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Crackle, crackle.
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With a dry sound, flames leapt onto the pillar.
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For a brief moment, fire rippled across the ornately carved sculpture.
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Then the blaze shot up to the ceiling in an instant.
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With a fierce roar, beams collapsed one by one.
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Boom! Boom boom!
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The once-sturdy roof came crashing down with a deafening noise.
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Wood that had once been part of a royal fortress collapsed into a pitiful heap, engulfed in flames—
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Just like the ruins that man had walked through on his way here.
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The man was walking through a half-collapsed hallway,
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Dodging toppling furniture, or cutting down knights lurking behind pillars.
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“Aaaaah!”
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“Please, spare me!”
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Screams and the clash of steel followed in his wake.
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Crimson blood and smoldering ash constantly messed up his jet-black hair.
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And yet, there were moments when everything went quiet.
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At those times, the man would pause.
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Standing amidst corpses and ruins, he would wipe the blood trickling down his cheeks
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And neatly smooth down his hair.
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Tap, tap.
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His even, composed footsteps echoed over the marble tiles, stained with heat, death throes, and blood.
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Soon, the man reached the end of the hallway—
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A place thick with the cries and stench of blood.
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It was the entrance to the detached palace where he had once stayed for so long.
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A soldier, who had just cut down a knight, noticed the man and saluted.
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Following his lead, everyone in Areté Kingdom’s military uniform presented arms in his direction.
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That was always the way when welcoming this great general—
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The one hailed as the incarnation of the God of War.
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But here, in Felbiche Palace, there were far more people who knew the man better than the soldiers of Areté.
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So, it was only natural that someone, filled with rage, hurled a curse.
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“Traitor!”
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A maid, her throat already half-severed, shouted.
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“You bastard, worse than a worm—how could you…!”
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Thud.
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A dull sound followed as a spear pierced her back.
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Blood bubbled from her pale lips.
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Even in the moment of death, the maid glared at the man.
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As if she would curse him even beyond her final breath.
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The man passed by her without a flicker of emotion.
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He didn’t even glance at the woman who had once shared a piece of bread with him,
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Her head now hanging limply.
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He entered the long corridor of Felbiche Palace.
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The hallway was filled with corpses.
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Even at a glance, it was at least double the number found in any other palace.
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‘Probably second only to the guards stationed in front of the Grand Duke.’
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It made sense.
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What was here was the most priceless treasure the Grand Duke possessed.
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The man’s blue eyes stared down the hallway.
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Beyond this scene of carnage stood a tightly shut door.
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The door to the drawing room—one he could never enter without bowing his head.
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The man stepped forward, crushing scattered corpses beneath his feet.
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The lime-coated white door grew nearer.
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A burning heat climbed up his throat.
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At last, he let out a long breath.
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Finally…
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It took a long time.
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A very long time.
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It had taken him an eternity to return here—
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This hallway he had walked since childhood now felt impossibly distant.
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But the man had made it back through flame and blood, through screams and chaos.
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Because that was the price to see what waited beyond that door once more.
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He approached the door and knocked.
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It was a flawlessly clean knock, yet the stench of blood inside and out made it feel disturbingly out of place.
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And the voice that responded was no different.
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“Come in.”
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A voice as cool and composed as metal drifted through the door.
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The man felt his heart pounding violently.
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Gloved fingers gripped the doorknob.
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The oiled handle turned smoothly in his hand.
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And the grand door opened in silence.
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The drawing room revealed itself—white wallpaper and furniture, elegantly contrasted with red fabric decorations.
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And there she was.
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Exactly as she had appeared in his dreams.
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“So you were here, my lady.”
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His low voice echoed in the room.
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It was sharp, almost like a beast growling.
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Red-painted lips curled into an elegant curve.
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Then, from between them, came a soft and gentle voice—
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A voice as perfectly refined as a finely tuned instrument,
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Entirely unlike the harshness in the man’s tone.
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“It’s been a long time, Riorem.”
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His throat convulsed.
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Everything before him was familiar.
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The slender figure seated upright on the sofa,
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Her meticulously braided red hair and ornate dress,
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That serene smile, as if the stench of blood hanging in the air didn’t even exist.
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Riorem Velic found himself struggling against a deep, bone-engraved instinct.
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He wanted to fall back into old habits, to behave as he once had before her—
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To bow low, beg forgiveness, and end it all that way.
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Even though he had done all of this just to stop being that person.
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Even the slightest lapse, and he feared he might fall to his knees.
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If she looked at him with those golden eyes—gentle at first glance but cold as metal.
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If he saw that face, smiling as if the burning palace, the screaming people, even the corpses strewn beneath their feet, were none of her concern—
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Riorem would turn back into the eighteen-year-old boy who once stole her foot towel to pleasure himself.
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He would drop to his knees and bow his head without hesitation.
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But not today.
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Today, he stood tall.
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His stiff legs moved forward.
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Thud, thud.
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Hard footsteps echoed across the soft carpet.
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“You seem well, my lady. Seeing how you’ve had time to dress even as the duchy lies in ashes, I assume you were doing even better before.”
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“It wasn’t all that bad.”
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The woman, Chernea Antoinetta del Peroa, answered in a calm, almost whimsical tone.
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You wouldn’t think her country had lost a war, or that the maids who served her for years had been slaughtered.
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But Riorem wasn’t surprised.
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That was just the kind of woman she was.
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“The Grand Duke of Peroa passed about an hour ago. He pitifully tried to swap clothes with a servant, but I found him. And helped him… rest.”
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“Oh dear. He really should’ve thought more carefully about who Areté would send.”
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“And is that why you stayed behind, my lady? Because you knew it would be me?”
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“No,”
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Chernea replied, eyes drifting to the stain now spreading across the carpet— a trail of blood left by Riorem’s steps.
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Even with a man soaked in blood standing before her, even as his every footfall bled into the floor, death still didn’t feel real.
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Instead, a question she had carried since the day war was declared became ever clearer.
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With a voice mimicking kindness but devoid of emotion, Chernea asked:
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“Was it really necessary for you to come?”
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She couldn’t understand this situation.
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That Areté’s king had chosen to invade the Peroa Duchy wasn’t strange.
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The Grand Duke had no talent for war, especially given the duchy’s strategic location.
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Their military was so weak they were treated like pigs lying prone before predators.
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But for the great general of Areté himself—the man known as the God of War—to personally lead the army into battle?
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Chernea couldn’t make sense of it.
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Riorem Velic could’ve earned far greater glory elsewhere.
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Like in the Kingdom of Messenia, which had fallen into the hands of Prince Alpheios.
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“Ha.”
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Riorem let out a scoff, hollow and amused.
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“I didn’t expect you to take it seriously. But I didn’t think you wouldn’t remember at all.”
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Clack.
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A gloved hand seized Chernea’s chin.
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Their eyes met by force, and in Riorem’s blue irises, a chilling gleam flashed.
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“I told you. I’d find a way.”
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“A way?”
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Chernea echoed the words like a child learning to speak.
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Riorem’s lips twisted.
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He couldn’t help but laugh.
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This woman—this creature who lacked anything resembling emotion or humanity—
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She would never understand the long, brutal path he had walked to return here.
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She didn’t even remember what had happened.
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And that was why Riorem had come back.
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To bring down the woman who once pretended to be human only toward him—
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The woman who made him run away—
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To drag her back down beside him.
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And…
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To show her just how thoroughly she’d ruined his life with the desires she planted inside him.
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Riorem pulled out a chair opposite the sofa and sat, legs spread slightly.
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It was a posture that teetered beyond arrogance into outright disrespect, but Chernea didn’t seem to care.
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“I shouldn’t have brought it up. That’s not why I came here, anyway.”
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Her long legs shifted, lifting her dress in a graceful arc that revealed her bare calf.
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Then Riorem said, coldly:
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“It’s time you realized what situation you’re in, my lady. You’re quite clever—so I’m sure you’ll catch on quickly. Still, this must be your first time… becoming a slave.”
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