I could smell the blood and guts. Even people's screams died and sobs spread. A scene that would make a fairy tale run away barefoot.

　My eyes widen. I saw my teacher dying in front of me. The way he swung his sword too late to let me go and was crushed by a huge stone axe with no way out.

　I saw it all with my own eyes. All the dear ones being destroyed, dying, lost. I remember that such a nightmarish scene felt so real.

　After all, it was unmistakably real, so why not?

　What did I do there? Did I fight valiantly, ready to be crushed by the enemy, or did I howl, or did I scream in sorrow?

　No, I didn't do any of those things.

　I used my grandfather's words as proof of my innocence, and successfully showed my back and escaped. I used my mentor's death as a springboard and survived. That's admirable.

　--Oh, I wish I'd died then.

　I'm sure you're not the only one. I'm not sure what to do.

　The first time I saw him, he was standing in front of me. My body was on the bed. Only his breathing was strangely ragged.

　I lightly reached out and squeezed my fingers to make sure that this was real. Finally, I let my heart sink. The breath that came from the bottom of my chest spilled out into the quiet room.

　It was a nostalgic, yet terrible dream. It's been a long time since I've had a glimpse of the past.

　The time when my grandfather lost his life to let me go, and I couldn't even avenge him. Back when I had nothing in my hands, not even my dignity.

　I hate it. I never wanted to see them again.

　We all want to turn away from the scars of our past as much as we can. And yet, sometimes they crawl out from the depths of my heart like mud, and I can't help it.

　No matter how tightly you tighten the lid, you cannot fool yourself. The past will soon catch up with you.

　Your fingertips naturally go to your pocket, searching for a chewing tobacco. But my fingers cut through the air aimlessly. I remembered that Mattia had taken it away from me, albeit temporarily. What the hell. Am I not supposed to live?

"Good morning, Lugis. Good morning, Lugis. Shouldn't we greet each other when we wake up?

　As I opened my eyes and let my body rise slowly, a voice sounded at my bedside. When I looked up, I saw dark eyes.

　Fialat-la-Volgograd. Those bright eyes narrowed in a slightly dour manner. He didn't seem to be in a very good mood. I wonder... Did I do something wrong?

　Perhaps it's because I've been doing nothing but sleeping and waking up repeatedly since the act on the throne. My memory is often fuzzy. My consciousness itself had become dull.

"Good morning, Fialaat. It would be better if the pretty lady would smile.

"...... Well, that depends on your attitude. But it's okay, I'll at least get you breakfast.

　But that's okay, I'll at least get you breakfast." With that, Fialaat gave a slight smile and hurried out of the room. I would have preferred a drink anyway, but I didn't want to offend him.

　Once I was alone, the haze in my head finally lifted. My brain was beginning to remember what had just happened.

　The demon. The battle against Drigman the Controller.

　The scales of victory had tipped in favor of the humans, after much luck and unbearable sacrifice. Otherwise, I would have been a corpse like a rag.

　But even in victory, everyone has wounds. I was, my friends were, and so was King's Landing itself.

　I looked out the small window at the streets of King's Landing. I had heard that they were using a mansion somewhere, but judging by the great view, they must have gotten a very expensive one.

　But even from this vantage point, King's Landing was a terrible place.

　Most of the once glorious streets have been turned into black coal, and there is no sign of the noblemen driving their carriages with gusto.

　People walking the streets are constantly injured, and the number of people themselves seems to have dwindled considerably.

　Well, one of the reasons for that is not only the demonic rule. It's not only the demonic reign, but also some old man's booming fires in the capital.

　But it's all the work of the demons. Victory is a wonderful thing. It puts all the blame on the enemy.

　But not all of King's Landing had become shabby. Even after it burns down, there are always new ores to shine.

　I saw one of them from my window. I squinted.

　--There was a shout of joy on the scarred boulevard. At the center of it all was Her Royal Highness, in full regalia, waving to the citizens.



　She had a smile on her cheeks that I had never seen before, and she reached out to everyone in that way. It was hard to believe that she had once been called a poisonous woman.

　At least the woman I spoke with in the city of Philos was the kind of person who hated such popularity games and said that fair politics was all that mattered. I wonder if she has changed her mind. I can't help but feel that I am looking at a different person.

　That thing entered the capital through the Great Gate with such dignity, it must have been unbearable for the Garristo soldiers who must have entered the capital first.

　In any case, the heraldic religion, which was supposed to be the enemy, brought a person who claimed to be a princess of the Garlist Kingdom and even the nobles and lords who supported her.

　How would the citizens of the capital judge it?

　In fact, the Garlist soldiers were the first to send down the demonic soldiers and open the gates, but only a few would think that the heraldry took advantage of that and let the princess enter.

　Citizens will choose a story that is easier to understand and accept.

　Bottom line. A delusion of justice and compassion, in which the princess herself, who had been thrown out of the city by the king, came to save the city with her garrison of garrulists, is more understandable and therefore more redeeming.

　If I had to choose, I would choose the one with salvation. The mind of a demonized and exhausted citizen does not want to see the reality of the wasteland.

　Of course there's someone who knows the truth. And the Garristo soldiers can't interfere just because they don't have the right to influence the kingdom, but they will try their best to fight it.

　But if the majority of the people still think so, the truth can be easily changed. At least that's how Mattia and Erdis will work.

　Then there's nothing more for me to do. Politics is far beyond my control. I'll just leave it to those who can.

　A few moments later, Fialaat delivered the food. Her well-groomed black hair swayed gently.

　The dish was a hot soup with rabbit meat and vegetables roasted together. It was a surprisingly lavish meal considering the devastation in King's Landing.

　Looking at it in front of the bed, I suddenly thought. I can move my arms and legs quite well, don't you think? I didn't know you could eat by yourself.

　Come to think of it, this time my whole body didn't creak and sob and become immobile like before. There was some discomfort, but not as much as the previous injury.

　I can't say it was a minor injury this time. He had stood up to the Drigman. His bones and muscles must have been torn as many times as possible. And yet his body felt strangely light.

　Rather than pain, a strange thirst was stronger. There was even a sense of urgency, as if something was missing, as if something had to be taken. It's not the same as just being hungry. I don't know what it is.

　Perhaps if I ate, these incomprehensible thoughts would disappear. With this thought in mind, he picked up the tableware, and at the same time, a voice rang out.

"I'm coming in. You're finally awake, aren't you, Lugis?

　I slid the dish out of my hand. The voice sounded like a cat's, very grumpy. And there's more than one sign.

　I don't care if I have a nightmare, I'll just close my eyelids again. Such thoughts even crossed my mind.