The snow blanketed the clearing in silence, muffling the groans of the bandit leader who knelt bound in the frozen dirt. His arms were tied behind his back, and his face was already bruised from Albert's earlier treatment. But that didn't stop Trafalgar.
Without warning, Trafalgar slammed his boot into the man's side—once, twice—aiming directly at his liver. The bandit screamed, curling instinctively despite the restraints.
"Who sent you?" Trafalgar asked coldly, standing over him.
The bandit spat blood onto the snow. "We—we're just mercs, alright?! Paid to ambush the road—"
Another kick, harder this time.
"I said names."
"Agh—fuck!" The man gasped for air, trembling. "Didn't expect your own blood to sell you out, huh?"
Trafalgar stilled.
"She gave us the route, said the girl would be unguarded. Told us we could take what we wanted. Do what we wanted. Long as she disappeared."
Trafalgar stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"Who."
The bandit hesitated, lips trembling. "Zaria… Zaria du Morgain. She said it was just some petty revenge. That the girl was in her way."
Silence.
Trafalgar turned to Albert without changing expression.
"Give me your sword."
Albert hesitated for a second, then silently handed over his sword.
Trafalgar stepped toward the kneeling bandit.
The man shook his head frantically now, terror overtaking his pain. "W-wait! I told you what you wanted! I cooperated! Please—"
Trafalgar raised the blade, and with a single smooth motion, brought it down.
The sound of steel cutting through flesh was muffled by the snow. The body collapsed sideways as the head rolled onto the white ground, eyes frozen wide in death.
Steam rose from the blood soaking into the cold earth.
Trafalgar stared at the corpse in silence for several seconds.
'I've killed a human… Strangely, I don't feel anything for him, not rage, not pitiness. It just feels empty.'
He turned to Albert, calm and measured.
"Take Aubrelle to the academy. Make sure she arrives safely."
Albert nodded solemnly.
"One more thing. I'll need a horse.'
Albert blinked, then motioned to one of the two horses they'd been using to pull the carriage.
Trafalgar walked over and took the reins.
'It can't be that hard to ride a horse… right?'
Snowflakes drifted gently as Trafalgar approached the carriage. Aubrelle stood outside, arms folded tightly across her chest, her face pale and confused. She had seen enough to know something had happened—but not everything.
"Trafalgar?" she asked, her voice soft but uncertain. "Where are you going?"
He handed the reins of the black horse to Albert and looked her in the eyes.
"There's a debt I need to pay," he said. "Don't worry, I'll catch up soon."
Aubrelle's brows furrowed. "A debt? What are you talking about? You're not seriously going back, are you?"
She stepped forward quickly and grabbed his hand. "Whatever this is—let it go. Please. You don't have to prove anything."
Trafalgar's voice was calm, almost gentle. "This isn't about proving anything."
Aubrelle looked like she wanted to argue, but then her expression shifted—something in his eyes silenced her.
"Promise me you'll return," she whispered.
He gave a faint nod.
She leaned in, kissed him softly on the lips, and held his face between her hands.
"You better come back to me, husband," she said with a tearful smile.
Trafalgar mounted the black horse, gave her one last look, and rode off into the mountain pass without another word.
The wind cut sharp against Trafalgar's face as he rode the black horse at full gallop, snow kicking up behind him in thin sprays. The mountain path twisted like a serpent, narrow and treacherous, but he didn't slow down.
'Damn… that was my first kiss,' he thought, his gloved hand briefly touching his lips. 'It felt good… yeah, I did good playing my role. There's no way I'm breaking that engagement.'
The terrain blurred past him—frozen trees, jagged rock, the white silence of the highlands broken only by the pounding of hooves.
His cloak billowed behind him, and the leather bag tied to his saddle thumped lightly with every jolt. Inside, the bandit leader's severed head lay in silence, wrapped in thick cloth. The blood had long since cooled, but the weight of the act still lingered—not heavy, but present.
'The old Trafalgar would've collapsed after something like this,' he thought, eyes narrowing. 'But me? I ride back home with a trophy.'
Far in the distance, the faint outline of the Morgain Estate began to appear—tall iron gates, gray stone towers, and a cold sky looming above it all.
He dug his heels into the horse's sides.
"Faster."
The beast surged forward, and the estate drew nearer with every breath.
Snow crunched under the horse's hooves as Trafalgar entered the outer courtyard of the Morgain Estate. Servants nearby paused in shock, some whispering, others backing away. No one dared speak directly to him—not with the blood-stained bag slung from his shoulder and that unreadable expression on his face.
He dismounted in one smooth motion, tossing the reins to the nearest stable boy without a word.
"You," Trafalgar called to a passing servant. The young man froze mid-step.
"Y-Yes, young master?"
"Where is Zaria?"
"She's in her chambers, my lord. Just finished her bath, I believe."
Trafalgar nodded once. "Lead me."
The servant obeyed without protest, guiding him through the estate's familiar halls. His footsteps echoed on the marble floor, the tension in the air thick enough to taste. As they reached the large double doors of Zaria's quarters, Trafalgar gestured the servant away.
"Leave."
He didn't knock.
He pushed the doors open with one firm shove.
Steam still clung to the air, and the scent of floral soap lingered. Zaria stood near the mirror, towel wrapped loosely around her body, strands of wet hair falling over her shoulders.
"Trafalgar?" she blinked in surprise. "Did you decide not to go to the academy after all? Or…" Her lips curled faintly, "Did you come back to stay with your big sister?"
Trafalgar didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped forward and tossed the bag at her feet. It landed with a heavy thud, dark red seeping through the fabric and dripping onto the floor.
Zaria's amusement vanished.
"What… what is this?"
She opened the bag.
The scream never came—only a horrified gasp as she fell to her knees, trembling.
Trafalgar looked down at her, voice calm and cold.
"Zaria. Don't try to play games with me again. You already did something unforgivable in the past. I could've let it slide if it was just me."
He stepped closer.
"But targeting someone I care about? That's a whole different matter."
Zaria clutched the bag, hands shaking violently. Her face was pale. Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came.
Trafalgar turned his back on her.
He had said everything that needed to be said.
Trafalgar exited Zaria's room without looking back. The bloodied sack still lay open on the marble floor, staining the pristine white rug beneath her feet. Servants scattered as he walked through the estate's halls, the faint trail of crimson smudges on his boots a silent warning to anyone considering questions.
He headed straight to the stables.
He took the black stallion from earlier. Trafalgar mounted it with practiced ease.
"Where are you going, young master?" one of the senior servants dared to ask, hesitant.
"Now you can talk to me? Fuck off honestly, before I asked for a name before and you couldn't say it"
He looked toward the distant gates, snow gently falling from the overcast sky. The chill wind tugged at his coat, but his face remained still, expression unreadable.
He whispered to himself, "There's nothing left to say here."
With a swift kick, the horse galloped forward, hooves pounding against the frozen earth as they tore through the front courtyard and vanished into the treeline.
Behind him, the Morgain Estate was left in quiet chaos. Rumors began to swirl instantly—about the blood, the sack, the young master's silent fury. Zaria hadn't left her room. The servants had no answers.
Only one thing was certain:
Trafalgar du Morgain was no longer just the forgotten son.
The sun was beginning to rise, casting a faint golden hue over the edge of the horizon as Trafalgar pushed the stallion harder across the winding mountain path. Snow clung to his coat and hair, and the horse's breath steamed in the frigid morning air.
It had taken nearly a full day of riding, with only a few hours of rest, but finally—finally—he spotted the ornate carriage ahead.
Aubrelle's carriage.
He slowed his pace, catching up from a side path. The guards tensed as they noticed the approaching rider, but relaxed instantly upon recognizing the family crest on his cloak and the jet-black stallion beneath him.
The carriage came to a halt. The door opened before he could even dismount.
"Trafalgar!" Aubrelle gasped, stepping out with visible relief. Her silver-white hair flowed behind her, her breath quick in the cold. "You… you came back. What happened?"
Trafalgar hopped down, boots crunching against the snow. His eyes locked onto hers—calm, steady.
"I just had to settle something," he said plainly.
She noticed the dried blood along the hem of his cloak but said nothing. Instead, she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
"I knew you'd return," she whispered. "I just… I was scared you wouldn't."
He gently placed a hand on her head.
"I told you I'd catch up."
As they stood there, silent and close under the falling snow, the guards gave them space. Albert stood near the front, arms crossed, watching with faint pride.
"We still have a ways to go before reaching the Academy," Aubrelle murmured. "But I don't mind the journey anymore."
Trafalgar gave a rare smile.
"Neither do I."