The people who had set out to find the Dark Priest returned to the manor.
This news quickly spread throughout the entire manor via the servants. Before long, everyone in the manor began to chatter about it.
No matter how much it was the lord’s residence, it was just a simple manor in a rural territory.
There were only mundane topics in the air. Then, all of a sudden, an unusual major incident occurred, naturally drawing everyone’s attention.
Moreover, it was an incident related to the ‘Dark Cult.’
This was a matter that could directly impact their safety. No matter how much one might want to ignore it, it was impossible not to be concerned.
The manor was thus enveloped in a restless yet gloomy atmosphere.
Rumors were circulating that Miss Liya was crying, and that blood had come from Young Lord Ian’s abdomen, pointing to an ominous future.
Furthermore, didn’t the faces of the companions accompanying Young Lord Ian also look confused?
No one knew where the Rainelle Clan’s magic troops were or what they were doing. It was understandable that the manor’s servants felt anxious.
However, the one who faced the greatest trial in the manor was someone else entirely.
That protagonist was none other than Reto Einsten.
He was trudging toward the lobby upon hearing the news of his friends’ return. Suddenly, he was grabbed by Celin’s hand and dragged into the reception room.
At first, he wore a puzzled expression.
But when four women who radiated coldness took their seats before him, there was no way for even Reto to endure it.
He couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh and raise his hands.
It was a signal of surrender.
“……What is it, ladies?”
From then on, Reto had to answer the women’s questions with utmost sincerity.
“So, that man is ‘Ian’ from the future?”
“Yes, that’s correct, Lady Virgin Saint.”
Reto’s response was unimpeded.
After all, hadn’t the ‘Ian’ from the future told him to ask Reto? This was practically an indication that it was fine to disclose information, so there was no reason for him to hesitate further.
Of course, not many would easily trust Reto’s statement.
It was just too hard to believe.
One of them was Elsi.
She frowned slightly and spoke in a somewhat sharp tone.
She looked decidedly displeased.
“……How can you be so sure?”
Reto cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.
His face was somewhat troubled.
But, as always, he quickly found a way out. With a sly smile, he flicked his tongue.
“Well, I have my methods. There are a few secrets that I share with Ian. For instance, Celin at twelve years old…”
“Ah, ahhhhhh!”
The one who reacted vehemently was Celin.
She turned bright red and immediately waved her hands in desperation.
It was a sign to stop talking about it.
So flustered was she that her eyes were darting around erratically.
“I-I’ll believe! I-I’ll vouch for him! That person is definitely my brother Ian!”
Only then did Reto wear a satisfied smile.
Celin had stood alongside Ian at the front lines. Regardless of his exploits, the trust among comrades would naturally be stronger than with Reto.
And even if the trust among comrades was not great, it didn’t matter.
Reto had thus gained an ally.
Thanks to this, the disastrous revelation of Reto’s embarrassing past did not occur.
It was a guarantee from two people who had known each other for the longest time.
Perhaps seeing no reason to doubt this, Elsi eventually grumbled and fell silent.
Of course, that didn’t mean it was a story that could be easily accepted.
Ceria let out a long sigh, as if expressing these sentiments.
“So, the ‘Ian’ senior from the future…”
That kind Ian senior would become such a cold-hearted person in the future?
The man Ceria knew seemed like someone who wouldn’t bleed even if pricked.
His skill, without a doubt, was solid.
The image of him swiftly slaughtering the test subjects was still vivid in her mind. Ceria, who was somewhat versed in swords, understood how deep each technique the man possessed was.
Of all the swordsmen Ceria had seen, the strongest so far had been Delphine.
While the former Yuridina Marquis might be slightly stronger in his prime, she couldn’t recall anything from such a young age. Thus, Ceria’s sun would always be Delphine.
But even if it were her beloved sister, could she replicate the dignity the man had shown?
It was impossible.
It was more akin to a fight worthy of the annals of the masters, who could cleave mountains and part seas.
However, the man was emotionally faint beyond his remarkable abilities.
He was a person who had worn down his humanity to dust like pebbles. Yet he was the future ‘Ian senior’?
This was an unbelievable story.
And it was a story they did not wish to accept.
This was not just a sentiment held by Ceria alone.
The women were each lost in their complicated feelings. Mostly, they maintained silence with somber expressions.
As if anticipating this reaction, Reto scratched his head and sighed.
Then comforting words flowed from his mouth.
“Don’t worry too much. That ‘Ian’ who came from the future is not a certain future. Rather, Ian is currently working hard not to become that way. So, if I am to explain this further, I would also have to talk about the ‘love letter from the future’…”
It was at that moment that the door to the reception room swung open.
Stepping through the gap was the person who had become the center of the discussion.
His golden eyes were soaked with great fatigue.
His name was ‘Ian Fercurus,’ the core of the group and who was referred to as the rising celestial man.
However, the embodiment of that being was merely an existence from a future time unknown to anyone.
Striding forward, he held bottles of whiskey in both hands.
Naturally, he made his way to the highest seat in the reception room.
It was originally the seat where the head of the family would sit, the place reserved for the individual of the highest status.
He then placed the whiskey he had brought onto the table.
Immediately, he uncorked one of the bottles and began drinking straight from it.
It was a barbaric way of drinking.
That was a bold drinking style typically seen in the Northern Region. It was a habit only seen in military cultures dominated by masculinity.
Ceria had only seen this a few times in passing.
Thus, the group was momentarily rendered speechless.
The sudden arrival of the man drinking straight from the bottle left them with no words.
They could only stare in blank amazement at the man.
Regardless, the man seemed completely unconcerned.
He simply dropped the whiskey bottle onto the table with a thud.
It was a noise that brought everyone out of their stupor.
The suddenly awakened group turned their attention to him.
Finally, the man wiped his mouth and spoke.
“……Let’s get right to the point, we need to abandon the territory.”
That was as abrupt a statement as his entrance.
The women’s silence extended for a bit longer.
It was only natural.
For nobles, territories were akin to life itself. This was no different for Ian, who often revealed his fondness for the territory’s people.
Yet even if he was ‘Ian’ from the future, to suggest abandoning the territory was a significant leap in logic.
The disparity was too great for the women to respond.
Only Reto, who had some understanding of the man’s disposition, dared to ask.
“Why?”
It was neither a condemnation nor a denial.
In response to that fundamental question, the man replied plainly.
“Because we can’t protect it anyway. Once the ritual of the Dark Cult begins, the retinue of the Evil God will emerge. Even if we fight with all our strength, we won’t stand a chance.”
“……Even with the Yuridina Clan’s soldiers?”
It was Ceria’s rebuttal.
The man silently turned his gaze to Ceria.
Faced with that indifferent stare, Ceria trembled slightly and averted her gaze.
She found it exceptionally hard to accept the reality that the man she loved could meet such a sad ending.
No, perhaps it wasn’t just Ceria. Everyone might feel the same way.
Of course, the man did not care about the expressions of the women.
He simply continued to speak.
“That’s right, whether there are soldiers or magic troops doesn’t matter. It’s more rational to retreat than to incur unnecessary sacrifices.”
“……How much time do we have?”
“Three days at most.”
It was a dialogue with Reto.
The moment the word ‘three days’ was uttered, a loud bang resonated as someone slammed their hand on the table.
It was the Lady Virgin Saint.
Noticing her inadvertent action, she appeared momentarily flustered but soon regained her composure and quietly questioned.
“Three days is far too little. This is not just land; it’s a place of life! Surely, there must be at least hundreds of territory residents who cannot leave…”
“There’s nothing that can be done.”
The man replied while gulping down more whiskey.
“……We have to let go of what must be let go.”
His voice carried no trace of emotion.
