141.

Elze was Elze, and Benedict was Benedict.

Benedict reflected on his life.

From the humble beginnings of the Luneburg family—a minor provincial nobility.

To elevating it to a central noble house, becoming the head of the family.

To transforming the Schmaikel Trading Company into the empire’s finest.

Benedict had raced through life with relentless determination.

He was proud of his achievements, confident in his skills and exceptional abilities.

Even if Elze didn’t take his hand, his life still held immense value.

‘Then why.’

Benedict bit his lip until it bled.

‘Why was I so willing to throw all of that away?’

Moreover.

‘…Dante said I—no, we—are guilty of a crime against her?’

Dante was a twisted and self-absorbed person, yet that made his words all the more credible.

Dante was not someone who acted without absolute conviction.

‘If that’s the case.’

At last, the hesitation clouding Benedict’s face disappeared entirely.

‘I need to know.’

With resolute hands, he picked up the vial and syringe.

This suffocating uncertainty, this inexplicable guilt.

If he didn’t uncover the “truth” Dante had spoken of, he would never shake it off.

To free himself from these chains wrapped around his ankles like shackles.

‘Why am I guilty toward Lady Lepherian? Why is the Marquess so certain of it?’

Benedict pressed the syringe against his arm.

‘I have to find out why.’

Without hesitation, he injected the Nyx.

A sharp sting was followed by an unpleasant sensation as the drug slowly seeped into his arm.

And then.

“Gah!”

Benedict’s eyes flew wide open as he doubled over.

His senses sharpened in an instant, and a searing pain tore through his body.

“Hah, hah…!”

Gasping for breath, Benedict’s gaze fell on the discarded vial and syringe on the floor.

[No.]

His instincts screamed at him.

Marguerite must never find out that he had injected the Nyx, nor that he was attempting to recover his memories.

[She must not know.]

Dragging himself across the floor, he pushed the scattered items under the bed.

And then.

*Thud.*

Benedict’s knees buckled, slamming against the ground.

His heightened senses screamed in agony.

At the same time, a thick, murky nightmare engulfed him like a swamp.

* * *

Blink.

Benedict opened his eyes.

As he looked around, a courtyard full of vivid red roses came into view.

[Where… is this?]

It was the now-abandoned Rosenkreutz boarding school.

Feeling a sudden presence, he turned to find Lucian standing beside him.

Gone was Lucian’s characteristic innocent expression—he stood with a face devoid of any emotion.

[What is going on?]

Still reeling from confusion, Benedict’s eyes widened slightly.

[Ah.]

A soft breeze rustled, causing the pure white of Lucian’s silver hair to ripple like waves.

At that moment, Benedict realized where he was and what was happening.

He was standing behind Marguerite, flanking her as though guarding her, alongside Lucian.

And ahead of them.

A woman with flowing red hair knelt on the ground, her knees pressed against the dirt.

[That woman is…]

Benedict’s eyes flew open.

[Lady Lepherian?]

It was Elze.

At the same time, Marguerite bent down, her slender, pale fingers tilting Elze’s chin up gently.

[So, you’re the one who’s stolen my chess piece.]

Elze did not resist.

Or rather, she seemed too drained of energy to resist.

Under her disheveled hair, her empty amber eyes stared vacantly at Marguerite.

[Imagine—Dante, defying me for the first time since meeting you.]

Marguerite rested her cheek in her hand, sighing lightly.

[He was designed to love me… yet he rejected me.]

Designed to love her?

Benedict felt his confusion deepen.

His loyalty to Marguerite, his unwavering devotion—emotions he had never questioned before now felt disturbingly alien.

…As if they were someone else’s feelings forced upon him.

Marguerite tilted her head slightly, her gaze filled with disdain as she looked down at Elze.

[A trampled flower smells the sweetest.]

A cruel smile spread across her delicate lips.

[I can’t wait to see how far you’ll struggle.]

But only for a moment.

A cold glint appeared in her emerald eyes.

[Of course, naughty children must be punished, mustn’t they?]

With those words, Marguerite stood and turned to Benedict.

Her command was merciless.

[Kill her.]

At that moment, Lucian’s emotionless face cracked for the first time.

[But she’s just a civilian… killing her is…]

Kill her?

Lady Lepherian?

Meanwhile, Benedict, thrown into turmoil, looked at Marguerite in disbelief.

But before he could process it, his lips were already moving, acting out a predetermined role like a puppet in a play.

[That seems a bit excessive.]

As he spoke, Benedict unconsciously stepped back.

[What am I saying?]

Benedict couldn’t hide his shock.

Elze was moments away from being murdered, and instead of stopping Marguerite, here he was, retreating.

As though her life—or death—was none of his concern.

Marguerite clicked her tongue.

[Oh, well. If I must…]

From her hand gleamed a cold silver blade.

[I’ll deliver the punishment myself.]

With those final words, Marguerite’s face turned blank as she swung the dagger.

*Thud.*

The blade pierced through Elze’s body.

Bright red blood splattered across the ground.

Elze collapsed slowly, like a marionette with its strings cut.

[…Lady?]

Benedict froze in place.

Was she truly dead?

So easily? So pointlessly?

But then.

[Elze!]

A scream tore through the air.

Fiery red eyes.

A face twisted in anguish and despair.

It was Dante.

Marguerite narrowed her eyes at him as he charged toward them.

[Stop him.]

Despite Benedict’s will, his body obeyed her order. He and Lucian stepped forward to block Dante.

Dante glared at them with murderous intent in his eyes.

[What the hell have you done!]

He grabbed Benedict by the collar, his red eyes burning with venomous rage.

[You… you…]

He spat his words like blood.

[You killed Elze!]

In an instant, all sound vanished from the world.

Benedict felt his mind go completely blank.

This can’t be true.

“…dict!”

“…”

“Benedict!”

“Ah!”

Benedict snapped his eyes open.

His entire body was soaked in a cold sweat.

Every muscle ached, as though he had been beaten to a pulp.

Through his blurred vision, he saw Marguerite looking down at him with concern.

“Oh my, are you alright?”

“…Lady Marguerite.”

Benedict’s dry lips moved faintly.

At the same time, a wave of intense discomfort pierced through his chest.

Marguerite.

Lady Marguerite.

The dissonance between the two names sent chills down his spine.

“You were unconscious for almost a day. I think you pushed yourself too hard calculating the magic circle formula.”

Her emerald eyes clouded with worry.

“I’m sorry—I should’ve been more attentive…”

Her slender hand brushed over his forehead.

What once felt like a kind gesture now felt as cold as a snake’s scales.

Smack.

Instinctively, Benedict slapped her hand away.

Marguerite stared at him, her eyes wide with shock.

“Benedict?”

“…Ah.”

Thankfully, Benedict had an excuse for his sudden rejection.

He abruptly gagged.

“Urgh!”

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Benedict dashed to the bathroom.

A startled Marguerite followed after him.

“What’s wrong, Benedict?!”

But Benedict couldn’t answer.

He was too busy gripping the toilet bowl, retching up everything in his stomach.

Hack, cough…

After what felt like an eternity of vomiting, Benedict stumbled to his feet.

He shook his head weakly, his face pale as a sheet.

“…It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Look at your face!”

“I’m fine.”

Suppressing the nausea threatening to rise again, Benedict forced the words out.

But deep inside, the unsettling feelings refused to subside.