Chapter 58
“Of course it is. Isidore is Pheon’s cousin. He has no relatives on his father’s side. Only on his mother’s.”
Beatrice said indifferently after listening to the butler’s complaints. The small room and corridor inside the castle, where she had once played with Pheon, were now filled only with odds and ends. There were no traces of people passing through, just dust piled up thickly in a haze.
“How could His Highness do that to me—no, His Highness would never…!”
Beatrice muttered without even looking at the butler, who was confused and insisting that Pheon would never abandon him.
“Pheon wouldn’t do that. Think logically. He suddenly came this afternoon and started turning everything upside down, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then who did the investigator meet this morning?”
This morning, the Duchess had been questioned as the victim.
“The Duchess…”
“Exactly, Kaella and her people. She probably wanted to replace the head maid and the butler while she was at it.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong! After all my years of service…!”
“No one’s saying people can’t make mistakes.”
Beatrice leaned against the wall and stared impassively at the butler, who was muttering excuses that no one was listening to.
“You really never made a single mistake?”
The butler, his mouth slightly agape, couldn’t answer right away. Of course. She had known it. Just looking at the state of the rooms inside the castle—even the lord’s quarters—told the whole story.
With no thrifty mistress to manage the household and the single duke too preoccupied with war, it was proof that someone had been siphoning off supplies. And who that someone was went without saying.
“Rolph. In Kline, there’s no such thing as a ‘mistake’ that can be brushed off. Especially when His Imperial Majesty has sent an investigator. Any ‘mistake’ that comes to light now must be punished without fail.”
“I’m only human—how can I never make a mistake…!”
The butler’s voice, now facing old age after losing his youth, cracked harshly.
“That’s why you need a miracle from now on.”
A miracle? As if such a thing could happen.
“If a miracle occurs, you can cover the mistake with something even bigger.”
A heavy, ominous blare of the battle horn pierced the thick air.
The butler startled and looked toward the sound. It was a common noise in Lüsenford. Beatrice, too, had been terrified by it many times when she stayed in Lüsenford to躲 from her creditors.
“Well, the miracle has already happened.”
She muttered calmly now, no longer afraid. As the battle horn vibrated the damp air, rain began to fall from the sky thickly shrouded in gray. It was a cold rain that chilled the ground just starting to sprout.
“Now we just need to find something to cover it with.”
*
“Volga! It’s the Volga bastards!”
Spring brought hope, but it was also the most perilous time. After the autumn harvest was stored away and depleted, it was a harsh, cruel season where one misstep could mean losing even the seeds meant for planting.
The seasons were impartial, so Lüsenford’s hardships were mirrored across the border in the eternally frozen lands of those barbarians. That was why they were invading.
“This isn’t just a hit-and-run! They’re coming in force!”
“I see a battering ram!”
A battering ram? The knights cried out in alarm and raced to the stables. The bells rang frantically, clang-clang, clang-clang.
“There’s a lot of them!”
“Report!”
Pheon strode forward, shouting.
“They say the numbers are enormous, Your Highness!”
“It doesn’t seem like just Volga tribesmen. Do you think the Volga could haul a battering ram on their own?”
The weather had thawed—it was about time for them to strike. Their winter stockpiles would be gone, and spring winds were sharper and colder than midwinter gales.
The enemies who always raided for food had brought a battering ram this time. They meant to go all the way. Pheon remembered this battle from before his regression.
Lüsenford had barely held on, the fight dragged on, and he’d had no choice but to bow to the Emperor again.
“How far have they come?”
“They’re holding them at Pueten!”
“Still?”
“Yes!”
Pueten Fortress was the first gateway into the Kranian Empire and Lüsenford’s outermost bastion. It was close enough to see from Lüsenford Castle.
They’d come with clear intent to conquer, so Pueten should have fallen, yet it was still holding—everyone marveled at that.
Pheon’s closest aides, who knew he’d been reinforcing Pueten with troops, supplies, and weapons for days, silently prepared for battle without a word.
“It can’t fall. Tell them to hold at all costs.”
“Yes!”
“Send plenty of oil.”
As the duke issued orders, Lüsenford’s gates opened, and cavalry charged out along the rain-slicked roads.
The clamor of weapons and armor clashing was deafening. The people of Lüsenford moved with calm precision at the familiar sound of an incursion. The only ones panicking were the Kline folk sent by the Emperor.
“Brother!”
Even Isidore, the Emperor’s investigator who strictly separated duty and personal ties, couldn’t help calling out to his brother at the news of a battering ram.
“Isidore. You absolutely cannot go out there.”
“How can I not, brother! A battering ram means they intend a siege—I’m a knight too!”
“Before that, you’re the investigator sent by His Imperial Majesty. Focus on the investigation. That’s your duty.”
Pheon patted Isidore’s arm.
“And if it looks like the gates will fall, don’t look back—flee to Kline with the other investigators.”
“I can’t do that, brother.”
“You must.”
Pheon gripped Isidore’s shoulder firmly.
“There’s a chain of command. Don’t get swept up—hold your post.”
The fierce gaze under his dark brows overwhelmed him. It was an absolute order from a battlefield superior. Isidore had no choice but to obey. Everyone followed Pheon, captivated as if ensnared.
Where the ruler of Lüsenford passed, chaos and fear gave way to resolve and order.
The order he had established stood unshaken, steeling people’s hearts to face death and focus on their tasks. Pheon issued a flurry of orders as he hurried along.
It was routine. He would gird his sword, don his armor, and ride out. As always. Without looking back.
But he couldn’t anymore. If he missed today, it was over. A vague anxiety that there might be no second chance urged him on.
“Duchess!”
Kaella was already outside the study. She soothed the wailing children—waaang—and sent them inside, calling for Doctor Darinka. Her maids fluttered about, pale-faced.
But Kaella—his wife—stood calm amid it all. As if she’d been through many battles before.
“You must go at once.”
Like the poised wife of a border lord guarding the frontier, she tried to send him off steadily.
“Don’t worry about this place.”
He hid his trembling hands, closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then opened them. He, who moved with ruthless efficiency in battle, wasting not a second, was losing his composure before Kaella, plunged into panic.
A twenty-one-year-old newlywed duchess acting like a battle-hardened veteran was odd in every way.
“Your Highness?”
This was no mere signal or scattered clue anymore.
The clues had amassed, forming a hypothesis—nay, proof. The habit of ignoring his wife had made even the truth easy to dismiss, and now it lay before him, mocking his foolishness.
“Duchess.”
He drew a deep breath, swallowed his cracked voice to steady it. It came out calmer than expected. The sin he must atone for was far greater than he imagined.
“…Stay somewhere safe. Don’t come outside under any circumstances, and don’t worry…”
He meant to say not to worry, but the words caught. Her worries wouldn’t include him anyway.
“You don’t need to be anxious.”
Pheon changed his words.
“I’ll return victorious.”
Kaella’s eyes widened as she looked up at her husband.
Was it because they’d been married so recently? This Pheon felt unfamiliar. In a crisis where every minute counted, he’d come specifically to reassure her—clearly, he truly cared.
His burning gaze focused solely on her. Reflexively, Kaella thought of the name that had dominated her marriage.
‘Beatrice…’
She should tell him to go to that woman. His final farewell should be with her. She knew the line he’d drawn and wouldn’t dare cross it, she should say.
“Take care.”
But Pheon smiled faintly at her concern, which she’d set aside talk of Beatrice for.
“I won’t be hurt. I never am.”
“But the battlefield is dangerous.”
He could command from the rear, yet he often led from the front. His battle-honed skill was fearsome, but so were the scars on his body.
“Be careful. Go now.”
With no time to delay, Kaella hurried her words to send him off. But the man, towering like a mountain, didn’t turn away. Instead, he extended his hand to her.
His hand? Bewildered, Kaella instinctively placed hers atop it. As a noble lady, she was used to escorts—or perhaps she was growing accustomed to Pheon’s unfamiliar ones.
Pheon gently brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back, then pressed his hot forehead to it.
In truth, he wanted to hold his wife tightly.
He wanted to breathe in her rich fruity sweetness, the scent of pouring sunlight, white blooming flowers—the southern fragrance—before riding out. To hold her perfectly fitted form and remind himself who he must protect.
“I’ll be back.”
But that wasn’t permitted. As a knight who’d pledged body, heart, and soul to his lady, he could barely manage a courteous farewell before departing. No—even that was presumptuous now.
He forced his reluctant feet to move, turning from Kaella. So many words he wanted to entrust to her, but he sealed his lips and walked away.
*
The duke departed hastily for Pueten. Isidore rubbed the back of his neck, watching the glossy warhorses charge through the rain in a terrifying spectacle.
The Kline gate he oversaw was the first entry to the empire’s grand capital, teeming with all sorts of strange folk.
He prided himself as a seasoned knight hardened to most things, yet compared to Lüsenford’s battles, Kline’s disturbances were mere trifles.
The rain thickened. Visibility worsened, darkness closed in, and a chilling instinct scraped his skin.
Life and death loomed. Grip the sword or die—that was survival. Lüsenford soldiers, eyes gleaming, marched toward Pueten undaunted.
“Is it all right to stay here like this?”
One anxious investigator muttered.
“We do our job.”
Isidore suppressed his knightly urge to charge and his boiling blood, spreading out the butler’s ledgers and records seized today.
Lüsenford folk were already excelling at their tasks. Even the young duchess, married mere weeks, tended to women and children.
“We’ll have to suspend the related-party interviews.”
They’d been questioning everyone at the banquet where Kaella collapsed, but that stopped now. No one could summon people amid an uncertain battle.
“We’ll dig through what we seized from the butler.”
They’d started with those seated far from the duke and duchess’s table, inching toward those nearby.
Among them, the closest—powerful local Lüsenford nobles—were next. Witnesses had already testified they’d coerced the dangerous Ferenco on the duchess; he’d been about to close the noose. What a shame.
“But the people we were going to interview—they’ve all ridden out, except the woman, right?”
“They’re nobles. Unlikely.”
Isidore frowned and shook his head.
“Even if they join the battle, they’ll hang back.”
No one knew noble survival rates on the field better than Isidore, son of Marquis Alemitch. He muttered darkly.
“They’ll pretend to fight and come back alive, so the interviews will continue. We’ll just be stuck in Lüsenford longer.”
“We’ll spend the whole year in Lüsenford.”
Considering the distance to Kline, the investigators sighed deeply. They checked the seized records from the butler, suppressing guilty consciences for not riding out.
Isidore suddenly wondered what Beatrice Lavalle, now with nothing to do, would get up to.
