‘Nothing has changed here.’

On top of that lingering thought, an illusion spread before her—radiant and dreamlike, like a rainbow unfurling across her mind.

Someone who had been gliding freely through the water emerged above the surface. It was a boy with hair as silvery white as moonlight. The dazzling vision fixed its soft lavender eyes on her, then suddenly smiled.

This wasn’t her memory. And yet, the bittersweet smile pierced her heart.

Why?

She wasn’t Serpina, just as Edin had said.

“My Lady.”

At that moment, Thierry cautiously called out to her. The private illusion dissolved like heat haze into the air, and reality returned to her senses.

“It would be better to move inside.”

Thierry, holding Edin in his arms, gently urged her to follow. Aveline complied without protest.

The place they arrived at was a hollow formed beneath a massive, flat boulder propped up by several smaller ones like pillars. It was too low for the three tall men to stand upright, but it was enough to provide a brief respite.

When Thierry laid Edin down on the blanket he had prepared, Aveline crouched beside him.

Flushed from fever, Edin muttered incoherent nonsense. After placing a freshly dampened cloth on his forehead, Aveline buried her face in her knees.

The hope that had once swelled in her heart had withered dry, like a leaf rustling in the wind.

Even if she wasn’t to blame for the state of the world, wasn’t it still her fault that Edin was in pain right now? The guilt constricted her chest with unbearable weight.

‘Where did it all go wrong?’

It might have been better had none of them remembered anything at all—Edin, herself, Luen. If none of them had memories of their past lives…

‘But was that ever something I had the power to choose?’

Perhaps Serpina had yearned for it so desperately that she carved it into her soul. But that didn’t mean it had been the choice of Aveline Croeta.

You can’t regret something that was never yours to decide in the first place.

All she could do was curse the fate that had brought her back into this world—and the gods who abandoned these wounded souls.

***

“Has His Grace come here?”

Xenon asked the soldier guarding the castle gate. He had just finished turning Lord Trois’s estate inside out in his search for Kazerre.

The soldier didn’t hesitate.

“Yes! He went up the tower!”

Again? Xenon barely held himself back from blurting it out.

It had been only a few days since they’d fully subdued the remaining enemy forces and taken control of the castle. Yet in that short time, Kazerre had climbed the tower more than a dozen times. Worse, he spent long hours up there as if he were a scout himself.

Not just the soldiers, but even the more seasoned knights had no idea what purpose his odd behavior served. Only Lionel and Xenon knew the truth—but they couldn’t very well say, “He’s waiting for reinforcements from the Imperial Knights,” and so they remained silent alongside him.

“Shall I go fetch His Grace for you?”

The soldier asked cautiously, watching Xenon’s expression. Xenon rubbed his face wearily, then muttered in a voice heavy with fatigue.

“No need. He won’t even pretend to listen unless I go to him myself.”

After ordering his men to wait below, Xenon quickly ascended the steps.

At the top of the castle wall, a wide-open plain stretched before him. It was a peaceful landscape, the kind that calmed the heart just by looking at it. There wasn’t a trace of suspicious movement anywhere.

And that was precisely the problem.

Kazerre would no doubt find that peaceful view thoroughly unsatisfying. Clicking his tongue, Xenon climbed the stairs leading up to the watchtower where the scouts were stationed.

Sure enough, he saw Kazerre’s back, unmoving as he stared intensely in a single direction. Behind him, the dislodged scouts awkwardly stood by, not daring to reclaim their posts.

“Clear the area.”

At Xenon’s order, the scouts left the tower. But even then, Kazerre didn’t shift his gaze.

Watching that stubborn profile, Xenon let out a deep, exaggerated sigh. It was disrespectful, but he knew well that Kazerre wouldn’t even hear it.

“Your Grace. How long do you plan to keep doing this?”

Today, he was determined to break through that stubbornness. Xenon spoke with deliberate seriousness.

“I left the clean-up entirely to you and Lionel.”

Kazerre replied without even turning around, his tone implying, Why are you bothering me if it’s already in your hands?

There was no sign of a proper conversation happening today either. With growing frustration, Xenon sighed once more.

“Still, this is—”

“Wait.”

Kazerre suddenly cut him off. Though his eyes remained fixed in the same direction, they now sharpened with tension, as if he’d noticed something.

Xenon, falling silent, followed his gaze. He narrowed his eyes in the same direction, but the peaceful land remained unchanged.

There were no imperial banners. No movement. Nothing seemed out of place.

“I don’t see anything at all…”

“Vida.”

At Kazerre’s words, Xenon reflexively lifted his head. In the distance, something was flying toward them.

He squinted his eyes further. A vivid blue tail feather fluttered as it soared across the sky. It was a messenger bird from the Order of the Snowfields.

The swift bird, trained to precision, landed gently on the wooden beam of the tower. Kazerre, already waiting at the front, wasted no time. Without even catching his breath, he untied the paper attached to the bird’s leg.

As soon as he read the unfolded message, he turned on his heel and swiftly descended the tower.

“Your Grace! What news is it?”

Xenon, hastily chasing after him down the stairs, asked urgently.

Kazerre tossed the note he had been holding as if throwing it at him. Xenon barely managed to catch the fluttering piece of paper and opened it to read. His eyes widened.

Imperial Knights—Trois reinforcement aborted, now retreating.

Xenon cursed under his breath. Even that wasn’t enough, so he muttered in frustration.

“I never thought the Commander of the Imperial Knights would defy the Crown Prince’s will.”

The Crown Prince and the royal officials, known for doing nothing but idle talk, wouldn’t so easily give up a strategic point like Trois. In fact, there had even been evidence that troops were gathering near Trois.

Among them, the only one with both the judgment and authority to call for retreat was the Commander of the Imperial Knights. To him, the matter of reclaiming Trois would be assessed not based on necessity but on feasibility.

Still, it was unexpected that someone who had risen to the position by submitting to the Crown Prince’s authority would call off the support without even attempting a reclamation.

‘That old fox of a man. I thought he only cared about preserving his own safety.’

Xenon had at least expected him to make a show of trying to take it back, if only to prove his loyalty. That he would choose instead to do the right thing—even at the risk of angering the Crown Prince—was a genuine surprise.

Of course, the fact that the enemy had abandoned the fight was exceedingly welcome news for them.

For everyone except one: Kazerre Evuteren.

“Your Grace! Where are you going?!”

Kazerre had already exited the tower and was now swiftly descending the fortress steps. Then, giving orders to the breathless Xenon, who was struggling to keep up, he spoke with urgency.

“Tell Lionel to immediately assemble an elite unit and send them to Huster.”

“What?”

That Kazerre would target Huster was something Xenon had already anticipated. But to send the unit off—just like that?

‘Is he saying to dispatch them without a commanding officer—neither himself nor the Vice Commander?’

Xenon, trailing after Kazerre’s back with confused eyes, finally realized what that meant when Kazerre suddenly leapt out of a window built into the staircase.

“Your Grace!”

Xenon, startled, leaned out the window. Kazerre had landed gracefully on the ground. He placed his fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. From the stables inside the fortress, a white horse came galloping out.

Grabbing the reins mid-stride, Kazerre mounted the horse in one fl*id motion and galloped out of the fortress. It all happened in the blink of an eye.

“So that’s what he meant… by going on ahead.”

Only after understanding Kazerre’s order did Xenon feel the strength drain from his legs. He sank against the windowsill.

“What kind of sin did I commit in my past life…?”

When a friend complains about how hard it is to serve a temperamental superior, rather than sympathize or console, he used to mock them. Now, he wanted to punch his past self.

But what good would that do now? It wasn’t like he could choose another lord to serve.

Swallowing his complaints, Xenon ran down the stairs in search of Lionel. If he was to even slightly catch up with Kazerre, already far ahead, he couldn’t afford to lose a single moment.

***

It wasn’t until a full day had passed that Edin’s fever finally broke. Aveline, who had been monitoring him all through the night, only allowed herself to fall asleep once she confirmed his previously erratic breathing had finally steadied.

“Ah… veline…”

A soft voice calling her name made her slowly open her eyes.

Edin was gazing at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Edin! Are you awake?”

Aveline leaned toward him in a hurry and reached out to feel his forehead.

There was still a slight warmth, but it no longer burned like it had yesterday. The paleness on his face had started to recede, and color was returning to his cheeks.

“How do you feel? Are you in pain anywhere?”

“I’m fine.”

Edin nodded faintly and answered with a hoarse voice. Even that small movement seemed to strain him—he furrowed his brow ever so slightly.

“Sorry… I should have gone back sooner, but because of me…”

“This isn’t something you need to apologize for. Don’t even think that way. Just rest a little longer.”

Aveline pulled the blanket up to his chin. Edin quietly watched her careful hands and suddenly called out to her.

“Aveline.”

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to ask? What it is that I remembered.”