Chapter 142

Clatter.

Shards of a shattered porcelain teacup scattered across the floor.

The old man’s hand trembled. His fingers, adorned with a large emerald ring, were so thin that the ring looked as though it might slip off at any moment.

The maid, who should have rushed over to ask if he was hurt and clean up, merely stood frozen. It wasn’t because she was lazy.

It was because every time something like this happened, the old man—the Marquis of Tipion—would scream in fright and drive everyone away. She had simply learned through repetition.

And she wasn’t the only one. Since being barely rescued after being imprisoned by the monsters of Maindulante, the marquis kept no one near him. He avoided any food that might have been touched by someone else.

Fruits with their skins still intact, water drawn before his eyes, pork grilled and cut right in front of him—that was all he ate. Even then, he always eyed his meals suspiciously. With that kind of neurotic vigilance, the weight he lost during the winter in Maindulante never returned, and his health continued to decline.

Once, people might have pitied him. He had long ruled this land, and many owed their important positions to his favor. For those retainers who had benefited from him, it was only natural to wish for the marquis’s long life and good health.

But no such sentiments remained.

The reason was the marquis himself. As if consumed by paranoia, he began exiling, executing, or imprisoning even those he once trusted. He acted like a man convinced of betrayal, unable to escape the thought.

And that impression was entirely correct.

“How pitiful. You’ll be betrayed by everyone you ever trusted, gain nothing no matter how hard you try, and find no comfort even when you weep.”

Those words echoed in the marquis’s mind—words no one else could hear. Just as the sun rose every day without fail, the moment he woke, Nerys Truydd’s violet eyes came to mind, and as he fell asleep, her calm voice replayed itself.

The more those same words repeated in his head, the more the marquis lost his sanity.

Knock, knock. Someone rapped on the door to the marquis’s room. He flinched in terror. Clutching the dagger he always kept on his table, he snapped anxiously.

“Who is it?!”

“It’s me, Father.”

It was the voice of his son, the Viscount of Tipion. The marquis bared his teeth. Though no invitation was given, the door opened.

The viscount glanced at the broken teacup pieces on the floor and glared at the maid.

“Clean that up. What do you think you’re doing, being so lazy? Are you looking to die?”

“Don’t come near me!”

As the maid hurried to move, the marquis let out a shrill scream. This wasn’t the first time, so the viscount tried to speak calmly.

“Father, if you don’t let someone clean the cup, you might get hurt. You won’t even let the priest near you anymore—what if something happens?”

“Y-you want s-something to happen to me!”

The marquis suddenly stuttered with rage and scoffed. The viscount sighed.

“I’ve explained this many times, Father. I didn’t know you were being treated like that. I didn’t ask for your return publicly because I feared what the duke might do. I had everything arranged in secret to bring you back.”

“L-lies! U-u-ungrateful bastard! Did I r-raise you like this?!”

The viscount felt nothing but disappointment. He had assumed that the heartless Duke of Maindulante would keep the old man locked up. Though a high noble couldn’t be executed just for deceiving someone about their background, how long could that withered old man survive in the freezing north?

That’s why he had ignored his father’s letters all winter. He did take note of the useful information, though—like the existence of a secret passage in Ailora used by the duke. If he kept it under watch, maybe he could dig up a vulnerability…

He wasn’t cold-blooded enough to kill his father just because he disliked him. But he was indifferent enough to quietly wish for his death.

Who would’ve expected the stubborn old man, thin as a stick, to claw his way back?

Of course, the talk about “rescue preparations” was a complete lie. He found it all terribly bothersome.

‘Old men like him always live too long.’

Still, the viscount smiled gently and spoke with a show of obedience.

“Of course you didn’t raise me to be ungrateful. You know how loyal I am, so why won’t you believe me? Look, I even came to report that I’ve completed the task you assigned me.”

The marquis loosened his grip slightly on the dagger.

The viscount kept smiling harmlessly and closed the door behind him. Then he stepped up to the table and gave his report.

“First, I located the actress you mentioned. She ended up in the hands of the woman whose husband she stole. Apparently, the woman has quite a temper—she vents her fury from morning to night. Since she keeps the actress in plain sight and works her like a slave, it may be difficult to get her out.”

“R-really?”

The marquis chuckled for the first time in a while. He blamed all his misfortunes on the fake Catherine—Roem.

If that woman hadn’t suddenly changed her attitude and spouted nonsense in front of Cledwyn, would he have spent the last two seasons freezing in a locked room?

If she had fled and was living well, he would never have let her go. But knowing she met such an end brought him comfort.

“No n-need to get her. E-Ellen must’ve had a hand in that. She probably won’t escape for the rest of her life.”

“Yes, Father. And I’ve completed preparations for your journey, just as you ordered.”

“R-r-really?”

His voice, which had calmed, began to tremble again from excitement. The viscount asked, as if deeply concerned.

“Are you sure you’re up for it? You just barely escaped, and you want to return to that cursed land…?”

“I-I-I have to. I m-m-must…!”

“You must scold your grandson and get revenge on the duke. That’s the only way to go on, isn’t it?”

Nerys Truydd’s words had been right. Yes… he had to take revenge on that Cledwyn brat. For locking up his grandfather in a filthy room. That bastard son dared to live? He had to die. He had to be eliminated completely!

‘If not, that brat will come after me next.’

The marquis’s bloodshot eyes were ghastly. His insomnia had hollowed the area beneath his eyes, and his sallow complexion made it worse.

The viscount couldn’t understand why his father demanded travel preparations to return to Maindulante. But he didn’t mind. The more erratic his father became, the better for him. In fact, he welcomed it.

‘Even better if he takes that nuisance with him.’

Just this morning, a dispatch arrived from the Imperial Palace to the Marquisate of Tipion. It stated that due to suspicion of tax evasion, Prince Adrian would be arriving in person to conduct an inspection.

‘What a joke. That bastard isn’t coming to audit anything—he’ll just demand bribes.’

Adrian, the current emperor’s fifth cousin, was infamous for being a disgrace to the royal family.

He caused drunken havoc in the palace, gambled away imperial gifts, and was widely hated by the public.

Yet no major noble dared ignore him. It was widely known that this reckless prince was actually the right hand of the terrifying Princess Camille.

‘What’s the Imperial Family’s problem, anyway?’

It wasn’t just this baseless tax evasion charge. Since spring, the Tipion Marquisate had suddenly come under various sanctions from the Imperial Family.

Merchant groups from the marquisate were suddenly burdened with massive tariffs in all Imperial territories, including the capital Pellenna. The marquisate’s branches working with the Imperial Family were constantly nitpicked and reprimanded.

It was clear to anyone that the Imperial Family had turned against the house.

The marquisate had retained its status so far because of its role as a bridge between the Duchy and the rest of the Empire—as a sort of frontier territory of strategic importance.

But despite monitoring Ailora for some time now, they had found nothing about the duke’s secret passage. And with the Imperial Family suddenly lashing out, the viscount grew nervous.

Especially with Adrian on his way, who always scorched everything in his path.

Once there, Adrian would inevitably demand an enormous bribe under some pretext. To prove their loyalty, they would need to surrender so much gold that rebellion would be impossible.

The viscount had no desire to offend the Imperial Family and had already begun gathering the necessary bribes.

The marquis, obsessed with suspicion, knew nothing. But the people of the marquisate were already crying out. The originally harsh bureaucrats had disappeared—executed without warning—leaving a power vacuum. The replacements were no better. In fact, they were worse, ruthlessly extracting every ounce of wealth from the people.

‘They should just endure a little longer. Fools.’

The viscount believed himself cautious, though he was more cowardly and incompetent than his father. A sharper lord would’ve acted by now, but he decided to “wait and see.”

And if an excuse arose to get rid of the bothersome Adrian, he would seize it eagerly.

The marquis, completely unaware of his son’s indifference, chuckled to himself, idly fiddling with the emerald ring on his finger.

“A-a grand procession, yes? So no one will dare treat me like that bastard did again!”

Let everyone talk about the young and pitiful duke who suddenly collapsed like his mother and died, with nothing found in the autopsy.

Since he had escaped, he needed a pretense to return to Maindulante. But in his deluded state, the marquis could only come up with excuses no one but himself would believe.

“I—I’ll demand an apology! Yes! That bastard imprisoned an innocent man!”

Even if he brought an army, it was unlikely Cledwyn Maindulante would apologize. The viscount guessed as much just from the rumors he’d heard about his nephew.

Still, he smiled kindly. It wasn’t his concern.

“…Yes, Father. Everything is in place, just as you asked. But perhaps it’s best to wait a little longer? Surely that bastard wouldn’t dare be so arrogant in front of a royal arbitrator?”

If the old man could conveniently disappear with some unwanted baggage, all the better.

“R-royal… family?”

The marquis looked puzzled.

* * *

Nerys set down the protest letter from the Marquisate of Tipion and smiled faintly. It was a formal complaint regarding her past detainment.

“Good news, miss?”

Dora, who was placing a teacup on the office desk, asked upon noticing Nerys’s bright mood. Nerys nodded.

“Yes. The Marquis of Tipion is coming back.”

“That man? How shameless. He’s coming back to harass His Grace and you again?”

Dora was well aware of what had happened and reacted with outrage. That wretched man had the gall to return after being spared? Who would welcome him?

She had helped escort the marquis to Dreykum and knew Nerys had something planned when she let him go. But regardless of strategy, the marquis’s brazen attitude disgusted her.

In contrast to her loyal maid’s fury, Nerys chuckled softly.

“No, it’s just perfect.”

The deteriorating atmosphere in the Tipion Marquisate was already confirmed through reports from Yayeon. And because she knew how Camille operated, Nerys could guess what was happening the moment she heard that the viscount had imposed harsh taxes after the Imperial sanctions.

Everything was going exactly as planned. By now, Adrian had likely arrived at the marquisate.

The sky outside was clear. Nerys looked up and murmured meaningfully.

“…A useless thing must be discarded at the right time.”