Fate, who never harbored thoughts of usurping the throne, had the Imperial Golden Seal—the symbol of the Regent’s authority—handed to Beatrice, then left the empire without hesitation.

From rising from nothing to ruling the realm, he could grasp power and release it with equal ease, never clinging to the throne of status or authority.

He’d briefly considered bidding Beatrice farewell in person, but soon decided it was unnecessary.

Anyone with eyes could see Beatrice had long been quietly preparing to undermine him and reclaim power—they’d simply not yet dropped the pretense. A deliberate goodbye would only bring awkwardness to both sides.

Moreover…

The blood feud between them—her father’s death—would not fade, despite nearly a decade of close coexistence.

He knew her obedience and trust were reluctant compromises. Once she gained strength to rival his, she would never bow to anyone again.

Fate’s intuition whispered: that day was near.

Years of shared storms had passed. Even if Beatrice felt nothing for him, he’d long seen her as his little sister. Emotionally, he dreaded the day blades would cross between them.

In his eyes, her vengeance was justified—but he’d never regret his choice.

Back then, the empire was rotten to the core, land seized relentlessly, forcing commoners into rebellion.

Think clearly—who risks their life rebelling if they can simply eat? Rising against nobles who monopolized magic meant marching straight to the guillotine.

The people weren’t fools. Rebellion might delay death; without it, starvation or frost would claim them today.

Stripped of land and home, they had nothing. Wasn’t their labor’s worth entirely at the nobles’ mercy?

Fate sought not to overthrow the empire, but to save it. The empire belonged to all its people—not just the aristocracy.

So even if Beatrice came for vengeance one day, he’d feel no regret.

A knight owes no blind loyalty to kings, nor faith to illusory gods. What matters is the justice and righteousness within.

And now, the Dawnbreaker Knight was confirmed "deceased." Let him fade quietly with history’s tide.

"Is that… truly what you think?" Nia stammered. "But, Master… Her Majesty holds no resentment…"

Fate waved her off and took a slow sip of tea.

Their bond was too tangled for outsiders to grasp.

Neither he nor Nia drank. Wine at the Crimson Neon was mere protocol—consumption optional.

"Let the past stay buried. I still bear the name Fate, but I am no longer Knight Fate. Just an ordinary man."

"Nia. Do you understand?"

Beneath his gaze, Nia fell silent.

She did. His words clearly meant: sever all ties. Never speak of him. Never reveal he lived.

Not even to Empress Beatrice.

A knot tightened in her chest. As the Empress’s personal guard, loyalty was her duty—but Fate asked her to deceive her sovereign…

Was this betrayal?

"Nia," Fate continued, voice low, "I seek no entanglements with the past. And truthfully… I no longer have the strength to protect anyone. Not even myself."

Nia’s eyes flickered with dawning realization.

"Master… you mean… you’re now…?"

"Resurrection has its price."

She understood instantly. Fate had few personal enemies, but his public foes stretched from the Imperial Capital to the Elven Lands. He’d shattered too many thrones of power.

If word spread he lived—and weakened—his life would be in peril.

"This disciple understands," Nia declared, resolute. Between Empress and Master, she chose her Master.

Duty bound her to Beatrice. But Fate was her savior, the one who pulled her from a slavemaster’s whip. She knew where her heart truly lay.

"Mm. Thank you."

"Master… you’re thanking *me*?" Nia pouted slightly, cheeks warming.

"My apologies," Fate murmured, glancing away.

Seeing his profile, a faint blush dusted Nia’s face.

*So handsome…*

Yet something felt different. Not forced—undeniably her Master—but his gestures now carried delicate grace, unlike his old rough-and-tumble ways. His features seemed almost too refined.

*But he’s still a man. Definitely.*

"Speaking of which," Fate shifted tone after settling his own matters, "as the Empress’s personal guard… why are you in a remote place like Bati City?"

"Oh! Her Majesty sent me by verbal decree to investigate something."

"I see." Fate didn’t press further. No longer knight or official, prying would overstep. He’d never burden his disciple.

"It’s minor—just a wine cup," Nia added casually. To her, sharing with Master mattered more than the Empress’s secrecy.

*How could duty outweigh him?*

"A cup? Has she taken interest in artifacts?"

"Not exactly… Her Majesty trusted no one else. She tasked me personally to trace one valuable cup’s origin."

"Black market records and the seller’s testimony led here. He likely acquired it in Bati City."

"I see." Fate let it go. He couldn’t guess why the cup warranted such effort.

*Not my concern anymore. She’s capable. I’ll just pray our paths never cross again—avoid complications.*

A stray thought surfaced:

Beatrice’s magic had always stunned the world. In his absence, her bloodline awakening must have advanced greatly.

*Could I still trounce that little brat like before?*

"By the way, Nia," Fate’s tone turned solemn, recalling Lide and the others, "there is a matter I wish to entrust to you."