Chapter 61
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 61
Oscar stared at the composite sketch of Peter’s face, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
Although Theresia had admitted the sketch was a strong resemblance, she insisted they would never catch him with it alone.
“If he wishes, he can become a dying old woman or a pot-bellied, middle-aged man. If he’s truly desperate, he might even disfigure his own face. So if you try to find him using this face alone, you will never succeed. Use this only to verify his identity after you have captured him.”
Codename Peter. An intelligence agent specializing in disguise and psychological warfare. And a face.
That was the extent of the information even Theresia possessed.
His father's wolves had operated in decentralized cells. The war was one reason, but the King's wariness of House Reinhardt had also reached its peak at the time. The most effective way to hide an organization was to ensure that even its own members didn't know the true nature of the group they belonged to.
While the Combat Teams knew one another from operating in the field, the intelligence units working in the shadows were compartmentalized to an extreme degree. They used codenames that changed constantly. Each agent knew only their own task; they had no idea how their work aided their superiors, where they fit in the hierarchy, or even who their colleagues were. Consequently, if captured, they truly knew nothing and had nothing to confess.
The flaw in this cell structure, however, became apparent when the ones who controlled the organization died. That was why, upon training his own wolves, the first thing Oscar did was overhaul the entire structure.
Peter, Theresia, the key, Danguk… and that woman.
Every one of them was suspicious, a collection of mismatched pieces that didn't fit together. It felt like a tangled ball of yarn with no clear end to begin unraveling it.
Just then, a knock came at the door.
“Your Excellency.”
An unwelcome visitor was announced.
“The Marchioness has arrived to see you.”
Charlotte pulled the shawl draped over her arm up to her shoulders, reacting to the freezing temperature of the room.
“You’re a difficult man to see.”
Oscar didn’t answer. He merely kept his back to her, staring out the window, though she knew his lips were curled in a silent sneer. The scent of cigarette smoke drifted on the air.
Charlotte’s lips tightened. Her brow furrowed slightly as she lifted a teacup to hide her stiff expression. Setting it down without taking a sip, she spoke.
“Sabine hired a new tea maid. She’s quite decent.”
“Not interested.”
At his immediate refusal, Charlotte’s gaze shifted back to her son. Oscar, who had been staring out the window, finally turned around.
Oscar.
Charlotte’s masterpiece, and the most valuable of all her possessions.
Her eldest son sauntered forward, perching on the edge of the desk and stretching out one long leg. She frowned at his lack of decorum, her violet eyes drifting to his attire, which was even more disheveled than his posture.
He wore only a shirt, without a vest, let alone a jacket. The sleeves were rolled up haphazardly, and far from wearing a tie, he had left his collar unbuttoned. As her disapproving gaze swept from the cigarette between his lips to his messy black hair, Oscar merely smirked.
“Tea is all the same anyway.”
“Once you develop a taste for it, you’ll realize it is not.”
“Why are you here?”
“Put out that cigarette and sit down. Let’s talk properly.”
“This distance is perfectly fine for a conversation, isn’t it?”
“……”
Charlotte took a deep breath, swallowing her rising anger, before offering a picture-perfect smile.
“It is not a matter of distance, but of basic etiquette.”
“……”
“If a jacket is too stifling, at least wear a vest. And use some pomade to slick back your hair.”
“I despise feeling stifled.”
“This is what happens when there isn't a single proper maid in this mansion.”
“Just chalk it up to my poor breeding.”
His languid words were like claws scraping across Charlotte’s elegant facade. The gazes the mother and son locked on each other were equally, chillingly cold.
Oscar exhaled a long stream of smoke, his lips pulling into a wide smirk.
“Why are you here?”
The last traces of Charlotte’s superficial smile vanished. She rose from her seat and approached her son, her voice low and chilling.
“Was it truly so difficult for you to show your face at Sabine’s birthday?”
A dry chuckle escaped Oscar’s lips just as he was about to take another drag.
“Sabine is no longer just the young lady of the House of Count Jerome. She is His Majesty’s fiancée. Though the coronation has yet to take place, she is practically the Queen. Even the Dowager of the royal family attended to pay her respects. You should have been there—not as her brother, but as the Marquis of Reinhardt.”
“One would think she’s already the Queen.”
“Oscar!”
“If you’re doing this to save face for Her Future Majesty…”
The mock amusement vanished from Oscar’s face. In an instant, a fierce, volatile temper flared across his handsome features. The words that followed were a blade aimed straight at his mother’s heart.
“Instead of badgering me, her half-brother, you should be making sure she isn’t branded a bastard, Mother.”
Slap!
Having willingly taken the blow, Oscar smirked, fully prepared to offer his other cheek.
“Am I wrong?”
Slap!
Even after being struck twice—or rather, because he had allowed her to strike him twice—Oscar pressed on.
“No matter how common bastards might be, a daughter born to a mother who openly kept two households becoming Queen…”
He had no intention of letting her strike him a third time.
Charlotte’s breathing turned ragged as he caught her hand mid-swing. Staring into her violet eyes, which overflowed with a sickening, relentless greed, Oscar smiled with dazzling malice.
“…is bound to set tongues wagging for generations, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oscar!”
“So do yourself a favor and fully commit to being Countess Jerome. For the sake of our beloved future Queen, I am more than willing to be cast aside as the son of your former husband.”
“That cruel tongue of yours, that utter selfishness…”
“……”
“You truly are the spitting image of your father.”
“Is that so?” Oscar smirked once more. “Do you really think so?”
He released his mother’s arm and picked up the composite sketch of Peter.
“Since you’re here, take a look. Do you recognize him?”
Charlotte, still breathing heavily, spared the sketch a brief glance before turning away. She smoothed her hair and adjusted her shawl, her composure restored. Her reply was perfectly calm, as if the outburst had never happened.
“How could I possibly recognize someone from a crude wanted poster? It’s not even a proper portrait.”
She took a few steps toward the door, then paused and looked back over her shoulder.
“I heard your son brought back a woman from Pelfe.” Her tone shifted. “Have you taken in a woman?”
Flicking his ash into the ashtray, Oscar merely raised his eyes to meet hers. Only the wind blowing through the open window swirled in the silence between them.
“Vet her thoroughly.”
“……”
“There are bastards, and then there are bastards. Regardless of gender, a child fathered with a woman of no pedigree is nothing more than a lifelong obstacle. It would be dreadfully troublesome if some lowly creature started hoping for an inheritance.”
With that parting advice, Charlotte turned and walked away with elegant grace. She retrieved a small medicine vial from her handbag on the sofa, placing it beside the untouched teacup. Straightening her posture, she added:
“It is medicine from Rioher. I hear the Emperor of the Empire favors it greatly. They say a single pill can revive a dying ox, and the royal houses of Norfolk are desperate to get their hands on it.”
“……”
“Do take care of your health.”
Oscar watched in breathless silence as his mother disappeared through the doorway.
The breath rising in his throat felt thick and dry, like the stale air of a deep mine shaft.
*
Seo-ah sometimes had such thoughts.
How much better would it have been if I had never been born?
I never asked for this life, so why was I brought into this world?
Some say life itself is a gift, but mine… mine is a disaster.
A disaster that strikes without warning, leaving immense devastation in its wake.
And the one engulfed by the disaster of her life was…
“My child.”
There is something I fear.
“My child, look up.”
Can’t you see the shadow of a stranger in my face?
“Look up and look at your father, child.”
I’m so terrified of it, I can’t bring myself to look up.
She felt a warm hand cup her cheek. A large, gentle hand lifted her bowed face. A softly smiling face, wise eyes looking down at her.
The one engulfed by my disaster of a life, the one swept away by its tide…
“My beautiful daughter.”
Wasn’t it you?
She opened her eyes.
Emerging from a dazed slumber, she sat up blankly. She stood, feeling like a weed that had sprouted awkwardly where it didn’t belong, and remained there, lost in a daze for a long time.
It was only when the sound of rain reached her ears that her drifting consciousness slowly began to return.
Drawing back the heavy curtains that sealed the windows, the view outside rushed in alongside a chill. The sky was a gloomy, timeless gray. A thick, white mist hung like a shroud over the forest surrounding the estate, and the distant annex appeared far darker than usual.
As she cracked open the frosted window, the distant patter of rain instantly swelled. The damp chill and the stray droplets splashing against her face finally awakened her dulled senses.