Dream or Reality?
Despite clearly drinking strong liquor, her mind was perfectly clear. It must be because of the regression.
She, who had been stealthily following behind him, noticed that the Grand Duke made almost no sound with his footsteps.
Even on the battlefield, he'd been the same.
Was this just his natural habit? Or some lingering aftereffect of the war?
She thought she knew quite a bit about Victor Bayern, the 'commander' and 'Grand Duke.' But as for the man himself, stripped of those titles... Ibel knew absolutely nothing.
Just that his back was straight as a rod and his posture impeccable. That the thin shirt clinging to him under the sinking moonlight revealed the sharp contours of his muscles in every shadowed dip.
And that he was exceedingly courteous to ladies.
Even if that 'lady' was cross-dressing as a man.
"......Whether this is a dream or reality."
She truly couldn't tell.
A short while later, Ibel emerged from the small bathroom attached to the room, washed up, and sprawled out on the bed, arms stretched wide.
Everything felt so insane that she'd drunk too much, yet her eyes were wide awake, sharp as tacks.
Sleep wouldn't come at all.
A comfortable bed and hearty meals...
She could hardly believe it.
It felt like she'd wake up back on the battlefield, with a few officers she'd joked around with coming over to check if she was still alive.
If she told them this dream, they'd double over laughing.
That was my reality.
She pulled the rustling blankets up to her face and let out a small breath.
War, surgeries, artillery barrages. And... the warm wine she'd just drunk.
She stood on the boundary between reality and unreality.
As needless anxiety washed over her, Ibel clutched the pillow and took deep, steadying breaths.
Did his nights pass like this too, she wondered.
After seeing Ibel inside, Victor spoke low without even turning around.
"Starting tomorrow, investigate Abel Klarren. He's supposedly at one of the gambling dens in Lindau."
"Understood."
Matthias, who had followed with the documents in hand, bowed his head.
His lord had never once acted out of character since enlisting.
He always devised rational, pragmatic strategies and issued concise orders.
This was the first time his master had acted this way, so Matthias struggled to adjust.
I couldn't eavesdrop on the lord's conversation, of course, so I withdrew...
But he was dying of curiosity. What on earth had they talked about in there?
Who the hell was that person to cross-dress so naturally?
And how had they known that Morse code!
It was a special custom code even he couldn't read.
Ah, could they be an elite agent from his intelligence days?
It wasn't strange for Matthias, deep in speculation, to reach that conclusion. Nothing else made sense to a rational mind.
"Um, what should we do once we find this Abel Klarren fellow?"
"He seems in need of coming to his senses."
"Ah, yes! Understood!"
Even as industrialization spread and a new era dawned, the shadows in every corner of the nation hadn't vanished.
Matthias grasped his lord's intent, bowed, and withdrew.
If His Grace says he needs to 'come to his senses,' whoever it is must've lived a wretched life.
"Wh-what! You guys...! Mmph! Mmph!!!"
Several days later, in a back alley gambling den in the port city of Lindau.
Abel, who had lost every coin squeezed from his sister and collapsed drunk in the gutter, was overpowered by several burly men and shoved into a carriage.
"M-money troubles? Who sent you? Northwick? Or Koran?"
He'd borrowed and bolted on repayments a few times, sure.
Spitting out the names of loan sharks he remembered, Abel rolled his bleary eyes, searching for an escape.
Twins from the same womb.
Top of the university class? Pfft, he could've done it too if he'd wanted.
Always drunk on booze or drugs? That was because he was too smart. The world was full of idiots. It frustrated him. That's why he drowned in gambling.
Excuses piled up like footnotes, but undeniable fact: Abel's mind turned just as sharply as Ibel's. Only toward the worst possible ends.
Common laborer's clothes, but brand new. Not one man, including the coachman, has patches or mends. Especially those shiny shoes—they bought them just for this.
Meaning the client was highborn. Hiding their status, hence the disguise.
No familiar faces. I've been dodging those loan shark bastards for years. Yeah, definite. They're not here for debt.
With his life on the line, Abel's brain spun faster than ever.
Faster than calculating an opponent's poker hand.
"Aigoo, sirs. Why pick on a worthless wretch like me?"
Starting with cheeky charm, he subtly twisted his wrists.
Hands and feet bound, but no gag on his mouth.
Why? What was the reason?
These guys were thorough enough to gag him too.
"I've lived without bothering a soul. Maybe you mistook me for someone else?"
No reply. No one met his eyes.
So they targeted me specifically. Someone commissioned this.
Good, the booze was clearing fast.
Silence revealed plenty!
Should've squeezed more cash from that damn girl. Kicked me out yesterday 'cause I was short.
Even now, such thoughts crossed his mind—then he froze.
He'd never considered it before, but could it be—
"Aha, ahaha! Ibel. Ibet sent you, huh? That bitch too cheap to pay up!"
Tears of laughter streamed down.
Bent double, cackling, Abel thrashed and shouted.
"Steals her brother's name to live, now tries to kill him off! Impressive, sis. Real twin material. Always yapping about becoming a doctor, acting all high and mighty! Blood tells, huh! Ahaha!"
Gurk.
Mid-laugh, a fist slammed into his gut from the man seated across. Breath stopped dead.
The shock was so brutal, vision shook on the verge of blackout.
A long while later.
The carriage reached its destination.
At the entrance to the ashen building, a placard reading [Gray Heaven Mental Education Center] creaked ominously in the wind.
Mental Education Center
"Pleased to meet you, miss. I'm Banya, the old granny."
"Ah... Nice to meet you."
"Please, speak casually. I'm here on orders to attend you comfortably."
Early morning.
Crispy bacon, fresh eggs, warm bread, expensive cheese. A salad stuffed with fruit and olives.
After an unbelievably serene breakfast, someone came to see Ibel.
The white-haired old woman was sturdy-built, with a hearty, refreshing air.
"In my youth, I was the nanny for House Bayern. I had basic training, so in emergencies, I guarded His Grace too."
"Ah."
"Now I head the maids at the main estate. Took leave to come here."
No wonder she had that soothing aura. A former nanny.
Banya flung open the curtains with a snap, clapped her hands, and boomed cheerfully.
"Right, time to get you ready, miss. I picked up a few dresses on the way—let's see if they need alterations."
Dresses...?
She couldn't even remember the last time she'd worn one.
Including the war years, it had to be at least seven.
Ibel slipped into the prepared bath and spent two full hours getting pampered from fingertips to toes. Her short hair dried quick.
"Shorter's easier for the syon, actually. Ho ho."
Ibel blanched at the wigs on the trolley. No choice, though. Glamour was part of the job now.
"There, makeup's done. What do you think? Been ages since this Banya showed her skills."
Ibel opened her eyes and blinked at her reflection.
Someone entirely different stared back—unrecognizable.
"You're skilled at makeup."
"Thank you. Before head maid... I served the late Lady Seranna for years."