After Aslin pointed out how late it had gotten, the two of us instinctively locked eyes, as if we’d agreed to do so in silence.

“…”

“…”

And so, silence fell between us.

Typically, when two people have talked at such length and find themselves with nothing else to say, silence is the only natural conclusion.

Especially when it’s the dead of night, so quiet that the faint chirping of out-of-season crickets feels deafening.

Even if the two of us were close enough to find joy in just gazing at each other, it would still make more sense to head to bed and get some rest. After all, caring for one’s body is important.

But for Aslin and me—who didn’t even share that kind of relationship—there was even less reason to linger.

“…”

Still, there she sat, her gaze uncertain, as though there was more left unsaid, despite all that had been spoken.

“Aslin.”

“Y-yes? What is it?”

“You seem like you still have something to tell me.”

“…”

“Whatever it is, I’ll listen. You don’t have to hold back.”

I intentionally broke the silence, encouraging her to speak her mind.

“…”

As expected, though, my suggestion wasn’t enough to get her to open up. Her hesitant eyes, filled with an almost tangible mix of emotions, suggested she was just on the verge of saying something. Yet, for some reason, her lips wouldn’t part.

It was strange. What could possibly make someone like Aslin—so poised and composed—hesitate to speak?

Was it that after all?

My thoughts wandered back to the pivotal moment when our conversation had turned downhill.

Yes, it started there.

After winning the succession war and confidently ascending to the throne, the First Princess—now Empress—made a bold move. Despite generously embracing most of the opposing faction after her victory, she still adhered to one unshakable principle: some needed to be made examples of.

Among those chosen as examples was my house, the House of the Sword. Even after my father, the head of the family, fell on the battlefield and left a will entrusting the family’s fate to the Emperor and the Sword Lord’s faction, the weight of responsibility somehow shifted to me—the younger sibling secretly inheriting the name and legacy of our fallen head.

Aslin had recounted all of this earlier in the night, her expression darkening as she confessed her role in the matter.

Despite acknowledging my skill and forming a bond forged through countless clashes on the battlefield, she had argued before the Emperor for a political solution: to offer me, the rightful heir to the House of the Sword, as a hostage of sorts, bound through a forced political marriage. This would quell any resistance from my family and seamlessly integrate them into the new order.

—“How does that sound? Just hearing it gives you chills, doesn’t it? The idea of someone’s entire life being bartered for the sake of the empire’s peace and prosperity? And worse, all of it decided behind closed doors.”

—“Hah…haha…”

After detailing her actions, Aslin had deliberately let out a sinister laugh, as though mocking her former self. She wanted me to feel the full weight of what she’d done, even exaggerating her tone to emphasize her past ruthlessness.

But strangely, instead of resentment, I found her performance almost… staged. It felt as though she was trying to make me dislike her, to push me away on purpose.

‘Shouldn’t I be grateful just to be alive?’

Her words replayed in my mind, driving home the precariousness of my own survival. My life had been dangling by a thread, and I was only just now beginning to truly grasp it.

Why wouldn’t it be?

After all, this so-called forced marriage wasn’t a mutually agreed decision between Aslin and the First Princess, now the Empress.

It was a result of Aslin’s desperate persuasion, her relentless efforts to stop the Empress—who had already envisioned my death—from going through with it. Knowing this, it was only natural for me to feel the way I did.

Perhaps it was this realization, the weight of having been granted a life I thought lost, that had slowly shifted my feelings toward Aslin, from admiration to something even deeper.

Yet, since she had revealed all of this to me, Aslin had grown quieter with each passing moment, until now, where silence defined the air between us.

Without her initiating much conversation, I wasn’t exactly one to steer the discussion either. What little dialogue we shared in the bedroom naturally began to fade into a mood more fitting for sleep.

Even so, my instincts told me something.

“….”

If I left things as they were—Aslin, her head slightly bowed, her expression tinged with an almost fragile embarrassment—I knew what would happen.

In the future, every time this topic arose, we’d find ourselves stuck in the same cycle, unable to move forward. Her unresolved emotions, a knot tied tightly within her heart, would remain forever tangled.

Although I had planned to stay silent and let her finish her thoughts without interruption, it seemed I’d need to step in as the speaker once again.

Before that, though, I wanted to hear more from her. To understand even a fraction more of her feelings.

“….”

So I turned my gaze toward Aslin, meeting her with an expression that conveyed sincerity and patience. My look promised that I would listen without judgment, that I would understand her words fully.

The hesitation that had been clouding her features slowly began to fade, as though the storm within her was finally clearing.

And in its place, a quiet resolve settled on her face.

“You…”

Finally, Aslin broke the silence.

“…do you not… find me disgusting?”

Her question hung heavy in the air, an extension of the confession she had made earlier.

“…”

Caught off guard, I couldn’t immediately find the words to respond. My silence, however, seemed to affirm her fears.

“Of course… it makes sense that you would.”

She spoke as though she were delivering a solemn confession, bearing the weight of the responsibility for everything that had happened.

“All of this—everything that has happened—began when I treated someone as noble and honorable as you like a mere pawn to be bartered. How could I say I’ve done you no wrong?”

Her words were spoken with the sincerity of someone who embodied true nobility. And not just the title.

Even someone like me, who had spent my days in the shadows, scraping by just to survive, couldn’t find fault in her character. Aslin’s actions were not just regrettable to her—they were an unshakable stain on her conscience.

From her perspective, confining me here and stripping away my freedom had been a grave transgression. It was, to her, the original sin that had caused all the suffering I’d endured since stepping foot in these mountains.

But to me, her guilt was nothing more than evidence of her impossibly pure heart.

Perhaps it was just me, someone who barely managed to feign the refinement of nobility, but her actions—facing down an Emperor who intended to execute me, and arguing for my life for no other reason than her personal conviction—were far from reprehensible.

Some might see her actions as dishonorable.

But for me, a person whose life she had saved…

“You’re my benefactor.”

“…What?”

“You are truly my benefactor. If I can’t call the person who fought so hard to save me, even defying the Emperor’s will, a benefactor, then who else deserves the title?”

I spoke with gratitude that came from the depths of my heart.

“The words I said earlier fall far short. In fact, they fail entirely. So let me say it properly: I owe you my life. Thanks to you, I’m still here.”

Aslin lifted her head, her gaze meeting mine, though her trembling eyes betrayed her unease.

“Thank you, Aslin.”

And this time, I conveyed my thanks not with formalities or flowery expressions but with the pure, unadulterated sincerity of my heart.

In that moment, I witnessed something truly precious—perhaps the most precious sight I’d seen in my life.

Aslin, looking back at me.

“….”

She said nothing. Not a single word left her lips.

But her silence spoke volumes.

Aslin’s tears were like vivid crystals, streaming down her emerald eyes.

Yes, there was no mistaking it—she was crying.

“Sniff… huff…”

Her quiet sobs soon followed, as if they were an afterthought.

Receiving a heartfelt thanks from me seemed to unleash her pent-up emotions. Aslin, barely managing to pull herself together, began speaking to me between hiccups and sobs.

Her usual composed demeanor made it difficult to imagine her like this, so vulnerable, her words almost incomprehensible at first.

But as time passed and her sobs gradually subsided, I began to make sense of what she was saying.

All of her words—every single one—seemed to boil down to an overwhelming sense of guilt toward me.

Even though she had already apologized for bringing me here as if I were spoils of war, she reiterated it again.

Then, as if recounting a list of offenses, she apologized for everything else:

For the first night I spent here, where I was thrown into her home under the guise of her family’s traditions, with a blade pointed at me.

For the subpar meals served to me when I was already unwell.

For returning what was once mine—stolen from my family—only to claim credit for doing me a favor.

And finally, she apologized for yesterday’s incident—the most recent one—where she hadn’t stopped me from joining a monster hunt that I hadn’t needed to attend. A hunt where I had narrowly avoided a grave injury.

“... I’m so sorry… for all of it,” she murmured, her voice still trembling.

As her sobs quieted, her emotions became clearer, raw and unfiltered in every word she spoke.

And the more she poured her heart out, the more certain I became about something.

Through years of honing my instincts, I had learned to detect falsehoods in people. Whether in the midst of a heated battle or during casual conversation, I could read the subtle tells of deception.

Liars, for instance, struggled to meet your eyes. Their gaze would dart around, their pupils betraying the truth their words tried to hide.

Even seasoned swindlers, who could mask their body language well, could never fully disguise the disconnect in their emotions when lying.

But in Aslin’s apology, there wasn’t even a shred of falsehood.

Her trembling voice, her teary emerald eyes—they carried nothing but sincerity.

If anything, her earlier bravado, when she had exaggerated and mocked herself for treating me as a prize, was the real lie. And even then, it wasn’t a malicious lie. It was a white lie, the kind someone tells while fully prepared to be hated.

But this? This was different.

Watching her now, in this vulnerable state, I found myself marveling at how noble she truly was.

Not in the sense of her lineage or bloodline, of course.

Aslin’s nobility came from her actions, from the way her words aligned with her deeds. She could have ignored me entirely, treated me as nothing more than a discarded pawn. Yet, she faced her conscience head-on, voicing her regret to me with unwavering honesty.

Her humanity, her integrity—it was these qualities that made her seem truly noble in my eyes.

And beyond that nobility, there was something else.

“... It pains me that all I can do is offer you words of apology, especially when my stubbornness dragged you into unwanted hardships,” she said, her voice softening.

Her genuine sense of responsibility, her willingness to apologize even for things I didn’t hold against her, was overwhelming.

To anyone else, this might seem excessive.

But to me, Aslin was starting to feel more than just admirable.

In fact, as I listened to her, as I saw her expression, something deeper stirred within me.

Her vulnerability, her sincerity, her earnestness—it all felt so utterly endearing, so incredibly lovable.

It wasn’t her outward beauty that captivated me—it was her inner light, shining far brighter.

Moved by that thought, I stood up.

“….”

Aslin’s large, round eyes widened in surprise as she saw me rise unexpectedly. I found myself stepping toward her, driven by an impulsive need to make her understand—once and for all—that she had no reason to feel guilty.

As I drew closer, the sight of her tear-streaked face, her reddened eyes still glistening, tugged at me. I couldn’t bear to see her cry anymore.

When I finally reached her side, I steadied my breathing, exhaling with the precision and care I might use before swinging a sword. I needed the right words for this moment.

“The things you mentioned earlier, especially the ones after that first night… you don’t need to apologize for them,” I said.

I lowered myself to meet her gaze, her bewilderment clear in her expression as I crouched to her level.

“When you’re close to someone, there’s no need to feel sorry for the kind of things that just… happen naturally. Like…”

I trailed off for a moment, my words aimed at unraveling the guilt she held for what was, by now, a natural evolution of our bond.

“L-like what…?” she stammered, visibly flustered.

Ignoring her startled reaction, I reached out, wrapping my arms around her trembling frame and pulling her upper body into my embrace.

“This,” I said. “This is the kind of thing where you can argue about right or wrong all you want.”

They say one of the most effective ways to comfort a crying woman is through an unexpected gesture—shock therapy, of sorts.

Sure, there might be consequences later, but…

So what? Honestly, seeing Aslin fumbling and flustered in my arms—

“A-aah… uh… wh-what are you—?!”

—was far more in line with the Aslin I knew than her tearful apologies. And that was enough for me.

Rather than watching someone I’d grown so fond of break down in guilt over something she shouldn’t feel guilty about, I much preferred…

“W-wait! T-this is way too close—eek!”

…to see her stunned, flushed, and scolding me for something impulsive.

For this moment, I didn’t mind playing the fool or stepping over a line.

Though, despite knowing this was a calculated act to shake her out of her misery, I couldn’t deny what happened next.

Thump-thump.

My own heart started racing, completely out of sync with my intentions.

Was this a reaction to the inevitable consequences I’d face later? Or was it something else entirely, something I couldn’t yet name?

No matter how much I mulled it over, no answer seemed forthcoming. It felt like asking a question that could only echo back with silence.