Chap 8

I focused intently on the conversation inside the room.

Not knowing how much longer this undying dream would persist, I knew it was about the Northern Duke, Sion Belpast.

His last image haunted me.

Medea responded with a tone both lofty and assertive.

"I was genuinely impressed by how you used the Northern Knights to eradicate the barbarians in the south of the empire. Ah, this is politics. Without shedding a single drop of blood, father, you protected our people purely with strategy."

"Politics requires foresight and patience. Belpast had no choice but to comply with my demands because he was outmatched by Laheart in every aspect."

"The Emperor's support brings me unspeakable joy."

Medea's voice was elated.

After losing his son, the Emperor, afflicted with a heart's ailment, began to find solace in Laheart's words.

Around the time Sion Belpast was accused of treason, the Emperor wouldn't listen to any noble but Duke Laheart.

As an assassin, I heard rumors that the Northern Duke's descent to the south wasn't just due to Laheart's schemes. Probably, the Emperor himself had a hand in it.

The order to suppress the southern barbarians fell to Laheart, but he coaxed the Emperor to request reinforcements from the North. Naturally, the North refused.

The journey from the far north to the south of the empire, a month even on horseback, would have been better served by the central army aiding the south.

Laheart then allowed the barbarians to slaughter numerous southern people and blamed the Northern Duke.

Sion Belpast, acting solely for the people, must have set out for the distant south. Such was his nature.

But Laheart painted Belpast as the perpetrator. Portraying himself, the powerful Southern Duke, as the victim. Only the Emperor believed this tale.

The Emperor seemed to see Sion Belpast as the aggressor and Kramnel Laheart as the victim.

"Compassion, is it?"

"Interest, indeed."

The dying Duke's response to my question, chained up.

Interest.

That one word felt bitterly warm and heartbreakingly poignant.

He didn't hate the disfigured dog of his enemy, the White Butterfly who drove his men to death. Not until the end.

He pitied me. The reason was unknown, but I could feel it in his gaze.

Rain began to fall.

"This time, we'll cut off all of Belpast's limbs."

Duke Laheart's words were met with Medea's agreement, adding:

"Father, the Emperor has invited me to the next tea party."

"Oh! Medea, he's increasingly fond of you."

"Yes, it seems so. I think I'll do my best as a granddaughter, filling the void in His Majesty's heart."

"It won't be easy. He still can't let go of his missing granddaughter."

Granddaughter.

A pang in my heart.

Suddenly, a cold, dignified voice filled the room.

"The foolish man doesn't know that his own bloodline has become my servant," Medea declared, referring to the Emperor.

"The thrill I feel every time that girl looks at me affectionately, father."

"Be ready to kill her at any moment."

"I don't like it, it's fun. I'm a noble of a different class, possessing the only bloodline of the royal family. It's through that child I learned being royal blood doesn't equate to intelligence. Fools, they need to be subdued with power. I will prove that it's not lineage but capability that qualifies one to rule."

"Ha-ha, Medea. If only you were the son and Kahen the daughter."

Duke Laheart left with a hearty laugh.

After her father's departure, Medea pulled the bell rope to summon a maid.

"Is the guest waiting?"

"As you ordered."

Hearing Medea leave, I exhaled a long breath and gazed at the stormy night sky. Cold raindrops tapped on the mask and my twisted cheek.

If only I had known what I know now before I died.

A crushing regret tore my heart to shreds.

Oh, God.

Why am I wandering in this dream when I'm clearly dead? Is this your final act of kindness to let me know the unknown truth?

After shaking off the rainwater, I re-entered Medea's room and took out the jewel box containing my mother's dagger.

Even in this dream, I didn't want to leave my mother's belongings near Medea.

My trembling hands grasped the blue handle of the sword, my mother's relic that I couldn't touch even in my dying moment.

But then.

Holding the handle, I saw inexplicable scenes. It felt like being sucked into some real event.

A woman with long green hair and sky-blue eyes, holding a young child, about four years old, was fleeing. A group of armed men chased after her.

In the deep coniferous forest.

The fleeing woman eventually fell. The awakened child began to cry. The woman took out the dagger with a blue handle from her bosom.

She clasped the blade. Blood from her palm started to drench the sword.

She closed her eyes and murmured something, her demeanor almost prayer-like.

"Sacred light, merciful mother. I offer my life, please protect this child. If this child faces death, grant my life to return 'once more' to the living. Allow a second life, Hella."

Transparent light enveloped the dagger and the child, connecting them.

"Is this her?!"

"Yes, the heretic saintess."

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