Chapter 33
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: Infiltration (3)
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I let those thoughts linger for a moment.
"Excuse me."
I unwrapped the arm I'd coiled around Rose's body. I couldn't let myself turn into some fool defeated by impulse right here.
No, to be honest, it was the fear of the fallout if I gave in to that impulse.
'Why are you doing this?'
I could picture it: Rose's face draining of color, her shoving me away in sheer shock.
That image alone was unbearable, filling me with disgust. So all I could do was leave the impulse bottled up inside.
The instant she was free, Rose scrambled out of the closet. The way she bolted made it seem like I'd been toying with her, and for some reason, that sparked a surge of irritation in me.
'Wasn't she the one doing the toying?'
Unlike me, who'd been meticulous about avoiding any unnecessary contact, Rose had groped my chest outright. No one had ever touched me so brazenly.
"......"
Let it go. What childish nonsense. This really wasn't like me.
I slipped out of the closet too. In the meantime, Rose was too busy stealing glances at me to even smooth out her rumpled clothes.
"Are you alright, Madam?"
"Y-Yes......"
"I apologize for my rudeness. But please understand—it was an unavoidable situation."
"Yes...... It was unavoidable."
Rose fidgeted with her hands, dodging my gaze.
'...That expression again.'
It was just like the look she'd worn back then—wanting to flee from me, and actually bolting in the end.
A sharp urge welled up to demand why she was making that face.
But.
'We've wasted too much time.'
Reality sank in, dousing the impulse.
The maid's unexpected intrusion had burned through a good chunk of time. Soon enough, Butler Bill would come looking for me.
"We should leave the room now."
"Ah, yes."
I checked inside the closet, shut the door, and meticulously scanned the room for any traces we'd left behind.
Rose watched me from a safe distance.
"Follow me."
As I started toward the door, she trailed after me with quick little steps.
I confirmed no guards patrolling the corridor, then opened the door.
"Madam first."
"Yes."
Rose slipped cautiously through the narrow gap. As her body brushed past me, that scent from earlier flooded my nostrils again.
"......"
The first restraint had been tough, but the second came easier.
I tamped down the rising urge without much effort. Then, to Rose standing in the corridor and looking back at me, I said,
"From now on, every week at this time, meet here."
"Pardon? Why?"
Tension suddenly etched across Rose's still-flushed face.
"You still haven't found what you were after, have you?"
"Ah, right. Not yet."
"I plan to keep a close watch on this place too. Sharing whatever we learn would be best."
Two heads were better than one for scouting. And we'd be better equipped for any surprises.
"...That's a good idea, Your Excellency."
Rose's face brightened noticeably.
She seemed puzzled that I wasn't pressing for details, but her resolve not to squander the opportunity shone through.
Above all, I'd passed on the crucial intel: Joel was the inside man.
And so,
"Thank you!"
Relief laced her spirited reply.
'Cute.'
Unaware I'd even had that thought, my mouth moved on its own.
"What are you thanking me for?"
My tongue had no knack for gentle words.
"W-Well, just... for keeping me from getting caught earlier, and all that?"
"Enough of that awkward chatter. Go. Take the right corridor."
"Yes, Your Excellency. See you later."
Rose dipped her head in a quick bow and spun on her heel, dashing off. The hem of her dress fluttered as it vanished around the right corridor's corner.
It reminded me of a squirrel scampering home, its big bushy tail swishing merrily.
"......"
I lingered by the door for a moment before turning and heading the opposite way.
Unaware of the faint smile tugging at my lips.
Unaware of the warm glow spreading through my chest.
Glug glug.
The butler poured wine into the glass. The liquid trickling down the glass's walls was a deep, blood-red.
Most people, seeing a full glass like that, might wonder about the taste or feel a thirst to drink.
"Hmm."
But Henrik Schmichael stared at the wine with thoughts far removed from the ordinary.
'If only that were my nephew's blood.'
A face as coldly impervious as his late brother's—like it wouldn't bleed even if stabbed—paired with flawless swordsmanship devoid of error and a ruthless demeanor.
Drawing even a single drop of blood from Dane Schmichael was no easy feat.
His nephew had been unlikable from childhood.
He always knew more than he was taught, earning praise from every tutor. An excessively perfect being.
Perfection begs to be shattered.
Henrik had grown up with that sentiment carved into his bones, overshadowed by his far superior brother.
That's why he yearned to see Dane broken. To destroy his brother's most cherished legacy and treasure.
'What a dullard.'
He'd prefer if Dane confronted him outright or even sent assassins. But the boy stayed silent, as if filial piety forbade him from drawing steel on his uncle.
An honest soul who knew only the righteous path. Even knowing full well who targeted him, he endured in stoic silence.
That's why he never refused the marriage proposals. An arrogant stance of 'do whatever you like.'
It grated on him.
"......"
A cruel smile flitted across Henrik's lips. Instead of snapping Dane's neck with a crack, he gripped the wineglass stem.
The wine's bitter tang slid over his tongue.
'Brother prepared so thoroughly.'
Henrik had succeeded in disguising the carriage accident to kill his brother and sister-in-law, but he'd failed to finish off their son.
And for three years now, he'd wasted day after fruitless day.
'Still no worthwhile pawns.'
Henrik glanced around the room.
If he was the lion hungering to rip out Dane Schmichael's throat, these men were the hyenas eager to squabble over the scraps.
The hyenas sat clustered around the table, conversing. Only possible because the lion permitted it.
"Everyone, share how things have gone. Any progress? Any gains?"
Count Olson, with his long face, spoke first.
"If there were, do you think we'd be sitting here? We were a fairly renowned guild in the capital."
Count Marcus, stocky and sturdy, clicked his tongue.
"They begged us to trust them, so I handed over a generous advance... All for naught."
"Not another ambush on the road to the mine? Failure was inevitable."
Count Olson twisted his lips.
"By now, they've mapped every decent route to the mine. How many assassination attempts have there been from there?"
"We have no choice but to try. Dane Schmichael sticks to his schedule without fail. Set times for activities, set times for inspections."
"Surprise attacks only matter when they're unpredictable. They know it's coming and prepare—success rates just keep dropping."
They all viewed Henrik Schmichael as the true master of House Schmichael. They'd allied with him, riding his coattails.
Every attempt on Dane was merely a rightful strategy for succession.
"What about poison in his food? Ever thought of bribing the head chef?"
A man with a thick mustache ventured the suggestion cautiously. A recent addition to Henrik's circle, he lacked full intel.
"Head chef? Ha, that bald-headed one? You don't know what they called him in his prime?"
Count Marcus snorted.
"Poultry Knife Fabry. Roamed the battlefields alongside Wosen Schmichael back in the day. He's hung up monster hunting for the kitchen now, but he's no pushover."
"Kidnapping or turning him's impossible. Killing him, maybe. But poison? Dane Schmichael's immune to most."
Count Olson shook his head.
"He's been dosed with mild toxins since childhood. All his cutlery's silver. He always has a servant test every bite first."
The mustached man pressed on undeterred.
"Then what about the butler closest to him? Word is he's married to the head maid. Turning that pair would be quickest, no?"
"If we could've swayed that couple, it'd be done already. They cling to the estate like they've been glued there. No kids, lest they become hostages—ruthless pair."
Count Marcus folded his arms.
"We've been steadily planting moles, but most get sniffed out and booted in days. That butler and head maid duo? Vicious as vipers—no one lasts."
"And once you're in as a servant, they restrict your movements. Keep you holed up in the inner estate, cut off from the outside, under constant watch."
Count Olson let out a deflating chuckle.
"And yet he accepts every damn marriage proposal? Unbelievable."
"He doesn't accept—he just doesn't refuse. Doesn't care if a wife shows up or not."
"Right, zero fucks given."
Count Olson ground his teeth. Personal venom toward Dane Schmichael filled his face.
"If I'd known my daughter would come back a cold corpse, I never would've sent her as his bride."
"......My condolences."
Count Marcus shook his head.
He too had nearly suffered the same fate but pulled back at the last second, averting tragedy.
"At any rate, didn't we raise that monster? What a tragedy. Should've killed him as a child......"
The kingdom's guilds had split into two camps now: those who'd attempted to assassinate Dane Schmichael, and those who'd refused from the start.
No guild untouched. They'd approached most estate servants. No method left untried.
Three years had slipped by like that. In those three years, Dane Schmichael had grown into a true monster.
Clink.
Henrik deliberately set his wineglass down with a loud clatter. Time to join the conversation.
"Indeed, my nephew's got a tenacious grip on life."
His quiet remark froze the room. Eyes darted nervously toward him.