The sun shone brightly overhead, bathing the landscape in warm light. The sky stretched wide in soft shades of blue. Birds perched in the trees, singing in cheerful harmony.
As Lucien walked down the pavement, a gentle breeze brushed against his face, stirring his hair and garments. His eyes swept over the area until they landed on the tall fortification wall enclosing the place.
Knights patrolled along the parapet and watchtowers, their armor gleaming under the sunlight. To the side, the courtyard was an open expanse of land dotted with trees and patches of wild grass. Knights moved briskly across the grounds, while maids and butlers hurried about their errands.
However, the white wolf–badged knights—Duke Godfrey's men, Lucien's grandfather—far outnumbered the Imperial knights with sun badges.
Duke Godfrey sent a letter expressing his devastation over his grandson's assassination. He wrote that he wished to visit but was currently stationed at the Zerounix–Solairé sea border on the Emperor's orders, and so he dispatched knights to ensure Lucien's safety.
Thinking back, there was a scene that briefly mentioned the fierce rivalry between Duke Godfrey and Duke Vazquez during a power struggle for the throne. However, the conflict ended abruptly after an unspecified accident led to the downfall of the Godfrey duchy.
Yes, everything happened before the novel even started. Despite Lucien's powerful background, he was none other than a fucked up character with red flags surrounding both him and his family. And somehow, he was wondering if he could tear them all down, because doing nothing was not an option.
Today marked the third day since he possessed Lucien's body. Thanks to an audience with Lord Samuel, he'd learned that the assassination attempt had been officially dismissed as a mere bandit attack—which was ridiculous.
What kind of bandits could wipe out an entire escort of trained knights?
At this point, the Empire's title of the strongest military on the continent was surely laughable.
Furthermore, the Emperor hadn't seemed to care about Lucien in the slightest as he let the case close just like that. Not even justice for his flesh and blood, huh?
No wonder Roseanne—the Empress—had been seeing red that day.
Glancing behind his shoulder, he fixated on a red-haired knight with reddish eyes. As their sight crossed, Kyle—his temporary escort assigned by the Emperor—offered a benign smile and inclined his head respectfully.
"Are you even listening to me?" An irritated voice cut into his thoughts.
Lucien turned to find Tristan standing still, his emerald eyes pinned on him. He halted and nodded confidently. "Of course, I am."
Tristan narrowed his eyes, his suspicion palpable. Unfazed, Lucien held his gaze steadily, feigning calm. Actually, he HAD been listening—at least at first—but Tristan had been talking nonstop for what felt like hours. While it was impressive how he never ran out of things to say, it was starting to grate on his nerves.
Was he really the same Tristan from the novel?
Tristan was supposed to be the epitome of an edgy, brooding protagonist—not this relentless chatterbox. Could it be that he'd somehow transmigrated into a parallel version or something?
After an intense stare-fight, Tristan eventually gave up with a snort. "Very well," he said, folding his arms. "Then tell me, what did I say just now?"
"About where we used to play here." Lucien shrugged nonchalantly.
Honestly, it was a wild guess. That was because Tristan had been repeating that line at every stop.
"Ho?" Tristan arched an eyebrow, clearly amused, "Surprisingly accurate for someone with such an unconvincing face."
Lucien's eye twitched. "I beg your pardon?"
"Let's keep moving," Tristan whirled on his heel and strode off, blatantly ignoring his simmering annoyance.
'Seriously?' Lucien watched Tristan's back in disbelief.
Tristan paused and glanced over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"
With a heavy sigh, he followed. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."
They were on a tour of the Western Palace, with Tristan acting as their guide and their knights trailing behind. Located in the western region of the Solairé Empire, the palace was considered a sacred site. It was the birthplace of the Empire's founder. According to imperial tradition, the heir to the throne was required to train here for five years before coming of age.
When the sound of water flowing reached his ears, he glanced toward the noise and spotted a grand fountain made of ivory marble in the distance. However, what truly drew his eye was the towering monument rising from its center.
As they approached, his gaze caught on the inscription carved into the stone:
In realms where shadows dance and play,
And secrets lurk in the light of day,
Let not ambition's fire ignite,
For in its blaze, lies endless night.
Beware the path where power gleams,
For in its grasp, reality teems.
"—We used to play here—"
"What is that?" Lucien cut in, pointing at the poem.
Tristan followed his hand and shrugged indifferently, "A warning."
Lucien rolled his eyes. "A warning for what? Not to climb the fountain?" Of course, he understood it was a warning against seeking power. "What I'm asking is, why write something so cryptic here of all places? Is there something special about it?"
"Hmm," Tristan hummed thoughtfully, adopting a thinking pose before smirking mischievously, "Perhaps it's here to spark curiosity. Worked on you, didn't it?"
Lucien's fists clenched as he fought the urge to smack the back of Tristan's head. The more time he spent with him, the more his patience frayed—almost as if Tristan existed solely to erode his sanity.
"Your performance as a guide is truly lacking, I must say," he spat in exasperation.
Tristan's smirk widened, visibly enjoying his frustration, "And your capacity for forgiveness seems equally deficient."
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose at the insufferable headache. Letting out a heavy sigh, he sank onto the fountain's edge. Talking to Tristan drained his energy, and he refused to dignify him with a response.
'This guy is impossible.'
After a moment, Tristan sighed as well and sat beside him. "I don't know the extent of your memory loss, but the main point of the training is that we shouldn't chase power. We're meant to be keepers of balance instead."
"Yes, thank you very much for the heartfelt explanation," Lucien replied dismissively. He wasn't in the mood for further conversation.
Lucien leaned back slightly, tilting his head toward the sky as his eyes followed the lazy drift of clouds. The rhythmic cascade of the fountain and the gentle breeze gradually eased his irritation, or so he thought.
"I'm sorry."
Tristan's voice broke the silence, shattering his moment of respite. Groaning inwardly, Lucien begrudgingly turned to him and found Tristan staring blankly at the pavement.
Tristan finally met his eyes and repeated, "I'm truly sorry." Gone was his usual mischief; only helplessness remained. "It was my fault. If I'd come sooner, you wouldn't have been hurt… and you wouldn't have lost your memory."
Lucien said nothing and regarded the man before him.
Nonetheless, whenever Tristan displayed his vulnerable side, he couldn't help but wonder: was his apology genuine, or merely an act?
The Empress said that despite the enmity between their factions, Tristan and Lucien shared a bond akin to that of siblings. Tristan often stepped in to thwart assassination attempts ordered by his mother and his grandfather.
But if that were the case, then why did Tristan kill Lucien?
What could drive him to such a betrayal?
Was it… the throne?
In feudal societies, fratricide for power wasn't uncommon.
Yet, what puzzled him more was the novel's repeated emphasis on Tristan's overwhelming grief over Lucien's death. He even suffered recurring nightmares and relied heavily on sleeping pills to sleep.
Just why?
'Did he… regret it?'
Lucien sighed slowly, brushing off the thoughts. "I don't know if it's my place to accept that apology," he said at last. "Still… thank you for saying it."
How could he accept an apology meant for a brother he had never truly been?
He was simply borrowing Lucien's body, and nothing else.
Just as Tristan was about to retort, he quickly added, "Also, it's not entirely your fault. Let's not dwell on it. What's done is done."
He knew Tristan all too well—or at least, the version from the original story. No matter what anyone said, Tristan would always shoulder the blame.
Tristan stared at him with an indescribable expression before chuckling softly, "You sounded like Gilbert just now."
Lucien furrowed his eyebrows. "Gilbert?"
Of course, it was just an act. He already knew Gilbert had been one of Tristan's most loyal retainers.
Tristan pointed toward the knight standing beside Kyle. "He's my escort knight. Just like you, he's like a family to me."
Following Tristan's gesture, his eyes landed on a tall, broad-shouldered knight standing beside Kyle. Gilbert was a middle-aged man with olive-toned skin, platinum blonde hair, and golden eyes. The moment their eyes locked, he bowed respectfully to him, and Lucien nodded in acknowledgment.
However, the loud ringing of a bell caught their attention, marking midday.
Tristan turned to him, asking, "Shall we head to the family luncheon?"
He nodded, "Sure."
Tristan offered him a warm smile and patted his head before rising to his feet. "Let's go."
Lucien complied and fell in step with Tristan.
Whatever Tristan's reason for killing him might be, for now, he would just observe to keep him in check in case he tried anything funny.