Chapter 230

               

“Where’s today’s newspaper?”

As soon as Duke Ganielo sat at the breakfast table, he looked for the daily newspaper sweeping through the middle class—a sensational tabloid that nobles usually pretended not to read while secretly fighting to obtain it.

Its surge in popularity came from one reason alone:

The serialized novel “Betrayal.”

The butler placed a silver tray holding the newspaper before him. The Duke unfolded it with the ease of habit and flipped straight to the serial page. At that moment, his second son Colin entered the dining room.

Colin wore the same disgruntled expression he’d had lately. Sitting down, he glanced at his father.

“Father, are you going out today…?”

“No. You will stay inside until I permit otherwise.”

With the current political turmoil, letting his only healthy son roam freely would be reckless. Unaware of this concern, Colin frowned.

“Until when? Isn’t now the perfect moment to show our loyalty to His Highness the Crown Prince? His Highness needs his supporters. Isn’t it strange he’s reaching out to lower nobles because he has so few he trusts?”

“And incidentally, to see that girl Megara as well?”

Colin flinched. The Duke clicked his tongue.

“Erase that idea from your head. When the political climate is this volatile, the best move is to lie low and let it pass.”

The Elandria family had been around since the Empire’s founding. The Grünehals family had slowly risen in rank over generations. But the Ganielo family became great nobles only when a foreign royal lineage was absorbed into the Bistor Empire long ago.

When the Pheros Dukedom died out, the Emperor needed a new confidant to absorb Pheros’s influence and stabilize the nobility—and the first Duke of Ganielo had filled that role.

Now, the phrase “foreign royal blood” meant little more than a historical note.
But in the proud Bistor Empire, the Ganielo family was still treated as foreigners whenever an excuse arose.

Thus, every Duke of Ganielo learned to read political currents precisely—because when society turned turbulent, the foreigners were stoned first.

And now, trouble was brewing in the capital. Those aligned with Princess Camille were being cut off instantly. She herself had been isolated as quickly as lightning striking beans on a pan. A vacuum had formed both socially and administratively.

And the Crown Prince—together with Nellusion Elandria—was devouring that vacuum with alarming greed. Lower nobles with nothing but flattering tongues were running wild across all departments, provoking backlash not only from high nobles but also from bureaucrats.

Just because one cannot stop a flood does not mean one should jump into it.
Especially when a clash with Bistor or Elandria—the families most revered by the worshipers of the three heroes—was possible.

A sentence in Betrayal caught the Duke’s eye. A scene where a girl with Violet Eyes nearly fell for the tricks of a villain with azure Jeweled Eyes, only to escape through cleverness.

Walking a tightrope between insulting the Imperial Family and mocking commoners.

The Duke thought of a young lady with Violet Eyes he knew.

She had stepped into the Noble Council with bright, intelligent eyes—completely unafraid, though she was under investigation for murder.

Originally, I didn’t care, but…

The Duke’s lips curved slightly.

He could already guess how Betrayal would unfold. The Violet Eyes girl and the azure-eyed youth were clearly on a trajectory where the latter would try to use and betray the former.

The serial would likely be censored by the Imperial Family before the climax. The writer and the publisher might even face investigation. But the fact that they dared publish it at all meant—

They’re aiming for something.

The dining room door opened. The Duke, expecting no visitors and preparing to scold someone, raised his brows in shock.

“Edward.”

Edward, the heir of Ganielo—Colin’s older brother—walked in with a pale face but smiling.

“Father. Colin.”

Edward, frail since birth, normally spent his days in bed. He even ate there. A rare herb called Wedge Pouch had helped somewhat in recent years, but supply was so scarce that money alone couldn’t buy it.

And for the past few days, his condition had worsened to the point the doctor declared it critical. He couldn’t even stand.

But now—

Edward was walking on his own, his back straight.

Duke Ganielo was speechless.

“Are you all right? How did you come down here?”

“I heard the capital’s atmosphere has turned ominous. As the family’s successor, I can’t lie in bed like a fool.”

Colin barely held in a scoff. Edward smiled gently at his younger brother.

“Recently, a new doctor treating me made a suggestion. If I continued with my current treatment, I wouldn’t die—but I would remain weak for life. But if I tried a newly developed medicine, there were risks… but also a chance I might recover.”

General treatments were widely used because they were proven safe. The Duke’s eyes widened.

“I wasn’t told about this. What did you say to him?”

“I dismissed it at first. But after nearly dying, I remembered his words.”

“You’re being foolish, brother. Why trust some new doctor?”

Colin couldn’t stop himself. The Duke glared at him.

“Mind your tongue. Continue, Edward.”

“I decided that since I was dying anyway, taking a risk wasn’t so bad. And as you can see—”

Edward shrugged.

“I won.”

A servant rushed in with breakfast. Edward picked up a slab of smoked ham and cut into it with his knife.

He was a son who once couldn’t stand the smell of meat.

The Duke’s throat tightened.

“We must reward this doctor greatly. Though we should observe your condition for a while.”

“Yes, Father. The medicine apparently used an improved form of Wedge Pouch.”

The Duke’s face hardened.

“There was such a thing? Improved—by whom? Where?”

Only a few doctors could handle that precious herb. A new doctor? At a time like this? Too coincidental.

He also knew Megara had allied with the Moriér Merchant Group. Was she trying to take his son’s health hostage? Force him to support her? Even if so—how could he resist?

He hadn’t seen his eldest son smile like this in years.

Edward, noticing his father’s worry, reassured him with a warm smile.

“They sent it without any conditions. A large supply of the medicine has already arrived. They also sent a message for you.”

“What message?”

“‘Just prepare some snacks.’ I don’t understand it, but do you, Father?”

A hollow laugh escaped the Duke. Megara vanished from his thoughts. The girl with Violet Eyes—who had smiled so brightly in his mind earlier—reappeared.

This wasn’t blackmail. It was flattery. Or, more politely—
A gift.

And that—

The Duke liked very much.

She predicted the capital’s condition long ago.

“Colin, you are not to leave your room for the time being.”

“Yes? Why me—”

“If I tell you to do something, just do it!”

The knights grabbed Colin mid-meal and dragged him away. The Duke exchanged looks with his heir.

Then he smiled slyly.

“Well then… shall I be a bit sick too?”

❖ ❖ ❖

“It was enjoyable again today, Your Highness.”

“This is all thanks to the Imperial Family’s grace.”

Abelus boasted happily to the lower noble youths flattering him.

“What! I won yesterday. I’ll win tomorrow too—just watch!”

The innocent-looking young nobles exchanged sly glances.

The Crown Prince was becoming addicted to gambling. Not slowly—definitively.

Yesterday’s win meant nothing. In dozens of daily games, he lost several times and won several times. The thrill lay in dancing near defeat.

But when the totals were added, Abelus always lost. Yet he kept coming back, confident the next game would be the big one.

Even high nobles wouldn’t casually say “See you tomorrow” to the Crown Prince. Not in this climate—where he ignored the great nobles and favored sycophantic low-ranking ones.

Abelus left in the Imperial carriage.

“Shouldn’t we stop soon?”

The lookout sitting at the Finito Club door whispered.

“We should stop around now.”

The best dice cheat at the club nodded.

“Doesn’t matter what we think. The boss decides when we stop.”

“But if anything slips, we’re finished.”

“What’ll they do? Drag us to trial for conspiring with His Highness?”

They bickered while putting the club in order. There were no guests left.

“That’s right. It’s not like we’re the only ones here. Plenty of people come and go. If it comes to it, we blame them.”

The lookout who’d voiced concern first immediately shifted sides. The others clicked their tongues. As always—pretending to be the only clever one.

But none felt truly threatened. High nobles were reluctant to admit they’d been tricked by their inferiors. And the money they lost was “just a little.”

Though, admittedly, the amount was too large to be called “a little.”

“Wow, he’s generous today. Look at this number.”

The cheat flicked the promissory note Abelus had written. The number was indeed massive.

“Moriér Trading Company again. How do they have so much money?”

“Would they refuse His Highness the Crown Prince?”

“It’s not His Highness—it’s His Highness’s pretty one.”

“Same thing. Everyone knows how much he adores her. Of course he’ll repay it.”

In name, Megara paid the youths and borrowed money from merchants and wealthy citizens. His Highness’s “pretty one.”

The youths giggled, thinking about the pretty girl the Crown Prince had once brought with him.

Then the back door opened.

A man in a black hood walked in.

“Oh—Lord.”

The lookout snatched the promissory note and rushed over, holding it out with both hands.

“This is today’s share.”

The man inspected the note, expression hidden under the hood. His cold voice asked:

“Moriér Trading Company again?”

“Yes, Lord. He keeps giving us notes from them.”

Though new, the Moriér Trading Company was thriving after the Wells family vanished. Since its owner was a commoner, they were expected to need a noble backer. With profits soaring, they seemed the perfect prey for the Crown Prince’s indulgences.

The man tucked the note into his cloak and spoke curtly:

“Do not accept anything from the Moriér Trading Company from now on.”

“Yes? B-But… we’ll be getting more of these—”

“If I tell you not to accept it, then don’t. It is my master’s command.”

“…Yes, Lord.”

What else could they do? They obeyed reluctantly.

The hooded man disappeared as quietly as he came.

And the youths, as though nothing had happened, resumed closing up the club.