The warmth in the air vanished in an instant. A cold tension settled over the space as every gaze from behind fixed on them.

"To speak such unnecessary words... Apologize at once, Rinel." The count snapped, turning sharply, his brow twitching.

Rinel bowed without hesitation. "My apologies, Agent of the Saint."

However, he didn’t stop there.

After drawing a breath, Rinel spoke again. "Unlike my father, however, I do not believe that is something to be hidden in shame, only something to atone for. I assumed the Agent of the Saint might feel the same."

A vein pulsed at the count’s temple as he glared. "You insolent—"

"It’s fine." Ian cut in calmly.

The count faltered. "It doesn’t seem like he said it out of malice toward me. Though it does sound like he was trying to take a jab at you."

"...Yes." Letting out a long breath through his nose, the count turned forward again.

Rinel, stiffening as if his thoughts had been read, lowered his head even deeper. "Thank you for your understanding, Agent of the Saint. However, that wasn’t the only reason I brought it up."

Ian glanced at the count, who was biting back harsher words, then said simply, "Go on."

"Obell was soft. A man with no ambition beyond eating and drinking. He could not overcome grief and anger, and in the end chose a cowardly and disgraceful path." Rinel answered immediately.

The words spilled out as if they had long been building inside him.

"As a result, he left deep wounds upon this land, its people, and our house. He even forced me back into this backwater to take on a role I never wanted. And yet..."

His jaw tightened, tendons standing out as he struggled to rein in his emotions.

No one interrupted—not Ian, not the others, and not even the count, who now stood frozen, lips pressed tight.

"And yet, he was still my only brother." Rinel’s voice had steadied by the time he continued.

Lifting his head, he met Ian’s eyes. "That is why I wished to ask you, Agent of the Saint."

A faint tremor lingered in his gaze. "Did my brother’s soul truly find rest, or was it dragged into the distant void of the abyss?"

He denies it, but he’s his father’s son, Ian thought, watching those subtly trembling brown eyes.

He could feel the weight of the others’ attention gathering one by one.

They were all waiting, as if whatever he said would be the truth itself.

The count had shut his eyes tightly now.

Ian clicked his tongue, then said, "Well. I haven’t exactly looked into the heavens myself, so I can’t say for certain whether he found peace."

Rinel’s sharp gaze twisted slightly.

The count’s gaunt jaw tensed.

"But I’ve killed countless corrupted ones. I know what happens when a corrupted soul is dragged into the void."

Of course, Ian wasn’t finished.

So at the very least, I know this much: Obell’s soul was not swallowed by the void.

At that final remark, Rinel’s eyes widened at last. Even the count, who had kept his eyes closed, drew in a sharp breath.

"It’s only natural. He wasn’t the source of the curse that tainted Drenorov. He was used by the corrupt, and before he could even fulfill his role, he died by my hand."

Ian spoke without breaking eye contact with Rinel, giving a slight shrug. "So if you and your father continue your atonement here, then someday, Obell, wherever he wanders in purgatory, may find true rest. Perhaps he already has."

Of course, even Ian had no real certainty. The only thing he knew for sure was that Obell’s soul had not been dragged into the void. The rest was nothing more than carefully arranged words.

"Thank you, Agent of the Saint. I will keep that in mind."

Still, it seemed to have an effect. Rinel, having regained control of his expression, bowed deeply.

The count let out a long sigh.

As if something had struck him, Rinel let out a low chuckle. "He was so eager to call me back here when he was alive... and now that he's dead, he made it so I can’t leave at all. Truly infuriating—"

"That’s enough," the count cut him off, opening his eyes.

As though his earlier unease had never existed, he frowned and looked back. "You’ve embarrassed yourself enough. Now hold your tongue, Rinel. How long do you intend to keep our guests waiting outside?"

"That was thoughtless of me. My apologies." Rinel answered at once, still with his head lowered.

Clicking his tongue softly, the count turned back to Ian. "Allow me to apologize on behalf of my foolish son, Agent of the Saint."

"There’s no need." Ian shook his head lightly.

The count smacked his lips once, then glanced past him. "It’s been some time, and yet I’ve barely greeted your companions. You must be weary from travel, so I’ll arrange a proper gathering tomorrow."

"If you’re not too busy, why not continue inside instead?" Ian asked immediately.

As the count paused and looked back, Ian gave a small tilt of his chin. "We’re not that tired. Everyone’s planning to bathe first, so there should be time while preparations are made."

"If that is the case... then yes. Very well. Please, come inside."

Nodding readily, the count turned toward the entrance. The attendants standing between the open doors spun around and disappeared down the corridor.

"I’ll prepare the bath." Spello bowed and turned away.

The count’s gaze immediately shifted to Rinel. "Don’t just stand there. Go with Sir Spello and make yourself useful."

"Punishing me right away. How generous of you, Father."

Though his words were laced with sarcasm, Rinel turned without complaint. Even then, he didn’t forget a brief bow toward Ian.

"This way, please."

Watching his retreating figure, the count clicked his tongue before extending one arm inward.

Ian stepped forward without hesitation. "Lead on."

Even as he walked, he glanced briefly toward the stables across the garden.

Their carriage had already been brought there. Miguel was in the middle of unfastening the horses with one hand.

"Doesn’t look like he spent all his time idling in the capital," said Thesaya from beside him.

The count let out a low scoff as he led them into the antechamber. "That’s right. Looks like he found plenty of time to get into fights, too."

"I meant he looked like he studied. But I like your answer better." With a faint smile, Thesaya placed a hand lightly over her chest. "In any case, it’s been a while, count."

"It has indeed, Elder. You’re as gaunt and pale as ever." The count replied as he turned toward her—more than enough to deepen her smile.

Blinking once, she lightly clasped her hands together. "Oh my, I suppose I should properly introduce myself. Erenos. It’s Thesaya Erenos."

"Erenos... a Southern house, I see."

"That’s right. I’m glad I could correct you before you returned to the dust."

The count let out a low chuckle as he continued walking. He remained one of the rare nobles who genuinely enjoyed Thesaya’s jests.

"It’s been a while," said Mev. Unlike Thesaya’s, her tone was polite, tinged with a hint of hesitation. "I, too, have finally come to address my past misdeeds—"

"I am already aware, so there is no need. Red Knight, Sir Mev Riurel," said the count as he turned into the corridor on the left.

Casting a glance at Mev, he gave a faint smile. "It seems you thought I was entirely ignorant of affairs beyond my walls."

As Mev coughed awkwardly, Thesaya cut in, "Oh? Then I suppose you haven’t heard any rumors about me."

While their teasing exchange continued, Ian cast a glance at Nasser.

He gave a small shake of his head, a faintly troubled smile lingering on his lips.

Whether it meant "not yet" or "leave it to me" was impossible to tell. Either way, it changed nothing.

"In any case, I’d already heard from Bishop Luce that you passed through here a few years ago."

As Ian gave a casual shrug, the count’s voice followed, his gaze turning toward Mev.

"At last, it seems I can put that lingering regret to rest."

It was more than enough to make Nasser’s smile grow even more uncertain. He was clearly debating whether to bring it up now; apologizing while walking down a corridor was hardly ideal.

"You were involved in the reconstruction of Tessen, I hear. Did that go well?" Ian smoothly shifted the topic.

"It wasn’t particularly difficult. The land was thoroughly rotted, so even simple purification left behind fertile soil."

The count continued down the corridor toward a room where attendants were emerging.

"Rebuilding the ruined city and monastery, however, was another matter entirely."

"Even if it was an order from the Great Church, you helped with all of that?" Thesaya asked, her brow furrowed as the attendants passed by.

The count let out a quiet scoff.

"In exchange, I was granted a portion of land on the outskirts of Tessen. Not vast, but fertile enough that it requires no further cultivation. Now then, please, this way."

Stopping at last, the count gestured with one hand beyond the open door.

Inside was a modest reception room with a long table set at its center.

Six glasses had already been placed on it, no doubt prepared by the attendants.

"It’s been a while since I’ve had beer," Thesaya murmured as she stepped in after Ian, swallowing reflexively.

One by one, the group picked up their glasses and took their seats at the table.

"At last, we can speak at ease." The count entered last, closing the door behind him.

Then, turning to Ian, who was about to sit at the far right, he dropped to one knee.

"Allow me to offer my sincere congratulations on your ascension as the Archduke of the North, Your Grace."

"Not a position I ever wanted." Ian lifted his glass slightly, then sat down without hesitation.

The count rose and moved to sit across from him. "I hear the North requires support."

"That would be correct."

"I will provide as much as I can. The goods are already being gathered. Everything should be ready within a few days." The count stopped across from him, answering without negotiation in mind.

Ian’s lips curved faintly. "As expected, you began preparations before we even arrived."

"I started the day after hearing from the Ark Caravan." Taking his seat, the count raised his glass and brought it to his lips.

"Don’t tell me you intend to give it all away for free. I’ll be paying a fair price," Ian said, lifting his glass.

The count's brow tightened slightly as he replied, "In that case, I’ll accept only enough to cover the farmers’ wages."

"That might suffice for an Imperial decree. This, however, is a request for aid. It’s only right I pay its proper worth." Ian took a sip of the lukewarm beer.

The count narrowed his eyes, letting out a low hum of thought.

Even when I’m offering to pay, it’s a problem.

Ian chuckled to himself, then raised his glass again as he added, "In that case, may I ask one more thing?"

"Go ahead."

"The Bel Skonen Mountains run north of here, doesn’t it?"

Caught completely off guard, the count blinked.

One by one, the others turned toward Ian.

Taking another sip, he added, "Do you know where the highest peak is?"