"..."
Roxie, who had been silently listening to the Queen Consort's venting cries, was completely at a loss for words at this moment.
She merely tightened her grip on the Holy Sword in her hand. Though she said nothing, her heart churned.
Even though she had not experienced it herself, merely listening to the Queen Consort's cries, to the hatred deeper than grief in her voice, was enough for Roxie to feel how much this ancestor of hers had suffered.
Love turning into hate was no longer enough to describe her.
Her love had become pain, and her love had become malice.
Her love was incomparably heavy, yet unforgettable.
Perhaps others would think that she had fallen to this point solely because she had gone to extremes, but Roxie could understand.
Because she understood love, knew love, and grasped love, she knew exactly how despairing it was when a woman's love reached the point where it could never be fulfilled, no matter what she did.
Forty years of all-out struggle.
A thousand years of love steeped in hatred.
This ancestor of the Hero, who had lost her homeland and family and been left with nothing but hope, had ultimately met such a pitiful fate.
Roxie would not pass judgment on it.
It was not that she felt unable to judge it, only that she felt she had no right to.
If one was not involved, one had no right to stand from one's own position and point fingers at another person's affairs.
That was not advice. It was merely thoughtless empty talk.
But...
"You should let go, Lady Leni."
Roxie's voice drifted gently through the air.
"It has been a thousand years. That is enough. Please spare yourself. Stop forcing yourself down this dead-end path."
That was the only thing