The distance was too great for a single jump to the north, so Nigel had to switch teleportation circles multiple times. During that time, he barely managed to shake off the suffocating thoughts crowding his head. He would be facing his father soon—he couldn’t afford to show up looking like a walking corpse.
With his skull still throbbing, he finally arrived near Montstein City, in the Magnus Duchy.
The knights, having heard of his arrival, were already waiting. Nigel instinctively scanned the faces, wary of recognizing someone too familiar.
“We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Sir Estora.”
The one who greeted him was a familiar face—but not one of the ones he’d feared. Roshan Estora. The knight who had escorted him to the capital seven years ago.
“You can still call me Roshan, like when you were younger.”
His easy smile and casual tone hinted that his father’s life wasn’t in immediate danger. As Nigel let out a breath of relief, Roshan, who clearly picked up on his anxiety, quietly led him to a carriage. Once they climbed in together, the carriage began to move.
“How’s Father?”
“He’d just fallen asleep when I left. He isn’t in any pain.”
“I heard his condition was critical.”
“Yes. He’s never shown any dramatic symptoms, as you know. But apparently, a little earlier… he called out for you in his sleep. One of the startled attendants must’ve sent the message.”
Nigel sighed deeply.
“I should’ve come sooner…”
“No, not at all. You had your studies. But still, coming now was the right call. He’s gotten very frail… Lady Leona says it’d be wise to start preparing your heart.”
He had prepared himself—countless times. But now that the moment was finally upon him, the pounding in his chest felt unbearable.
Nigel fought back the tears rising to his eyes. It was better to steer the conversation somewhere else. Talking about his father would only make him cry.
“And what about you? Why’d you bother coming to meet me? This must be the busiest time for you.”
“It’s fine. The battlefront is stable.”
Hee said it lightly, and his face bore no trace of worry.
It was the season of major warfare. No matter how many times the Loop repeated—even a hundred thousand times—this point in time had always aligned, except in rare cases like Edelta’s fall. So the battlefield should’ve been chaotic right now.
But Roshan didn’t look like he was lying.
“…Good to hear.”
With barely a word, Nigel replied and turned his eyes to the carriage window. Roshan, who had clearly wanted to say more, eventually closed his mouth in silence.
The carriage rolled slowly toward the manor, the air growing heavier as they approached. Nigel cracked the window open to look outside. The view that greeted him—longed for yet dreaded—spread out before his eyes.
Evening hues blurred across the sky, staining it in deep crimson. A chill wind, out of place with the warmth of that light, cut through the air. It was already June, but unlike the capital, the far northern territory still carried a wintry edge.
At last, the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the main residence of the vast manor. Nigel gave a brief farewell to Roshan and opened the carriage door himself, stepping down. The butler waiting for him gave a deep bow.
“Welcome home, Young Master.”
“Thank you.”
“His Grace has been asking for you.”
Without delay, Nigel followed the butler upstairs.
A few people stood near his father’s door. They opened it immediately when they saw him, likely already on standby in case of emergency.
The room, usually kept fresh through constant ventilation, now carried the faint bitterness of medicinal incense. It was meant to ease pain. His father had never been sensitive to heat, but ever since falling ill, he often complained of feeling cold. Now the room was as stiflingly warm as midsummer.
Shrugging off his cloak, Nigel approached Ruder.
The old Duke lay still in a massive bed, asleep as if dead. Uneasy, Nigel reached out and placed his fingers under his father’s nose. Only after feeling the faint breath against them did he finally pull out a chair and sit beside him.
And as if waiting for that exact moment, Ruder’s eyes fluttered open.
“Father.”
Nigel spoke gently, seeing the old man’s gaze drifting through the air. Slowly, Ruder’s vision focused, and when he saw Nigel, he turned his head and smiled softly. His cheeks had sunken in, skin drawn thin—Nigel swallowed the pain that clenched in his chest.
“Nigel. You came.”
“Yes, Father. I’m here.”
A slight movement under the blanket showed that Ruder was trying to raise his hand. Nigel pulled back the covers and took it in his own.
That hand, which had always been larger and stronger than Nigel’s, even after he’d grown up, now felt hollow—little more than skin and bone. Stroking the fragile hand, Nigel bit his lip, unable to stop the surge of emotion.
“I’m alright.”
Ruder whispered hoarsely, gripping his son’s hand back. Weak enough now that Nigel could easily overpower him—such a difference from the man he once was. Nigel nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened again.
“My son… you look well. I’m glad.”
“I’m doing fine. Haven’t even gotten sick lately. Actually, I caught an illegal slave trader today.”
As Nigel rushed to explain, Ruder gave a faint smile.
“I see… You’re a good man, Nigel. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you…”
“Don’t cry.”
“…”
He tried to hold it in. But the tears came anyway. And with them, a wave of regret.
Even if he was just a fake son… he should’ve shamelessly stayed by Ruder’s side more often. If this was the last Loop, then this would be the last time they’d ever be together.
But even if time were turned back, he wouldn’t have been able to stay.
That truth, that helplessness, stung. Nigel bowed his head. The sobs he’d been holding in since hearing the news finally burst forth. He buried his face in Ruder’s chest and wept—quietly, without even a proper sound. Ruder gently patted his son’s back with one hand.
When Nigel’s tears finally subsided, Ruder slowly sat up. Nigel started to protest but gave in and helped him. Ruder had lost enough weight that Nigel could support him easily now—something unthinkable in his stronger days.
Sitting upright with pillows behind him, Ruder reached toward the bowl of water by the bed—meant for washing his own body.
“I’ll do it. What do you need?”
“I wanted to wipe your face.”
“I can do that myself.”
“Let your father do this, just once.”
Nigel didn’t want to make him strain himself—but he couldn’t say no.
“At least let me wring the towel for you.”
Ruder hesitated, then nodded. His hands were too weak now to wring it tight enough anyway.
Nigel passed the damp cloth to him and leaned in, letting his father wipe his face. Ruder moved with unexpected care, gently rubbing his cheeks, brushing over the red, swollen corners of his eyes. He’d probably never tended to another person in his life, but his touch wasn’t clumsy at all.
“I used to do this for you often when you were little—wipe your face, wash you.”
It wasn’t him Ruder had cared for. It was the original Nigel, long since gone. Ignoring the sharp pang of guilt in his chest, Nigel nodded.
“…Yeah.”
“Back then, everyone said you were too small, too weak to grow up. But look at you now. Seeing you like this… I’m satisfied.”
Nigel, finally composed, gave another nod. As always, the urge to confess the truth welled up from deep in his throat—but he pushed it down. Telling Ruder now would only cause him pain. So Nigel smiled with the face of a beloved son.
“It’s all thanks to you, Father. Thank you.”
“Good…”
Ruder looked weary now. Nigel helped him lie back down. Once settled, Ruder let out a long sigh and held Nigel’s hand.
“Don’t cry too much. It’s just a little early—that’s all.”
“Father…”
“I have no regrets. Lately, I’ve been hearing about you even without asking. I’m proud to call you my son.”
Words that should’ve brought joy instead felt like a farewell. Nigel had prepared for this—but the finality still scared him. Still, he didn’t want to burden Ruder with more sadness, so he simply nodded.
“Get some rest now, Nigel.”
“But…”
“I’m not going anywhere tonight. Not yet.”
“You have to promise me.”
“Of course. Seeing your face gave me strength.”
“Then I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
“Alright. Do that.”
Ruder didn’t resist. He closed his eyes. It didn’t take long—moving just that little had drained him. As his father drifted off, Nigel wiped away more tears and staggered to his feet.
Lady Leona was waiting outside. She had once been Nigel’s personal physician, but as he grew stronger and Ruder grew weaker, she’d shifted her focus entirely to the Duke. She bowed deeply.
“It’s been a while, Leona.”
“Yes. And I’m glad to see you looking well, Young Master.”
“Thanks. What about Father?”
“I’m sorry.”
She bowed her head again, but Nigel waved it off. Truthfully, the fact that Ruder had lived a year past his expected death was something to be grateful for.
“No, it’s alright. You’re a doctor, not a god.”
Leona nodded slightly. She understood that she’d done all she could—but she clearly still felt unsettled.
“He’s not in any major pain, at least. He’s just very weak.”
“That’s good. Better that he isn’t suffering.”
“Yes…”
Her eyes flicked from Ruder’s sleeping form to Nigel. His complexion was likely poor—he’d had a headache even before arriving. Leona’s brows furrowed.
“You look terrible, Young Master. Please rest. Helping others is noble, but you must take care of yourself too.”
“I will.”
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“Not really. Just… a bit of a headache.”
“I’ll have something prepared for you. Eat, take your medicine, and get some sleep. Understood?”
“Understood.”
With that, Nigel left her and returned to his room.
He wanted to stay with Ruder longer—but the mirror showed him just how awful he looked. He couldn’t afford to make his father worry. If he wanted to face tomorrow with a normal expression, he needed to rest properly tonight. It’d be best to avoid using <Foresight> for a while too.
His room hadn’t changed much since he’d last left. But in the short time he’d been visiting Ruder, a hot bath had been drawn.
If he got in, he’d probably melt from exhaustion before he even got to his meal or medication…
Still debating, Nigel finally slipped into the bath. The water, scented with floral bath oils, carried a bright, cloying sweetness. Overwhelming at first, but the warmth soothed the fatigue he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying.
He must’ve dozed off. He opened his eyes to knocking on the door. The water hadn’t cooled yet, so he’d only nodded off briefly—but at this rate, he’d end up catching a cold or drowning.
Nigel stepped out of the bath, ignoring the continued knocking as he dried off at a leisurely pace.
He emerged in only a bathrobe, frowning as he saw a servant who had entered his room without permission. The lights hadn’t even been properly turned on. The servant bowed stiffly, putting on a show of courtesy.
“His Grace the Duke requests your presence.”
“I see.”
Nigel gave a half-hearted reply and motioned for the man to leave. But the servant didn’t budge.
“Sir, you must come at once—”
“Out.”
“Young Master—”
“I said get out.”
“You must go.”
Nigel let out a dry laugh. Sure, he’d been away from the estate for a long time. Sure, he’d practically given up the title of Duke. But he was still a direct blood heir of the house of Montstein.
Had the duchy really fallen so far that a servant could ignore his orders? Or had they simply started looking down on him?
The servant didn’t flinch, even under Nigel’s glare.
Should he summon someone else to have him thrown out? But what if they ignored him too?
Before he could decide, the door opened again. Someone stepped inside without hesitation.
Nigel scowled at the uninvited intruder.
A large, broad-shouldered man’s silhouette filled the room, backlit and unmistakable. Splashes of blood still stained the black armor he wore—he must’ve come in a hurry. His mere presence dominated the air.
“Y-Your Grace…!”
Relief bloomed on the servant’s face. He was clearly a personal aide to the Duke of Magnus. Maybe that was why he felt safe dismissing the former Duke’s son so easily.
But when the Duke glanced between Nigel and the servant, his expression twisted. As if he were looking at something vile.
He seized the servant and hurled him out.
The grown man hit the wall with a thud, and shouts rang out from the hallway. Before Nigel could react, the door slammed shut.
The man’s eyes—cold and predatory—swept over Nigel’s body.
Only then did Nigel realize how carelessly dressed he was, still in just a bathrobe.
“Nigel.”
Startled by the hostile aura, Nigel instinctively stepped back. But he didn’t get far—his back hit the wall.
The man slowly approached and pulled him into a one-armed embrace. It happened so fast, Nigel didn’t even have time to resist. The stench of blood clung to him.
As Nigel flinched, trying to pull away, the man buried his face in his shoulder. Hugging Nigel tight enough to trap him in place, he inhaled deeply.
“I’ve missed you, Nigel.”
Inas greeted him like nothing had ever happened.
