Edgar looked at the woman standing straight before him, calm and composed, and a flicker of complex emotion passed through his eyes.
She wasn't afraid of him.
Not in the slightest.
Not only that—she hadn't fallen into his verbal traps, nor had she shown even a hint of retreat. He had assumed that this "contest" between father and daughter would allow him to dominate her easily, yet it now felt more like probing a stranger—one who no longer needed his protection.
But none of that mattered now. The point of today wasn't this verbal sparring.
His expression tightened, and his tone returned to a neutral calm, that of a lord handling official business. He spoke lightly,
"Did you bring the document? Don't try to fool me—I have a pretty good idea what it is. Don't insult me with a fake."
Though his tone was smooth, the pressure behind it was palpable, as if he had already seen through everything.
Livia didn't hesitate. She slipped the strap of her bag off her shoulder as she spoke,
"Of course. You're the lord of this city—you hold everything in your hands. Without your help, we wouldn't get far."
She pulled out the carefully aged document. The edges were slightly worn, the paper subtly yellowed, exuding the faint scent of dust and old libraries. It looked convincingly like a relic left behind from years ago. Her hand was steady as she passed it to him, her expression composed—but inside, it was as if a thousand tiny needles were pricking into her nerves.
"This is the file left behind by Marcellus's parents," she continued in a tone that was part candor, part caution.
"But let me be clear—we've already read it. We know what's inside. From here on out, it's every side for themselves. May the best one win."
A statement that was part test, part warning, and part balance—it told Edgar they weren't lambs being sent to slaughter. They had come prepared.
Edgar didn't respond right away. He took the document, returned to his seat, and began flipping through the pages one by one. His eyes were calm and deep, and as his fingers brushed the surface of the pages, it felt as though he were searching for every last hidden clue.
Livia's gaze remained fixed on his hands—watching him flip, watching him suddenly rise and walk toward the city map hanging on the wall.
The next second, he lifted the document and began comparing it point by point with the map.
Livia's heart seized tight, her nails unconsciously digging into her palm.
For a moment, she thought—he had found it. The secret hidden between the map lines and the document's marks.
The air grew dense as stone.
But Edgar merely murmured,
"It really is the document. I can't believe you actually gave it to me."
Only then did Livia allow herself a subtle breath of relief. A thin layer of cold sweat had gathered on her brow.
She forced a light laugh.
"It's fine. Just information. We have our own backup plans. Holding onto it forever would only trap us. Better we work together—each getting what they need."
She smoothly shifted the topic, trying to move things forward before Edgar could dig deeper:
"So, how do you plan to move Eryx?"
Edgar tucked the document away, leaned back in his chair, and rested his fingers under his chin.
"That's for me to handle. Don't worry, I'm not going to pull the entire Second Legion. That'd be too obvious. But getting Eryx away for a few weeks… that I can manage."
He said it lightly—yet offered not a single detail.
Livia understood what that meant: the negotiation was over. She nodded silently and turned toward the door.
Just as she opened it, his voice came from behind—low and quiet:
"Livia—no matter what happens, remember this. You are my daughter. I would never hurt you."
She paused for a moment, her back visibly tensing.
That sentence—it was like a dull blade, slowly slicing into the softest part of her heart.
She didn't turn around. Instead, she looked toward the light spilling through the window at the end of the corridor and spoke, almost like a quiet sigh:
"But we can't go back… can we?"
And with that, she walked away without looking back.
What she didn't know was—
Behind her, in that quiet room, Edgar stood in silence for a long time.
The breeze gently stirred the curtains. After a while, he murmured under his breath:
"Truly… can we never go back?"
As if he were asking her.
Or perhaps… asking himself.