Earlier, he had no problem spewing negativity, and now he suddenly sounded respectful. Seriously, this guy was something else. As Vine chuckled, Rigda clapped her hands like something had just clicked, curiosity flickering in her eyes again. She’d said they needed to patrol diligently, but she was more invested in this gossip than anyone else.
“So, is he really as handsome as they say? I heard he looks like a statue carved from ice. And his voice—apparently it’s amazing too.”
Seriously. As if being a woman gave her an excuse. Vine suddenly scowled, annoyed. Rigda caught his expression and jabbed him in the side.
“He’s ugly? So it’s all nonsense? They say rumors like that always follow Duke Axid around. You think it’s just some stunt from the North?”
Vine wanted to agree out of sheer pettiness, but his conscience held him back. The duke’s face was one you couldn’t even pretend was ugly. During battle, his overwhelming presence made it hard to really see him, but once outside the battlefield, when faced with Duke Axid up close…
“Well, I guess he’s… tolerable.”
Just like the rumors Rigda had heard, the duke looked like a finely chiseled sculpture—sharp and meticulous. Whenever he appeared somewhere, he seemed to draw attention like some kind of gravitational pull. His towering height and broad shoulders caught the eye first, and though his cold, emotionless aura could be intimidating, one glimpse of his face was enough to momentarily steal your breath.
Even as a fellow man, Vine had to admit—he looked good. His features beneath those thick eyebrows were refined and elegant. Too flawless, almost devoid of humanity. The dark gray hair slicked back coolly was an uncommon color as well, making his face one you’d remember for a lifetime, even just passing by.
Still, admitting it outright as a man felt like a hit to his pride, so Vine reworded his thoughts accordingly. Rigda chuckled and turned her head.
“So he really is good-looking.”
“No, he’s just… whatever.”
“You call almost everyone ugly. I’ve only ever heard you say someone was tolerable when it was Prince Ressas. So who’s better looking, between the two?”
“Stop asking. Why the hell would I care about a guy’s face?”
As Vine firmly shut down Rigda’s unnecessary interest, they noticed movement in the corridor ahead—knights of the Light of the Sun division. They quickly straightened up and assumed a proper stance. Following Vine’s serious demeanor, Rigda also snapped into work mode. A deputy commander of the royal guards, who’d been hurrying along, spotted them and called out.
“You two, you’re Prince Ressas’s knights, right? The Tithers have entered the palace. The banquet starts in two hours. Return to your assigned zones and stand by.”
“Yes, sir!”
Rigda responded brightly, and Vine saluted alongside her. Watching the departing deputy commander nod and vanish, Vine felt a sense of progress. Not long ago, none of the royal guards even acknowledged them.
“His Highness will be pleased.”
Vine muttered the thought out loud without meaning to. Rigda, with her overly sharp ears, asked,
“Why His Highness?”
“No reason.”
In Vine’s mind, he recalled how much Prince Ressas had changed in just six months. After awakening, it seemed their eye level had finally matched. But then, following a long period of anguish, the prince rose again—different. Whether it was because of his noticeably taller stature, the prince had become a strikingly mature and handsome young man, no longer looking like the androgynous, beautiful youth of before.
Now… hmm, how should one put it?
It sounded odd to say, but… he gave off the air of a decadent beauty. Maybe that was why ever since he returned to the palace, the maids nearby had been practically fainting in his wake.
“‘Vine, the moment the duke enters the palace, I want to hear about it first.”
That morning, when issuing the order with a casual mention of the duke, Ressas had been playing with a robin of uncertain origin—perhaps something he’d picked up last winter. The small, plump gray robin had been released into the wild multiple times, yet continued to linger around His Highness, coming and going playfully. All the palace workers had taken to calling it a spectacle.
When Vine asked if he liked birds, Ressas had given an unexpected reply—that he simply liked the color gray.
The robin especially adored a glass jar rimmed in gold. Inside, translucent yellow candies gave off a sugary scent. These apple-flavored candies, said to be reserved only for royalty, were something Prince Ressas had recently started collecting. It was strange how the bird, unable to even eat them, stared at them longingly—just like Ressas himself.
Though the prince gave his order in a flat tone, Vine had definitely seen the slight lift at the corners of Ressas’s eyes before closing the door. It was an almost imperceptible sign of joy.
‘What a mysterious relationship…’
Everyone said the two hated each other, but what Vine had witnessed last year didn’t fit that narrative at all. Ressas seemed like someone trying very hard to hate the duke, and the duke, cold and curt as he was, had moments where he oddly accepted the prince.
Then came the day the duke, having gone missing, was found—personally—by the prince. After that, it was like something inside Ressas had been unshackled. He began seeking the duke out constantly. Whenever he left his quarters, he was often found near the duke. It was enough to feel unsettling, like he was carrying out some elaborate revenge scheme.
‘Whatever. Nobles are all a little unhinged anyway.’
Concluding thus, Vine sprinted off toward the central palace to deliver the news to his master as quickly as possible.
***
To travel from Axid—the far northern end—to Sheat, the capital of Solias, took over ten days on horseback. That was assuming no rest. By carriage, it took a full two weeks. Since all couriers were part of the royal palace, unless it was an emergency, long travel time was inevitable.
Seiyad, who hated hassle and valued mobility, rarely used carriages. He had arrived in the capital just yesterday, accompanied only by Quilly and a small, elite personal knight unit specially trained over the winter. Quilly hadn’t originally been part of the plan, but he had begged not to let His Excellency go alone to the capital, and Seiyad had reluctantly allowed it.
In the past—before he came back to life—he would never have granted such a request. Bringing along a civilian like Quilly would’ve been a waste of time. And sure enough, the journey had been delayed by two whole days.
From October through to March, during the long winter that finally came to an end, the world around Seiyad gradually began to shift. The change began when Lady Parma Solias and Selfini Vetria entered the fortress, which until then had housed nothing but a bleak master with not a shred of liveliness.
Parma, despite her age, was a cheerful woman with a girlish air, and even the curt and prickly Vetria tended to smile more when by her side. Seiyad had ordered that as long as their activities didn’t interfere with essential duties, they were to be left alone. By the time spring drew near, the staff of the castle seemed visibly less tense.
Realizing that he must change was one thing—having his actions follow suit was another that took time. Over the course of six months, Seiyad hadn’t become particularly kinder, nor had he grown sociable, or developed any newfound expressiveness. The most anyone could say had changed was that, now, if someone spoke to him, he would at least stop and listen. That alone was a marked difference from the past, when he wouldn’t even spare the time.
From the start, Seiyad had never wasted emotions on those he had no reason to hate. With the exception of those responsible for his parents’ deaths, he showed nothing but detached indifference. He never barked at the castle staff either. Yet they all feared him—because of the day he drove out Cecilia’s maid.
Even though his personality hadn’t truly changed, the atmosphere began to shift after a few witnessed him listening to Parma or Quilly. Especially after he let one of Quilly’s infuriating antics slide, some of the staff even began to cautiously initiate conversation.
Most of these were simply greetings. And Seiyad would respond with a nod. A trivial gesture—yet for reasons no one could quite explain, the castle retainers ascribed great meaning to it. Rumors spread: The devil residing in our lord is vanishing. Or some such nonsense. He didn’t care what they said. Seiyad had more pressing matters.
Throughout the bitter winter, Seiyad relentlessly scorched the forest’s boundary lines. It was the beginning phase of one of his plans: to erase the northern forest entirely. As a result, he had succeeded in destroying the nucleus at the forest’s edge—the same one they had witnessed during the early-winter scouting mission.
It was because of that success that he had received “permission” to enter the capital for the upcoming Founding Gratitude Festival. Ever since his mother’s execution, those who bore the name of Brosius had been forbidden from entering the capital without explicit royal approval.
Not that Seiyad had any desire to be here. The last time he’d been in this place, it had been a living hell—so awful he didn’t even want to recall it.
But the royal palace held answers. Beyond his mission to obliterate the forest, he needed to investigate matters concerning the Rampage. And for that, setting foot in the palace was necessary. Over the winter, by staying close to Aster and receiving his purification, Seiyad had come to one undeniable conclusion.
At a glance, Aster appeared to stabilize him perfectly. But something about it was undeniably off. His purification dulled a person to an unnatural degree. It resembled peace, but when closely examined, it was more like paralysis.
