"Do you know who you want to take revenge on?" Frey asked. Pen @ fun @ pavilion wWw. ｂｉｑUｇE。 ｉｎｆｏ

"Southern Empire. ”

Frey turned his head, his gaze leaping over the long table and the guests, and staring blankly at the door of the ballroom. "Drake's Steel Hook Axe" has been sung to an exhilarating moment, with some of the older Snow Lords excitedly slapping their plates with knives, forks, or spoons, and singing aloud. The atmosphere infected almost everyone present, making them put down their dishes and wine glasses, or go along with the voice, or listen quietly, except for Miloca and Cynthia with bitter faces sullen.

The banquet lasted from evening to midnight, and many of the guests were drunk at the table, and even if some of the people who had a little better alcohol or were strict with themselves managed to leave the banquet hall, most of them collapsed into their beds and tried to sleep comfortably until noon.

Wrapped in a thick fur cloak and carrying a round moon on her head, Miloka came to the hillside cemetery outside the city gates. Every guard knew that he was now Frey's best friend, so even if he asked to leave town at midnight, no one would be foolish enough to interrogate or stop him. But Cynthia was not so lucky, and if it weren't for the fact that an argument with the guards in front of the city gate happened to attract Miloca, who was passing by, she really wouldn't have had the opportunity to visit the cemetery to pay tribute to her "old friend".

"I've seen with my own eyes the way His Excellency Venal fights, and he won't die so easily. Miloka stared at the rudimentary wooden cross, tears rolling in her eyes. Cynthia pulled the flask from her bosom and sat down lonely in front of the cross. She sighed with each sip until the jug was empty. Miloca watched silently as Cynthia indulged herself, neither had heard of the famous name of the Grey Shrike, nor understood how entangled she had been with Weiner, but instinctively felt that he should not disturb the sad lady.

"Weiner mentioned you, boy. Cynthia wiped away the tears that had not yet fallen, and said flatly, but it was difficult to hide the surging emotions in her heart, "On our way from Winterhaven, he scolded for a while because you were the messenger of the enemy. He said that you are a good boy, but it is a pity that you are on the wrong team, not only wasted a great future, but also ruined Ives's training. None of that matters to me, what I care about is the way he mentions you, like a melancholy father thinking about his son who has traveled far away, and makes me think maybe it was a mistake to choose Bernie. Maybe I've been in love with him since then, or maybe I just think he's better to lean on. Who knows. So, good boy, you don't mind letting me do what I promised him here, do you?"

Miloca silently pulled out the flask and handed it to Cynthia, then took a few steps back to make room. He doesn't drink alcohol, this flask is a relic left by Harry before he was executed by Monroe for escaping, he wanted to take the flask back to the imperial capital and send it to Harry's relatives in his hometown in the countryside, so he had to carry it with him in order not to lose it accidentally.

Cynthia opened the flask and took a sip, slowly pouring the rest of the spirit onto the cross. "It's good wine, better than anything I've ever drunk, and I've left it for you. Cynthia said, tears streaming down her face. Miloka saw it, not knowing if it was because Harry's wine was too strong, or if Cynthia couldn't suppress the sadness in her heart, but she felt a strong sadness and loneliness spread in the air, as if the moonlight shining on her body had turned pale.

"Remember what you said the night I went to your room? Bernie was shot through the head by the archers of the Sixth Legion, though I know it has nothing to do with you. But I've said how much I care about keeping my promises, so don't blame me for rambling about life as a princess until you rest in peace.