"Blackmoor's borders?"
A knight stood clad in polished armor, hands folded neatly behind his back. The steel plates caught the light in muted glints, each segment fitted seamlessly over an athletic, well-balanced frame as though forged specifically for him. Dark blue hair, tinged subtly with black, fell with disciplined neatness around his temples, framing a handsome face carved with calm restraint. His matching eyes—deep, oceanic blue—were steady and focused, holding the quiet confidence of a man long accustomed to the weight of battlefields and the silence after them. There was nothing excessive in him. No flamboyance. No arrogance. Only precision, strength, and the disciplined elegance of an ideal knight shaped by duty rather than pride.
"Yes. There have been some strange events happening there these days."
Duke Valric Blackmoor sat behind a vast oak desk that seemed less like furniture and more like a throne carved for calculation. Square glasses rested neatly upon his sharp, composed features. His black hair, styled with restrained volume and swept back in careful order, framed a face that bore neither impatience nor softness. He wore a dark coat over a deep blue shirt and tie, tailored black trousers completing the image of a noble who ruled with intellect rather than spectacle.
His gaze never left the parchment before him. Calm. Analytical. Each word he read was weighed, dissected, judged—as though every sentence had to earn its right to exist.
"You will be given a squad to investigate. If you encounter any unusual phenomena, report immediately. I will contact Duke Highfen."
The knight bowed with formal precision.
"I shall depart immediately."
His voice carried no hesitation. Only acceptance. Orders were not burdens to him—they were coordinates.
***
Inside the moving carriage, Rose and Noa sat opposite one another. The interior swayed gently with the rhythm of hooves striking the road, the sound steady as a heartbeat beneath conversation.
Perhaps because of curiosity—no, it was definitely curiosity—Rose found herself wanting to ask who Noa truly was. It felt childish, almost embarrassingly so. Like a child pressing fingers against a forbidden book simply because it had not yet been opened.
It's okay to ask a question, right?
If he were like certain prideful nobles she had served before, such curiosity could cost her dearly. It was a gamble. A clean 50/50 split between reprimand and revelation.
Curiosity won.
"Sir, may I ask a question?"
Noa had been staring out the window, watching farmland roll by in soft green waves, forests rising in layered silhouettes beneath a pale sky. He turned his head slowly.
"What is it?"
"Who… are you?"
The question lingered between them.
Who I am?
Noa blinked once, then leaned back slightly.
"A piece of shit, a brother, a partner."
He looked back out the window as he spoke, voice casual—too casual.
This was not humor.
It was confession.
Noa knew he was not a hero. He knew the shape of his own shadow and had long since stopped pretending it was smaller than it was. He did not despise himself for it either. The brutality in him was not an infection—it was part of his skeleton.
A brother to the little girl who had saved him from drowning in himself.
A partner to the woman who mirrored his soul like the other half of a blade.
"Huh?" Rose's brows knitted together.
That was not the background she expected.
A piece of shit? A partner?
"I meant your origin," she clarified carefully.
A faint smile curved Noa's lips.
"Oh, that's what you meant?" His dark purple eyes turned toward her, reflective like twilight. "I'm Vionette's partner."
Partner… eh? Partner?
"What?" Rose's voice cracked slightly in surprise.
Noa tilted his head.
I guess 'princess' is a heavy word.
He never cared for Vionette's title. Princess. Queen. Ruler. They were labels stitched onto her by the world. To him, she was simply his partner. Even if a fragment of concern once existed about her status, it had been erased by how casually Lina and Mara treated her.
"Calm down."
"Oh—ah. Please forgive me."
Did she just change her tone after hearing that? Noa observed silently.
"Rose," he said after a moment, voice softer, "do you know why I came here at Vionette's request?"
"…Why? Because of wealth?"
It was the most logical answer she could produce.
"It was part of it." He paused. "But not only this kingdom. When I first came to this world, I came here to enjoy my life."
Rose remained silent, listening carefully.
Noa's gaze drifted beyond the window—far beyond fields and forests. He wasn't looking at land.
He was looking at something boundless.
"And when I said 'enjoy my life,' I didn't mean collecting money and smiling peacefully." His voice thinned slightly. "I don't want dominance. I want entertainment."
A pause.
"…And entertainment where everything is under your control is boring. So… I want you to act normally around me. Like a friend would. Just be professional when it matters."
He framed it as entertainment.
But beneath that word was something far less theatrical.
He wanted friends.
Not servants who bowed and said "yes."
Rose had served Crimvane long enough to read between silences. Though she appeared no older than Vionette—aging slowed at higher levels—her experience ran deeper than appearances suggested.
It's just like her.
A warm smile curved her lips.
She remembered how Vionette would allow Seliora to scold her openly—despite having authority to silence her permanently. It was not authority that bound them.
It was affection.
"Ok then I wi—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Noa was staring into nothingness.
"H-hey, stop!" She grabbed his head and shook it.
"What? What?" His eyes widened in confusion.
Sigh.
Rose released him slowly.
"Don't look too long… The void has a way of recognizing only its own."
Her tone shifted. It was not teasing. It was serious.
"What does that mean?"
"Not everyone who looks into the void comes back human." Her golden eyes darkened slightly. "When the abyss fails to recognize your name, it gives you a new one. A name without language."
"Hey! Explain in a way I can understand!"
"Have you ever heard of people turning into monsters just before destruction?"
"Uhh… No?"
"They are rare cases. But when it happens, destruction follows." Her voice softened. "People who stare too long into nothingness with strong desires… the void answers. It strips away the illusion that we were ever meant to remain human."
Noa's throat tightened slightly.
But… I saw something.
***
As Noa had asked Rose to speak casually, his eyes had drifted into distant emptiness.
"???"
Without warning, the world had vanished.
The carriage dissolved. The fields. The sky.
Even Rose.
Only darkness remained—thick and absolute.
Then—
He saw figures.
Tree-like silhouettes, walking slowly ahead of him.
What… are those?
He could not see their faces, yet he felt them turn back toward him with wide, joyful smiles. Their forms twisted like branches in windless air.
They began running toward him.
CRACK!
"H-hey, stop!"
***
It was strange.
But Noa did what he always did with strange things.
He ignored them and continued move with the flow.
"Whatever," he muttered, leaning back into the carriage seat as though brushing dust off his sleeve. "Are we there yet?"
"Yes," Rose replied after glancing past the swaying curtain. "We've arrived at Blackmoor Dukedom."
The carriage slowed, wheels grinding softly against stone as the driver guided the horses through the arched gate. Both of them turned to look outside.
Blackmoor unfolded before them—not as vast as the capital, yet carrying a different kind of gravity. Its streets were broad and orderly, paved in dark stone veined faintly with silver. Buildings stood tall but disciplined, their architecture precise rather than flamboyant. Jewelry shops glimmered beneath carved wooden signs; their window displays sparkled like restrained constellations. Food stalls released fragrant steam that drifted lazily upward, carrying scents of roasted meat, baked bread, and sweet syrup. Weapon stores displayed polished blades and spears in neat formations, steel edges reflecting daylight like silent promises.
This was not a city of noise.
It was a city of structure.
Noa stepped down from the carriage as a lively wind brushed past him, warm and playful, tugging lightly at his clothes as if testing his mood. The sky above was an unapologetic blue—vast, clean, almost arrogant in its clarity. Sunlight spilled generously across rooftops and shoulders alike.
A perfect day for vacation.
"Yohoo! Blackmoor!" Noa stretched both arms toward the sky as though greeting an old friend he had not yet met. His posture was exaggerated, dramatic, earning a curious glance or two from passing merchants. "Hey Rose, what kind of places are there to have fun?"
Rose stepped down more gracefully, smoothing her maid uniform automatically before answering. Her expression remained composed—professional, unshaken.
"We're going directly to the duke's mansion."
"Huh?"
Noa's arms fell slowly. His spirit followed a second later.
"Her Majesty said," Rose continued in a careful imitation of Vionette's tone, "'Don't let him go anywhere without me. He can't have all the fu— ahem! It will be problematic.'"
"…bruh."
The word left him flat and defeated.
Rose had already begun walking.
Noa stared at her back for a moment, then let out a long sigh and followed, hands stuffed into his pockets.
…
He is kind, calm, and honest. Is that why the princess chose him?
Rose pondered silently as they walked side by side through the bustling street. They were walking instead of riding a secondary carriage because Noa had insisted on "seeing the city properly." According to him, "arriving like cargo" was boring.
He had asked her to speak casually. He had not argued about going directly to the mansion. He had spoken to her with unfiltered honesty—dangerous honesty.
Kind.
Calm.
Honest.
Rose smiled faintly at the thought.
She had completely forgotten he had introduced himself as "a piece of shit."
As for Noa—
He walked quietly, eyes scanning storefronts, alleyways, rooftops. His pace was relaxed, but his awareness was not.
His objective lay inside the mansion.
Entertainment.
"Say," he glanced sideways at Rose, breaking the silence, "aside from the capital, did word about me reach here?"
"No," she replied. "I believe only Highfen received notice so far. After Highfen comes Blackmoor."
"That's good."
A small, unintentional smile surfaced at the corner of his lips.
Rose caught it.
"Why is it good?"
He looked forward, then slightly downward as though calculating something only he could see.
"Because Batman works in the dark."
It was a serious tone. Too serious.
"…what?"
He waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it—Mmm…"
Mid-sentence, his steps slowed.
Across the street, beneath the modest overhang of a jewelry shop, a man stood close to a woman. His hands were steady as he fastened an ear cuff onto her ear. The gesture was careful—intimate in its restraint. The woman laughed softly when he brushed a strand of her hair aside.
It was small.
Ordinary.
But it lingered.
Noa's gaze remained fixed for a second longer than necessary.
"Rose."
"Yes?"
"Do you have money?"
"Yes."
No hesitation. Head maid reflex.
The next moment, Noa grabbed her wrist—not roughly, but with sudden purpose—and steered her toward the jewelry shop.
"H-hey!" Rose stumbled half a step before regaining composure.
The building was wooden and modest in size, its polished planks aligned with tidy precision. A simple sign hung above the entrance, carved with careful lettering darkened by time. The windows were spotless, framed in dark trim, revealing displays arranged with meticulous order. Though unassuming at first glance, its structured exterior carried the quiet confidence of a place run with discipline and pride.
Creek.
The door opened with a soft, aged sound.
A gentle bell chimed overhead.
Inside, the shop smelled faintly of polished wood and something floral—lavender, perhaps. Glass cases lined the walls, displaying rings, necklaces, and cuffs that glimmered softly beneath controlled lighting. Nothing was gaudy. Everything was deliberate.
"Welcome. How may I help you?"
An elderly woman stood behind the counter. Her back was slightly bent with age, but her eyes—sharp, silvered, unwavering—missed nothing. Fine wrinkles mapped her face like the rings of an old tree.
Noa released Rose's wrist, stepping forward.
"I'm looking for a high-quality earring for a woman."
The old woman's brows lifted slightly.
"Oh-hoh! And what are her characteristics?"
Noa paused.
His fingers brushed unconsciously against his own ear as though imagining the placement. His expression softened—not visibly enough for strangers to notice, but enough for Rose, who stood a step behind him, to sense it.
White shining hair.
Piercing crimson eyes.
He remembered how those crimson eyes burned when she argued. How they narrowed when she plotted. How they softened—rarely—when she forgot to be a queen.
A queen dragged by her hair.
A partner who burned like a rose blooming in winter—beautiful, defiant, refusing to wilt in frost.
His lips curved faintly.
"White shining hair and piercing crimson eyes."
The elderly woman studied him for a long second, then smiled knowingly.
"Oh-hoh… I see."
Rose, standing behind him, blinked slowly.
She had served Vionette long enough to know exactly who he was describing.
And for the first time since arriving in Blackmoor—
Noa did not look like someone chasing entertainment.
He looked like someone choosing something carefully.