The Hound's Approach
Dupont Clancher, proud right-hand man to Killian Knox and one of the seven executives, tilted his head in confusion.
Strange. I’m sure I was in the middle of explaining how difficult it was to find Helena Morton.
Had I unknowingly claimed that hunting her down was easy as pie? Ten straight days of all-nighters would do that to a man—turn his tongue loose and his thoughts sloppy.
No. No matter how exhausted, there was simply no way he would have said anything so foolish.
A frigid voice sliced through his daze.
“Dupont.”
“Yes?”
“Find her and bring her to me.”
Ah. So I hadn’t misspoken after all. It simply hadn’t mattered to him.
What Dupont had believed was the tenth consecutive night of overtime had already slipped past midnight into the eleventh. Even his famously meticulous mind was beginning to fray at the edges.
“I want to find her too, of course. But it’s as though she’s vanished into the earth or ascended into the sky. We confirmed her arrival at the border village, yet there’s been no trace since.”
“An executive of Knox can certainly talk at length about his own incompetence when compared to Helena Morton.”
“However—”
“That tongue of yours is overly long.”
Dupont snapped his mouth shut at once. He still valued the organ. Head bowed so he wouldn’t accidentally meet those golden eyes, he frantically began devising every possible method to locate Helena Morton.
His sleep-deprived brain, however, had other plans.
“Ah, now that I think of it, Kane should be in the area. With your permission, I could have him track and—”
Oops.
Dupont clamped his jaw shut again with an audible click. To utter that name, of all names. This time he genuinely feared for his tongue.
Kane Degrave.
Captain of the elite guard and the shadow who remained closest to Killian. To the outside world, however, he was known by a different title.
Killian Knox’s hunting dog.
Every executive of Knox had sworn loyalty, but Kane’s devotion was cut from different cloth. At a single word from Killian he would slit his own throat without hesitation. No one had imagined that such a man would leave behind a single brief letter and head for the Crollin Kingdom.
Sure enough, the faint softness that had touched Killian’s face iced over instantly. It seemed he still had not received so much as a single line in reply.
Has that bastard Kane truly gone mad?
He was the only man in Knox capable of crossing blades with Killian, so he probably hadn’t died somewhere. Then again, perhaps it would be better if he had—better if he never returned at all.
“There must be a valid reason for Kane crossing the border so suddenly. He isn’t the sort to abandon Your Excellency’s side lightly—”
“He had better have one.”
Killian cut him off with an enigmatic remark. As he rose, water steeped in sharp fragrance sloshed over the rim of the tub.
Dupont, who had wisely retreated a step, offered a robe. Killian draped it loosely over his shoulders and left the bathroom without another word.
Hundreds of organization members had already withdrawn in perfect silence. Wet feet strode unhesitatingly down the quiet corridors of the mansion, descending, descending, until they reached the stairs to the underground prison.
“Y-Your Excellency!”
The guards at the entrance startled at the sudden appearance of the Duke of Knox and moved to salute, but Dupont’s sharp glance stopped them. No commotion. Just open the door.
With a heavy clang, the iron door swung wide. Killian’s steps as he entered were languid.
Step. Step.
The prisoners, who had spent the entire day groaning in agony, fell deathly silent at the sound of those deliberately audible footsteps.
After walking for some time, Killian halted before a single cell. Inside was the criminal who had accepted money to smuggle in the spy Killian had earlier sliced in two.
“U-ugh…”
The man tried to crawl away from the bars but was quickly stopped by the stone wall. Realizing escape was impossible, his bulging eyes turned desperately toward the thick iron grating—as though the very bars that had imprisoned him might now protect him.
The hope was short-lived.
Crack.
The instant Killian’s hand touched it, the iron lock snapped with a pathetic sound.
Terror, raw and vivid, flooded the prisoner’s twisted features. Killian regarded the sight with an indifferent gaze, then stepped inside the cell.
Dupont remained outside, hands clasped behind his back, watching the scene of flesh tearing and bones shattering.
The eclipse must be near.
No wonder Killian had chosen to handle the spy personally. Dupont clicked his tongue at his own failure to notice sooner.
Killian Knox’s Dragon Eye was proof of exceptionally strong dragon blood. Throughout the generations, some in the Knox line had been born with those golden eyes, but none had survived safely to adulthood. The human body was simply too weak to contain such power.
Yet Killian had lived.
No one knew how. Only that at some point he had gained the ability to wield the dragon’s strength at will. The leash, however, was only half-formed. Occasionally the dragon blood would surge forth and swallow his mind. When that happened, dormant draconic instincts awakened. Killian grew crueler, thirsted for blood, and surrendered to raw murderous intent.
That period—known only to a handful of his closest aides—was called Eclipse, evoking the image of the moon that symbolized both the family and the Duke of Knox being swallowed by darkness.
And it seemed the next one was close.
Crack—!
Killian tore off one of the prisoner’s limbs and tossed it to the floor with a wet thud.
“Dupont.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Find Helena Morton and bring her to me.”
Even now? In this state? Dupont inwardly pitied the woman whose whereabouts remained unknown.
“I will obey, Your Excellency.”
Receiving his vassal’s loyal reply, Killian turned and left the cell. Wet footsteps echoed through the dark underground prison, leaving crimson prints in their wake. Only then did he seem to notice the thick reek of blood that clung to his entire body.
It reminded him of the sharp fragrance that had filled the tub earlier. A clumsy floral scent could never mask the smell of blood; it only made the stench worse. As if he understood this perfectly, Killian recalled the small, somewhat forgettable action squad member who had chosen geltus from among the many available fragrances.
“There are far too many rats in this mansion.”
All the way to the forest lake to cool his boiling bloodlust, Killian pondered the word “rats” for a very long time.
The day after the midnight disturbance, I was once again on my way to the outpost for duty.
But giggles kept slipping out.
“Ah, the weather is lovely today.”
After encountering Killian Knox the previous night—like some wretched accident—I had spiraled halfway into panic.
I had read about him in countless rumors and intelligence reports. Yet meeting the man of flesh and blood face-to-face was an entirely different ordeal. The leader of Knox was so overwhelmingly threatening that I had nearly released my killing intent without thinking, forgetting I was still in disguise.
“Whew.”
Even remembering it now sent a shiver down my spine.
But once I calmed down, my thoughts took a different turn.
It was terrifying, yes… but I’m still alive, aren’t I?
I ran my fingers carefully around my neck. My head remained firmly attached to my shoulders.
We looked each other straight in the eye like that.
Killian Knox had simply stared at me. There had been no particular reaction. If he had realized I was hiding my true identity, he would never have let me live this long. At the very least I should have been dragged to the underground prison, interrogated about who I was and why I had infiltrated the mansion, and then tortured as a matter of course.
Yet here I stood, perfectly fine.
The only words he had spoken after gazing directly into my eyes were:
“Release the fragrance.”
So the thought came naturally.
Perhaps Killian Knox couldn’t detect anything strange about me either.
When I considered it logically, it made sense. He possessed an almost supernatural ability to sniff out spies and traitors within the organization.
But I’m neither of those things, am I?
Therefore, his famous Dragon Eye was useless against me. My cross-dressing was flawless, my position in the action squad secure. I no longer needed to fear discovery.
I was invincible.
“Hehe.”
Even as the outpost came into view, the smile refused to leave my face. I really was in an excellent mood.
“I have a good feeling about today.”
Maybe there would be fewer visitors than usual. Or perhaps the kitchen maids would bring leftover sweets again. It had been a while since their last visit. Today could be the day.
With those pleasant thoughts lifting my steps, I reached the outpost—just as a man stepped down from a carriage for inspection and began walking toward the building.
More precisely, it was his gait that caught my eye.
Thud. Thu-d.
The difference was tiny, so subtle an ordinary person would never notice. But my senses—honed sharp and then lulled by the uncharacteristically peaceful days since joining Knox—stirred awake with a vengeance. The feeling was distinctly unpleasant.
“Good feeling? To hell with that.”