Emperor William’s warm attention became uncomfortable in an instant.

“Miss Keith, haven’t we met somewhere before?”

I wished the conversation would end, but he continued addressing me.

“……Forgive my impertinence, but I don’t understand what you mean.”

I answered with difficulty.

“I’ve always worked at the Cromwell mansion.”

“Is that so? I just had the feeling I’d seen you somewhere.”

Emperor William continued in a polite tone.

“I must be mistaken. I’ve never visited Wellem…… How strange. I usually remember faces well.”

“I have a common face, haha.”

I let out an awkward laugh.

I wished the conversation would end soon. Shouldn’t I inform Cromwell about this?

“Don’t put yourself down.”

I did my best to avoid embarrassing the Emperor and to quickly end this conversation with someone who had made it onto the list of suspects.

I have no idea how I got through the rest of the meal.

Emperor William left wishing us luck with the adoption in a kindly voice.

✧ʚ .·:¨༺♡༻¨:·. ɞ✧

“Emperor William also ascended to the throne after losing his brother. He often looks for traces of the crown prince in me.”

Cromwell said as we walked down the corridor.

This wasn’t the time to talk with so many eyes watching.

He was giving some explanation, but the content wasn’t registering.

Following him into the bedroom, I locked the door, though I knew it would do little to help with soundproofing.

“The button glowed.”

I interrupted whatever Cromwell was saying.

“……”

The button from my pocket emitted the same soft glow as before.

“……When did this start happening?”

He asked, grasping the seriousness of the situation.

“During the meal with Emperor William.”

I answered.

It was shocking to think that someone who had shown such a consistently favorable attitude might be behind Anastasia’s assassination attempt.

“……Thank you for figuring this out.”

Cromwell said belatedly.

What kind of comfort would be appropriate in this situation…..

‘I’m shocked, and I only thought the Emperor was fond of Cromwell and liked him.’

I can’t even imagine how confused Cromwell must be after experiencing that potentially burdensome favor directly for years.

“Have you told anyone else?”

“……No, only you know right now, Duke.”

I quickly replied.

“As soon as we return to the mansion, we should tell Caligo—”

“I’ll tell him.”

I couldn’t even finish my sentence about informing Caligo.

Though I don’t know what Cromwell is thinking right now, following his plan is the right move.

Nothing was confirmed yet, but the imperial throne that Emperor William had been so eager to give Cromwell no longer seemed purely sweet.

A gloomy, damp air dominated the bedroom.

Cromwell was the first to fall asleep.

Lying beside him, I stared at the button I was holding up to the empty air.

The button had returned to its original, ordinary silver state. The glow disappeared as if it never happened.

“The light was… weaker than I expected.”

In the game, when a spell medium found its caster, it would glow brilliantly as if happy, but this was more subdued than I had anticipated.

‘I’m making excuses because I don’t want to believe it.’

But I knew all too well what I was doing right now.

I can’t sleep. Instead of lying in bed, I sat in the armchair next to it and looked at Cromwell.

Given the gravity of the situation, I thought he might have trouble sleeping, but he somehow managed to fall asleep.

“……”

Perhaps I would have felt better if we had returned to Wellem as Cromwell had initially suggested.

First Summer, Day 13

Cromwell looked at the dry, cracked barren land and realized.

That this was a dream.

It had been a very long time since he’d had this dream.

He couldn’t remember who he was outside of his unconscious mind.

Similarly, the content of the dream that he forgot when conscious came vividly back to him as he saw the barren land.

He always moved as the dream dictated.

‘Young… master.’

When he lifted his head, his shoulders, which had been light until just now, felt the heavy weight of an adult man.

Someone else’s warm blood was on his body.

‘……Sir, Brighton.’

The voice of a fourteen-year-old Cromwell, younger than now, flowed out.

He was looking directly at the face of the man who had taken the attack meant for him, but it was difficult to recognize, as if someone had painted over it.

‘I’m, I’m sorry.’

His younger self apologized as he had hundreds of times in the dream, and,

‘I died because of you.’

The sound scratched his ears like noise. Brighton, or the figure that looked like Brighton, pushed Cromwell’s shoulders hard.

The dream usually ended with him falling backward, but today it continued.

—The button glowed.

—When did this start happening?

—During the meal with Emperor William.

A conversation that might have been from today, the past, or perhaps the future, flashed by quickly.

‘Duke Cromwell! I’ve prepared this seat for you!’

The Emperor’s voice echoed from somewhere.

When he closed his eyes and opened them again, Cromwell was an adult once more.

He sat on the imperial throne. But as soon as he sat down, the chair melted into sticky blood, then transformed into human corpses.

They were the corpses of those he had killed…..

‘Ugh……’

‘Please have mercy, mercy.’

Please spare me, mercy, you’ll be cursed, please have mercy, save me, please show mercy….. The final words of many people he remembered whispered in his ears.

Rustle, rustle.

It felt like bugs were crawling inside.

One corpse that had been crawling up from below grabbed his ankle and pulled him down into the grave of the dead.

✧ʚ .·:¨༺♡༻¨:·. ɞ✧

“Huff……!”

Cromwell woke up from his sleep, exhaling heavily.

Cold sweat ran down his entire body.

His body habitually turned his head toward where Lorelai should be. He didn’t know when this habit had formed, but whenever he woke up, he looked for her.

But Lorelai wasn’t in the bed.

Cromwell reached out and felt where she should have been lying.

The bed was cold, as if she had left long ago.

For a moment, his heart dropped to the floor.

“Lorelai……!”

Cromwell called her name with a strained voice.

Tap.

And then someone grabbed his wrist.

Cromwell reflexively caught the other person’s wrist and pinned them down on the bed.

“It’s, it’s me……!”

“……!”

The voice was heard first, then the face became visible.

Lorelai, whose wrist was caught, winced slightly in pain, but when their eyes met, she asked in a worried voice:

“Are… are you alright?”

An indescribable relief spread throughout his body.

Releasing his grip on her slender wrist, Cromwell buried his face in his hands.

“It seems like you had a nightmare……”

The brown eyes quickly assessed him.

“……”

At any other time, he wouldn’t have mentioned it at all, but today he strangely wanted to open up.

“I don’t remember it well.”

Cromwell confessed truthfully.

“It was about war.”

But this much was certain.

It was the kind of dream that left him feeling unsettled, wrapped in guilt, and emotionally drained.

Cromwell guessed that Brighton had also appeared. After having the dream, that moment always came back to him vividly.

It would probably be about everyone dying and only him surviving in the end.

Cromwell exhaled deeply.

“Sometimes… I feel like there’s blood on my hands that won’t wash away.”

He rubbed his right palm with his left thumb as if wiping it clean.

It was the first time he had opened up to someone.

Some people tell him not to think about it as much as possible.

Others say that if it hadn’t been him, someone else would have done it, so there’s no need to dwell on it.

Whether these were meant as comfort or were breakthroughs they had found for themselves, none of it helped.

“……There was a man named Brighton.”

Cromwell didn’t know why he was telling her about Brighton.

His explanation was fragmented, jumping from dreams to past events, and was unkindly disjointed, but Lorelai listened silently.

“If he were alive… he would be around forty by now.”

But Brighton couldn’t reach that age.

His appearance in his thirties was preserved in Cromwell’s memory, unable to age.

“He died because of me. While trying to save me.”

Brighton in his faded memory was—though Cromwell still didn’t realize it—the closest thing to a father figure for him.

Not that they had fond memories together, or even had a proper conversation.

“I’ll probably die on the battlefield too, like Brighton and the other knights. It would be fortunate if they can recover my body.”

He spoke self-deprecatingly.

He wasn’t talking about something decades in the future.

“If I’m going to die anyway, is there any meaning in living now?”

All relationships and life disappear when you die.

The Cromwell family is a sword that obeys the imperial family’s commands. Since it is their fate to live as the imperial family wields them, he too will die on the battlefield, just as the previous Duke did.

“What meaning is there in living while taking lives?”

Sometimes he wishes this wretched life would end.

The reason he continues to live without dying is because he thinks of his life as indebted to Brighton, and also…..

“……”

Cromwell looked at Lorelai.

The corners of her eyes were moist after hearing his words.

As if not wanting to be caught crying, she looked up at the sky, then put her arms around his shoulders and hid her face.

He felt warmth from the right side of his body.

“It will be okay. Even if you don’t believe it.”

Lorelai said.

It was an empty comfort from someone who didn’t really know anything, but amusingly, it was effective.

“And you’ll live a long life, Duke.”

She didn’t stop with just those words.

“Really. At the very least… you’ll be alive and uninjured for the next 18 years.”

If anything was funny, it was the specific number of 18 years, not 20.

“Eighteen years, huh.”

“You need to be alive for the lady’s coming-of-age ceremony. And of course, you’ll live a long and healthy life after that too.”

She patted Cromwell’s shoulder encouragingly.