Sasha Ambrose was twenty-seven.
There really wasn’t much left now.
All the bad things he’d done so far swept through his head like a panorama.
Sowing discord behind people’s backs, paying bribes, running scams, using a honey trap—he’d lived, truly, a very busy life.
Just one thing: he’d fed Edward poison, but touching Edward’s family too felt like something he genuinely couldn’t do, so he’d only worked his mouth in front of them.
Things like calling them beasts not worth laying a finger on, or worms worse than livestock.
He’d thought that would be enough, but when Sasha didn’t touch them, other factions started going after the family however they pleased.
‘Still, they didn’t die.’
Whenever it looked like an episode was about to happen where Edward’s family would die, Sasha would leak a word to Edward’s side and stop it—even if he had to smash the Grand Duke and the Emperor to do it.
It was a pathetic little self-satisfaction.
Edward wouldn’t know, but it was Sasha’s own way of apologizing for what he’d done.
And as time passed and the final volume drew near, the Grand Duke and the Emperor fell, one after another.
After the Grand Duke was stripped of his succession rights, he was driven out of the Empire, and the Emperor lost all real power, becoming an emperor in name only—living like a wreck.
Once Sasha’s “processing” was finished, the Emperor would likely be dragged down from that seat as well.
The calm before the storm.
Even knowing the massive fight about to break out, the nobles laughed and chatted at a lavish party held by the imperial family, smiling as if nothing were wrong while hiding sharpened blades.
After the massacre at that previous party hall, the Grand Duke—the instigator—had taken a bigger political hit than Edward, the one who’d been attacked. So outside they bared their teeth, but inside the party venue there was an unspoken agreement not to touch each other.
Except for the Emperor—completely broken, incapable of even imagining resistance—sitting in the place of honor like a deflated balloon.
With only him excluded, the party hall looked happy and peaceful.
They were something else.
‘Have I “socialized” enough by now?’
If he stayed any longer, he felt like his discomfort would show, so Sasha was about to leave the party hall—when someone he couldn’t ignore approached.
Edward.
“That day.”
Sasha stopped at the words tossed out without even a formal greeting. Then, golden eyes that had been dyed in darkness for some time now stared straight at Sasha.
“On the terrace.”
Sasha felt his heart drop and straightened his posture.
It was strange that Edward had never brought it up even once.
The massacre incident had already been chaos—if word got out that there’d been an attempted poisoning on top of it, the confusion would only deepen, so they’d kept it quiet. Or maybe, while the Grand Duke’s faction was resisting fiercely to avoid responsibility for the massacre, they’d thought that if they provoked Sasha too, he might join hands with the Grand Duke.
But closing your mouth didn’t make the facts of that day disappear.
Sasha decided he’d accept whatever warning or condemnation was coming.
“Blood splattered on your clothes. I’m sorry.”
He’d expected Edward to ask him straight out about the crime, but he hadn’t expected him to be sarcastic like this.
Had he become more “noble,” then?
Honestly, if Sasha were in Edward’s position—suffering like that from poison Sasha handed him—he would’ve wanted to pour a bucket of curses over him.
‘At least he didn’t throw a full string of profanity.’
Sasha tipped his chin arrogantly. Even with what he’d done, he couldn’t say he was sorry.
“Fine. Next time, you’d better be more careful.”
Then rage exploded—not from Edward, but from somewhere else.
“Marquess!”
Sasha didn’t know if they were furious that a marquess had spoken casually to Edward, a prince, or if they simply hated how shamelessly he was accepting an apology.
Or maybe they were mad at this pretty face.
Sasha met the eyes of the nobles glaring like they wanted to tear him apart, one by one—and, as if on purpose, folded the corners of his eyes and smiled brightly.
Even in the middle of their fury, a few people’s eyes shook violently.
No matter how dazzlingly beautiful Sasha was today—scrubbed and polished from head to toe for the party—reacting like that to an enemy was ridiculous.
Ha.
Laughing at them, Sasha lifted his gaze back to Edward and neatly emptied the glass in his hand.
It was both a sneer aimed at Edward’s people, who didn’t drink even a sip of water at parties after that day—and an action that acknowledged the truth: that what happened then really had been Sasha’s doing.
Taking the full brunt of their killing intent, Sasha crooked a finger at a footman frozen not far away.
The footman, professional to the bone, hesitated, then approached Sasha. Sasha shoved the empty glass into their hand and smiled as if he were being kind.
“Bring a glass of wine as red as blood to the person standing right in front of me.”
Swoosh—Sasha dipped his head by the footman’s ear and whispered sweetly, then brushed past them. Whether the footman was frightened or bewitched by his face, Sasha didn’t know.
He left the party hall.
He’d said it loudly on purpose—so Edward would brace for Sasha’s next move.
‘Time to do bad things again.’
A long gaze—he didn’t know whose—pressed against the back of his head, but Sasha didn’t look back.
*****
When you know how your opponent will move, losing is absurdly easy.
You just step on every landmine you already know is there.
Watching a ship that creaked through the entire preparation process and began sinking before it even started sailing, Sasha curled the corner of his mouth up.
“How did it end up like this?”
At Sasha’s laughing question, the count—the number-one contributor to this mess—trembled and lowered his head. The other nobles in the meeting did the same.
Sasha didn’t think he’d ever really threatened them, but nobles idolized him and yet feared him, too.
Honestly, Sasha couldn’t even understand why these nobles had chosen him as their leader and raised a rebellion.
He hadn’t presented some grand vision. All he’d done was bare his disgust, distrust, and hatred for the imperial family.
So why had they gathered around Sasha?
He was just a young man whose face was disgustingly beautiful—someone who’d already been at the edge of his strength just holding up the Ambrose marquessate.
Was this the original’s influence too?
It didn’t matter now, but still.
Sasha studied the nobles who couldn’t even bring themselves to look at him, all of them with their heads bowed low—then turned to the count.
The moment Sasha’s gaze landed on him, the count shuddered.
‘Yeah. You screwed up, so you should beg until your hands wear out.’
He’d already known it, and this was something that had to happen for Edward’s sake, but Sasha was genuinely amazed that the count had managed to flush a third of their forces down the drain in a single night.
D-Day was only three days away, and it was food poisoning?
He was so dumbfounded he didn’t even have words.
‘If you fed soldiers that kind of trash, then where did all that money I gave you to buy provisions get siphoned off to?’
It was possible the money the count had pocketed over the past few years was even more than what Sasha had been siphoning little by little.
‘Tsk. Everything’s going great.’
They might get their heads lopped off if this failed, but they had no fear at all.
Well, the rebel army being this pathetic was exactly why, right before the civil war, Edward had been able to secure victory.
‘If they wrote all the way through the war, it would’ve gotten too long.’
Hadn’t Sasha himself flinched at a ten-volume series at first? And if the author had hurt the protagonist’s people any more than this, they would’ve gotten absolutely shredded by readers.
“Count, how do you intend to take responsibility for this?”
At the soft question, the count—who’d barely been standing—slammed down onto his knees with a bang and bowed his head.
“Please spare me!”
He’d never said he was going to kill him.
Sasha, keeping the smile on his lips, asked,
“Did I say I was going to kill the count?”
“N-no, you didn’t.”
Watching the count—terrified, and yet hopeful—Sasha’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Why are you trying so hard to paint me as a bad person?”
Hm?
The air in the meeting room grew even heavier. The count rolled his eyes desperately, trying to find the answer that would let him live—then met Sasha’s contempt-filled blue eyes and slammed his forehead to the floor.
If you’re going to do it, do it hard enough to bleed. Whether he was scared, the little thunk that echoed was so pathetic it wasn’t even funny.
Sasha looked down at the count, who couldn’t say a word, and wiped the smile clean off his face.
“Count. Take responsibility that fits your sins.”
Realizing Sasha wasn’t going to forgive him, the count asked back in a trembling voice.
“How…?”
“Why are you asking me? Thinking about that, too—that’s part of the responsibility you have to bear.”
Why did they all try to freeload like this?
The end was near. Sasha’s own crossroads was right in front of him.
He didn’t have the mental room to worry about the punishment of people who were destined to lose anyway. And besides—no matter what Sasha said, the count wasn’t someone who would willingly confess his crimes.
‘He ran away in the middle of the night.’
And he was the kind of massive traitor who would run straight to Edward and spill every scrap of information from this side.
Thanks to that, on the day of the decisive battle three days later, Sasha was utterly defeated and beheaded.
“Stop hanging around in front of my eyes. Get out.”
Sasha shoved the count, who tried to cling to his feet. Knights who’d been waiting rushed forward and dragged the struggling count away.
“Marquess! Please, please…!”
Thud—!
When the meeting room door shut, the count’s pitiful wailing echoed faintly. If you saw it, you’d think his neck was being cut right now. His voice was so loud you almost had to pity the knights dragging him out.
‘How kind of them.’
If it were Sasha, he would’ve punched that mouth and told him to shut up ages ago.
‘Run well.’
Sasha let a gentle smile flow again, as if he couldn’t hear that desperate screaming at all.
“The plan proceeds as scheduled. The people here won’t disappoint me, will they?”