The Saintess and Robert – 1
"You don't intend to see me off?"
"No need. If there was something I wanted to say, I already said it."
Adele had known the day Robert would leave would come, eventually.
If he'd had unfinished business, that would have been one thing — but anything he'd truly wanted to say, he had already said that night. So there was nothing left to do but let him go.
Recalling the way Robert's eyes had rested on her in that final moment before the carriage pulled away, Adele let out a soft sigh.
Shall we make a bet?
That word — bet — still lingered in her mind, its meaning stubbornly unclear. That they would watch the bell toll together next year. That if she called for him, he would come, no questions asked.
And if he didn't come, she would drag him here by force — he knew that better than anyone, didn't he?
A wish, in exchange for a bet he was bound to lose. The reward was absurdly generous, and that was precisely what she couldn't make sense of.
Unless... unless he had noticed that she was anxious.
Instinct was something she'd been born with. When danger loomed, when lives hung by a thread — a sixth sense that foretold such moments with eerie precision.
She had always lived on the edge of a blade. The North was a land where men hunted each other's throats, where death at any hour would surprise no one. For a girl to survive such a place with nothing but a sword in hand, the method was simple.
Sense the threats coming for you before they arrived. Cut them at the root. Crush them so thoroughly they could never crawl back up.
This instinct, gifted to her from birth, had been the engine of that entire way of life — and so Adele had always trusted it without reservation.
But what she felt now was unlike anything before it. It wasn't a bad feeling at all.
It was almost as if something were whispering that nothing would go wrong — nothing at all — leaving her with nothing but a quiet, peaceful premonition.
That's strange.
She had never once felt anything like it in her life.
If I just keep going like this, everything will turn out fine? Adele didn't believe in peaceful thoughts like that. In every moment, in every situation, the ominous feeling had always been close behind.
Then, unbidden, the memory of Robert's letter surfaced.
And the moment it did, the calm vanished, replaced by a creeping dread that bloomed in her chest.
...There's something in there.
At that thought, Adele tore the letter open — and found herself staring blankly at something that slipped free and drifted to the floor.
A snow-white handkerchief.
The one she had lent him when she cut the blade from Robert's throat — the one embroidered with her crest.
A faint smile crossed her lips as she picked it up. He hadn't needed to return it, and yet here it was, back in her hands after she'd all but forgotten it. It was almost funny.
Did he actually remember I asked for it back?
Setting the handkerchief aside, she lifted the letter itself — and was surprised to find the handwriting far neater than the man himself ever suggested.
Born a noble, and it showed in places like this. Unlike her, Robert had been born in the Central region — of course he'd learned to write properly.
I debated long over what to write in this first line, so I kept it simple. I trust the handkerchief reached you safely.
She wanted to reply that yes, it had — but this was only a letter, one-sided and silent.
Adele stared hard at the paper for a moment before her gaze drifted downward.
The opening lines were simple pleasantries. He'd said he'd left words for her somewhere — but where, exactly?
Only some time later, as she read on, did Adele's eyes narrow.
During my time in the North, I saw many things — but I believe the thing I saw most was you, Grand Duke. I faced you more than anyone, spoke with you more than anyone, and received a great deal of help from you as well.
"Help, he says."
Adele gave a dry laugh. She could hardly recall a single instance of actually helping Robert.
He'd adapted on his own, and all she'd done was lend him a sword. That was the extent of it.
There had been a sight she'd wanted to show him, true — but the expression on Robert's face when he'd seen it had looked remarkably complicated.
Whatever memory he'd been lost in, she could be certain it was something she knew nothing about.
There was, unmistakably, a blank space between Robert and herself. Things she didn't know that Robert did. Could anyone really stand in that gap without feeling the wrongness of it?
She didn't like that fact one bit — but the next lines of the letter scattered the thought entirely.
I said I had words I wished to share, but in truth, my greatest purpose in writing is to warn you. The reason I came to the North — the reason I sought you out — was never to return the handkerchief.
Warn. Adele frowned at the word, then read on — and let out a small, disbelieving laugh.
It was too far removed from anything that made sense. A name she had never considered, never even held in her thoughts — only bewilderment bloomed in its place.
And yet her eyes kept moving down the page.
The words Robert wished to say to her — words soaked through with the nature of a warning — made no sense, no matter how many times she turned them over.
She had been acknowledged by the imperial family and raised to the seat of Grand Duke. She had received her title directly from the Crown Prince's own hand. Which made it all the more absurd.
Adele's lips pressed into a thin line.
Her eyes, always so cold, now wavered in a dizzying blur of doubt and confusion.
The first thing I wish to tell you is this:
"...What on earth were you thinking when you wrote this, Robert."
Do not answer the Crown Prince's summons.
Clatter—
It was only when I left the North behind and traded the sled for a proper carriage that I truly felt I had set foot in the Central region again.
A place I hated to return to. And not only because I would have to look at Yuria's and Keitel's faces — scattered through every corner of this capital, fragments of my memories still lingered like ghosts.
Everywhere I went, the traces of what I had attempted would remain.
The one comforting thing, at least, was that I had no reason to stop by the ducal mansion.
My eyes narrowed as I read Renald's letter.
Begun to move — in other words, she was wrapping up preparations to make the position of Family Head official.
How far she would draw her lines before acting remained to be seen, but she might well move against Father. It would have been wiser to take precautions in advance.
If she stole the initiative from me at a critical moment, the whole plan would falter.
The first thing to do was secure Father's safety. Father was the first insurance against any sudden crisis Yuria might engineer.
Unless he consented, the position of Family Head could not be decided — so I had to start by holding the one person who carried that authority.
I was midway through writing my reply to Renald when a stray thought made me lift my head.
The letter I had sent to Adele. She would surely have finished reading it by now.
Its contents were a fairly blatant warning — with one more thing added on top of that.
Regression.
I'd written it with inspiration from something Adele had once said, though it amounted to little more than a hint.
How she interpreted it was her affair. If she believed it, things might bend in a slightly better direction; if she didn't, that was fine too.
I'm saving her. That much I had decided — so in this life, Adele's death simply does not exist.
Perhaps because I had crossed swords with her so often in the North, my level had climbed a step beyond what I'd expected.
Using a bit of mana no longer winded me the way it used to, and wielding weapons other than swords was now a real possibility.
They say I wasted twenty lives after losing Mirajen — but I didn't waste them entirely. Hadn't I seen the pinnacle of every weapon I could use?
I might never fully reach those heights again, but if I built upon the understanding I had already achieved, I believed there was nothing I couldn't do.
"Better get word to Adrian."
And so my destination this time was the Church where Adrian would be. Heading there the moment I arrived in the Central region felt a touch hasty, I'll admit.
There were things I needed to see in Adrian, but in this life I also had to build a relationship with the Church, so it was only natural.
If there was something I had to finish before striking down the Crown Prince, establishing my own power base came first.
Going to the North, traveling to the South with Adrian, cultivating my friendship with Mirajen — wasn't that what all of it had been for?
And I had even met with the Crown Prince face to face. Things were proceeding smoothly on that front.
The Church could be seen as part of the same design.
The Saintess's Church accounted for nine-tenths of the Empire's faith. If I could win even a sliver of support from a power like that, wouldn't it be more than enough insurance for the future?
The only discomfort was that this particular force was being prepared for what came after the treason.
The treason had to be carried out in utter secrecy.
So covertly that even Mirajen wouldn't sense it — the Crown Prince must die with only myself, Arwen, and perhaps Adele at my side.
As for the justification I would raise once he was dead, I had several. His strange, erratic behavior of late — and now, everything connected to the Evil Dragon.
The problem was that the process was so very, extraordinarily, nearly impossible.
This time I was steering fate down an entirely new path, but there had also been a life where I came within a hair's breadth of killing the Crown Prince.
Recalling how my mind had broken, even briefly, after that failure — yes, I suppose I did regret it.
Lost in such thoughts, I was fiddling with the artifact when I sent word to Mirajen.
Contacting Adrian required her. As a mage attached to the imperial household, she could likely connect me all the way to the Moon Tower.
The signal tone rang for a long while, and the moment it cut off, Mirajen's voice came through.
"Oh — is that Young Lord Robert?"
"It is. I trust you've been well, Your Highness?"
"I was wondering what you were calling about. I do hope your wounds healed properly — are you still in the North?"
"I only just left. I've arrived in the Central region. Judging by your voice, you seem to have been resting comfortably."
Mirajen's voice was unchanged. No sign of anything wrong — and that characteristic playfulness woven through her tone brought a faint smile to my face.
I simply took it to mean she was a little less free to move about than before.
The investigation into how our location in the Northwest had been exposed might proceed, but actually producing results would be another matter entirely.
Delighted by my words, Mirajen insisted that was absolutely not the case and heaved a deep sigh.
The moment she'd returned to the palace, she'd been placed under house arrest — and she wouldn't be permitted to leave for the foreseeable future. Her voice was thick with worry as she poured it all out.
Well, if I were the Emperor, I'd consider such an order only proper. His beloved daughter had nearly come to serious harm in the North — no ruler would simply let that pass without taking measures.
When I offered a little comfort, Mirajen grumbled for a while, then turned her questions on me.
"The Grand Duke must be quite disappointed. You left barely any time after I did, you know."
"Surely not. She's a very busy woman."
"Hm. Is that really so?"
Having tossed out that loaded little remark, Mirajen went on in a slightly brighter voice. She must have been starving for conversation with another person, I thought. Under house arrest, even speaking to her own maids would have been a struggle.
"Can you come to the palace? I told you before, didn't I — I wanted to repay you. Now that you're in the Central region, come my way and I'll receive you properly. If it's the price of saving a princess's life, well... I could grant you a wish or two."
"And what wish would I possibly ask of you?"
"If you asked me to court you, that much I could permit. I'd think you'd know by now how rare it is to become a princess's beloved."
I shrugged at the word rare.
How many times had she and I become lovers? I'd wager well past ten. What was inside Mirajen's body, I knew better than she did herself.
A ridiculous thing to say, of course. If I ever spoke it aloud, she wouldn't just be shocked out of her wits — she'd run from me on sight.
"I have no particular interest in that. What I called about, actually, is another favor."
"...Oh. And here I didn't expect you to say you weren't interested. And this favor would be?"
"I'd like to contact the Saintess. Would you be able to connect me?"
Then came a stretch of silence.
Through the line I could hear the artifact clatter to the floor and get picked back up, hear a burst of silly, aimless laughter — and then a cold voice slipped through.
"Aha. Adrian, you mean."
"Yes. Although... your voice has gone rather dark."
"Oh, nothing. I've just been let down by someone. I'd appreciate it if people didn't raise my hopes for no reason. Be a little more careful next time, Young Lord Taylor."
I barely managed an answer to that sterner tone, and Mirajen gave a short hmph before her footsteps carried her away from the artifact — presumably to summon a mage.
I couldn't help but chuckle softly at that reaction. You haven't changed one bit — not then, not now. And somehow, just that thought was enough to put my heart at ease.