After the announcement, Arkan was exhausted. He went to his bed, weighed down by his experiences of the day, and soon fell asleep.
But sleep didn't bring peace. Rather, he slipped into a dream—or perhaps a memory—where he replayed everything that had happened in the case.
He saw Serna kneeling, tears streaming from her eyes, her hands clenched in supplication.
> "Arkan. please. don't make this public. I. I can live with the disgrace. Please, don't ruin everything for my family."
Arkan had not cared. He recalled leaving without saying a word, as though her wails were only background music.
But suddenly, the dream changed. He found himself in the castle, facing a high, ornate mirror. Behind it, Serna—or rather, a reflection of Serna—was poisoning him, instead of pleading with him. The reflection repeated back to him their final conversation, twisted in a nightmarish way:
> "For what reasons, Arkan, have you done this? For what reasons have you changed? For what reasons have you provided a false story to my father? He is very greedy, yes. But he would never break the law. And because of you, our position has been ruined, my father has lost his job, and having gone through all of this. The Hero shows me proof it's a false story. Why, Arkan, have you done this?"
Arkan awoke from the dream, sweating, his chest constricted.
What is this feeling of. guilt? he wondered. I'm not even alive. Maybe it's a reaction from the body to memory or stress.
He sat up, holding onto the edge of the bed, his eyes glued to his hands. But. well, having analyzed all those memories, I'm pretty sure Serna's father didn't commit any crime of tax evasion. And. tax evasion, as a crime, definitely doesn't warrant a sentence of house arrest. All nobles bend the rules this way. Why would the Demon Lord make it so huge a deal?
Arkan took a deep, resentful breath, attempting to quash the feeling building in his chest. *I don't have to care. I am here solely for the game. I am the Demon Lord. but even so, why does it feel so real to me?* The questions remained, unanswered, as he lay back down, fixed on the ceiling. Deep within, a small spark of something, perhaps confusion, guilt, or worse, would not be extinguished.