At Kasha’s final remark, Kamiel wondered if he had misheard and asked, “Pardon?” But Kasha maintained his dignified smile as he responded.

“I said I plan to climb the wall.”

“…It’s not a noble’s mansion; it’s the imperial palace.”

“Oh, then I suppose I’ll have to scale the fortress walls,” Kasha replied, misunderstanding the intent of Kamiel’s question. Kamiel groaned, pressing his fingers to his forehead, which only made Kasha burst into laughter.

“You’re quite the amusing fellow. I like you. Ruth told me a lot about you… Handsome and funny, much more than I expected. Can I drop the formalities? I tried imitating Ruth for fun, but it’s dull, so let’s get to the point.”

Kasha’s bold voice and suddenly rapid speech left Kamiel momentarily stunned. The shift in tone and demeanor was so drastic that it took him a moment to gather himself.

“I already trust you somewhat, given that you were the first to inform me of Ruth’s situation. But I’m cautious by nature, and seeing someone in person solidifies my judgment. I’ve dealt with enough people to know how to read them, and you—you seem trustworthy. I like you.”

Leaning back in his chair, Kasha crossed his legs and spoke leisurely, his relaxed posture contrasting sharply with his intense smile. Kamiel, caught off guard, responded hesitantly, “…Thank you.”

At Kamiel’s polite reply, Kasha’s eyes crinkled in another pleased smile. Kamiel thought Kasha was surprisingly charming in his own way.

“Let’s get to the point. I plan to enter the palace with a noble from Clozium. Once inside, I might try to charm one of the princes to gain access to the Northern Palace. If that doesn’t work, I’ll find another way. I must see Rus.”

Kamiel frowned at Kasha’s absurd plan. “…You’re going to seduce a prince?”

“I’ve been in this business for thirteen years. Seducing an eighteen-year-old boy is nothing.”

“That’s not going to be easy.”

“If it’s hard, I’ll just climb the wall.”

It was a reckless, whatever happens, happens kind of attitude. Kamiel began questioning whether he could truly trust this man.

“You won’t succeed. The Northern Palace is currently guarded by three knights’ orders. If you attempt to trespass and get caught, you’ll be killed on the spot.”

“I don’t care. It’s better than sitting here doing nothing.”

Kamiel’s trust in Kasha, which had been building, suddenly plummeted. He couldn’t rely on someone who spoke so casually about life and death.

“You’re saying you don’t care if you die?”

“I don’t value life much. Either I die here or somewhere else; it makes no difference.”

“Life is precious. Don’t speak of it so lightly.”

“That depends on the person. For me, living long isn’t an option. I’ve ruined so many lives that it might be better to end things now. That’s why I came to you—to find a way into the Northern Palace. I won’t do anything else. I’ll simply meet Ruth, and if I find that this isn’t what he wants, I’ll help him escape.”

Kasha’s tone sharpened, his voice suddenly heavy. What started as a lighthearted conversation now carried an oppressive weight, and Kamiel grew serious.

“If you die, it’ll all be meaningless.”

“I’m just saying I’ll try. Besides, leaving Vera meant forfeiting my life anyway. Even if I’d stayed there, I’d still die.”

Kasha’s tone remained casual, even playful, but the substance of his words was grave. Kamiel instinctively realized there was more to his story.

“Is there some reason for this? A disease, perhaps?” Kamiel asked with concern.

Kasha gave a bitter smile. “Nothing so melodramatic… I’ve just made enough enemies who’d love to see me dead. I knew that when I left Vera. I’ve already made my peace with it. If I’m going to die, I’d rather see Ruth once before it happens. A sudden, unspectacular death in the middle of the night doesn’t suit me. If I’m going to die, I’d rather go out with a bang. I need to do what I want before that happens.”

“You’re seriously willing to risk your life for this?”

“At least it’s better than sitting around waiting for a pointless death. It’s not about pride or stubbornness. I just think Rus will understand, once he knows the situation.”

Kasha’s expression turned somber. Kamiel studied him intently, as if trying to decide whether he could entrust Rus’s fate to this man. Was he truly as determined as he seemed? Did he have the capability to follow through?

After weighing what he knew about Kasha—from what Ruth had told him, the content of Kasha’s letters, and the man sitting before him—Kamiel appeared to come to a decision. He nodded slowly.

“As a contingency… If I were to help you, could you promise me one thing? That no harm will come to Karileum as a result of your actions?”

With Kamiel’s polite yet cautious tone, Kasha’s expression turned cold, and he replied calmly, “I promise.”

“…I will trust you,” Kamiel said at last.

At those words, Kasha’s expression faltered for a moment. Noticing this, Kamiel tilted his head in confusion, prompting Kasha to give a bitter smile.

“That’s the scariest thing in the world, isn’t it? But don’t worry—I’ve always lived up to the trust others have placed in me… except for one person.”

A shadow of sadness crossed Kasha’s face as he recalled a painful memory of the one person whose trust he had failed to honor. However, he quickly brushed it away, shrugging lightly as if to shake off the weight.

“Alright, what can you tell me?”

—

The room was steeped in darkness. The air and shadows alike were stagnant, suffocating the space with stillness. In the oppressive silence, Ruth sat slumped in a chair, exhaling a long sigh. For the past week, every night, he had been with Ail. He had resisted, refused, and even fought back, but he always lost in the end. His inability to truly push Ail away was proof that he still harbored lingering feelings for him. The realization carved fresh wounds into his already aching heart.

Everything was at a standstill, tangled in a hopeless mess. If only he could pull a single thread to unravel it all. But that single thread remained out of reach. The attachment refused to disappear.

Now on his fourth day of surviving on water alone, Ruth had reached the brink of collapse, sagging weakly in his chair. His body felt like it was falling apart. Suddenly, he let out a laugh. It wasn’t as though he had grand aspirations of starving himself to death—it was simply the only form of rebellion available to him in his confined state. Perhaps Ail wouldn’t even care if he starved. Three days ago, Ail had force-fed him, but as Ruth’s defiance persisted, it seemed Ail had decided to wait him out. This was a petty form of revenge, a small and bitter attempt at rebellion, born out of a desire to strike back in the only way he could.

But it was all he could do. That was his current reality.

“Idiot… you’re such an idiot, Ruth,” he muttered to himself bitterly, closing his eyes. Every time he closed them, he wished it was all just a dream. A nightmare he wouldn’t even remember when he woke up. He imagined himself back in Vera, living a quiet, peaceful life after Ail’s coming-of-age ceremony. No regrets, no lingering attachments—just a simple existence among the people and places he loved.

But it was nothing more than a futile fantasy. A meaningless dream.

Caught in self-pity and on the verge of depression, Ruth chastised himself for wasting energy on pointless hopes. At that moment, a faint commotion broke the stillness of the palace, followed by the sound of the door opening.

Startled, he turned his head. Ail entered the room, dressed in pristine white ceremonial robes. It seemed Meril had reported to him again. Ruth watched impassively as Ail entered, motioning for his attendants to bring in food. They filled the table in the room with an abundance of dishes, but Ruth remained expressionless. Days of fasting had dulled his appetite entirely.

“Stop this hunger strike. It’s not good for you,” Ail said bluntly as he took a seat across from Ruth. Without responding, Ruth closed his eyes again, blatantly ignoring him. Annoyed, Ail clicked his tongue and spoke again.

“So, now you won’t even talk to me?”

Ruth remained silent. Ail studied his indifferent face, his frustration mounting. His attendants stood awkwardly by the door, visibly nervous, as Ail had instructed them not to leave until he dismissed them.

After a long silence, Ail spoke once more. “Eat.”

Still, Ruth gave no reply. Ail felt an unbearable mix of anger, hurt, and self-loathing. He was infuriated by Ruth’s resistance, tormented by his own obsession, and crushed by the pain of being ignored. It was an endless, vicious cycle.

“I won’t tolerate this anymore. Eat in front of me now,” Ail said firmly. But Ruth didn’t budge, his defiance unbroken. For a moment, Ail’s expression darkened.

“This is your final warning. From now on, I’ll throw away one dish at a time, and for each dish discarded, I’ll cut off the hand of the servant who brought it.”

The chilling threat sent the servants into a panic. At last, Ruth opened his eyes, filled with contempt.

“So, you’re finally looking at me. Now, what should I throw away first?” Ail said, his eyes glinting mischievously, like a cruel child playing a dangerous game.

Ruth, meeting his gaze, spoke coldly, “You’re despicable.”

“True. And?”

“Do you want me to hurl my scorn at you?”

“No.”

Ail’s response was measured, as if he had anticipated Ruth’s reaction. Ruth’s expression grew darker, his disdain more pronounced. But Ail didn’t care. He told himself he was used to it, that as long as he kept Ruth close, nothing else mattered. Not Ruth’s feelings, nor his attitude—none of it.

He would obtain what he desired by any means necessary, disregarding the emotions of the object of his pursuit. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. But every time he saw that expression on Ruth’s face, something stabbed painfully in his chest. It felt raw and aching, though he couldn’t name the emotion. Was it wounded pride from Ruth’s indifference? Or humiliation at his contempt? He didn’t know—and he didn’t care. All that mattered was keeping Ruth alive and close, breathing and existing by his side.

“What should I throw away first? Care to choose?” Ail’s gaze swept over the table as he asked with a casual tone. Ruth responded coldly, “You’re insane.”

“Yes, I am. But whether I’m insane or not doesn’t concern you, does it?”

Ruth neither affirmed nor denied the statement. Instead, he silently picked up a spoon. Seeing this, Ail’s voice dropped, becoming firm.

“From now on, it’ll be the same. Skip a meal, and I’ll cut off the wrists of the servants who brought it. You’d best stop this pointless rebellion.”

“… So, in the end, I don’t get to choose anything, do I?” Ruth muttered bitterly.

“You said it yourself—you’re my dog. Just follow my orders. Eat when I tell you to eat, sleep when I tell you to sleep, crawl if I tell you to crawl. That’s all you’re allowed to do.”

Ruth let out a scoffing laugh, filled with ridicule. Ail’s eyebrow twitched at the derision in his expression. Ruth smirked as he spoke. “Do you really want me to become your dog? Should I bark for you, then?”

Ruth’s sharp words made Ail’s expression harden, his aura turning dangerous. The tense atmosphere froze the servants in place, though Ruth remained unfazed, idly stirring the food on his plate. Frustrated, Ail knocked the plate from the table, sending it crashing to the floor. The sound made the servants pale with fear, trembling as they anticipated punishment.

Finally, Ruth lifted his gaze. Looking at the frightened servants, he said, “Leave the room. All of you.”

The command in his voice startled the servants, who exchanged nervous glances, unsure of what to do. Ail barked out a counter-command, “Stay where you are!”

Ruth didn’t back down. “Speak to me directly. Isn’t it me you have business with?” He turned to the servants again. “Get out.”

The servants hesitated, caught between Ail’s authority and Ruth’s demand. Sensing their indecision, Ruth repeated firmly, “Everyone, leave.”

Though his words were directed at the servants, his gaze was locked onto Ail. Ail found himself unable to retort, silenced by Ruth’s unwavering stare. It felt as if Ruth’s eyes had trapped him, rendering him motionless. Only when the servants hurried out, closing the door behind them, did Ruth lower his gaze to the food now spilled on the floor. Ail finally broke the silence.

“Just eat. We’ll talk afterward,” he said, his tone subdued, almost resigned.

Ruth glanced at the food and sneered coldly. “Should I lick it up like a dog?”

Ail’s composure cracked. “Enough! What are you trying to accomplish? Isn’t it time you gave in already?”

“I refuse.”

“How long do you intend to act like this?”

“Until I feel like stopping.”

Ail couldn’t find a rebuttal. It was impossible to reason with Ruth, and threats no longer worked. Yet, killing him was out of the question. Ail had no idea how to break through the barrier Ruth had created.

“Do you even understand what happens when you defy me?”

“Will you kill me?” Ruth’s straightforward question made Ail’s face pale. Seeing this, Ruth smiled faintly and continued, “You should get rid of anything in your way.”

He wasn’t wrong. Ail himself had said that before: eliminate obstacles, punish defiance. But the problem was that he couldn’t bring himself to apply that logic to Ruth.

Ail was nearing his limit. This battle of wills was exhausting. The constant tension, the barbed exchanges—it was too much. Both of them were locked in a war they couldn’t win, tearing each other apart with every blow.

“What do you want from me?” Ail asked, his voice weary.

“Nothing,” Ruth replied simply.

“Then why are you doing this? If you want something, just say it.”

“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”