Chapter 25
Chapter 25
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: I'll Make You Mine Someday
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—You prickly thing. Someday, I'll make you mine.
Words that could never come from Theorad's mouth. That's why they were all the more shocking and stimulating.
Esille remembered Theorad's appearance from moments ago. His light brown eyes, like an autumn wheat field, narrowed sharply as they gazed at her intently, and the cold tone spilling from his slightly twisted lips.
It was a side she'd never seen in her usual kind and gentle Theorad. Her face flushed hot for no reason, and her lips grew parched.
"Fool..."
She'd told him to get angry, but instead, he went and seduced her—what was that supposed to mean?
—Someday, I'll make you mine.
The voice replayed in her mind once more. But she didn't hate it, not really.
Esille grabbed a nearby pillow and clutched it tightly to her chest, her face burning red.
"Foolish Theorad."
Somehow, she had a feeling sleep wouldn't come easily tonight.
The next day at noon.
The sun shining down on the count's domain was clear and bright. As if proclaiming that no darkness lingered here.
Even the many drifting clouds veered strangely wide of the sun today.
Fred had been leisurely taking in the vast sky from atop the rampart road when he lowered his gaze, as if his eyes stung.
'Pelgaroin Countship.'
Countless homes and ornate buildings fanned out radially from the central square, which served as the city's landmark. Fred quietly surveyed the scene.
Long and distant. Vast and meticulously planned. The domain built up by the Pelgaroin counts over countless years was now substantial enough to be called a "little kingdom" without exaggeration.
Ask any child in the borderlands what lay in the empire's heartlands, and they'd name the Pelgaroin Countship first—the family's prestige went without saying.
Yet Fred took no pleasure in that fact. He chafed at his house's fealty to the empire, at the generations of vassal-lord ties binding them to His Imperial Majesty.
All the more so since his brother Beneller—that soft-hearted coward—had been hounded by imperial orders into volunteering as vanguard of the punitive legion, only to die a wretched death.
'Eight years already?'
It felt like yesterday he'd wailed in grief over his brother's passing, yet so much time had slipped by. Even so, Fred hadn't forgotten that hatred and sorrow for a single instant.
Compared to Esille, who'd managed to dilute her hatred and shake off her grief for the family's sake, it was childish and foolish of him—but what could be done about the man he'd been born as?
If His Majesty hadn't issued that unjust command to his brother in the first place...
"Fred, young master."
A warm, melodic voice from behind snapped him from his thoughts. He turned to find Theorad, impeccably dressed, offering an affable smile.
"You summoned me, so I've come. Is there some business?"
Fred returned the smile and nodded.
"Indeed. Though not official business—more like personal matters."
"Fred, young master?"
"Hah, just teasing. Sorry to pull you away from your paperwork. But I caught wind of some odd rumors and wanted to confirm them, brother-in-law."
Theorad's shoulders twitched faintly. Once at the mention of rumors, again at "confirm"—he was clearly on edge about yesterday's events.
"I heard my little sister slapped your cheek yesterday. Word is you tried to force a kiss on her. Scandalous business—I asked the party guests to hold their tongues, but tales like that spread anyway. Your thoughts?"
"Ah. That..."
The way he trailed off and averted his gaze felt endearingly boyish. Fred made no effort to hide his grin as he draped an arm around Theorad's shoulders.
"You did well."
"...Pardon?"
"I was starting to worry you were some kind of saint, brother-in-law. We've known each other since we were kids, and still no kiss? I was even wondering if you lacked urges altogether. But this proves otherwise."
Theorad let out an awkward cough. Ashamed his true feelings had slipped out? For all his poise, moments like this made him seem like a pure, worldly youth—Fred felt an urge to look after him. He gave Theorad's chest a casual pat.
"No need to fret over rumors. Most folk are taking kindly to your little love games with Esille. Word among the young ladies is it's downright romantic."
"Ah... I see."
"Right. More to the point—what happened with Malden yesterday? That bastard started badmouthing you at breakfast. If Esille hadn't given me the cue, the table would've turned into a roasting session."
Malden. Theorad recalled the ball as a troubled expression crossed his face.
"It's no surprise. I was the one rude to young master Malden yesterday."
"Not the reverse?"
How did he know? As Theorad turned with a questioning look, Fred dropped his arm from the shoulder.
"Esille and I have a little saying: 'Anyone Malden curses is good people, no exceptions.' She's my sister, sure, but everyone knows that snake's vicious. Go on—Malden started it with you, didn't he?"
"...He tried laying hands on my slave without leave."
"Figures. No wonder his rant was all effects, no causes. Let me apologize for Malden, brother-in-law. Forgive the Pelgaroin house's discourtesy."
Did it warrant dragging the family name into it? Theorad gave an awkward smile and shook his head.
"In truth, my own haste outpaced my words. Forgive Deharm's rudeness first, and I'll deem Pelgaroin's slip a trifle."
Rights and wrongs clear as day, yet Theorad humbled his own house over the foe's—publicly absolving both sides.
Like father, like son. His knack for the social dance was so deft, it left the actual offender feeling better.
It even planted a natural sense of obligation in the other party. Intentional or not, a magnate's grace could be a potent weapon at times. Theorad wielded it masterfully.
"Much appreciated."
Fred had more he wanted to press on, but the moment didn't suit. He smacked his lips and gave Theorad's shoulder a light pat.
"That's all from me. Off with you—you're busy. Sorry for wasting the regent's time."
"Nonsense. Talks with you are always enlightening, Fred, young master. Until next time."
Theorad bowed gracefully and departed. Fred watched his retreating back for a spell, then let out a low chuckle as he turned away.
'What an intriguing fellow.'
Theorad Deharm.
Seemingly kind to a fault, yet something about him defied reading.
*
Back in his lordship's study, I tugged at the brooch at my throat and let out a deep sigh.
'Thought I was done for.'
I'd been sweating bullets, convinced our scheme with Esille had blown wide open. Nearly roped Fred into the elf's clutches too.
'Too many in the know is trouble.'
One slip while sharing intel, offending the elf lost in her slave act—it'd be curtains. An exposed elf would kill me, smash the family, then flit off for a new master.
Not the grim future I wanted. Better if only Esille and I pooled our knowledge and plotted countermeasures.
But first things first: sweep the shadow from the countship. I sank into the desk chair and pored over the files Marhan had brought.
Montages sketching the culprits' looks, maps pinning crime scenes, testimonies his lordship's guards and knights had gathered patrolling the domain.
Pinpointing their next hit proved tricky, though.
'Testimonies clash.'
No consistency among the locals' accounts. Take a sighting of the gang in Mill Street sector 21—same time, a claim of spotting them clear across in Raven Street sector 17.
Both swore they saw the full ten-man crew. Impossible to trace a route.
'Accomplices in the mix.'
Some of these self-proclaimed witnesses had to be in league with the "Ten Righteous Outlaws." Which meant...
Knock knock—
A knock interrupted my churning thoughts. I sighed and set down my quill.
"Come in."
Creeeak...
The door inched open feebly, revealing the elf. A chill prickled me for an instant, but I'd grown used to it. I stared wordlessly; she shuffled inside hesitantly.
"Maaaster... I messed up a little, so I came to confess..."
A little mess-up? Tempting to pry, but not now.
"Scram. I haven't the leisure to chide you."
"Ah! W-wrong! Big mess-up—punish me right this second..."
"You witless slut. My words bounce right off those ears? Told you I'm busy."
The elf's brow twitched. Fair enough—she'd gone days without a proper berating and was itching for it. But I truly had no time.
Precious little stay left in the castle; I aimed to wipe out this gang before it ended. Prove my worth to his lordship.
"Oh... Master's swamped, huh..."
Why so swamped? She muttered under her breath, eyes flicking over the montages spread on the desk. Then she nodded and backed away.
"Later, then, Master."
Surprisingly agreeable. Suited me fine. Once she'd shut the door behind her, I dove back into the files.
*
Dark of night. At Moltar Inn, a sly-faced man named Hamber climbed the stairs.
'Wanted info from me, did she?'
It had been at dusk, world turning twilight, as he wrapped up work and headed home. A hooded beauty in deep robes approached out of nowhere, asking if he knew aught of the "Ten Righteous Outlaws."
He'd played dumb at first, but she pressed relentlessly till he admitted he did. Then she proposed they talk it over—here at Moltar Inn.
Lewd fancies of being alone in a room with such a stunner had him nodding along. Which was why he was here now.
'Room 206.'
He scanned the corridor plaques, gripped the knob of 206, and turned.
'It opens!'
Her promise to wait hadn't been a lie. What luck. Hamber crowed inwardly as he stepped inside—and there she sat on the bed, the woman from before.
She clocked him and parted her alluring lips.
"Tell me where the culprits are. I've done my homework."
Straight to brass tacks—unbelievable. Hamber slipped the door locked behind him, ran his tongue over his lips, and advanced on her.