Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Translation: godsn
The summer visits of relatives to Arvis. Social gatherings. Insurance matters for the trade ships setting sail next month.
As Matthias leaned back deeply into his seat, gazing out the carriage window, Hessen meticulously reported the family's current affairs. Matthias acknowledged each item with brief replies or slight nods. While business matters fell under the company directors' purview and household affairs were managed by the two ladies of the house, the final authority always rested with Duke Herhardt. And Matthias had ascended to that position since he was twelve years old.
By the time they turned onto Platanus Road leading to the estate, Hessen had finished his reports.
Tilting his head slightly, Matthias took in the familiar scenery. The tall trees lining the entrance road formed an archway as if holding hands. Sunlight filtering through the rustling leaves painted intricate patterns across the path like beautiful embroidery.
As they passed through this road and entered the estate grounds, the white mansion with its deep blue roof came into view. At the entrance stood his mother and grandmother, both maintaining perfect posture as they waited to greet the family head. While Matthias adjusted his already immaculate tie, the carriage door opened to reveal them.
"Welcome home, Matthias."
Katharina von Herhardt, the Dowager Duchess, greeted her grandson with a radiant smile. Matthias inclined his head to receive his grandmother's kiss. Behind her, Elise von Herhardt maintained a more reserved demeanor.
"You've grown taller again," she said, welcoming her son with a light embrace. Her deep black hair, so similar to her son's, shimmered in the early summer sunlight.
Matthias responded with an equally measured smile. His greetings to the waiting servants were no different—each gesture flowed with polished grace and perfect etiquette. In these moments, the distinction between boy and man became meaningless. He was simply Duke Herhardt, the flawless master of this household.
Walking between his grandmother and mother, Matthias led the way across the lobby hall. As he prepared to ascend the stairs, he glanced up and saw the massive chandelier still lit even at midday. Beyond it, the Herhardt family crest adorned the impossibly high ceiling.
He was a Herhardt.
This name was synonymous with cold intellect, elegant dignity, and detached temperament.
Matthias had never harbored any dissatisfaction or doubt about his life as Duke Herhardt. He understood perfectly the shape his life must take and accepted it willingly. It was as natural and effortless as breathing.
With this thought, Matthias lowered his gaze and took the stairs with long strides.
Only after the ducal family had entered the mansion did the servants finally exhale properly.
Arvis had been in a flurry of activity for days preparing for the Duke's return. Everything had to be perfect when the master came home—and that included every servant who was part of the household. Even the lowest-ranking staff who would never catch the Duke's eye were required to maintain impeccable appearances. Leila Lewellin, Arvis's unwelcome guest, was no exception.
"Has His Grace already gone inside? So soon?"
Standing at the very end of the line, Leila whispered in a slightly disappointed voice. The hem of her white dress—the one Bill had dressed her in—fluttered with her movements.
"You'll see plenty of Duke Herhardt in the woods. That's when you'll need to ask permission," Bill Remmer replied gruffly before striding ahead. Leila nearly skipped to keep up with him.
"Does His Grace like the woods too?"
"Well, you could say that. He enjoys hunting."
"Hunting? In the woods?"
Leila's eyes widened into perfect circles. Bill looked down at the child with a snort.
"Those woods are the family hunting grounds. Of course he does."
"Then... does he catch birds too?"
"The Duke probably likes catching birds best of all."
At Bill's offhand remark, Leila stopped walking abruptly, her face falling. Realizing his mistake too late, Bill cleared his throat awkwardly.
He considered soothing her with a white lie, but Duke Herhardt would likely appear in the hunting grounds within days anyway. Giving her false reassurance now might only lead to greater shock later.
"The Duke's quite the marksman with a rifle. You'd be startled—despite his age, he's an exceptional shot."
Bill rambled on, feeling he ought to say something, only realizing too late that his words had done more harm than good. By then, Leila's face had already crumpled into distress.
"But why would he hunt birds? A grand estate like that must have plenty of food even without hunting."
"For nobles, hunting's just a pastime. Birds happen to be the most entertaining targets, and also—"
Bill caught himself too late again, having already let the words slip. Leila blinked up at him, her wide eyes brimming with shock.
Damn it all, why did she have to adore those blasted birds so much?
Bill nearly snapped in frustration. Why should he have to painstakingly explain these things while tiptoeing around this tiny girl's feelings? But in the end, he couldn't bring himself to say another word. One more remark and she might burst into tears—and the last thing he wanted was to see her cry. A weeping child? Absolutely unbearable.
Hesitating, Bill escaped the awkward situation by resuming his walk. The girl trailed behind him with slumped shoulders, her steps listless. Gone was the Leila Lewellin who'd been bouncing with excitement in her new clothes. Her earlier buoyant energy had been rather endearing to watch.
"I wish the Duke would grow to dislike hunting," the girl ventured cautiously after a long silence."Maybe... maybe that could happen, right?"
Leila looked up at him with hopeful eyes. Bill could only scratch the back of his neck wordlessly once more.
Leila began to think her prayers might have been answered.
A week passed since their return, yet the Duke never visited the hunting grounds. With streams of guests flooding the mansion, it made sense.
While daily gatherings filled the estate with noise, the forest remained tranquil. In that time, summer deepened further. The eggs carefully tended by mother birds hatched, and the wild rosebuds burst into full bloom. Leila wandered through the summer woods, delighting in these small changes.
"Don't go too far, Leila!"
Bill's voice boomed after Leila as she skipped out of the cabin, brimming with excitement as usual.
"Okay! I'll just go to the river and back! See you later, Uncle!"
Turning back, Leila waved both hands energetically above her head, her worn leather bag bouncing against her side as she moved.
Her first stop was the tree holding the newly hatched titmouse nest. The featherless hatchlings waited for their mother to return with food. After a quick observation, Leila climbed down and pulled out a small notebook from her bag, sketching the baby birds' appearance—crude but earnest drawings accompanying her notes.
Lately, Leila had been documenting everything she encountered in the forest. This estate surpassed any place she'd lived before in beauty, and she wanted to remember it all. When the day came to leave again, she could revisit these pages. The thought softened the edge of her sadness.
Walking the path to the river, Leila diligently recorded the forest—pressing colorful petals between notebook pages, plucking wild raspberries from the roadside. By the time she reached the dazzling riverside, the sun hung directly overhead.
Leila climbed her favorite tree—an ancient giant straddling the boundary between forest and river. Its sturdy, outstretched branch formed a perfect natural seat. She'd just opened her notebook when faint hoofbeats began echoing from the distance.
Hastily stashing the notebook deep in her bag, Leila clung to the trunk as the galloping sounds grew nearer. Just as she held her breath, a sleek dark bay horse emerged, carrying a man.
To her dismay, the rider stopped directly beneath her tree. His dismount was light and fluid.
She knew she should climb down, but the stranger now leaned against her tree. Flustered over how to apologize for her intrusion, she froze—just as her bag bumped against a branch. The man removed his hat at the exact same moment.
The next moment was a blur in her memory.
The man turned reflexively, lifting his head, and Leila saw him. His blue eyes, visible through the cascade of black hair falling over his forehead, looked exactly like transparent glass marbles. Just as that thought crossed her mind, he was already pointing a gun at her. The menacing glint of the long barrel stabbed into Leila's stunned gaze.
Leila froze in place, clinging desperately to the tree. Her entire body trembled uncontrollably. The man, who had been silently observing her like that, let out a slow sigh and lowered the hunting rifle he had aimed.
"What the hell are you?"
A low voice slipped through his slightly twisted lips.
"......I'm Leila."
Leila barely managed to squeeze out the words, her voice trembling on the verge of tears. The wind blowing from the river sent her golden hair fluttering.
"What?"
His gaze narrowed even further. Leila gripped the tree so tightly her fingertips ached.
"Leila. Leila Lewellin."
"Uncle! Uncle Bill! Uncle!"
Leila's voice, desperate as she called for Bill Remmer, echoed through the air.
Bill, who had been sitting in front of the shed sharpening his tools, turned his head in bewilderment. Leila came sprinting toward him, her face flushed red and her breath ragged.
"What's the matter?"
"There—there's a man in the woods! A tall man!"
Even as she gasped for air, the words tumbled out of her in a rush.
"Ah, you must've run into the Duke out hunting."
Bill replied nonchalantly as he picked up another tool.
"He had black hair and icy blue eyes, and his voice sounded like waterbird feathers."
"That's Duke Herhardt, no doubt about it."
Bill let out a gruff laugh. Leila stood there dumbfounded, still trying to catch her breath.
After staring at Leila for a long moment, that beautiful yet terrifying man turned away without a word. As he mounted his horse again, two more men—likely his companions—appeared. The man joined them and disappeared deeper into the woods. Once they were completely out of sight, Leila scrambled down from the tree in a panic and fled back to the cabin.
"So that was the Duke...?"
Just as Leila was about to say something more—BANG!—a cold gunshot shattered the forest's silence.
Leila flinched and whipped her head toward the sound. From the depths of the woods, startled birds burst into the sky in unison. Among them, one bird fluttered weakly before vanishing between the trees.
The gunshots continued, several more in succession. Bill finally set down his tools and stood up. Leila remained frozen, staring blankly into the distance.
"Leila."
Bill gently placed a hand on the trembling girl's shoulder. It took her a long moment before she finally lifted her head. The instant he saw her face, Bill unconsciously held his breath.
The child was crying.
The slaughterer of beautiful birds.
That was how Leila decided to name Duke Herhardt. Of course, it was nothing more than her own personal opinion.
Everyone in this territory—even Bill Remmer—praised him as the perfect nobleman. Matthias von Herhardt, the Duke, was genuinely cherished and loved by all for his outstanding qualities as a successor, his dignity, and his restrained yet elegant demeanor.
But not Leila.
After his hunting trips, the mother sparrow had vanished. The fragile hatchlings, left without their mother, had all perished. Countless other birds had disappeared as well.
Why did the Duke only hunt small, beautiful birds, rather than the large ones meant for the dining table?
After watching and agonizing over it for an entire month, Leila thought she finally understood.
To him, birds were nothing more than moving targets.
The smaller they were, the more challenging and entertaining they became—so he shot them for the thrill of it. He didn't even spare a glance at the prey he hit. He simply turned away and left them where they fell. On the days he returned from hunting, Leila had to search for the bloodied, lifeless birds and bury them herself.
BANG—
Another gunshot echoed in the distance.