Chapter 39
Chapter 39. Rising Memories (3)
The family who claimed to have been so deeply wounded by Feitan, in truth, loved their homeland more than anyone else.
Because of their betrayal, Rosalyn’s unit had their position exposed to the Feitan army.
For a single decision, the price was too devastating. Her misjudgment cost the lives of her knights.
“Your Grace, I’ll buy us some time—take the side path and escape.”
“No, Gilbert. You’re coming with me.”
“…You know that’s not possible.”
She remembered Gilbert’s back as he was dragged away.
‘Gilbert died… because of me.’
Then, Gilbert’s final words echoed in Rosalyn’s ears—words she had desperately tried to recall months ago.
‘It’s an honor to give even my life to Your Grace.’
It would have been better if he had blamed her.
Then her chest wouldn’t feel like it was being torn apart like this.
‘Aaaaagh!!’
If she could, Rosalyn would have screamed out with all her might.
“Ah…”
But it felt as if someone had stolen her voice away.
Rosalyn walked.
She didn’t know where she was going—she just walked aimlessly.
She dragged herself up the stairs, gripping the railing for support.
She felt like she needed something, but she didn’t know what it was.
Ah, she needed something—anything—to stop these damn memories from flooding back.
After that incident, her relationship with Nathan began to unravel.
There was no single person to blame, but once their bond began to rot, there was no salvaging it.
“Execute them all.”
“Rosalyn! There’s no need to go that far!”
“Don’t you dare question me, Nathan Mason.”
Rosalyn began to act like someone devoid of emotion. She cut down anything that stood in the way of her goal.
Nathan, on the other hand, acted like he had forgotten they were at war.
The two clashed constantly, and each time they did, Nathan—excluded from operations—began to wander.
“Nathan’s meeting someone?”
Not long after, Rosalyn received some unbelievable news.
“He’s seeing a woman named Sylvia who lives near the border.”
A woman from the border. In the public eye, that was nearly synonymous with being a prostitute.
Moreover, people living on the border often had mixed blood ties with Feitan. It was entirely possible the woman was from Feitan.
After investigating the woman, Rosalyn summoned Nathan immediately.
“You’ve finally lost your mind.”
“……”
“Cut her off. Now.”
“I can’t… I can’t live without Sylvia.”
“Do I look like I’m making a suggestion?”
Rosalyn couldn’t hold back from cornering him. She spoke as though spitting her words.
“This is an order, Nathan Mason. Cut her off before one woman gets everyone killed.”
“…Is it really any different now? Isn’t everyone dying because of one person already?”
Nathan’s muttering clearly blamed Rosalyn.
Maybe because he had fallen in love with Sylvia, he was now viewing Rosalyn through Sylvia’s and the border people’s eyes.
“Sylvia is just another victim of the war we started. No one’s dying because of her.”
“A victim?”
Rosalyn swallowed down a curse she normally wouldn’t use.
“Isn’t it a bit much to call someone who’s selling intel you gave her to the enemy a ‘victim’?”
“!”
“You had the presence of mind to fabricate false intel, but not enough to stay away from her?”
Nathan had known Sylvia’s identity and had been feeding false information about the conquest unit.
“Rose.”
For the first time in a long while, Nathan called Rosalyn by her nickname. But there was no affection left in his voice.
The moment she heard it, Rosalyn understood.
There was no going back to how things were between them.
“I was wrong. But the one who forced her to stay even when she tried to leave… that was me.”
Nathan knelt down and began to plead.
“If you ever considered me your friend, even just for a moment… please don’t touch her.”
But that desperate plea only cut Rosalyn’s heart deeper. Because not once had Nathan ever been anything but a friend to her.
“Nathan Mason. What do you think is the only reason you and that woman still have your heads attached to your necks?”
“……”
“It’s because you’re my damned friend. Still.”
“Rose…”
“If you really think of me as a friend, then stop doing this foolishness. This is your last chance.”
It was the first honest conversation they’d had in a long time. And yet, the distance between them—already too vast—did not close in the slightest.
With each exchange,
Emotions grew more intense.
“So that’s it. You think everything I do is foolish. We’re still friends, really?”
In the end, the root of the issue surfaced.
“Let’s be honest. You think it’s my fault Sir Blanchet died.”
“……”
At the time, Rosalyn couldn’t deny it outright.
It was too difficult to accept Gilbert’s death. She didn’t want to admit he’d died because of her.
She needed someone to blame. Naturally, that blame had fallen on Nathan.
Of course, Rosalyn was aware that this emotion was unfair. That’s why she tried not to let it show…
But Nathan, who had always been good at reading her, had read even that.
“You look at me like you can barely contain your anger and resentment, and then say those things. Isn’t that just hypocrisy?”
That was their final conversation—before Nathan stormed out of the command tent.
‘If I’d firmly denied it then… would things have turned out differently?’
Wandering through old memories was a cycle of what-ifs and regret.
‘No… what if I had sent you back to the capital right away?’
But there’s nothing more maddening than hypothetical scenarios that can never change a thing.
‘If I had… then maybe I wouldn’t have ended up killing you…’
At the top of the stairs, Rosalyn’s foot caught, and she collapsed forward. Her ankle slammed against the edge of a step, but she barely registered the pain.
“Hahh…”
Gilbert. Nathan.
They had all died because of her.
It felt like someone was branding her chest with a scorching truth.
Like a scarlet letter.
Unerasable. Inescapable.
“…Rosalyn?”
Sionne, returning from the library, called from the bottom of the stairs.
There hadn’t been any ancient language dictionaries in the study. He’d been climbing the steps while thinking of how to acquire one.
Then he heard a rasping noise—like a wounded animal scratching its throat. He looked upward toward the source.
A woman lay slumped over the railing, head bowed.
Red hair. Red cloak.
Those two details alone told him who it was.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Sionne climbed two steps at a time and knelt beside Rosalyn.
“……”
But she didn’t seem to hear him, her sobs too loud. Sionne gently turned her shoulder to see her face hidden behind her crimson hair.
“Look at me, Rosalyn. What happened—”
But he couldn’t finish his sentence.
“!”
There was no other way to describe her face but wretched.
Tears streamed endlessly from her eyes. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a pained knot. Her cheeks were flushed red from crying too hard. Her lips were cracked and bloody.
His heart sank. It was a dreadful feeling.
“……”
Sionne did not welcome the sight of her crying face. Seeing such raw, exposed emotion felt like it might stir something else in him.
‘I should’ve stayed longer in the library.’
He regretted it, barely resisting the urge to look away.
“…Sionne.”
Rosalyn’s unfocused eyes slowly began to find him again.
She felt something disappear—something she had been frantically searching for. A strange relief came over her, impossible to explain.
“Sionne Feitan…”
Rosalyn gripped the fabric of his shoulder. Her hand trembled like a child clinging to a departing parent.
“I’m here.”
As her grasp nearly tore his clothes, Sionne placed his own hand over hers.
With his other hand, he swept his palm down her tear-streaked cheek. The gesture was a little rough, filled with restrained displeasure.
But it made her glistening face look at least a bit better.
“What happened?”
“I… I…”
Her breath hitched, tangled up in sobs, unable to form coherent words.
“Take your time. Breathe slowly.”
Sionne rubbed her back gently as he spoke.
After a few passes of his hand, Rosalyn’s breathing finally settled. She tugged at his collar and said,
“…Please, take me to my room. I can’t stand on my own.”
She was still crying uncontrollably, but the instinct to not let others see her in this state hadn’t abandoned her.
Before she’d even finished speaking, Sionne slipped one arm beneath her knees.
As he stood, Rosalyn’s face sank into his chest.
Naturally, his scent reached her.
Like sun-dried blankets under warm sunlight. She was familiar with it by now—maybe too familiar.
She suddenly felt like she wanted to let everything go. To cry loudly. To scream.
“…Hrk.”
Rosalyn bit her lip and buried her face deeper into Sionne’s chest.
