This was the bloodiest purge the Capital had seen in a century.
And that was only because the Emperor had accepted Lancer's suggestion to act solely against those with "conclusive evidence." Otherwise, the body count might have tripled and that might still not have been enough.
Even so, Lancer's reputation as a "Executioner" grew more grotesque by the day. In certain circles, he had already become a folkloric man-eating demon who needed to bathe in seas of blood each night just to sleep.
"What kind of nonsense is this…"
Though Lancer wasn't in charge of intelligence, his unique position at the Emperor's side ensured that the unnamed head of the intelligence bureau forwarded every scrap of rumor concerning him directly to his desk.
By the time he finished reading, his expression had twisted into something between disbelief and resignation.
"Sir, is something wrong?"
Leone emerged from the kitchen in her maid uniform, carrying dishes to the table.
"No. Just idle gossip."
And that was all it was to him—gossip.
In truth, he was merely taking the fall for the Emperor. The order to execute had come from His Majesty; Lancer hadn't even been the primary executioner. Since the night of the Imperial Fist Temple's destruction, he had barely drawn his weapon.
For most people, that sort of notoriety would be dangerous.
Imperial favor could raise a man to the highest ranks—but once that favor faded, someone with a terrible public image and a long list of enemies rarely met a pleasant end.
But Lancer was different.
In a few months, he would be gone. The political shockwaves of this purge wouldn't settle anytime soon, and as long as he didn't do anything reckless, he would remain safe—for now.
"No point overthinking it," he muttered. "Next step… I'll apply for transfer to the pursuit unit."
"Sir, you're going out again?"
"Maybe. Depends on whether His Majesty approves."
He smiled lightly and took his seat at the table.
Then he paused, glancing around.
Something felt… off.
"Sir, are you looking for something?"
"No… It just feels like something's missing."
"You mean Esdeath? Didn't you tell her you've been too busy lately to spar with her? She probably thinks you're still occupied."
Leone's tone when mentioning Esdeath was complicated.
The other woman's disdain for her had never been subtle. It was there in her voice, in every exchange. And yet, Leone couldn't deny that when Esdeath taught her hand-to-hand combat, she was meticulous to the point of severity. Even Leone couldn't fault her technique.
Leone had tried several times to bridge the gap between them, only to be shut down. Their relationship lingered in a strange limbo—something like master and student, but also something like sworn enemies.
After repeated failures, Leone had simply stopped trying to define it.
Lancer, hearing her explanation, shook his head helplessly.
Esdeath's attitude had nothing to do with prejudice against slaves. She simply disdained the weak.
"Forget it. After breakfast, want to go out for a walk?"
The sudden suggestion caught Leone off guard. She'd been in this house for months now, and this was the first time he'd invited her out like that.
"All right, Sir."
Surprised though she was, she didn't refuse.
If this had been months ago, she might have feared he intended to discard her. But that anxiety had long since faded. So had the initial unease.
She was content.
She didn't have to worry about her future. She only needed to do her work well. In her spare time, she could train. Her life was better than she had ever imagined. Even the slave mark that once felt like a shackle had begun to lose its weight.
Everyone in the upper ranks of the Empire knew Lancer was battle-obsessed. He had no interest in women, power, or wealth. In his free time, he trained. Gifts of money and beautiful companions were politely refused. He lived in a world apart.
And yet, in that self-contained world, there existed one person no one expected—
Leone.
In most eyes, she was unremarkable. Plain looks. Modest figure. A former slum pickpocket.
Those who analyzed Lancer's behavior couldn't make sense of his peculiar taste.
Though she remained a slave in name and endured whispers behind her back, no one dared speak ill of her openly anymore. There were even rumors that the former Minister of Finance had been destroyed because his son had harassed her.
...
Though they called it a stroll, they avoided the Capital's most prosperous commercial streets. Instead, they wandered toward the outskirts near the slums.
Why?
It was simple.
Lancer disliked the trouble.
Recently, whenever he appeared in public, conversation died.
People held their breath. Children who cried were instantly muffled by panicked parents.
How did that make him feel?
Anger? A little.
Loneliness? Yea.
In Tokyo, he'd had comrades. A teacher. Friends. Even a "subject of observation." Here, he had none of that. Outside of rest, his time was training and battle.
He had chosen this path himself.
And yet, there were moments he felt adrift.
Only at those times, when he summoned Jack, would the Palico drop his usual tsundere pride and allow Lancer to hold him—sometimes even nuzzling his head against him.
Time passes quickly. Better not to wander around aimlessly.
That had been his conclusion.
But looking at Leone now, another thought struck him.
When his time came, he would simply leave. Whatever he'd done here wouldn't matter; no one could chase him.
But what about Leone?
Entrust her to Budo? To someone else?
And if things unfolded as expected, he would soon begin pursuing Honest. There was no guarantee he would return.
So today, he had brought her out.
A farewell, in a way.
"Sir! What's this?"
Her voice snapped him from his thoughts.
He quickened his pace.
"It's probably a hairpin from the eastern island nations. Women use them to secure their hair."
He smiled as he explained.
Leone stared at the simple wooden ornament in disbelief. To her, it was just a stick.
"Your hair's too short, or I'd show you. Interested? Then let's buy it. Shopkeeper, how much?"
The price was modest. It was just wood with minor decoration. "Imported" was likely the only thing raising its value.
But perhaps its greatest worth lay in the smile blooming on the girl's face.
When Leone accepted the hairpin from him, she froze.
She opened her mouth to protest—to tell him not to spend money on her.
No words came.
Lancer had already paid and turned to call her to the next shop.
Then he saw her.
She was holding the hairpin to her cheek, smiling in pure, unguarded happiness.
He stopped.
Without thinking, he reached out and patted her head.
Her smile vanished—replaced instantly with a furious blush.
"Sir! I'm not a child!"
Her tsundere protest made him blink. Then he grinned wider.
"Right, right. You've developed quite a bit these past few months, haven't you, Leone?"
Her face turned scarlet.
But this time, she didn't argue.
She pressed the hairpin to her chest, as if feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart. Or confirming something deeper.
After several seconds, she forced out a small, determined hum.
"Mm!"
It should have been nothing unusual. Yet, perhaps because of what had just been said, the air between them felt strangely charged.
When Lancer saw her large eyes glistening for reasons he couldn't quite name, he instinctively looked away.
"Ahem. Let's keep going. See if there's anything you need for the house."
He strode ahead.
Leone blinked, then hurried after him.
Though his duties left them little time to talk, months of living together had given her some understanding of her "master."
In her eyes, he was almost absurdly gentlemanly. Aside from that very first encounter, he had never once acted improperly toward her.
Sir is an Imperial Guard. Strong. Kind. I wonder which noble lady will win his heart one day…
It was meant as a simple thought.
Yet her heart trembled.
She unconsciously pressed the hairpin against her chest again.
"Leone?"
"Sir! I'm here!"
She forced a bright smile and jogged up to him.
Maybe this is enough…
---
T/N: reminder that Lancer asked Leone to call him Sir instead because he wasn't comfortable with Master
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