A Single Night's Love
The moment Sayne opened her eyes, she reached for water.
Her body was capable of purging the toxicity of ordinary alcohol in mere seconds, but downing more than ten bottles of high-proof Fire Whisky was an entirely different matter. Fortunately, the hangover proved mild. She accepted a glass from her maid, drank it down, and began to move about. As circulation returned, vigor seeped back into her limbs, and the lingering fog of drunkenness cleared away.
After letting her attendants dress her, she prepared to inspect the Imperial Knights as she did every morning, but promptly abandoned the idea. The position was already all but guaranteed to be handed over to Count Cerindel anyway. What was the point of working herself to the bone?
Calling an attendant, she ordered a leave of absence submitted to the Imperial Palace. It was entirely reasonable. She had plunged straight into work the moment she returned from fighting Grandis, after all; taking a brief respite was well within her rights.
Besides, she had suffered through vile nightmares, leaving her in terrible shape. The hangover from Fire Whisky was certainly as vicious as its reputation suggested, or so she told herself.
Yet as the last traces of alcohol evaporated, a dull, creeping ache bloomed in her lower abdomen instead. Checking to see what was amiss, she found a dark smear of blood staining her undergarments.
It was her monthly cycle. Realizing she had completely forgotten its arrival, her foul mood plummeted even further. She had doubted it was possible to sink any lower than she already felt, but she discovered, to her dismay, that rock bottom still had a basement.
She changed her clothes and undergarments, fastened a sanitary cloth, and stared down at the crimson mark on the discarded fabric.
Her period—the irrefutable proof that she was a woman. When she was young, she had despised it so intensely that she threw bitter tantrums at anyone nearby whenever it came. It served as a constant, biological reminder that she was expected to marry, that she was destined to bear children.
Perhaps born from her desperate yearning to live on her own terms, she had climbed relentlessly until she succeeded her father and claimed the ducal mantle of Luderan. Yet even after achieving that pinnacle, the bleeding returned month after month, without fail.
It had been over four years since she first met the Hero, and nearly three and a half years since the pressure to marry had begun suffocating her. The utter helplessness and stifling frustration she had endured back then still burned fresh in her mind, and every time her body reminded her of her womanhood, that same suffocating dread reared its head once more.
Deep down, she still longed for freedom. She wanted nothing more than to set out and seek her own true path. But the burdens resting upon her shoulders were far too heavy.
Because she was now the head of the house, her family demanded she marry a suitable match to cement their political alliances. Her homeland wanted the exact same thing—to see her wed someone respectable and fade quietly into the inner quarters, reduced to minding children for the rest of her days.
Still, she had no right to whimper over something so trivial.
The Hero had endured—and overcome—trials far more horrific than this. Even after suffering betrayal at her very hands, he had looked her in the face day after day and marched forward until he struck down the Demon King.
Or perhaps it was precisely that torment that had broken him, driving him to collude with the enemy. How sickening must it have been to greet the person who murdered you every single morning with a calm inquiry of whether they had slept well?
Perhaps because of her cycle, her emotions refused to steady, swaying erratically back and forth. Or maybe it was the searing sunlight blazing relentlessly across the earth that agitated her so.
She usually swung her blade under that scorching sun without a second thought, but today she shrank from it. Did she feel too guilty, too stained by sin, to dare step beneath the light?
Realizing her thoughts had tangled into a chaotic mess, she sank back onto the bed without even bothering to undress. She simply lay there doing nothing, letting time slip by to the quiet cadence of her own breathing.
She rested like that for the entire day. And a few days later, the time finally came to witness his story once again.
He had returned to the past once more.
Yes, right back to the moment he received the marriage proposal. Whether it was the price of treating the matter too lightly, his choice had once again been judged a fatal error.
Einzel resolved to change his approach entirely.
Of all moments, the loop had reset to this exact juncture. Stranger still, when he had agreed to the marriage, no assassin had appeared; yet the instant he refused, a blade was sent for his throat. Above all else, he did not believe for a fraction of a second that a High Expert was just some run-of-the-mill assassin. No matter how much he racked his brain, the only faction capable of dispatching an operative of that caliber was House Luderan.
But why? Why was Luderan so obsessed with him that they would resort to murder the moment he turned down their proposal?
He had to find out.
After giving Duke Luderan a noncommittal response, Einzel returned to his quarters. Starting the very next morning, he began frantically digging into everything he could uncover regarding House Luderan. He gathered information on their political standing, the history of their lineage, and the dynamics surrounding their current head, spreading the parchment out across his desk. In the warm glow of the candlelight, the intelligence that might serve as his lifeline came into sharp focus.
Only then did he realize why Luderan had extended their hand to him in the first place.
Luderan was locked in a bitter struggle against the Imperial Family.
The ducal house had relentlessly opposed the Emperor whenever an imperial decree threatened their interests, even in the slightest. In turn, the Emperor exploited the fact that the current head of Luderan was not the legitimate firstborn son, applying steady political pressure to suffocate them. The Emperor desperately wanted Cerindel—his obedient, well-trained dog—to become the undisputed supreme commander of the military.
Yet House Luderan's foundations were far too formidable, and lacking a legitimate pretext, the Emperor could not openly strike them down.
Right at that stalemate, Einzel had appeared—a Hero who had obliterated an entire enemy corps and slaughtered its commander in a single day.
The Emperor had granted the Hero an imperial surname, hoping he would become a loyal new hound for the throne. House Luderan, meanwhile, offered a marriage proposal, intending to use the Hero as a political counterweight to widen the chasm between themselves and Cerindel.
From beginning to end, he had been nothing more than a pawn swept into their petty games of power.
When the full truth dawned on him, Einzel felt white-hot fury surge straight to his head.
Are they all completely insane?
He had not won that battle through solitary brilliance; it was the sheer defensive might and sacrifice of Felton Fortress that carried the day. And how many volatile variables had swung in his favor? What if Genom, the 2nd Legion Commander, had not suffered internal injuries beforehand? What if that demonic commander had not been blinded by the greedy ambition of capturing the Hero? Countless chaotic factors had clashed on that field, and Einzel had died dozens of agonizing deaths just to scrape together a single, miraculous victory.
The Empire was underestimating the Demon King's army to a delusional degree.
They looked down on the very horrors encroaching upon their borders while squabbling over domestic politics—and he had died repeatedly because of that petty rot?
Einzel's face contorted into a grimace. He wanted nothing more than to smash the entire board they had set up.
A few days later, Einzel sat sipping tea at an outdoor cafe, waiting for Sayne. It was nearly time for her to arrive.
As he waited, he quietly weighed what he truly felt toward her. Was it burning anger toward the one who had murdered him? Paralyzing fear? He honestly did not know what emotions he harbored for Sayne, nor did he know how he ought to treat her when they met.
At last, Sayne appeared.
She wore a lavish, breathtaking dress, looking every bit like an ordinary noble lady. Her family had likely assumed his invitation was a promising sign and forced her into the attire. Completely unaccustomed to such garments, she bit her lower lip, her cheeks flushed with awkward embarrassment.
In that fleeting instant, Einzel understood.
What he felt toward her was neither hatred nor terror. It was profound empathy and pity for a fellow soul who had been reduced to an unthinking marionette, just like himself.
"You're here?"
"...Yeah."
Even her reply sounded heavy and hollow, entirely stripped of her usual bright, spirited demeanor. Einzel made a conscious effort to hold her gaze.
"Let's finish our tea first. After that, do you think you could come by my quarters for a moment?"
"...Why your quarters?"
"There's something I need to talk to you about."
Einzel watched her carefully. She gave a faint shudder, looking at him with guarded, questioning eyes.
Once they finished their tea, they made their way to Einzel's lodging. Upon arriving, he guided her into a quiet parlor furnished with nothing more than a small table and a pair of chairs. Standing before her, he wasted no time.
"Do you really want to get married?"
"...What?"
Sayne stared at him with a dazed, uncomprehending expression. Einzel pressed forward, his voice steady.
"To be blunt, I happened to find out that House Luderan is in a position where they desperately need me. So I couldn't help but wonder if you were being pressured by your family."
"N-no. That's not it. I truly..."
"Truly... Truly what? You truly want to marry me of your own free will? What's so great about me that you'd want that?"
"W-well, compared to other men, you're at least familiar..."
"..."
"..."
Einzel held her gaze without blinking. Beneath his scrutiny, her eyes wavered violently, brimming with turmoil.
"...What? What is it! It's not like political marriages are inherently evil! Are you refusing to marry me just because you hate me?"
"I can understand political marriages," Einzel replied calmly. "What I can't understand is forcing someone into a marriage they despise, making them lie to the world and pretend they're happy when it's tearing them apart inside."
"..."
"Be honest with me. Do you really want your life to end up like this?"
"...And what changes if I say I don't want it?" she snapped, glaring at him with wounded defiance.
Einzel met her fierce gaze with absolute gravity.
"Maybe nothing will change. But even so, you never know what could happen. If you throw your hands up and surrender just because the odds are slim, even that tiny sliver of hope will burn out and die."
He said it because he never wanted to see it again—that shattered, hollow expression on her face when she drove her sword into his chest and took her own life.
"You expect me to gamble my entire life on some pathetic, tiny possibility? It's far easier to just get married and get it over with!"
"Except that isn't what you want at all. You know what? You're terrible at hiding what you feel. You looked like you were on your way to a funeral from the moment we met today. Besides, the Sayne I know isn't the kind of person who just rolls over and gives up. Do you remember when you taught me swordsmanship? You were the one who told me to keep swinging, even if I was the first one knocked to the dirt. You said miracles have a way of happening even against impossible odds."
Sayne's breath caught in her throat. She stared at him, struck entirely dumb.
"Don't be ridiculous," she whispered, her voice trembling. "There's no way a miracle like that would ever happen for me."
"Don't jump to conclusions and surrender before we even try. A miracle will happen. I'll stand by you and help you until it does."
They were the truest words he could offer, spoken with every ounce of sincerity in his soul. Even if he had to break, bleed, and die countless times before that miracle took shape, he would drag it into reality eventually.
"...Really?" Her voice cracked, tears brimming along the edges of her lashes.
"Yeah."
"Then... please help me..."
Sayne reached out with trembling hands, clutching the lapels of his coat as if clinging to a lifeline.
"I don't want to live out my life as someone's puppet... It's not because I dislike you. It really isn't. It's just... I can't stand the thought of being pushed around like this, living every single day drowning in regret..."
To bend her neck and submit here felt like spitting in the face of her younger self who had hungered so fiercely for freedom. It felt like a total betrayal of her late mother, whose dying wish had been for Sayne to live an unchained life.
She had never truly escaped the long shadow of her mother's remorse. Watching herself wither away, stripped of her identity, she had been throwing herself against the iron bars of her gilded cage in a desperate bid for freedom, tearing her own flesh to ribbons in the process.
"Don't worry," Einzel murmured softly, resting a hand over hers. "I'll be your miracle."
Reaching out to save someone trapped in that darkness was precisely what it meant to be a Hero. At the very least, that was what he chose to believe.