episode_0128

“You’re back?”

Mileen greeted her husband upon his return from work. She took his coat and hung it up, then handed him a cup of tea she had prepared.

Though they were now king and queen, they still preferred to handle small tasks like this themselves when alone. It was a mundane life, but neither of them disliked it.

After changing into his pajamas and taking a sip of tea, Ian immediately lay down on the bed. The sky outside was pitch black—he had worked late into the night.

Even so, the royal bedroom spared no expense on magical tools, so Ian shielded his eyes from the light with his arm. Lately, he had been so swamped with work that he barely had enough time to sleep.

Had he known the king’s position would be like this, he never would have accepted it.

Though part of the delay today was because he had pushed tomorrow’s workload forward.

“Should I turn off the lights?”

“Please.”

Mileen switched off the glowing magical tool and slipped under the covers beside Ian.

“Tomorrow’s finally the day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I wish we could’ve wrapped it up cleanly back then, but it took way too long.”

A considerable amount of time had passed since that day—the day he had raped Arina.

To ensure Arina wouldn’t bear the burden of responsibility, Ian had willingly taken the crime upon himself.

He had no regrets, nor any excuses. Though he told himself it was for her sake, he knew it was also for his own selfish desires.

But that was all in the past now. So much so that Milien was now lying beside him, gently rubbing her swollen belly.

“Come to think of it, how has Arina been lately?”

“It’s not like she’s far away. Why don’t you just go see her yourself sometime?”

“I didn’t have time. I’ll go after finishing tomorrow’s work.”

Under Ian’s pointed gaze urging an answer, Milien touched her lips lightly before speaking.

“She’s doing much better. Ever since giving birth, she seems too busy to dwell on complicated thoughts.”

“That’s a relief.”

Then this matter especially shouldn’t reach Arina’s ears. If she found out what he was about to do, she would undoubtedly suffer again.

Crunch.

Something crunched underfoot.

Despite trying to be careful, the ground was littered with so many leaves and twigs that it was impossible to avoid stepping on them.

It seemed no one had bothered to clean up the area. The mansion, revisited after a year, was starkly different from his last visit.

Without any maintenance, cracks and signs of wear were noticeable everywhere. The once lively mansion, teeming with large families, now felt completely devoid of life.

As he approached the main gate to enter, his eyes met Cecil’s, who had been guarding it.

“You’ve arrived, Your Majesty.”

Cecil, seeing Ian—now his rightful lord after ascending to the throne—placed a hand over his chest and saluted.

“You truly stood watch all this time.”

“It’s no hassle when shared in shifts. And please, lower your voice.”

Though Cecil hadn’t expected Ian’s return to take this long, he uttered no complaints before stepping aside.

Wondering if he’d wasted the talents of a Swordmaster, Ian offered an apology, but Cecil simply shook his head.

A full year had already passed since that day.

Yuria remained frozen within the Linevear Mountains, the Porter still lived out the rest of his days here, and the war against the Demon King’s army dragged on.

No word had come of the other heroes from Arina’s party, except for Marika, who was occasionally spotted helping the starving and the infirm.

That day, Arina had intended to end everything, but after her breakdown, it all ground to a halt.

To Ian, this was for the best. Whether it was vengeance or anything else, keeping Arina from facing her past was the optimal outcome.

Yet one loose end had to be tied.

No matter what, the Porter could not be forgiven. Letting him linger risked his reappearance before Arina someday.

Had it been possible, Ian would have dealt with him immediately, but caring for Arina took priority—and afterward, there simply hadn’t been time.

Only now, after so long, had he finally returned.

The interior of the courtyard was even worse. Weeds had grown so thick that walking was difficult, making the place look utterly uninhabited.

As Ian moved toward the mansion, intending to enter, he stopped mid-step at the sound of voices from behind and turned instead toward the backyard.

Unlike the rest of the estate, a small section of the backyard had been cleared of grass.

There, the Porter and his son were kicking a ball back and forth.

With no one to cut it, the Porter’s hair hung long past his neck, and his beard stood out starkly.

His appearance had dulled compared to the days when he paraded numerous women, but playing with his son, he seemed far more human than before.

The Porter noticed Ian quickly enough and sent his son inside.

“You’re later than I expected.”

“What happened to you? Where are all your wives and children?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Who’d stay with a ruined man? They all took their kids and left. Raising this one boy whose mother didn’t take him is my only joy now.”

“You were abandoned?”

“Yeah. Were those ever real bonds to begin with? Surviving Leonne beating me half to death was sheer luck.”

The Porter shuddered as he leaned against the wall, feigning indifference despite being discarded by women he had once forced into his life.

“Arina’s sisters and the elves didn’t seem to hate you. Are you saying they all left too? With your ability, you could’ve forced them to stay.”

“Persistent, aren’t you? You’re here to kill me, right? What, you need to hunt down the others too to feel satisfied?”

He had no interest in talking further. His demeanor made it clear—his abandonment wasn’t a lie.

Seeing no need for the forces he’d brought as a precaution, Ian raised a hand to dismiss them.

“Tch, you brought an army just for me? Thorough, huh?”

“I couldn’t rule out the possibility of a fight with the Hero’s party. Though frankly, wasting breath seems pointless.”

Ian’s glare deepened as his sword slowly slid free from its sheath.

“It means you have little time left in this world.”

“Hah… Hah… That’s one scary look.”

Though he pretended to stay calm, the Porter’s trembling was visible as the blade neared and death loomed imminent.

“One last question. Why did you go that far with Arina?”

It was the question Arina had always asked but never received a proper answer to.

“I spent this past year researching you—neighbors, knights I met on the battlefield, reputations from villages you stayed in. Truthfully? Not bad. Some said you had a lustful streak, but nothing as extreme as with Arina. I concluded you know what’s right. So why was she different?”

“Persistent. You’re more obsessed with me than she ever was.”

The Porter scoffed, evading the question, but Ian’s stare made it clear he wouldn’t relent without an answer.

“… … …”

“So you won’t speak?”

“Nothing good’ll come of it. And frankly, I don’t want to spell it all out for the bastard who stole my woman.”

“Arina was never yours. Not once.”

“No, Riel was mine. She had to be. That was fate. But some nameless extra had to ruin everything. You did this.”

Enraged, the Porter shoved Ian.

“Listen. She was cursed—doomed to misery by her own stubbornness. I could’ve saved her. If not for you, I’d have done it. So if she suffers now, that’s your damn fault—”

His voice cut off abruptly, replaced by blood gurgling from his mouth.

Ian had driven his sword through the Porter’s chest, seeing no further worth in his words.

“Keugh— Gahk—”

“Arina’s only curse was you. I’m here to end it.”

With those final whispered words, Ian pulled the blade free, and blood gushed like a faucet.

Pupils blown wide, the Porter crumpled to the ground, soaking the floor red—his end pitifully anticlimactic.

By all rights, torture would have been fitting, but Arina would have hated it. She had even opposed killing him outright, insisting children shouldn’t lose their parents.

“Daddy…?”

Perhaps foreseeing this, the boy—unable to wait for his father’s return—emerged from the house and froze at the sight.

Step by hesitant step, he approached the fallen Porter and touched his face.

“M-Mister… No way… Dad…?”

“You’re seeing it. He’s dead.”

The boy’s eyes trembled violently. The tears welling in them reminded Ian too much of Arina, tightening his chest.

He had agonized over it but couldn’t bring himself to kill the child.

“Why—why did you…! Mom? Where’s Mom? She was with you!”

The boy’s face twisted with emotions no child should bear so young.

“Don’t tell me… Mom too—”

But one thing was missing.

Should he tell the orphaned boy his father deserved death?

Or offer his bloodstained hand with promises of caretakers?

“No.”

For the boy to survive on his own, he needed something stronger.

“Arina isn’t your mother.”

A more visceral emotion.

“She’s my wife. The mother of my child.”

Even if it was cruel to a boy so young.

Though he hadn’t done much, the day felt unnaturally exhausting.

Tap. Tap.

Listening to his own footsteps, Ian stopped before a certain door.

It was designed so those inside couldn’t open it.

The room had everything—food, clothes, even a bathing area—but the barred window starkly contrasted with the rest.

But this room probably wouldn’t be needed anymore.

Ian walked to the bed and drew back the curtain.

Inside, a woman sat up, breastfeeding an infant.

“Oh, you’re back, dear?”

Being the villain was always hard for him.

But that burden eased slightly each time he saw why he had to bear it.

Arina, cradling their son so preciously. This sight alone made every hardship worth it.

Yet today, he couldn’t bring himself to stay composed.

Instead of the baby, Ian buried his face against her chest and inhaled deeply, the sweet milk scent tickling his nose.

Arina silently stroked his back.

“You came straight here… Work must’ve been rough?”

“Yeah. Really rough.”

“What on earth did you do to wear yourself out like this?”

This gentle Arina would undoubtedly rage if she knew what he’d done against her wishes.

Those secrets would go with him to the grave.

Yet he couldn’t help but ask.

“Arina.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you… okay with this?”

“I don’t know what you mean, but I’ll always be grateful to you.”

Though she didn’t understand his question, Ian found reassurance in her reply.

No—he wasn’t wrong.