Chapter 150: Cruel Truth, Cruel Fate (3)
The answer didn't come right away. The low, sunken red eyes seemed to point toward the floor, then looked back at the Demon King, then returned to the floor again.
Soon, a slightly cracked voice spilled out roughly.
"Do you know why the Duke acted that way?"
"...No? How would I know the inner thoughts of a mere human."
Had he caught on to something? The Demon King's nerves sharpened.
Fortunately, it seemed he'd just thrown it out there. Deon, who had lowered his eyes once with a 'Is that so,' lifted his head again and brought out a question that seemed to be his original purpose.
"...With magic... is it impossible to turn back time?"
"Hmm?"
His surprise at the unexpected question was brief. The Demon King, catching on to the intent behind it, arched his brows as if in pity.
"Magic is not omnipotent. There are realms that absolutely cannot be touched no matter what method you use, and the prime examples among them are reviving the dead and turning back time."
"...As I thought. Understood."
"..."
The response was far calmer and more composed than expected. The Demon King, who had been about to call Ben — stationed outside in anticipation of hemoptysis and seizures — hesitated.
As if he hadn't noticed the Demon King's reaction, Deon turned around calmly. Walking toward the door, he glanced back at the Demon King briefly before placing his hand on the handle.
"I will visit the human world for a moment."
"..."
A confused silence came back instead of an answer, but as if that alone was sufficient, he placed his hand on the door handle.
The Demon King expressed belated permission by not stopping him.
.......
"Demon-nim!"
The person he encountered upon opening the door was Ben.
Having been pacing anxiously in front of the door, Ben brightened up as if he'd been waiting and hurriedly approached. The gaze scanning his physical condition was laden with open worry.
"Are you alright? Your fever is still high. If you move around like this..."
"..."
"...Demon-nim...?"
"..."
It didn't take long for him to sense something wrong.
Ben, who had been walking alongside Deon's staggering steps and voicing various worried pieces of advice without even daring to support him, stopped in place. He himself was stopped here, yet the footsteps kept advancing far ahead without stopping, as if Deon couldn't even see him.
Startled by the appearance as if Deon's spirit had left him, Ben hurriedly moved to his side.
"Demon-nim, can you hear me?"
"..."
"Demon-nim?"
"..."
"Demon-nim!"
"Urgh, cough!"
Blood splattered onto the corridor floor.
Though he should have taken swift action as usual, Ben couldn't bring himself to move.
'What kind of eyes are those...'
Because in his eyes, as he roughly wiped the blood with the back of his hand and walked on, the suppressed killing intent was too vividly visible.
On the surface, he appeared composed, but the instincts honed from living in the Demon Castle warned him that he must not provoke him right now. So Ben could only stand in place and watch his retreating figure grow distant.
***
The Emperor didn't lie.
When you ask a man who considers himself a tyrant and willingly embraces evil if he did a bad deed, what reason would he have to lie? Being one who flaunts villainy, he would answer confidently.
Even if that weren't the case, there were countless reasons why the Emperor wouldn't lie.
'The Emperor... is obsessed with being Emperor-like.'
Stigma had said it. That he himself didn't acknowledge his own position, so he was obsessed with proving it.
After hearing those words, he could see it. The verbal habits and speech patterns, the symbols of the Emperor he always carried, his attitude, and so on.
He wasn't someone who had been educated as a successor from a young age to become Emperor. For someone who had ascended via a coup, his appearance was excessively perfect.
'I don't know why I didn't realize it until now.'
Every single thing that made up Edorado Desert was blatantly screaming that he was the Emperor.
So, he wouldn't lie in most cases. Because the one who stands at the highest place has no reason to lie.
'Even if you commit a sin and declare you did it, there is no one who can say anything. Because that is power.'
Of course, this was an extreme example. Even the Emperor would be rebuked by the nobles if he made a mistake. Still, Deon Hart was certain.
Unless it was a white lie, all lies were generally ugly.
The Emperor was a man who would never allow himself to become ugly, even if he died.
This was before even discussing the nobility of the 'Emperor,' which must not be ugly — it was his innate nature.
Step.
A footprint was stamped onto the white snow. Standing before the splendid main gate, Deon Hart looked at the gatekeepers who were glaring at him with sharp vigilance, and then pushed back his robe's hood.
"...Hart... the Honorary Marquis?"
"I wish to see His Majesty."
"Ah, please wait a moment..."
"Right now."
"...!"
An unidentified figure who had walked to the imperial palace, where people came and went by carriage, without a word — now revealed to be the missing Honorary Marquis Hart.
This alone was suffocating, and now he said he must see His Majesty immediately.
Normally, they would have stepped aside without hesitation, but the atmosphere surrounding him was unusual. Moreover, the breath he exhaled each time carried excessive heat compared to others...
"...Are you feeling unwell somewhere?"
You seem to have a fever.
"That's not within your authority."
The reply that came back was cold.
The gatekeeper, who flinched, looked at his comrade, nodded, and stepped aside. Following suit, his comrade also turned his body to clear the way.
"Pardon the discourtesy. Please enter."
In the first place, they had no authority to block Deon Hart.
Honorary Marquis Deon Hart was a person whom the Emperor had permitted to visit at any time, in any manner, and in any state. And the person he should meet first upon returning from his disappearance was none other than the Emperor.
***
"Where is His Majesty?"
"Who... Ha, Honorary Marquis Hart-nim?"
"Answer."
"He is in his office. If you wait a moment, I will contact... Mar, Marquis-nim!"
Office. The office, then.
Without even needing to search his memory, Deon advanced without hesitation.
In truth, the office was more familiar to him than the audience chamber. For him, who had a secret that must not be discovered, and for the Emperor, the office with fewer people and better soundproofing was far more comfortable.
How long did he walk? Not long after, he came face to face with the knights guarding the office door.
The knights, who had been looking sharply at the intruder who dared to force his way to where the Emperor was, soon identified him and opened their eyes wide. The wariness softened somewhat at the return of the missing hero.
"...Marquis-nim? Is it really Marquis-nim? You were definitely reported missing..."
"I must see His Majesty."
At the remark tossed out, the knights closed their mouths.
The atmosphere grew heavy. The wariness that had seemed to relent rose sharply again.
One of the silent knights carefully opened his mouth.
"Even if you are the Marquis, it is problematic for you to force your way in like this. At the very least, you should seek His Majesty's permission..."
"It's fine."
The office door, which had seemed firm, opened.
"His Majesty has permitted it."
Nemeseus, who had been looking at Deon Hart disapprovingly, turned his body sideways from blocking the door and gestured with his chin for him to enter.
Deon passed by him without a hint of apology or hesitation and set foot in the office. With Nemeseus's voice ordering the knights to withdraw in the background, he faced forward and met the familiar golden eyes.
"...You don't look well."
Having immediately recognized Deon Hart's physical condition, the Emperor set down the pen he was holding and began clearing the documents on his desk.
"You could have contacted me via the communicator. What reason did you have for coming to see me with your body in such a poor state?"
He didn't bring up phrases like 'Are you alright?', 'Shouldn't you rest?', or 'I'll call the imperial physician.'
Because there had to be a reason why Deon had come looking for him while being so uncharacteristically stubborn, and above all, he couldn't say anything else seeing those eyes.
He merely tidied up the documents to let the other party speak comfortably and waited unhurriedly. Deon Hart, who had opened and closed his mouth several times and couldn't easily speak, finally managed to force out his voice.
"...Did you know?"
He paused.
For a moment, the hand tidying up the documents stopped.
There was no need to ask what it was about. The Emperor let go of the papers in his hand and raised his head to meet the red eyes looking at him as if awaiting an answer.
"Yes."
"...Why."
At the plain answer with no lies or excuses, the voice trembled instead.
The Emperor had expressed affirmation. That alone was enough, but Deon couldn't control the surging emotion and let out his words, laden with question and resentment.
"Why did you do it?"
"..."
"If you had told me, at least given me a hint, if you had even just refused my request!"
After the 8-Year War ended, during the rewards ceremony, if the Emperor had chosen something else instead of silence.
"Everyone... would have lived..."
There would have been no tragedy of parents meeting death at their child's hand, and no older brother sacrificing himself for his younger brother.
And Deon Hart wouldn't have wanted to kill Deon Hart, either.
The last words were close to a whisper, but the Emperor, who had caught them with his excellent hearing, slowly opened his mouth.
"Are you resenting me right now?"
"..."
"The direction of your resentment is misguided. In the world of nobles, not knowing is a sin. The resulting damage is also your own burden."
Was there a saying that you should pretend to know even when you don't?
"You are still a child."
Moreover, the Emperor had clearly given him a chance.
Should it be called the price of silence? The Emperor had offered a definite title, jewels, and territory — a better option. The one who had refused all of this and wished for the extinction of his family line was none other than Deon Hart himself.
"...But."
"..."
"All of that was your choice, and I merely granted your request. However, if you ask for the reason, very well."
"..."
"At its base, it was my selfish desire to acquire a talent like you."
In fact, what he had originally intended to say was different.
Don't push your own sins onto others, don't take on others' sins as your own, and judge objectively and consider who you should truly resent and hate.
Nevertheless, if he had to say why he had set all that aside and deliberately uttered those words to play the villain, well.
'It was just a whim.'
No, in truth, it was ambiguous to even say he had played the villain. The Emperor could never be seen as a good person, after all.
Deon Hart's expression hardened.
Silent for a moment as if suppressing the surging killing intent, he looked at the Emperor with cold red eyes and spoke, chewing and spitting out each syllable.
"I am not that kind of talent, as you think I am."
The Emperor didn't bother to answer.
***
After Deon Hart had left, Nemeseus, who had been observing the situation the whole time, quietly opened his mouth.
"Why did you just let him go?"
He might not know the exact circumstances, but one thing he knew for sure was that Deon Hart harbored an unspeakable hatred for the Emperor.
That alone was a reason not to let Deon Hart go freely. Especially the moment he saw his eyes as he turned away, his intuition as a veteran commander had sent a strong warning.
"He will surely become a source of trouble later."
"...I know."
There was no way the Emperor didn't know this.
The Emperor, who always met Deon Hart face-to-face whenever he traveled between the Demon Realm and directly observed his gaze to gauge his neutrality. Today, in this place, having conversed with Deon Hart, he had realized that Deon had completely turned his back on him.
Even so, if he had to explain why he let him go, it was still a whim.
"Then, why!"
"Well..."
But he couldn't just say that as a reason.
Nemeseus would certainly get angry. He wouldn't accept it. So, if he had to pinpoint a concrete reason... yes.
"Did he not resemble me?"
Killing his family over a single moment's misunderstanding.
"Of course, the difference is that I was originally on bad terms with my family."
"..."
Just as the Emperor had intended, Nemeseus could no longer say anything.