A Nightmare Before Dawn
In the depths of thick darkness.
"Ah, Logan... Logan... How could you...!"
Anastasia was wailing as she stared at the man writhing in agony before her.
He had devoted nearly his entire life to that woman, giving everything without reserve.
And yet she had fallen for another man and used him without a shred of shame. Why couldn't he let her go? Anastasia simply could not understand it.
And she could not understand herself, either, for continuing to watch him like this.
No—how could she possibly look away?
He had saved her life, and that day, he had pulled her out of the bottomless pit of despair. How could she simply stand by and do nothing while he suffered so terribly?
And yet.
"Logan, you're different from everyone else!"
She was nothing more than a childhood friend.
That woman had never given Logan anything, never offered him the devotion he had so freely poured out for her.
If anything, she had only ever taken—and taken again.
And still, shamelessly, she had turned her back on his devotion and chosen another man. A detestable woman, through and through.
"...I appreciate your concern for me, Your Highness, but I would ask that you not interfere any further."
He had eyes only for her.
Even as he was wounded again and again, even as he withered away more and more—only ever her.
"Ah... ah...!"
Anastasia despaired.
The helplessness of being unable to turn his heart. The suffocating sorrow of knowing her own feelings would never reach him, not even a little—it stole the very breath from her lungs.
###
"Hah...! Hah...!"
Anastasia bolted upright in bed, gasping for air.
"Ah... it was a dream...?"
She looked around and found the familiar sight of her bedroom. Beyond the window, dawn was still a pale gray.
"Thank goodness... thank goodness... truly..."
Realizing it had all been nothing but a nightmare, Anastasia let out a long sigh of relief.
And yet it had felt far too vivid and real to dismiss as a mere dream.
The sight of Logan—betrayed after giving his all, his boundless devotion discarded—still gazing at Irene and sacrificing himself for her ever more, had been excruciatingly real.
That was why she pinched her own cheek, hard.
"It really... really was a dream, right...? Owch..!"
Thankfully, it hurt—and so the horrifying scenes she had just witnessed were indeed a dream. A nightmare, nothing more.
But she still found it hard to believe.
Because the reality she now lived in—where Logan, who had once had eyes only for Irene, had given that woman up and stayed faithfully by her side—still felt like a dream to her.
"Ah... ah..."
Anastasia was terrified.
Terrified that one day, Logan would again be unable to forget Irene, would leave her behind, and return to that woman.
Perhaps that was why.
Caring nothing for how she looked, forgetting even to wash her face properly, Anastasia flung open her bedroom door in a rush.
In case—just in case—Logan might go back to Irene. In case he couldn't forget that shameless woman and would abandon her after all.
She had to hold on to him, quickly.
And so, when she opened the door and swept her anxious eyes down the corridor, she could finally breathe easy.
"Ah... Logan..."
Even though it was far earlier than the hour he usually rose, Logan stood tall and steadfast outside her door.
"Anya...?"
Logan was flustered to see Anastasia emerge from her room earlier than he had expected.
For some reason, he had woken earlier than usual today, which was why he'd come ahead of schedule.
But barely moments after he arrived, she had already thrown open the door and come out.
And not even properly dressed—still in a thin nightgown.
Embarrassed, Logan turned his head slightly and averted his gaze.
"Um... Anya..."
He hesitated, unsure what to say in his flustered state.
And then, immediately—
Whoosh!
"Logan...!"
Suddenly, Anastasia threw herself into his arms.
The suddenness of it flustered Logan all the more—but then he felt her body trembling faintly against his chest.
Gently, he patted her back and asked, "Did you have a frightening dream?"
"...Yes. A truly frightening dream."
"I see..."
Logan did not press her to describe it. Merely recalling it might be painful enough.
Anastasia, her face still buried in his chest, slowly lifted her head and looked up at him.
"Logan... Logan..."
"Yes, Anya. Tell me."
"You'll stay by my side like this, won't you? Always?"
Her crimson eyes glistened, wet with tears.
The moment the Demon King's subjugation was complete, she had been handed the reins of state, ground down by endless crushing duties day after day. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from clashing with nobles like Cardo that had worn her down so.
Her face looked ever more frail and pale.
She was asking because the only people she could trust in the palace were Renate and him—surely that was all it was.
Thinking so, Logan gave her a warm smile to reassure her.
"Yes, have no fear. I will always be at your side, Anya."
If she wished it, he would stay with her for as long as it took—forever, if need be.
Because she was the one who had become his refuge, after the devoted love he had given nearly his whole life was betrayed.
And it was certain, too, that he had been saved by her—saved by her, and able to stand again.
And more than anything, looking into the unclouded honesty of her eyes, Logan could be sure of one thing.
Anastasia would never, ever betray him.
##
"Logan..! Logan..!"
From within his arms, Anastasia sobbed his name over and over.
It was not only the fear that he might leave her. All the humiliations and loneliness she had endured alone until now came pouring out at once.
Logan said nothing.
He simply held her back firmly and steady, and soothed her in silence.
Only after crying for a long while did Anastasia finally begin to calm.
And then it dawned on her.
"Ah..."
She had just been acting like a spoiled child.
"I'm sorry, Logan... I was so childish, wasn't I?"
"Not at all, Anya. I think it's good to be honest with your feelings like this, now and then."
"I... it is...?"
Anastasia fidgeted with her fingers and ducked her head, embarrassed. Then she asked him, carefully:
"Th-then, Logan...?"
"Yes, Anya?"
"On days when you've had a frightening dream too... when it's weighing on you... come find me. Anytime, all right?"
At her shy expression, Logan smiled softly and nodded.
"Yes. I will, Anya."
With the situation thus warmly wrapped up, Logan hesitated a moment before slowly opening his mouth again.
"Although... um, Anya...?"
"Yes! Anything at all, just say the word!"
Anastasia answered brightly, her voice ringing with energy. Perhaps he, too, had already had a nightmare and wanted comforting in return?
Just as she was thinking it was her turn to console him this time—
"...I would, um, prefer it if you went back inside first."
"I'm sorry?"
Anastasia tilted her head at his unexpected words.
"It's just... well... if you keep standing out here like this, when Lady Renate arrives, my life will be in danger."
At Logan's sheepish grin, Anastasia finally became aware of her own appearance.
"Ah!"
She had bolted out of her bedroom in such a hurry that she was still in her nightclothes. The thin fabric left so little to the imagination that even her undergarments were practically on full display...
"Kyaaah! I'm so sorry, Logan!!!"
Face burning scarlet, Anastasia fled into her bedroom in a rush and vanished.
"Ahem..."
Logan cleared his throat, watched her disappear inside for a moment, and then slowly turned his gaze elsewhere.
She had already shut the door and gone back into her room—but if he kept staring at that spot, he knew strange thoughts would keep creeping in.
That she was beautiful...
He had always known that. But the sight of her in that thin nightgown had been truly devastating.
For a healthy young man like Logan, it was far, far too much.
The soft curves of her body showing through the gossamer fabric of her nightclothes... the pale pink undergarments faintly visible beneath them...
"Ahem..!"
Impure thoughts kept rising like smoke, so Logan coughed pointedly louder, doing his utmost to compose himself.
But no matter how hard he tried to think of something else, the afterimage would not fade so easily.
Begone, wicked demon of lust...!
And so Logan shook his head vigorously, again and again.
Meanwhile, a short distance down the corridor, hidden from view—
"Hehehe..."
"Ehehe..."
the twin maids were secretly watching Logan and Anastasia with knowing(?) grins.
And there was Renate, forced to heave a deep sigh over her hopeless mistress yet again.
"Your Highness... please, I beg you..."
She resolved to sit Anastasia down for a serious talk one of these days.
She understood, as best she could, that her mistress was so hopelessly in love with Logan that she occasionally made a fool of herself...
But at this rate, there would be truly nothing left of the Imperial Princess's dignity.
###
Elsewhere, deep within the Church's headquarters, in the Hero's chamber—
"Why..?! WHY, damn it..!!!"
Rian screamed, clutching at the right side of his forehead—the burn he had suffered in the incident at the meeting hall days before. The palm-sized patch of blackened, seared flesh throbbed under his grip, and his voice dripped with rage and a bottomless despair.
"Elysium!!!"
He had tried to draw the sword again since the day he went berserk—but the Holy Sword had not budged so much as an inch from its scabbard.
As if rejecting him completely, it did not stir in the slightest. The sacred radiance that had once coursed through him when he grasped it—the power that seemed capable of purifying the entire world—could no longer be felt at all.
Now it was nothing more than a lump of cold, dead steel.
"I'm sorry! I shouldn't have tried to draw you so recklessly!"
The Holy Sword existed for one purpose: to vanquish the wicked Demon King and the demonkin who followed him, and bring peace to the world.
And yet Rian had tried to draw Elysium against a man who was neither Demon King nor demonkin.
"But I had no choice! You know I didn't have a choice!"
Anastasia, wringing ever more taxes from an imperial populace already struggling to survive from day to day—and Logan, standing firmly at her side in defense of it. As far as Rian was concerned, the two of them were no different from the Demon King himself.
Their actions were unmistakably evil—deeds that made the people suffer.
"It was all for justice, Elysium!"
Rian cried out, pleading, desperate—but the Holy Sword remained silent as ever.
It was the silence of finality, one that made clear it would never again rest in his hand. But Rian forced himself to look away from it, denying reality altogether.
"Ah—is it because you're upset that I hurt you? That must be it, right? Hahaha!!!"
His mad laughter ringing off the walls, he looked almost pitiable.
"Elysium has always been such a gentle, kind child... That's it. Once your heart has settled, you'll accept me again. I'll wait as long as it takes..."
Rian muttered to himself as if to offer consolation—but Elysium did not react in the slightest.
As if his very existence were being ignored.
In his hand, the Holy Sword conveyed nothing but the cold weight of metal.
"Ah...! Ah...! Elysium...!"
Despite his ceaseless screams and begging, the Holy Sword would answer him no longer.
And the sight of the two of them—Rian and Elysium, together like this—said everything.
It made clear that his qualification as the Hero had been stripped away. No—that it had never existed at all.