Side Story 6

Only the Duchess knew that Diane and Talfrin were meeting at the McKinnon household. No matter how close the two were in social circles, it was as if the doting father and son—determined to ignore the truth—simply refused to see it.

Even so, relationship or not, Talfrin often ran into other McKinnon family members. And Talfrin, burdened by a guilty conscience, seemed to have already picked up the family’s manner of speaking.

Nerys nodded without comment.

“That’s right.”

“Even though I received the title of count, I’m still alone, and my family isn’t one that can be boasted about in aristocratic society.”

“Oh, I already heard from my husband that you’re a descendant of a particularly historic family in Maindulante.”

The surname “Wirtham” hadn’t been handed out at random. It was the name of Talfrin’s main family—an old house that once competed for the top spot among the lord families under the Maindulante Grand Duchy.

Shadow Operative work was always difficult and dangerous, no matter how generous the master was. There was no reason to raise Shadow Operatives if they weren’t going to be used for such tasks. And on top of that, the head of the Shadow Operatives being a descendant of a prestigious family sounded like something out of a novel.

But in Talfrin’s case, the circumstances were understandable. When he was very young—during the time the previous Grand Duke went mad and countless families were mercilessly destroyed—the former young master became a beggar on the streets.

Nerys didn’t know the specifics of what had happened back then. If she asked Cledwyn, he would likely explain it in detail, but she didn’t want to pry. All she could do was speculate, watching Talfrin—who, despite holding a considerable position now, still preferred to be called by his first name rather than his surname.

As always, when the story of what his family used to be came up, Talfrin’s eyebrows twitched with discomfort. He pretended not to notice and continued.

“The McKinnon Family has everything, and yet they suffered so much humiliation for the sole reason that their family history is short. Now might be the time to form a marriage alliance with a truly established family…”

“Hold on.”

She couldn’t let that pass. Nerys frowned deeply.

“Are you saying you’re going to break up with Di?”

Talfrin couldn’t answer. His expression alone made it clear he absolutely didn’t want to. Nerys’s anger rose. Now was the time for it to rise.

“I can’t help but be disappointed if you truly think that way. With the new establishment of the Empire, the existing order has largely collapsed. Especially since the Bistor Family and the Elandria Family personally proved how futile those so-called historic families are, right? No one brings up family history anymore. At least not in front of me!”

That was right.

Hadn’t it been revealed to the world that the two most historic and prestigious families in the empire had been built on lies?

In the dark corners of high society, yes, there were still those who puffed out their chests and rambled about family history. But their clinging to the old order was only because they lacked the capacity to adapt to the new one, and their memories were all they had left to hold onto. No one thought they were great.

The Empress’s anger was justified. Talfrin knew it too. He couldn’t even meet her eyes.

Nerys continued, still frowning.

“Break up if you want to. I can find a dozen men who would give their lives for Di, but if you’re going to keep seeing her, behave yourself. Otherwise she’ll dump you first. At least the men I’ve seen Di with…”

Talfrin’s ears perked as if he hadn’t been listening at all. Nerys let out a sudden sigh as her anger cooled.

“…were honest. Di didn’t look for sons of great families. She looked for someone who would cherish her for life. So if you’re going to cherish that child for life, don’t hesitate. If you like her, say you like her. If you’re going to keep your mouth shut like you are now, don’t drag it on.”

A brief silence followed.

Talfrin finally let out a sigh and confessed what he’d been holding back.

“Diane is… too dazzling. I’m afraid she’ll be disappointed in someone as twisted as me someday. It feels like a miracle that someone so loved likes me now…”

Nerys’s anger ebbed even further. She knew that feeling, too.

People who couldn’t bring themselves to think highly of themselves because of what they’d lived through struggled to accept love. Even the simple act of liking someone felt pathetic, and they were too ashamed to lay those feelings at the feet of someone dazzling.

But if you ran away like that and left irreversible wounds on the other person, wasn’t that even more shameful?

Nerys clicked her tongue softly, because she knew that truth all too well.

“That doesn’t mean you can find someone who looks pathetic to you and date them. If you love someone, they naturally look good. Anyway, it’s a problem if you’re spacing out like that all day, so go to that ball right away. Hilbrin’s wife invited you too, didn’t she?”

❖ ❖ ❖

“I see in your eyes that you want to live. If you want something, follow me.”

Talfrin could still remember it as if it were yesterday—the moment Cledwyn Maindulante appeared before him, barefoot and wandering the back alleys of Penmewick on a snowy winter day.

The Wirtham Family was one of the most prestigious among Maindulante’s many great houses. They had countless ties by blood and marriage with other prestigious families—powerful vassal houses under subsidiary lords and grand ducal families—and their influence was correspondingly vast. The mansion they had lived in for generations was as splendid as a castle, and there were so many heirlooms that even the children played with jewels.

Talfrin Wirtham was the second child of that family. He had an older brother above him and a younger sister below him. His brother was the clever successor who drew attention, and his sister was the adored youngest, full of charm. Guests who came and went each day praised the two of them, their flattery endless.

Talfrin loved his family, but at times he envied people who didn’t have siblings. If he were alone, he could be loved alone.

Then, on the day his entire family was massacred—everyone but him—Talfrin realized just how spoiled those complaints had been.

A respected family still had enemies. Some were rival houses with grudges as old as the Wirtham Family itself. Others envied their wealth and fame. When the previous Grand Duchess died and the previous Grand Duke went mad, the enemies who had always loathed the Wirtham Family joined hands with an elder of the Grand Ducal Family. In one night, they slaughtered every member of the household and burned the estate to the ground.

Talfrin, not even ten years old, survived by pure chance. That day, he couldn’t fall asleep, so he slipped out alone to play in the garden—an accident no one could have predicted.

He wasn’t a servant. He was a child of the direct line. There was no way the attackers wouldn’t notice that one body was missing. Talfrin smeared mud over his pretty face and hurriedly traded away anything that could reveal his identity. Then he began a life on the streets, where he felt his life threatened a hundred times a day.

Stealing, lying, taking, begging—there was nothing he didn’t do to survive. But everyone was struggling to survive in those days. Before long, the handsome young master vanished, and only a resentful beggar remained.

He moved from place to place countless times. The old territory where the Wirtham main house had stood was handed over to the elder who had sided with their enemies. In neighboring lands he reached by sheer stubbornness, street children fought over scraps. He ran when the ruler of a back alley took a dislike to him. He ran when his identity was exposed. When he finally came to his senses, Talfrin was in Penmewick, far from Wirtham territory.

‘Or was I going there on purpose? Walking that distance with everything I had.’

Talfrin had been sharp since he was young. He couldn’t have been unaware that Grand Ducal negligence lay at the root of everything that had gone wrong.

Penmewick’s back alleys were still more lenient than those of other territories. When he joined a gang organization that was growing rapidly at the time, at least he had a place to sleep at night. The streets were far more brutal, but if he impressed his superiors, bread would fall his way.

A fake identity. A fake face. A fake personality. Talfrin disguised himself perfectly so no one would learn he was the last survivor of the Wirtham Family. Fortunately, he had talent as well. As he carved out a place among those filthy thugs, he often kept one eye on the Grand Ducal Palace’s situation.

Was he going to go in? Maybe he was. A shabby beggar kid couldn’t punch the Grand Duke in the face, but he couldn’t feel at peace if he did nothing. He might die the moment he stepped into the castle, but… he felt like he could finally breathe after shouting at the Grand Ducal Family’s high-ranking officials.

‘Look at how you made me.’

But the Grand Ducal Palace was still the Grand Ducal Palace, even if its master had lost his mind. And Talfrin was still just a kid with nothing in his hands, no matter how resourceful he was. There was no way he would ever run into the Grand Duke, his only son, or the elders around them.

How many months had he waited for a chance like that?

In the end, something happened to Talfrin first.

In the gang that dominated Penmewick’s back alleys, promising children were everywhere. Naturally, more than half of them were Penmewick natives. Some—who thought becoming the worst thug imaginable was a glorious dream—couldn’t stand Talfrin, an outsider favored by the higher-ups.

‘That kid sold information to a rival organization.’

A flimsy accusation was enough. The thugs—who had plenty of errand-running thieves—didn’t even bother checking the truth. They chased Talfrin out. No, they threw him out. They beat him to the brink of death and left him on a cold street under heavy snowfall.

Talfrin thought he would die this time. Alone on the main street, he looked up at the sky. People dying on the streets was so common these days it wasn’t even surprising. No one paid attention to him.

If this was how it ended anyway, why had he fought so hard to live? He should have died with his family.

He was taller now, his body grown since the night of the massacre, but his heart felt younger than ever. Talfrin closed his eyes, resigned to death.

Until a massive shadow fell over him.

Had an adult come to kick him aside? Talfrin opened his eyes, his hair and brows crusted with snow. But the shadow wasn’t a person’s—it was a carriage. So fancy and clean it looked like it belonged to another world.

Talfrin recognized the emblem engraved on the carriage door like a bolt of lightning.

The Grand Ducal Family’s.

The door opened, and a boy who looked about Talfrin’s age stepped out. Beautiful enough that it was hard to believe he was human, with black hair and gray eyes—he could only be the Grand Ducal Family’s sole direct heir.

Hatred flared in Talfrin’s eyes, just as he was trying to find peace. The child with the cold face raised his eyebrows as he looked down at him.

“I thought there was a corpse lying around where people walk.”

“I guess the noble young master doesn’t know, but these days, Maindulante has plenty of corpses even where people walk.”

The child—Cledwyn—didn’t get angry at Talfrin’s rudeness. He only laughed, as if Talfrin were interesting.

“I know. I cleaned one up here yesterday too.”

With that, he picked Talfrin up.

At the time, Talfrin couldn’t understand why a noble young master would bother lifting a beggar child on the verge of death. Was it hypocrisy? Ignoring the fact that his great lord let his people die, taking in a child as a servant for his own satisfaction, convincing himself he lived righteously?

Only later did Talfrin learn that young Cledwyn was doing what he could for Penmewick’s people—caught between a father who might as well not exist and elders who ran rampant in the gaps.

A young, clumsy child couldn’t do much. He could only roam the streets when he had time, clear away corpses, and try to give starving people work. He couldn’t change society’s structure or eradicate corruption in any meaningful way.

But as Talfrin followed Cledwyn, he gradually came to believe something. If that boy—gritting his teeth at his helplessness, yet still taking one step at a time—couldn’t change Maindulante, then no one could.

Not even a few months after being picked up, Talfrin began calling him “Master.” Around that time, Aidan and Talfrin had their first fistfight.

‘All sorts of ridiculous things happened.’

Even after Cledwyn took him in, Talfrin suffered for a long time doing dirty work. But Cledwyn himself was constantly on the verge of death, so there was nothing to be done. Even so, Talfrin thought he’d lived well enough, considering he’d survived through all of it.

But was that enough for Diane MacKinnon?