The next morning.

The knights, who had been guarding the palace gates with sleepless eyes all night, spotted Dietrich Calypso clad in armor.

Beside Dietrich, who was dressed in black armor with a sword at his side, stood an unfamiliar knight.

Though the knight wore a helmet obscuring their face, their frame was so delicate it was unclear whether the knight was wearing the armor or the armor was wearing the knight.

“Sir Anderson, the aide he always brings, is much taller and bulkier than me, so it can’t be him. Who is that knight, then?”

The knights seemed eager to ask questions.

As if to block their thoughts, Dietrich stepped in front of the knight and spoke.

“Was there anything unusual last night?”

“Lord… I mean, my lord.”

Ever since being reprimanded by Sir Anderson to use the correct title, the palace knights had been careful not to let “Duke Calypso” slip out.

“There’s an uproar on every street demanding the witch be handed over. The prisons are so full we can’t detain any more agitators.”

The knight spoke cautiously, gauging Dietrich’s reaction before adding.

“Why has this absurd rumor that your lover is a witch spread so widely…?”

Dietrich, however, listened to the knight with a calm expression.

“Let no one into the palace. Nor should anyone be allowed to leave.”

“Understood.”

Dietrich left the scene with the knight.

Only after moving away from the palace did Celia Brillion, who had been silent beside Dietrich, speak up.

“But do I really have to wear this helmet? The other knights weren’t wearing them.”

Dietrich gazed down at Celia’s emerald eyes, visible through the helmet, with a face full of deep affection.

At the same time, he recalled the time they went out into the streets together and drew the attention of many.

Dozens of pairs of eyes had stared at Celia, who wore a white bonnet, with lustful gazes.

Unable to pluck out people’s eyes one by one, Dietrich had armed Celia as a knight to bring her along.

But Celia’s frame was far too different from that of other knights.

Even in sturdy armor and a helmet, her height and unique aura couldn’t be hidden.

Dietrich looked at Celia intently.

The first time they were intimate, Celia had fainted shortly after, overwhelmed.

Dietrich thought he should ensure she ate plenty of good food to build her stamina.

Making her healthier by being intimate daily was something Dietrich decided to add to his routine.

Celia, of course, had no way of knowing Dietrich’s inner thoughts.

Feeling he was staring at her too intently, Celia grabbed his hand and shook it.

“Dietrich, are you listening to me?”

“…Yes, I’m listening.”

Dietrich gave a faint smile and naturally wrapped his gloved hand around hers.

Celia narrowed her eyes.

It was fortunate the streets were empty this early, or he might as well have been advertising that she was his lover.

“If you act like this, doesn’t it make wearing this armor pointless?”

At Celia’s words, Dietrich reluctantly let go of her hand with a wistful expression.

“You’re right.”

“…Let’s drop it.”

Though Celia said this, she struggled to suppress the corners of her mouth from curling up.

“It’s a good thing only my eyes are visible with this helmet on.”

Dietrich’s voice settled softly in Celia’s ears.

“Today, we’ll scour the palace streets and every place Ileon Gredrick might be. I also plan to deal with the Brillion family today.”

Dietrich paused, gazing at Celia with calm eyes.

Taking care of the Brillion family while they were out of the palace? Celia had no reason to object.

When Celia was at the viscount’s estate, the Brillion family exploited her daily.

Belittling and demeaning her as an orphan from the streets, whose parents were unknown, was nothing to them.

They held a public betrothal event, parading her like merchandise to men who paid hefty sums, practically selling her to the old emperor, and now they were leading the charge to brand her a witch, cutting ties to save themselves.

Celia was utterly fed up.

With the Brillion family, and with this damned Abelon they stood upon.

All of it.

“The prisons are overflowing, so we might move to summary executions. If you wish, I can have the Brillion family stand trial.”

A trial? Was there any need to drag those people to a courtroom?

Celia shook her head and answered.

“Do as you please. Kill them or let them live.”

Celia surprised herself a little with her own words.

Wondering if she’d treated human lives too carelessly, she looked up at Dietrich.

To her relief, Dietrich wore a gentle smile, unfazed by her concern.

“…Then I’ll do as I please. Kill or let live.”

Despite his smiling face, his voice was chillingly cold.

Celia knew the Brillion family’s fate would not be pleasant.

What a stroke of luck to have someone willing to stain their hands with blood on her behalf.

A steadfast companion met at the edge of a cliff, in a life with an expiration date.

Looking at Dietrich, who healed her broken body and would bring about Abelon’s downfall, Celia smiled silently.

As the morning sun rose, people began to appear one by one on the quiet streets.

The faces of those who spotted the armed Dietrich turned pale.

The new emperor from the Gredrick ducal family, meant to bring prosperity to Abelon, was locked in prison.

It was Dietrich who had imprisoned the new emperor, Ileon Gredrick.

Moreover, Dietrich had knights detain anyone who even uttered the word “witch.”

With the grand temple, the heart of faith, burned down, rumors spread that Dietrich, the captain of the royal knights, was bewitched by Celia Brillion, a witch, and was leading Abelon to ruin.

Yet, no one dared to speak carelessly in Dietrich’s presence.

His imposing physique, unhidden by armor, his towering height, and red eyes beneath raven-black hair.

Dietrich’s intimidating presence made people avert their gazes in a hurry.

It was then that a young boy, walking with a noblewoman, ran toward Dietrich.

The noblewoman’s face turned ashen.

Dietrich looked down impassively at the small head blocking his path.

“They say you’ve been bewitched by a witch.”

At the boy’s words, Dietrich narrowed his eyebrows.

The boy, who looked no older than seven, was speaking.

Too young to even grasp whether his words carried malice.

“Are you really going to destroy Abelon? You’re the captain of the royal knights. You shouldn’t do that.”

Dietrich tilted his head slightly. The noblewoman, snapping out of her daze, hugged the boy tightly and bowed repeatedly to Dietrich.

“I’m sorry, Duke Calypso… The boy doesn’t know what he’s saying, please forgive him…”

“Boy.”

Cutting off the noblewoman, Dietrich called to the boy.

He bent down to meet the boy’s eyes.

The boy, still in the noblewoman’s arms, looked up at Dietrich.

To the boy with innocent eyes, Dietrich asked.

“Who are these ‘people’ who told you that?”

In the end, the boy didn’t reveal who those people were.

Dietrich didn’t scold the child.

The child wasn’t at fault.

He had merely repeated what adults said every day to Dietrich himself.

It was true he planned to destroy Abelon. If he did, that boy would likely resent him for life.

An endless cycle of vengeance.

Being destroyed, destroying, being killed, seeking revenge.

But there was no thought of retracting his plans now.

They praised Celia one moment, then called her an evil witch with baseless nonsense the next.

Dietrich knew people needed a scapegoat.

A beautiful scapegoat to quell their fears and discontent.

Once they put Celia on the pyre, they’d find another to burn.

Of course, he wouldn’t let that happen.

Dietrich wished this damned Abelon would fall to ruin as soon as possible.

Seeing this witch hunt, it was clear Abelon was on its way to self-destruction.

“All I need to do is deal with Ileon Gredrick, the rest of them, and the Brillion family who tormented Celia.”

Dietrich and Celia roamed the capital’s streets until the evening sunset.

Their half-day search wasn’t entirely fruitless.

“Ugh!”

Viscount Brillion, tightly bound with sturdy rope, was forced to his knees before Dietrich.

His brown hair framed eyes that gleamed fiercely.

“Duke Calypso, no matter how much you desire my daughter, you cannot treat me this way.”

The captured viscount acted brazenly, as if innocent.

Dietrich lifted the viscount’s chin with his scabbard.

A repulsive face dripping with greed.

“I heard you never truly considered her your daughter.”

At Dietrich’s words, the viscount widened his eyes and retorted.

“I took a filthy girl from the gutters, origin unknown, and made her a noble. I fed her, clothed her, gave her a place to sleep.”

Celia, standing beside Dietrich, looked down at the viscount as if he were vermin. It was fortunate her helmet hid her face.

“Duke, just one question.”

Without waiting for Dietrich’s response, the viscount smirked and asked.

“You haven’t slept with Celia, have you?”