Alexander chuckled for a moment at my joke, but eventually he regained his composure. His brows knit together noticeably, and the ease in his voice faded.
"What do you think awaits us at the Wall, Luci?" he asked."After all, Father could've simply ordered the guards to bring back Uncle's body instead of going there himself."
Hearing those words, I tightened my grip on the sword without realizing it. I could feel the pressure my fingers left against the wooden hilt. I took a deep breath, but the air that filled my lungs felt heavier than it should have.
"That damned man," I said, forcing my voice to stay low,"if he'd spoken honestly with us even once, none of this would be happening right now."
I turned toward the window. Outside, the sky had begun to take on a violet hue; daylight was slowly retreating, and the familiar evening stillness settled over the palace. It was time for me to return to my room and check my preparations one last time.
Normally, I wouldn't bother with such a thing—but double-checking my affairs had always given me a strange sense of reassurance.
I turned back to Alexander. I wanted to put his mind at ease.Thanks to the passive effect of [Mirror of the Heart], I could clearly sense the tension within him; the calm on his face did little to conceal the unrest in his heart.
"For gods' sake, what could possibly happen, Al?" I said."Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit?"
At my words, Alexander's shoulders loosened, as if he were finally releasing a breath he'd been holding. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"I swear on my name," he said,"you're more worried than I am."
I pretended not to hear him. Turning away, I moved to return the training sword to its place. When the wood met the stand, the dull sound echoed briefly through the hall.
Watching me, Alexander shrugged. He took a few steps back and resumed swinging his sword on his own. As I headed for the exit, I waved at him quickly in farewell.
After the duel, some of the tension weighing on my shoulders had eased. Before returning to my room, I considered stopping by Father's chambers to extract more information. But I dismissed the thought just as quickly. His mind was undoubtedly already occupied with plans for what lay ahead, and pressing him would achieve nothing.
When I stepped into the corridors, I noticed that the servants were visibly more relaxed compared to the early hours of the day. Almost nothing remained of the morning's frantic rush. As I walked through the long, dim hallways, I passed by many of them.
Thanks to [Mirror of the Heart], I could distinguish their feelings.Some regarded me with pure admiration; others kept their distance, as though gazing upon something forever out of reach.
As I passed them, I settled my expression into one of measured nobility. I wanted them to preserve their impressions of me—to remember me this way. Without lingering, I returned to my room.
I closed the door.
I walked toward the bed, removed my jacket, rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, and undid the two buttons constricting my neck. It felt as though an invisible weight had lifted from my shoulders. Truth be told, I had never liked clothes that pressed so tightly against my throat.
Knowing that I wouldn't fall asleep right away even if I lay down, I turned to my bookshelf instead. I pulled out a thick volume and glanced at its cover.
History of the Aether Continent.
Stretching out on the bed, I resumed reading from where I had left off. As the pages turned, my eyelids began to grow heavy. My curiosity held out for a while, but in the end, sleep prevailed.
I didn't fight it.
I set the book down on the bedside table, shifted into a more comfortable position, and closed my eyes.
I woke to the sound of knocking at my door.
Lifting my head, I glanced at the clock resting in the corner of my room. It was barely six in the morning. At an hour when the palace should have been silent, the weight of the coming journey seemed to linger in the air, pressing against the walls themselves.
I rose from my bed calmly and walked to the door.
When I opened it, a young man stood before me, dressed in a servant's attire. He had black hair, a handsome face, and an expression so neutral it bordered on emptiness—neither excitement nor unease showed upon it.
The moment he saw me, he bowed deeply.
"Good morning, Young Master Lucius. I've come to prepare you for the journey to the Wall."
Lorcan.
My personal attendant. The reason I hadn't seen him yesterday was simple—I had sent him ahead to pack my belongings after Father announced the journey.
When he finished speaking, he looked at me expectantly. I stepped aside, allowing him into the room. As he began preparing the bath and my clothes, I intended to steal a little more rest. I returned to my bed and lay back down.
As I did, a thought crossed my mind unbidden.
Unlike the other servants, Lorcan felt… different.
I let [Mirror of the Heart] brush against his emotions.
No reverence.No fear.No hidden resentment.
Nothing.
Just as his expression suggested, Lorcan was genuinely indifferent. That alone made him an anomaly within the palace. I didn't dwell on it. Closing my eyes, I tried once more to fall asleep—but, as always, failed.
It didn't take long before Lorcan announced that everything was ready.
I shed my clothes and stepped into the bath. After some time, I emerged and allowed Lorcan to help me dress. Once he finished, I turned toward the full-length mirror in my chamber.
My pale complexion looked the same as ever. My long black hair had been neatly combed. I wore a black outfit adorned with silver and gold accents—formal, but restrained.
As a final step, Lorcan presented several ties.
I refused.
A long journey awaited me, and comfort mattered more than appearances.
Instead, I donned a black fur cloak to guard against the northern cold. Lorcan would be accompanying me to the Wall—my personal affairs would remain his responsibility.
I walked through the grand corridors of Castus Palace one last time. My footsteps echoed against the stone floors, and for the first time, I wondered when—or if—I would return.
When I reached the main gates, Alexander was already there.
Judging by his expression, he had arrived only slightly earlier than I had.
I gave him a brief nod and took my place beside him. Now, all that remained was to wait for Father.
Before long, Illian Castus appeared at the entrance, accompanied by Steward Edward. Upon seeing us, his expression did not change. He offered a brief nod and proceeded straight toward his carriage.
Father never liked being near me.
I couldn't blame him. Standing beside someone who could sense every doubt and fear in your heart… would unsettle anyone.
After watching him board his carriage, Alexander and I climbed into ours. I signaled to Lorcan, who relayed the order to the driver.
As the horses began to move, I let out a deep breath.
The journey to the Wall had begun.
The carriage—crafted from Blackwood exclusive to the Castus Duchy and adorned with silver embellishments—rolled toward Cassia's northern gate. Despite the early hour, the city was alive as ever. Merchants shouted their wares, footsteps echoed through the streets, and metal rang against stone.
Cassia—the capital of the North.
For generations, it had served as the seat of the Castus Duchy, giving rise to countless legends. As the banners atop our carriage swayed into view, the people stepped back instinctively, eyes filled with a mixture of reverence and unease.
The road ahead was not especially long.
Cassia lay relatively close to the Castle Black—the main command fortress among the six strongholds guarding the Wall.
The journey would take three days.
Meanwhile, at the Castle Black...
Ludwig paced back and forth inside the Grand Commander's office.
The stone walls were silent.
Too silent.
He stopped for a moment, drew in a breath, then resumed his restless walk.
Since the sudden death of Callian Castus, all responsibilities had fallen upon him as the Deputy Commander. Yet it wasn't the paperwork or command burden that troubled him so deeply.
Several hours earlier, a raven from Castus Palace had arrived.
Its message stated that Illian Castus—the head of House Castus and the man responsible for the northern borders of the Valen Empire—was personally making his way to the Castle Black.
The unease in Ludwig's chest refused to fade.
For a duke to come in person…
This was no ordinary visit.
After a while, he muttered to himself, attempting to calm his nerves.
"I'm overthinking it. It's probably just an inspection. Nothing more."
Yet even that thought failed to fully reassure him.
Another question crept into his mind.
Who would become the next Grand Commander?
He knew well enough that the position would never be granted to someone like him—only members of the main Castus bloodline were eligible. Still, the thought lingered.
At that moment…
The room fell silent for several heartbeats.
Then came a knock at the door.
Ludwig flinched, gathered himself, and gave permission to enter.
The door opened to reveal Bane—his most trusted friend.
A massive man, built like a walking mountain of muscle. Barbarians mockingly referred to him as the bastard of a giant. He was the officer responsible for training the soldiers of the Castle Black.
With an unusually bright grin, Bane spoke.
"Why are you still standing around? Shouldn't you be drowning in paperwork by now?"
Ludwig froze, like a rat caught stealing bread. He quickly changed the subject.
"A raven arrived from Cassia earlier. It says Duke Illian Castus is coming here."
Bane's grin vanished instantly.
"Duke Illian?" he said, voice turning serious. "Why would he come himself? Sending the new Grand Commander with a decree should've been enough."
"I don't know," Ludwig replied, unable to hide the excitement creeping into his voice."Who do you think the new Grand Commander will be? They say the Duke has two sons—both blessed with extraordinary talent."
Bane chuckled again.
"Who can say what goes through a duke's mind?" he said."But if it were up to me… after what happened eight years ago, I wouldn't give that position to Young Lord Lucius."
Ludwig's face tightened.
Because, in truth, that was exactly what he hoped for.
Even if he knew—deep down—how unlikely it was.