Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: The Banquet of Resignation
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For the time being, to celebrate the armistice, all the gates of the Imperial Palace would be thrown open, with a grand banquet planned for about ten days.
But just for one day.
The day Dever Cliff set foot in Wayne, the gates were locked tight.
Cowardly bastard. Raphaelle had called Hoyden—who was now the emperor—that since childhood. Of course, she never let it show in front of others.
The only exception, aside from Arthur.
He was the one person she could fully bare her heart to.
Raphaelle glided lightly through her beautiful garden toward the central banquet hall. With every step, her white wisteria-like earrings swayed gently beneath her delicate earlobes.
The attendants, catching sight of the princess entering the hall like a bride in the depths of winter, exchanged knowing glances among themselves.
Raphaelle had once been little more than a pretty youngest princess back when the previous emperor was alive. Now, she bloomed day by day like a flower in full splendor.
Everyone assumed the master of that flower would be Dever Cliff, seated aloof at the far end of the table.
"Raphaelle has arrived as well."
The emperor tried his best to sound detached, but he couldn't quite mask the contempt in his voice for his half-sister.
"I greet Your Majesty. It's been quite some time, hasn't it?"
At Raphaelle's pointed words—"quite some time"—the emperor's expression shifted subtly. The veins bulged on the hand clutching his wine glass.
"Family exchanging greetings like this... it's almost laughable at times."
"Ahem!"
"I meant that I was glad to see your face, Your Majesty."
Raphaelle twisted her slightly raised heel to glance at Dever, who stood directly across from her.
He was there with the same face as always. An expression of profound boredom and tedium.
But were the feelings hidden beneath it as serene as that mask?
"Isn't that right, Duke Dever?"
Dever offered no reply, merely inclining his head slightly in courteous acknowledgment of the princess.
Raphaelle scrutinized Dever's face, one she'd seen to the point of revulsion. That unchanging expression—from age seventeen to now—sometimes sent chills even through her.
"Sit, Raphaelle."
And Arthur, ever guarding the seat beside him, was utterly fed up.
"Yes, everyone, take your seats."
Only after the emperor spoke did the awkward silence shatter.
The orchestra's melody, wafting from a distance, aptly filled the quiet. It was far too lavish a scene for a mere dinner of four. The emperor's guards lined up outside the doors made it impossible to tell if this was a celebration for the army commander... or an attempt on his life.
In that strange disharmony, Dever wielded his knife in silence.
"A battle riddled with 'mistakes,' and yet you somehow claimed victory."
At that instant, a sharp clatter rang out as Arthur's fork hit the floor.
"Damn it."
Arthur ground out the curse under his breath.
The emperor's eyes sharpened.
"Arthur, what childish nonsense is this?"
"My apologies, Your Majesty. My hand slipped."
"Tch."
Arthur clenched his fist, hidden beneath the table. A servant soon brought a gleaming new fork, but he left it untouched.
"There were no mistakes."
Dever continued his meal in silence.
"Only failures."
"Failures? What do you mean by that?"
Dever slipped a small piece of meat into his mouth. His manners were flawless, but his excessive composure made him seem insolent.
"To put it simply..."
Dever's eyes narrowed slightly. He furrowed his brow as if running calculations, then fixed his leisurely gaze piercingly on the emperor.
"The failure of a foolish plan, perhaps."
Raphaelle watched the emperor's face.
In moments like these, she sometimes wondered if Dever might actually suit her quite well.
"That's why I appointed you army commander—to avert that failure. Just as with Cassius."
The emperor took a calm sip of wine.
Of the four seated at the table, his was the only glass drained to the bottom.
"I see."
Dever nodded.
Everyone could see the emperor struggling to suppress his surging fury at the indifferent response.
But Dever alone seemed oblivious as he lobbed a bombshell.
"Which is why I intend to resign."
"Dever!"
"What did you just say?!"
Resign? Dever Cliff, resigning as army commander?
Three pairs of eerily similar blue eyes turned to the gray eyes of the sole outsider, Dever.
Dever regarded each face in turn, deliberately.
It was a familiar tableau. Chillingly identical, save for the two extra chairs that had been there when his father and the previous emperor were alive. Even the guards outside, whose protection was anyone's guess.
"I trust it will be approved."
A polite threat.
"The Cliff family has devoted our lives to the imperial house all this while."
Dever rose slowly from his seat.
The emperor looked up at Dever, who gazed indifferently down at his head. Fear and rage tangled chaotically in those eyes.
"Surely you don't demand my life as well."
"You...!"
"Forgive my rudeness in rising first, Your Majesty."
Dever took a step back.
"This nauseating meat... it conjures the stench of corpses rolling on the battlefield."
"What did you say—"
"Better to commit a breach of etiquette than vomit before Your Majesty."
The emperor's face flushed and paled by turns. His trembling hand groped aimlessly across the table.
"Now that I'm gone, dismiss those ruffians outside and dine in peace."
Dever knelt on one knee before the emperor, offering the utmost respect a soldier could show his lord.
A sweet melody, mismatched to the frozen banquet, flowed between the three who remained.
"How dare you to me..."
Raphaelle glanced at the emperor, preoccupied calculating Dever's gambit. Then she looked at Arthur, head bowed deeply before her.
Her second glance lingered longer.
Raphaelle covered her mouth with a hand gloved in pristine white lace. Giggles kept escaping despite her efforts.
Madman. Pretending to be sane all this time.
Dever Cliff had lost his mind. Just as she'd predicted. No other explanation for such behavior.
He was a man meant to live as he always had—the war ghost everyone knew, the wolf cub, Cassius's lingering specter. And now, pointless antics?
"You've lost her too."
That woman.
Raphaelle rose from her seat.
The banquet's purpose was fulfilled. She'd seen Dever, confirmed he'd let Beth slip away, and gained proof of his madness.
No need to waste more time here.
"Your Majesty, have no fears. He's always sacrificed for Nexus. He's merely—"
Raphaelle's eyes met Arthur's in midair.
"...worn down by the long war."
Dever left the palace without attendants.
Emerging from the towering gates so high they blocked the outside world, Wayne's bustling central street came into view at once.
Those who had forgotten the night celebrated the victory.
Fireworks burst everywhere, painting the night sky, while groups of revelers linked arms and belted out songs.
Street stalls brimmed with cheap liquor. Already drunk men bellowed at the top of their lungs, but no one scolded them.
The tavern keepers couldn't hide their beaming grins amid the rare boom.
Only Dever walked through them, preserving his solitude.
His height, far above average, drew furtive glances, but the common folk didn't realize this was the famed Dever Cliff. They just figured him for some handsome noble.
He walked on like that for a long while.
Unsure of his destination.
Simply meaning to weather this time.
When he wasn't sure how much time had passed, someone cautiously blocked his path.
"Your Grace, the carriage is prepared."
Dever boarded without a word. As the carriage pulled away from the center, the crowd's clamor faded.
Only on the quiet road leading to the Cliff duke's residence did Dever realize his destination.
"It's the same."
Late as it was, the servants had lined up impeccably to welcome their master, returned from ending the war.
They bowed their heads, clearing a path.
Dever walked the center, scanning the vast Cliff Mansion with impassive eyes. Not as grand or imposing as the Cliff territory's castle, but the capital estate was ornately appointed to match the times.
"You've returned."
Butler Oliver bowed his graying head, expressing respect for his master. Wrinkles befitting his years lent his face a gentle elder's warmth.
"You've had your hands full in my absence."
"It's my duty."
"Beautiful."
"You flatter me."
Oliver masked his surprise at the praise—something Dever never offered.
Dever had never once glanced at the garden.
Yet now, he gazed quietly at the darkened garden and the greenhouse path extending alongside it.
"Shall I light the lanterns?"
"That would be best."
At Oliver's signal to a waiting servant, the man hurried off to ignite the lanterns encircling the mansion.
Dever took in the scene as lights flickered on one by one, leisurely.
What would Beth have done if she were here?
She'd probably have been at a loss seeing the butler show such deference. Or maybe she'd have stubbornly refused to enter at the gate.
A dry chuckle escaped his parched lips.
All pointless thoughts.
Dever entered the mansion. His footsteps echoed up the cavernously empty grand hall's staircase.
"I'll go alone."
Dever dismissed the trailing servants.
Once dozens of footsteps faded, only his solitary tread resounded in the corridor.
He opened the first door on this floor. The bulb flickered a few times before illuminating the space.
The next room.
And the one after. And after that. And the next.
Dever began lighting every room in the densely packed mansion. Where bulbs failed, he lit wall sconces.
Reaching the top floor, he saw his bedroom.
Had he ever slept there?
Dever entered. He stared blankly at the dead bulb, then flicked his Zippo lighter.
Beneath the encircling glow, Dever shrugged off his jacket. Fondling the breast pocket as if handling something precious, he retrieved the small cache inside.
Sedatives.
The last ones Beth had given him.
Not many remained.
Dever dumped them all into his mouth and collapsed onto the bed. The bitter taste stung his tongue, but his mind only sharpened.
Beth was gone.
His Beth Jens was gone.
That single fact kept sleep at bay.
The night deepened at the Cliff Mansion, bright as winter flowers.