Chapter 93
Vent’s days were monotonous. Each morning, he rose early, washed up, got dressed, and made his way to Damian’s office.
Vent was a diligent subordinate and a fairly competent one at that. Damian, in turn, was an efficient superior. Because of this, Vent had worked alongside him for several years without much dissatisfaction about his duties.
But lately, something had changed.
Before stepping into the office, Vent would let out a quiet sigh. His gaze dimmed as it lingered on the doorknob. He opened the door.
The moment he saw the empty office, a small smile began to form on his lips, but then the door opened again, and in stepped Damian, his hair still damp.
“Out for a walk?”
“Just loosened up a bit.”
“…You didn’t sleep again, did you?”
Vent noticed the dark shadows under his eyes and asked. Damian sat down before answering.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
Vent let out a deep sigh.
“It has already been two days.”
Damian hadn’t slept for two nights, staying up reviewing documents instead. Vent’s lips parted, as if he wanted to say something. Damian was pushing himself to the brink, as though something were chasing him. Vent had no idea what it was, so he said nothing.
Damian couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t that the paperwork was particularly urgent. He had simply gathered it all so he could keep himself busy through the night. He’d even gone so far as to train with his sword until his body ached.
All of it to clear his thoughts. Now, he stared blankly down at the papers.
[“Nice to meet you, Damian. I’m Vanessa.”]
Damian’s brow furrowed.
The woman had vanished after saying that. But that wasn’t the only thing haunting him.
Damian swallowed a sigh, then looked out the window. After a long moment, he stood.
“Young Lord?”
Despite Vent’s call, Damian rushed outside.
— — —
Standing on the mansion’s rooftop, Damian stared straight ahead.
The snowstorm that had seemed endless finally came to a stop two days ago, leaving the estate eerily quiet. It had always been a silent place, but now it felt truly deserted.
Before long, a whooshing sound split the air. From the direction Damian was staring, a messenger bird flew in. He lifted his arm just in time. The bird folded its wings and landed. Damian took out some feed from his coat, gave it to the bird, and untied the letter fastened to its leg.
[It’s been a while, Young Lord. I’ve more or less heard what’s happening on your side, but the fact that you’re seeking out this information means…]
Damian skipped over the pointless preamble and flipped to the next page. That was where everything he wanted to know was written.
Sentence by sentence, word by word. Damian’s expression sank lower and lower. It detailed what Daphne had endured here.
Moldy, spoiled food. Piles of laundry left untouched. Neglect, scorn, and contempt.
Damian’s eyes quivered shut. His hand crushed the letter in a tight fist.
‘Why…’
Why hadn’t she told him? If she had… if she had just said something…
‘But would I have believed her?’
Damian knew the answer.
He wouldn’t have believed her. He would’ve mocked her, accused her of making things up to draw attention. And if he knew that…
Then surely Daphne had known, too. That’s why she hadn’t told anyone.
Rage welled up in his chest. But still, he couldn’t do anything. He had no right.
Damian sent the messenger bird back and leapt down from the rooftop. He stopped in front of Daphne’s room. His hand hovered over the doorknob.
He couldn’t face her. It felt like he was drowning, like he would suffocate if he got any closer. His breath turned ragged. Cold sweat dripped down his back. The doorknob was slick with moisture, too slippery to grasp.
A sound nearby made him freeze. As if caught doing something wrong, Damian fled. Only when he was back in his own room did he finally allow himself to breathe.
Clutching at his throbbing chest, Damian gasped for air. His shirt wrinkled under his trembling grip, nearly tearing apart. Only after some time passed did he finally calm down. He exhaled, pale-faced.
For days now, any moment of extreme stress or agitation had triggered a searing pain in his chest.
Damian wiped his face roughly, then stood. He suddenly turned around. A crow sat on the windowsill, wide open to the night.
‘Since when?’
He hadn’t noticed the window was open or that the crow was there. He’d stormed in too distracted.
Caw!
The crow dropped the paper it had in its beak and flew off in a flurry of wings. Damian watched it leave, then bent down to pick up the paper.
— — —
“Phew.”
Johann sealed the letter with a sigh. The contents of the letter from Yureit mostly concerned the imperial court. But the message could be boiled down to one clear statement:
‘The imperial family is collapsing.’
Or rather, it might already be too late.
The Emperor had locked himself away, a puppet of his favorite concubine, steadily losing all authority. His judgment had all but vanished. One could say Sergei had taken full control of the Empire, and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration.
The Crown Prince, their last hope, was stuck in the South and unable to return to the capital. The imperial court was overflowing with Sergei’s people. Those who opposed him either disappeared overnight or suddenly bent the knee.
The neutral nobles, growing desperate, had reached out to the temple, but received no response. No one could say for sure what Sergei was truly after, but one thing was certain.
His ambitions didn’t end with controlling the throne.
Whether it was fortunate or not, Sergei was so focused on the imperial center that he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in the North.
Johann sighed again, overwhelmed by the uncertainty of the times. Just then, a knock at the door was followed by someone stepping in.
“Johann.”
It was Benjamin.
“The slave traders we captured by the wall have woken up.”
— — —
Johann followed Benjamin down to the underground prison. The moment he struck the bars of the cage with his sword hilt, screams echoed through the space.
“P-please! Have mercy, my lord!”
Two slave traders clung desperately to the bars, their faces as pale as ghosts. Johann frowned.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Not sure. They’ve been like this since they came to.”
He stepped closer and addressed the prisoners.
“Calm yourselves. You’re safe here.”
“B-but… who knows when that thing will show up again…”
The larger of the two men was visibly trembling.
“A monster? Do you mean a beast?”
“No… it’s different!”
“What do you mean?”
“…A person. A person controlling a beast.”
Johann and Benjamin’s eyes met. There was only one kind of person who could control monsters.
A sorcerer. There was a sorcerer in the North.
That made it even worse. Sorcerers were indistinguishable from ordinary people, and thus all the more dangerous.
“Explain everything. In detail.”
Johann pulled out a pouch of coins and tossed it near the bars. The men, who had just moments ago been shaking in fear, immediately turned their eyes toward the money.
“…We were crossing the North despite the cold, for reasons of our own.”
Money, as always, made them forget fear.
“Then a woman appeared. We tried to catch… no, help her. But then… a monster leapt out from behind her, and just…”
The memory made the man shudder.
“Her condition? Clothing? Face?”
“The blizzard was too intense. We couldn’t make out her face.”
Johann stared at them, then tossed another pouch.
One of the men, catching it with practiced speed, quickly added, “Didn’t see her eyes, but her hair… her hair was definitely black.”
That was all they could get. Johann and Benjamin turned away without regret.
“Should we deploy the knights?”
“If the sorcerer is lying in wait, we may only play into their hands.”
Benjamin shook his head.
“Given that nothing’s happened yet, it’s possible they haven’t entered the city at all.”
“Then we wait and watch.”
Their decision was swift.
— — —
Evening had fallen by the time Benjamin returned to his room.
There were still eight days left in the timeline Edmund had mentioned. Only two had passed, but already they felt endlessly long.
“Benjamin.”
He jumped at the sudden voice.
“Young Lord,” he breathed, hand to his chest. He hadn’t noticed him there. “Have you been waiting long?”
Damian shook his head.
“Please, have a seat. I’ll bring some tea—”
“No need. I won’t be staying long.”
He stopped Benjamin from going.
“…Is there something you wish to say?”
“Vanessa.”
At that name, Benjamin flinched.
“You know who she is.”
“Young Lord…”
“Don’t try to hide it from me. Tell me the truth.”
“…”
“This woman… who is she?”