From the beginning, he knew that his father was a man who took human life lightly and had no mercy.
And he has been trying hard to ignore that reality.
Because he also knew that a monarch should have a ruthless side.
But...
Ernest put his hand inside the bag and took something out.
Then, in his palm was a pendant of the same shape as the Riventia he had given to the Emperor.
“Riventia...”
What was originally handed over to the Emperor was a counterfeit that Bellona had given him.
Cunningly, Bellona anticipated that neither he nor the Emperor would be able to distinguish the real from the fake.
The Emperor, whose body had not been fully resurrected, could not feel the energy, and Ernest, a half-human who was not born with power, could not properly feel the energy coming from Riventia.
Ernest recalled the Emperor's appearance a moment ago as he inspected Riventia.
The Emperor, feeling nothing, felt for the Riventia he remembered and judged the authenticity of the necklace.
He doesn't even know if what he has in his hands is fake.
Ernest held the red pendant tightly in his hand.
"Father."
He said.
Emotions such as pity and sympathy only make a monarch weak.
He can't move forward with those feelings. But Ernest thought differently.
“I will go a different way from you.”
He quietly muttered to himself into the empty space where no one was present.
He wanted to be a person who felt compassion, sympathized with others, and felt sorry and guilty about things he did wrong.
A human being, not a monster who would foolishly take the lives of others to revive a dead body...
Ernest, who had been staring at the pendant in his hand for a long time, raised his head.
And when he raised his head, his eyes were filled with a determined light.
It was when the gloominess of Gertz grew deeper as the rain fell steadily.
Inside the mansion, Deborah was walking down the hallway when she stopped in front of a room.
As she pushed open the door that opened smoothly as if it didn't matter who came in, a familiar scene unfolded before her eyes.
A room from which human warmth has long since disappeared.
That was where Hazel was staying.
Deborah, her shoulders drooping with all her strength gone, slowly started walking again.
Slowly sweeping the furniture in the room, which had become covered in dust, with the palm of her hand.
Her hands were filled with longing as if she was trying to find traces of the person she missed and engrave them in her heart.
Since Hazel left, not a single maid had ever entered the room, and her last traces were clearly felt in the room.
The bed sheets were clumsily made, and the withered wildflowers that Deborah had given Hazel as a last gift before she left.
As time passed, it seemed as if the owner of the room would return here at any moment.
“Hazel...”
She wonders if Hazel's scent still lingers.
Deborah buried her face in the bed, like a baby burrowing into the arms of its dead mother. Then she sighed in regret for the past.
If only she had known that terrible future in advance...
Or maybe, if they had arrived in Hamelin a little earlier, things would have been different.
A feeling of intense regret and sorrow shook Deborah's shoulders.
As she was unable to control her emotions again, the bed was soaking wet with her tears.
Something was bothering her eyes as she raised her head for a moment.
“This is...”
Under the bed where Deborah had been lying with her head down, a white envelope poked its head out as if to welcome her.
“Why is the letter here?”
Deborah tilted her head, her eyes drawn to the blank white envelope.
Did Hazel leave it behind while she was packing?
Deborah carefully opened the envelope, her curiosity mixed with her doubts.
And on the several layers of paper inside was written an unexpected name.
To Deborah.
“Why is my name...”
It was definitely her name written on the letter.
The elegant and flowing writing showed that these were the words Hazel had left for Deborah before she left.
Then suddenly a scene came to mind.
Hazel was seen scribbling something on the desk by the window.
“You were writing me a letter.”
Deborah's eyes filled with tears again as she was moved by Hazel's thoughts before leaving.
Her memories with Hazel were so brief that she had nothing to remember her by.
That's why Deborah treasured the thin pieces of paper she left her so much.
Deborah wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and began to recite Hazel's last words.
Deborah, by the time you read this letter I will no longer be there. How have you been?
“...Yes. I’ve been doing well. How are you, Hazel?”
A smile appeared on Deborah's lips as she felt Hazel asking her questions right next to her.
As she had expected, there was nothing special in the letter. It was just an ordinary letter asking about her well-being and recalling brief but happy memories.
Until Deborah turned the page.
Actually, there were things I couldn't tell you. About Charlotte, your mother, and my friend.
“About my mother...?”
Most of the conversations she had with Hazel were about Charles.
Later on, there was even an incident where she ended up repeating what she had said.
But there was still a story about her mother that Hazel had not yet been able to tell her.
Even though she had more opportunities to tell it, it was a story that she had to leave in a letter...
Deborah's lips, which had been loosely raised due to an unknown anxiety, became stiff.
Then she began to scan the letter with faster eyes than before.
How many letters have you read like that?
Deborah's hands, holding the paper, began to turn pale, almost white.
“What the heck is this...”
The letter contained detailed accounts of Charles' past that Hazel had been unable to reveal.
The hidden tragedy of the Duke of Oroz, whom the Emperor had called a loyal subject.
Charles hated the Emperor. He used the Clepius blood to...
Deborah, who had been reading the letter silently, avoided eye contact as if embarrassed.
The letter that calmly described Charles's suffering cut sharply into Deborah's heart.
"Mother..."
"Charles was a beautiful and courageous woman, as befitting the head of a family. And she loved you more than anyone else."
At the same time, the image of her father missing the dead Charles came to mind.
"Lie..."
The truth the letter told brought home to Deborah a harsh reality.
“There’s no way my mother really loved me, Father.”
Her own existence was nothing but a disgrace to Charles.
Her miserable fate of having to have sex with another man while leaving the man she loved behind.
But there was something else that tormented her more than the fact that her mother might not have loved her.
“Father, I...”
She pictured her father's face smiling affectionately at her.
“Is this really your daughter?”
Deborah was afraid.
She was afraid that she might be the daughter of her beloved father.
Shr wonder if that vile man's blood is flowing somewhere inside this body.
Deborah barely managed to get up, overcoming the trembling that she couldn't tell if it was anger or fear, and looked into the mirror next to her.
Pink hair and sky-blue eyes.
He didn't have the blue eyes and dark blue hair of his father.
It wasn't the red eyes and golden hair that resembled the Emperor.
Only traces of the Oroz family were visible on her.
“Deborah.”
Deborah looked at herself in the mirror and whispered quietly.
She always wondered.
Why was the name 'Oroz', which symbolizes the family, given to a bastard who was not even born with the power of the family?
But now she know.
Why did her dead mother give her such a heavy name?
Remember, Deborah. The true prophecy of the Oroz family that Charles risked his life to protect.
“Mother’s true prophecy...”
"The young thorns of the red rose will prick the Emperor's neck."
Mother and Hazel wanted it.
May she follow that prophecy.
“Graham Clepius.”
As Deborah recited the Emperor's name, memories of when she first saw him began to flash before her eyes.
The face of the Emperor welcomed her with open arms and a friendly face.
And he has been trying hard to ignore that reality.
Because he also knew that a monarch should have a ruthless side.
But...
Ernest put his hand inside the bag and took something out.
Then, in his palm was a pendant of the same shape as the Riventia he had given to the Emperor.
“Riventia...”
What was originally handed over to the Emperor was a counterfeit that Bellona had given him.
Cunningly, Bellona anticipated that neither he nor the Emperor would be able to distinguish the real from the fake.
The Emperor, whose body had not been fully resurrected, could not feel the energy, and Ernest, a half-human who was not born with power, could not properly feel the energy coming from Riventia.
Ernest recalled the Emperor's appearance a moment ago as he inspected Riventia.
The Emperor, feeling nothing, felt for the Riventia he remembered and judged the authenticity of the necklace.
He doesn't even know if what he has in his hands is fake.
Ernest held the red pendant tightly in his hand.
"Father."
He said.
Emotions such as pity and sympathy only make a monarch weak.
He can't move forward with those feelings. But Ernest thought differently.
“I will go a different way from you.”
He quietly muttered to himself into the empty space where no one was present.
He wanted to be a person who felt compassion, sympathized with others, and felt sorry and guilty about things he did wrong.
A human being, not a monster who would foolishly take the lives of others to revive a dead body...
Ernest, who had been staring at the pendant in his hand for a long time, raised his head.
And when he raised his head, his eyes were filled with a determined light.
It was when the gloominess of Gertz grew deeper as the rain fell steadily.
Inside the mansion, Deborah was walking down the hallway when she stopped in front of a room.
As she pushed open the door that opened smoothly as if it didn't matter who came in, a familiar scene unfolded before her eyes.
A room from which human warmth has long since disappeared.
That was where Hazel was staying.
Deborah, her shoulders drooping with all her strength gone, slowly started walking again.
Slowly sweeping the furniture in the room, which had become covered in dust, with the palm of her hand.
Her hands were filled with longing as if she was trying to find traces of the person she missed and engrave them in her heart.
Since Hazel left, not a single maid had ever entered the room, and her last traces were clearly felt in the room.
The bed sheets were clumsily made, and the withered wildflowers that Deborah had given Hazel as a last gift before she left.
As time passed, it seemed as if the owner of the room would return here at any moment.
“Hazel...”
She wonders if Hazel's scent still lingers.
Deborah buried her face in the bed, like a baby burrowing into the arms of its dead mother. Then she sighed in regret for the past.
If only she had known that terrible future in advance...
Or maybe, if they had arrived in Hamelin a little earlier, things would have been different.
A feeling of intense regret and sorrow shook Deborah's shoulders.
As she was unable to control her emotions again, the bed was soaking wet with her tears.
Something was bothering her eyes as she raised her head for a moment.
“This is...”
Under the bed where Deborah had been lying with her head down, a white envelope poked its head out as if to welcome her.
“Why is the letter here?”
Deborah tilted her head, her eyes drawn to the blank white envelope.
Did Hazel leave it behind while she was packing?
Deborah carefully opened the envelope, her curiosity mixed with her doubts.
And on the several layers of paper inside was written an unexpected name.
To Deborah.
“Why is my name...”
It was definitely her name written on the letter.
The elegant and flowing writing showed that these were the words Hazel had left for Deborah before she left.
Then suddenly a scene came to mind.
Hazel was seen scribbling something on the desk by the window.
“You were writing me a letter.”
Deborah's eyes filled with tears again as she was moved by Hazel's thoughts before leaving.
Her memories with Hazel were so brief that she had nothing to remember her by.
That's why Deborah treasured the thin pieces of paper she left her so much.
Deborah wiped away her tears with the back of her hand and began to recite Hazel's last words.
Deborah, by the time you read this letter I will no longer be there. How have you been?
“...Yes. I’ve been doing well. How are you, Hazel?”
A smile appeared on Deborah's lips as she felt Hazel asking her questions right next to her.
As she had expected, there was nothing special in the letter. It was just an ordinary letter asking about her well-being and recalling brief but happy memories.
Until Deborah turned the page.
Actually, there were things I couldn't tell you. About Charlotte, your mother, and my friend.
“About my mother...?”
Most of the conversations she had with Hazel were about Charles.
Later on, there was even an incident where she ended up repeating what she had said.
But there was still a story about her mother that Hazel had not yet been able to tell her.
Even though she had more opportunities to tell it, it was a story that she had to leave in a letter...
Deborah's lips, which had been loosely raised due to an unknown anxiety, became stiff.
Then she began to scan the letter with faster eyes than before.
How many letters have you read like that?
Deborah's hands, holding the paper, began to turn pale, almost white.
“What the heck is this...”
The letter contained detailed accounts of Charles' past that Hazel had been unable to reveal.
The hidden tragedy of the Duke of Oroz, whom the Emperor had called a loyal subject.
Charles hated the Emperor. He used the Clepius blood to...
Deborah, who had been reading the letter silently, avoided eye contact as if embarrassed.
The letter that calmly described Charles's suffering cut sharply into Deborah's heart.
"Mother..."
"Charles was a beautiful and courageous woman, as befitting the head of a family. And she loved you more than anyone else."
At the same time, the image of her father missing the dead Charles came to mind.
"Lie..."
The truth the letter told brought home to Deborah a harsh reality.
“There’s no way my mother really loved me, Father.”
Her own existence was nothing but a disgrace to Charles.
Her miserable fate of having to have sex with another man while leaving the man she loved behind.
But there was something else that tormented her more than the fact that her mother might not have loved her.
“Father, I...”
She pictured her father's face smiling affectionately at her.
“Is this really your daughter?”
Deborah was afraid.
She was afraid that she might be the daughter of her beloved father.
Shr wonder if that vile man's blood is flowing somewhere inside this body.
Deborah barely managed to get up, overcoming the trembling that she couldn't tell if it was anger or fear, and looked into the mirror next to her.
Pink hair and sky-blue eyes.
He didn't have the blue eyes and dark blue hair of his father.
It wasn't the red eyes and golden hair that resembled the Emperor.
Only traces of the Oroz family were visible on her.
“Deborah.”
Deborah looked at herself in the mirror and whispered quietly.
She always wondered.
Why was the name 'Oroz', which symbolizes the family, given to a bastard who was not even born with the power of the family?
But now she know.
Why did her dead mother give her such a heavy name?
Remember, Deborah. The true prophecy of the Oroz family that Charles risked his life to protect.
“Mother’s true prophecy...”
"The young thorns of the red rose will prick the Emperor's neck."
Mother and Hazel wanted it.
May she follow that prophecy.
“Graham Clepius.”
As Deborah recited the Emperor's name, memories of when she first saw him began to flash before her eyes.
The face of the Emperor welcomed her with open arms and a friendly face.
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