24 – Disengagement Ceremony 3

One day before starting the first interview.

Immediately after deciding to use Dale to “set the stage,” Elysia summoned him to her chambers.

A man of simple appearance, yet with a sharp glint in his eyes.

She guided him to a chair nearby, assessing him all the while.

‘The one who contributed the most during the Second Invasion, where even the famously skilled and strong knights of the North struggled.’

Perhaps it was because he appeared like a savior during the most difficult time.

Despite being a commoner of unknown origin, the closed-off Northerners welcomed Dale, and for good reason.

He was strong, untainted, and possessed a decent level of sociability. Everyone couldn’t help but like him.

…So, judging him from the perspective of a key figure managing the North.

Dale was a “hero” type, easy to use and discard.

All heroes were of commoner birth.

This was partly to satiate the commoners’ desire for upward mobility, giving them an impossible hope to maintain the current system, orchestrated by the royal family.

It was also to avoid sending valuable scions of the royal family or nobility into dangerous situations.

And to manipulate public opinion by leveraging the hero’s commoner status.

‘And, above all, even if they are overworked and ruined,’

the fact that there would be no real consequences also played a significant role.

Therefore, from the state’s perspective, a hero was…

the best kind of manpower, obtainable with hollow recognition and a pittance of money.

In that sense, Dale was a perfect fit for the role of a hero.

A personality still untouched by corruption, an unusual background of unknown origin, and formidable abilities.

If the Imperial Family were to discover Dale, there was a high chance they would designate him as the next hero. He was perfectly suited for the role.

Thus, it was necessary to seize him first.

Dale, still untouched by the world’s grime, possessed an innocence that made him unable to easily shake off the expectations of others, coupled with a peculiar unfamiliarity with affection. These she exploited to ensnare him in obligation.

…The term ‘obligation’ felt more fitting than ‘relationship,’ because it wasn’t a bond built on mutual ground. It was a construct, born from intentionally stirring Dale’s emotions, then layering on a deliberate dose of ‘guilt.’

‘And now that he’s thus ensnared…’

Dale would bear the burden of immediate, unreserved response should the North find itself in peril, or should problems arise. He’d have to abandon everything and rush to its aid.

‘Ideally, I should leave Dale to his own devices, allow him to grow and harden.’

But if warmth wasn’t coaxed into existence now, everything risked shattering. She had no choice but to utilize him.

With a touch of regret, but accepting the necessity, she offered him the beverage.

“Ah, Princess, thank you.”

“Please, you forget our agreement? When we are alone, you must call me Elysia.”

“…Elysia.”

She feigned a satisfaction at receiving the desired response, then cast a subtle glance in his direction.

Rumor had it his injuries were… sensitive, inflicting considerable torment.

That he’d inquired about treatment the moment he arrived suggested the situation was indeed dire.

And if the tales of his rage against Damian, the one who inflicted those wounds, were true…

A nudge, a slight provocation, and setting them against each other shouldn’t prove too difficult.

With this in mind, she broached the subject with Dale.

“I heard your recent injury has been causing you a great deal of suffering. Are you managing?”

“…Ah.”

Was it the difficulty of discussing such matters with a woman?

Dale’s face flushed with shame, and she continued to hurl pebbles at his already fragile composure.

Nourishing the resentment towards Damian, allowing it to fester and grow… endlessly.

*

Having thus laid the groundwork for Dale’s pursuit of vengeance against Damian,

she attended the formal, initial meeting, planting seeds of ‘retribution.’

Of course, a simple statement would lack impact, so she abandoned her usual, detached tone in favor of a gentler, more inviting approach.

“…Dale intends to kill you.”

Bare conclusions lacked convincing weight.

And so, she quickly added an explanation pertaining to the matter.

“The blow from the mace struck a vital point, leaving irreparable damage, it seems. His despair must have driven him to extremes, I imagine.”

She laced a touch of falsehood into the truth as she continued.

“While in the North, I wasn’t exactly kind to you, Damian, so it’s perhaps not my place to say, but you should be careful.”

She feigned concern.

No, in truth, she was concerned about the North, so even without acting, worry clouded her expression.

And thus, even more easily than usual, she regulated her emotions, subtly attempting to close the distance between them when suddenly…

“… What a load of crap.”

A mocking voice echoed.

The words caught her off guard, silencing her, and she looked up.

She met Damian’s gaze, his expression filled with loathing as he looked down at her.

“Isn’t this whole mess because of you in the first place? Or am I wrong?”

Then he struck at the core of it.

* * * * *

I scoffed, watching Alicia spout nonsense.

I listened to what she was saying, and it was quite amusing how she spoke as if she had nothing to do with it, as if she were the victim.

And so, I laughed scornfully and told her the ’cause’ of this situation.

The moment Alicia heard those words, she flinched, her body trembling, and froze.

“And you’re warning me for my sake, you say… how about we get our stories straight? You’re not speaking for me, but for the sake of the North, which is falling apart.”

I spent a year at Alicia’s side, and I realized one thing.

That all of Alicia’s actions were directed ‘towards the North.’

‘To be more precise.’

She only acted with the North’s benefit in mind.

However, some of her judgments were rather self-centered, such as the matter of succession to the family head position.

Considering the North’s closed-off nature, it would have been right to pass it on to the eldest son.

But the eldest son lacked the talent and will to govern the North, considering that she had attempted to push him aside and become the head herself.

A heart for the North.

A desire to be rewarded for her sacrifices for the North all along.

And the heart to readily sacrifice others for the sake of the North, a distorted form of belief created and built up since childhood, I suppose it would be right to see it as that.

‘So her words, too, are likely not for my sake, but spoken for the sake of the North.’

In all likelihood, this was a scheme to exploit me, using this as a pretense.

At my words, Elysia settled onto the sofa across from me, and spoke.

“…That’s not it at all. I’m saying this because I’m truly worried about you.”

She was feigning sadness, but I caught the subtle tremor in her eyes.

It seemed I’d struck a nerve, and I chuckled mirthlessly, addressing her.

“Since we’re at this point, I’ll ask. Have you ever been grateful to me… or even for a single moment, seen me as a person?”

“Of course…”

I cut her off, resolute.

“I thought not.”

“……”

“Even when I showed you the transformed North, thanks to my warmth. You weren’t grateful to *me*, you were just saying your own efforts had meaning.”

“That’s…”

She fell silent, seemingly without anything else to say.

At her reaction, I impassively reconfirmed my purpose.

“So, do you have any last words?”

“Demian… It’s not like that, I was truly worried about you… that’s why I said it.”

And she offered a lie, even at the final moment.

“This is my sincerity, my honest heart. So… won’t you listen to me, just this once?”

Then, she gazed at me, playing the role of a pitiable, tragic heroine, a victim.

In that instant, I was reminded of just before the annulment when I had begged her to listen to me, just once, and a wave of nausea washed over me.

[Elysia. You have no intention of listening to my story?]

[It’s meaningless.]

As those thoughts surfaced, I let out a light, hollow laugh.

Then, I swiftly seized the hammer from within my coat and brought it down on Elysia.

*KWAANG!*

Unfortunately, it seemed she had an artifact with a protective barrier, and the attack was blocked.

Watching this, I continued, addressing her.

“Didn’t I tell you? Get lost.”

If once wasn’t enough, I could bring it down again.

But simply repeating the same action felt lacking, so I borrowed the power of the Sun Spirit and wrapped the hammer in a sword aura, and brought it down upon the shield.

Boom!

As fire bloomed outwards, fissures spiderwebbed across the barrier.

Seeing this, I, without hesitation, moved to swing my hammer once more, but then.

“Grand Duchess!”

A deluge of knights spilled inwards.

And as I watched them surge forward, intent on overwhelming me, someone cleaved the wall in two, forging an entrance where no entrance should be, and slowly, deliberately, walked into the room.

… A mere one person, only one.

A single soul was a paltry number against the hardened knights of the harsh North, veterans forged in unforgiving lands, but.

The one who entered seemed unbound by such common sense.

The moment they stepped into the room, they froze the Northern knights solid, halting their every move.

An unreal, an abnormal spectacle.

Lorraine, she was the architect of this spectacle.

Slowly, she approached my side, and without a word, drove her sword into the floor.