Chapter : 01
Prologue
An incident broke out in Onnevale, the only empire on the continent.
Duke Munje Roheol and her attendants, who had been returning from the Roheol territory, disappeared.
More than enough time had passed for them to have arrived in the capital, yet they did not appear.
Contact was made from the Roheol estate in the capital to the Roheol territory, but the vassals there were instead thrown into confusion, replying that she had already departed for the capital two weeks earlier.
For a day or two, people simply watched the situation, thinking that surely nothing could have happened to that Munje Roheol.
Then William Roheol, Munje Roheol’s younger brother who had been staying in the capital, stepped forward before the Emperor and reported:
“Munje Roheol has gone missing.”
Only then did the nobles of the capital learn of Munje Roheol’s disappearance.
Yet, for some reason, Roheol—the ducal house itself—did not move swiftly. It did not seem as though they were conducting a search.
With the Roheol family quiet despite the disappearance of its head, no one else stepped forward. There was no one in the imperial capital who was desperate to find the Duke of Roheol.
Nevertheless, a search began on the very day the disappearance was made public—quietly, by order of the ruler of the Grand Duchy of Ehve, who had grasped the situation.
He was someone who had long been Munje Roheol’s closest friend.
Knowing that the Emperor of Onnevale would never permit foreign knights to search the empire—and that even if permitted, it would come with countless restrictions—Raphael Ehve quietly set his own knights in motion. And he, too, moved personally.
Before the Grand Duke himself arrived, his knights discovered something first.
It was a mountain path—one that Munje Roheol and her party would almost certainly have passed through.
Because not a single drop of rain had fallen since then, the site was still preserved. Upon seeing it, the knights were struck speechless.
They did not know how they could possibly report this to their lord.
It was too horrific. Too cruel.
They knew how deep the bond was between the Grand Duke and the Duchess.
Still, with stiffened hands, they activated a magic-infused artifact.
“It appears there was an incident caused by magic or an artifact.”
Raphael, upon receiving the report, said nothing. He set aside the documents he had been reading and rose from his seat.
Less than five minutes later—
The Grand Duke stood on that mountain path.
From Debier Castle of Ehve to this mountain road, even after crossing the border, it was a two-day journey by horseback. And yet, he had arrived in five minutes.
“……”
After taking a few steps forward from where he arrived, he stopped.
He looked at the scene before him. And looked. And looked again.
For a brief moment, he could not breathe.
It was the scene of what was presumed to be the violent death of his longtime friend.
A blue mountain path.
Bloodstains that had already burned away and turned black.
Pools of blood. A road still soaked in red.
Shreds of torn flesh. A sword, bloodied and scorched, impaled into the trunk of a tree.
Raphael’s pale gray eyes took in everything at once, with a wide field of vision.
It was clearly a site where at least one life—certainly more—had been lost. Someone had undeniably died here.
“…Your Highness.”
One of his knights cautiously called out to him. Raphael had stood unmoving in the same spot for too long.
As if he hadn’t heard the call, Grand Duke Raphael began to walk.
Leaving the cleared path, he stopped before a tree standing on the slope.
A tree with a sword embedded in it.
Raphael’s gaze traced the blade as though in prayer.
He raised his right hand and removed his black glove. The dry skin of his fingertips slowly brushed the hilt of the sword. He reached forward. Wrapped his hand around it.
It was a desperate touch, seeking warmth that could not possibly remain.
“……”
After standing still for a moment, the Grand Duke pulled the sword free from the tree.
It was the sword he had once gifted to his friend.
Raphael’s grip tightened around it. He lifted his gaze from the dried blood clinging to the blade.
His face—utterly devoid of emotion, as though all feeling had been erased—turned toward the end of the slope.
As he stared upward, the wind blew. He heard the lonely sound of all the green in the forest crashing together.
At last, Raphael’s shadowed eyes wavered.
Munje Roheol.
Pale gray eyes.
Golden hair.
A radiant smile.
Leisurely rest.
Afternoon.
Quiet peace.
His peace.
“……”
His heart.
His life.
His breath.
The pale gray eyes—so similar to his friend’s—lost focus for just a moment.
He looked back down at the sword. His jaw tightened, then loosened.
His chest throbbed painfully.
Holding the sword, the Grand Duke descended the slope, surveyed the mountain path—the “scene”—a little longer, then turned away.
* * *
He attended a funeral without a body.
His eyes met those of the young man who had become the new Duke of Roheol the moment it was confirmed that he had lost his sister.
William Roheol.
The Grand Duke met his gaze quietly, then soon turned away.
Raphael looked once more at the beautifully prepared coffin.
In his pale gray eyes as he stared at it, there was not the slightest trace of affection or sorrow. Throughout the offering of flowers before the coffin, he revealed not even a hint of pain, nor did he remain long.
And yet, he was the only person who had been especially close to Munje Roheol in life.
That was why everything about his behavior looked like someone forcibly suppressing his anguish.
Whether that impression was truth or illusion.
Upon returning to the castle, the first thing the Grand Duke did was tear off the white flower pinned to his outer garment.
When he threw it into the waste bin, his two aides flinched.
The two seasoned aides darted their eyes about, gauging the Grand Duke’s expression.
The flower discarded atop the trash was utterly crushed.
The Grand Duke of Ehve looked down at the flower chosen to honor a noble soul and spoke.
“We’ll divide Sombre into five.”
His words were cold and frosted.
Divide the elite knight order into five units? At the sudden command, one aide blinked.
“Pardon?”
“We must find the Duke of Roheol.”
“…Your High—”
Your Highness.
His throat closed up, and no words came out. His mouth, which had barely forced out the last syllable, shut on its own.
The former duke—now deceased—and her attendants had been horrifically blown apart. It was said that their bodies had been shredded as though artifacts within them had activated, flesh scattered and caught across trees and brush. Even organs hanging from leaves had been torn into incomplete fragments.
And yet… find her?
Surely he did not mean gathering those pieces of entrails.
Surely he did not mean collecting those scraps of flesh.
The aides were gravely worried that their lord had suffered a severe mental shock from the death of his closest friend.
Unable to find words, they listened as Raphael spoke.
“She is not dead.”
The two aides clenched their teeth.
Their hearts sank at the sight of a ruler denying his friend’s death.
Yet they could not dare voice concern for his sanity. Even if their lord had truly lost his mind, those beneath him were bound to accept it as it was.
Dressed entirely in black, the aides paid their respects and withdrew from the Grand Duke, who stood gazing only at the flowers.
Left alone in the study, Raphael stood there for a long time.
Then, suddenly, he closed his eyes tightly and opened them again. He lifted his head and looked out the window.
You’re not dead.
Taking in the clear world outside, Raphael thought with frozen reason.
You’re not dead.
There’s no way you could be dead.
