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Perhaps Sylphiette had stepped too close—or perhaps it was her empathy for Hilda—but this time, the sound came with startling clarity.
A shatter. Sharp. Unmistakable.
Sylphiette's pupils constricted. Instinctively, she tried to rush toward Hilda's bedroom, only for Lilia to intercept her with an outstretched arm.
Sylphiette grabbed Lilia's wrist, ready to wrench herself free—
Then, in that fleeting moment—
Lilia's gentle voice drifted into her ears like a whisper.
"Wait a little longer, Lady Sylphiette."
The words had barely settled when Sylphiette turned to protest—
BANG!
The bedroom door slammed open.
Sylphiette jolted in place.
She and Lilia both snapped their gazes toward the hallway.
A hand—knuckles pronounced, fingers slender—pushed the door wide. For a split second, Sylphiette thought of Allen's hands.
A figure emerged.
Philip.
The man who always carried himself with an air of effortless control now looked visibly exhausted. His usually well-kept hair, though still bearing traces of meticulous grooming, hung disheveled over his forehead.
He turned back toward the room, lips parting as if to speak—
But after a few soundless attempts, he pressed them tightly together.
Then, slowly, he shifted his gaze toward Lilia.
But when his eyes flicked to Sylphiette beside her, his expression faltered briefly in surprise. A quick glance back at the open door behind him—
And he strode forward.
Sylphiette felt her blood run cold. She opened her mouth to explain why she was in the private quarters—
But Philip was already brushing past her.
"Please."
Not the usual smooth, calculated tone laced with deliberate distance.
This time, it was soft. Almost pleading.
So uncharacteristic that Sylphiette wondered if she'd imagined it.
She blinked, instinctively looking to Lilia for explanation.
The latter merely regarded Philip with a quiet glance before offering Sylphiette a small, knowing smile.
No words.
Instead—a gesture.
A deep, formal curtsy.
Her hand extended toward Hilda's bedroom.
An invitation.
Sylphiette stared at Lilia's bowed head, then glanced back.
Philip's retreating figure had already vanished around the corner.
Suddenly, she understood.
"Th-Thank you," she stammered hastily before darting to Hilda's doorway.
She spun around so fast she nearly tripped—
And froze.
Before her—
The pristine carpet, now stained deep red with spilled wine.
Shards of shattered glass strewn from the tea table to the floor.
Broken bottles of cosmetics—luxurious, unnameable brands Sylphiette could never afford—scattered among the wreckage.
And in the center of it all—
Hilda.
Collapsed amidst the debris.
Her carefully styled hair now hung in disarray, strands clinging to her damp cheeks. Hands pressed to her face, fingers trembling.
Between them—
Tears.
Falling in silent, broken streams.
Sylphiette's breath caught.
For a long moment, she could only stand there, heart aching.
Then, step by careful step, she picked her way through the glass.
Shards bit into her bare feet.
She didn't seem to notice.
Only knelt before Hilda.
Reached out.
Gently cradled the older woman's head against her chest.
Pressed her own cheek to Hilda's hair.
In the bedroom—
No sound but muffled sobs.
And fragmented whispers.
"Why…"
"...did it have to be like this?"
Sylphiette held her tighter, fingers threading through her hair.
Her gaze drifted to the floor beside them.
A diary lay splayed open, pages crumpled.
Words smudged—
Yet unmistakable.
"It wasn't…"
"...just an illusion."
——
"An illusion?"
Allen shook his head, about to turn away—
When he heard it.
A heartbeat.
He paused.
Leaned out the door.
There, against the wall to his right—
Rudeus.
Watching him.
"Lord Allen," he said quietly. "It's not an illusion."
They stared at each other for a suspended second.
Then Allen grinned.
"Oh? Couldn't sleep? Came to check if I've got a catgirl hidden in my room?"
Rudeus smirked back, playing along.
"Mind if I look?"
He craned his neck, peering past Allen into the bedroom with exaggerated curiosity.
"Huh. No catgirl…"
A theatrical pause.
"...and no Sylphiette, either."
Allen's smirk twitched.
Before he could retort, Rudeus's next words cut through the levity like a blade.
"You're not fooling anyone."
His expression sobered. For the first time, Allen saw something unfamiliar in Rudeus's eyes—
A hardness.
A resolve.
It reminded him, strangely, of Paul in those rare moments of paternal sternness.
In Rudeus's mind—
From their first meeting outside the Boreas estate to their growing camaraderie, from the fallout of Lilia's betrayal to the shared trials with Roxy that forged mutual respect—
And finally, that day in the snowy ravine.
When Allen had made the same choice Rudeus once had in another life.
No.
Not the same.
Rudeus had saved others out of selfishness—"If I let them die, I'd regret it."
But Allen?
He acted purely because he wanted to save them.
That was why Rudeus had confronted Lilia afterward.
Back then, he'd been desperate for absolution.
Allen's survival had granted him something far greater—
Redemption.
In this life, who mattered most to Rudeus?
The answer was obvious.
At this point, Allen's place in his heart eclipsed even Zenith's distant affection and Paul's childish antics.
Perhaps…
Even Roxy's.
Rudeus needed to help him.
No matter how mature, how capable, how self-assured Allen seemed—
Everyone had flaws.
And Rudeus knew this better than anyone.
With that thought, he glanced toward Sylphiette's door, then quietly shut Allen's behind him.
No more games.
"Bringing Lady Hilda in as an etiquette tutor was my idea."
Allen nodded.
Silent.
Rudeus exhaled, rubbing his neck.
"You're smart enough to figure out the rest. But that's not why I'm here."
His gaze locked onto Allen's.
"Sylphiette doesn't see it yet."
"But I do."
A pause.
He thought of Roxy—so far away—and sighed. Not with bitterness, but quiet acceptance.
Then, echoing Allen's own penchant for poetic turns of phrase, he asked:
"Tell me, Allen."
"Must a swordsman carry only one blade?"
Note: So far this story is published up to chapter 255 on my patreon, go check it out and remember that if we reach the goal of 60 power stones I will publish the next chapter.