Chapter 107
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 107
The state of the room was appalling. On the console, the desk, the tea table—every available surface was littered with stimulants, half-empty bottles of painkillers, and various pills of unknown origin. Beside them stood a long row of high-proof liquor bottles.
Of course, Edgar had long known his cousin's vices were anything but refined. Whether it was alcohol or tobacco, Theodore always preferred the harshest option over anything of quality. But this…
“…”
Edgar unconsciously covered his mouth. Why in God’s name was a tranquilizer—typically reserved for patients with severe, terminal neuroses—sitting right next to a stimulant? Taking either one alone would push the brain to its absolute limit.
Unless he was actively trying to destroy his own mind, this cocktail made no sense. It was hard to believe Theodore had been shoving these substances into his body while maintaining his grueling schedule as if nothing were wrong.
Most alarming of all, Theodore still hadn't noticed his presence. Grimacing, Edgar rapped his knuckles twice on the desk.
“Aren’t you going to greet your guest?”
Only then did the Duke seem to register the intruder. Theodore, who had been sitting with his head bowed and a hand pressed to his temple, finally looked up from his paperwork. The moment their eyes met, Edgar felt a chilling sense of wrongness.
His pupils were erratically constricted, making his blue eyes look strikingly, unnaturally vivid. His eyelids trembled slightly, shadowed by deep, dark circles. None of this was normal. It felt like an omen of an impending collapse.
Edgar didn't know where to begin, but his cousin simply gathered his documents as if nothing was amiss. A beat later, Theodore raised his cold gaze.
“I believe I said not to come in, Edgar.”
“Well, I…”
“My valet wouldn’t have left his post. You must have heard him.”
“…”
“Or does my word mean shit to you now?”
Edgar let out a dry laugh at the crude, ill-tempered profanity. Ah, right. This bastard was a soldier. Theodore had played the part of the flawless gentleman in Linden for so long that Edgar had completely forgotten his true nature.
He was a man who had entered the naval academy at sixteen and had served in Ingram’s notoriously rough navy ever since. Now twenty-three, he had shattered every promotion record in the nation’s history.
The thought only made the scene more chilling. He was so close to his limit that he’d abandoned the polite mask he usually wore even around family, yet he still seemed convinced he was perfectly fine.
“Are you even eating? Are you sleeping at all?”
“I don’t know why you’re asking. I’m fine.”
“…Fine?”
“I simply don’t have the time. There’s too much work, and unfortunately, only one of me.”
Answering dismissively, Theodore finished a letter addressed to the Minister of Foreign Affairs. While waiting for the ink to dry, he melted sealing wax with one hand and pulled another document toward him with the other.
After flipping through the pages in silence for some time, the Duke spoke up, his voice laced with annoyance.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
“The Dowager Duchess asked me to deliver this. Though I suspect she was just worried about you.”
Placing the letter on the desk, Edgar raised both hands in a placating gesture and took a step back, treating Theodore like a wild animal that might snap at any moment. Theodore glared at him. It was infuriating to be handled like a beast, but since Edgar hadn’t done anything overtly offensive, he couldn’t even lash out. It was maddening.
“You’ve delivered it. I’ve received it. Your business here is done. Now leave.”
“Let me ask one thing before I go.”
“Edgar. Do I look like I’m joking about being busy?”
Theodore swept back his disheveled hair in irritation. The only major conflict in the last century had been the Dersen-Soma War a decade ago. The veterans who had survived that hell, along with the Labor Party, were deeply skeptical of entering a new war, but the Prime Minister was whipping the nation’s youth into a frenzy.
Glory to the King, prosperity to the nation. The people of Ingram were utterly captivated by the simple, destructive slogans spilling from the Prime Minister’s mouth. From the halls of Parliament to local coffeehouses, debates raged daily about teaching the Ermanians a lesson and securing their maritime hegemony.
Discussions were already underway to convert all manufacturing plants, starting with automotive companies, into munitions factories. Women were being hired to replace the drafted men. Men, machinery, horses, timber, raw materials—every precious resource would soon be pointlessly consumed.
War was the most extravagant waste humanity could commit. And Theodore’s sole focus was ensuring that the values the House of Battenberg held dear would survive the coming storm.
“Is dying from overwork your life’s ambition?”
Theodore pressed his fingers to his aching eyes, his hand trembling slightly. His concentration was shot, his patience was evaporating thanks to Edgar, and he felt so thoroughly exhausted that a little more self-destruction hardly seemed to matter.
With a weary sigh, the Duke rose from his chair. He poured liquor into a glass and dropped in two of his newly prescribed stimulant pills. The combination usually worked. It kept his mind from becoming hyper-alert while allowing the drug to course rapidly through his veins… and it significantly reduced the frequency of his intrusive thoughts.
When his frayed nerves became unbearable, he would simply chew and swallow a tranquilizer. It was the height of efficiency.
“We should respect each other’s boundaries,” the Duke warned, tilting his head back to down the liquor like medicine before looking straight at Edgar.
Edgar replied, his voice aggrieved. “And I can’t even say that much to you?”
“Then I’m telling you not to choke on all the stocks and bonds you’ve been greedily gobbling up.”
“…Ah.”
“You’ve been dipping your fingers into all sorts of ventures. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”
Edgar froze for a second before letting out an embarrassed chuckle. He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged.
“Well… have I ever actually crossed a line and made you angry? I invest exactly where you tell me to. If there’s a little extra left over, I just take a bite. That’s all.”
“Shameless.”
“Anyway, go see Grandmother soon. It seems she has matters to discuss regarding your wedding.”
“…”
“She’s worried. Especially after hearing some reporter has been tailing you. There are… some rather nasty rumors going around.”
Anti-Erman sentiment was spreading like wildfire. What had started as a low murmur was rapidly gaining public traction as war drew near. Day after day, crowds carrying xenophobic signs demanding all Ermanians be locked up in camps or deported poured into the city squares.
There was only one solution: get married, go to war, and win a medal. It was a simple, straightforward path. He had already steeled himself for it. And yet, sometimes…
“…”
Theodore set the empty glass down on the desk. Out of habit, his hand closed around the chess piece that woman had left behind. Vanessa’s warmth had long since faded from it; she likely didn’t even remember dropping it on the floor before she left. And yet.
At first, the piece had felt like a symbol of her determination to flee from him. Now, damn it all, it felt like a reflection of his own abandoned self. It was pathetic, really, how he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away, simply because it was the only trace of her left in this massive hotel.
He pressed a large hand against his exhausted eyes. When he closed them for a moment and opened them again, the room was empty. As it always was.
* * *
“Excuse me, Miss Liber! Wait a moment!”
Hearing her name, Vanessa paused halfway down the stairs. She turned to see a man she had exchanged greetings with a few times hurrying across the hall toward her.
Vanessa quickly searched her memory and recalled his name: Jacques Marshal. He was twenty-five, the son of a long-serving butler of the Marquessate of Polignac, and a literature major at St. Gregory. Readjusting her grip on the bag of textbooks in her arms, she greeted him warmly.
“Mr. Jacques Marshal. Have you been well?”
That simple greeting was enough to turn the young man’s ears bright red—thrilled that she had remembered his name.