She didn't know if it was because Sylphy had gotten close enough, or because she felt an empathetic bond toward Hilda.
This time, the sound came especially clear.
The shattering was painfully distinct.
Sylphy's pupils shrank sharply, and she instinctively wanted to rush to Hilda's bedroom—only to be stopped by Lier's outstretched hand.
Sylphy grabbed Lier's hand in return, trying to break free.
In that instant.
Lier's gentle voice drifted into her ear.
"Please wait a little longer, Sylphy-sama."
The moment the words fell.
Sylphy turned toward Lier, ready to argue.
The bedroom door banged open!
Sylphy jumped in place from the shock.
She and Lier both looked toward the corridor.
A hand with distinct knuckles held the doorknob, pushing the door open, making Sylphy subconsciously think of Allen's hands.
A figure stepped out.
It was Philip.
Usually wearing an expression that suggested everything was under control, now his face carried obvious fatigue. His normally well-groomed hair hung in messy strands over his face.
He turned his head to look inside the room, his lips parting as if to say something.
In the end, his lips opened and closed a few times without sound, and he pressed them shut.
Slowly, he turned his head.
He looked toward where Lier was standing.
But when his eyes fell on Sylphy beside Lier, his expression froze in surprise for an instant, before quickly glancing at the open door beside him.
He stepped forward.
Sylphy felt her blood run cold and was about to explain why she was in the living quarters.
But Philip brushed past her.
"Please."
It was no longer the smiling yet distant tone he usually carried.
This time it was soft, even with a trace of pleading.
Sylphy wondered if it was just her imagination.
She froze for a moment, then instinctively looked toward Lier.
Lier only glanced at Philip, then gave Sylphy a small smile.
She said nothing.
She extended her hand and bowed slightly.
A perfect maid's gesture of invitation.
Her fingertips pointed toward Hilda's bedroom.
Sylphy looked at Lier's bowed posture, then turned to glance behind her.
Philip's back had disappeared around the corner.
She suddenly "woke up," quickly murmuring a soft "thank you" before running to Hilda's bedroom door.
She turned sharply, almost unable to stop her steps.
Turning her head.
What met her eyes was—
The clean carpet slowly being dyed red by spilled wine.
The shards of a broken cup scattered from the tea table all the way to the floor.
Mixed among them were all sorts of expensive porcelain bottles from Hilda's dressing table, the kind Sylphy couldn't even name.
The room was a mess.
Hilda sat collapsed in the middle of it.
Her hair, which had been carefully styled today, had fallen loose around her temples. Both hands covered her face.
From between her fingers, shimmering droplets fell.
Tears and murmurs shattered on the floor together.
Sylphy stood there stunned for a long while before her expression softened into something tinged with sadness.
She stepped forward gently, slowly walking toward Hilda.
She tread over countless glass shards, the broken edges cutting her feet.
She seemed not to notice, only walking silently until she stood before Hilda.
She reached out her hands.
Gently wrapping them around Hilda's head, pulling her into an embrace.
She rested her cheek lightly against Hilda's hair.
In the bedroom.
There was only the sound of stifled sobbing.
And fragmented murmurs.
"Why…"
"…would it turn out like this?"
Sylphy only held Hilda's head, gently stroking her hair.
Her eyes fell to the floor beside them.
There lay a fallen diary, its pages scattered in disorder.
The writing was fragmented across the floor, hard to read.
And yet—
All too clear.
"It clearly…"
"…wasn't an illusion."
—
"An illusion?"
Allen shook his head and was about to turn around.
But then he heard the sound of a heartbeat.
He stopped in his tracks.
Leaning out the doorway.
Against the wall to the right outside—
Rudy was leaning there, turning his head to look at him.
"Allen-sama, it's not an illusion."
The two looked at each other silently for a moment.
Allen grinned.
"Oh? What's this? Couldn't sleep? Came to check if I've got a catgirl hidden in my room?"
Rudy looked at Allen's face and chuckled.
"Let me check?"
As he spoke, he tilted his head to peek into the bedroom through the gap.
He then made an exaggerated expression.
"Oh~ really no catgirl~"
Allen's mouth twitched, just about to say something.
But Rudy's next words made his expression freeze.
"No catgirl… and no Sylphy either."
Allen raised an eyebrow, looking at Rudy's face.
The latter simply met Allen's gaze, expressionless, with an air much like Paul's silent, tight-lipped anger toward them.
In Rudy's mind—
From the first meeting outside the Boreas estate gate, to gradually becoming friends, to admiring him after the Lilia incident, to recognizing and respecting him during their time with Roxy, and finally—
On the snowy valley, when Allen made the same choice to save someone in danger that Rudy himself had made in his past life.
No— not the same.
He had saved people in the past because he knew he would regret it if he saw their mangled corpse later—still, a selfish reason.
But Allen?
He saved him simply because he "wanted to."
That was why Rudy had interrogated Lilia outside the snowy valley.
At that time, he longed for release.
And the fact that Allen had survived afterward had made him feel "redeemed."
In this life, in Rudy's heart, who mattered most?
The answer was obvious.
At this stage, Allen's place far surpassed Zenith, with whom he shared no blood, and even the childish and careless Paul.
He even faintly surpassed Roxy.
Rudy believed he needed to help Allen.
Even if Allen was mature, steady, and capable.
People always had "flaws."
He understood this well.
With that thought, Rudy shifted his gaze away from Allen, glancing toward Sylphy's door, and casually closed it.
Straight to the point.
"Bringing the madam in as a manners teacher—that was my idea."
Allen looked at Rudy and nodded.
He said nothing.
Rudy smiled at him, glanced at the closed door, and with a relaxed gesture, spread his hands.
"You're smart enough not to need me to spell it out, but that's not why I came to you today."
Allen looked straight into Rudy's eyes.
Rudy's face stiffened, but then he took a deep breath and grew serious again.
"There are some things Sylphy doesn't quite see clearly."
"But I see them very clearly."
At that, Rudy thought of the distant Roxy. He sighed softly, his expression somewhat helpless, but without much bitterness.
He only spoke in the same pretty, deliberate phrasing Allen often used.
Word by word, he asked:
"A swordsman…"
"…can only have one sword?"
(End of Chapter)
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