Rick could tell something was wrong with him.
Tristan was trying to maintain his composure, but the way he fidgeted betrayed his unease.
A moment later, he finally stood up.
"Excuse me for a moment... I have a stomachache."
"A-Ah! Yes, Your Highness. No need to explain!"
That was definitely information no one needed to hear.
Does he have no shame? Why would he even say that?
As Tristan disappeared into the shadows, Rick absentmindedly chewed on a piece of meat, his thoughts a tangled mess.
Now he was left alone with Arthur—a man just as difficult to deal with, albeit for entirely different reasons.
I do not want to hear even a single second about how you feel about Maria!
Desperately, Rick searched for a way to shut him up.
But it was too late. Arthur spoke first.
And it was a topic Rick hadn’t expected.
"Prince Tristan and Lady Doris’s relationship seems to be going well. Normally, I wouldn't discuss other people's affairs, but I think it’s important to clear up any misunderstandings regarding their bond."
"...Excuse me? Duke, are you close with His Highness, or with Doris?"
"Neither. But back in May, at the royal banquet, I had the opportunity to dance and converse with Lady Doris."
"And she mentioned her fiancé?"
What the hell was this about?
Rick nearly scoffed.
The royal banquet was a place where only polished words were spoken. Of course Doris would have spoken highly of her engagement, and this naive man had taken her words at face value.
But then, Arthur dropped something far worse.
"At the time, Lady Doris was convinced that His Highness was interested in Lady Maria rather than herself. While we were dancing, she asked me if I could help her win his attention."
"...What?"
"I heard it with my own ears."
Arthur's voice was unwavering.
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Doris Redfield, you really said something ridiculous, didn’t you?
So it was out of obligation to your family that you tried to maintain this engagement, right?
But then Arthur continued, launching another verbal cannonball.
"She seemed to genuinely like Prince Tristan. She said he was incredible, attractive, the kind of man every woman would turn around to look at... She praised him so much that even I started blushing."
"......."
"Even the usually reserved Lady Doris was passionate when it came to love, enough to ask for help from someone she barely knew."
"Ah, you—"
"Haha, it's hard to imagine, isn’t it? I wasn't able to be of much help, but in the end, it seems like they’re doing well together, so I’m relieved."
Rick clamped his mouth shut.
What the hell did I just hear?
Doris... liked Tristan? She admired his looks?
Doris. You wanted Tristan's love that badly?
Arthur, completely oblivious to the existential crisis he had just inflicted, smiled warmly.
"That’s why I believe in the power of love. Love eventually brings everyone to where they belong, ensuring their happiness. So, as a friend of my beloved lady... Rick?"
"...Would it be alright if I drank this?"
Rick picked up the wine bottle.
There was plenty of alcohol left. But Arthur, noticing Rick’s troubled expression, hesitated.
"Of course, but... Rick, are you alright?"
"I’m absolutely fine. Yes. Perfectly fine. Nothing has changed. I just suddenly felt like having a drink."
"Uh... Rick, that’s not a glass you’re holding in your left hand. That’s a beer keg—don’t pour it!"
"......."
Rick stared blankly at the beer keg, now stained red.
It’s fine. I’m fine. Nothing has changed, right?
The woman and the man had been engaged for years.
The man was destined to inherit Blue Atrium.
The woman loved the man. The man had proven his worth.
Perfect.
Any distaste for political marriages, any harsh realities of war—none of it mattered # Nоvеlight # in the face of such a beautiful, perfect story.
"I’ll take care of this drink myself."
"It’s a waste, though. You really don’t have to—"
"Actually, this is exactly how I like to drink."
"Oh! There’s a certain charm to it, I see. I’ll have to try it sometime!"
Honest and virtuous in everything, aren’t you?
Arthur continued talking, but Rick wasn’t listening anymore.
Instead, he tilted the keg and let himself drown in liquor.
He wanted to get drunk.
Doris wasn’t here to see him crumble.
Maria wasn’t here to worry over him if he slipped up and let his feelings show.
But before Rick could reach true intoxication, the keg ran dry.
As he took a step back, he noticed the ground around him was dyed red.
A crack in the keg, maybe? It must have leaked during transport.
Ha... Haha! Why the hell does nothing ever go my way?
Rick let out a laugh.
No one paid him any mind—half the camp was drunk anyway.
Arthur had already left to handle the soldiers who had passed out.
A man with real battlefield experience didn’t just fight—he also managed his subordinates.
Arthur was adept at carrying unconscious men, moving with practiced ease.
I should go help...
But Rick didn’t move.
It was childish, but he was tired of being overshadowed by Arthur’s perfection.
Handsome, kind, strong, noble—he was practically a divine gift molded specifically for Maria.
Yet instead of heading to his tent, Rick found his body moving on its own.
He cleaned up the plates.
He covered the dying fire with sand.
He gathered the leftover firewood.
His hands and feet stayed busy, working without pause.
A soldier passing by commented.
"You’re working hard, man. You were going all out earlier when we were fortifying the camp, too."
"Haha, a young guy’s gotta use his strength while he’s got it. Need me for anything?"
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"You’re not getting extra pay for this, you know. Take it easy."
"Hey, who knows? Maybe some kind noble will decide to take me on as a servant."
A joke. A twisted joke.
A long time ago, when it was just Rick and his mother wandering from place to place...
Whenever the word father was mentioned, his mother would clam up like a locked chest.
But on the one night she had been truly drunk, she had let slip a single sentence.
"He was... a nobleman."
As a boy, Rick had treasured those words, keeping them like a secret fortune.
And he never asked about his father again.
Instead, he imagined.
A nobleman—his father must have been unable to go against his family’s wishes.
A tragic love story.
What kind of man had he been? Rick looked like his mother, but his broad frame must have come from his father. Maybe he was a knight commander.
So Rick worked diligently wherever he went.
He took on tasks that others avoided.
He treated everyone with kindness.
Because one day, his father might find him.
And when that day came, Rick wanted to stand tall as a son his father could be proud of.
But time was cruel.
And the world was unforgiving.
His dreams withered. His mother was consumed by illness, worsened by poverty.
And before she died, she saw right through the hopes he had never spoken aloud.
"Never expect anything from your father. He was a bastard."
Whether it was a blessing or a curse, by then, Rick had already given up on the fantasy.
After his mother’s death, he lied about his age and joined a mercenary group.
He had talent with the sword and quickly proved himself.
By the time he had grown used to that brutal way of life—
"Hey, kid... your mother’s name wouldn’t happen to be ‘Leira,’ would it?"
A messenger from Count Braum had found him.
And from that moment, Rick’s life was thrown into chaos.
The father he had once hoped to meet with pride turned out to be a disgrace.
A man who had seduced a maid, cast her aside, and only sought her out years later when he found himself without an heir.
And even after tracking Rick down, the bastard never met him in person.
Every word, every order was passed through messengers.
"Mother, I think you actually understated how much of a bastard he was."
Count Braum wasn’t just a bastard.
He wasn’t even worthy of being dog food.
But Rick couldn’t just let it go.
He wanted to take everything he could from the man.
At the very least, he wanted to give his mother a proper burial.
...But the Redfield Count had interfered.
And Rick had been unable to attend the trial.
That was the end of it.
The moment his mission was complete, he quit being a mercenary and disappeared.
Count Braum would undoubtedly send some disgusting message telling him to keep his mouth shut.
Don’t worry. I never want to see you again either.
And so, Rick wandered.
Until he found a peaceful land.
And he met Maria.
And he learned what true peace was.
Even if he couldn’t stay by her side forever—
He could still strive for the peace she had taught him.
It had been five years. He had shed his mercenary past.
Even the name Blue Atrium no longer stirred his anger.
Now, all he thought about was finishing this mission and returning to the capital.
For now, let’s just clean up this feast.
But storms never announce their arrival.
As he stepped into the underbrush to dispose of the trash—
A voice stabbed into his ears.
"Well, well... Could it be? You’re Leira’s son?"
Rick turned slowly.
That voice.
It was one he could never forget.
Standing there was the very messenger who had first delivered the storm that upended his life, five years ago.