Imperial Domain
Imperial Domain
By the time Rumel arrived, the banquet had settled into its rhythm—eating, drinking, and quiet conversation.
Tiyamal showed up late, still rumpled from hastily donning his clothes and looking thoroughly annoyed, but no one paid him any mind.
Aslan's plan required the banquet to run its course. People needed to drink themselves into incoherence or drift away on their own.
Enough that most wouldn't notice what came next—or wouldn't be there to see it. Once the crowd thinned and the hall quieted.
When the leaders of each faction who happened to remain were gathered together, using the pretext of continuing the festivities.
That was the moment to decide the alliance's real future and explain to each faction exactly what Aslan needed from them.
But for that to work, the banquet needed to ripen further.
The fewer who knew the truth, the better.
The Emperor understood this, so he started pouring drinks freely.
Liquors not unlike Earth's rum or beer circulated through the hall, poured into cups and tipped down countless throats.
Eventually even Ereta drank. Tiyamal was already steeped in alcohol.
Only Aslan, who had refused every drink, sat with his guard up, watching.
He'd never been one for alcohol—he turned nasty when he drank and avoided it for good reason—but tonight the real reason lay elsewhere.
Rolling the talisman in his hand, Aslan kept a sharp eye on every corner of the hall, ready for the moment Rowena appeared.
There was no sign of her yet. The mere thought that she could appear at any second kept him braced tight.
He was barely picking at his food, one hand habitually checking the Wings of Stymphalos, when he belatedly registered the touch on his shoulder.
"Lord Aslan."
A light tap-tap against the folded wings. Aslan turned and met Rumel's eyes, her cheeks flushed pink.
"Yes, Lady Rumel. Is there something you need...?"
She'd clearly had some wine—the warmth in her face said as much—but her color seemed to come from something other than drink.
The noblewoman with her braided hair and striking figure gave a faint, knowing smile when she noticed Aslan deliberately keeping his gaze level.
"I'd like some fresh air. Would you walk with me?"
He couldn't refuse. Her hand guided him out of the hall, into the cool night breeze beneath an open sky.
She stopped at the balustrade under the falling moonlight and exhaled deeply.
The fresh air was only an excuse. What she really wanted was to speak her mind, ask what needed asking, and hear what he would say in return.
Steeling herself, Rumel turned toward Aslan and found him already beside her, resting his hands on the railing. Anxiety in the grip of his fingers. Grief in the half-lowered eyes he tried to keep neutral.
Her intuition had been right. She felt a strange mix of gladness and sorrow that her rare correct guess had been a tragedy.
She ached for whatever pain he was carrying—and was quietly glad that she understood him a little better now.
Between those two feelings, she glanced at him sidelong.
"You said you'd gone to see your departed wife. How did it go?"
Only his profile was visible, but his expression wasn't good. He'd hidden it well enough that almost no one else had noticed, but Rumel's sensitive nature had caught it.
You couldn't miss the sorrow bleeding from those eyes.
"..."
He didn't seem willing to give that sorrow a voice. His mouth worked soundlessly, his face held its sadness while the forced smile faded.
With the expression gone, only bitterness remained.
"Is it very hard for you?"
He couldn't bring himself to deny it. He didn't even ask how she'd known. Everything Rumel had shown him so far made it clear she was a deeply perceptive person.
Telling her he was fine would've been pointless. She'd have seen through it instantly. Aslan kept his silence, and Rumel watched him with quiet sadness.
"It's all right to say it's hard, Lord Aslan."
He paused before answering.
"I can't do that."
A firm refusal, but his voice carried a faint undercurrent of regret. He steadied it, reining in the tremor.
"The power I hold... the attention I draw... they don't permit it. I am the Master of Combat. The Priest Slayer. I am Aslan."
He had been different from the very moment he fell into Geladrion.
The system window let him grow stronger. Skills let him accumulate mastery in a fraction of the time it took others.
Quests kept his goals from blurring. He always knew which way to go.
For someone like him, the word "hard" didn't apply the way it did for everyone else.
Others might have that luxury, but not him.
At least, that was what he believed.
Those who held power had to carry it that way.
It was an obsessive conviction, but inside it lay twelve years of stubborn resolve he had never once abandoned. The kind of resolve Rumel couldn't bring herself to question.
"Still... thank you. For the comfort."
When she found herself at a loss, Aslan spoke and offered a gentle smile. Beneath the gentleness, the bitterness lingered. Rumel looked away, out past the railing, and had to ask.
What kind of person was the former wife who tormented this man?
"What was she like? Your wife."
She asked without hesitation. The answer came faster than she expected.
"She was a bad woman."
Rumel lifted her eyes to him. He was gazing into the distant dark, sifting through memories.
"She loved soft food. But she couldn't handle anything too hot—she'd fuss and ask me to blow on it for her. She knew perfectly well that I'd pretend to give in and feed her anyway."
Behind his lowered gaze, the memories that still haunted him played on.
"She was the kind of woman who'd describe every flavor to me as she ate. She had this way of smiling with her eyes when she called my name. And she was terrible in the mornings—she'd spend half the day combing out her tangled hair."
The faint smile that softened his face belonged to a man revisiting old happiness, turning over years worn smooth by memory.
Listening, Rumel understood exactly how deeply he had loved the wife he'd lost.
And how much pain that loss still caused him.
She watched his profile as the wry smile crept back. Then she asked:
"Do you like bad women?"
"...I don't know."
A rough laugh and a deflection, but it wasn't convincing. Rumel fidgeted with her fingers, stealing another glance at him.
Aslan clearly loved Rowena. You could hear it in the way he hedged, afraid his answer might somehow betray that love. You could see it in the soft expression that had crossed his face while he spoke of her.
Even though she was gone, even though that loss still wounded him, he hadn't been able to let the love go.
Rumel wanted that love.
"Then... may I do something bad as well?"
"Something bad?"
She closed the distance by a single step. Just one step, and she was pressed close enough to rest her shoulder against his and take his arm.
Winding her arm around his before he could react, she leaned her head against his shoulder and pressed her body to his side.
"I like you, Lord Aslan."
The words fell low. When silence answered, Rumel lifted her head to look at him.
"And I want you to love me too. Not just in my daydreams. For real."
A confession pushed out by wine and a small dose of courage. Aslan received it in silence.
Not a long silence, but one that stretched like eternity for Rumel. Finally, he spoke from beyond the stillness.
"Before I answer... I need to ask first. Why me?"
She seemed to consider the question, then smiled.
"First: you saved me."
He glanced at her, and she stayed leaning against his arm.
"Even if you say you didn't do it because you liked me... you're the kind of person who helps anyone in danger. Because you're kind."
A shame he saves just anyone. Aslan gave an awkward smile at the addition. She went on.
"I like kind people. Someone who's kind to me, and who'd be kind to the family we'd build together."
"...Family?"
That seemed to be getting ahead of things. She turned her reddening face away to hide it.
Still half-hidden, she continued.
"And second... Lord Aslan, you're a precarious person, the sort who takes care of others before yourself. I want to be there to support you."
"...Support?"
"Yes. A little... like I want to cherish you."
There was no deception in her embarrassment. If anything, she seemed to check his reaction before adding, almost shyly:
"So I like you. If the reasons aren't enough... I'll think of more."
Hearing the first reason, he'd wondered if something so small was truly enough. But her offer to find more reasons made him realize, belatedly, that the reasons weren't the point.
Love never had reasons.
Just as he had loved Rowena without one, Rumel loved him without one.
Affection simply didn't work that way.
He smiled bitterly.
"That's enough."
He cut off her earnest deliberation. Her eyes lit with anticipation. He met those brown eyes and told her.
"I'm sorry for the feelings you've offered me, but... I can't accept them."
He couldn't return them.
The light in her eyes died. A quiet despair welled up in its place.
"Why...? If I'm not enough...."
"That's not it. Lady Rumel, you're more than I deserve. It's just...."
How could he explain it so she'd understand? He stared into the empty air, thinking. The words that came weren't calculated—they were almost raw.
"I can't afford to fall yet."
She blinked, not understanding. His mouth kept going.
"I told you my wife and I were parted by death, but that's not quite the truth. Rowena... my wife was a bad woman. And she was a priest."
What followed was nothing she had expected.
"I tried to stop her. I couldn't. She lost control and wiped the flourishing city of Beryl off the map. The only thing I could do...."
He clenched his jaw. His hand crushed the talisman without him realizing it. Rumel touched his arm at the sight of his anguish, but he forced the words out.
"The only thing I could do was kill my wife. In a city where everything had burned, where everyone had died. I cut her throat."
Rumel spoke in a rush, urgent and desperate.
"I—I would never give you that kind of wound. Never. I would never be a source of pain for you...."
"That's not it."
The denial cut her off. When her expression sank, he met her eyes.
"If I accepted you, Lady Rumel, you would become part of me. A part I would lose if I ever lost you. And I... I don't believe I could get back up again after that."
His twelve years had been forged in pain. Along that agonizing road, he had lost things constantly.
At the end of all that loss and suffering, he knew he couldn't endure any more.
"Please understand. If you can't... you're welcome to resent me."
He smiled wearily. The fatigue ran deep beneath the melancholy.
Rumel bit her lip at the sight of that exhaustion. She lowered her head and only shook it faintly.
The most she could do was tell him she would never resent him.
She looked close to tears. Aslan reached out and brushed her cheek.
The touch was gentle and warm, and when she looked up, he was making himself smile.
"I'm going to kill the evil gods. Until that's done, I can't accept your feelings—or Ereta's. I'm sorry."
Hearing it spoken plainly, Rumel realized she'd been refused.
She gazed at him with pity in her expression. All she could do was look up at the sky.
Under a night so full of stars they seemed ready to fall, she said quietly:
"...Just for tonight, I'd like to be a bad girl. If I do something bad, will you still not hate me?"
"I couldn't hate you. You're my companion."
He could've stopped before that last part, Rumel thought. She lowered her head, then smiled softly.
She'd been turned down, but she didn't feel crushed.
"Is it all right if I keep liking you anyway?"
If he couldn't accept her until the evil gods were dead, she'd simply wait for what came after.
"Until you're able to accept what I feel. Until you're able to love again... can I go on loving you on my own?"
She took his hand as she said it. Feeling the warmth of her fingers wrapping his, he couldn't tell her no.
He didn't have the heart.
He bit his lip and gave a slow, shallow nod.
"If that gives you some peace, Lady Rumel, please do."
The woman who'd just been granted permission for a one-sided love smiled faintly. Smiled, and leaned her head against his chest.
"You're secretly a bit of a bad man too, Lord Aslan."
"I'm sorry."
Instead of answering, she pulled back and hummed a little tune.
She had been turned down. But somehow, she didn't feel bad about it.
She had a chance now. And that made the affection all the more tender—the kind of love that could feed her daydreams for a long time.
A permitted unrequited love. She murmured the phrase to herself, then spun around to face him.
"If you're sorry, be a little kinder to me."
"...I'll try."
"You can speak casually to me."
"I'll try that too."
Aslan pushed off from the balustrade. Rumel gave a small, quiet laugh.
"Let's go back inside. We've been out here long enough—you must be cold. So let's—"
Aaagh!
Before she could finish, a man's scream tore out from inside the banquet hall.
"...Rowena."
The blood drained from Aslan's face.