Episode 2 — A Single Night's Love
That invitation...?
An invitation bearing the crest of House Luderan. It was the very summons her father, the former head of the ducal house, had sent to him so long ago.
Sein recalled the conversations from those days—talks that had ended abruptly when her father suddenly stepped down from his position. No... perhaps, just perhaps, that too was the consequence of his death.
Every unnatural, anomalous occurrence throughout their long journey began to cast a shadow of suspicion in her mind. Just what had happened back then?
At this point, debating over him felt utterly absurd. She harbored no desire to pry any deeper into his past, yet neither could she bring herself to defend him. In the projection she had just witnessed, his mind had been teeming with bitter, venomous thoughts behind her back; if he had truly turned traitor, no one could call it surprising.
And deeper down, if she were being honest with herself, she felt skeptical about morally condemning him at all. If an ordinary man had colluded with the demons, she would have burned with righteous fury—in truth, she had already felt that rage before. But at that time, he had been nothing more than an invalid suffering from an incurable sickness of the soul. Who would blame a sick man for stumbling backward instead of forward? Who would curse a madman for hurting someone in the throes of a violent fit? At the very least, she could not muster the audacity to pour more wrath upon him. When she herself had nearly lost her mind, whom did she have the right to blame? All she could do was pray his wounds were less grievous than she feared.
I want to see blood.
It was a craving I only registered after half the day had slipped away. With the Demon King dead and gone, the dark mana that once obeyed him had begun running rampant, and in my wretched physical state, it had taken me hours to notice its stirrings. A shudder crawled down my spine at the thought that if this corruption continued unchecked, I might genuinely mutate into a monster.
I had held on this far without losing my mind. There was no way in hell I would surrender my sanity now to the lingering filth of a dead Demon King. Clenching my teeth, I forcibly suppressed the vicious instincts clawing inside me.
Right. I couldn't afford to go mad—not until I reached my hometown.
I strained to bring back memories of my home, hoping that clinging to a purpose would help keep the impulses at bay. My hometown... if I remembered correctly, it was a modest fief in a small nation called Talen. Yet all I possessed were dry, objective facts, stripped clean of any lived experience. I couldn't recall its landscapes. I couldn't remember a single childhood memory. And worst of all, I could no longer picture the faces of the parents who had brought me into the world.
What kind of childhood had I lived? I thought I had been an only child. What kind of person had I been? Probably a fool blinded by greed and dreams of glory. Why else would I have taken up something as cursed as the Holy Sword? And what kind of son had I been to my mother and father?
...I didn't know. The memories refused to surface.
After taking up the Holy Sword and becoming the Hero, I had marched through the latter half of our campaign in a daze, teetering on the edge of madness. Everything that predated the sacred blade was lost in an impenetrable fog. And that was why fear gripped me—the terror that I might never see through that mist, that I would wander blindly through the haze only to collapse and perish without ever finding the path.
Regardless, dwelling on my past was a luxury I could never have indulged in during my days as the Hero. But men inevitably covet what they cannot have, and what eluded me now was the ability to part the clouds and reclaim the ordinary life I had lost. Death did not frighten me. What truly terrified me was that, having forgotten how to fear death, I had drifted so far from who I was that I could never find my way back. I feared that I would never rediscover my true self.
Unable to answer what kind of son I had been, I dredged up the final question I had tucked away.
Who am I?
Clutching my throbbing head in the faint hope that I might one day discover the answer, I dragged my leaden feet forward once more.
Two months had passed since the Hero's banishment, and the clamor demanding his head had begun to quiet down. The populace's outrage, fierce as it was, could only burn so long before reality reasserted itself—an Empire ravaged by years of war, and countless neighbors who would never return. People gradually turned their attention back to the work of rebuilding their lives. Before long, the Hero was pushed aside: an object of bitter hatred, certainly, but trivial compared to immediate survival.
And right at that moment, another earth-shattering decree erupted from the Imperial Palace.
The Hero was accused of high treason.
Peria was the first to receive the news. After the war concluded, she had succeeded to the seat of the Magic Tower Master. Though her tenure had only just begun, she was already regarded with boundless envy and reverence. That an imperial mage would bring word to her before anyone else came as no surprise.
"...What?" Peria asked back through the communication spell.
"The surveillance system within the palace captured the Hero harboring treasonous intent against His Majesty..."
The Imperial Palace was fitted with an internal magical surveillance network monitoring its every corner—a system whose maintenance was among the imperial mages' most critical duties. Because the nobility and visiting dignitaries could never be allowed to know their every move was watched, it was treated as an absolute state secret, the most perilous card the imperial family could ever play.
And now, they had laid that card bare.
It meant the Emperor was confident the rewards far outweighed the risk.
Peria caught herself biting down on her thumbnail. "So, what exactly is this card the palace played?" she demanded of the imperial mage. "Show me."
Moments later, her eyes widened.
The recorded projection flickered to life. The Hero stood before the Emperor, exchanging words. The moment the Emperor finished speaking, the Hero stepped out into the corridor, muttering under his breath as he walked away.
Catching his own words an instant later, the Hero clamped his mouth shut. Then the projection cut off.
Peria stared blankly at the crystal orb, rendered utterly speechless. There was simply no defense for it. Publicly venting discontent toward the sovereign was bad enough, but casually remarking that he wanted to strangle him? It branded him as an undeniable, textbook traitor.
Her brow furrowed. The Hero was already a hunted fugitive. Was there truly a need to corner him even further?
Against her will, her brilliant mind began calculating. Unlike Sein, whose loyalty to the Empire was unconditional, Peria always took a step back to survey the board. And looking at it from that distance, the Emperor was a shrewd politician who never made an uncalculated move.
...Is there a reason the Hero must die at all costs?
Peria bit her lower lip. If she wanted to decipher the knowledge sealed within the fragments of the Holy Sword, she had to begin immediately before time ran out. Pushing aside the headache-inducing political intrigue, she immersed herself once more in unravelling the memories etched into the sacred blade.
A few days after Peria received the report, the accusation of high treason swept through the imperial capital like wildfire. Citing this incident as indisputable proof, the imperial court justified the necessity of their hidden surveillance system, laying its existence bare before the entire realm. Even nobles who felt uneasy about the crown's omnipresent gaze could not raise an objection when confronted with the Hero's blatant treachery.
Overnight, the Hero was transformed from a secondary concern into an arch-villain whom the Empire longed to tear limb from limb. Without a single soul questioning what might have driven his actions, the populace unanimously petitioned for his execution. In truth, they had no other choice.
The Emperor threw his full backing behind Count Cerindel, who had volunteered to hunt the rogue down, ordering him to succeed and promising vast honors upon completion. It was an indirect declaration that whichever man brought down the Hero would be installed as the supreme commander of the imperial military.
All eyes naturally drifted toward House Luderan, the Golden Lion of the Empire, yet the ducal house remained dead silent. Some whispered that Luderan had knelt before the imperial crown; others insisted they were secretly sharpening their claws to butcher the Hero with their own hands.
And Sein, the center of all those swirling rumors, simply lay in bed, staring blankly at the canopy.
She could not even begin to fathom what was happening to her. Was this lethargy born of betrayal toward the Emperor? Hatred toward the comrade who had dared commit treason? Or something else entirely?
As she lay there in hollow silence, light footsteps came pattering across the floor toward the bed.
"Sister, what's wrong? Are you sick?"
It was Tia Luderan, Sein's one and only little sister. Tia climbed onto the edge of the mattress, scanning Sein from head to toe with wide, anxious eyes.
"Why have you been lying in bed all this time...?"
Sein looked at her and let out a soft chuckle. How could anyone keep a precious eleven-year-old child worrying over them like that? Reaching out, she gently stroked Tia's soft hair.
"No, sweetheart. Your sister is just a little tired. Do you want to lie down with me, Tia?"
Tia nodded eagerly, and Sein pulled her beloved little sister into her arms, holding her close against her chest.
Right. I can't let this little one worry.