The Brave Man Falls into Self-doubt

“The weak have no right to refuse.”

“If the Duke of Wylding truly announces this engagement during the banquet… if Lakazet proposes to me in front of all those representatives—I won’t be able to outright reject her to her face.”

“Because, at such a significant event, shaming the noble Duke of Wylding and his beloved daughter in public…”

“…the future of the Duchy of Camille would likely be less comfortable than the harshest ice fields of Skandia in northern Neuin.”

Samael kept his gaze lowered, speaking with quiet resignation—his voice flat, yet thick with bitterness.

Cold moonlight spilled over his shoulders, casting the heavy shadow of a burdened youth across Syldra’s face.

Syldra’s heart twisted.

…… Truth shouldn’t be taken from just one side. Even if Samael claimed the engagement was Lakazet’s unilateral decision, that was only his perception.

Differing views on love and relationships were natural. That made sense.

In theory.

But this wasn’t just about two people. It wasn’t merely between Lakazet and Samael.

The real issue was Wylding’s abnormal behavior.

That the other party refused? Irrelevant.
That their allies were uninformed? Also irrelevant.

…… Wylding’s attitude was as if they were saying: “Even if the alliance fails, it doesn’t matter.”

From Syldra’s perspective, that reeked of a prelude to conspiracy.

First, apply pressure through a public event.
Then, use status and narrative control to steer the situation.
Manipulate the outcome toward favorable results.
Finally, achieve deeper political objectives.

This was how the powerful operated.

“…… Lady Lentiya?”

Syldra remembered something she’d learned long ago.

Deep within the Oluvache Canyon, an ancient burial site had been discovered. The “Dragon City” of Budiga—south of the canyon, claiming descent from Emperor Oluvache—and the “Beast Realm Nation” of Airon-Oluvache—north of the canyon, declaring itself the true successor state—had signed an agreement. Each sent excavation teams, agreeing not to interfere, prioritizing the protection of ancestral relics.

But one day, Airon-Oluvache suddenly declared that half their recovered relics had been stolen from their camp, and their excavators attacked.

They immediately blamed Budiga—accusing them of breaking the treaty, assaulting their team, and stealing sacred artifacts under orders from Budiga’s lord.

Then, without hesitation, Airon-Oluvache launched a lightning war against Budiga, forcing its surrender within weeks. The defeated city-state signed a treaty stripping it of all military presence on the southern side of Oluvache Canyon.

Afterward, over decades, Airon-Oluvache expanded along both sides of the canyon, absorbing every tribe and kingdom until it became the largest empire in western Neuin.

“Lady Lentiya… are you unwell? You don’t look like yourself…”

…… Such events repeated throughout history—from the rise of Neuin’s first empire, through its collapse and reformation, across every age. The same play performed again and again.

And now—apparently—it was about to unfold once more, right before Syldra’s eyes, in the main hall of “The Lion’s Invitation,” in just two days.

Wasn’t this the world’s chronic disease?

Realization struck Syldra like a thunderclap. Her scalp tightened.

Samael’s words—“The weak have no right to refuse”—pierced her heart like a shard of glacial ice.

Bone-deep cold. Soul-deep pain.

——Because the very reason he could say these words, the reason she now understood that truth so clearly, was because of that same cruel principle.

Unable to refuse Wylding, he could do nothing but beg Lakazet to withdraw her proposal.

Unable to refuse Lentiya, he could do nothing but tell her the truth.

…… Weakness leads to annihilation.

Was that why Camille fell?

Was that why Samael sought vengeance against the world?

…… This thing etched into my blood—this rule by which my family, elders, and friends survive—is actually a cancerous rot in the world: hopeless, heartbreaking, fundamentally unjust.

“Lady Lentiya… please.”

The clink of porcelain and a man’s voice snapped her back. Warm, sweet aroma filled her nose. Dazed, Syldra looked up.

A pair of crimson eyes—gentle, concerned—watched her.

Instinctively, she took the teacup Samael offered, staring at him blankly.

“I suppose I should say ‘I hope it suits your taste’...” He gave a faint, almost smug smile. “But after years of refining my craft, even if my tea isn’t quite as exquisite as freshly harvested ‘Divine Nectar,’ it surpasses the brew of most tea masters in the world.”

“So, whatever burdens your mind, please drink it. Let it bring you peace.”

“And please, do not become overly elated at sharing a cup with me. This is mere hospitality—the bare minimum of a host’s duty. Spilling it would be quite troublesome for me.”

He still said absurd things that made her want to roll her eyes—but now, they didn’t feel so grating.

After handing her the cup, Samael folded his cloth and turned to tidy the small tea table. Steam still rose from the pot, swirling in the cool night air.

Compared to the Demon King who would destroy the world fifteen years from now, this young man seemed like nothing more than an ordinary noble youth.

Alive. Real. Standing right before her.

…… Was the destruction of the world entirely his fault?

Staring at the boy, Syldra felt, for the first time, a flicker of doubt in her own conviction.

Then, as if realizing how absurd that thought was, she shook her head sharply.

—What am I thinking?! Can responsibility for war ever not lie with the one who starts it? Especially when the target is the entire world?!

The true cause of Camille’s fall remains unknown. It’s too early to ponder grand philosophies!

But then… what should I be thinking about now?

Holding the warm, fragrant tea, Syldra gazed into its surface, where her blurred reflection rippled like disturbed water.

Lost in turmoil, she fell silent. Samael, seemingly understanding, remained quiet too. Yet the silence didn’t discomfort her—perhaps the tea had calmed her mind.

They sat like that until a knock echoed at the door, jolting Syldra back to reality.

“Miss—are you in there?”

Alongside the knocking came Rosetta’s familiar voice.

The maid had come searching—for her mistress had been gone far too long.