“The Outer Appearance Never Matches the Inner Self.”
“Trash?!”
The knight’s face turned bright red in an instant, as if he had just suffered the greatest insult imaginable. But Cryer responded without even flinching a brow.
“If trash is trash, what else should I call it? Not calling it what it is doesn’t make it any less so.”
“You bastard!”
Perhaps he’d forgotten he had snuck in, or perhaps he was just too furious at Cryer to care. The knight shouted and lunged toward him. But he didn’t get the chance to draw his sword.
The moment his eyes met the crimson gleam cutting through the dark, he froze. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he gripped the hilt tightly, but he couldn’t even blink. He felt as though if he dared exhale, his entire body would be torn to pieces by a monstrous beast before he could even resist.
Yes, he was facing Cryer. Just standing there, his presence overwhelmed the surroundings. Just making eye contact with him weighed down the knight’s shoulders, dragging his knees to the floor.
People like him—they were called dominators.
The knight, swallowing dryly without realizing, was then struck by the humiliation of what he had done. He opened his mouth to speak, but only shallow gasps came out.
“H-Haah… Haah…!”
He couldn’t even tell when he’d held his breath, but it took several moments of panting to regain it.
Cryer stood above him, unmoving. Like a predator lurking in the shadows, his gaze never wavered. The knight, trying to shake off the choking pressure, shouted with all the strength he had left.
“What difference is there between you and me?! You’re nothing but the princess’s bed companion—!”
But before he could even finish his sentence, his eyes widened. A flash of light—and his voice stopped altogether.
—Shhk.
In the next moment, the knight collapsed lifelessly, his eyes losing all light. Cryer had drawn and swung his sword in a blink, faster than the knight could perceive. Blood splattered the hallway in a red trail as he flicked his sword clean.
—Plop.
A droplet of blood bounced off the blade.
Wearing a savage grin, Cryer murmured,
“More and more of them by the day.”
As the night deepened, he casually moved on to deal with the next piece of trash sneaking into the princess’s palace. Not long after he left, one of the palace attendants arrived and sighed softly.
“I thought tonight might be quiet…”
And so, yet another knight from a foreign land was carried out of the princess’s palace, his death labeled an “accident.”
While the trash was being efficiently dealt with inside the palace, the princess’s office was brightly lit, as if night didn’t exist. There were two people inside, as had become oddly routine—Olivia and Cryer.
Despite being in the office rather than the bedroom, the two spent countless nights alone together. Though they were merely handling imperial duties under the guise of a punishment issued by the emperor, those unaware of the details would naturally assume something else. Even the emperor, who trusted Olivia implicitly, had eventually sent one of his closest aides after hearing too many rumors.
“Your Highness.”
Sebastian, the emperor’s most loyal retainer and Olivia’s lifelong guardian—even from before her birth—bowed politely with his usual composed expression.
“Haaah, Sebastian.”
Olivia let out a long sigh and spread her arms wide, her frustration evident.
“Do you see these documents? Do I look like I have time for anything else?”
Sebastian bowed deeply upon seeing the literal mountain of paperwork stacked higher than Olivia’s head.
“My apologies.”
“No, I get it. With all the talk going around, he probably just wanted you to check.”
Even though Cryer was hidden behind the stack of documents, Sebastian didn’t even try to sneak a glance. Just like the emperor, he trusted Olivia unconditionally. Perhaps that’s why she shouted toward the mountain of paper.
“Cryer! Could you step out for a momen—”
Before she could even finish, Cryer silently emerged from behind the paperwork.
Sebastian’s eyes met his for a brief moment before he respectfully bowed again. But his fingertips trembled slightly.
Cryer was not just any man—he was a threat powerful enough to make even a stack of papers feel like a barrier. And the faint smell of blood lingering in the air wasn’t a mere illusion. Sebastian had just come from confirming the bodies carried out of the palace.
As if reading Sebastian’s thoughts, Olivia spoke up.
“You heard about the cleanup tonight, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Cryer handled it all by himself.”
“I apologize. We’ll tighten security around the palace.”
Sebastian bowed deeply, but Olivia waved her hand.
“No need.”
She had long known that the palace’s security had been breached—but she had given a specific order:
“Leave it be.”
If they increased security and blocked the pests from crawling in at night, they wouldn’t have the chance to kill them. Better to let them sneak in and clean them out than to let the trouble fester.
“Cryer handles them all just fine. That’s his job, after all. Right?”
Though it was a role thrust upon him unexpectedly, Cryer nodded without resistance.
“Indeed.”
Hearing his courteous reply in front of Sebastian, Olivia’s cheeks tingled with heat. She nearly said something, but caught herself.
When alone, it was fine. But in front of others, there was still the barrier of status.
Outwardly, Olivia was the empire’s only princess and future empress. Cryer, on the other hand, was just an unnamed knight from the Kingdom of Norden.
Of course, if you peeled back the layers, those roles meant nothing—but that was their secret alone.
Sebastian, who had been silently watching Cryer with wary eyes, finally bowed again. Rumors didn’t matter. But still, to keep such a beast by her side… it was concerning in another way. Still, Cryer bowed to the princess, so perhaps that was enough.
“Understood.”
“There’ll still be gossip, but just be sure His Majesty knows there’s nothing between us like what people imagine.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Also… Are your sleeping arrangements comfortable?”
At his cautious question, Olivia waved her hand.
“They are. Everyone’s been considerate, and the bedding’s always comfortable. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
“I’ll bring you tea to help you rest better.”
His calm but genuine concern warmed her heart, and Olivia didn’t refuse.
As Sebastian reached for the doorknob to leave—
“Sebastian.”
Olivia called out to him.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
He turned, bowing politely. Olivia looked at him quietly. He was famous for being unshakably calm—even said not to flinch if lightning struck beside him. In her first life, she couldn’t even imagine that serene face breaking. But even he had collapsed.
Not because he died—because she had.
When the palace fell and death crept closer to Olivia, Sebastian had pushed her back with a bloodied hand.
‘Your Highness, I’ll hold them off. Run as far as you can.’
His face, once always composed, had been dirtied with sweat and blood. That blood had likely been the emperor’s.
But even with his sacrifice, Olivia had died pathetically under Cryer’s sword.
In the second life. The third. Even in the fourth. Each time, Sebastian smiled faintly and said,
‘It was an honor to serve you, Your Highness.’
She had heard it four times, and each time, it crushed her soul.
Olivia quickly walked up to him.
“Sebastian.”
“Yes.”
“Sebastian.”
“Yes.”
No matter how many times she called, he always answered calmly.
Olivia reached up and brushed her hand against the wrinkles near his right eye.
“There’s always something here.”
She chuckled softly. The words meant nothing to him, surely, but he didn’t question her. He didn’t cover the spot either. He simply bowed again.
“Forgive me.”
Olivia gave a deep nod.
“Alright. You can go now.”
As Sebastian finally left and closed the door behind him, Olivia turned back toward the mountain of paperwork in search of Cryer, who had returned to his seat unnoticed.
“Cryer.”
She called his name and put both hands on her hips, shaking her head.
“We’re reaching the limit. We can’t keep covering up foreign knights’ deaths as accidents.”
Cryer, lounging on the sofa reading a book on Bolsheik history, replied indifferently.
“Why not just decapitate one and hang the head as a warning?”
“We don’t need such gruesome decorations.”
When Olivia recoiled, Cryer lowered his book and tilted his head.
“I never said it would be decorative. Funny how someone with your face can say such brutal things.”
“The outer appearance never matches the inner self.”
Like a kind-looking youth who turns out to be a ritualistic serial killer.
“They say you can see ten fathoms deep into water but not even one into a person’s heart.”
“A teaching of Bolsheik, is it?”
He tapped the cover of the history book with a finger.
“Not exactly the right context for that quote.”
“Eh, as long as the meaning gets across.”
With her usual nonchalance, Olivia asked him the usual question, more out of habit than expectation.
“So? Find anything useful?”
“Plenty about gods. Most of it boils down to how people fought back against them.”
“Mmm… There’s still a lot of material to sort through…”
Just as she suspected. As Cryer picked up another book, he said casually,
“About the execution thing—”
“I said no grotesque displays.”
“It wasn’t a throwaway suggestion. We need to set an example somehow. If not a beheading, then another method.”
“Hmm. You do have a lot of trash to clean up.”
“And the number keeps increasing.”
So much trash she once asked him not to kill them all at once. Then his low voice slithered into her ear.
“Shall I just get rid of them all in one go?”
