Knock knock—

Zen knocked on Tanashia Brellof’s door in the mansion.

Previously, Tanashia had cautiously asked him to secretly keep her informed about matters concerning Orland.

—Father may not appreciate me worrying like this. Could you look into his affairs and report back to me—in secret?

Normally, this was a request he shouldn’t have accepted. But since Zen himself was also concerned about Orland, he found himself nodding.

—For the sake of Master, I shall do as you ask.

Since then, he had regularly reported Orland’s activities to Tanashia.

Today, too, he had come seeking her out because he had something urgent to discuss.

Creak—the door opened shortly after. Peering through the gap was Jerin.

“Oh! You’ve come to see the young lady?”

“Yes. I have something important to tell her…”

“The young lady is taking a nap right now. What should we do? Could you come back later?”

Under normal circumstances, he would have quietly withdrawn. But having encountered this exact situation just recently, he felt suspicious.

As far as Zen knew, Tanashia was an exceptionally diligent noble lady—far from the type to nap frequently during the day.

She usually rose early to conduct arcane engineering research or attend to her duties as a weapons merchant. It was strange for her to be napping so often.

“This is urgent. I must speak with her now.”

He wasn’t entirely without intent to test Jerin. But her reaction was genuine surprise—she visibly panicked.

“W-what? But the young lady is sleeping! I can’t possibly wake her!”

Hearing that, he immediately sensed something was off.

The current situation was suspicious.

Tanashia would never choose a nap over hearing what he had to say. And Jerin wasn’t the type to make such unilateral decisions.

Zen hardened his already expressionless face and spoke.

“Has something happened to the young lady’s health?”

“No! That’s impossible…”

Jerin kept the door barely ajar and didn’t step aside even an inch—but such feeble resistance couldn’t stop him.

Like a ghost, Zen slipped past her and entered the room in an instant.

Possessing darkness-attribute abilities, he could momentarily vanish from sight—in short, he was perfectly optimized for infiltration.

“Ah, no!”

Jerin chased after him belatedly, but she couldn’t catch his swift stride.

Whoosh—

Zen lifted the blanket on the bed.

Beneath it lay only a pillow arranged in the shape of a human body.

Nowhere in the room was Tanashia to be seen.

He turned to Jerin with a deeply grim expression.

“Where is the young lady right now?”

“W-well, you see…”

Jerin averted her gaze, fidgeting nervously with her fingers.

Zen, having deduced that Tanashia had secretly gone out, immediately raced toward the stables.

Protecting Tanashia had never been easy since they crossed into the Calua Empire.

He’d waited outside the imperial palace banquet hall because he couldn’t enter with her—and when she emerged, she bore a deep puncture wound from a needle.

She still hadn’t explained where or how she’d been injured, which already had him on edge.

‘Could something dangerous have happened again?’

His heart raced with anxiety—what if something terrible had occurred?

Zen mounted his horse. To find the missing Tanashia, he would need to mobilize every intelligence network available to him within the Calua Empire.

Just as he rode frantically, consumed by unease, a long-forgotten memory suddenly surfaced.

—Zen, when you grow up, find a place where you truly wish to stay.

Those were his father’s final words before leaving.

His father had been a wandering swordsman.

Not quite a mercenary who took contracts for money—he survived by accepting temporary employments, guarding individuals for noble houses, living a life closer to that of a drifter.

He never stayed in one place for long.

Looking back now, it was probably because of Zen.

Carrying an 8-year-old boy on his back while working as a swordsman couldn’t have been easy.

When he thought of his childhood, all he remembered was his father’s back—he had traveled countless places perched upon it.

From the very beginning of his memories, that was how it had been. He grew up watching his father fight steadfastly, carrying him securely on his back.

He had no memory of his mother. His father said she had died of fever shortly after giving birth to him.

Zen learned to hold a sword before he learned to hold a spoon.

His father had called it the way people like them survived.

—Zen, among our ancestors, there were some with extraordinary abilities—very famous ones.

—Really?

—Of course. But because they killed recklessly, they made too many enemies—and eventually, when their abilities failed to pass to the next generation, the entire lineage was wiped out.

—So they were punished for doing evil?

His father gave a bitter smile, then ruffled Zen’s hair with his large hand.

—We were born fated to wield swords. Sadly, we cannot live without seeing blood.

He hadn’t understood it then—but it was an expression of the destiny borne by those who inherited the darkness attribute.

They say the role shapes the person. The more exceptional the ability, the harder it was to conceal—especially the darkness attribute, which shone brightest in assassins.

Perhaps that was why.

His father always repeated, until his lips were worn thin:

—With such powerful abilities, you must be careful not to be exploited by others. Remember this: in a life like ours, walking atop blades, you must always secure a place to return to.

It was a difficult concept for young Zen to grasp.

Moreover, it contradicted the rootless life his father himself had lived.

—Father will always be by my side anyway—what’s there to worry about?

—…A father cannot always stay beside his child.

He truly hadn’t known then.

That his father’s face already bore unmistakable signs of illness.

His father, a poor wandering swordsman, grew weaker with each passing day. In hindsight, he had been searching for a place to die.

That was when he met Orland.

With little time left, his father wished to entrust Zen to the Brellof family.

At the time, the Brellof family wasn’t nearly as powerful as it is now—but after careful consideration, his father believed Orland would ensure Zen would never go hungry.

—Cough, cough… Master, will you take in my son? He’s still a child now, but he has inherited the darkness attribute—he’ll be useful when he grows up.

Judging by Zen’s current abilities, anyone would covet him—but back then, he was just an 8-year-old boy, and circumstances were different.

Among slaves, children were the cheapest.

The labor and expense required to feed, shelter, and raise a child were considerable.

Moreover, the claim that Zen possessed the darkness attribute was merely his father’s assertion—the young boy couldn’t prove it.

Anyone could have dismissed it as a fraud. Naturally, people preferred immediately useful, sturdy men over uncertain investments.

Yet Orland showed no sign of refusal. He simply stared silently at young Zen and his father for a long time.

—Not long ago, my wife gave birth to twins. Becoming a father myself, I finally understand how precious children are. Normally, I’d have refused—this seems like a losing deal—but I’m moved by the sincerity of a father entrusting his son. I’ll accept him.

He still remembered his father’s ecstatic expression that day.

Thus, Zen came under the care of the Brellof family—and soon after, his father began preparing to depart.

—Father, where are you going?

—Now that you have a home, it’s time for me to walk my own path.

Had he known that day would be their final meeting, he would have clung to his father with all his might—but at 8 years old, he didn’t.

—When will you come back? Huh?

His father looked at him with a light, relieved expression—as if he’d set down a heavy burden.

—Zen, when you grow up, find a place where you truly wish to stay. It doesn’t have to be the Brellof household. Of course, you must repay the kindness of those who raised you—but someday, go wherever your heart desires.

—I will.

—Good. My son.

He truly hadn’t known then.

That his father was searching for a place to die.

His father gazed at him with sorrowful eyes and gently ruffled his hair.

That was the last image Zen remembered.

So much time had passed, yet he still didn’t know how his father had died—or even where his body was buried.

He had simply vanished.

Some called his father heartless—but as Zen grew older, he came to understand his father’s feelings.

He sometimes wondered—if their roles were reversed, he might have made the same choice.

If possible, he never wanted anyone to witness his death—especially not in front of his young son.

Living alone in the world, without a single relative, was no easy thing for Zen.

In that bleak, lonely daily life, Orland had been the one to stay beside him—just like his father.

—Hey, kid. I know you’re sad your father left, but you still need to eat, right?

Orland wasn’t the type to offer tender comfort—but his measured attention and meddling kept Zen going.

It felt as if he’d gained another family.

And Charles…

Among all the women Zen had ever seen in his life, none had been as beautiful as Charles.

That remained true even now. Personally, he felt neither Tanashia nor Noxia Brellof could match Charles’s beauty.

Charles, with her long, ebony-black hair cascading down and her radiant smile, was more beautiful than any goddess depicted in famous paintings.

—Your name is Zen, right?

—Y-yes, Mistress.

—Ha ha, ‘Mistress’? Hearing that from a little one like you feels oddly strange.

—But you are… you are my Mistress.

—True. I heard you inherited the darkness attribute—is that true?

At first, he thought she doubted him and was testing his claim.

Zen nodded firmly, his expression resolute. His father was not a liar—and he didn’t want to be doubted.

—It’s true. My father would never lie about something like that.

—Ah, I’ve caused a misunderstanding. That’s not what I meant at all.

Charles smiled apologetically and gently ruffled his hair. Her hand was softer than his father’s.

In a gentle, coaxing voice, Charles continued.

—I mean… when you grow up, I’d like to ask you to look after my husband.

—M… Master?

—Yes. He’s stubborn and a loner—won’t open his heart to anyone but me. When you grow strong, please take good care of him.

—O-of course. He took me in, after all.

—It’s good to think of repaying kindness, but I’d truly like you to become genuinely close with my husband. I can’t bear more children—so I’d love for you to grow up as if you were my own son.

A son…

Though young, Zen understood how overwhelming that request was.

He instantly turned pale and waved his hands in refusal. Charles laughed at him mischievously like a rascal—that image still burned vividly in his mind.

—Zen, have you eaten? Let’s eat together.

From then on, Charles shared her affection even with someone as insignificant as him.

He had never seen his mother—but he could imagine she must have been someone like this. Charles was that loving a person.

Orland and Charles were the kind of people who warmed your heart just by looking at them.

He sincerely wished for their happiness to last forever.

But…

Charles was murdered.

From that day on, Orland was no longer himself.

Others might not have noticed—but Zen knew. Orland was barely breathing, clinging to life by a thread.

Without Charles, the Brellof household changed. The mansion no longer felt warm as it once had.

Time slipped away helplessly.

Years passed. As Zen grew older, Orland summoned him—and with a face as cold as ice, spoke without a trace of regret.

—You’re old enough now to take care of yourself. If there’s somewhere you wish to go, feel free to leave anytime.

It wasn’t a joke. Orland wasn’t the type to test Zen with such things.

If Zen nodded, he knew he would be free to leave the Brellof household and go anywhere he pleased.

But Zen shook his head.

Long ago, Charles had made a request. He couldn’t abandon Orland—the lonely man who opened his heart to no one.

His father had told him to repay the Brellof family’s kindness, then go wherever he wished…

But Zen had made up his mind.

The Brellof household was exactly where he belonged.

Though unexpectedly, the person he now protected had shifted from Orland to Tanashia—his heart remained unchanged from that time.

‘If anything were to happen to Miss Tanashia…’

He couldn’t even finish the thought.

It felt as if his heart had been ripped open. He couldn’t bear to witness Orland’s despair over losing Charles all over again.

At that moment—

A carriage halted upon seeing Zen riding his horse. A woman peeked out from the carriage window.

Her long black hair, reminiscent of Charles from long ago, caught his eye. It was Tanashia.

With an embarrassed expression, she waved and said,

“Seeing you’ve come all the way here… I guess I’ve been caught sneaking out, huh?”

Zen felt both furious from head to toe—and overwhelmingly relieved.

All the turbulent emotions that had churned inside him suddenly poured out.

‘…Thank goodness.’

He hadn’t lost Tanashia—just as he had helplessly lost Charles.