A long procession of carriages made its way toward the capital.

A considerable amount of military supplies remained from the aid they had received. In addition, they had seized enemy provisions during the suppression of the rebellion. Even after leaving a substantial portion behind in the rebel-stricken territory of Cichlea, the quantity they brought back was far from small.

The moment Leandro entered the imperial palace, he was ushered—almost dragged—into the grand council chamber. He reported on the course of the rebellion’s suppression, how the supplies had been utilized, and how much had been allocated to the Cichlea territory, among other matters.

“The journey back must have been arduous. You have done well.”

“It was simply my duty.”

“If you have no urgent engagements, I would like to speak with you further.”

Leandro gave a silent nod at the emperor’s words. His body protested in exhaustion, but that was no reason to refuse an imperial command.

Soon, they moved to the audience chamber. A teacup was placed before him.

“You have worked hard. I intend to hold a victory banquet. When would it be most suitable? I hear your body has not yet fully recovered.”

“…There is no need to concern yourself with my condition. It would be best to hold the banquet soon—for the sake of the knights who have labored.”

“I understand your sentiment, but I have no desire to host a banquet where the main figure is unwell.”

“…I shall abide by Your Majesty’s will.”

Leandro lowered his head.

The emperor studied him for a moment before gesturing for the attendants and guards to withdraw.

“Had I known a rebellion would break out, I would not have sent you off with nothing more than a single horse. As you are aware, it was a political show.”

The emperor’s lips curved faintly as he spoke.

“I understand.”

“It is an exceedingly burdensome position—this seat of emperor.”

The emperor gave a bitter smile.

Leandro knew he felt apologetic toward him. He could also see how frustrated he was at being unable to express it openly.

“There are even words I cannot properly say.”

With that, the emperor lifted his teacup.

A brief silence settled over the audience chamber.

“You look terrible. Is it from the battlefield—or is it because of your former wife?”

At the unexpected mention of Larne, Leandro’s brow stiffened ever so slightly. He lowered his gaze and raised his cup.

“It is not a trivial matter that warrants Your Majesty’s concern.”

“What about remarriage? Although you are divorced, your reputation remains intact. There is someone in the palace who thinks very highly of you.”

It was phrased indirectly, but the meaning was clear. The emperor was asking whether he would consider marrying one of his children.

It was the highest form of favor the emperor could bestow.

And yet, Leandro felt nothing stir within him.

“I am grateful for Your Majesty’s consideration. However, I have already marked a child as my heir.”

“…Does that mean you have no intention of remarrying?”

“For now, that is so.”

“Hah.”

Leandro was well aware that the emperor felt indebted to him.

He had not been burdened lightly. He had obeyed the order to disregard the villagers’ plight, concealed the fact that he had been stabbed by a fellow imperial citizen, and received no compensation in return.

“Please do not trouble yourself. I am merely Your Majesty’s loyal sword.”

The words came out of habit—it is fine, I am fine—yet he could not shake the faint, unsettled feeling lingering in his chest.

“If there is anything else you desire, speak freely. Within the bounds I can permit, I shall grant it.”

He did not understand why the disadvantages he had once accepted as natural now weighed so heavily upon him.

Even if the emperor extended every favor imaginable, Larne would not return.

“…Thank you for your consideration.”

Leandro bowed deeply.

“You must be exhausted. Return and rest. The banquet schedule will be conveyed to you shortly.”

***

The victory banquet was held sooner than expected.

Before winter set in—during the most prosperous season of the year—the palace hosted a celebration more splendid than any before.

Inside and outside the palace, a festive air prevailed.

Yet amid the lively atmosphere, Leandro—the very figure the banquet honored—could not bring himself to feel at ease.

In truth, he did not know what there was to celebrate.

Brilliant lights shimmered overhead. Beneath them, elaborately dressed guests danced and laughed.

Watching the glittering scene unfold, Leandro found himself sinking into unfamiliar thoughts.

Larne, after losing her memories, had said she disliked banquets.

Yet Leandro could still picture her—how she had looked almost radiant while preparing one, unable to hide her enjoyment.

And then, all at once, he realized he had been searching for someone without meaning to.

His gaze kept drifting through the crowd.

When he failed to find the man, his chest stirred uneasily. Is he still in the territory… with Larne?

Why could he not stop thinking about it?

He knew he should not dwell on it—yet the thoughts would not cease.

The more he remembered Larne, the more he longed for her, the more it hurt. And still, he could not force himself to stop.

It made no sense.

It felt as though he were punishing himself.

The hand holding his wineglass trembled faintly. The poison had not yet been fully neutralized. The physician had advised him to avoid alcohol, but he drank without hesitation.

If he did not, Larne would return to his thoughts again and again.

There was not a single place in the estate untouched by traces of her.

He no longer even tasted the wine. Once, he had enjoyed it.

Now it was merely a means to sleep.

Without it, he could not rest.

After every war, he had suffered nightmares—guilt taking shape in his dreams.

A wretched kind of trauma.

Now Larne’s name seemed to belong to the same realm.

Something he could not overcome.

Something he could neither forget nor reclaim.

Leandro stared across the banquet hall with distant eyes.

“You’ve worked hard. How is your condition?”

He had intended to brush the speaker off with a polite reply.

“Thank you for your concern—”

But the face before him was both familiar and strangely foreign.

His words died on his lips.

Leandro wanted to ask—what about Larne? Why are you here without her?

Ignoring Claire’s presence for a moment, he scanned the hall again, as if compelled by a foolish hope.

What if she were here?

“If you are looking for her, she is not present.”

The disappointment on Leandro’s face was unmistakable.

He lowered his gaze to his wineglass once more.

“I heard the poison you suffered numbs the nerves. Isn’t it too soon for alcohol?”

At Claire’s gentle admonition, Leandro regarded the wine for a moment.

“Thank you for your concern. However, it is not your place to worry.”

His voice turned cold.

Then he tipped the wine into his mouth.

“…I don’t know. If it were Larne, I don’t think she would want to see you like this.”

The moment her name left Claire’s lips, Leandro’s expression darkened.

And to pretend indifference in front of the very man who had already seen him at his lowest—it was unbearable.

The emotions he had pressed down so tightly surged to the surface.

Why was this man asking after him?

Leandro let out a hollow laugh, unable to understand the situation at all.

“Did she send you? To find out how I’ve been?”

“No. That is not the case.”

The answer only made him feel more wretched.

No matter what response he received, the humiliation was his alone.

He realized that only after hearing it.

Foolishly.

“You seem to misunderstand. Larne and I share no relationship. Regrettably.”

There was bitterness in Claire’s voice.

But to Leandro, it sounded different.

“And what, exactly, am I supposed to do with that?”

Did that mean they intended to become something else?

“So what—are you seeking my permission in advance for whatever you plan to become? There is no need. We are already separated. Strangers, aren’t we?”

At that, Claire’s brow furrowed slightly. He seemed about to speak, then closed his mouth.

It was not even amusing.

Jealousy burned through Leandro’s chest, dark and suffocating.

“If that is all you had to say, then leave. I have no interest in your circumstances or your explanations.”

With that, Leandro turned away.

His thoughts were in disarray.

Larne had left him in the Cichlea territory—with that man.

Even after he had begged her not to go, in a display that was nothing short of desperate and pitiful, she had still walked away.

He had known that fact in his mind.

But it had taken far longer for his heart to accept it.

He could not bring himself to hate her.

Even if he tried, the love he felt was stronger than any resentment.

But now—

What meaning did that hold?

Larne had left him.

She would not return.

What use was such a heart, then?

Leandro wanted to cast Larne from his thoughts.

The lingering attachment he could not sever had become unbearable.