At the look in Aizen's eyes, Jordi unconsciously took a step back.
The composure he'd shown just moments ago was gone, cold sweat beading across his forehead.
"As expected of you, Sir Aizen. Truly skills worthy of the title Sword Saint."
"That's something everyone knows. It's surprising that the Second Young Master did not."
…
"What's even more surprising," Aizen continued, "is that the Second Young Master sought the help of a mage."
With a complicated expression, Aizen looked at the mage who had been reduced to a bloody pulp.
No one knew better than Aizen how obsessed the Imperial Court was with mages.
Even for Jordi, it wouldn't end lightly if it became known that he had employed one.
And yet—to have the mage attack so brazenly, in full view of everyone.
"Just who is cooperating with you, Second Young Master? No—who is it that you serve?"
"I—!"
Jordi flared up and opened his mouth.
But the lips that looked ready to shout couldn't produce a single word.
When Aizen saw Jordi close his mouth again, he clicked his tongue.
"Can't even bring yourself to say His Majesty the Emperor, hm?"
"Sir Aizen."
"That's enough. There's no point in continuing this exchange."
Aizen tossed aside the shattered hilt of the wooden sword he had broken when he struck the ground earlier, then picked up another.
It was nothing more than an ordinary training sword, yet in the hands of the Sword Saint, it looked more terrifying than any real blade.
"I'll say this one last time. Step aside."
At the warning that there would be no next time, Jordi trembled with humiliation, yet still moved one step to the side.
The knights who followed him likewise shuffled aside in a rush, opening a path.
Aizen was walking down the fully cleared way when he drew level with Jordi.
"Ah, Second Young Master. Where are the Third Young Master's trusted retainers? I'll be taking them as well."
"Th-That!"
Jordi raised his voice without realizing it, then froze.
The Sword Saint's eyes, now within striking distance, were colder than ice.
After opening and closing his mouth for a moment, Jordi squeezed his eyes shut and spoke.
"…They were confined in the underground prison not long ago. Do as you will."
"Ha. The underground prison."
A hollow chuckle escaped Aizen's lips.
Did that not mean he had been freely using the family's facilities even before launching the rebellion?
He had asked the question casually, yet the more he uncovered, the more there was only reason to sigh.
"Second Young Master, remember this. The only reason I did not cut you down is because I lack the permission of my liege, His Grace the Archduke."
Jordi's face twisted in humiliation, yet he could not bring himself to retort.
Leaving Jordi behind, Aizen quietly made his way to the underground prison.
There was no longer any reason for him to remain there.
***
"…And that's how I found them in the prison. I was worried they might have been tortured, but fortunately, they looked quite healthy."
At Aizen's lighthearted remark, Hans scratched the back of his head with an awkward expression.
"Surprisingly, they fed us pretty well. It was stifling, but since nothing was done to us, it was bearable enough."
"You should count yourself lucky. If His Highness hadn't become a Border Marquis, you'd have gone through something far worse."
"In that case, I think they wouldn't have bothered capturing us in the first place and would've just let us go…"
Perhaps having grown a bit closer on the journey north, Hans and Ian traded jokes.
Aizen, too, wore a faint smile, seemingly in no bad mood.
Yet even amid the warm atmosphere, Lucian couldn't smile at all.
"Sir Aizen."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Why didn't you kill Jordi?"
At Lucian's words, the once-pleasant air froze solid in an instant.
Only Aizen, as though he had expected the question, responded with a bitter smile.
"Because I cannot know His Grace the Archduke's intentions."
"My father's intentions?"
"When a person stands on the brink of death, countless thoughts cross their mind. It's not uncommon for someone's values or convictions to change after miraculously surviving."
If Archduke Sigmund had been alive and well, Aizen might have cut him down without hesitation.
But the Archduke was dead, the successor undecided, and no one knew what thoughts had crossed his mind at the very end.
For Aizen, it was impossible to know what the right course of action had been.
"Interpreting the will of the dead as one pleases is a privilege of the living. But as a vassal, I could not bring myself to do that."
"Do you believe my father wanted Jordi to live?"
"I don't know. He might have ordered me to strike him down at once—or he might have wanted the Second Young Master to serve as a focal point while the family was in chaos."
"You feared that by acting, you would be twisting your liege's will to suit yourself."
"Shamefully enough, yes."
Watching Aizen lower his head as if disgraced, Lucian closed his eyes.
It must have been a decision born of true loyalty—of a retainer who refused to misinterpret his lord's intentions.
Yet for Lucian, who knew the truth, it was an unbearably bitter choice.
"You had no way of knowing, so it was an understandable decision. But it was one that will become a lifelong regret."
"…What do you mean?"
"There are a few things I heard from His Majesty the Emperor regarding my father's death."
Lucian met Aizen's gaze and spoke quietly.
"They say the one who killed my father was a black tentacle that burst out from the shadows."
***
Lucian explained everything.
His conversation with the Emperor through a magic device.
The mysterious black tentacle—and the death of Archduke Sigmund.
And Tristan, driven mad by rage as well.
When the story ended, Aizen stared blankly into empty space.
The shock had been so great that he looked half out of his mind.
As the Sword Saint remained silent for so long that someone was about to speak up in concern—
Psss—
"Father!"
At Felicia's shout, Aizen and everyone else flinched.
As they turned their heads to see what was wrong, they saw black energy crawling up Aizen's thigh.
"Sir Aizen!?"
"Hup!"
Whooosh—
With a short shout, Aizen tensed his thigh, and the black energy faded once more.
Brushing off the tattered remains of his pants, Aizen gave a sorrowful smile.
"I've shown you an unsightly spectacle. Or perhaps there was nothing left that could be more unsightly?"
"Sir Aizen."
"One swing would have been enough. And yet, in trying to be considerate of my liege, I let my lord's enemy slip away right before my eyes. Ha ha."
Laughing as if there could be no greater farce in the world, Aizen burst into laughter.
It was a laugh so close to sobbing that everyone grew solemn, and in that moment Lucian stepped forward.
"What was that black energy just now?"
"It's nothing serious. Just something like a scar left where that mage struck me. A small mass lodged itself along my mana pathways and keeps trying to gnaw away at my body."
"Are you all right?"
"If I keep suppressing it, it should disappear in a few days. Though by then, it may not matter anymore…"
Aizen muttered with eyes that looked half-dead.
Outwardly he appeared fine, but it was clear he was suffering as though regret were tearing him apart from within.
Left alone, it almost seemed as if he might simply let that wound consume him.
"Sir Aizen, please take this."
Lucian took out the last remaining vial of nek tar from his pouch.
Mistaking it for an ordinary potion, Aizen was about to refuse—until he saw the softly glowing liquid and widened his eyes.
"What in the world is this?"
"It's something that boy made. A treasure with the greatest efficacy among all existing potions."
Lucian gestured to Ian standing behind him.
Ian scratched his cheek repeatedly, looking embarrassed.
"It is kind of the greatest masterpiece of my life."
"Hoh."
Aizen let out a short exclamation but still didn't reach out.
Realizing he had no intention of drinking it, Lucian spoke first.
"Please verify its effects yourself, Sword Saint. If you're worried that taking a potion made by a greenhorn might cause trouble, I won't insist."
"…You leave me no room to refuse."
With a bitter smile, Aizen finally extended his hand.
They had only been brought together because he had aided Lucian as his retainer, but some measure of familiarity had formed along the way.
Aizen wasn't cold-hearted enough to outright refuse to drink a potion someone had made with their own hands.
"Then I'll drink it. If Your Highness praises it so highly, it must be an excellent potion."
With a perfunctory compliment, Aizen opened the vial.
At that instant, his half-dead eyes widened as if they might split apart.
"This is…!"
The mana spilling out of the potion left Aizen aghast.
What elixir in the world released mana even before being consumed?
Startled, Aizen raised the trembling vial and drank it down.
Whooosh—
Pure energy erupted all at once, washing through his mana pathways.
For a Sword Saint whose paths were already honed to perfection, it was technically an unnecessary process—but instinctively, he understood.
Simply drinking this potion would allow most knights to leap beyond decades of training.
Sssss—
The mass…!
The torrent cleansing his mana paths swept away even the lingering residue left behind by the shadow.
Overwhelmed by the excessive clarity and refreshment, Aizen found himself unable to continue speaking.
"Well?"
"It truly is… remarkable."
It was an expression far too lacking in words, yet no other came to mind.
As Aizen stood there in a daze, Lucian smiled at him.
"Yes. And the one who made this incredible potion is that boy right there."
"Sir Aizen, what you have done is save the future of the continent."
At those words, Aizen closed his eyes.
He knew they were meant as comfort—but they were not empty consolation.
This potion truly possessed potential great enough to speak of the continent's future.
"The Third Young Master… what do you intend to do with this?"
Perhaps he had even forgotten the honorific Your Highness—Aizen asked with vacant eyes.
Lucian gave a light shrug and replied,
"Anything, really. But shouldn't the first thing be avenging my father?"
It was a declaration that the mistake Aizen had made would be set right by Lucian's own hand.
Drowning in regret, Aizen closed his eyes like a sinner who had finally glimpsed the possibility of salvation.
Then, with a throat half-choked, he barely managed to utter a single sentence.
"Thank you, Third Young Master."
Without a word, Lucian firmly grasped Aizen's hands.
So that the remorse of the old, loyal retainer might ease, even if only a little.
There were many stories piled up between them—
but more than that, the mental exhaustion weighed heavily on them all.
The Archduke's death, Jordi's rebellion, and even the mysterious collaborator behind it all—
they were topics far too heavy to reach a conclusion on in a single day.
"You'll still be feeling the aftereffects, so get some proper rest for now. Pick any room you like—somewhere comfortable."
"Is that really all right?"
"When I, the master of the White Palace, give permission, who's going to object?"
At Lucian's decisive words, Hans, Ian, and the others let out cheers.
The lord they served had gone from being a scion of a great family to His Grace the Duke.
Naturally, their own standing would rise accordingly—there was no reason they wouldn't be delighted.
"No need to watch your step around others. They're all your juniors anyway. If anyone dares treat you poorly just because you used to be servants, straighten them out immediately."
"Yes, Your Highness!"
At Lucian's command, his close aides answered loudly and dispersed.
Only after everyone else was gone did Lucian follow behind Aizen, his expression hardened.
"Sir Aizen."
"Yes, Third Young—Your Highness."
"There's something I didn't tell you earlier."
After looking at Lucian's face, Aizen gave a faint smile.
"I know."
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