Chapter 20: Drunk Confessions Without Alcohol (2)

Blink.

My eyelids keep fluttering closed and then opening again, as if it were meaningless.

Blink.

While holding the apple Aslin gave me, I lost count of how many times I opened and closed my eyes in this manner.

Even though my actions were pointless, my mind was oddly busy, racing through calculations.

…After all, when someone apologizes so out of the blue, it’s only natural to start wondering why they would do so.

But…

“An apology…”

Even as I listened to her heartfelt words, my lips could only mumble absentmindedly, trailing off without any coherent response.

Usually, when receiving an apology, it’s polite—even if it’s just a token gesture—to thank the person for apologizing, to reassure them it’s nothing worth worrying about. That’s the standard.

“Let me ask you just one thing.”

“…Go ahead.”

“What exactly are you apologizing to me for?”

No matter how much I thought about it, besides the fact that Aslin was partly responsible for this absurd marriage arrangement, I couldn’t find anything she should apologize to me for, so I could only ask her this.

Besides…

“Just to clarify, if you’re apologizing for this marriage, there’s really no need to.”

I was determined enough to say this.

“You’re well aware, aren’t you? When the former head my house—my biological father—flipped sides during the civil war, he got a bit ahead of himself. Once he thought his side had the advantage, the things he said… Well, since he’s dead now, the burden of his actions falls on me. Frankly, I’m grateful just to still have my head attached.”

I firmly rejected any notion of Aslin feeling remorse over this marriage.

This isn’t about acceptance or refusal. Anyone who knows the full story would agree—it’s me, the representative of the Sword House, who owes Aslin an apology.

She has no reason to apologize to me.

The former head of the Sword House, my biological father, created quite a mess with his sly words.

In such a large-scale civil war, siding with a faction that wasn’t assured victory…

And those who joined in, intoxicated by the allure of power, even though they had slim odds.

When it looked like their side was winning, they naturally felt entitled to demand recognition.

The former head of the Sword House, who led the most powerful faction opposing the princess’s supporters, was no different.

If the anti-princess faction won, he expected to replace the Sword Leader and rise to a duchy, solidifying his standing.

Considering his ambitions and involvement in the war, those demands weren’t unreasonable. But…

“Some of the things he said… Even now, my face burns at the thought. I can’t bring myself to repeat them here….”

“…You don’t have to.”

Thankfully, Aslin’s understanding spared me from having to voice those horrifying words.

But even though I didn’t say them aloud, the memories replayed vividly in my mind.

…Moments like this always make my consciousness speed up, stretching time to a crawl.

And it’s always the memories you least want to relive.

When was it, again? Around the time the civil war showed signs of intensifying, when the Sword Lord’s army set out to completely subdue the Zakarat Mountain Range, making their way south.

Originally, the Sword House had proclaimed neutrality, pledging support to neither side. But at that precise moment, they joined the anti-princess faction.

As a token of their alliance, they extended their supply line near their territory, ruthlessly cutting off the advancing Sword Lord’s supply line and trampling it. This decisive victory temporarily tipped the scales of the war toward the anti-princess faction.

At the celebration for this victory, the former head of the Sword House stood proudly at the center of the hall, basking in the overwhelming support of the anti-princess faction. After finishing his prepared speech, he downed a glass of strong liquor and added:

“When the civil war is over, and a new emperor ascends the throne, I’ll be the one to behead Duke Caladbolg right in front of him. I’ll hollow out the top of his severed head, gild it, and make it into a drinking cup. Then, I’ll take his daughter as mine, filling that cup with the wedding wine.”

…The words dripped with a chilling malice, a twisted, almost deranged desire that went beyond mere propaganda to demean the opposing faction.

The setting was so public that the authenticity of his words was never questioned; it was undeniably problematic.

Of course, not everyone believed that such lawless words could come from the mouth of the Count who led the Sword House.

But I’m not lying. That lunatic uttered those words in front of everyone at that banquet. Both Endymion, my older brother, and I, his silent shadow, heard every word without a single detail left out.

Despite his weak body and lack of swordsmanship talent, my brother’s courage was unshakable; even in blood-soaked battlefields, his face never lost its composure. Yet, at that moment, he turned pale for the first time.

Though my expression was hidden under an iron mask, I’m sure my face was as white as his.

“Insane. Absolutely insane.”

Even just recalling it now, the madness the former head displayed then was overwhelming enough to make me dizzy.

And yet, rather than stopping him, they egged him on.

“Dominus! Dominus! Truly worthy of you! Who else among us could speak with such boldness?”

“Hahaha! As expected of the Dominus Count who leads the Sword House. Here’s to hoping your vision comes true—let’s drink to that!”

Most of the nobles chanted the former head’s name, spewing nonsense like that and steering the atmosphere in that vile direction.

There’s no need to describe how repulsive the mood at that banquet was.

“With people like that gathered together, no wonder they lost the civil war so miserably.”

It was impossible not to think this. Those people were wretched.

There was no vision, no sense of responsibility to lead a great nation toward a better future.

They were nothing more than beasts, desperately clawing to amass whatever little power they held in their hands.

No other term would describe them better.

And by the time the civil war ended, most of those beasts had been swept away.

Some died on the battlefield, like my father. Others, more severely disgraced, were exiled along with the children they were meant to pass their lands onto.

The survivors, stripped of most of their lands and wealth, were left to eke out an existence, barely able to maintain the status of a noble.

Honestly, they were so despicable that even if they’d all been executed, it wouldn’t have been unjust.

The new emperor was merciful in choosing not to execute all those miserable fools. Killing them all would have only thrown the newly stabilized country into chaos.

…Well, if I were the emperor, I’d have probably done the same, sparing all but a few to serve as an example.

The empire is vast. Even though the previous emperor had laid the groundwork for centralization, the centralized administration was still only implemented in the capital and a few regions.

As emperor, she had to be mindful of the other nobles and lords who managed vast territories, many of whom had sided with her. She crushed those who crossed the line, but for those who didn’t, she let them retain their dignity as nobles.

Such restraint was already more than generous.

…Ah, I got lost in my thoughts.

Borrowing the power of my accelerated consciousness, I’d managed to follow this long train of thought without much real time passing.

But if I dragged it out too long, Aslin might start wondering about my silence.

Ahem.

I cleared my throat to bring us back to the matter at hand.

“Once again, I say that regarding that incident, it’s me who should be apologizing to you, not the other way around.”

I tried to emphasize that Aslin didn’t need to apologize about the marriage.

“…No.”

Aslin slowly shook her head, denying my words.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“It may seem like all of this happened because of your father, but that’s only half-true.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“…Would you listen to my story?”

“I doubt anything you say will change my mind, but… that’s no reason for me to stop you. I’ll listen.”

With my permission, Aslin straightened from her previous listening posture, settling into a stance that showed she was ready to tell her story.

Unlike a moment ago, when she avoided my gaze and spoke hesitantly, her eyes now shone with a quiet determination, as though this was something she absolutely had to say.

“Hoo…”

Aslin took a deep breath to steady herself before beginning.

And, as I focused on her words, she finally began.

“At first… as soon as I heard the words your father uttered, I was furious.”

Aslin’s story started calmly, her voice gentle even as she confessed to the anger she felt.

####

As Aslin recounted her story from the civil war to Endymion, her calm voice masked an intense inner turmoil.

It was no wonder.

“I need to say this well.”

She felt a keen sense that if she miscommunicated her part in the origins of this unnatural marriage, he would undoubtedly despise her.

In truth, given her status and her dominant role in this relationship, Endymion’s feelings shouldn’t have mattered. With a single word, she could annul the marriage—or worse, put an end to his life without a second thought.

But Aslin forced herself to stifle any thoughts that Endymion might view her poorly for what she was about to say, determined to continue her story.

Even if she couldn’t quite explain to herself why it mattered that he not despise her.

“I couldn’t believe such a vile statement came from the head of the Sword House, whom we’d once seen as a worthy rival.”

“And is that why the Sword Lord’s army set out to crush the Sword House?”

“It wasn’t only my decision… my father—the former Lord—was in agreement as well.”

“It’s a natural consequence. I understand.”

“…You seem almost indifferent hearing how your house was nearly destroyed.”

“Put in my place, if I or my siblings suffered such an insult, I—or someone in my family—wouldn’t have let it go either.”

“…I see.”

“Aslin, the anger you and the Sword Lord’s people felt after hearing my father’s words was justified. I, too, know shame, and I have no intention of defending my father’s despicable remarks…”

And yet, amidst her conflicting emotions, Aslin found clarity in one thing.

“...Moreover, even though that Lord acted recklessly and died, I, who went with him onto the battlefield, remain. And I have never wavered from the belief that I must bear the responsibility left behind.”

Despite the blood bond they shared, here was a man willing to shoulder the consequences of his father’s words—words he never spoke himself.

Unlike the nobles she usually encountered, full of empty rhetoric, Endymion possessed a pure, steadfast heart, which she found curiously captivating.

It was enough to soften even her initial hostility and anger from their battlefield meeting, fading those harsh first impressions.

She felt her lips almost relax into a gentle smile.

Even now, after all this time since the civil war, he remained the same, his shining character intact. This thought alone brought a gentle smile to Aslin’s face.

“You may think that, but… once you hear my full story, I believe your view may change….”

All the more reason Aslin resolved not to falter, determined to reveal her role in shaping his captive life under the guise of marriage.

A man of such noble character, she thought, deserved to know just how much her stubborn will had contributed to his circumstances.

Aslin’s thoughts drifted back to the fiercest battlefront of the war—the southern region of the Zakarat Mountain Range.

Where cold steel clashed, sparks flew, and lives were mercilessly taken. A battlefield that could only be called hell.

And there, among the chaos, stood a man of unmatched nobility, an image that overlapped with the one now before her.