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“That’s all.”

Kestiel finished his words dryly. Taylor sharpened his gaze.

The ending, the conclusion. He recapped the series of explanations Kestiel had provided. What Margaret referred to as the conclusion seemed almost certain: the execution of Calix, the beheading of Florencia, and the engagement of the Crown Prince and Beatrice. Taylor understood it almost perfectly.

That was her idea of ‘the end.’

Taylor asked almost casually. His voice, now hoarse, lowered in proportion to his anxiety.

“What happens to Mel if it ends like that?”

“I should be asking you. Seems like you didn’t have anything to say at all, did you?”

“It’s quite a mockery coming from someone who couldn’t even answer a question.”

Continuing their somewhat harsh exchange, they gradually uncovered things they had forgotten.

Things like the attitudes of the woman and those around her that they had simply considered sarcastic.

Looking back, Margaret always seemed to behave as if she didn’t belong. Not necessarily because she was pretentious, but simply because there seemed to be nothing for her to do.

She brought up Beatrice whenever she could, but had nothing to say about her own situation or feelings.

A conversation from a few days ago crossed his mind.

‘Why do you talk about Beatrice so much?’

‘Aren’t you curious?’

‘…Not at all.’

‘I thought you would be curious.’

‘Would you like me to be curious?’

‘Just thought you would be.’

‘Really?’

Oh, was that it?

Taylor realized that several of the doubts he had harbored were suddenly resolved with one assumption.

Like, yeah. Those inexplicable interests toward Beatrice.

And the subtle shifts in those surrounding her, leading to a series of situations where they would turn hostile towards the Crown Prince.

Perhaps even the ‘accidental’ blows he had delivered were part of that ‘assumption’.

Having grown up in the slums and risen to a position in the criminal organization, Taylor always kept himself informed about most people, especially those with high status or fame.

Therefore, he knew well how devoted the knight before him had been to Beatrice.

Thinking about it, it doesn’t make sense for the man who came to talk about Mel to visit the prisoner he himself put away.

Setting aside Kestiel’s personal love story, it was enough to be misunderstood as betrayal towards the Crown Prince.

Ah, was I similar?

Taylor remembered that he hadn’t thought about Beatrice since he was imprisoned in Alcatraz.

Even when he asked about the outside situation, Taylor began to question Margaret, who only reported news about Beatrice from some point on.

Margaret looked puzzled but passed it off with a ‘if you say so.’ The conversation ended, but Taylor actually preferred the silence.

“I should have asked for your story.”

If he had, what story would Margaret have told him? Taylor recalled the basic information about nobles that the guild always collected.

There wasn’t any particularly noteworthy information about her. Except for the fact that she pretended to cough weakly, excluding that it was an act.

Oh, and did she say she adored Florencia?

The villainess who received the most prestigious treatment in Glacius had clearly stated that she had done everything she could.

Even when she was going to prison, she was as arrogant as ever.

When she mentioned that, Margaret muttered in a deadpan voice as if passing by.

“My sister doesn’t love the Crown Prince anymore. At least that’s how it seems to me.”

Why did it only occur to me now?

Everything was revolving around Beatrice and the Crown Prince from the beginning. Astonishingly, what they called fate was helping them.

Taylor chuckled at this surreal situation, his bloodshot eyes gleaming. His mood sank.

Every situation was flowing meticulously as if crafting one ‘story.’

Everyone who obstructed their path, the ‘center’ of everything, was being neatly dealt with. The Duke, too. And even the knight before him.

Like a situation in a novel with a predetermined ending.

Taylor suddenly thought he might be fake.

He closed his eyes.

He wanted to believe it was an absurd thought.

If this damn situation were truly likened to a play, Margaret Ailish would be something like a supporting role or an audience member.

Except for now, when she began to confront Beatrice for her sister, she had never been actively involved.

Taylor vaguely wondered if he also belonged to that category, but curses lingered on his tongue.

Exits of such roles in a play often go unnoticed.

“Where are we heading back to?”

In a bluntly straightforward question, Kestiel wiped his face with an irritated gesture. Even in his dry washing, there was an air of restlessness.

The Duke, Calix, would be executed along with the villainess. Taylor was discarded, and Kestiel vowed to do his best for Beatrice’s safety.

To put it bluntly, their end was already determined.

But what about Mel?

“Anyway, it won’t be the Empire.”

Silence crawled up and filled the cell, wrapping around Taylor’s ankles. Amidst the silence, Taylor pondered those words.

It won’t be the Empire. Then, I won’t have to…

“That’s not possible.”

Perfect focus disappeared from his red eyes. The statement that it wasn’t for anyone else was also a lie. His mind, usually blurry, was unexpectedly clear today.

Taylor let his emotions guide his remaining reason to sketch the blueprint of some ‘plan.’

Dear Mel, she never lied to him, not even once. Except for this time.

But that once was crucial. A sound of teeth grinding echoed eerily in the closed chamber.

Taylor grabbed the white sheet.

Why was I quietly stuck here? Kestiel stood up, observing Taylor’s unsettling muttering with a calm gaze. More precisely, with his alien, vivid red eyes.

Emotions drenched in obsession and possessiveness were swirling. It was a desperate and unmistakable love. After all, obsession and love were twins.

“I’ll give you one piece of advice.”

Kestiel clenched his fist. The contradictions and hypocrisy of those he had loved and respected until now were pushing him into confusion.

He thought he stood in a mediocre position, not a supporting role or a villain but being swept away by the situation.

What am I to Margaret? What about Beatrice? No, the question was wrong. What was I to Beatrice? What kind of existence was I to those protagonists?

There was no answer to the belated questions.

Kestiel recalled the woman he had relied on without any suspicion.

She was once a woman I loved endlessly.

“Watch over Margaret for me.”

She was natural. She requested fervently, as if it was natural for her to dedicate herself to him. Even though she was eager, she asked with ease.

Not even a bitter smile came out. Kestiel advised further.

“Your crime should have nothing to do with Margaret. Whatever it may be.”

A knight who had sworn allegiance never betrayed his lord. It was the first saying he engraved when Kestiel Reload had ambitions for swordsmanship. Despite being a man scorned as rude in society, at least in matters of knightly devotion, he was as noble as any.

“The remedies Lady asked you to pass on will be delivered by your assigned personnel later. There’s no need for you to attract attention. You should understand that much.”

To serve the lord he chose with all his heart. To become a knight who would sacrifice his life to protect the person he wanted to safeguard. These countless vows echoed in his ears.

Kestiel shivered at the feeling of denying the goal he had held onto for a very long time. Perhaps that, too—

‘The ending hasn’t arrived yet.’

Kestiel took a deep breath, recalling Margaret’s words. Asking himself if he knew what to do.

He was convinced that Margaret, the skilled individual before him, had a significant chance of changing the ‘ending’ Margaret had mentioned.

If everything revolved around Beatrice and the Crown Prince, were there any entities other than ‘villains’ that could harm the protagonist?

Therefore, in a chilling tone, Kestiel advised:

“The fault of the escape should be attributed to Alcatraz itself.”

* * *

Calix Hamel was a prisoner on the first floor of the underground level of the Sinalore Prison.

This large detention facility, consisting of a total of three floors, including the main building, encompassing both above and below ground, had different types of inmates on each floor. There was a reason for confining nobles in the underground instead of simple criminals: it was to prevent escape while providing relatively spacious and decent living quarters.

It was Castiel’s opinion that it was better for clever tribes not to have contact with external forces.

He wasn’t wrong. In fact, in other prisons, nobles who had befriended criminals often caused problems after their release with the help of their allies. There were also cases of escape attempts using illegally obtained weapons.

Therefore, only prisoners from commoner or republican backgrounds used dormitories on the surface of Sinalore.

Visitation rooms and lounges were arranged on each floor.

The facilities of the prison, which did not carry out any particular rehabilitation activities, were quite simple.

The annex had a dining hall, laundry, and showers for communal living, but there was nothing particularly special about it.

The only remarkable facility was the labor yard, which was a considerable distance away on foot.

This was roughly the structure of the Sinalore Prison as understood by Calix.

Although the floor for confining nobles consisted of solitary cells, it seemed difficult to escape at once because each cell was monitored by a guard.

Furthermore, there were so many iron fences that Calix decided to give up on reckless attempts.

Calix lazily turned his head. The chatter of a few guards in front of his cell was ringing in his ears.

“Sir Hyzen is still waiting today, huh?”

“Persistently disgusting. At this point, I’m not sure if he’s planning to escape with that villain.”

The former Duke was politically astute. Calix Hamel could easily discern that those around Margaret and her sisters were attracting undue attention.

He clicked his tongue.