Chapter 39
Castian, who had begun listening to Ethan’s report in disbelief, grew more and more grim as the report went on.
The illusionist had lured the Bernstein knights into a trap, cast a massive illusion on them, and in their confusion, they had attacked their own allies. Nearly a thousand imperial soldiers had been thrown into chaos without even being able to raise their weapons.
When Ethan described how the imperial soldiers had crowded into the gap in the barrier—making it impossible for me to escape—Castian ground his teeth so hard that I could hear it.
I had never seen him this angry before.
Not when his heart had once stopped, nor when he’d received news that an expedition had failed—Castian had always maintained his composure.
But now, a blue, icy aura of killing intent flickered visibly around him.
Even though I knew his anger wasn’t directed at me, the pressure in the air made it hard to breathe.
“Withdraw your energy, my lord. You’re frightening her.”
When Ethan stepped between us and spoke, that crushing force vanished instantly.
Castian looked at me with stormy, sea-colored eyes and said quietly,
“…I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m okay,” I replied quickly, shaking my head.
But I knew he wasn’t.
Castian had become Duke of Bernstein at sixteen and had spent the past ten years building and training his knight order with painstaking effort.
His relationship with his mother, Duchess Elicia, had been far from good, so the Bernstein Knights had become his truest source of strength and loyalty.
To lose them like this—it would have been stranger if he wasn’t angry.
I wanted to say something—anything—to comfort him, but no words would come.
As I stood there fumbling like a fool, Castian suddenly stepped closer.
He leaned forward so abruptly that I thought he was collapsing.
Startled, I reached out to catch him—but instead, he rested his forehead gently against my left shoulder and whispered, his voice low and strained,
“And… thank you. If something had happened to you, I would have lost far too much.”
His heavy, pained, yet tender words shattered the dam holding back my tears.
I’d told myself I had no choice, that it wasn’t my fault—but guilt still clung to me, sharp and inescapable.
And then, Castian’s words felt like he was telling me it was all right to be afraid.
Even when I tried to hold it back, tears slipped down.
I didn’t want to cry—not in front of a man who was already bearing the grief of losing his men. But I couldn’t stop it.
Thankfully, Castian still had his head bowed and didn’t see my face. Someone else, however, did.
“Step back, Lord Castian. You’re distressing her.”
Ethan’s tone was full of awkward loyalty—overly perceptive yet somehow clueless. Castian immediately straightened.
Before he could notice my tears, I shoved my face into his chest.
“Lydia?”
As I rubbed my face against his clothes to wipe my tears, his voice came from above, full of concern.
“Lydia, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Was this what it felt like to be a child—wanting to cry even harder when someone spoke gently to you?
His kindness made the tears come stronger.
I pretended to shake my head, using the motion to wipe away the fresh ones on his coat.
I couldn’t cry in front of the person who most deserved to.
I wasn’t a child anymore. I was an adult. I could endure this.
I took a deep breath, forced the trembling in my chest down, and stepped back.
My face must have looked terrible, but there was nothing to be done about that.
All I could do was swallow my sobs, gather the remnants of strength, and lift the corners of my mouth in the best smile I could manage.
“I’m all right, Your Grace.”
I faced him bravely. His posture, however, looked… odd.
His arms were awkwardly half-lifted, like someone who’d been about to dance a waltz alone. Maybe he’d meant to hold me.
He looked at me for a moment, then exhaled something between a sigh and a rueful laugh.
“I’m the one who’s not all right.”
Was he truly that tormented?
Startled, I looked up—but this time, Castian’s expression softened into a faint smile. He reached out and patted my head lightly.
“Let’s go. There’s much to be done.”
That one sentence swept away any chance to dwell on my feelings.
I had met him again, yes—but none of the problems had been solved.
As he said, his burdens had only grown heavier.
Turning to follow him, I asked, “Where are the others?”
“They’re coming. I left them behind—their pace was too slow.”
“It’s not that they’re slow, Your Grace. It’s that you’re too fast. What did you do back there?”
Just moments ago, Castian had moved like a streak of blue lightning—like a car with glowing headlights speeding at 250 kilometers per hour.
I’d only asked out of curiosity, but his answer was dry and simple.
“I just ran fast.”
Just ran fast? Since when could a human reach that kind of speed?
Then what did that make me—a turtle?
Between the two of us, one definitely wasn’t quite human. Unfortunately, now wasn’t the time to debate which.
I turned to the undead soldiers—former Bernstein knights—and gave instructions.
“Please keep watch for the rest of the expedition members. Don’t get too close—they might mistake you for enemies and attack. If any monsters or dark magicians approach, report to me immediately.”
“By your command!”
The twelve death knights answered in unison and vanished into the shadows.
Then Castian and I returned to the gap in the barrier where the imperial army had gathered.
The atmosphere among the imperial troops was heavy and chaotic. Before them knelt Hamil and the surviving knights.
Castian looked down at his loyal men with a bitter gaze and spoke in a low, heavy voice.
“From this moment, I strip you of your knighthood. You are expelled from the Bernstein Order. When the expedition returns, you will leave Bernstein lands immediately.”
Fewer than seven hundred imperial soldiers remained.
Those who had died were now undead under my command, and far more had fled beyond the barrier.
The ones still standing had lost all morale.
The Emperor would undoubtedly use this disaster—the damage inflicted by the Bernstein knights—as an excuse to punish the Duke.
Even if they hadn’t meant to, Hamil and his knights had drawn their swords and killed their allies. There would be no escaping responsibility.
Castian intended to shoulder all the blame himself.
Hamil, realizing this, choked back a sob.
“This was all my failure. I’ll take responsibility with my life.”
“Hamil Ruswain,” Castian said sharply. “I am the commander. Do not overstep.”
“But, Your Grace—!”
“Enough. Once the expedition returns, we march straight for Malfren Castle. Prepare the men.”
Leaving that cold order behind, Castian turned away.
From a short distance off, I watched the scene with aching pity. Quietly, I asked Ethan,
“What happens to knights who are stripped of their titles?”
“They join mercenary bands—or live as wanderers. With the disgrace of expulsion hanging over them, no other order will take them.”
Ethan’s voice was somber.
All of them had lived and fought under the Bernstein banner for over ten years. Especially Commander Hamil—he’d been as close as a brother to the late Duke of Bernstein.
Castian’s decision to cast him out must have torn him apart. Ethan could easily guess what was in his master’s heart.
Though his loyalty now lay with me alone, pity flickered in his gray-blue eyes as he looked toward Castian’s back.
Hearing Ethan’s answer, my expression darkened too.
It wasn’t their fault—it was the illusionist’s black magic. I wanted to protest, to say it wasn’t fair. But how could I, when I was standing next to Ethan, who had died by their swords?
Hamil and the other knights remained on their knees, unmoving.
Castian stood apart from them, staring toward Malfren Castle—its silhouette sharp and cold under the first light of dawn.
I approached him, knowing he must be struggling alone. He sensed me and turned.
I looked up at him quietly.
My crimson eyes held something unfamiliar—gentle concern. Carefully, I asked,
“Are you all right?”
A short question, but it carried a hundred shades of worry.
That was always Lydia’s way.
She asked the questions no one else ever did.
And strangely, whenever she asked if he was all right… Castian found he didn’t want to be.
Two feelings warred within him—the desire not to burden her, and the hope that she would worry about him.
Hamil. The knights. The imperial army. The expedition. Bernstein. The Emperor.
Another tangled thread in an already knotted web.
Instead of answering, Castian simply extended his hand.
Lydia took it. The small, soft warmth of her touch made everything seem all right—
—and at the same time, made everything not all right.
He would find answers to the rest of his problems; he always did. He had faith in that.
But when it came to this woman, he could find no bearings at all.
The feelings growing inside him were too strong, barely restrained by the fragile lock of the word “friend.”
“I’m fine,” he said at last—half truth, half lie—to reassure her.
But the truth he covered up, even for a moment, was clear:
Castian Bernstein could never be just Lydia’s friend.
