The Master of the Fifth Floor
Whatever impression my answer had made, the crease between the Grand Duke's brows had only deepened.
He did not look pleased.
Eyelids half-lowered, the Grand Duke sank into thought for a long moment.
Kill him now, or ask one last question and then kill him? That's what he's weighing, isn't it?
Honestly, I'd do the same. A man with no verifiable identity, spouting one cryptic line after another? No ruler worth his title would let someone like that live.
His violet eyes drifted across the tabletop for a moment before returning to me.
Here it comes.
The Grand Duke posed his third—and final—question.
"Did you come here to kill me?"
…….
Did I come to kill you…?
Some part of me had anticipated the question. But it set off a flurry of thought in my head all the same.
We are enemies. That much is certain.
Enemies—people fated, one day, to put blades to each other's throats again.
But that was the story of Sia meeting the Grand Duke on a battlefield.
Now…
Could this body—barely equipped with proper swordsmanship, let alone Aura—actually kill that man?
Granted, I'd entertained the fantasy of carrying his head back home with me. But that was then.
If anything, I'm curious.
The Grand Duke, outside of a battlefield.
So the question wasn't quite as simple as a yes or no answer.
Then, his lips moved again.
"I…"
Count Norbert Millard had the unconscious woman carried to a room, then returned to the Grand Duke's office.
"The physician says there's nothing wrong with her body. She should wake by tomorrow, he believes."
By the Grand Duke's order, the woman had been given a clean room instead of a cell—along with a physician's care.
"You said three questions. How precise."
"Yes, exactly."
Norbert gave a nod, stole a glance at Kadrian's expression, and asked, "Did you obtain the truth you were seeking?"
Kadrian sat at his desk, gazing quietly at the sofa. The woman who had sat there, the look in her eyes—they surfaced unbidden in his mind.
"I did."
At that, Norbert's lips pursed in a show of wounded pride. "I didn't expect you to send me out of the room."
"There was no reason for you to stay."
"How very cold of you, my lord."
Kadrian let out a small laugh—haha—and picked up the documents on his desk. The signal was clear: there was work to catch up on, so go.
But instead of leaving, Norbert studied Kadrian with a long, level look. His lord's condition had been noticeably poor of late.
The exhaustion lining his eyes, the way he sometimes stared blankly out the window…
It can't be only the attack on Trensha village…
Something else had clearly happened—something beyond the village raid. Kadrian was a man who kept his emotions locked behind his face. But Norbert had watched over him for decades, and could feel even the subtlest shift in the Grand Duke's mood.
He remembered a week ago, when Kadrian had dumped the matter of Trensha village into Norbert's lap and departed in haste with his aide, Ed. His lord hadn't meant to show it, but a flicker of anxiety had crossed his face.
If that was so…
If there is a being capable of stirring my lord's heart into such a state…
Norbert asked, careful to keep his worry genuine and plain. "Your Highness. Has… has something happened to the Master of the Fifth Floor?"
…….
The Master of the Fifth Floor.
The main building of the Ballot Grand Ducal Estate stood five stories tall, and the estate's servants were free to move through floors one to four as they pleased.
And then there was the fifth floor.
The fifth floor was the problem.
On the fifth floor of the main building lived an existence wrapped entirely in secrecy. Only one person in the world knew exactly who it was: Kadrian, head of the Grand Ducal House.
Stairs led up to the fifth floor, true—but only the Grand Duke himself could climb them.
Ah, right. Aide Ed knows as well.
Ed, the Grand Duke's chief aide, was another who could ascend to the fifth floor. In fact, whenever Kadrian was away from the estate, it was Ed who managed the fifth floor in his stead.
The previous Grand Duke and his consort had known of the existence too. But after the old Duke's death, when Kadrian inherited the position, the Dowager left the estate to live elsewhere. Which meant that, presently, only two people in the entire estate could pass through the fifth floor: the Grand Duke and Ed.
Norbert thought of the black iron door that sealed the foot of the fifth-floor staircase. A place one must not wonder about, and most certainly must not peek into. And so the estate's servants had come to call its occupant "the Master of the Fifth Floor."
"Your Highness. Your complexion has worsened since a week ago. You handed the Trensha village affair to me, so it cannot be that weighing on you."
…….
"Is it, then… because of the Master of the Fifth Floor?"
"Norbert Millard."
Perhaps it was the second mention of the fifth floor. Kadrian's voice—calm, but edged with threat—cut Norbert off mid-sentence.
"I believe I told you never to speak of the fifth floor."
…….
Kadrian's gaze was utterly dry. Not the anger of a man whose orders had been defied—more a quiet, reproachful stare. And yet before those overwhelming violet eyes, Norbert's body stiffened helplessly, just as it always did.
He bowed his head. "…Forgive me, Your Highness. It was not my place."
As ever, when it came to the fifth floor, Kadrian offered neither concession nor compromise.
Then Kadrian turned another page of his documents and spoke as if it were nothing at all. "And as for that woman…"
He had brought up the woman who'd been dragged out only moments ago.
"Yes, Your Highness. Please, go on."
"You will take charge of her."
"…Pardon?"
Norbert's head snapped up. Take charge of her? What on earth was that supposed to—
Ah. Ahh!
He means for me to dispose of her as I see fit!
Norbert nodded vigorously. "Understood. The moment she wakes, I will drag her to the Count's estate and begin the interrogation—"
"No."
Kadrian frowned and set his documents down. "She will start as a maid here at the estate."
"…I beg your pardon?"
"I am telling you to train her yourself, Count, until she's fit to be of use."
Norbert sputtered. "N-no, Your Highness! Why on earth would you keep such a suspicious, ominous creature under the Grand Ducal roof in the first place?!"
"A suspicious, ominous creature, you say."
Haha. The Grand Duke laughed, as though he'd heard something terribly amusing. "Norbert. Don't say things you'll regret later."
"Your Highness, this is no laughing matter! She could be dangerous! Would it not be simpler to simply have her killed?!"
And—no offense, my lord—aren't you RETIRED?! You were packing your bags to go wandering the countryside, and now this?!
Norbert wailed his protest as though he'd been grievously wronged. But Kadrian paid him no heed whatsoever.
"Assign her a room in the west annex, and begin her training at once."
"Your Highness! Reconsider, I beg you! She could be a spy sent by the noble faction—or an agent of another empire entirely!"
So, once again, I say: just kill her and be done—
"No, Count."
Norbert's tirade was cut short yet again.
"The more dangerous she may be, the more reason to keep her where I can see her."
…….
Kadrian's mind drifted back to the woman answering his final question.
"Did you come here to kill me?"
"I…"
Pfft. The woman let out a long, drawn-out sigh before finally continuing.
"Here's the thing, Grand Duke. I don't even know why I was on that beach. Hell, I don't know why I'm in this empire at all…"
He'd braced for a direct answer. Instead she launched into a lengthy, self-pitying lament, as though she were the wronged party.
"Look, Grand Duke. Did I walk into this estate on my own two feet? I did not. Your knights hauled me here from that beach. Who in their right mind comes here on purpose?"
He had fully expected a terse yes-or-no sort. Instead, she gave unsolicited, rambling explanations for questions no one had asked.
Had someone mixed liquor into that sap of hers?
"Think about it, Grand Duke. Do I look like I could harm you? This body? Are those eyes of yours just for decoration, Grand Duke?"
…….
Informal speech at every turn, and "Grand Duke," "Grand Duke," "Grand Duke."
Then, with another long phewwww—, her voice dropped, deflated.
"…Fine. Sure, I could be a threat. Someday. But not right now. Not today. Understood…?"
Wearing the wounded expression of a woman whose pride had been trampled, she dropped her head low.
After a stretch of silence, she spoke again.
"Two years."
"Two years?"
"That's right. …Give me two years, Grand Duke. Then who knows? I might just grow into something grand enough to do you real harm. …Well? Aren't you curious?"
…….
"So pleeeease, Graaand Duke…"
Her speech had suddenly gone long and syrupy. The three questions and three answers concluded, she had evidently reached her body's absolute limit. Her eyelids trembled, her form slowly tipping over—and even then, she managed to force out one last line.
"So… me… spare me… for now… just… spare me."
…….
To beg for her life even as she lost consciousness.
Ha. Kadrian found himself laughing before he knew it.
Certainly… unlike the black mages who lunged at me screaming for us to die together, or the assassins who only ever begged to be put down.
One thing was abundantly clear: her will to live, her clinging to it, went far beyond the ordinary.
Should I call that a blessing?
And yet… her way of speaking hadn't felt unfamiliar.
Where have I heard that tone before?