Lucian fell silent for a moment, folding his hands before his chest as the corners of his lips slowly curved downward.
"What?" he said in a flat voice—he never could have imagined hearing such news.
"Yes, Young Master." Ivan nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on Lucian with a slightly worried expression. "The message was sent directly by the head guard from the border territories. The Lord is likely to arrive in three or four days."
"So..." he trailed off deliberately, "For the time being, I won't be attending to you personally. But later, I'll arrange for one of the other servants to take my place."
Lucian stared straight ahead, his eyes seeming to pierce through the door of his own room. He then clicked his tongue softly, unable to hide his displeasure. I'd rather not have any servants at all—it makes me feel constrained, he muttered to himself. He'd never liked having someone watching his every move.
"Do as you wish," he said, slouching one shoulder lazily. "After all, you've always been his subordinate from the start, haven't you?" he continued in a casual tone, referring to the head of the Haelric family without using titles like "Father." He didn't know how the original Lucian had addressed his father, so he chose to keep things vague.
Ivan looked at him with an unreadable expression. A subtle shift crossed his eyes, as if he'd caught something odd in Lucian's words. "Young Master...?" he began, as if wanting to confirm something, but stopped short.
"What is it?" Lucian glanced at him with faint curiosity.
Ivan sighed, his eyes briefly dropping to the floor before returning to meet Lucian's gaze. "No, nothing at all," he replied quickly, as if trying to hide something. "In that case, good night."
Ivan bowed his head slightly in respect, then watched as Lucian's back disappeared behind the door. Young Master... once, he was so eager to hear news of the Lord. But after everything the Lord has put him through these past years... poor Young Master, he whispered to himself in a soft, regretful tone. "Whatever happens, Ivan will stand by your side."
After closing his bedroom door, Lucian sighed and leaned against it for a moment. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, his mind filling with questions he couldn't easily answer.
"His father—Lucian's father, that is... I'm a bit confused about how to face him when he arrives. I don't even know his name," he murmured quietly. He walked toward his bed, removing his coat with casual movements, but his thoughts remained fixed on the man he was about to meet.
"But from what Cassian said earlier, it seems Lucian didn't have a good relationship with him," he continued, recalling their conversation when news of his father's return first broke.
Lucian sighed and let his body sink into the soft mattress. "Ah, forget it. I'll think about it later," he said, closing his eyes in resignation. Before he knew it, exhaustion overtook him, and within minutes, he was fast asleep.
A few days later, gentle morning sunlight filtered through the gaps in his bedroom curtains, slowly warming the room that had felt cold all night. Lucian blinked several times before letting out a long breath, his head feeling slightly heavy as consciousness gradually returned.
"Ugh...!" he groaned softly, raising a hand to rub his still-heavy eyes. He turned toward the window to find the morning sun already creeping into his room.
"It seems I'm starting to get used to this life," he muttered, letting out a light sigh. Though this world was different from his old one, its rhythm and routine were slowly beginning to feel familiar.
Lucian sat on the edge of his bed, his silver hair slightly tousled. He ran his fingers through the slightly tangled strands, his gaze fixed on the clear blue sky visible through his window.
He drew a deep breath and let it out, stretching his body slightly before getting to his feet. While his days as Lucian weren't exactly pleasant, he didn't dislike them either.
A knock on the door broke the silence. Lucian glanced over, furrowing his brow as he looked toward the sound.
"Young Master, the head servant asked me to bring this to you."
The voice from outside was unfamiliar. He stood and walked over, opening the door slowly and without haste.
When the door swung open, a young servant stood before him carrying a tray. On it sat a cup of warm chamomile tea and some plain biscuits—familiar fare that Ivan usually brought each morning.
Lucian glanced at the tea, then looked back at the servant with a neutral expression. "Did Ivan send you?" he asked.
The servant was startled to see Lucian without his half-mask, and their hands holding the tray trembled slightly. Lucian usually wore the mask at all times, and this was the first time the servant had seen his face. They quickly bowed their head, not daring to look any longer.
"That old man... I told him about this before." Lucian sighed softly, taking the cup of tea and biscuits from the tray. "Thank you—you may go now." Without waiting for a response, he closed the door.
The servant swallowed hard and hurried away. I thought he'd scold me for seeing his face without the mask—whether he forgot or did it on purpose, I guess I'm lucky today, they murmured to themselves.
Lucian closed the door and walked slowly to the desk in his room, holding the warm cup in one hand and the biscuits in the other. The gentle scent of chamomile filled the air, calming his mind—already preoccupied with the meeting to come.
He sat down, setting the cup on the desk and leaning back in his chair. Lifting the porcelain cup, he sipped the tea slowly.
"Wow—it tastes just like always," he murmured quietly, slightly surprised by the familiar, consistent flavor on his tongue. Simple as it was, the tea was always brewed with precise measurements, at just the right temperature, and for exactly the right time—not too bitter, not too weak.
"I suppose Ivan must have prepared this himself," he continued, a small, almost imperceptible smile crossing his face. "Or at the very least, he oversaw every step of it."
Lucian settled more comfortably in his chair, letting the morning breeze drift into the room through the open window. The gentle gust made strands of his hair flutter slightly.
Even though Ivan had said he wouldn't attend to him directly while the Haelric family head was at the mansion, small gestures like this reminded him that the older man hadn't abandoned his duties entirely.
He leaned forward again to reach for the biscuits served with the tea—but paused mid-movement. His eyes had caught something suspicious.
His brow lifted slightly. Tucked under the plate of biscuits was a small, pale piece of paper, almost hidden from view. Carefully, he slid the plate aside and pulled the paper out.
"...What's this?" he murmured, unfolding it gently. Neat but hurried handwriting covered the surface, as if the writer had little time to spare.
Young Master—I was glad to see your face, but for now, please wear your mask while the Lord is staying at the mansion. Signed, Ivan.
Lucian stared at the words for a few seconds before clicking his tongue softly. "Going to all this trouble?" he muttered, setting the paper on the desk.
He leaned back again, running a hand through his hair. His brow was slightly furrowed, as if he was annoyed for some reason.
"Honestly..." he muttered, his voice a mix of surprise and mild irritation.
Then he opened his eyes again, his gaze falling to the marble floor beneath him. A faint smile touched his lips. "Well, I'll wear it for now," he said in a resigned tone.
"I still don't know what kind of relationship Lucian had with his father," he added, his eyes turning to the wide-open window. "If Ivan felt the need to write this, it seems I really do need to be more careful."
XXX
Meanwhile, Cedric stood before the large mirror in his room, donning the attire prepared for him—a formal cloak marking his status as a Knight. After returning to the past, he knew this day would be one of great importance: his first meeting with the royal family of Avandor.
The clothes felt different from his usual wear—more formal, carrying both weight and honor, as if new responsibilities awaited him just ahead. He stared at his reflection, taking in his stern features and the unease he couldn't quite hide.
A servant knocked on the door, then bowed respectfully. "Sir Cedric—His Majesty the Emperor has summoned you to the throne room."
Cedric drew a deep breath, trying to steady himself before nodding. "Understood."
He stepped out of his room and followed the servant down the palace's grand corridors. Everything he passed felt deeply familiar—every carving on the walls, every magnificent painting hanging overhead, all carrying memories of a past he could never forget.
Soon they arrived at the massive doors guarded by two knights in silver armor. The guards opened the doors and gestured for Cedric to enter. As the doors swung open slowly, they revealed a vast throne room filled with splendor—high ceilings with intricate carvings, and large windows flooding the space with sunlight, adding to its majesty.
A red carpet stretched from the entrance to the golden throne at the far end of the room, where the royal family sat with an air of undeniable authority. On the gleaming throne sat the Emperor, his face etched with sternness and experience. Beside him was the graceful Empress, her gaze full of dignity, and the Crown Prince—who sat with a slightly condescending yet charismatic demeanor.
Cedric walked forward with steady steps, despite the weight pressing against his chest. He moved to the center of the room, took his proper position, and finally knelt before the royal family.
"I offer my respects to His Majesty the Emperor, Her Majesty the Empress, and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince of Vandrelis."