"Greetings, Sir Diarca. You're always hard at work, aren't you?"

"..."

A middle-aged man with a gracious demeanor, his cloak thrown over his shoulders, offered his salutations to Kiolle da Diarca, who stood at the entrance of the Bright Palace. The three young men following him hastily bowed their heads in greeting.

Wearing armor that bore the insignia of the Bright Palace, where the Crown Prince resided, Kiolle didn't even bother to glance at the faces of those who greeted him. It was an obvious snub, yet the other party seemed unbothered. He stood there smiling as if he could wait forever in good spirits.

'Damn it.'

Once again, Kiolle found himself on the losing end of an invisible battle.

Sighing, he reluctantly led the man inside. Though the Bright Palace lived up to its name with countless windows allowing abundant sunlight, it was now shrouded in darkness, the windows covered by heavy curtains despite the daytime.

They walked through the gaping darkness of the corridor and headed toward the chamber where the Crown Prince was staying. The knights guarding the door stepped aside with a salute upon seeing Kiolle's face.

Kiolle approached the door and knocked. A moment later, the sound of a lock being undone came from within.

This was as far as Kiolle was allowed to go. He opened the door, looked down at the visitors with a furrowed brow, and spoke.

"Go in."

"You seem to be in a rather foul mood again today, heh heh. We'll speak again shortly."

With a jovial tone, the man entered first, and the three following him hurriedly scurried in after him. Unlike the carefree middle-aged man, Kiolle's demeanor suggested he was somewhat dispirited.

'Every time I see them, they leave a bad taste in my mouth.'

Kiolle turned away, glaring at the closed door. The knights who were guarding it deliberately looked elsewhere, as if afraid their eyes might meet his.

It had been several days since he was transferred from the Imperial Knights to the Bright Palace by his father's orders. Though he had become the closest personal guard to the Crown Prince immediately upon his arrival, Kiolle was far from pleased.

After nearly being assassinated, Crown Prince Katchian seemed to have lost some of his mental stability. To begin with, there were no mirrors in the Bright Palace. This was because Katchian would fly into a fit of rage every time he saw the scar that supposedly marred his cheek and chin.

The prince would frequently become restless for no reason, lash out in anger, and isolate himself. It was impossible to know how to respond when he claimed the barely noticeable scar was vivid and large. His sudden bursts of profanity and refusal to eat had become almost routine.

Given the situation, Kiolle could understand why Duke Diarca had not chosen someone else to serve as the guard. However, the most significant problem was that the Crown Prince vehemently rejected Kiolle's presence.

Whenever the Crown Prince saw Kiolle, he would run into his room without a greeting and lock the door. Each time, Kiolle was left to taste a subtle annoyance. It was hard to believe this was the same person who had once greeted Kiolle with smiles and compliments. Given the circumstances, Kiolle felt helpless and frustrated, his tongue tied because of the identity of the one he served.

Even Duke Diarca, who seldom issued harsh punishments to Kiolle, had strictly ordered that this particular matter was not to be taken lightly. This only added to Kiolle's frustration, as he couldn't discuss it openly with anyone. Some of his siblings, believing that the task Kiolle was entrusted with was of great importance, made no effort to hide their jeers whenever they encountered him. Had they known the reality, they likely would have laughed it off, saying, "Well, if that's all it is."

Externally, Kiolle carried himself as if he was perfectly content with the situation, but he truly despised itespecially guiding the unidentified commoners.

These individuals, who had gained nearly exclusive access to the Crown Prince's chamber, had begun appearing after Kiolle had become a knight escort. Although they claimed to be merchants dealing in jewels and clothing, they were actually 'healers' who had gained notoriety among the nobles.

They had caught the Duke of Diarca's eye by successfully treating the migraine headaches of Baron Durmand, a close friend of the Duke. While the Duke had always been skeptical about such mystical practices, he seemed to consider these healers as an exception.

As far as Kiolle knew, their initial fame among the nobility arose when they similarly cured a few individuals connected to the Apeto family. The Duke tested their skills by sending them to treat others suffering from ailments similar to Baron Durmand's. When even those patients praised the healers' abilities, the Duke covertly initiated contact to see if they could treat mental disorders as well.

And that had led to this current situation.

When these unknown commoners first appeared, Kiolle felt as if the air itself had been polluted. In particular, a middle-aged man, who seemed to be their leader, infuriated Kiolle; no matter how much he glared, the man remained utterly shameless.

Yet astonishingly, after a brief and secretive conversation with them, the Crown Prince began to allow them limited visits.

The audacity! That they could freely roam areas where even Kiolle had been denied access by Duke Diarca.

As if that weren't bad enough, he couldn't discuss this disgraceful affair with anyone else, and he alone had to bring them in and escort them out.

For the first time in his life, he found orders from his father and the Crown Prince utterly repulsive. No matter how much he showed his reluctance, the Duke of Diarca was adamant.

"Of course it's distasteful, but we have no choice if they prove effective. If they don't, you are to dispose of them yourself. That's why you are there, Kiolle," the Duke coldly stated.

The Duke believed that these measures were necessary to stabilize the volatile emotions the Crown Prince held towards the Diarca family, and to administer treatment before any further deterioration of his mental state.

But how could he approve of this, when he couldn't even properly see what kind of treatment they were conducting within the Crown Princes chamber?

Sure, the attendant who is on standby inside says it's alright... but can I really trust that? And if something goes wrong, won't it all fall back on me?

Damn it. This situation was even worse than the oath laid by that commoner from the Cavalry, Yuder Aile!

While cursing inwardly, Kiolle noticed a red mark peeking out from where his arms were folded. The sight of that mark, evidence of the oath he'd shared with Yuder Aile, brought back memories of their encounter a few days ago.

That day marked a welcome ceremony held for the Cavalry returning from their duties in the west. Kiolle had little desire to attend, but had no choice when he was summoned by Duke Diarca.

As he arrived, he noted familiar nobles sitting with faces as if they were chewing on dirt. Clearly, the fact that he ultimately showed up indicated that the "incident" that had transpired was bothering everyone in various ways.

On that day, Kiolle was not as shocked by the appearance of the Emperorwho had shown himself for the first time in yearsas he was by his father. Instead, he couldn't take his eyes off Yuder Aile, who had descended from the carriage with Duke Peletta and walked proudly to the gathering.

Indeed, the audacity of Yuder Aile's actions in the west had become widely rumored even in the capital. The extraordinary man who single-handedly severed the neck of a colossal monster, or the shameless debauchee who mingled physically with Duke Peletta daily in Tainu.

People secretly wondered which face of Yuder Aile was the real one. Some speculated that this might be a new, intriguing hobby for the ever-curious Duke Peletta, while others disparaged Yuder as a powerful commoner who had climbed his way up by seducing the Duke.

And indeed, seeing Yuder Aile again, Kiolle felt that he didn't fit neatly into either category, yet somehow could belong to either.

The first time he'd seen him, Yuder had appeared as pallid and unpleasant as a ghost. But whatever he had eaten or done in the west, his complexion now looked exceedingly healthy. He didn't seem diminished in the least even beside Duke Peletta, who was like a monumental barrier, alluring as a nightmare that drew people's eyes toward him.

The damned man. Unbelievably healthy. Kiolle cursed internally as he watched, and as if Yuder had read his thoughts, he turned his head. For a brief moment, their eyes met. Feeling as if his inner thoughts had been exposed, Kiolle quickly averted his gaze.

When he looked back, Yuder was no longer looking at him.