"You fools!"
The man swept everything off the table, pacing in a fit of rage.
"With that many men, you couldn't even take care of one person? And I paid a fortune to hire you!"
"I have no excuse. The opponent was far stronger than we anticipated."
The man who had bowed his head offered his apology. The rumors of the knight's prowess that had been circulating were clearly no lie; the order was far more formidable than they had imagined. They had prepared for every contingency, but the fact that the man known as the Margrave had sensed their presence like a ghost was the cause of their defeat.
The sight of him slaughtering without a change in expression was enough to strike fear even into a man as hardened as himself. The target had been caught in a surprise ambush without any proper protective gear. Yet, every time he swung that massive greatsword—as tall as a young child—a horrific death cry echoed through the air. For him, the best he could do was escape with a handful of his subordinates.
"Then what about the woman? Have you found out her identity?"
"That is also..."
"You are all utterly useless! Get out of my sight!"
The man, consumed by fury, even overturned his chair.
After the commotion swept out of the parlor like an ebbing tide, the butler entered the ruined room.
"Viscount, please calm yourself. You must keep a low profile for now. If it gets out that we were behind this, there is no telling how they might react..."
"He won't leave me alive. Even if my father is the King, he will find a way to kill me. He's a madman."
"Viscount."
His face, drained of color, was deathly pale with terror. Seeing this, the butler, who had grown anxious himself, swallowed hard.
"Shall we skip the Carnival for now?"
"No."
Derek, who had been pacing the room with rapid strides, grabbed the butler by the collar.
"...I must attend. If I don't, he will immediately suspect me first. Now that things have come to this, I must find out the woman's identity. No matter what it takes. Do you understand?"
"...Ah, yes. I understand."
As soon as the wide-eyed butler nodded, Derek released him and waved his hand, dismissing him without a formal order. Before leaving, the butler turned back.
"Um... may I ask one thing?"
"What is it?"
"Is there a reason you are so obsessed with that woman?"
It seemed too bizarre to be mere revenge. At the butler's question, Derek twisted his lips into a smile and replied.
"It's an intuition. That woman is the key to killing him."
The face of the man who had rushed out of the cabin, having lost his reason, was still vivid in his mind.
"Just you wait. I will never let those two off the hook."
While Derek was huffing and puffing, someone knocked on the door. Two pairs of eyes turned toward the door almost simultaneously. As soon as permission to enter was granted, a servant stepped into the room, holding a telegram on a silver tray.
"A telegram has arrived from the Royal Castle, my lord."
"The Princess, I presume."
Derek, having confirmed the sender, snatched it up.
"That high-nosed girl who won't even acknowledge me in public as her half-brother... Hmm?"
Derek’s eyes gleamed with intrigue as he broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. A moment later, he clutched his stomach and burst into laughter.
"Pfft... Hahahaha!"
"V-Viscount?"
The butler, flustered by the sudden turn of events, spoke up cautiously.
"What is the matter?"
"This has become very interesting. It’s going to be a delightful Carnival."
Muttering to himself, Derek shouted in an excited voice.
"I must go to the Royal Castle at once! Prepare everything immediately!"
* * *
The carriage traveled a long distance in silence from the moment they left the inn until they reached the Royal Castle. Every time Frey regained consciousness, she would suffer a seizure, and only after drinking the medicine Roxana had prepared would she fall back into a deep sleep.
In an atmosphere as fragile as walking on thin ice, Roxana had volunteered to share a carriage with Frey.
Curtis watched her with a calm gaze before granting his permission in silence. Hans, who had suddenly found himself riding in the lead carriage alone with his lord, felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles the entire time.
"My Lord, what Lady Roxana did..."
"I know."
"...Then why are you so..."
The words he had gathered the courage to speak were cruelly cut off. Curtis, who had been leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed, replied quietly.
"The intent is not what matters. It is the fact that she deceived me and defied me to the end."
At the unexpected reply, Hans fell silent. Suddenly, the words of the Captain, whose fate was currently unknown, came to mind.
"That woman is dangerous, Hans."
"Pardon? A woman who can't even wield a sword or harm anyone?"
"The most terrifying things are not weapons or strength. It is something that moves a person's heart."
"Something that... moves the heart."
"That woman... makes the Lord no longer himself."
Those words were true. Honor and authority—his lord had always considered the values that traditional nobles held dear to be nothing more than stones rolling on the side of the road. Even when leading the mercenary band, he had made decisions based solely on whether there was a valid justification and whether it yielded sufficient profit. In private, he allowed his close aides to speak to him informally, and he would mingle and talk with the lowest-ranking serfs if necessary. It was that unpretentious attitude, despite his noble birth, that drew people to the boy who had once had nothing. Hans, too, was one of those who had been captivated by his free and powerful nature, unburdened by anything.
However, in front of Roxana—a woman who should have been dead long ago—he had changed. He became sensitive to trivial matters that he wouldn't have blinked at before, and his face would contort with rage at the slightest sign of rejection. If the Captain's words that Roxana was a witch were true, then the Margrave had been thoroughly bewitched. Even he, who had tried to make excuses for her, felt it. Yet, for some reason, the initial repulsion was gone. He could not believe that the delicate hands that had treated the wounds on Curtis's back while he was unconscious, and tended to the injuries of himself and his soldiers, were all acting and lies.
Hans hesitated before opening his mouth again.
"My Lord... I..."
The sound that came suddenly cut Hans's words short. At the same time, the carriage jolted and came to a halt.
"Neigh!"
"Whoa!"
"Who goes there!"
Along with the sound of the coachman calming the startled horses, the sound of the soldiers guarding the carriage drawing their swords echoed.
"I shall investigate the situation."
Startled by the unexpected turn of events, Hans opened the carriage door.
He was about to jump out, but Curtis stepped down a step ahead of him. Not knowing what was happening, everyone simply blinked in surprise.
Then, the culprit who had stopped the carriage revealed himself.
"Curtis!"
It was a blonde man in rags, his hair a tangled mess, as if he hadn't washed in ages. Only the sword at his waist and the horse he was leading proved he was a knight. Just as Hans, grinding his teeth at the audacity of calling the Margrave by his name, was about to protect his master, it happened.
"...Shilo?"
"The Lord's knight has returned."
The man in rags knelt respectfully and bowed his head in greeting. Curtis, having received the greeting, turned back toward Hans.
"He will be taking over as Captain from now on."
"Excuse me...?"
Shilo Zenon. The man was a friend and knight who had served Curtis during his mercenary days, alongside Greg and Hans. However, he was the one who had suddenly disappeared one day, leaving behind only a letter saying he was quitting his duties to travel the country. He had assumed he had been stripped of all his titles, but looking closely, the cloak Shilo was wearing was that of his own knight order.
That bastard is going to be the Captain? Hans, horrified, dropped his jaw.
* * *
They were a day's journey from the Royal Castle. The party settled into an inn that was somewhat more respectable than the one they had stayed at previously.
"Hahaha! I see! So you were the woman Curtis had taken in."
Shilo, who had transformed into a handsome man after washing up, drank his wine with a carefree air.
"The rumors said you were a hideous woman who stuttered and was a fool, but it's the complete opposite! I'm surprised!"
"Shilo!"
Hans, who had warned him with his eyes despite the icy atmosphere, looked back and forth between Roxana and Curtis. They were eating without even meeting each other's eyes, the atmosphere so cold it felt as if a blizzard were about to blow through.
Perhaps trying to be considerate of Shilo, whose words had been awkwardly cut off, Roxana smiled stiffly and replied.
"That is not true at all. Thank you for your kind words."
"You are too humble. It's been two years—no, three years now. I didn't recognize you at first because I didn't see you back then."
It was clear what he meant by three years ago. At the mention of the past they had brushed against, Roxana fell silent again.
Eventually, unable to watch any longer, Hans stood up and grabbed Shilo by the arm.
"Shilo. You seem quite drunk. Come upstairs with me."
"I'm not drunk. You must have forgotten what a heavy drinker I am."
Shilo shook off Hans's hand and turned his attention to Curtis this time.
"Curtis. I knew you would end up like this."
"What?"
"You've always kept your mouth shut whenever the daughter of the Marquess of Dalton was mentioned. As if..."
"Hans."
Curtis, cutting off Shilo's words, gave him an order.
"Take Roxana upstairs. It is getting too late."
"Yes, my lord."
Hans nodded and led Roxana out of the room, leaving the space filled with silence. At the same time, Shilo wiped the smile from his face and asked expressionlessly.
"What are you thinking?"
"About what I ordered you to investigate."
"The mastermind behind the attack was not the Princess Consort."
Shilo, reaching for the wine again, drank continuously. No matter how much he drank, he couldn't get drunk. The reason he had been forced to wander the country so arduously was because of the man right in front of him. Just when he thought Curtis's revenge had succeeded and he had finally found some stability, a thunderous order had fallen out of the blue.
"Travel the country and work for me."
"Curtis?"
"Leave tomorrow. Leave behind a letter saying you are going on a journey."
There was no room for refusal to such a sudden notification. Since he had been chased out of the castle, he had been wandering without a place to rest, alternating between roles of surveillance, intelligence, and espionage.
That included monitoring the Angela Convent. Although, at some point, he had been relieved of that duty as it was assigned to someone else. He had wondered what was going on, but he nearly fainted when he heard that he had taken that woman in as his mistress. Even this recent incident was related to her.
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