The Mad Dog of Castrein
“So, what is it that you wish to do?”
Raymon fell silent for a moment, caught off guard by the question thrown his way.
“Are you asking for my opinion, Father?”
Duke Castrein casually exhaled a plume of cigar smoke and nodded.
Ortho Cassian El Castrein. Beast Slayer. The strongest man on the continent. Head of the Castrein Ducal House. The man who bore all those titles had the imposing presence of an aged, graying tiger. His hair, once pitch-black, was now the color of sprinkled ash, and a prominent scar ran vertically across his left eye.
“I hear you went straight to the mine to confirm that Gloriana’s Insignia was truly there, even before reporting to me.”
He had likely acted out of sheer fluster. It would not do to report to the Duke only for the claim to turn out to be a lie. Still, it was far too critical a matter to simply handle as an afterthought—especially when the information came from the mouth of an imperial princess who, until now, had been notorious throughout the capital as a simpleton and a fool.
“Why? Did you fear that if your brazen fiancée proved to be a liar, I would fly into a rage? No one wastes anger on a puppet dancing on strings pulled by adults.”
At those words, Raymon’s brow furrowed.
“…If my judgment was in error—”
“Are you feeling guilty? Wondering if the person you turned your back on—fearing she would become a useless stone, or worse, a shackle around your ankles if you showed the wrong pity—might actually have been something else entirely?”
Raymon hesitated for the briefest fraction of a second.
“……I feel no guilt. It was the proper choice for our house.”
“The Bradley family are the Emperor’s lapdogs. Even if it was an abandoned mine no better than discarded refuse, touching it carelessly and giving them an excuse would court disaster.”
“I apologize for my rashness.”
Duke Castrein studied his eldest son with an unreadable gaze.
The Duke did not consider himself a good adult, even out of politeness. If sacrificing one could save a hundred, you cast the one aside. If sacrificing a hundred could save ten thousand, you abandoned the hundred. On the battlefield, one had to eliminate the enemy and protect allies with minimal casualties—even if it meant taking the life of a mortally wounded comrade with one’s own hands.
He had never wanted to pass down such a life. Yet reality was far too heavy, and Raymon had shouldered the weight of that reality more heavily than anyone else. Perhaps that was why his eyes rarely strayed toward anything else.
Even though Raymon had a betrothed who had essentially been promised to him from the womb, noble ladies aware of the circumstances had constantly approached and attempted to entice him. Yet Raymon had never once wavered.
‘…When I heard how remarkably brilliant the eldest daughter of Count Orland was, I thought it might have been an opportunity for a good match.’
Even after sharing the first dance at a ball with that beautiful, witty, and intelligent young lady, Raymon’s demeanor had remained as cold and rigid as a wooden block. At the time, the Duke had simply assumed that Raymon had no interest in women, or that he disliked courting another when he was already pledged as someone’s fiancé. Seeing his attitude now, however…
“Indeed, people do not change easily. Especially those raised in captivity like birds trapped in a cage. But…”
The Duke recalled his second son, Lisianthus, who had made an immense fuss asking whether Gloriana’s Insignia was truly real, and Bibi, whose eyes had grown wide and round. Everyone who heard the details of the deal struck with Titania through Raymon had shared the exact same reactions:
‘Has that princess truly lost her mind after barely surviving death?’
‘Could this be another scheme cooked up by the Imperial Consort?’
‘If the Consort knew about Gloriana’s Insignia, would she have handed it over so willingly?’
‘She has always been so obsessed with the Young Duke—could this be just another clumsy way of throwing herself at him? A cheap imperial trick?’
Because what she had asked in return was truly paltry, and because they genuinely needed Gloriana’s Insignia, they fully intended to pay the price of the transaction. However…
“Princess Titania seems to have appeared quite different in your eyes.”
“…….”
He was shaken.
If Duke Castrein told him that this was merely a shallow ploy, that someone else stood behind the princess, and that he should ignore it… Raymon would obey. He would stifle his current inner turmoil, pretend his emotions did not exist, and forget all about it. And yet…
“…I shall grant her a chance.”
A wave of boundless relief washed over Raymon’s vivid golden eyes. Watching him, Duke Castrein slowly closed his eyes.
‘I love you, but this is my duty.’
Those were the words his wife had spoken before she died.
Supporting the empire in place of an incompetent, irresponsible imperial family had always been a grueling ordeal. One had to sacrifice even what one desired most. That was why the Duke had hoped Raymon, who was to succeed him, would choose someone who was safe. A choice that everyone could bless when they wed… a partner for whom Raymon would never need to sacrifice or endure anything.
A daughter of the imperial royal house, practically an enemy, was one of the worst possible choices. Raymon could not possibly be ignorant of that truth.
‘…And yet, you look so relieved.’
The Castrein family never forgot a favor, nor did they forget a grudge. How much more so when it came to lingering attachments that had begun to take root like sediment in the heart? The Duke decided to watch and see.
Imperial Consort Cleo was a woman of swift action. To put it in perspective, the very day after she left me frozen and babbling in confusion, she sent over a priest and a sword.
Being able to live in a healthy, comfortable body rather than groaning in bed like a sickly invalid in the sweltering heat of summer was a welcome blessing, but still…
“Hey! I heard you nearly croaked and went totally crazy—is that true?”
“…….”
…The problem was that Consort Cleo was not the only one who moved fast.
I surveyed the drawing room, which had been restored to a bright, picturesque, and elegant space as if my rampage from two days ago had been nothing but a dream. After I had caused two consecutive scenes and Consort Cleo had visited and departed, the maids had become outwardly docile. Though my head maid, Natalie, remained just as impassive as ever.
In short, they had obediently restored the drawing room without uttering a single complaint. Beautiful flowers bloomed in lovely glass vases—though roses were noticeably absent, likely because my act of bludgeoning someone with a rose had left quite an impression—and a delicate lace runner dressed the table. On the tray sat a plate of scones with raisins and doughnuts lavishly coated in chocolate, as if urging me to eat something sweet and calm down. A pleasant breeze drifted in through the open window…
With the weather so lovely, there was absolutely no reason to waste my attention on the ticking bomb—or rather, the red pile of radioactive waste—standing right in front of me. Naturally, I turned my gaze out the window.
Oh, look. Two pretty yellow birds are perched out there. Fluttering, fluttering are the yellow birds, male and female frolic so fondly. How lonely am I, with whom shall I…
“Hey! Can’t you hear me? If you've gone mad, did your ears get plugged up too?”
…return?
“Well, if you still have eyes, you ought to see this!”
Fwoosh!
A blistering wave of heat gathered along the length of his blade before erupting into a towering pillar of flame. Horrified, I shrieked at the top of my lungs.
“…Hey, you crazy bastard! Have you lost your damn mind?! Playing with fire indoors?!”
“Oho! Look who’s finally looking this way.”
The boy snickered, baring his teeth as he extinguished the flame hovering in the air.
Hair as brilliantly red as raw flame itself, and eyes of the exact same fiery hue. A healthy, flushed complexion, remarkably rare among northern folk known for their pale skin. Even if it was summer, this was still an imperial palace; yet instead of formal attire, he had strolled right in wearing a short-sleeved shirt and trousers caked with dirt and grass stains. His appearance alone gave away his unruly temper.
Known as the Mad Dog of Duke Castrein.
Indeed. Why bother hiding it? Standing before me was the second son of the Castrein family—the very fellow who had always regarded me as a useless dunce he would not mind tearing to shreds with his bare teeth.
Lisianthus Agni El Castrein.
Well, I understood his perspective. Unlike the composed and duty-bound eldest brother, he was a second son with comparatively fewer responsibilities. He possessed a naturally fiery temperament and could not care less about reading the room. The youngest brother, Lasper, had the disposition of a scholar and was in no position to rein in his brother—besides, Lasper rarely came up to the capital under the excuse of his youth. As for Duke Castrein, he rarely meddled in the affairs of his three sons in the first place.
On top of that, Raymon had never paid any mind to Titania whether she cried, threw a tantrum, or shattered teacups right before his eyes. The opponent was probably too trivial for him to waste anger on such shallow theatrics. But for a younger brother who respected and cherished his older brother, Titania’s rotten temper was utterly intolerable.
Whenever they crossed paths, he went out of his way to grate on her nerves. For instance:
‘Someone like you dares to think you can become the next mistress of House Castrein?’
Shattering Titania’s fragile ego with brutal facts like that…
‘Ha! Giving my brother a training-ground straw dummy would be far better than you. At least a dummy knows how to shut up.’
Spewing the harsh truths that everyone else only dared think in secret, while lacking the nerve to say them aloud to an imperial princess…
‘Your Majesty, Your Majesty! That insolent wretch dared question my worth! I am Your Majesty’s proud daughter and the future mistress of House Castrein! Why can’t you punish someone like that?!’
…And of course, even when the Titania of the past clung weeping to the Emperor’s trousers, it had done her no good whatsoever.