Chapter 71….

The painfully blue-green foliage shattered in the sunlight, and the trees of the forest swayed in the wind.

Damian quietly gazed at the forest.

Amo. A forest whose name meant may the blessing of the gods be with you. Yet unlike its name, it had long been abandoned. It held a pitch-black darkness that seemed as if life itself could not survive within it.

But the forest spread before his eyes was different.

It looked as though darkness had never existed there from the beginning.

Ayla had said that Meghedon’s tomb was here. That Beatrice, his lover, had built the tomb.

Meghedon’s tomb was a towering spire, and the forest itself had been created by Gavnel. The darkness that had originally covered the forest had disappeared because of Disicio, Beatrice’s legacy.

Where the magic that once covered the forest had vanished, something faint still remained.

Someone’s magical power.

The magic felt similar to Soledina’s.

Damian guessed it must belong to Gavnel.

However, something was mixed within Gavnel’s magic—something far more foreign.

Damian slowly closed his eyes.

The sound of leaves brushing together rang softly in his ears, and the gentle wind passed over his cheek.

Soon, Damian opened his eyes again.

It wasn’t only Gavnel’s magic that remained.

There was another magic.

In fact, there were two.

Both magical signatures were still flowing continuously.

Chervan had said that he appeared here.

And that he used magic.

One of them must be his magic.

Then the other must belong to Beatrice.

Since he used Disicio, Beatrice’s legacy, traces of it would naturally remain.

But something was strange.

To a bizarre degree, his magic resembled Gavnel’s.

Yet Chervan had said that his magic was closer to Beatrice’s.

If he was someone from the Kaiser family, then resembling Gavnel wasn’t strange.

Gavnel Kaiser himself had also been a collateral member of the Kaiser lineage.

So that part made sense.

But then why was it different from Beatrice’s?

It felt like this—

As if they had originally split from the same source.

Damian sank deep into thought.

Like swimming through an ocean whose depths could not be seen.

At that moment, a voice pulled him back to the surface.

“…Will it be alright?”

Ayla looked at the clear forest and asked hesitantly, her voice cautious.

Though her question had no subject, Damian knew who she meant.

Damian tightened the hand that held Ayla’s and answered.

“It has to be alright, even if it isn’t.”

Because that’s the only way we can keep living.

At his quiet addition, Ayla turned her head.

Damian’s gaze remained on the forest.

Looking at his profile—calm and unmoved—Ayla suddenly remembered a day long ago.

The day two immature children first experienced loss.

The day the emperor cried.

And Damian smiled.

Only now did Ayla remember.

On that day when rain poured down like waves—

Damian had not cried.

The child had grown up without ever being able to cry.

Are you really alright?

The words lingered in Ayla’s mouth, but she swallowed them in the end.

She was afraid of the answer that would come back if she asked.

If he said he wasn’t okay—

What would she do then?

She had no confidence in herself.

His loss was something she could never fill.

Ayla tightened her grip on the hand Damian was holding.

Feeling the returning warmth, Damian turned his head.

Their eyes met.

Her eyes looked as if she was barely holding back tears.

As if she would cry in his place.

Right.

It had been the same that day.

Back then too, Ayla had held his hand just like this.

Because of that, he had been able not to cry.

And even now, he could still smile.

“I’m okay, Ayla.”

“……”

“So you don’t have to worry.”

That was the moment.

Ayla admitted it herself—it was completely impulsive.

But she didn’t regret it.

Ayla released Damian’s hand.

Then she wrapped both arms around his neck.

The sudden warmth made Damian freeze stiffly.

His hands, having nowhere to go, hovered awkwardly in the air.

“Damian.”

Her voice rang near his ear.

It was tangled with emotions he couldn’t quite read.

Damian waited for her to speak again.

But after calling his name, Ayla said nothing more.

Only then did Damian realize.

This was Ayla’s way of comforting him.

Just like that day when she had silently held his hand.

A smile naturally formed on his lips.

His wandering hands finally settled on her back.

Gently patting her back as if soothing a child, he whispered,

“Thank you, Ayla.”

Thank you.

For always staying by my side.

* * *

After the storm of emotions passed, a faint sense of embarrassment remained.

Ayla quietly loosened the arms wrapped around Damian’s neck.

She had thought he wouldn’t let go.

But fortunately, he did.

Feeling Damian’s gaze fixed intently on her, Ayla cleared her throat lightly and spoke.

“…Then… shall we go?”

Seeing Ayla’s obvious embarrassment, Damian barely managed to suppress the laughter threatening to burst out.

Damian took her hand again.

“Yeah. Shall we?”

Ayla nodded.

Then, in the next instant—

She had only blinked once.

But suddenly, a tower stood before them.

A towering spire that seemed to touch the sky.

Meghedon’s tomb.

But it looked different from before.

The barrier that had once surrounded the tower—previously invisible—was now revealed.

And it glowed red.

Red like blood.

Why?

What had happened here?

Countless questions swirled in her mind, but she had no answers.

Still, there was one thing she could guess—

Perhaps even be certain about.

The mage had made the tower like this.

That much was clear.

Ayla thought carefully.

The tower had once allowed only her to enter.

Would it still allow her now?

Even though the mage’s magic had covered it?

Still, with a small hope, Ayla reached out her hand like she had before.

But her hand stopped midair.

Not by her own will.

Ayla turned to look at Damian.

His face, staring at the tower, had grown cold.

“No.”

His voice was firm.

And cold.

At the words that followed, Ayla flinched and instinctively stepped back.

“If you touch it, you’ll die, Ayla.”

“What do you mean—”

“It was designed that way.”

“So that no one can touch it.”

Damian turned his head and looked at her.

Their eyes met—hers trembling with shock.

In a voice as low and heavy as a sentencing verdict, he said,

“So…”

“……”

“So that no one can reach this place.”

* * *

“An extension request… for the academic field study?”

Violet read the large words written at the top of the paper.

Academic Field Study Extension Request.

She had never even known such a thing existed.

But that made sense.

The field study, originally applied for only by the Department of History, had a clearly fixed period. If it extended beyond that, it would interfere with the academic schedule.

But this—

A field study by a literature student, not even from the history department.

And now an extension request?

Violet read the document with an incredulous expression.

The names of the Crown Prince and the duke’s daughter were clearly written on it.

And the supervising professor was still Violet Penelotia.

But there was something newly added on this extension form.

Under the line for research assistant, there was a name.

Camilla.

Was that really a name that could appear here?

Is a troublesome student still troublesome even after growing up?

As a sudden headache came over her, Violet held her head.

Then she asked the student who only ever gave her worries.

“What is this, Camilla?”

“Can’t you tell by looking at it? Should I read it out loud for you?”

Violet’s headache worsened at her student’s carefree reply.

“Then why are you the one bringing this to me? Actually, it was already strange that the Crown Prince applied for a field study in the first place. What exactly are the Crown Prince and the duke’s daughter doing?”

Her words inevitably came out sharp.

She had approved it only to secure her reappointment as the academy’s head.

But realistically, this was practically a special privilege.

Even if the academy claimed equality in name, there would surely be complaints somewhere.

She wanted no unnecessary trouble.

Of course, even if that was her intention, reality could never be perfectly clean.

Which meant the real problem here was the Crown Prince.

How much was he willing to tolerate?

Could she fully trust him?

If asked that question, Violet could confidently answer no.

Rulers were not meant to be trusted.

Especially royalty.