After nudging open Leone's bedroom door with his foot, Lancer gently placed her onto the bed and pulled up the covers. He gave her one final glance before quietly shutting the door behind him.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Leone's eyes flew open, hands nervously touching her burning cheeks. Only when she confirmed they weren't visibly flushed did she finally relax.
He didn't notice I was awake, did he?
Indeed, Leone had woken up the moment Lancer lifted her.
Right now, she was like a kitten freshly brought home by its owner, guarded and wary, unsure how to act. Even exhausted, she'd snapped awake instantly upon being carried—but in her panic, she'd chosen to feign sleep.
Yet, she'd never expected Lancer to simply tuck her in and walk away.
She'd thought he would at least... act like he had last night.
"That guy's obviously a bastard, but why…"
Her mind replayed the scenes she'd glimpsed before falling asleep, agitating her further. That steady, powerful figure belonged to the same man who'd enslaved her? Though resentment still simmered deep within her heart, other, unfamiliar feelings crept alongside it.
"Arghhhh~!"
Groaning in frustration, Leone buried her head beneath the blanket, muffling her irritated cries.
There's no point thinking about this stuff. I'm just a slave anyway. Everything depends on my 'master's' whims. Still...
Leone hugged the blanket tighter, a rare shy expression crossing her face—like a kitten savoring a stolen treat when its owner wasn't looking.
But did the owner realize it?
Of course, Lancer did.
Standing just outside the door, he sighed helplessly. Anyone with half a brain would've noticed Leone's stiff posture as he carried her—let alone someone as perceptive as himself. He'd deliberately chosen not to point it out, though; after all, their first meeting had been disastrous enough. Their awkward relationship meant even showing gentle care was risky. He still remembered how his attempts at kindness had scared her off last time.
Looks like the only way is slow and steady.
At present, Lancer held no romantic intentions towards Leone; instead, guilt and remorse weighed heavily on him. He'd always wished to "change the future for the better," to give tragic characters another chance. But in doing so, he'd unknowingly broken something fragile. Now, he only wanted to mend it.
Yet what Lancer didn't know was that pure emotions rarely existed in isolation. The seemingly small actions he considered simple courtesy quietly began reshaping someone else's thoughts…
...
Clad in armor and a cape, Lancer stood at rigid attention behind the Emperor.
Yes, from today onward, Lancer's new role was the Emperor's personal bodyguard.
Truthfully, Lancer was ideally suited to the task.
With his cavalry lance and towering shield offering near-impenetrable defense—and his innate talent for breaking through enemy lines—he was perfect for protecting or extracting the Emperor if things went south. He even humorously imagined himself pulling off some sort of ultimate move with General Budo: he'd toss his lance toward their foes, and Budo would unleash his ultimate—ahem…
In short, guarding the Emperor mostly meant standing behind him, which soon grew unbearably dull. Lancer's wandering mind conjured up these absurd scenarios to pass the time.
But thanks to this boredom, he got a front-row seat to observe the Emperor's daily routine.
From the moment he arrived at the palace each morning, the Emperor dove straight into administration: poring over letters from all over the Empire, dictating responses, and summoning his advisors and ministers for exhaustive discussions that often lasted until noon.
Watching the Emperor toil, Lancer suddenly felt that perhaps his own situation wasn't so bad.
Such monotonous, mechanical labor sent chills down his spine.
Still, he shook off the thought. For him, personally, fighting battles outside was far preferable to drowning in paperwork. But clearly, not everyone agreed—just look at how fiercely this throne was coveted. The man standing before them was a prime example.
"Your Majesty, regarding military expenditures along the Empire's border…"
Honest, wearing an impeccably respectful expression, carefully laid a detailed report before the Emperor. Though Lancer despised Honest instinctively, he had to admit—from the intelligence he'd gathered in the past couple of days—that this man was undeniably capable. As Minister of Finance, Honest had swiftly stabilized the Empire's previously floundering economy and earned widespread public approval with thoughtful social policies.
If Lancer hadn't known the atrocities Honest would eventually commit, he might've wondered if he'd misjudged him entirely.
After all, Honest differed fundamentally from others. Most people could be redeemed if someone helped them avoid succumbing fully to evil. But Honest, the ringleader himself, was irredeemably corrupt.
Perhaps sensing Lancer's scrutiny, Honest occasionally glanced back at him, their gazes subtly clashing in silent tension.
Finally, the Emperor leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples wearily after concluding their discussion. He clearly needed rest—but at that moment, Honest made a peculiar suggestion.
"Your Majesty, the Empire's celebratory tournament selection is being held at the arena today. I was planning to attend—would you do me the honor of joining me?"
"No, I still have work to finish."
"Of course, state affairs are vital. But pushing yourself too hard can backfire—I speak from experience. Besides, this tournament will recruit skilled warriors into our military. Your presence would inspire the participants and remind our citizens of your care and attention…"
Honest's eloquence was undeniable, swiftly eroding the Emperor's initial refusal. Lancer, however, instantly grew tense.
Though he'd never met the future "boy Emperor," Lancer suspected, based on Leone and Najenda's current age, that he'd arrived just before the canon timeline—at most eight years early. That meant the Emperor in front of him, clearly healthy now, would mysteriously die, plunging the Empire into chaos.
Lancer was certain that death would be no accident.
And the culprit undoubtedly stood right before them!
His eyes sharpened in undisguised hostility, wary and watchful—but suddenly a hand waved gently before his face.
"Sir Lancer, there's no need to be so nervous."
"My apologies, Your Majesty—I overstepped…"
"Don't worry. It's your first day guarding me; some tension is understandable. But Honest does have a point—overwork harms efficiency. Alright, let's take a break. Though, Sir Lancer, I'm afraid I'll have to trouble you shortly."
Lancer didn't know whether this Emperor qualified as a great ruler, but one thing was certain—he was diligent and sincerely cared for his subordinates.
No wonder he's so respected.
"I swear I'll protect you with my life, Your Majesty!"
"Haha! With those words, I feel safer already. Good, I'm actually quite hungry. Let's head out after lunch."
Laughing softly, the Emperor rose from his chair. Lancer and Honest immediately followed. Walking side by side, Honest offered Lancer a "friendly" smile and nodded courteously.
Instantly, a chill ran down Lancer's spine. The weasel's greeting to the hen—nothing good could come from it!
Yet, though wary, he could only nod politely in response.
"Minister Honest, as His Majesty said, it's my first day. Forgive my nervousness…"
"Haha~ no worries, no worries at all! After all, we both serve His Majesty faithfully."
On the surface, the two men looked perfectly cordial—but beneath that polite façade?
Neither realized their silent battle had already begun…