Chapter 104
Chapter 104
Translation: godsn
Had his sword not been stained with blood as well?
The minor duke might have feigned unconsciousness after assassinating the princess, fearing the consequences of his actions.
People whispered among themselves.
"Your Highness, please compose yourself. You must not become too agitated. We cannot be certain of anything yet."
As the Queen Dowager nearly collapsed backward from grief and rage, Lady Pinatelli grasped her arm and whispered urgently.
"In this situation, Your Majesty is the only one who can remain clear-headed and search for Her Highness Medeia."
The Queen Dowager's eyes finally regained their focus.
Yes, I must not fall apart like this. I must find Medeia.
"Lock Samon away. He must not be released until the truth is uncovered."
"Mother, how could you treat my son like a criminal! Samon is also your grandson—this is truly too much!"
Despite the Regent's protests, the Queen Dowager coldly issued her command.
The Regent bit his lip, sensing the furious mood of the crowd.
'Damn it, what the hell happened? Why was Samon found unconscious in that state? Where has Medeia gone?'
"If we don't find Medeia, we'll be branded as murderers. Use any means necessary to locate her!"
Meanwhile, Iason glared at Samon. With Medeia's disappearance, even his chance to shine had vanished.
No—she might not have disappeared. She might have lost her life at this bastard's hands.
An indescribable rage surged within him.
How dare he lay a hand on her? A worthless creature who wouldn't even be worth a glance if not for the Claudio name.
'My informant clearly said the Fourth Imperial Princess was the one who brought in the wolf. Yet now Samon is being framed as the culprit?'
That meant the two had joined forces.
Samon Claudio had been scheming to catch both rabbits—him and the Fourth Princess—just as Iason himself had once done.
Iason was deeply displeased.
"G-Grand Duke Castulo, Your Highness. Please help us. If you could just give the slightest hint that my son would never target the princess—"
"Why didn't you consult me about such a major move?"
"Y-Your Highness?"
"What I need are those who follow my orders to the letter, not traitors trying to build their own royal palace!"
"Calm yourself, Your Grace. I was shortsighted."
But Iason turned away from the Regent and walked off without another word.
Iason quietly issued orders to his subordinates.
"You lot, search for the princess as well. We must find her first."
If the princess was alive, he would be the hero who rescued her from danger.
He absolutely could not let this opportunity slip away.
The Campane Great Plain.
Though dusk had cast a dim shadow over the land, the encampment blazed brightly with torchlight.
"Did you see the faces of those Rhasai bastards? They turned white as sheets when they saw us!"
"Finally paying back those cunning devils who've been eyeing our backs—nothing could be more satisfying!"
Above the bonfire, a massive wild boar roasted on a long spit, while a large cauldron bubbled with stew.
It was a night of celebration for the victorious Valdina soldiers.
Yet inside the tent, a heavy silence hung, starkly contrasting the lively atmosphere outside.
A man gazed down at a wooden puppet.
His silver hair, falling to his shoulders, and his clear blue eyes emitted a cold gleam even in the dim torchlight of the tent.
His noble, ascetic features seemed mismatched with the massive, bloodthirsty greatsword beside him—as tall as a child.
He carried the aura of a priest more than a warrior.
On one side of his handsome face was a faint scar, barely noticeable unless looked at closely.
This mark, along with his dazzling silver hair, instead resembled a sacred stigma.
The Holy Slaughterer.
Another epithet for Pelleus de Valdina, the current King of Valdina, who had been waging a decade-long war against the nomadic tribes on the Great Plains.
"Your Majesty."
Dianzel, the captain of the Agema (the King's Royal Guard), entered the tent and let out a sigh.
"It's a rare night of celebration, Your Majesty. Surely even you could allow yourself some ease for just this evening."
"......"
Instead of answering, Pelleus closed the pendant and slipped it into his pocket.
Wherever he went on the battlefield, that pendant he always carried contained a portrait of a young girl with silver hair just like his.
"It's too soon to relax when this victory isn't even my own."
His reply was cool. Before Pelleus lay a map of the plains, densely marked with flags representing the strategies devised by his advisors.
The territory of the Lasai Tribe had long since been replaced by Valdina's banners.
"Indeed. This victory truly belongs to Her Highness the Princess. Had we not known about the burning of the Lasai savages' provisions and their subsequent confusion, we could never have launched that surprise attack."
As Dianzel nodded, Pelleus—who had seemed deep in strategic thought—suddenly posed a question.
"Do you really believe that? That Medeia was truly behind this?"
"Siseo is an honest man who'd speak his mind even with a blade at his throat. He wouldn't lie."
"......"
"Her Highness has always been exceptionally clever, Your Majesty. Isn't it a good thing that the young princess has grown enough to offer her aid? I cannot fathom why you wear such a troubled expression."
Pelleus's blue eyes darkened.
"...She was never that bold of a child. This is the first time she's ever sent me such a letter. Something must have happened to Dea."
His sister's transformation worried him.
When people undergo sudden growth, it's always preceded by painful, harrowing trials.
What troubled him most was leaving his younger sister alone in Valdina's royal palace.
"Your Majesty cannot protect Her Highness from every danger. You left her the royal seal—you've done your utmost."
Pelleus had disregarded all criticism of being a worthless king who entrusted state affairs to his young sister, so long as it meant protecting Medeia.
Even though this was a time when establishing royal authority was more crucial than ever, so soon after his coronation.
"......"
Was that truly the case? Had he really done his best?
"...I can barely remember her face now. I wonder how much she's grown."
Pelleus murmured softly.
"...I couldn't even say a proper farewell when I left."
He should have turned back just once to see that face, silently streaming with tears.
He should have held those tiny trembling fingertips at least once.
Only those round, resentful eyes staring at him as he departed remained vivid in his memory.
"I was afraid to wait. Afraid I might break my promise to return alive."
He hadn't dared say a word.
After their father's death, Pelleus had to depart in haste to stabilize the faltering army.
Back then, he too had been just an inexperienced boy.
He hadn't had the confidence to make his little sister—already the kingdom's unwanted burden—understand why he had to leave her alone and march to a battlefield where even his survival wasn't guaranteed.
"...Why not send her a letter? By now, Her Highness would understand."
"......"
"Or perhaps one of those wooden dolls you carved."
Dianzel gestured toward the row of wooden figurines occupying one side of Pelleus's tent.
Ten carved dolls in the likeness of a small girl, each holding a fragment of Pelleus's longing.
"......"
With each passing year, the dolls had grown slightly taller.
His imagination had added details—this must be how she looks now.
Yet no matter how hard he tried, Medeia's face refused to come clearly to mind.
His little sister's once-vivid smile, her radiant vitality, only grew fainter with time.
Dianzel encouraged the young king:
"With this victory over the Lasai, the war's end is in sight. Your Majesty, you'll be able to return soon."
"...I should hope so."
Instead of answering, Pelleus looked down at the pendant again.
His fingers gently traced the delicate curve of the little girl's smile.