The lake water was black.
Not ordinary black—pitch black, like oil, like a starless night. Albert stood in its center, the water reaching his chest. Cold. Not ordinary cold, but the kind that seeped into bones, into marrow, into the deepest places that could never be warmed.
He tried to move, but his legs were heavy. He looked down.
Beneath the black water's surface were faces.
Klaus. Stefan. Lukas. Gerold. Gerda. Marta. Dozens of faces whose names he knew by heart. Hundreds he didn't. They all stared at him from within the water, eyes open, mouths moving, whispering without sound.
Albert tried to scream, but no sound came out.
He tried to run. The water grew deeper, now reaching his neck. Chin. Mouth.
Those faces drew closer. Hands emerged from the water—pale, rotting, some reduced to bone—reaching for him, pulling him, clutching his clothes, his hair, his skin.
"Sorry..." he whispered. "Sorry... I'm sorry..."
But they didn't care. They kept pulling. Water reached his nose, his eyes, and then he sank.
Dark, cold, and silent.
And from within that darkness, one voice rang out clearly. A voice he recognized.
"Albert."
He jolted awake.
Air rushed into his lungs like knives. He sat up in bed, his body trembling violently, sweat soaking his entire frame. Cold, sticky sweat that clung uncomfortably.
His hands shook. He raised them before his face, watching his fingers tremble uncontrollably. His heart pounded too fast, too hard, until he could hear it in his ears.
Breathe... He had to control his breathing.
Inhale, hold, then exhale slowly.
He turned to the side.
Luise.
The woman was asleep on the bed, her head bowed, black hair covering part of her face. Her chest rose and fell slowly, rhythmically.
Albert looked at her for a moment. Amid all the chaos in his head, there was one point of calm.
But then his gaze shifted to the bed. To the place he'd just woken.
A red stain.
On the white sheet, where his body had lain, there was a mark. Not large—but red.
He knew what it was.
He sat still, staring at the red stain on the sheet.
Luise was still sleeping.
Albert stood slowly. His body swayed—legs weak, head spinning. But he pushed through. Walked to the table, picked up the water pitcher. Poured into a cup. Cold water ran down his throat, clearing his mind a little.
He set the cup down. Glanced at the bed once more.
The red stain was still there. A reality he couldn't ignore.
Albert walked to the wardrobe, took out clean clothes—trousers, a linen shirt, the green Götthain cloak. His movements were slow, heavy, like someone recovering from a severe illness.
After changing, he took a damp cloth and tried to clean the stain on the sheet as best he could. Not perfect—but at least it was less conspicuous.
He glanced at Luise again. Still asleep.
In his head, something stirred. Something he'd been thinking about for a long time but kept putting off.
Alena.
His fiancée. The girl with fiery red hair and warm brown eyes who wrote him letters every month.
And Luise. The woman beside him every night, who held him when nightmares came, who cared for him when he fell, who gripped his hand and said "I'm here" in a voice that made him want to keep living.
He couldn't hurt either of them. He had to resolve this maturely.
Albert walked to the door. Before leaving, he glanced back one more time. Looked at Luise sleeping on the bed, her hair disheveled, dark circles beneath her eyes.
Later... He would think about it later.
Right now, he needed to wash his face.
***
The water was shockingly cold.
Albert submerged his face, letting the cold seep in, freezing the memories still dancing in his head. When he lifted his face, the water in the basin had turned faintly red—not blood, just sweat and dirt dissolving.
He stared at the tarnished metal mirror on the wall. His face—pale, dark circles beneath his eyes, a small scar at his temple—stared back.
"You're going to tell her," he whispered to his reflection. "You're going to resolve this maturely. You won't hurt them."
The reflection didn't answer.
A knock came at the bathhouse door. A soldier—a messenger, from his uniform—stood at the threshold, slightly out of breath.
"My Lord! Lord Harald summons you. Emergency meeting, now."
Albert dried his face with a cloth, folding it neatly. "What's happened?"
"News from the capital. The King has sent an envoy."
Albert nodded. He stepped out, passing the messenger, walking toward the meeting room. Behind him, the messenger hurried to keep up.
***
The meeting room was full. More crowded than usual.
Lord Harald at the head of the table, his face a mixture of relief and wariness. Lady Mirelle beside him, her fingers no longer tapping on the table—a sign that something serious had occurred. Earl William in the corner, arms crossed, jaw set tight.
And in the center of the table, a man in black clothing bearing the royal crest on his chest. An envoy from the capital—not an ordinary courier, but a high official, judging by his quality cloak and calm demeanor.
Albert took his seat. The others were already there—Hilda, Sir Varin, commanders of other units. Only Luise was absent—still sleeping in her room.
Lord Harald began without preamble. "An envoy from King Wilhelm arrived an hour ago. Bearing important news." He gestured to the man in black. "Please, Lord Roderick."
The man—Lord Roderick—stood. His gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on Albert, then returned to the center.
"The Kingdom of Helvetia and the Kingdom of Leandria have agreed to negotiate a peace treaty."
The room fell silent. Several commanders exchanged glances. Lady Mirelle exhaled—relieved? Not certain.
Lord Roderick continued, "This war has lasted too long, and both kingdoms are drained of resources. War taxes have made the people suffer—here as well as in Leandria. Nobles on both sides are beginning to ask: why do we keep fighting? Only to hold one city?"
He pointed toward the window, toward Vallenwood. "This city, a single city. Thousands of lives lost for this. It's not reasonable to continue."
Earl William snorted. "So we surrender?"
"Not surrender." Lord Roderick met his gaze calmly. "We make peace. Vallenwood remains Helvetian—the enemy accepts this as the price they must pay. In exchange, we halt our advance and release their prisoners of war."
"And they agreed?"
"They agreed." Lord Roderick nodded. "Their commander—Marquess Stefan—has already withdrawn in good order. He knows that continuing the siege would only kill more of his soldiers without result. And in their capital, the nobles have begun to protest."
Lord Harald let out a long breath. "So... it's over."
"Not quite." Lord Roderick looked at Albert. "There's one more thing."
All eyes turned to Albert.
"King Wilhelm personally requests the presence of Albert vin Götterbaum at the capital. After the peace treaty is signed, you are invited to Eltz Castle."
Albert frowned. "For what purpose?"
Lord Roderick smiled faintly. "To receive recognition. Your achievements on the battlefield—especially at Vallenwood—have reached the King's ears. He wishes to meet the 'Black Sword Demon' in person."
Whispers spread through the room. Albert remained silent.
"And," Lord Roderick continued, "the King also wishes to hear your thoughts about... the future."
Albert raised an eyebrow. "The future?"
"This war may be over, but other threats always exist. Leandria may retreat now, but they won't forget this defeat. We need to consider long-term defense." Lord Roderick looked at him intently. "And your reports suggest you have... a different way of thinking. The King wants to know more."
The room fell still. Albert could feel all eyes on him. Lady Mirelle with pride—she had supported him from the start. Lord Harald with a mix of pride and wariness. Earl William with—hard to read, perhaps envy, perhaps relief.
Albert thought. In his head, memories from another life surfaced. Modern warfare. Defensive strategies. How small nations survived against larger ones. Diplomacy. Economic pressure. Not just swords and spears.
"I have some suggestions," he said. "But perhaps this isn't the right place."
Lord Harald raised a hand. "Speak. We're all here."
Albert stood. Walked to the map on the wall—the same map he'd stared at for weeks, but now with different eyes.
"This war," he began, pointing at Vallenwood, "was a traditional war. Walls, troops, sieges. But the next war—if it comes—won't be like this."
They looked at him with curiosity.
"In the world—" he almost said 'in another world', but caught himself, "—in the past, there were kingdoms that endured for centuries not because of their soldiers, but because they knew how to make their enemies not want to attack."
"What do you mean?" Lady Mirelle asked.
"I mean we should make Leandria think twice before starting another war." Albert pointed at the border. "Not with higher walls—but by making them dependent on us."
Earl William snorted. "Dependent? They're our enemies."
"Now they are. But if we can sell them goods they need—iron, grain, anything—at a lower price than they can produce themselves, they'll think: if we go to war, this supply stops. Can we survive without it?"
Lord Roderick frowned. "That's... an economic strategy."
"Yes." Albert nodded. "And at the same time, we strengthen defenses at strategic points. Not long walls, but small fortresses at key entry routes. With small but well-trained garrisons—like the Special Regiment—that can move quickly wherever needed."
He pointed at several points on the map. "Here, here, and here. If they attack, they'll have to capture these fortresses first. And while they're occupied with that, our main forces can assemble and counterattack."
Lord Harald nodded slowly. "You've been thinking about this for a while?"
"Yes. While sitting at the window, unable to go anywhere."
Lady Mirelle laughed softly. A warm laugh.
Lord Roderick looked at Albert with new intensity. "The King will be pleased to hear this."
Albert returned to his seat. His body was tired—standing too long had made his dizziness return. But he forced himself to sit upright.
"So," he said, "I'm going to the capital?"
"Yes. After the peace treaty is signed—perhaps three or four days from now—you'll depart with an escort. Duke Leopold himself will accompany you."
Duke Leopold. Commander of the eighty thousand reinforcement soldiers. The King's uncle. One of the most influential men in the Kingdom of Helvetia.
Albert nodded. "Understood."
The meeting continued—technical details, logistics, schedules. But Albert only half-listened. His mind had already drifted to the capital, to Eltz Castle, to his meeting with the King.
And to Alena. He needed to write a letter.
***
Two hours later, Albert returned to his room.
The door was open. Luise was already awake, sitting in a chair with a questioning expression. On the table, the stained sheet had been changed—perhaps she'd done it.
"You were called to a meeting?" she asked.
Albert nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. His body was tired, but his mind was still spinning.
"The war is ending," he said. "A peace treaty. The Leandria forces are withdrawing. Vallenwood remains ours."
Luise was silent. Then, "Finally."
"Yes."
They sat in silence. Albert stared at the floor; Luise stared at him.
"I've been summoned to the capital," he finally said. "The King wants to meet me."
Luise nodded. "Seriously? When?"
"Three or four days from now. With Duke Leopold."
"Will you go alone?"
Albert turned, looking at her. Those violet eyes looked back.
"You can come," he said. "If you want."
Luise smiled faintly. "Of course I'm coming. Who else will look after you?"
Albert almost smiled. But something in his chest felt heavy.
"Luise."
"Hmm?"
"I need to tell you something."
Luise looked at him, waiting.
Albert took a breath. The words were hard to say—harder than giving orders on a battlefield, harder than killing, harder than anything.
"I... have a fiancée." He stared at the floor. "Alena, Earl Lancaster's daughter. We've been betrothed since childhood."
Luise didn't answer.
"She's been waiting for me at Lanser for three years, sending letters, asking how I am." Albert exhaled. "I can't... I can't hurt her."
Silence.
Then Luise spoke. "I know."
Albert looked up. "You know?"
Luise nodded. "My grandfather told me. When I was first assigned to guard you." She smiled—not a bitter smile, just an ordinary one. "You think I didn't know?"
Albert didn't know what to say.
"Albert." Luise's voice was soft. "I know my place. I'm your guard, your knight. I don't expect anything more." She paused. "But I'll stay by your side, as long as you need me."
"Luise..."
"I don't need promises. I don't need forced feelings." She looked at him directly. "I just want you to know: no matter what happens, I'm here. Not as a lover, not as a fiancée. As... as someone who cares."
Albert looked at her. In his chest, something warm stirred—not blind love like in storybooks, not passion like poets described. But a simpler warmth, more real.
The warmth of someone who chose to stay with him until the end.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Luise nodded. "Now, rest. You need to be in top condition for the journey to the capital."
She stood and walked toward the door. Before leaving, she paused.
"Oh, and one more thing." She glanced back with a small smile. "Albert. I hope this year will be better than the last."
The door closed.
Albert sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door that had just closed. In his hands, he still held the letter yet to be written to Alena.
Two women. Two different feelings.
He didn't know what to do. But one thing he knew—he wouldn't hurt them. He wouldn't. He would resolve this maturely, whatever the outcome.
Outside, the city was coming alive. Soldiers shouted, equipment clattered, and from a distance came the sound of people laughing—laughing for the first time in weeks.
The war was over. Peace was approaching.