Meanwhile, in Backlund.
Following his divine intuition, Roselle easily found the inn in the East Borough with Bernadette, but by the time they arrived, only two bodies remained.
The male corpse was bleeding from all seven orifices, his vitality drained. He sat slumped against a chair with a relieved smile on his face, his dying gaze directed toward the Royal Palace.
The female corpse sat on the floor, leaning against the man's thigh, a dagger buried in her chest and blood staining her body red. Even at the moment of death, she had still held his hand tightly.
"These are the siblings Edessak and Helena."
Seeing her father's confusion, Bernadette explained, "They're the children of George III, the man who wanted to advance to Black Emperor. They became expendable because they learned his secret, and after escaping with their lives, they wanted nothing but revenge against him."
Roselle said coldly, "To sink so low that even his own son and daughter wanted him dead-what a failure. To think someone like that nearly became the Black Emperor. What a disgrace to this pathway."
Bernadette said, however, "Actually, throughout history, most kings and emperors have grown estranged from their children. Often, the more outstanding their children are, the more wary they become. And most kings and emperors have many children. Someone like you is actually quite rare, Dad."
Roselle couldn't help stroking his beard. "Of course," he said casually.
"Did you think I was praising you, Dad?"
Bernadette glanced at him. "I meant those diaries of yours."
"..."
Roselle's composure instantly crumbled. "Could you stop bringing up the diaries?"
"Then shall we talk about how you climbed into another woman's bed on the night of my birthday banquet, only to be caught red-handed by her husband?"
"Not that either," Roselle said.