Since no one came after waiting a bit longer, Hans eventually stood up by himself.
Though he still felt slight pain, itching, tension, and throbbing sensations throughout his body, it was clear his condition had improved significantly.
Simply being able to muster strength in his arms and legs felt like a giant leap forward.
Hans thought as he rose to his feet that perhaps he had been unconscious for more than just a day or two.
Creak.
When he opened the door to the bedroom and stepped out, he was greeted by an unfamiliar hallway filled with an aristocratic elegance.
Countess Ahatenaur…
If that was her title, then her name must be Gwyn von Ahatenaur, he mused, a small smile escaping him.
It was still difficult to imagine the Gwyn he had known as a noblewoman.
“Hmm?”
Now that he thought about it, there was certainly something unusual.
This mansion, although not massive, was far too large for just one person to manage.
Yet, it was eerily silent—no sign of any servants.
Surely at least a few should be bustling around.
Would it be all right for him to wander around?
That thought surged up before he could suppress it, prompting him to stride forward more boldly.
Although he had visited many noble estates, it had never been as an invited guest.
Trampling across fine beast-skin carpets with muddy feet was more his style.
Thus, this situation felt strange—no servants rushing to block his path, no guards shouting at him, no temptation to smash the costly ornaments.
“Hoo.”
Clenching his trembling hands tightly, Hans pressed onward.
Though this place was unfamiliar, his experience navigating estates made finding his way surprisingly easy.
He scoffed habitually,
“Nobles are all the same.”
Then suddenly, he stopped short, realizing that his old friend was now one of those
“highborn.”
He couldn’t quite name what he felt—discomfort toward his friend’s transformation?
Inferiority at his own position
Or was it the familiar helplessness of being defeated once again?
“…Hmph.”
They had fought hard, and he had earned a fearsome reputation.
Yet, in the end, it was not their struggle that changed the world—it was the decree of a new emperor.
Standing at the entrance to the staircase leading downstairs, Hans paused in thought.
He murmured without realizing it,
“Did our fight ever mean anything?”
To his surprise, an answer came from behind him.
“Of course it did.”
Click, click.
Beastfolk usually moved without a sound, but the distinct tapping of polished black shoes echoed now.
Gone was the ragged girl from his memories.
Standing before him now was an elegant lady of noble bearing.
“We changed the world.”
The rabbit woman looked up at him, her voice firm.
“Do you really think so? Without the emperor’s decree, none of this—”
“We made the emperor, didn’t we? We cleared the way by taking down the previous emperor and his rivals.”
Hans remained rooted in place as if his feet were glued to the ground, while Gwyn took slow, deliberate steps up the stairs.
Step by step, until their eyes were level.
“The world works in a chain, Hans. Even emperors don’t get to do whatever they want.”
“The abolition of slavery went smoothly because many people already believed it was inevitable. The emperor’s decree simply sealed it.”
“If we hadn’t drawn the blueprint with blood and tears, how could such a beautiful painting ever be finished?”
Though Gwyn was still slightly shorter than Hans, the gap between them was far less than it had once been.
Once, she had been a frail child barely reaching his waist. Had she grown so much, or had he simply failed to grow at all?
“You have every right to be proud, Hans. We—no, I—changed the world.”
She seemed far more of an adult than he ever felt himself to be.
“And what about the slaves still in chains? The children suffering for crimes they never committed?”
“You’re overthinking it.”
Her small, warm hand grasped his, tracing the scars and calluses with gentle fingers, as if reading a tree’s rings or feeling the weight of a lifetime of hardship.
His hand—worn, battered, yet still capable of wielding a sword.
“You can still hold a sword.”
“…!”
“If you don’t like the picture, you can always paint it again.”
“Not everyone from before will come back. Most are too tired.”
“Then what do we do?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Gwyn’s confident smile returned.
Finer than jewels and silks, what suited her best was her defiant spirit—the same determination she had when entrusting her sister’s sword to her enemy, demanding protection in exchange for blood.
“There are fewer enemies now. Who would dare keep slaves with their heads on the line? Arrogant nobles, corrupt merchants, greedy profiteers…”
“…That’s fewer?”
“Sure.”
With her hand still guiding his, Hans began descending the stairs.
His steps quickened, his expression hidden as her quiet voice reached him.
“Back then, everyone was our enemy.”
“We’ll be busier now—fewer enemies, but no time to rest. First, though…”
Grrrowl.
“…we need to get you back on your feet.”
At the sound of his own stomach, Hans flushed for the first time in a long while.
Gwyn led him to the dining room, a small but elegant space already set with food.
It was a modest spread for a noble, but after subsisting on scraps, it felt like a banquet to Hans.
“Can I eat this?”
“Did you think I set all this out for myself?”
Her playful sarcasm brought a smile to his lips.
“No point holding back, then.”
He sat, devouring the food with the reckless hunger of a recovering man.
Across from him, Gwyn watched with amusement, her own plate untouched.
“…What?”
“Nothing. It’s just been a while.”
Their understanding of “a while” differed, but neither noticed.
Eating together.
Planning to fight once more.
Hans remained oblivious to the care that had gone into preparing the meal—three days of hand-made breakfasts, lunches, and dinners, always ready just in case he awoke.
But now, hope stirred within him.
With his strength returning and Gwyn’s newfound power, they could fight again—rescue more lives, make a real change.
Hans smiled.
And Gwyn smiled back.