“If such a danger still remained, we would have noticed it…! I-I’ll order the priests to investigate whether any other heretics are left!”

Dietrich’s expression grew grave as he spoke.

“My lord!”

At that moment, a knight burst into the room. Shed’s head snapped up, alert as a guarding beast. There was only one circumstance in which he allowed knights to open his doors without permission.

“A woman’s body has been found on the banks of the Leche River—brown hair.”

The knight halted before him, delivering the urgent report. In that instant, Shed’s blood turned to ice.

“Take me there. Now.”

He rose to his feet, abandoning Dietrich where he sat as if the Inquisitor no longer existed to him.

🌺⟡───⟡🌺 🌺⟡───⟡🌺

Slicing through the night, Shed drove his horse hard after the knight. Every stride sent pain tearing through his unhealed wounds—but it didn’t matter. His entire body was ablaze, every nerve honed to a razor’s edge. His mind, dulled by endless sleepless nights, was now terrifyingly clear. His heart pounded as though it might burst.

Only his cursed hand refused to stop trembling.

‘No. It won’t be her. She didn’t leave me just to die like this. It can’t be.’

But no matter how he repeated the lie, his breath grew short, his chest so tight it felt like his head might split apart.

The last image of Liana was etched in his memory: her eyes fixed on him, filled with hatred and blame. He could not erase them. Could that really have been their last moment together?

The more he denied it, the heavier the regret became, rising up his throat and threatening to strangle him. He should never have let her go that day. Why had he left her behind?

‘Coward.’

It was fear, he was afraid that if she turned against him, she would say things that he could never bear to hear.

He was terrified of the hateful things she might say. No matter how he pleaded or begged, he was afraid that she would only turn her cold face away. He was afraid that the night they had shared would be the reason for their separation.

Yes, the truth was that he had always known. He knew he had left her with scars that would never heal. That was why he avoided her. The undefeated hero, who had never turned his back on the battlefield, had fled like a coward before her.

‘D*mn it…’

Her jaw clenched so tightly that it felt as though it might break. He had fled like a child, as if running away from her would solve anything. He should have held her and kept her safe. Even if her hatred burned him, that could never be more terrifying than losing her. If pleading had failed, he should have chained her up to prevent her from escaping.

His head felt as though it would explode under the weight of regret and self-reproach. Since that fateful hunt for the heretic, his life had been a descent into the abyss. All he had gained were a cursed body, his brother Pamen’s blood on his blade and her loss. His body and spirit were both in ruins.

And yet he endured and refused to succumb to madness for one reason alone: he had to find Liana. But if she were dead, he knew exactly what would become of him. If she had truly left this world, if she had ended her life in despair because of his sins, then…

His trembling hand clenched the reins tightly. In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to strangle Shed Lester himself.

🌺⟡───⟡🌺 🌺⟡───⟡🌺

When they reached the Leche River bank, they saw a body draped beneath a white cloth, stained with mud and reeds. Shed slowed his horse and dismounted as he approached the group of men.

“My lord.”

The knights and soldiers standing around the shrouded corpse stood up straight at his arrival. His black boots sank into the trampled reeds as he forced his way forward, taking heavy steps. His legs were barely holding him up; at any moment they might give way beneath him. His vision wavered, blurring and sharpening repeatedly.

The long stretch of white cloth loomed closer.

“The body was pulled from the river. It’s badly damaged—identification will be difficult.”

From beneath the shroud spilled strands of wet brown hair.

His heart pounded violently, his body refusing to obey him. His stomach lurched, revolted by the stench of rot that tainted the air.

Time itself seemed broken. It passed in a flash, and yet stretched into eternity—racing backward into the past, hurtling forward into some unbearable future.

At last, he stood before the shrouded corpse.

For a long while he stood there, unmoving, like a gravestone.

“Your Grace.”

Carlisle called out softly to Shed’s pale, rigid form.

Bloodshot, hollowed eyes—ringed red and unblinking—stared only at the strands of brown hair spilling from beneath the shroud. Yet he could not lift that white cloth. He had met fear countless times and survived, but this—this terror—he could not face.

His knees gave way, and he sank into the mud at the riverbank. The stench of decay filled his lungs as he drew closer.

Bloodless fingers reached out, trembling, toward the shroud. Like a man daring to unseal a cursed tome, he began to peel it back.

The rotting face beneath emerged slowly, as though tormenting him with every inch revealed. His heart pounded so violently it felt as though his eyes would burst.

And when at last the face was laid bare, the trembling cloth slipped from his grasp and fell.

“No…”

At last, he released the breath he had been holding. The features were too damaged for recognition, yet he knew instantly that it was not Liana. Not Luise.

Relief surged through him, easing the wild hammering of his pulse. But with it came another ache: heat prickled behind his eyes — an agonising mix of comfort and dread.

He rubbed his face hard with both hands, then closed his bloodshot eyes for a moment before opening them again.

‘…So where is the real Liana?’

His eyes were swollen from sleepless nights and throbbed as he blinked against the weight pressing down on them. The fact that it wasn’t her was a blessing, but nothing had changed. He was back where he started.

🌺⟡───⟡🌺 🌺⟡───⟡🌺

A few days later, while Shed still hunted for Liana’s trail, a courier arrived. The messenger presented a sealed decree stamped with the imperial seal of Emperor Chepbolden III.

“By His Majesty’s orders, you are to report to the Imperial Domain of Harmen immediately.”

Shed accepted the decree in silence, his jaw tight. His gaze dropped to the parchment.

‘So… what is His Majesty plotting now?’

He pressed his brow, weary, with his fingers. He knew the Emperor well. Everyone did. The sovereign had never looked kindly upon a duke of Lupus blood. Yet there was only one reason the Emperor would summon such a duke in person.

“…Another war.”

Shed’s hoarse whisper carried the weight of exhaustion as he unfolded the decree, his reddened eyes dragging across the elegant script.

‘D*mn that Emperor… so he has no intention of leaving Blancas be.’

The atmosphere around Shed became so tense that the imperial messenger took an instinctive step back. The decree was, as always, a call to arms. Blancas had been accused of breaking the peace treaty by seizing imperial vessels and issuing anti-Empire proclamations from its court.

However, Shed saw these reasons as nothing more than pretexts — thin veils for yet another war.

‘How long has it been since the last one ended?’

His jaw tightened.

‘Has he already forgotten what it meant to be taken hostage?’

The memory of the Emperor, charging recklessly into battle without strategy or caution—falling straight into an enemy trap and being captured in disgrace—burned in his mind. That single blunder had cost the Empire dearly. Had Shed not rescued him, the very foundation of the Empire might have collapsed.

And now, the Emperor expected him to lead the vanguard once more?

‘Who gave him the right to drag me into war again? I can’t afford to waste myself on this…’

Lifting his eyes, Shed fixed the messenger with a glare. The man flinched and snapped his mouth shut.

“Tell His Majesty this: the House of Lester will not march.”

“Y-Your Grace!?”

“This war is to be fought without us.”

“But… but if House Lester does not join—!”

“You mean to tell me His Majesty dares raise another war less than a year after the last one ended?”

His voice dripped with contempt. He had dedicated his life to the Empire, spending more time on the battlefield than at home, and shedding enough blood to secure countless victories. He had proven his loyalty and paid his dues. If there was ever a time for him to choose for himself, it was now.

But the messenger trembled, sweat breaking out on his brow. Even as a mere envoy, he was well aware of the influence that House Lester held within the Empire. Without House Lester, the Imperial Army would be halved. It was not just about numbers: they would lose the Empire’s strongest warrior and the knights who rallied behind him. Morale would collapse. Other noble houses might refuse the call to arms. Once the enemy heard that House Lester would not march, they would dare to scorn the Empire itself.

The messenger could not return without him.

“Please, Your Grace, reconsider, just once more—”

“I said no.”

Shed’s voice cut cold as steel. His eyes flashed murderously, and the envoy’s tongue turned to ash in his mouth.

Then—

A knock sounded, sharp and brief, breaking the tension.

“Your Grace, a reply has arrived from House Vitel.”

Werner said, the steward, striding in with a sealed letter in hand.

Without hesitation, he pushed the imperial decree to one side and opened Eclace’s letter. Shed had written to him weeks ago. The Vitel family were renowned for their extensive trade and information networks. If anyone could trace Liana’s whereabouts, it was them. If necessary, he would use their network to find her.

And now, at last, an answer had arrived.

Shed’s eyes narrowed as he read, the words cutting sharper than any blade.

[Though we cannot speak with certainty, it has been confirmed that a young woman believed to be Miss Liana Serpens boarded our merchant vessel, the Fedica.]

At that name, his heart plummeted.

Liana—aboard a Vitel ship?

Witnesses described brown hair, green eyes. Every detail from those who worked on the vessel matched her without flaw.