The Silent Procession

Ferda listened to her words.

“If you wish to express regret over this incident, put forward someone the Emergency Response Headquarters would scarcely dare touch.”

At first, Ferda thought she was talking about Consilius, but he soon realized that was not the case.

Ferda reflexively furrowed his brow.

“Are you saying we should put His Highness the Grand Duke forward?”

“It may be shameless, but that would be the easiest and fastest method.”

Ferda was the man who would become the Red Dragon’s husband and consort, but he was merely a proxy.

He was not the Grand Duke himself, but merely a toy meant for someone’s amusement.

That was the public perception.

If the dragon herself stepped forward and asserted her voice in this matter, no one would dare utter a word in protest.

But that was impossible.

Ferda knew what she had been like at the ball.

She could not go to places crowded with humans.

She was afraid that being reminded of the mistakes she had made would cause her to lose control.

And so, she could not do it for fear of making things difficult for Ferda.

Ferda had thought she was simply suffering psychologically.

But it was not a psychological problem.

‘It is real.’

If Malcolm had not been there, Ferda would never have realized that there was actually a malicious individual who had tried to bring her down.

If it was like that even at the Spring Festival, what would happen at a public hearing?

If those who had treated her like a dog guarding the house lost their fear and tried to tame her, Ferda had no idea what he would do then.

“Garnet.”

Ferda cast a glance toward Garnet.

Garnet flinched when their eyes met.

“Please do not bring up that subject again.”

“……I apologize.”

The suggestion itself was practically Ferda’s reverse scale.

“We will resolve this with our own hands. That will not change.”

“Understood.”

Setting aside the easy route, Ferda began constructing a strategy.

Misinformation leaked through Baron Giyotte.

Inside information obtained through Hellus, who was pretending to be a sage.

Through those means, they would seize the advantageous high ground.

To give her a bright future, Ferda had to bear that darkness.

Even if it meant taking on a terrible stigma.

* * *

“Lord Ferda.”

While Ferda was working, Luri called out to him.

“I brought the item you promised me the other day.”

At last!

Ferda abandoned his work and rose from his seat.

She carried in a portrait as large as her own body and set it in front of Ferda.

The item he had promised to give her if he returned safely.

It was none other than a portrait of Valdrova.

“Did you truly ask for this painting?”

Luri asked as though she could not believe it.

Ferda nodded.

“I wanted this painting.”

“There were so many other things, so why this one?”

“I just had a feeling.”

Ferda evaded the question without going into detail.

Luri glared at him with an expression of displeasure before opening her mouth.

“Do you know what this portrait is?”

“I understand that it was meant to be shown to her first fiancé.”

“Yes. It was the first time she showed her face to someone else and asked to have it painted according to her own expression.”

“So it is an unretouched depiction of reality?”

“Yes.”

A painting intended to be hung in an ordinary household would usually be retouched in various ways.

For example, if someone were too overweight, the painter might make their waist a little thinner.

If they were balding and unsightly, the painter might make their hair look fuller.

“I see. So that is why I wanted it so badly……”

“What does that mean?”

“There is a reason.”

It was probably some trivial reason.

Luri did not press him further.

“In any case, I will hire a restorer.”

“A restorer?”

“It was torn, so it needs to be repaired, does it not?”

She asked the question as though the answer were obvious.

But Ferda had no intention whatsoever of calling a restorer.

“No, this is enough.”

Luri stared at Ferda with eyes steeped in disgust.

“If you intend to hang up a torn painting, I will oppose it even if you beat me to death.”

“There is no need to worry. I am not going to hang it in a public place.”

“……”

“I will take it.”

Luri watched Ferda walk away with the painting.

If he was not going to hang it somewhere public, she knew where he would put it.

He was probably planning to place it in that deep, dark space that was irritating enough to bother him every time he passed by.

* * *

Ferda went to the room he had once used as a training chamber.

The room was dark and cramped like a prison, since all he had to do there was sit.

His training consisted solely of manipulating shadows in a lightless chamber for the mana cultivation method.

Thus, instead of the noisy equipment other mages kept, the room contained only a chair and a box of candles.

The third object brought into that dark chamber was Valdrova’s portrait.

Ferda hung the large painting in its intended place.

He stepped back slightly to examine its condition.

“……Perfect.”

The angle, the height—everything was perfect.

The portrait took up half the wall, giving the impression that it completely filled one side.

After meticulously checking it as though it were a sacred object, Ferda examined the painting in detail.

‘Amazing…….’

Up close, it looked like nothing but streaks of paint, but from only a little farther away, Valdrova appeared with perfect clarity.

She looked as though she might leap out at any moment, call him “Mr. Ferda,” and come toddling over to him.

She must have summoned the greatest painter of the era.

Yes.

It felt so vivid because the painter had been skilled enough to capture everything.

Ferda had desperately wanted this painting from her so that he could understand that.

Valdrova had eventually listened to him.

After receiving the painting and examining it from so close, he thought he understood.

‘Desire.’

This painting contained fragments of Valdrova’s desire.

It held a part of her life that she would never reveal, even after exchanging dozens of words with her.

Because it had been left completely raw, he could clearly sense what she had felt.

It was contained in those small, smiling lips.

The fear of her first experience.

The excitement of companionship.

Hope.

But the wish she had hoped for did not come true.

Her first fiancé, the Third Prince, had only regarded Valdrova as a tool to be used.

Crushed devotion.

Betrayal of her expectations.

Despair.

And so Valdrova killed the Third Prince.

Toying with a dragon was indeed an offense deserving of death.

But if Valdrova had been in her right mind, she would never have committed such a murder.

She had been devoured by the bloodlust that made her unstable, and that was how she killed the Third Prince.

That was why the specter continued to linger beside Valdrova.

Just as it had after the Dragon-Horse War.

“As I thought……”

She had said this.

“Someone like me should not be allowed to be happy.”

After killing so many people and surviving through it all.

How could she have thought she could throw everything away by disgracefully marrying a human?

Valdrova resented her own naivety.

She hated herself.

She was angry.

Ferda placed his index finger on his fingertip.

Just as she had done, he drew it sharply across at an angle.

He erased the innocent eyes that had treated her sin too lightly.

“Ugh……”

Ferda’s body staggered.

His breath grew constricted as though someone were strangling him, and at the same time, the corners of Ferda’s eyes grew moist.

Tears flowed down.

His expression did not change in the slightest, yet the tears fell hotly.

The Shadow Circle inside Ferda’s chest thrashed like mad.

‘I…….’

There was only one emotion that moved the Shadow Circle.

‘I killed a woman like this.’

He regretted it.

He hated himself for killing such an innocent, pure woman by plunging her into misguided hatred.

Ferda feared that regret.

If he regretted it, he could not move forward.

‘But if I do not regret it, I will lose my way.’

That was why the First Witch, Lucy Philiaz, had called it a blessing.

Because he regretted it, this painting would become a lantern for the man who had loved her.

When he was trapped in the deep white night, it would become a single ray of darkness that allowed him to see beyond that light.

* * *

The day of the postwar conference held at the Golden Council.

“The nobles will soon begin the admission ceremony.”

Alexander’s adjutant reported.

“I know. Can’t you see that I’m watching it with my own eyes?”

Alexander had entered the Golden Council early and was watching everything from the balcony.

The road into the Golden Council was packed with people, who were watching the nobles enter.

The five chief commissioners at the Emergency Response Headquarters.

Four of the others wielded influence both within and beyond the Empire, but only one man could draw a crowd this large.

Valdemar Golt.

The hero of the people and the unshakable main pillar of the Arken Empire.

With his powerful charisma, he captivated the hearts of nobles and commoners alike, and even drew his rivals over to his side.

‘If only I could have that bastard’s greenhouse…….’

Alexander believed that Valdemar’s power lay in the greenhouse.

No matter how imperiously someone had ruled for an entire lifetime, everyone was equal before death.

Even Alexander had been losing sleep from fear of the next day.

He had tipped the scales of death, which even the high priests could not touch.

That was why his eyes still overflowed with vitality even as an old man.

“……Is everything ready?”

“Yes. We have agitators waiting in the middle of the procession.”

“Good.”

Alexander gripped the glass in his hand tightly.

He had shaped public opinion for this day.

He had created one-sided hatred and inflamed it.

“When Regent Ferda arrives, we will begin the incitement.”

Once madness began, it would become impossible to control.

A flood of accusations and resentment would pour down upon them.

Whether they felt guilt or anger as a result, it did not matter.

The priority was to put them in an emotional state before they entered the Golden Council.

Ferda would have no way to deal with it.

“Regent Ferda will be arriving soon.”

Alexander opened his eyes wider than ever.

He hoped only to see them swept up in the condemnation they were about to receive.

But the moment they appeared, Alexander’s smile froze.

They were far too different from what he had expected.

* * *

The royal capital.

The nobles were the sort to make a great fuss over the claim that the road there smelled of flowers.

There had been a time when Ferda, too, was a child who blindly believed the chatter of those immature fools.

He had wanted to visit the royal capital with his father.

He had wondered what that floral scent would be like.

Would it smell as warm and comforting as his mother?

But what reached the nose of the man whose spirit had been ruined after killing an angel was far removed from flowers.

If that was called a flower, then it must have been one that lured flies wandering through a sewer.

At the time, he had not known what the smell was, nor had he cared much, but now he could identify it.

Garnet had said that the Empire was a jar in which stagnant water was rotting.

Yes, that was the smell.

Now that he smelled it himself, he was certain.

The procession of nobles gathering at the Golden Council continued on.

Since it was a place where people who wielded influence within and beyond the Empire gathered, it was only natural for each of them to show off.

‘For what?’

Ferda could not understand it.

Nor could he understand why they had to dress up so elaborately to enter.

He could not understand the citizens cheering as they watched the nobles enter the Golden Council, either.

None of it was governed by common sense.

“Count.”

“Yes, Regent.”

“Do those people know what is happening inside?”

“They know only one thing.”

“What is that?”

“They know that someone will die today and justice will be served. To them, that is a welcome rain in the midst of their dreary lives.”

“And I suppose they only hope that person will be me.”

“That would be everyone’s wish.”

Everyone’s wish……

He felt a sense of déjà vu, and then realized that nothing had changed, whether then or now.

“Prepare yourself. We will be entering soon as well.”

“Yes.”

Ferda had prepared for a situation like this.

Consilius had lent him the strength of his own knights, bolstering Ferda’s rear.

It was Ferda’s turn, and he entered.

The nobles’ ornate admission procession was every bit as splendid as befitted them.

Dressing in ceremonial attire to show off to everyone was the bare minimum.

It was only natural to ride in carriages with relaxed smiles.

Ferda, standing atop the carriage, did not smile.

Nor did Consilius, who accompanied him at his side.

Nor did even the knights following behind them.

Ferda’s procession was a drab gray.

It was a somber hue never before seen in the Empire.

Gray and mottled masses seemed to walk across the colored stone pavement.

They looked like the return of defeated soldiers.

But they were not defeated soldiers.

They were unquestionably the people who had rushed into battle to kill a colossal monster, swept across the battlefield, and returned with news of victory.

They starkly displayed the appearance of soldiers who had endured horrors the Empire had never before witnessed.

Every one of them had nearly lost their life, and every one of them had watched someone die.

They had been someone’s friend, someone’s subordinate, and someone’s family.

What they had in common was that they had continued forward even in such circumstances.

To protect what lay behind them, they had surrendered themselves to the terror of death and the wave of madness pouring from the battlefield.

That was why one had lost half his helmet, while another’s breastplate was caved in around the heart.

The only thing that remained intact was the flag held by the standard-bearer.

Even among those flags, the only one that shone most brilliantly was the imperial flag.

The watching crowd did not cheer.

Nor did they condemn them.

Even those who had shouted themselves hoarse that the Far East had to be destroyed fell silent, and so did the agitators.

They knew that moving in that atmosphere would be madness.

They had all been to battlefields where death lurked,

and they were patriots who had fought for the Empire,

so everyone solemnly honored the fallen and wounded with a moment of silence.