Chapter 33
Chapter 033. People Whose War Has Not Ended (6)
Rosalyn de Anata’s odd behavior continued for several days.
“Your Grace.”
“……”
“I’ve compiled the information on those to be knighted.”
Knock, knock.
Rosalyn tapped her desk without so much as glancing at Sionne. A silent signal to leave the papers there.
“Hoo…”
Sionne sighed and set down the documents, then tried to start a conversation.
“Are you planning to keep ignoring me?”
“……”
Even at his words, Rosalyn didn’t lift her eyes from the paperwork. It was clear she had no intention of replying.
‘I can’t tell if this is good or bad.’
Back at his desk, Sionne furrowed his brows.
The woman, awkward as it was, seemed embarrassed.
She avoided looking at him. Her voice was harder to hear. The Hernian script lessons and Feitan sword training had both been skipped entirely.
Though she hadn’t received any major punishment for pointing a sword at him, their relationship had turned cold. Whatever closeness they had managed to build had now reopened into distance.
‘Still, the fact that she’s reacting emotionally to me… isn’t all bad.’
Sionne rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought.
‘Which is why, no matter what, I have to get into her chambers tonight.’
Rosalyn had brought all the documents from the Princess Palace.
‘That’s a lot of paperwork.’
‘Yes. Her Grace said she would bring the documents from the Princess Palace.’
‘All of them?’
‘Yes. I suppose she was worried she might leave something important behind… cough, anyway!’
Sionne recalled what Meriwood had said to him before leaving the Princess Palace.
Though she had quickly corrected herself, the implication was clear: Rosalyn, having lost her memory, might not understand some of the documents.
‘And there’s a good chance some papers about Merilyn and Anna are mixed in there.’
Sionne remembered something Rosalyn had once said before her memory loss.
‘This one takes “me,” that one takes “an.” They sound similar, but the spellings are different, so I write them like this.’
But Rosalyn had hidden all the documents in her private chamber. As a result, he had no way of accessing them.
‘Of course, we did share a room on the first night…’
Still, he had deliberately avoided glancing at the papers.
‘No need to draw suspicion over something I can’t even read yet.’
That night, he had only confirmed where they were kept, assuming he’d get another chance eventually.
But that chance didn’t come easily.
The gap between Rosalyn and Sionne never quite closed.
Though they became more familiar with each other, the relationship hadn’t deepened.
‘If anything, she just got used to the flirting.’
As Sionne had noticed, Rosalyn was becoming desensitized to his words and gestures. She didn’t even flinch anymore.
Just when it was starting to feel hopeless—
‘If an opportunity doesn’t come, you make one.’
The moment to create one had arrived.
Sionne checked the date he’d promised with the man from Feitan—Hans.
‘Seven days. Today makes exactly a week.’
The promised day had come.
After finishing his calculations, Sionne pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing in Hernian.
His quill strokes were clumsy but neat. There were dots of ink here and there from where he paused to think.
A little later, Sionne Feitan stood up from his seat.
“I’ve finished my work. I’ll return to my room now.”
He spoke to Rosalyn, but there was no response.
A silent permission.
‘As expected.’
Sionne approached Rosalyn’s desk and placed the note on top of it.
“If you won’t speak to me, at least read this. It’s important.”
With that, he gave a polite bow and left the room.
“Tsk.”
Only after he was gone did Rosalyn click her tongue.
Why was it so hard to look him in the face?
She hadn’t shown her tears to anyone since she was a small child—it was embarrassing.
“This is ridiculous, Rosalyn de Hernia.”
She wiped her face dry and leaned back in her chair. That’s when her eyes caught sight of the small note placed on her papers.
Too prideful to look, too curious not to.
“……”
After a brief hesitation, Rosalyn reached out and checked the note.
“Ha!”
And then, she let out a hollow laugh.
[I like you, Rosalyn.]
The crooked, uneven letters were absolutely absurd. The handwriting was clumsy enough to make the fake confession seem almost real.
* * *
Late at night, Sionne lay on his bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
He wasn’t sleeping. He was waiting for the assassin from Feitan.
“……”
With eyes now adjusted to the darkness, he stared into the void. In his mind, he practiced Hernian script using the darkness as his canvas.
Various forms of “Me” and “An.”
These were the words Sionne needed to locate among the countless documents.
“Hoo.”
A wave of vague unease suddenly washed over him, but he didn’t have the luxury of sinking into that emotion. He had to do this—no matter what.
“!”
That’s when Sionne noticed a flicker of movement near the balcony.
‘He’s here.’
Grabbing the sword he had propped beside the bed, he walked toward the shadow.
He personally opened the balcony door for the man whose body was wrapped entirely in black cloth.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Highness.”
“No need for formality. Come inside.”
Sionne waved off the man’s bow and ushered him into the room.
“Were you spotted on the way?”
“No, I entered as discreetly as possible through the passage our side left open.”
The man answered in Feitanese—slow and smooth, his homeland’s language.
“Is the retreat route secured?”
“It is.”
The man then pulled something from within his robes. It was the seal of Baron Fane, the item Sionne had requested for proof.
“And here is the seal, as you asked.”
Sionne took it and held it up in the dim moonlight.
‘A peacock.’
The intricately carved peacock was the symbol of Baron Fane. The seal, made of ivory, was no fake.
‘Though it could have been stolen…’
He handed it back and said to the man,
“Draw your sword.”
With those words, Sionne lunged forward.
Clang!
The man raised his sword, blocking Sionne’s strike. The clash of longswords rang through the air, sharp and intense.
The weight in Sionne’s arm was familiar.
‘Feitan swordsmanship.’
He could tell.
The man wielded the heavy Feitan blade with ease. There was no doubt—he was someone trained in Feitan swordplay.
After a few exchanges, Sionne was certain.
“That’s enough.”
He withdrew and lowered his sword. The loud noise might have drawn attention.
He needed to send the man away quickly.
“Huff… then do you trust me now?”
The man, catching his breath, asked.
“Yes.”
“So then, what do you want me to do next? Do I kill the Red Witch?”
The man looked ready to storm into the adjacent room. He seemed convinced that the target was Rosalyn de Anata.
“No. She’s not the one you’re to cut tonight.”
Sionne shook his head.
“Cut me instead.”
“?”
The man frowned, clearly confused by the statement.
But Sionne didn’t stop.
“For visual impact, the chest is better than the back. It’s best to slice from here to here.”
He traced a line from his right chest to his left side with his hand.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Just as your side had plans to find and retrieve me, I have plans of my own. Once I finish what I’m doing here, I’ll join you. So cut me.”
“…Now that you mention it, we still don’t know what Your Highness intends.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to be gauging whether Sionne had truly defected.
“Don’t tell me… Have you really become the woman’s lover, like the rumors say?”
He didn’t even try to hide his disdain. Sionne had considered the possibility of such judgment, but facing it directly was a different matter.
“You think I’ve betrayed Feitan?”
“It’s possible.”
Hostility filled the man’s eyes in an instant.
“Relax. If I had betrayed Feitan, you’d already be a corpse, silenced forever.”
“……”
“So if you want to leave here alive, cut me. Just enough to draw blood.”
The man hesitated, then raised his sword.
“If that’s what you wish… I’ll do it. But don’t mistake this for disloyalty.”
Swish. The blade sliced across Sionne’s chest.
The cold bite of steel quickly turned into the burn of pain. The wound was deeper than expected, and Sionne clenched his jaw.
“Hah… Good.”
Sionne let out the breath he’d been holding and spoke. He then moved to escort the man back toward the balcony.
“From now on, I’ll contact you through Hans.”
He closed the balcony door behind him, signaling that messages would be exchanged through the mute intermediary. The man nodded in understanding.
“People will be coming soon. Slip out quietly.”
Sionne all but pushed the man out. The assassin hesitated briefly, then bowed once and disappeared into the shadows.
