Chapter 8
Chapter 8
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Day of the Trial
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Just as they were nearing the castle.
“Young Master.”
“Speak.”
“Shouldn’t we at least… give His Grace, the Grand Duke, a heads-up?”
“Don’t.”
Carlyle shook his head.
“Why do you say that? The Grand Duke must be terribly worried…”
“Just in case.”
“In case of what, might I ask?”
“If you think back on their conversation, the answer’s right there. Why do you think those bastards were chasing Alberto?”
“There are certainly a few things that don’t add up.”
“Something’s up. My gut tells me they’re like rats. What do you think, Maranello?”
“Considering they manipulated the crime scene and possessed a memory-wiping drug, I believe you are correct, Young Master.”
“If word of this gets out, they might catch on and bolt. They could even try to cut their losses and run.”
“You’re concerned there might be a spy within the estate.”
“Just the estate?”
“Pardon?”
“How can you be so sure there isn’t a spy within the family?”
“That’s quite a leap, Young Master. I can assure you, there are no spies within the Sigmund family…”
Carlyle barely managed to stop himself from retorting, *Why not?*
“That’s why I said, ‘just in case.’”
“I understand.”
“So keep quiet. It’ll all come out at the trial anyway. No need to stir up trouble.”
“Yes, Young Master.”
“You have a few knights who can move independently, right?”
“Yes.”
“Jeffrey has to attend the trial as a witness anyway, so keep a close watch on the other two. If my father gets involved directly, the information might leak.”
“Understood.”
“And keep a discreet watch on the spirit user. If something happens and she can’t attend the trial, I’m the only one who’ll be in a bind.”
“You have nothing to worry about, Young Master.”
“Good.”
Maranello followed Carlyle in silence, lost in thought.
‘He’s certainly changed beyond recognition. The Young Master I knew was incapable of such logical thought. To attribute it to a near-death experience… No, could it be?’
Maranello’s eyes glinted with suspicion as he watched Carlyle’s back.
‘Could it be… that the Young Master has been pretending to be a scoundrel all this time?’
It was a rather reasonable assumption.
After all, hadn’t Carlyle just raised the possibility of Jeffrey and his men being spies?
He had even instructed him not to tell his own father, Grand Duke Guntram, the truth of the incident, fearing they would try to cover their tracks.
This suggested that Carlyle might have known about the spies all along.
If so…
If that were truly the case…
‘Did he realize there were spies from a hostile power within the estate, and even within the family, and deliberately act like a scoundrel? Because he sensed a great threat?’
Maranello thought it was a definite possibility.
Otherwise, it would be impossible for a man who had spent years indulging in every vice—drinking, gambling, and women—to suddenly display such astuteness.
“Um, Young Master.”
Maranello began cautiously.
“May this old man ask you just one question?”
“No.”
“…”
“You’re a butler, so act like one. Don’t go prying into things that don’t concern you. It’s a pain to answer.”
Carlyle drew a firm line.
His crude way of speaking was that of a scoundrel, through and through, yet the nuance in his tone was completely different from before.
Where his words were once laced with irritation and anger, now it felt more like he was preemptively shutting down any annoyances.
Perhaps for that reason, Carlyle’s words didn’t sound offensive at all.
Of course, maybe Maranello only felt that way because he knew Carlyle so well…
If anything, that fact only fueled Maranello’s suspicion.
‘Young Master, why have you willingly shouldered such infamy?’
Just as Maranello’s misunderstanding of Carlyle deepened.
“Search everywhere!”
“Find the criminal! He couldn’t have gotten far!”
“Woof! Woof woof!”
In the distance, a group of soldiers could be seen searching the area with hounds.
“Hm. Looks like we’ve been caught.”
“It would seem so. Haha.”
Soon, the soldiers rushed over, surrounding Carlyle and Maranello and leveling their spears at them.
***
Neither Carlyle nor Maranello was the least bit flustered.
They had already finished their business outside the castle, so getting caught now wouldn’t change a thing.
“Bind the criminals.”
A middle-aged knight commanded the soldiers.
His name was Rebesk van Sigmund, Carlyle’s uncle-in-law.
The reason he bore the Sigmund name despite being his uncle was that he came from a fallen, low-ranking noble family and had married into the Sigmunds.
Thus, he was not permitted to use his own family name and had to take his wife Medeia’s.
“What are you doing? I ordered you to bind the criminals.”
Rebesk issued the command again, but the soldiers merely hesitated, unable to make a move.
Why?
Because of who they were dealing with.
Carlyle might be a criminal, but Maranello was not someone they could touch so carelessly.
It was no exaggeration to say that not a single soldier was bold enough to put shackles on the legendary knight once known as the Grim Reaper of the North.
“It seems you all have a death wish.”
Rebesk, his anger flaring, raised his signature weapon—a two-handed hammer.
“Disobeying a superior’s command is punishable by summary execution under military law…”
“Sir Rebesk.”
Maranello stepped forward.
“Please, calm your anger and hear this old man out.”
“…Sir Maranello.”
“‘Sir’ is too grand a title. I am but a humble old butler now. Haha.”
“…”
Like many others, Rebesk held a deep respect for Maranello and couldn’t bring himself to remain angry.
“Sir Rebesk, you must have concluded that the Young Master fled ahead of his trial.”
“A criminal awaiting trial has left his designated area. Is it not fair to consider that an escape attempt in itself?”
“Yes, you are correct. However, the Young Master was not attempting to escape. He merely seemed suffocated being cooped up in his room, so this old man escorted him out for a walk.”
“A walk, you say? Do you truly expect me to believe that, Sir Maranello?”
Rebesk’s brow furrowed as if he were being taken for a fool.
“If the Young Master had truly intended to escape, it would make no sense for him to be here. You can ask the knights who were guarding his door. It has been over two hours, Sir Rebesk.”
“Is that true?”
“But of course. Why would I lie to you, Sir Rebesk?”
“Hmm.”
“Of course, by violating his house arrest, we have disobeyed the strict orders of His Grace, the Grand Duke. I will have to present myself to him and beg for forgiveness. So please, Sir Rebesk, quell your anger and lower your weapon. Perhaps it is my old age, but my heart pounds at the mere sight of steel now.”
Watching Maranello smoothly placate his uncle, Carlyle scoffed inwardly.
‘Heart pounds, my foot. You could knock Uncle out in a single blow.’
While Rebesk was undoubtedly a skilled knight, he was by no means a match for Maranello.
“If you say so, Sir Maranello, then it must be so. Everyone, lower your weapons.”
“Yes, Commander.”
“And…”
Rebesk shot a chilling glare at the soldiers under his command.
“When we return, you will all be punished severely in accordance with military law. Be advised.”
“…”
The soldiers’ faces turned pale.
Rebesk was famous for his inflexibility; the punishment for insubordination was bound to be harsh.
“In the meantime, I will escort Carlyle to his room, Sir Maranello.”
“But of course. Heh heh.”
And so, Carlyle was escorted—or rather, monitored—back to the castle by Rebesk and his soldiers.
***
Immediately after they arrived at his room.
“Young Master, I will go see His Grace, the Grand Duke.”
“Go ahead.”
After Maranello had gone.
“You insist on acting selfishly to the very end.”
Rebesk said to Carlyle in a cold tone.
“Do you think laws and rules are things you can simply ignore? Is that it?”
“…”
Carlyle didn’t bother to answer.
Rebesk had a massive inferiority complex about his background and his status as a son-in-law who had married into the family, and he was known for being petty.
Moreover, he was one of the main figures who constantly clashed and growled at the real Carlyle, so their mutual animosity had piled up to the brim.
Therefore, Carlyle couldn’t be bothered to respond, if only to avoid the hassle.
“No answer? Why don’t you talk back to your uncle like you usually do?”
“…”
“Don’t tell me.”
As Carlyle stared at him blankly, Rebesk’s eyes flared with anger.
“Are you openly ignoring your own uncle? Because I come from a worthless family and married into yours?”
“That’s not it.”
“Ha! Not it? Is that what someone says while ignoring their uncle when he’s speaking to them?”
“I already said that’s not it.”
“What do you mean, that’s not…”
“If you insist on thinking that even after I’ve denied it, then there’s nothing I can do.”
“You insolent…!”
Rebesk roared.
“Arrogant to the very end. Fine, I’ll wait just two days. In two days, you will pay dearly for your past indulgence…”
“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
*Slam!*
Carlyle slammed the door shut.
“You insolent brat! If this isn’t ignoring your uncle, then…!”
On and on he went.
Rebesk bellowed from outside the door, but Carlyle just let him be.
He would eventually tire himself out and leave; there was no need to get into a scuffle with him.
And he was right.
About five minutes passed.
“Fine! We’ll see! We’ll see if you weep tears of blood or not!”
An enraged shout echoed, and then the heavy thud of Rebesk’s footsteps faded into the distance.
‘Ugh. I’m tired.’
Carlyle wrapped himself in his blanket and tried to sleep.
‘But why haven’t I seen that woman? It’s making me anxious.’
His run-in with Rebesk made him think of his aunt, Medeia.
For some reason, it was strange that she hadn’t shown her face at all, even with the trial just around the corner.
His aunt Medeia, Rebesk, and their children.
That entire family was hostile not only to Carlyle but to Selena and Frey as well.
His aunt Medeia, in particular, was an incredibly ambitious woman, desperate to seize control of the Sigmund family.
For someone like her to be so quiet after hearing about Carlyle’s trial?
Normally, she would have rushed over to mock, ridicule, and taunt him, saying he got what he deserved.
‘Is she not on the estate right now?’
Carlyle closed his eyes, thinking that might be the case.
***
Two days later.
The day of the trial had arrived.
“This collar is too tight.”
“Please bear with it. You can’t exactly go in a shirt.”
Carlyle was getting dressed in his formal wear with Maranello’s help before attending the trial.
“Young Master, your aunt is here.”
The knight guarding the door reported to Carlyle.
“Tell her I’m not seeing her.”
“Pardon?”
“Are you deaf? I said I won’t see her.”
“B-But…”
As the knight stood there, unsure of what to do.
“How dare you be so insolent.”
Medeia pushed her way through the door, her venomous eyes glaring.