“Was it really so shocking that you disappeared for ten years? It’s not like I stabbed you in the back, is it?”
Deceiver had merely been exposed.
He never betrayed Raven outright. Until the very end, he remained as Raven's son, as his disciple. He never directly harmed him—the only thing that happened was that his true identity was revealed.
And yet Raven had been so shaken he vanished for ten years. To Deceiver, it was incomprehensible.
“…Yeah, this is exactly who you are.”
A twisted Demigod who doesn’t even think deception itself is the problem.
In the past, when Raven knew nothing, he chalked it up to immaturity—youthful ignorance—and even accepted those disturbing traits when they occasionally surfaced.
But not anymore.
Raven’s eyes dimmed, cold and sunken.
‘If anything, it would’ve been easier if you’d just stabbed me in the back and shamelessly shown your face.’
What was the point of getting angry here? It changed nothing.
A hollow, self-mocking laugh escaped him. Slowly withdrawing his hand, Raven spoke in a calm, detached tone, as if explaining something to a clueless child.
“How could I not be shaken when the person I gave my heart to turned out to be my enemy? Besides—”
His voice sank, cold as ice, carrying a bitter sneer.
“I found out you were planning to deceive me from the very beginning. How could anyone stay calm after that?”
“You were shocked because I’m the enemy?”
“I was shocked because you were the enemy.”
No one else. You lied to me.
Our connection wasn’t some random twist of fate—it was you, my enemy, who deliberately wove that bond from the start.
That knowledge shattered him.
Raven, who had given his heart so freely that he even accepted Deceiver as an adopted son, hadn’t exploded in anger—instead, he collapsed beneath the weight of sorrow.
He thought he’d run with everything he had, but when he looked back, he’d never left square one.
“Of course… that’s not how I feel anymore.”
Without hesitation, Raven brushed him off, discarded all lingering attachment.
Deceiver, watching him in silence, slowly rose to his feet.
He dusted off his clothes a few times, and with that same neatly composed demeanor—as if he hadn’t just been acting however he pleased—he spoke.
“You must be exhausted after such a long journey. You should rest. We can continue this deep conversation later.”
“I’ll prepare a guest chamber,”
Kian Ardal, who had been watching the entire exchange like walking on eggshells, swiftly seized the opportunity to speak.
Deceiver’s brow twitched faintly.
“A mere guest chamber?”
He shook his head, firm.
“He’s my father. My Master. Shouldn’t we offer him the finest palace available?”
“…If that’s the case…”
“For instance, the East Palace.”
That place so beautiful no name ever seemed fitting—they simply called it the East Palace.
Traditionally, it was gifted to the Emperor's most beloved: a cherished sister, an adored empress, or a favored concubine. It was the symbol of absolute imperial favor.
Kian Ardal’s face stiffened the moment it was mentioned.
“The East Palace…? But that place—”
“His Majesty has no one he treasures, does he? And this is my father. You wouldn't possibly object to offering an empty, unused palace to my father… would you?”
“…”
“Unless, of course…”
Deceiver locked eyes with Kian Ardal, his gaze sharp and chilling, far beyond human comprehension—a clear reminder of what he truly was.
“Have you found someone you treasure so much you’d deny them the East Palace?”
“Of course not.”
Kian Ardal had seen how this Demigod could lash out in ways no one predicted.
If pushed in the wrong direction, innocent people would die. The Emperor frantically shook his head.
“If such a distinguished guest were to reside there, it would be an honor.”
“You heard him, Master. I’ll even permit the little ‘stalker’ who followed us into the palace to tag along as a… decorative accessory, shall we say. So, please…”
Better that than watching some poor crow get slaughtered, wouldn’t you agree?
“Rest.”
“…”
He might not care if people died, but he wouldn’t stomach being the reason.
‘And you still love me, despite it all.’
No matter the betrayal, Raven hadn’t cut off all feeling completely.
Deceiver knew it.
Which was why, as long as he handed Raven this convenient excuse to stay, Raven would take it.
‘You’ll indulge this small whim of mine, won’t you? Father.’
Deceiver’s eyes curved upward in a gentle, confident smile as he looked at the man clenching his fists so tightly.
The unspoken threat in that smile was unmistakable.
Raven, seconds away from snapping, clenched his jaw shut.
“…You bastard.”
“Hurtful words, Father.”
He’d fought so hard to preserve his humanity—he wouldn’t throw it away over this.
****
The guest had left.
With his business concluded, Deceiver turned to leave as well—but paused, something clearly coming to mind.
His gaze drifted to Kian Ardal, cold and detached, like watching a desperate insect struggling to survive.
“Seems I won this round too, Your Majesty.”
“…!”
Kian Ardal’s face drained of all color.
“Don’t worry, I’m not angry. I can understand why you scheme—I even find it mildly entertaining.”
That was the only reason he’d tolerated it all this time.
“But.”
This time, the target of that scheming had been Raven.
‘You dared try to steal my father and sell him off to my other siblings, didn’t you?’
All Stigma had relayed was that Kian ordered Raven to be located discreetly.
But the real goal was obvious.
His elder brothers and sisters—they were human, yet dealing with them wasn’t simple.
It wasn’t about power—the situation itself was complicated.
If Deceiver hadn’t found Raven first… Who knows what might’ve happened?
From the Emperor’s perspective, it had been a smart gamble—but for the first time, Deceiver felt a need to issue a warning.
“You’d do well to learn where my boundaries lie—and stay within them.”
His smile curved slightly, but the pressure lingered beneath it.
“Though… I’m sure Your Majesty is clever enough to manage.”
A faint trace of fear flickered across Kian Ardal’s face.
Satisfied, Deceiver reined in the quiet pressure completely, his expression softening into a harmless smile.
“But more importantly, Your Majesty… My father has returned after ten years. He knows nothing of how Imperial society has changed.”
“Shall we host a ball to commemorate the distinguished guest’s arrival?”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Then I’ll set a date as soon as—”
“No need to rush. The nobles will need time to prepare. If it’s too soon, everyone will be inconvenienced.”
The ball should happen as quickly as possible—yet with enough time for the nobles in the provinces to prepare and travel.
“Wouldn’t want a half-baked, disappointing ball to leave us all embarrassed…”
Prepare a flawless, grand celebration.
That was what the Demigod was saying.
“So don’t strain yourself trying to rush.”
Once the ball happened, the siblings would learn of their Master’s existence and reach out.
No need to rush that timing.
Of course, they would be the ones to tie Raven down—but avoiding them entirely was impossible. Until Raven left of his own accord, Deceiver would keep him close, then host the ball to draw the siblings in and anchor Raven properly.
An extravagant ball, dazzling nobles—those were enough to entertain his father.
Because Raven was a man starved for conversation, for warmth, for human connection.
“My father is Master to every head of the Associations. We have plenty of justification—but his true identity should remain hidden for now.”
“Then… we’ll announce him only as a distinguished guest?”
“You catch on fast. I’ll look forward to a spectacular event.”
“…Yes.”
After Deceiver left, Kian Ardal finally collapsed into his seat.
Only after a long silence did a hollow, bitter laugh escape him.
“…So this is how it ends, after all.”
The thick sorrow lingering at the edge of his voice was unmistakable.
It sounded like muttering to himself, but the words were clearly intended to be heard. Stigma, noticing that, revealed himself.
His cold, empty brown eyes, void of any warmth, looked down upon the Emperor, who was slumped in disgraceful exhaustion.
Kian quietly lifted his gaze to meet him. As he stared into those cold eyes, his own emotions dulled, and his mind began to function properly again.
‘…Still, it’s not like there was no gain from this.’
The fact that Deceiver issued a warning—meant he felt threatened.
Until now, Deceiver had let them do whatever they pleased, completely indifferent. Probably because nothing touched him directly.
But now, for the first time, he’d delivered a warning.
The reason was obvious.
‘Raven… that man is his weakness.’
But approach recklessly, and it would mean death. Just like Deceiver said—one had to tread carefully along the "line."
Kian pondered how to proceed when Stigma, interpreting his gaze differently, slowly knelt down on one knee, lowering his eyes.
Only then did Kian’s full attention shift to him. He had words for him too, so the silence didn’t last.
“…Don’t you have something to say to me?”
Stigma hesitated briefly but answered without delay.
“Why did you do it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you give me the order, knowing full well I would report it?”
Stigma was Deceiver’s watchdog, placed directly at the Emperor’s side.
Though he was of noble birth, he was still a former slave from a defeated nation, who had somehow risen to the rank of Viscount in this Empire.
Kian gave him direct orders anyway. It was irrational—borderline suicidal.
“Because.”
Kian lowered his gaze. His face remained composed, but his voice was laced with subtle exhaustion and resignation.
“Anything I try to do behind your back is doomed to fail.”
“…”
“With all my limbs severed, I have no useful cards left. So what choice do I have? I have to borrow your hands.”
Because you’re competent.
And “he” sees me as so insignificant that even if you report this disgraceful behavior, it’ll be ignored.
That had been the calculation—and so far, it was correct.
“Pathetic, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
But giving up wasn’t an option.
He was the Emperor. He had too much to protect.
Casting away useless emotions, Kian continued his train of thought.
‘The man Deceiver called Father… judging by his expression, he seems to despise Deceiver. But is it genuine? Or just a typical squabble?’
If it’s real—was it hatred deep enough to kill? Or twisted affection tangled with resentment?
He had to find out.
But not through Stigma.
Deceiver had only just warned him regarding Raven. If this command leaked back to him, Kian wouldn’t be safe.
Difficult as it was, he needed a different route.
‘First, I need other pieces on the board besides Stigma.’
He pulled his gaze away from the areas he couldn’t touch and focused on what was available now.
Something came to mind.
“…Now that I think of it, there’ve been some interesting individuals lately.”
“…”
“The ones called the Slave Liberation Movement, wasn’t it?”
Stigma’s brow twitched faintly—as if he’d heard something he wasn’t supposed to.
But so what? Even if he was Deceiver’s watchdog, Stigma was still a former slave shackled by status, while Kian Ardal was the Emperor.
Unless Deceiver decided to protect him personally, Stigma was still a disposable tool.
Finishing his calculations, Kian spoke without acknowledging Stigma’s expression.
“Can you look into them? If possible, I’d like to know how to make contact.”
Even if this order reached Deceiver, it didn’t matter.
If he could establish contact with them—it would be worth it.
‘That lazy Demigod won’t interfere with something that doesn’t interest him. He hates unnecessary trouble, so he’ll overlook a simple investigation like this.’
Stigma, praised for his "competence," had risen this high. There’s no way he couldn’t carry out a direct imperial command.
Stigma had no choice.
“…If it’s an order.”
As expected, Stigma bowed his head, suppressing the displeasure on his face.
His short, green hair slipped forward, concealing the side of his face, and from beneath it came his voice—clean, emotionless, as always.
“I will obey.”
****
News arrived—Raven, or someone believed to be him, had entered the Imperial Palace.
He had closed a Gate alone, right at the city gates, so the information traveled faster and more reliably than usual.
‘His skills haven’t changed.’
There was brief astonishment at the absurd speed with which he dealt with the Gate—but it wasn’t as if no records existed on him.
Eddar, the head of Aurel, the underworld intelligence network, discarded his surprise and returned to the core issue.
“…And he entered the palace under Deceiver’s endorsement.”
Well, it made sense.
The other Heads of the Associations were desperate to find him. Deceiver, who called them brothers and sisters, wouldn’t be any different.
‘In the end, the monster claimed victory.’
The moment Eddar heard the report, he ordered all operations related to Raven to halt.
It was pointless to meddle further now.
Instead, he changed the objective.