As Roland’s words fell, a suffocating silence descended upon the room.
After a long mont, Mason finally looked up, trying hard to maintain an innocent expression on his face.
"Mason? Sir, are you speaking to ?"
But Roland clearly had no interest in playing along with this charade of feigned ignorance.
Seeing the blank look on the other’s face, he said nothing. He simply raised his teacup and took a slow, deliberate sip.
But his eyes remained firmly locked on Mason’s face.
His gaze was like a physical probe, growing sharper with each passing mont.
Mason’s expression gradually stiffened in response, as if he were wearing an ill-fitting mask.
However, what happened next was not what Roland had expected.
The young nobleman before him didn’t panic or make any rash moves upon having his identity suddenly exposed.
He just sighed softly, set down the teapot he had been holding, and leaned back into his chair, speaking slowly with a hint of exhaustion.
"So... are you here to arrest ?"
"I think you’ve misunderstood, Mr. Mason..."
Seeing the almost detached calm on the other’s face, Roland raised an eyebrow slightly.
He set down his teacup, the bottom making a soft, crisp sound against the tabletop.
"I don’t currently serve the Golden Valley Kingdom. As for how I recognized you..."
Roland omitted the specific reason he knew Mason’s identity, opting for a more direct explanation.
"Dalko and I... are good friends."
"Dalko..."
The na seed to stir so warm mories, and the corner of Mason’s mouth twitched upward almost imperceptibly.
"That guy... Is he doing okay now?"
"Not bad. If everything goes smoothly... he should be training at the Knight Academy by now."
"The Knight Academy..."
Hearing the na, an indescribably complex emotion flickered in Mason’s eyes, finally dissolving into a helpless sigh as he shook his head.
"That guy is the sa as ever. Smart, talented... seems he can succeed at anything he does."
’Smart? Talented?’
Roland’s expression instantly turned a bit odd. An image of the impulsive, perpetually-fired-up blond nobleman surfaced in his mind.
He really couldn’t associate those two words with that reckless fellow.
The atmosphere in the room eased considerably, seemingly because of their mutual friend, Dalko.
"That Dalko..." Mason’s tone lightened a bit. "How did he describe to you?"
"Let think..."
Roland frowned, recalling seriously for a mont before slowly repeating Dalko’s exact words.
"He said you were... extrely kind. That you couldn’t even bring yourself to step on an ant crawling in the garden, and that on rainy days, you’d always cup lost chicks in your hands and return them to their nests..."
"Stop, stop, stop!"
Before Roland could finish, Mason hastily cut him off.
The young nobleman’s face flushed red, a palpable embarrassnt creeping over his features.
He seed to realize he had overreacted. He took a deep breath, his toes curling uncomfortably inside his boots, and his voice held a hint of mortification.
"That bastard Dalko... Never mind. Sir... uh, forgive ..." He looked at Roland apologetically and added softly, "I haven’t had the pleasure of asking your na?"
"Roland."
"Well then, Mr. Roland."
Mason quickly changed the subject, as if desperate to escape the recent embarrassnt.
"Shall we... talk about sothing else?"
"Alright."
Roland shrugged indifferently. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pikachu Tress staring at his teacup with curiosity, so he casually pushed it toward her.
Tress leaned down without hesitation and took a careful sip. The tea’s bitterness imdiately made her little face scrunch up, and she stuck out her pink tongue.
Watching her, Roland couldn’t help but chuckle softly. His gaze returned to Mason, now tinged with a hint of inquiry.
"However, Mr. Mason, I am quite curious... why do you recognize ?"
Roland clearly rembered Mason’s soft exclamation when they first t in the jungle.
Although the other man had quickly covered it up, that montary surprise had piqued Roland’s curiosity.
In his mory, his knowledge of Mason was limited to what Dalko had told him; the two had never actually t.
"Because..."
The question made Mason’s brow furrow slightly.
He pondered for a mont, his gaze shifting briefly, but ultimately chose to be frank.
"When the Golden Valley Kingdom sent n to search the Chenxi Territory... I saw you. You were standing next to a man in pitch-black Armor."
The answer made everything click for Roland instantly.
That was after the incident at Distant Harbor. To avoid further complications, he and Dalko had followed the Black Knight Gandar back to the Black Water Territory.
Clearly, this mory stirred so unpleasant thoughts in Mason.
His lips pressed into a tight line as he fell silent.
Roland looked at his expression and also fell silent, only asking softly after a mont.
"So... do you hate ?"
"Hate you? No..."
Mason shook his head gently, his voice growing low.
"I know very well that arresting my father, searching the Chenxi Territory... none of that had anything to do with you. How could I hate you for it? I just..."
His words broke off abruptly.
Mason’s eyes lost their focus, his face filled with a deep sense of bewildernt.
"After everything that’s happened... logically, I should hate sothing, whether it’s a person or a thing, but... I don’t even know who to hate... My father? No..."
He shook his head again, the movent slow and heavy.
"Although he persecuted the people of our territory and betrayed His Majesty Morne... everything he did, he did to save ."
He paused, a flicker of conflict in his eyes.
"Should I hate His Majesty Morne? But my father did commit high treason... As for the Truth Church..."
When he ntioned that na, undisguised disgust flashed across Mason’s face.
"I can’t direct my anger at them either."
"Even though I know they must have their own agenda, without them..."
His hand unconsciously went to his left breast, his voice trembling slightly.
"I’m afraid I... would have already stepped through the Gate of Hell."
"The Gate of Hell?"
Roland tried to break the oppressive atmosphere with a lighter tone.
"Why not heaven?"
"Those people... they were innocent!"
Mason’s hand, which had been gently resting on his chest, suddenly clenched into a fist, his knuckles turning white from the force as if he were trying to crush his own heart.
"They should have had peaceful lives... but in the end, because of my illness... their lives were thrown away for nothing! So..."
He looked up, forcing a bleak, broken smile.
"How could soone like , who carries the weight of innocent lives... possibly go to heaven?"
"Perhaps..."
Mason lowered his head again, his voice sinking into deeper shadows.
"I should have died long ago. That way... none of this would have happened. But I... I can’t just give up this life."
His tone abruptly beca resolute, carrying an almost cruel obstinacy.
"My life... was bought with the lives of those people. Whether they resent or Curse ... I have no right to throw away this life... a life given by their blood!"
As he spoke his last words, Mason’s facial muscles contorted with extre pain and conflict.
It was a complex expression—a mixture of remorse, unwillingness, despair, and a kind of twisted determination—so intense it was suffocating.
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