A Midnight Tryst
"So it's true, then?"
"Yes. We've confirmed that the traveling merchants who were still left in the territory are already scrambling to get out safely."
"I see. Haa…"
Fenril set down the cigarette she'd been puffing and exhaled a stream of smoke.
"According to the scouts, there was no sign of anyone leveraging political power or leading troops… so was it really the Count's house that settled this, or just a stroke of pure luck…"
Not long after she'd refused Freya's proposal at their meeting, the dragon-related rumors that had been spreading through Evergarden Territory began to scatter with startling speed.
Even the merchants who'd been stuck in the territory, held in place by those rumors, had started leaving in droves—and none of them had come bolting back in a panic. That alone was enough to know the rumors would die out completely.
The scouts' report had also mentioned that, not long ago, a single carriage had left the Count's estate and returned again—and that the rumors had vanished afterward. Timing and context both pointed to the same conclusion: the Evergarden family had taken some kind of action.
"You're certain Gordon was the one driving that carriage?"
"Yes. We've confirmed there were plenty of witnesses."
"These days they treat him like the Fallen Hound… but a hound is still a hound, I suppose."
The Hound.
An assassin who had appeared out of nowhere in the underworld years ago. Wherever he went, the corpses were left torn apart as if a ravenous hunting dog had ripped through them—and that was how the moniker stuck.
On top of that, his reputation for cleanly finishing every single job he took on had grown so fierce that a saying made the rounds: Prey marked by the Hound is always hunted down.
Even back then, when he briefly let his presence surge in that building… it gave me chills. Even if I were at my absolute best, walking away from a fight with him in one piece would be impossible.
A few days earlier, when Freya had brought Gordon with her to visit the Red Fang, he'd simply stood silent behind her. That alone had been enough. His presence was so tightly controlled, so razor-sharp, that it had set Fenril's tail standing straight on end.
Really, though—how the hell did she tame that Hound? That, I genuinely want to know.
Someone with that kind of skill, playing butler under a noble—and not just any noble, but the Evergarden Count family, whose reputation was already filthy. Fenril still found the whole thing absurd.
"Anyway. A letter arrived from the Count's house?"
"Yes. We couldn't determine exactly when it was left, so…"
"Eh, one look and you can tell it was the Hound's work."
Fenril stubbed out the rest of her cigarette in the ashtray and took the letter from her subordinate.
The Evergarden family seal stamped on it made no attempt at concealment whatsoever.
There hadn't even been a messenger. Someone had simply set the letter down in the first-floor hall of the Red Fang headquarters—and they hadn't discovered it until long afterward.
An indirect threat, delivered by proving their building's security had already been thoroughly gutted.
"Well. The one giving the orders was probably that Countess, though."
Faced with a provocation that bordered on outright mockery, Fenril found herself thinking of Freya.
On the surface, she looked like nothing more than a kindly noble wife. Underneath, a serpent had already coiled itself thick and tight.
"Might as well see what it says."
Fenril tore open the sealed letter and began reading.
And then—
"…Heh. Heh-ha-ha! Well, well. She got me good, didn't she?!"
Her brow furrowed as she read, then her wolf ears twitched, and a bold, rolling laugh filled the office.
"What does it say?"
"Nothing fancy. She dances around it a bit, but basically she wants to continue our conversation—so she wants me to come to the Count's house. In person. Alone."
"…You're joking."
The subordinate who'd asked the question went rigid the moment he heard the answer.
No matter how formidable Fenril was, she was still a criminal. Stack up everything she'd done, and it was more than enough for the death penalty. In an imperial territory under the rule of law, simply leading an armed organization without authorization was already grounds—if someone wanted to twist the charges hard enough—to invent a ridiculous charge of fomenting a coup and wipe out not only her, but her entire bloodline three generations deep.
And unlike other outfits, the Red Fang had no noble patron covering their backs. Once the boss of the Red Fang was caught, it was over. Period.
In that situation, walking into the mansion of the Evergarden Count family—the masters of this territory—alone, with no forces at her back, was no different from sticking her bare head into a lion's jaws with nothing to protect her.
"You can't. It's far too dangerous. Last time we at least had home ground and our people with us, and the Count's side came to us on their knees—but this is completely different!"
The subordinate, still stiff from the sheer absurdity of the demand, spoke to Fenril with a grave expression.
What kind of subordinate sent their own boss into enemy territory alone?
"Too late. We don't have a choice but to answer this."
But Fenril had already realized it: she and the entire Red Fang organization were already tangled in the net.
At their first meeting, Freya had come to them in person. Then, over the dragon problem—the very reason Fenril had used to refuse her proposal—the Count's house had gone and solved it themselves.
The Evergarden family had already fulfilled both form and principle. Refusing a second invitation to come, the way she had the first time, simply wasn't an option.
Even if the Red Fang had its own independent business channels, that hand had long since been played out. And once the dragon rumors fully quieted down, the Count's house wouldn't need the Red Fang specifically—they'd find another way.
No. If it was that woman, she would definitely find one. Fenril's instincts were screaming it.
"If we turn this offer down too, the Count's house will start looking for other paths—even if the profits take a hit. And once that happens, we become useless. And if we become useless…"
"…The Hound comes for us."
"They already made a clear show of his power just delivering the letter, and we can't even use hostages the way we did last time. If the Hound kicks down our door in this situation, it's over. Straight up."
Caught between a rock and a hard place.
With nothing more than a single letter, their path had been sealed shut so thoroughly that even Fenril—who'd weathered every storm imaginable—couldn't help the incredulous laugh that burst out of her.
"She really… got me with one clean hit. That woman is no joke."
Once the absurdity passed, a cold, dizzying chill settled into Fenril's gut.
"With a mind like that, why the hell has the Count's house been sitting around this lazy all this time? It's like they're completely different people."
The reason Fenril had settled in this territory was simple.
Compared to other fiefs, Evergarden Territory was an almost perfect place for a criminal to hide.
High taxes, a large impoverished population, and soldiers in charge of public order who were utterly useless.
A criminal outfit that never paid taxes and had piled up money could hand over a few pouches of gold coins as a "favor," and the authorities would look the other way no matter what they did. That was how fragile the system was.
Most of the Red Fang's income came from smuggling goods, distribution, and selling information—so they kept their distance from bloodshed. Even so, the underworld of this territory ran red with blood every single day. Public order was that bad.
And the root cause was the masters of the territory themselves: the Evergarden Count family, who had been thoroughly incompetent and thoroughly lazy.
So when the Count's wife had proposed a meeting, it hadn't been strange at all for Fenril to think, If this goes well, maybe I can swallow the whole Count's house.
Reality, however, had been nothing like her expectations.
At first it had been because of Gordon. Now it was because of Freya, the Countess herself.
A light jab she'd thrown out casually had come flying back as an unexpected counterpunch—and now she was cornered against the ropes.
"If she's calling me like this… I suppose I'd better go in person."
Fenril wiped a cold bead of sweat from her brow and bared her teeth in a low snarl.
"A shame there's no coffee, but this milk tea is decent enough."
Late into the night.
After a full day of document processing more brutal than anything a graduate student endured, Curmon had collapsed from overwork for the fifth time this round—so Freya had wrapped up a little early. Alone now in the office, she sipped the milk tea Gordon had prepared for her.
Even the smallest things like this made her miss the modern world with a sharp ache, but she was managing to adapt somehow.
"Still… without kimchi, nothing tastes right. The kids seem to be struggling more and more, too. Maybe I should at least start looking for similar ingredients?"
Even Freya, whose Korean soul was carved deep into her spirit, was starting to crave kimchi in earnest.
She'd spent her childhood studying abroad, but it had been well over twenty years since she'd fully settled in Korea. Meals without the kimchi that had always sat on the table left her feeling oddly drained.
"…At this rate, my husband might flip the whole table."
Darian—a purebred Korean through and through—had also started chewing his food with the expression of a man eating something foul every single meal. She was just starting to seriously consider solutions when—
Whoosh—
"…"
A candle that had been softly lighting the room through the open window snuffed out, and darkness settled over the office.
Up to that point, it could have been nothing more than a natural draft.
"…You arrived earlier than I expected."
Freya, who should have been alone in the office, suddenly spoke into the dark.
And then—
"When the Countess herself sends an invitation, what's a lowly criminal like me supposed to do but present myself?"
A figure emerged from the darkness, shedding the robe she'd been wearing as she approached the desk where Freya sat.
"By the way—I thought I'd completely killed my presence. How'd you know?"
"The windows in this office are always kept shut. No matter how carefully you suppress your presence, if a draft suddenly blows through a sealed room, anyone would find it strange, wouldn't they?"
"Thorough, aren't you… Even I can't pull it off as perfectly as that old man."
"Heh. Still, it's quite dashing. I have a bit of a soft spot for this kind of secret rendezvous, you know."
"Nobles really are impossible to figure out."
From beneath the discarded robe, fiery red hair and a pair of perked wolf ears came into view.
"Well then—shall we pick up the conversation we left unfinished last time?"
Freya looked at the face of Fenril, boss of the Red Fang, and smiled with gentle warmth as she steepled her fingers together.
