Chapter 68
“I visited the kingdom as a child.”
“Yes. I know.”
“There, I met a girl who saved my life.”
This, too, was something Katie knew well—because she was that girl.
But she’d never imagined Helion would bring it up himself.
‘Why now, after all this time keeping silent…?’
The emotions swirling inside her moments ago settled like sediment.
She was a knight of little standing, her true identity still unclear. If this was a story he could share so casually with someone like her, he should’ve spoken of it long before the war began.
“Seeing her made me think: perhaps beastfolk are more human than humans. This empire is full of people who’ve forgotten how to be human.”
At last, Helion released the strand of hair he’d been tormenting. Instead, his hand seized her chin, forcing her to face him.
“Oh? A moment ago, your eyes were moved. Now they’re disappointed.”
“They’ve never looked like that.”
“If only your mouth were as honest as your eyes.”
“You want me to be honest?”
“Naturally.”
If he was handing her the opportunity to criticize him, she wouldn’t refuse. Katie drew a breath and voiced the words she’d been pressing down.
“Then I’ll risk disrespect and ask, Why didn’t you tell the emperor about that girl? Had you merely mentioned that a kingdom citizen saved you, things might never have escalated to war.”
“So you think the war is my fault too?”
The question had nothing to do with what she’d asked. Katie sensed he was dodging her inquiry.
“I asked first. Answer me properly.”
Helion, too, felt the other party was avoiding answering. Irritated, he replied sarcastically:
“You say that as if you’ve entrusted me with some solemn duty.”
Bringing up the story of his savior had been an unintended impulse. He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d even wanted from Katie.
Sympathy for his feelings toward his savior? Pity for the boy who’d been threatened by his own kind and saved by a beastfolk?
Truthfully, he might have wanted to see her flustered.
Even though he knew it was impossible—because that person was already dead. Maybe then, he could have superimposed some delusion onto her similar features—”What if this woman is my savior?”
Had Katie spun some absurd tale claiming she was that savior, Helion would have gladly played along.
This hellish reality demanded illusions. Even if he knew it was a lie—even if he knew it was poison—he would have drunk it down, just like how he spent every night with this woman of unknown origins.
But all he got in return was this—her accusations.
“That day, the reason I didn’t mention the child was—”
Helion swallowed back the retort that threatened to spill out reflexively.
What was the point of saying more? Digging up the past had already gone far enough. If anything, it only confirmed that no matter how much he tried to see her as his savior, this woman was nothing more than a replacement.
He could never expect warmth from Katie like he had from his savior. The heat she gave him every night was merely the price of their transaction—a far cry from the kindness of the one who’d saved him.
Katie’s face was still waiting for an answer. For some reason, the corners of her mouth were stiff.
Seeing her resolute expression—as if she’d stand there waiting forever—the frustration that had coiled inside him moments ago unraveled.
With anyone else, he would never have relented. But before this woman, his resolve kept crumbling. Finally, Helion let out what sounded like a sigh.
“Twelve is a young age, Katie. You have to understand that.”
The Helion of twelve was nothing like the man he was now. Frail, as children often are. A walking corpse waiting for death. He’d followed his parents to the kingdom knowing it would kill him—preferring a quick end to the constant terror of assassination. That was how he’d lived, until she saved him.
The tension in Katie’s stiff jaw loosened. After a long silence, she spoke in a voice thick with something unspoken.
“I see.”
Helion’s answer was far more pathetic than she’d expected. Twelve is a young age—was that all he could muster? Even by his own standards, it was the kind of excuse a twelve-year-old might make. Worse than no answer at all. Yet Katie couldn’t bring herself to scorn him for it.
Why do you say it like you’re begging me to understand?
She quickly lowered her gaze to hide the tremor in her pupils. Twelve. A number she’d never considered now struck her with sudden weight.
As he’d said, it was too young an age to bear responsibility for a war.
But Katie had been eight. She, too, had been far too young to carry the guilt of that conflict.
I should have let him die. It would have been better for everyone.
That guilt was the price for showing kindness to someone who’d never asked for it. She’d carried it all the way to this distant empire. So how could Helion turn away from his share of blame?
“Some responsibilities can’t be avoided, no matter the reason.”
“Cruel words… from that face of yours.”
His voice was like the viscous pull of a swamp, dragging the listener into its depressive depths.
But Katie knew better. These were crocodile tears. The moment she softened, he’d betray her again—trampling any goodwill beneath his heel.
Once was enough. The one deserving pity isn’t him—it’s you.
She steeled her aching heart. If she didn’t resent him, she’d resent herself—regretting the day she’d saved a life.
So this war had to be Helion’s fault. Believing he’d repaid kindness with betrayal was the only way she could keep breathing.
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