Chapter 173: Greetings
“You’re right, Your Highness. This is a family matter.”
All eyes turned to Howard. His sudden agreement with Frederick’s words caught everyone off guard.
With a gentle smile, he continued, “And so, as Damian’s grandfather, I’m merely trying to prevent my grandson’s execution.”
His words subtly asserted his right, as family, to meddle in this so-called family matter. Frederick’s brow furrowed slightly. He stared at Howard, his eyes brimming with confusion.
They’re supposed to be estranged from the maternal side. Why is he suddenly taking Damian’s side?
Whatever the reason for this change of heart, the intervention of the Lond family was a vexing complication. Frederick had assumed that, aside from Aracila, no one would defend Damian, making his elimination straightforward. He hadn’t expected so many obstacles to emerge.
“Your Majesty, the Lond family is distantly related to us,” the Grand Duchess interjected swiftly, backing Howard’s claim. “The same blood flows through Lord Vandermir. Though we’ve had little contact, how could we turn a blind eye to a tragedy befalling our kin?”
She emphasized their shared lineage, however faint, as if it bound them irrevocably.
Meanwhile, the Duke of Vandermir, watching this unfold, clutched the back of his neck in exasperation. The Lond family, who had never shown the slightest interest in Damian, suddenly stepping in was absurd enough. But to now suggest that Damian was tied to the imperial family by blood? It was beyond belief.
He wanted to call it nonsense, but with the Grand Duchess as the speaker, he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.
An uneasy silence filled the hall as everyone gauged each other’s reactions. At last, the Emperor, who had been silently observing, spoke.
“The Grand Duchess speaks wisely,” he said, stroking his snow-white beard. “From what I’ve heard, it seems we cannot definitively conclude that Damian Vandermir is the culprit.”
In an instant, emotions in the room diverged. The Duke and Frederick’s faces darkened, while the three on the opposing side brightened.
Damian himself, standing face-to-face with the Emperor, wore a complex expression. The Emperor met his gaze steadily and added, “But as things stand, it’s also true that Damian Vandermir is the most likely suspect.”
Now the Duke and Frederick’s faces lit up, while the other three grew somber. The Emperor’s words implied he didn’t consider Damian innocent.
With both sides having been acknowledged, everyone leaned in, tense, waiting for the Emperor’s final judgment.
“As the Duke said, we cannot impose a death sentence,” the Emperor declared. “But neither does it make sense to let him go unpunished.”
“Your Majesty, then…”
The Emperor’s commanding red eyes swept over the room. Tapping the armrest of his chair lightly, he delivered his verdict.
“Send Damian Vandermir to the northern frontier. If he returns victorious, his debt will be considered paid. If not, his failure to return will serve as his atonement.”
The room stirred with ambiguous reactions. The northern frontier had long been a headache, plagued by magical beasts and foreign incursions. Recently, nomadic tribes had banded together, launching deliberate attacks that had pushed the region to the brink of war.
The imperial forces sent there had already been routed, and deciding who would lead the next expedition had been a heated topic in recent court meetings.
Surviving and returning would be no small feat. The Emperor’s choice of words—“failure to return”—was a tacit acknowledgment that death was a likely outcome.
“If anyone wishes to object, speak now. After this, I will hear no further arguments.”
The Emperor’s solemn proclamation silenced the room. Who would dare challenge the ruler of the empire?
Damian’s fate was now clear: succeed and live, or fail and die.
With both possibilities open, each person could only cling to the outcome they hoped for. Satisfied with the room’s quiet compliance, the Emperor smiled faintly, then turned his gaze to Damian.
“Damian Vandermir, prepare yourself within two days and depart for the north.”
“Why did you help me?”
Howard, strolling slowly down the corridor with his hands clasped behind his back, paused at the low question from behind. He turned slowly.
There stood Damian, his brow furrowed, looking more like his father than ever. How is it that he resembles his mother so little?
The only trace of Monica in him was the golden eyes he shared with Howard. Without those, facing him might have been unbearable.
Feeling Damian’s gaze pressing for an answer, Howard tilted his head slightly and replied, “Are you complaining that I helped you?”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Damian said. “We’ve lived as strangers all this time.”
The Grand Duchess of Keystone and Lucas had their ties to Aracila and himself, so their support was understandable. But why had Howard, of all people, shown up today to take his side?
Throughout the hearing, Damian had been more preoccupied with that question than his own fate. The idea that the person who might hate him most in the world had come to his defense was baffling.
“Your wife came to me,” Howard said.
“…What?”
“She brought Monica’s keepsake and pleaded earnestly for me to help you.”
Damian’s expression shifted to one of shock. Howard’s tone was calm, devoid of any hint of deceit. There was no reason for him to lie about something like this.
The realization that Aracila had gone to such lengths to save him made Damian’s chest ache. In the end, it was her unwavering resolve that had kept him alive.
Not that he was entirely in the clear—he’d have to fight tooth and nail to survive the north. But having a chance at all was more than he could have hoped for.
“I owed your wife a debt, so I agreed to help,” Howard added.
“A debt?”
Damian, unaware of Aracila’s aid to Howard at the temple, looked puzzled. Howard didn’t elaborate, simply gazing at him quietly.
Aracila’s piercing words came flooding back to Howard’s mind.
“The adults were the ones who sinned, so why did you hate that child so much?”
“Why did you leave young Damian to live in hell alone? For whose sake?”
“You made all those excuses, but in the end, you abandoned your daughter and grandson for your own sake.”
Not a single word had been wrong, and he hadn’t been able to argue back. After Aracila left that day, Howard had reflected on his past.
He’d come to see that directing his resentment at Damian had been a selfish act to ease his own heart.
But shamefully, he was still a flawed man, unsure of what to say to the grandson standing before him now.
“…Damian.”
“Yes.”
Hearing his grandson’s name after so long, Howard felt a pang in his chest.
The young Damian he’d met at Monica’s funeral had called him “Grandfather” and followed him trustingly. But Howard, desperate to deny his daughter’s death, had pushed the boy away.
He’d turned his back, ignoring the child’s pleading gaze and spitting out harsh words.
If it hurt now to remember that, it only proved how shameless he was. Clenching his fist tightly, Howard spoke in a subdued voice.
“Come back alive.”
“….”
“And when you do… let’s meet, the three of us, with your wife. I have things to say to you.”
Damian’s expression shifted subtly. He’d never imagined a day would come when his grandfather would say such things to him.
It wasn’t purely joyful, nor was it unpleasant.
Damian harbored no resentment toward Howard for ignoring the abused child he’d once been. Howard had cut him off first, so Damian had never thought of him as a grandfather.
But what if he had? What if he’d seen Howard as his grandfather?
“…It must have been utterly miserable.”
A bitter taste lingered in Damian’s mouth, and without a word, he lowered his head and turned away. For some reason, he couldn’t bear to face him any longer.
Howard didn’t try to stop him. Instead, his gaze trailed after Damian for a while.
Though Damian felt the weight of that stare, he refused to look back. His heart churned with a tangled, nauseating mix of emotions, as if the feelings he should have confronted as a child were only now rushing in.
Damian’s deployment was arranged swiftly.
The Red Hawk Knights upheld their loyalty. Declaring they would follow their commander even to hell, every member of the order resolved to march north together.
On the day of departure, it was Isaac who handed Damian, freshly released from prison, his sword and armor.
“Thank you, Isaac. You managed to bring these in good condition.”
“No need to thank me, sir. Truth be told, I didn’t bring them—Lady Aracila sent them for you.”
At those words, Damian’s hands, mid-motion as he donned his armor, trembled slightly. He could feel Aracila’s thoughtfulness in safeguarding his belongings while he was away and sending them at just the right moment.
Yet he, in their last encounter, had only spat harsh words at her.
His heart grew heavy, and after slowly finishing dressing, he spoke in a subdued tone.
“…How is the lady faring?”
“That’s something you’d best see and judge for yourself, Commander. Though, to my eyes, she didn’t seem to be doing too badly.”
Isaac’s lips curled into a slight grin. Damian felt a quiet relief. At the very least, she was holding up well enough to seem passable in others’ eyes.
As he stepped outside, a deep sense of regret washed over him. If only he’d had a little more time, he might have seen Aracila before leaving.
The emperor had ordered his release early to prepare for the campaign, but Frederick, with his petty vindictiveness, had clung to him until the very last moment.
Claiming there was one final matter to investigate, he’d kept Damian detained.
Because of that, Damian even worried whether the preparations for the campaign had been properly handled.
“Isaac, is everyone ready?”
“Yes, Commander. No need to worry. The House of Marquis Hugo spared no expense in providing funds for weapons and armor.”
“…Is that true?”
“Yes, and not only that—Lord Hugo himself stepped in to ensure we were thoroughly equipped. He said there could be no gaps when heading into battle.”
Damian’s eyes widened, a rare occurrence. He hadn’t expected that Aracila’s family, on top of her own support, would come to his aid.
Though he’d refused the proxy divorce, that was only because he couldn’t overcome Aracila’s stubbornness. Given that their marriage was revealed to be a contract, he’d braced for some degree of coldness.
Yet the memory of the marquis’s family, who had called his name more warmly than his own father ever had and treated him like one of their own, stirred a quiet ache in Damian’s chest.
Unaware of this, Isaac, still beaming, suddenly spotted someone and stepped aside with a quick motion.
“Well then, take your time with your farewells.”
“What? Farewells with who…?”
Damian didn’t finish his sentence, his steps halting abruptly. Standing at the door was a familiar figure, unmistakable even beneath the loose folds of a robe.
A pale, delicate hand slipped from the sleeve and lifted the hood, revealing a cascade of soft lavender hair that flowed like waves.
As Aracila slowly turned, Damian stared, breathless.
The face he’d longed to see just once before heading to a war where he might die was standing only a few steps away. Her full, rosy lips parted to call his name.
“Damian.”
“…My lady.”
Frozen in place as if rooted to the ground, Damian suddenly strode forward, closing the distance to Aracila in an instant. His voice trembled as he asked,
“How did you get here?”
“How, you ask? I sneaked in among the servants carrying supplies just to say goodbye to you.”
As a convicted man, Damian hadn’t been granted an official moment to bid farewell to his family. Even sneaking a meeting during the preparations had been thwarted by Frederick’s interference.
He’d resigned himself to departing from the capital’s gates without a proper goodbye, but, as always, the unpredictable Aracila had found her way to him.
To say farewell.
“See? I told you I’m tougher than you think. But I’m sorry—I couldn’t save you as well as I boasted I would.”
“Don’t say that. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t even be standing here.”
Damian cut her off firmly. Looking fondly at Aracila, who seemed a touch dejected, he bowed his head briefly.
“I’m the one who should apologize. I said cruel things to you during our last visit.”
“It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean them.”
Back then, her feelings had been a little bruised, but Aracila now understood it was Damian’s way of protecting her. His harsh words had been his best effort to shield her from harm.
She raised her slightly reddened eyes to meet his. The hardships of prison life had left him visibly gaunt.
Yet his shimmering silver hair and radiant golden eyes remained unchanged, bringing her both relief and a pang of sorrow.
“…Damian.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll come back victorious, won’t you?”
Hiding her anxiety as best she could, she posed the question. Damian let out a soft chuckle, bright enough to dispel the shadow over her.
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do. You’re the knight I admire.”
“Then wait for me with an easy heart. I’ve never lost a battle.”
“Hmm, that’s odd. I seem to recall you losing when you fought me.”
She tilted her head playfully, feigning confusion, and Damian’s brow furrowed slightly as he responded with conviction.
“That was objectively a draw.”
“Hmm.”
“It was a draw, I tell you. A fair fight should be settled honorably, my lady.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll let you have that one.”
In a moment that didn’t suit the gravity of an impending campaign, the two shared a lighthearted exchange and laughed together, their eyes locked.
As their laughter faded, Damian’s voice grew serious.
“There’s something I want to ask.”
“What is it?”
“Why did you go to such lengths for me?”
Even without hearing the details, Damian could guess the immense effort Aracila had poured into securing his release.
She didn’t have to go that far, so why had she?
Stepping closer, he leaned toward her and asked softly,
“Was it out of duty?”
“Well…”
Damian’s reflection shimmered in her clear, lake-like eyes. Aracila hesitated, wondering if she should lay her true feelings bare in that moment.
But she worried that if she did, he might leave too easily, too unburdened.
Wouldn’t it be better to leave him with an unresolved question, a nagging secret, to fuel his drive to return alive?
With that thought, she placed a hand on his shoulder, flashed a bright smile, and said,
“I’ll tell you when you come back.”
“…Then I’ll have to return victorious.”
Damian didn’t press further and stepped back. It seemed he preferred to hear her answer in a moment of peace, not crisis.
And perhaps only then could he reveal his own heart in return.
A trumpet sounded in the distance, signaling it was time to depart.
Aracila glanced back briefly and opened her arms. Damian naturally pulled her into an embrace, cradling the back of her head.
“Come back safe.”
“I will.”
With that final farewell, they parted. Damian strode forward to lead his knights.
Toot, toot!
After two trumpet blasts, the procession began. Aracila stood by the roadside, watching the knights depart.
She didn’t move from her spot until they had vanished into the distance, mere specks on the horizon.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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