Survival of the fittest.
The weak are preyed upon, and the strong prey upon them.

Even in a world supposedly governed by divine order, the radiance of the gods cannot reach the darkest places.

The cries of the weak do not reach the gods.

Valentine Bronte realized this harsh and stark truth as he turned twenty.

He was once a dreamy and passionate boy.

With grand dreams of becoming a great knight and bringing glory to the Bronte family,
he was the typical noble child one would find anywhere.

“You will become the head of the Bronte family in the future, so you must never show weakness.”

His ancestors always told Valentine so, and he did his best to uphold it.
He believed it was the right thing to do because his father said so.

His world revolved solely around the Bronte family, and the words of his ancestor were law.

At the age of fifteen, Valentine became a knight.

The Brontes were a distant branch of the Imperial family, so naturally, he became one of the Emperor’s knights.
He was proud that he could fight by the side of his Emperor.

And so, at fifteen, Valentine went to the battlefield.

At that time, the Empire had an internal conflict.
The Western houses followed the Emperor, and the Eastern houses sought to overthrow him.

To Valentine Bronte, the eastern houses were demons.
They were a group of evil seeking to overthrow the Emperor, who was both law and the Empire.

And so, Valentine wielded his sword.
The sword he wielded was only for the Emperor, and the blood spilled was his loyalty to the Empire.

He killed and killed again, tearing down castle walls and treading on bloody ground.

Valentine Bronte was proud of himself.

Proud of his swordsmanship that surpassed countless demons for the Emperor,
Proud of the walls he toppled,
Proud of the villages he razed,
Proud of the countless necks he had cut.

The victorious news echoing on his return from the battlefield,
The cheers of the imperial citizens heard at the celebration,
The medals bestowed directly by the Emperor…

To him, there was nothing more precious than those in the world.

And so, five years passed.

It seemed like the long war that divided the East and West was coming to an end.
The situation tilted in favor of the Western houses under the Emperor, and soon, the decade-long civil war within the Empire came to an end.

Valentine became Duke Bronte as planned.
His elderly father could no longer fulfill his role as the head of the ducal house.

The first thing Valentine did as Duke Bronte was handle the aftermath of the war.

The twenty-year-old Valentine rode in a carriage and toured the villages himself.
He saw houses collapsed by cannons and homes burned to the ground.

“…”

Then, he noticed something he hadn’t seen on the battlefield.
It wasn’t just buildings that were burnt to ashes.

As Valentine examined the charred remains closely, he realized they weren’t debris from buildings.
The pungent smell of burned flesh filled the air…

It was people.
Not only adults but even young children.

Once then, his eyes were able to see the truth.

Mothers wailing as if they had lost their minds, boys and girls crying helplessly after losing their parents.

“Duke?”

Valentine stood frozen, unable to even hear the servant calling him.

Everything he had proudly believed in now felt horrific.

Even the eastern houses he thought of as demons had territories.
And in those territories, there were children with parents, parents with children.

He was blinded.
The lives he ended were rewarded with medals, chunks of metal.
Those chunks of metal came from the blood and lives of countless people.

Valentine was overcome with a chilling sensation.
If he hadn’t wielded his sword and the eastern houses had defeated the western ones…
He would have suffered at the hands of those demons.
The people of Bronte would have suffered as well.

Returning to the mansion of his lineage, Valentine couldn’t sleep properly for days, haunted by the burned bodies of children.

He was afraid.
He realized that everything he held in his hands could crumble so helplessly.

“You will become the head of the Bronte family in the future, so you must never show weakness.”

His father’s words echoed in his ears.
He was no longer just the son of a fledgling duke.
He was the head of the Bronte ducal house.
Duke Bronte, bearing the lives of countless people.

The weight of responsibility pressed down on him.

He had to become stronger.
So that no one could threaten the Bronte family.
Even the slightest weakness would turn the Bronte family into burnt children.

***

“Ania, my daugh–”

Valentine Bronte snapped out of a distant memory and faced reality.

Where Ania had been sitting, there was now only a chair toppled over.

As he looked at the fallen chair, it seemed to overlap with the burned body of a child.

The pungent and unpleasant smell lingered in his nostrils.

For a moment, he wondered if he had been too harsh on his daughter, then lowered his head.

It had been ten years since he lost his son to an unknown illness.

Valentine remembered when he felt powerless as if his chest would cave in.

He didn’t want to repeat it.
Losing one was enough.
He couldn’t bear to lose his daughter as well.

Valentine clasped his trembling left hand with his right hand.

“Ania. Everything was for you.”

Protecting someone isn’t about the heart.
It’s about strength.

The reason the burned child died that day wasn’t because of an evil heart.
It was simply because they weren’t strong enough.

So, the only way the Bronte family could survive was through the family name.
The immense power of the Bronte ducal house.
Only that could protect himself and his beloved daughter.

He couldn’t afford to lose it.
He had to obtain it by any means necessary.
Even if it destroyed him, even if it shattered him…

He was Valentine Bronte, the head of the honorable Bronte name.

It had to be done.
Even if he became the villain,
Even if he faced his pitiful self every morning…

‘I wasn’t wrong.’

Valentine Bronte sauntered towards the tall restaurant window.
Clouds drifted lazily amidst the bright moonlight that shone clearly.

Among them, a few faces floated by.

His wife who left,
His son who passed away at a young age due to illness,
And his daughter, Ania Bronte, whom he loved enough to give everything to but who now hated him.

Feeling nauseous and lightheaded as if about to vomit, Valentine tried to calm his insides and was about to leave the restaurant when suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang.

Valentine raised his head to look at the person entering.

“What’s the matter?”
“Duke!”

It was the head butler. He was breathing heavily, his expression filled with alarm.

“Speak up.”
“T-the… it’s…”

As Valentine anticipated the following words, he suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed, overwhelmed by nausea.

He had expected it to come someday, but he never thought it would come so soon.

—

The day of the Emperor’s funeral was unusually cloudy.

Upon hearing the news in haste, I quickly wore my black suit and headed for the capital, where the city walls were visible.

Even though I wasn’t far from the capital’s wide entrance, people in black attire were already lined up and passing through.

Watching the scene, I muttered to myself with a strange feeling.

“So even the emperor dies.”
“He must have returned to the embrace of God.”

As I pondered it, Lord Laurendel, who was in the co-driver’s seat, responded and handed a folder to the back seat.

“Today’s schedule has been postponed, my lord.”
“Of course. It’s necessary.”

After all, the Empire was practically paralyzed due to the Emperor’s death.
Whether they were company CEOs or entrepreneurs, dukes or marquises…
Everyone had gathered for the funeral.

Tiny water droplets tapped against the glass as he looked out the window.
It drizzled down lightly like a fine mist.
It was indeed a funeral-appropriate weather.

However, unrelated to the Emperor’s death, another thought crossed my mind.

“Ania….”

As the daughter of the distant Bronte family, she would probably attend the funeral as well.
If I happen to run into her, should I pretend to know her again?

I shouldn’t pretend to know her again after what I’ve done.
It would be better if she didn’t recognize me.
Just facing her makes my head ache and hurt so much.

It would be better if we didn’t meet.
It would be better if she didn’t pretend to know me.
If I could live as if she were a stranger forever,
That would be better.

But as the scenery passed smoothly through the car window following the Empire’s protocol,
I found myself unconsciously searching for golden hair.

When I chuckled at the absurdity of it, I saw it.
Even though I couldn’t see her features clearly, I recognized her.

“Stop.”

The knight stopped the car with a puzzled look, and I instinctively opened the car door.
Stretching my foot through the open door in a daze… then closing it again.

“My lord?”
“Let’s go.”

The knight chuckled and drove the car again, and I sank deep into the seat, sighing.