The days following the fall of Helgner.

After Elen purified the curse, Duran returned to the castle with her guards, slumping deeply into the chair in his study, idly swirling a glass of wine.

He’d done some work, sure, but his words had dwindled to almost nothing, his thoughts a mess of unease.

The only time Duran had visibly lost his composure was when Elen had pronounced judgment on him—now, he sat in silence, staring at the wineglass in his hand, letting it tremble gently.

Not raging. Not weeping. Just… still. A king’s quiet sorrow, drifting like smoke in the air. His retainer, Orgas, couldn’t help but sigh, watching from the side.

Orgas had been the one quietly investigating Elen’s circle, issuing orders behind the scenes.

The astonishing progress of the Vanclift territory. The moment Orgas realized Elen was behind it all, he’d begun scanning every corner of the Tembar royal family’s inner circle—Elen’s circle, too—searching for any crack, any opening, any sign of weakness.

I zeroed in on Agiel and Aria, dancing recklessly around Lovell, caught in the long-standing feud between the Tembar royal family and the Vanklyft Family. If you're going to exploit a crack, why not start with someone like them?

Truth is, Lovell Vanklyft—the national hero of Tembar—hated the royal family with every fiber of his being.

The feud between the nobility and the royal family could shake the kingdom to its core. His reputation as a hero, and lately, being praised as a noble who stood with the people thanks to the growth of the healing clinics—those things were real.

But if you go straight after the Vanklyfts, you’ll bypass the royal family and stir up the people’s anger. That kind of backlash could unite them instead.

The worst thing about war? Unity.

The Vanklyfts had grown that powerful.

I shifted the focus—from Agiel to Amiel—cultivating, quietly, the resentment already simmering within him, and now fanning it from the outside.

I’d thought I’d carefully guided Amiel, all the while preparing for when things went wrong—just say, “Another one of those Tembarl royals,” and shift the blame elsewhere.

When Amiel finally killed the previous king, Duran and Orgas couldn’t help but laugh.

But then Elen exposed everything. I never, not in a million years, thought it’d come to this.

***

“Bring me a replacement.”

Three empty wine bottles already on the table.

Duran placed his wine glass down with a thud, forehead creased, eyes closed.

“Your Majesty, please….”

“Shut up.”

“………”

Orgas bowed silently, gathered up the bottles, and left.

Alone now, Duran unbuttoned the cuff of his right sleeve, rolled it up, and stared at the exposed mark of judgment.

He’d always thought it was Lore who’d rejected him… who’d betrayed him.

And then there was the fact that Lore had chosen someone whose blood was thick with betrayal—golden-haired, of all things.

Despite the concubine’s infidelity and suspicions that she wasn’t of royal blood, the previous king had accepted Ruel, saying only, “As Lore desires.”

For eighteen long years, I’d hated Lore—hated her with every fiber of my being, stunned, disbelieving.

Ruel, the one Lore had chosen—how I loathed him.

I couldn’t stand the king’s choice to place Lore above the kingdom.

When people said the feud between Tembarr and Helgnar had been misguided, I didn’t know what to think anymore.

It felt like the ground beneath me was crumbling—like everything I’d believed in was falling apart.

And then I realized: I’d been doing the same thing as my ancestors.

Knowing, from Lore’s eyes, that I was the betrayer—it drained me. Left me hollow.

Know the pain of losing someone important.

Elen’s words wouldn’t leave Duran’s ears, no matter how much he drank.

No matter how much he tried to drown it out, Elen’s voice kept ringing—completely sober, utterly trapped.

* * *

Suddenly, a sharp *fwump* cut through the air.

Thought it was Orgas, but there was no sign the door had opened.

Duran lifted his head with a dull sigh—and there, floating midair, was the Great Spirit, and perched on its arm, a white cat.

“W-what…?”

“Honestly, both sisters treating me like a foot servant!?”

The Great Spirit scowled at Duran, then flung the white cat ungracefully into the air with a *pom*.

Duran lunged up from his chair, arms outstretched.

“Gyaaah!”

The muffled, crushed sound of Erel’s voice made Duran’s blood run cold. Without thinking, he clutched Erel close, checking frantically for injuries.

“Go home on your own. I’m done moving, understand?!”

And with that, the Great Spirit vanished in a blink.

Duran stood frozen, silent, eyes locked on the white cat trembling in his arms.

‘Uuu… could’ve been a little gentler…’

The white cat stirred in his arms, ears flicking up.

Sniffing the air, it looked around the room, eyes searching. ‘Where’s Duran…?’

‘…Elen-sama?’

A voice came from above. Elen flinched, jerking her head up in alarm.

For a long moment, Duran and Elen just stared at each other.

Finally, Elen seemed to grasp the situation—‘…S-sorry…’ she muttered, bowing her head.

‘No…’

Duran set her down on the floor, then sank back into the chair.

His head, already reeling from the sudden turn of events, felt sharper than ever.

Duran noticed Elen staring at the scar left on his right arm from Duran’s judgment. He casually adjusted his sleeve, re-fastening the cuff button with a practiced motion.

“Duran… I’m sorry…!”

Duran blinked, surprised by Elen’s sudden apology.

“I… I took Lore from you…!”

Duran finally understood what Elen was trying to say. He exhaled deeply, a long, slow breath.

Elen flinched at the sound of it. Duran saw the twitch at the edge of his vision and tightened his lips.

“…I don’t understand why you’d be apologizing, Your Highness.”

“Duran….”

“I betrayed Lore-sama without even knowing it… that’s all.”

“…Has Lore come back?”

“…No. That’s never going to happen. Not now. Not ever.”

The weight of his own failure. The loss of Lore.

Elen’s condemnation probably doesn’t look like much from the outside.

But not with Duran. Something was different there.

The meaning of losing someone vital to the nation of Lore.

The humiliation of being judged just like the royal family of Tembar, whom we once looked down upon.

Elen had utterly, precisely, crushed Duran’s intentions at their very root.

A country that worships spirits dyed through and through.

A king who hasn’t made a pact with a spirit. The people will notice Lore’s absence soon enough.

It’s only a matter of time before Duran can no longer be king.

Even if we wanted to pass things down through our children, there’s a chance Lore might not be able to approach Duran’s bloodline, just like the royal family of Tembarl.

There was no way out for Duran, trapped in a dead end—until Eire screamed.

"Durant, you're supposed to have a contract with me!"

Durand was so stunned he couldn’t think straight, and blurted out, “Huh?” before he could stop himself.