Chapter 26
“Mom. Hug me.”
Edith, who had been in the middle of washing dishes, frowned slightly as she looked down. Leon was there, clutching the hem of her skirt and shaking it. His softened eyes made it obvious—he was sleepy. It made sense since they had just finished dinner, but even so, the timing was inconvenient.
“Leon. Just a moment—play with Uncle for a bit, okay? Mommy just needs to finish this.”
“N-nooo… I don’t want to. Hug me now.”
“Oh, come on…”
Growing flustered, Edith’s hands moved faster. Soap bubbles splashed up, leaving round wet marks on her sleeve.
“Leon, should Uncle hug you?”
Unable to watch anymore, Ferrel set down his tea and stood up. But Leon sharply turned his head away. Ferrel exaggeratedly pouted, looking hurt.
“Moooom! Hug me, hug me!”
Leon’s whining only grew worse.
Rolling up his sleeves, Ferrel walked over to Edith.
“I’ll finish up.”
“No, it’s almost done.”
“At this rate Leon’s going to cry. You know once he starts throwing a sleepy tantrum, no one can stop him.”
In the end, Edith stepped back with an apologetic smile.
She wiped the water off her hands on her apron and picked Leon up as he reached for her. A small warmth seeped into her chest.
“Why have you been acting like such a baby lately, huh?”
Instead of answering, Leon buried his face deeper into her neck. Holding him closer, Edith smiled bitterly.
It was true—ever since they reunited, Leon had become especially clingy. He’d always had a bit of a bedtime fuss, but he used to endure it well once Edith soothed him.
He must be anxious… afraid I’ll leave again.
As she felt his tiny hands clutch tightly around her neck, a painful thought crossed her mind.
Patting his back, Edith stepped into the living room.
Madam Marie was seated by the fireplace, sipping tea. The reddish glow flickered over her blonde hair now streaked with white.
“Sit somewhere warm,” Marie said, shifting aside to make space.
Edith gently shook her head.
If I sit down, he’ll cry.
She mouthed the words silently, and Marie nodded in understanding.
Edith carried Leon up to the second-floor bedroom and laid him down. The moment she did, his eyes fluttered half-open. Only after confirming his mother was still beside him did his small, dark eyes close again, sinking back into sleep.
As his breathing evened out, Edith pressed her lips to his forehead like a sigh.
Edith had dozed off as well while putting Leon to sleep. It was close to midnight when she came downstairs to get some water. On her way to the kitchen through the living room, she spotted Ferrel sitting on the sofa.
“Ferrel?”
Her gaze swept over his slightly unfocused eyes and the glass of whiskey in his hand.
“You’re not asleep yet?”
“I couldn’t sleep. What about you?”
“I woke up. I was thirsty.”
“Then… would you like a drink? It’s a bit strong, though.”
“Hmm… alright. I’ll get a glass.”
She didn’t usually drink, and she almost declined—but something told her he wasn’t really offering alcohol. He was offering conversation.
A moment later, Ferrel poured whiskey into the glass Edith brought. Clink. Ice rattled softly inside. They lightly clinked glasses and took a sip.
Setting her glass down after just wetting her lips, Edith noticed a newspaper lying at the edge of the table. Judging by the large logo in the center, it seemed to have been brought in from Hasmal.
[Berk’s Crimes That Cannot Be Overlooked]
It was folded in half, so that was all she could see of the headline. But the familiar faces printed beneath told her everything she needed to know. Among them was even her own photograph.
“Do you regret it?”
Ferrel suddenly asked.
Edith looked up. He, too, had been staring at the newspaper, and their gazes met after a brief delay.
“Regret what?”
“Accepting my proposal.”
Edith smiled as if she understood.
“You’re still thinking about that? I wondered why you were drinking so late at night.”
“If you hadn’t accepted my proposal, you wouldn’t have had to take such risks… or end up on a wanted list like this.”
Ferrel’s expression darkened.
The chain of events in Hasmal had been uncovered quickly. It became clear that the Berk resistance was behind the city hall attack. Just as they’d intended, Hermann Miller’s assassination was also pinned on them. They had drawn attention on purpose.
Bounties were issued for Shasha, Karon, Ferrel, and Edith. Edith in particular—who had infiltrated city hall disguised as a cleaner—was labeled the ringleader, with an enormous reward placed on her head.
That was also why Shasha and Karon, who were supposed to follow them, failed to smuggle themselves out and remained behind in a hideout in Hasmal.
“With the inheritance your husband left behind, you could have lived comfortably for the rest of your life. You might’ve even bought Hasmal citizenship. You and Leon could have lived peaceful, stable lives instead of hiding out in a foreign country.”
Edith listened to his guilt-laden voice in silence, then smiled again.
“That’s true. If I’d donated his inheritance to Hasmal instead of investing it in the resistance, Leon and I would be living very comfortably.”
“……”
“In the very Hasmal that killed Maximilian.”
“Edith…”
Meeting Ferrel’s gaze, Edith took a sip of whiskey. The harsh alcohol briefly erased her smile.
“This was my choice.”
“……”
“Just like it was Maximilian’s.”
Did he want to risk death? Of course not. But he accepted his duty willingly. And not just Maximilian—every soldier who went to war did the same. They acted because they could, and because they had to.
Edith believed the same was true for the current resistance—Shasha, Karon, and Ferrel included.
“Don’t burden yourself with unnecessary guilt, Ferrel.”
She lifted her glass slightly toward him. Ferrel let out a small, resigned chuckle and clinked his glass against hers.
No sooner was the glass emptied than it was refilled.
“Things in Hasmal are getting worse.”
The briefly lightened mood grew heavy again. Edith slowly closed and opened her eyes, as if she already knew.
“They’re expanding the camps—two more. And the vacant position of chief commissioner, left open after Hermann Miller’s death, will probably be filled soon.”
Despite their atrocities being exposed to the world, Hasmal wasn’t easing its oppression of Berk. It was accelerating it.
“The Stifz are moving strangely too. They used to target Berk intellectuals, but now they’re arresting anyone Berk they can get their hands on.”
“Hah… I’m worried about Shasha and Karon. They should’ve come with us back then.”
Though they’d moved their hideout from the capital, Bellen, to a rural area, it was still within Hasmal territory.
“They lived in Bellen for a long time. Unlike us, they couldn’t just leave everything behind.”
“Hah…”
“We have to do something soon—but with Glissen acting like this…”
Ferrel’s voice grew heated before trailing off into a sigh. Edith shared his frustration deeply.
Glissen had failed to keep its original promises. Once the situation escalated, they began to hesitate—stalling negotiations and postponing decisions. It seemed there still wasn’t full internal agreement about joining the conflict. Some were likely pushing for complacency. For Edith and the Berk resistance, this was bad news.
“Glissen just keeps telling us to wait. What do you think we should do?”
At Ferrel’s question, Edith drank deeply from her glass, her face hardened.
She understood Glissen’s hesitation. No matter how advanced the nation was, a war with Hasmal wouldn’t be trivial.
At first, Edith had thought waiting might be the best option.
But now—
“There is a way.”
“…What?”
Even as she spoke, Edith hesitated, her words coming after a pause.
“…If a war won’t start, then we make one start.”
“How?”
“We’ll talk about that later.”
They needed to be more careful, so Edith postponed the explanation.
The drinking session didn’t last much longer. Ferrel said he’d stay up and drink more, but Edith shut that idea down with terrifying nagging.
After sending Ferrel off, Edith stood alone in the living room. As she turned to head upstairs, she paused. Her gaze fixed on the table—on the newspaper.
Perhaps it was the moonlight streaming through the window, but the grayish paper looked unusually pale.
Edith picked up the newspaper and placed it into the fireplace. Only after every face printed on it had turned into black ash did she straighten up.
The winter night was deepening.
Zekart had just finished showering.
With a large towel loosely wrapped around his waist, he walked into the living room, shaking the water from his black hair.
The unlit room was filled only with dim moonlight. As if out of habit, he stopped in front of the mirror. A man with a blank expression stared back at him. His muscular upper body was covered in grotesque scars.
It was a familiar sight—one that stirred no emotion. After all, he didn’t even remember how they happened.
That must’ve hurt. Even thorns hurt…
The thought, drifting along indifferently, suddenly stopped.
Annoyance surged as Zekart slowly closed and opened his eyes.
Why is that woman coming to mind again? It had been quiet for a while after Heinrich’s treatment.
Maybe it was already too late to question it. Ever since he’d learned of her, she surfaced like this—without context or warning.
The woman who had gone so far as to get herself put on a wanted list.
Serves you right.
At some point, she vanished from Hasmal.
Zekart kept postponing the search for her, even though he knew he needed to act if he was going to kill Ferrel Monti—a target he was already far too late on.
Zekart.
Her voice suddenly echoed in his head.
Of course, it was a name she’d never actually spoken aloud to him. She always called someone else’s name—she did even right after kissing him.
Did he expect her to call his name? In that cold, calm voice—Zekart.
He laughed softly. A hollow sound.
At this point, he couldn’t deny it anymore. She wasn’t just “anyone” to him.
Then what was he to her?
Thoughts chased one another.
Probably just anyone. Someone who reminded her of her dead husband—but was never truly him.
He should have just killed her back then.
Regret bloomed.
