage so acutely.

Aveline was still as beautiful as ever—Yet, to him, she was now an utter stranger.

And so, he could not ignore the truth staring him in the face.

The Aveline Croeta he had once known was gone. The girl who used to smile at him with teary eyes—No longer existed.