Celia Brillion drew the sword from Dietrich Calypso’s scabbard and pressed it against the viscount’s throat.

The knight had been hidden behind Dietrich’s broad frame, unnoticed until now.

Viscount Brillion felt bewildered by the knight who suddenly sought to kill him.

Even with the blade at his throat, the viscount firmly believed he would not die.

After all, how could Dietrich, Celia’s lover, allow harm to come to his own adoptive father?

Of course, he had stirred up rumors calling Celia a witch, swayed by Gabriel Brillion’s words.

He had belittled her with all manner of provocative insults, hoping that once abandoned by Dietrich and left with nowhere to go, Celia would fall into his hands.

He had taken in a girl with nothing. Therefore, she belonged to him.

What was wrong with restoring everything back to how it was?

“Sir Knight, please don’t get too worked up. We’re men speaking man to man, aren’t we? When Celia lived in my estate, she was pure. Countless men courted her, yet not one laid a hand on her—she was that kind of innocent girl.”

Unaware that the knight holding the sword was Celia herself, Viscount Brillion carelessly spilled his thoughts.

“But… the girl was simply too beautiful. Many tried their hand at her, yet not a single one ever succeeded. Does Celia possess some kind of power? Or is she truly a witch, as the rumors say? Isn’t it truly strange?”

Celia’s grip tightened on the sword. Beads of blood welled up on Viscount Brillion’s neck.

The viscount frowned, peering closely at the helmeted Celia.

Through the visor, Celia’s emerald eyes came into view.

For a brief moment, staring into those eyes, Viscount Brillion grinned wildly, as if mad.

“…So it’s you. Celia!”

Forgetting his own peril, the viscount cheerfully greeted her.

“I couldn’t recognize you with that knight’s armor—it doesn’t suit you at all. You look far better in a dress that shows off your chest. Come now, stop this nonsense and tell your lover to let us return home together, father and daughter.”

“Madman.”

At Celia’s curse, Viscount Brillion narrowed his eyes.

“Hmm? What did you just say?”

“What father? Even a scarecrow would be better than you.”

Viscount Brillion blinked in surprise at Celia’s words.

“Where did you learn such impudent speech? When you lived in my estate, weren’t you gentle and obedient? Surely you don’t believe the Duke will protect you for the rest of your life?”

“He will protect me for life. And…”

Dietrich Calypso added in a calm, even tone.

“That’s none of your concern.”

Only now did Viscount Brillion realize he might truly die.

“Wait, just a moment. I’m Celia’s father—how can you threaten to kill me? Celia, surely you don’t mean to kill your own father with your own hands?”

“Where are the others? Hariel and your brats?”

Cold sweat streamed down the viscount’s forehead.

“Celia, what are you doing? Stop this at once—”

“Shut up.”

At Celia’s curse, the viscount’s face turned noticeably pale.

“If you tell me where the others are, I’ll let you live.”

“…”

“What will it be?”

The viscount swallowed hard and asked.

“If I tell you their location, you’ll spare my life?”

“Yes.”

Hearing his life could be spared, the viscount answered without hesitation.

“430 Ventamin Street in the capital, a shabby inn with no sign and a worn green roof. Room 302.”

Celia’s eyes narrowed.

“Are Gabriel and Hariel there too?”

“Y-yes. They’re in the next room, 303.”

There was a reason they hadn’t been caught until now.

No one would have guessed they, who loved luxury more than anyone, would stay in such a rundown inn.

“…Since I’ve told the truth, you’ll release me now, right?”

The viscount’s face glistened unnaturally, as if coated with grease.

Celia lowered the sword from the viscount’s neck and called out to Dietrich.

“Dietrich.”

Dietrich struck the viscount’s head with the scabbard.

The viscount collapsed forward, not even able to scream.

“He’s unconscious. He won’t wake for at least a full day.”

Celia nodded at Dietrich’s words.

She handed the sword back to Dietrich and removed the helmet she had worn all along.

The sunset beyond the mountain ridge dimmed as twilight deepened, filling Celia’s vision.

“…First, let’s verify whether this man spoke the truth, then find Ileon. It’s already getting dark.”

No one wanted to punish the Brillion family—those less human than beasts—more than Celia did.

Yet Celia remained focused, never losing sight of her true goal.

Dietrich silently watched her profile.

Celia’s long silver hair fluttered in the wind. She turned her head toward Dietrich, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

“Is there something on my face?”

Dietrich removed his gloves. Then, reaching out, he gently caressed Celia’s cheek.

With careful, almost fearful tenderness, he stroked her cheek and murmured softly.

“No. Nothing at all.”

He tucked a strand of Celia’s hair behind her ear.

Then, tilting his head, he pressed his lips to hers.

Their lips touched softly, briefly, then parted.

Dietrich smiled affectionately at Celia after boldly stealing the kiss.

Celia, who had meant to scold him, changed her mind.

Rising onto her toes, she kissed Dietrich’s lips the same way he had kissed her.

Dietrich’s eyes widened, then gradually filled with a captivating smile.

As Celia tried to pull away, Dietrich pulled her body closer.

When Celia’s lips parted, Dietrich deepened the kiss, slipping inside.

A breath-stealing kiss followed, their lips pressed together without a single gap.

Overwhelmed by the intensity, Celia’s senses blurred.

Dietrich cradled the back of her head with his large hand.

Celia clutched Dietrich’s forearm, but all she grasped was cold armor.

With his other hand, not holding her head, Dietrich intertwined his fingers with hers, knuckle by knuckle.

Whenever Celia ran out of breath, Dietrich would release her briefly, then kiss her again once her breath returned.

His love felt overwhelming.

Only after a long while did Dietrich finally let her go.

Celia, who had been exhausted from half a day of wandering in ill-fitting armor, felt her energy surge back to life.

She gave Dietrich a bright smile.

“My strength’s fully restored. Shall we go now?”

“Am I your stamina supplement now?”

“…No. You’re my everything.”

At Celia’s words, Dietrich’s lips softened into a smile.

With eyes overflowing with affection, Dietrich placed the helmet back onto Celia’s head.

“There’s probably only one person in the world who’d call her dog ‘everything’—and that’s you.”

Celia stared at Dietrich with a flat expression as he referred to himself as a dog.

“Dietrich, you’re my lover. Not a dog.”

“Then let me be both your dog and your lover. I like being owned by you. Celia.”

Celia responded with a serious expression.

“…Wait. No. Then I’d just be some strange woman who kissed and did… things… with her own dog?”

“Hahaha!”

Dietrich burst into loud laughter.

Celia glared at the mischievous Dietrich with annoyance.

“Why do you specifically want to be a dog?”

At Celia’s question, Dietrich slowly closed and reopened his eyes before answering.

“A dog never betrays its master.”

Celia narrowed her eyes.

Dietrich had reached the point where, just by looking at Celia’s eyes visible through the helmet, he could discern her thoughts.

“What? Is it strange coming from me, the one once called the Emperor’s mad dog?”

Celia nodded.

“…From the beginning, the Emperor was merely a tool to draw the Three Dukes into the palace. How could I ever truly regard such a trash Emperor as my master?”

Dietrich openly called the dead Emperor trash.

Celia understood that Dietrich held no good feelings toward the Emperor.

“It must have been hard, serving as the closest aide to such a hated Emperor. And you even carried the label of being the perverted Emperor’s mad dog.”

Celia patted Dietrich’s hand gently, as if offering comfort.

In truth, Dietrich himself had spread the rumor about being the Emperor’s mad dog, but since Celia’s comfort warmed his heart, he decided to keep that secret until after Abelon’s fall.

“It’s fine. I have you now.”

Dietrich lifted Celia’s hand and kissed the back of it.

Pressing his lips firmly, as if branding a mark, he then crinkled his eyes at her.

His deep-set eyes, filled with crimson irises devoted solely to her, curved slightly at the corners.

Looking at Dietrich, Celia thought:

Dietrich was less like a dog, and more like a fox that bewitched people.