1 – Act 1, Chapter 1

1834, London.

“The atmosphere in the Qing Empire is unusual. The imperial court is increasing its restrictions on the opium trade. Even the officials are playing it safe.”

At the worried words, a man flipping through documents smiled and clasped his hands together.

“The Qing officials must be the ones who have received the most money from us, second only to the state. Robert, they cannot survive a single day without gold. They might be cautious now because they are mindful of the imperial court, but it will never last. Starting with the Cohong, the local officials have long been corrupt. Of course, regardless of that issue, you are right that we must prepare.”

The man replied in an utterly bored tone and rose from his chair. The suit he had tailored last month complemented his sturdy frame, creating a fairly dignified aura.

“The Foreign Secretary of Victoire remains stubborn. He adheres to the opinion that dispatching troops is absolutely out of the question, and the Duke of Cornwall is acting as his backing. He’s been particularly relentless lately, hasn’t he?”

“The end is obvious for those who fail to read the flow of the times and shout only opposition, missing every opportunity.”

“My remaining conscience is practically turning to ash because of that old Duke’s constant preaching about morality.”

“Haha.”

His stride toward the half-length mirror attached to one wall was heavy yet decisive. Standing well over six feet tall, with dark brown hair nearly black and deep, dark green eyes, he left a strong impression. His sharply slanted eyes gave him a cold look, but they blended well with the straight bridge of his nose, contributing to his striking appearance. He was a man attractive enough that any lady who had attended a ballroom would have hoped for a date request from him at least once.

“The employees working in Guangzhou are also anxious, which is a concern.”

“I’ll have to devise a countermeasure for that. Your thinking is correct.”

“Our range of action is limited because the Tories interfere every time. Even George IV, resting in his grave, would acknowledge how much tax Klaus pays.”

At Robert’s grumbling, the man let out a sneer and gave a short shake of his head.

“Robert, the Tories won’t last long.”

“Are you saying the cabinet will collapse?”

“Well. Only God knows how long the Cornwall cabinet will be maintained. The general election next year and the position of Foreign Secretary both seem precarious. That man, Edmund Wizfeldon, should manage his own children properly before fighting in Parliament.”

“You must be talking about that degenerate eldest son. Indeed, he is a mess.”

“Haha, yes. The moment Cornwall’s heir sets foot in Parliament, all attacks will return to the Duke of Cornwall himself.”

A haughty smile spread deeply across his well-formed lips.

“We must seize Cornwall’s weakness.”

“Do you have something prepared specifically for him?”

“I am preparing it with the Duke of Devonshire. It took some time because he was hidden and protected so deeply, but the materials will be handed over soon. I heard he played around so dissolutely that even the most seasoned gossipers would be appalled. There are rumors that he is already at the level of an opium addict. Since he rarely engages in social activities, it’s not certain, but if it’s true, he’s excellent prey.”

The green eyes, contemplating a cruel plan, shone maliciously.

The Baronet of Enfield, MacQueen Lester.

He was one of the most famous gentry among the young businessmen who had ventured into trade in London. He possessed immense wealth, vast lands within the Enfield region, and a Baronetcy that Parliament had practically sold to wealthy individuals to secure taxes. Although not a hereditary peer, he was the epitome of the successful rising power.

The rather dishonorable title of the ‘Drug Lord of Galloway’ attached to the end of MacQueen’s full name was due to the overwhelming volume of opium traded by Klaus, of which he served as co-representative.

The Klaus Diugen Company, one of the largest trading firms in England, officially dealt with the import and export of black tea and cotton fabrics, but like many firms in London, its actual primary business was the maritime smuggling of opium.

“Cornwall’s heir will be a good card for me to enter Westminster.”

“I can already see the Duke of Cornwall flustered.”

“Though I’d prefer if he died of opium addiction before that.”

MacQueen tilted his face, lightly resting his chin on his hand. The reflection in the mirror was triumphant, and his gaze was extremely sharp.

“We must hurry, Lester. At this rate, we’ll really be played by the whims of that senile old Duke.”

“Isn’t that why I’m endlessly offering goods to the centrists? A filthy lot, every one of them pretending to be cultured and gentlemanly.”

Humming in a tone that openly revealed his contempt, MacQueen straightened the collar of his frock coat. His appearance was perfect.

Despite possessing sufficient power on his own, there was only one reason why MacQueen Lester catered to the nobility.

The law, the power that moves the country. Power.

“Now, Rob.”

With a short clap, the heavy atmosphere was instantly broken.

“Let’s head to where the noble bloodlines gather today. That way, we can push for whatever we need, be it constituency recommendations or legislation.”

Robert chuckled and gestured with his chin toward the window.

“The carriage is ready.”

“Perfect.”

It was the start of a day that would be too short even if he moved diligently.

✧ ✧ ✧

Even within the Tory party, which was conservative, it was common knowledge that Earl Spencer, Ward Waison—the head of the liberal-leaning Canning faction—had failed in managing his children, regardless of his own excellent abilities. The salon hosted by his only heir, Viscount Miller Waison, was known as a stronghold for Canning faction MPs who had not yet crossed the final psychological line toward the Whigs.

It was well past noon when MacQueen Lester arrived at Lacey Hall, Earl Spencer’s London residence, with Robert. Standing before the porch cochère, the two handed an invitation stamped with the master’s seal to a servant in formal attire.

As the doors opened, they were greeted by thick smoke and boisterous noise. The interior of the mansion was already crowded with those who had arrived. Some were in conversation, while others sat at tables playing cards or chess.

“Baronet!”

From the drawing room in the distance, a familiar man called out to him welcomingly and approached. His gait was not very steady, as if he were already intoxicated.

‘He’s going to be a nuisance.’

Despite the rising irritation, MacQueen wore a perfect smile and offered a handshake.

“Sir Waison.”

“Why are you so late? You didn’t even show up at the last gathering, leaving people waiting.”

Pressure was applied to the joined hands. Miller Waison’s gaze toward MacQueen grew deeper. It was a look of longing for something. At that blatant desire, MacQueen let out a small, involuntary chuckle.

“My apologies. Ships arrived from Bristol and Liverpool simultaneously, so Robert and I couldn’t possibly step away.”

“Haha. Well, if that’s the case, I understand… Still, try to stay until the end. Isn’t that the manner of a gentleman?”

“I shall keep that in mind. Oh dear.”

From the man who kept offering cheap advice, a certain scent wafted out faintly, along with the smell of alcohol and cigars. Recognizing the identity of the scent that passed by in an instant, MacQueen frowned slightly. A gentleman; it was a joke that even a dog that had starved for days would laugh at.

“What is it, Sir Waison? Have you already started the party?”

At the somewhat sharp tone, Miller Waison chuckled low. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

“You’re quite quick. Don’t worry too much. Just a few of us are playing lightly. Why else would I have invited you?”

At the following words, MacQueen wore a smile mixed with contempt. The identity of the scent surrounding the man was opium. The social gatherings hosted by Miller Waison, the heir of Spencer, usually took place at famous clubs in London, and alcohol, women, and opium were indispensable elements of Miller Waison’s social clubs.

‘The previous Earls of Spencer would be wailing.’

If the heir was so devoid of judgment that he held such gatherings even at the Earl’s residence in broad daylight, the future of the Spencer family was as clear as day.

“Can you prepare it immediately?”

It was a command disguised as a request. MacQueen scanned the surroundings with an expressionless face. The interior of the club was filled with degenerate gentlemen who were only polished on the surface.

“Right now?”

It couldn’t be easy to prepare high-grade opium without prior notice. When a subtly reproaching tone came out, Miller Waison shrugged his shoulders with a face that suggested it wasn’t his fault.

“It was a request from a precious guest, so I couldn’t help it. Even for someone like you, they are a person difficult to dare meet.”

“A precious guest?”

Dare.

MacQueen scoffed lightly at the unpleasant modifier. He found it unbearably funny that this grand nobleman distinguished between the precious and the lowly among a group of trash that were all the same.

“Just how great of a person are they?”

“Are you curious?”

“There aren’t many people Sir Waison would describe in such a way, are there?”

“Haha, that’s true.”

The man laughed cheerfully and grabbed MacQueen’s arm. For a moment, the dark brown eyebrows furrowed deeply at the hand that touched him without permission. Unaware of the reaction, Miller Waison quickly moved closer.

“…Prepare the top-grade. Since they are a precious person. I’ll introduce you once it gets dark.”

The greedy snake whispered. Having grasped the intention, MacQueen gave a light signal to his secretary.

“Aljef.”

“Yes.”

“Tell Robert to prepare as quickly as possible.”

“Understood.”

As soon as the instruction ended, the secretary immediately left the hall. MacQueen turned back and gave a slanted smile to Miller Waison.

“I shall have the finest Turkish grade prepared. Since the highest quality Turkish goods arrived in this voyage, everyone will likely be satisfied.”

“This is why I like you. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in advance, but you’re always perfect regardless of the situation, so I have no choice but to trust you.”

“I shall gratefully accept that sentiment.”

“Your kindness will return as a greater gift someday.”

“I look forward to it.”

A mask-like smile spread over a face flowing with coldness. Despite being a contemptible group he wished not to mingle with, the wavering forces within the Tory Party were like a necessary evil for Klaus Diugen and MacQueen Lester himself.

Throughout the tea time, Miller Waison, who had led the luncheon, was nowhere to be seen in the mansion. Assuming it was related to the precious guest, MacQueen leaned against a decorative harpsichord and moistened his mouth with whisky. At that moment, he felt a presence nearby.

“It is a pleasure to meet you for the first time, Sir Lester.”

At the familiar face, MacQueen raised an eyebrow.

Thomas Broham.

The heir to the Viscountcy of Birmingham, whose main estate was in South Wales, and a figure with strong liberal tendencies despite being a Tory. Judging that he would be useful for future operations, MacQueen responded with a completely artificial smile.

“Oh, Councilman. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am MacQueen Lester.”

“Baronet, will you be staying until tonight?”

The man, stepping closer, asked in a low whisper. MacQueen narrowed his eyes as he set his glass down on the nest table.

“Sir Broham. I always find fulfillment in gracing the end of a gathering. Of course, I must stay.”

“I see. Actually, this is the first time I’ve been invited to the night gathering as well.”

The anticipation for damp hedonism was blatant. MacQueen let out a hollow laugh and touched the console with his fingertips. Regardless of his own immorality, he did not particularly like nobles and politicians. To put it more bluntly, he was closer to loathing them.

His role here as the representative of Klaus Diugen was only one.

Opium. A generous English businessman who supplied the finest opium to the night-guests of the salon. It was a combination deserving of ridicule, but he didn’t mind in the slightest if it meant achieving his goal.

“Come to think of it, Sir Lester, shouldn’t you also be preparing for your entry into Westminster?”

“I should try for it with Sir Broham’s recommendation during next year’s general election.”

“If you have the will, I will actively support your campaign speeches.”

“I express my deepest gratitude for your kindness.”

Just as the fatigue from the calculating conversation reached its peak, Aljef, whom he had sent on an errand hours ago, gave a hand signal from the entrance of the hall that the goods had arrived. Thinking it was perfect timing, MacQueen narrowed his eyes.

“Would it be alright if I stepped away for a moment? It is time to prepare for an enchanting night.”

“Please do, Sir Lester. I look forward to the time we spend together.”

With a face that didn’t hide his expectation, Thomas Broham willingly offered a handshake. MacQueen shook hands half-heartedly and immediately turned to leave the drawing room. The smile had long since vanished.

As expected of a family that had maintained an Earldom for hundreds of years, the interior of the mansion was luxurious and grand. Against the backdrop of curtains with damask patterns, paintings and sculptures by artists who defined the era boasted their elegance throughout the hall. Of course, the man crossing the lobby showed no sign of being intimidated by the majestic prestige of the residence.

The hall was lined with Spencer family servants dressed in navy uniforms. Perhaps having been notified in advance, the servants did not particularly stop the suspicious opium merchant from roaming freely through the mansion.

“The quantity is prepared.”

Aljef, who had caught up to him, reported quietly. ‘Good job.’ The green eyes shone darkly as he replied briefly.

“You must also check all the tools. There are many things to attend to today. I should have anticipated this; it was my mistake.”

“Yes. But…”

As the secretary trailed off, MacQueen narrowed his eyes. He was among those who intensely disliked ambiguous answers.

“Speak clearly.”

“There was someone already here. They appeared to be a high-ranking noble, so I couldn’t touch the room where that person was staying.”

“Hmm, did the Viscount not mention it separately?”

“I tried to ask, but I simply couldn’t find where Sir Waison was. In haste, I told that gentleman that the master of the house was preparing a banquet, but he didn’t even pretend to listen.”

“Even after you mentioned Sir Waison’s instructions?”

“That is…”

His predicament was clearly filtered through his voice.

“He just kept smiling… it didn’t seem like a normal reaction. It seemed he had smoked opium a long while ago. When I told him he had to vacate the room, he threw an object.”

“An object? What did he throw?”

“Did I have time to look while dodging? I think it was a champagne glass.”

Only then did MacQueen see that the area around Aljef’s forehead was flushed red. Rubbing his forehead carelessly, Aljef grumbled.

“He also said he would have my head if I didn’t bring more opium.”

“In this day and age, who would recklessly take your head? Perhaps in a duel, but otherwise.”

“Isn’t it the same result—both dying?”

Even while continuing the joke, MacQueen’s expression was cold. There were few who could act so recklessly in an Earl’s residence without the master’s permission. Moreover, to behave so rudely before the formal luncheon had even ended.

Either they held a higher position, or they were the head of the house himself. Since the latter was impossible, it must be the former. Only then did MacQueen realize that the person the secretary dealt with was the same person Miller Waison had mentioned.

“Guide me to where he is. I should go and seek his understanding in person.”

“I am sorry.”

“There is no reason for you to apologize. The problem is Sir Waison, who abandoned everything and ran away.”

Gritting his teeth, he increased his pace. Soon, the center of the hall appeared, with a red carpet laid out to the end of the corridor. It was the long passage connecting the main building and the annex during public gatherings. The sound of boots echoed through the mansion.

“Isn’t the Spencer family calling for us too frequently lately?”

As they turned the corner, unlike the central hall, not a single servant was in sight. Miller Waison had likely dismissed them all for security reasons. He was a man who was thorough only in such matters.

“Isn’t that how opium is? The beginning is difficult, but once you fall in, you can’t stop.”

“I suppose one becomes unable to endure it?”

“Are you curious? If you wish, I shall provide it to you for free.”

When he tested him, Aljef immediately frowned.

“Not at all. I have no desire to live intoxicated like that.”

Smiling at the stern face of the intelligent secretary from the Inner Temple, MacQueen grabbed the doorknob.

“Aljef. My advice is to never take an interest in opium. It is nothing more and nothing less than a means to make money.”

At the expression full of disillusionment, the secretary nodded silently and forcefully pushed the door blocking their path.

Screeeech—

As the final door of the annex opened, a completely different atmosphere greeted the two men. The sound of leather shoes striking the floor echoed with particular clarity. The silent lobby was scheduled to be filled with the performances of hired musicians in a few hours. Plundering colonies was framed as the opening of ports; the discovery of new prey was called exploration of the New World. There were countless ways to cover up the filth strewn across the world.

“It is that way.”

MacQuan’s pupils dilated slightly as he looked where Aljef pointed. It was the room where only the head of the Spencer family resided.

“Miller Waison has completely lost his mind. If Earl Spencer finds out, he’ll collapse from the shock.”

“It would be a relief if he only collapsed.”

Aljef agreed with the incredulous reaction. Unless one were the sovereign of the empire—even if they were a king—no one could enter the secret chamber of an Earl’s private residence without the head of the house’s permission. The guest currently staying there had likely been brought in by Miller Waison’s own volition. It was a lamentable state of affairs.

“I should just deliver the goods and leave immediately today. I have a bad feeling. I don’t want Earl Spencer’s sparks to fly onto me or Klaus.”

“I agree. I will have the carriage ready.”

“Tell Robert as well.”

“He will be waiting right outside.”

Despite the light banter, MacQuan’s expression remained tense. The reason the talkative Miller Waison had been vaguely tight-lipped about the identity of this so-called ‘distinguished guest’ was surely because the individual, while influential, was not a positive figure. No matter how much he lobbied to penetrate the inner circles of the Tories, he had no desire to be entangled with a headache of a person.

“Shall I go back in first?”

“It is fine. You wait outside. I must at least preserve some shred of dignity.”

His hesitation was brief. MacQuan exhaled slowly, gripped the knocker, and tapped.

“Excuse me.”

There was no sign of presence inside the room. Even after knocking again, there was only silence.

“I am coming in. Please forgive my intrusion.”

It was a hollow apology, and as expected, there was no answer. Since this was anticipated, MacQuan gripped the handle and pushed firmly without hesitation.

Creeak.

With a low, sinking noise, the scenery of a lavish room entered his sight.

“Ugh…”

MacQuan involuntarily cursed as the scent of opium hit the tip of his nose. The room was so thick with smoke it looked like a fire had broken out. Anyone who had smoked this much could not possibly be in their right mind.

‘Someone who boldly smokes opium in the head of an Earl’s secret chamber in broad daylight… what an absolute piece of trash.’

MacQuan slowly scanned the room to find the drug-addled degenerate. The first thing to greet him was a tapestry that dominated the atmosphere. The exquisitely woven fabric depicted the achievements the Spencer family had attained over hundreds of years.

The gaze searching for the unwelcome guest stopped. He had achieved his purpose of finding someone.

“…….”

For a moment, he felt the illusion that the world had stopped.

MacQuan attributed this absurd hallucination to the opium filling the room.

The surreal scene continued down to a chaise longue finished in luxurious red velvet, where a man lay stretched out, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Though somewhat disheveled, the man, dressed in a lavish waistcoat and high-end formal wear, was peculiarly wearing tight-fitting black gloves on both hands. Considering that noble gentlemen typically preferred white gloves, it was a very unfamiliar attire.

The blonde hair entwined between the gloved fingers was so bright it was nearly silver, more radiant than any color he had ever seen. This was followed by the pathologically pale skin characteristic of Englishmen and delicate features. Having attended numerous social gatherings, MacQuan had met many exceptionally beautiful people, but the man before him was among the most handsome he had ever seen.

MacQuan observed the intruder’s state with calm eyes. With a somewhat sleepy face, the man was puffing out smoke, smoking a cigar stuffed with opium.

The silence did not last long.

“Who?”

The tone was far too clear for someone intoxicated by opium. It was a low, distinct voice that resonated in the mind. MacQuan unconsciously swallowed hard. He even felt as if the opium smoke were scorching his windpipe.

He had to say something. Tell him to throw away the opium and get out of this room immediately. Despite the thoughts racing through his head, the reality was that he stood there like a fool, unable to utter a word.

As the silence persisted, the man carelessly tossed the cigar he had been holding onto the floor and continued.

“Did I give you permission to enter?”

When the intruder gave no answer, the man eventually pushed back his disheveled hair and slowly raised his upper body. MacQuan’s gaze followed the movement slowly.

Strange, bright blue eyes—almost sky-blue—quietly stared at MacQuan. It was the first time he had seen a blue of such high luminosity.

“Hmm?”

The smile the man wore while questioning him was clearly unpleasant, like a bomb on the verge of exploding. The impression, bordering on neurasthenia, was both familiar and unfamiliar. He was certainly someone he knew. Certainly… at that moment, the scattered pieces of information in MacQuan’s head began to click into place.

A lavish appearance, a state presumed to be opium addiction, yet vocabulary and speech that were clearly those of a high noble.

‘Oh dear.’

A short, uncontrolled sigh escaped him.

Aaron Wizfeldon.

The eldest son of the current Prime Minister and the young heir to the Duke of Cornwall’s house, who had been granted the title of Earl Vispilt.

The man’s father, Duke Edmund Wizfeldon Cornwall, was a royalist and Protestant with the most hardline and extreme tendencies among the Tory MPs, and as someone who vehemently opposed the opium trade, he was the greatest obstacle to the expansion of the Klaus Diugen Company.

‘This has become troublesome.’

Only then did MacQuan realize why Miller Waison had not carelessly revealed the identity of the distinguished guest. To invite the heir of the most hardline conservative leader to a Canning faction social gathering. He instinctively cursed at such opportunistic, bat-like intentions.

“You don’t seem to be the person who came in before.”

As the silence continued, the man fully sat up and leaned against the plush backrest. Though it was a simple movement, the way he swayed several times, unable to keep his balance, showed he had already inhaled a considerable amount.

“Are you unable to speak? Or are you a messenger sent by Miller?”

The slight narrowing of his eyes perfectly captured his discomfort.

‘The degenerate of Cornwall.’

Mulling over the expressions the world used to refer to this man, MacQuan scanned the opponent with a slow gaze.

The heir to the Duke of Cornwall was a much younger man than the information he had encountered in gossip. He was tall and slender, but his frame did not seem frail or sickly. He understood the man to be three or four years younger than himself, but he did not give the impression of being young at all. After observing him for a while, MacQuan placed one hand on his chest and bowed his upper body slightly.

“I am MacQueen Lester, representative of the Klaus Diugen Company. My Lord, I ask for your forgiveness for the intrusion.”

“Klaus? ……Ah.”

Despite being high on drugs, the man’s pronunciation and accent were precise.

“I suppose you are that opium dealer Miller mentioned.”

It was a rude expression. Yet, the speaker merely looked at the intruder with a look of utter boredom. His irritation seemed to have subsided slightly. Hiding his displeasure, MacQuan continued as if nothing were wrong.

“I was preparing the arrangements at the Viscount’s request. My secretary mentioned that someone had arrived first. Since it was for a gathering, I had to verify the identity. I hope you will forgive the mistake made toward such a distinguished person during the process.”

As the gloved hand waved the cigar, the grayish-white smoke wavered along with it. The pungent scent of opium, strong enough to twist one’s nose, vibrated through the air.

“A secretary? It seems you’ve even hired a secretary. Haha, well, I did hear that merchants these days have a lot of money…”

A cackling laugh burst forth. It was an attitude that laid bare his contempt and condescension toward others. While some nobles occasionally displayed a sense of superiority, it was rare these days to express it so blatantly. This was because they knew the power of the capital and land held by MacQueen Lester, the Baronet of Enfield.

Though MacQuan had dealt with many nobles, this time he could not easily find his words. Because he was bowing, his flushed face turned bright red.

“I heard you buy and sell anything if there is money in it.”

“…….”

“What do you sell? Black tea? Coffee? Cotton? Ah, no. Was it opium? I’m told people like you are responsible for England’s economy. I’ve heard much of it, but seeing it in person is quite fascinating. Thank you. I’m making good use of it myself.”

“……You flatter me too much.”

“I’m glad you took it as a compliment.”

At the composed answer, the man waved his hand with a sneer. It was blatant mockery. As the laughter echoed in the secret chamber, MacQuan’s clenched fist tightened.

“Well, it’s fine by me.”

Muttering as if to himself, the man took another deep drag of the cigar. When he exhaled, the grayish-white smoke scattered aimlessly. His sophisticated black shoes crossed and dropped repeatedly, swinging playfully.

“Since you must have bought your title with money, what should I call you? A Baronet? Or a Knight? Or perhaps, my Lord Earl? Or could it be, Your Grace the Duke?”

“……I am a Baronet.”

A voice, suppressing anger, escaped through tightly pressed lips.

“A Baronet… you must have had quite a bit of money. Well… I wonder if such things are even considered nobility. Do you go around pretending to be a noble?”

“My Lord, you are truly mischievous.”

“If you’re desperate, you might even be believed if you just called yourself a Baron. Why not give it a try? People might just fall for it. A Baronet wearing plausible clothes and mimicking a plausible way of speaking.”

“Your words are harsh.”

The temperature of the responding tone gradually turned cold. Unbothered, the man continued to pour out sneers. After the brief conversation, silence returned.

“How boring.”

Waving his hand with an expression that suggested even mocking was a chore, the man brushed back his hair again. The drug-addled young heir laughed intermittently without context and glanced sideways.

“Get out now.”

The expressionless face slowly crumpled with displeasure. To a degree even beyond the opponent’s hatred for him, MacQuan also fell violently into a hatred for the other. The sight of him commanding with an air of nobility while unable to even steady his own body was truly pathetic and laughable.

“Do you not understand my words? Even a Nonconformist should have received that much education.”

With a picture-perfect smile, Aaron Wizfeldon gestured toward the door. His eyes were smiling, but the aura emanating from him was extremely cold and ominous. If MacQuan delayed, the man looked ready to throw whatever was at hand.

“Excuse me. Please forgive me, Sir Wizfeldon.”

Having assessed the situation, MacQueen Lester immediately bowed. At that sight, the heir of the ducal house laughed more, his shoulders shaking, and lit a new cigarette. The burning opium smoke once again veiled his irritable face.

‘Piece of trash.’

In the invisible gap, MacQuan sneered silently. People who confirmed their own superior position by belittling others through status existed everywhere and always. The more a person had nothing to boast of other than their given conditions, the more severe and vile such bluffing became. Just like the man before his eyes…

“Do you truly seek forgiveness? Do something about those impudent eyes before you try to act. You call yourself a businessman, yet you cannot hide your inner thoughts at all. How can you conduct business like that?”

The sudden remark broke his train of thought. MacQuan raised his head with a rare look of bewilderment. Simultaneously, the cheeks of the man inhaling deeply on the smoke sank in.

“You are mistaken. I am—”

“I get it, so leave. I have no generosity to indulge in wordplay. Why are merchants so persistent…”

Flicking the ash carelessly, Aaron exhaled a long breath again.

“Or perhaps one must be that tenacious to run an opium business?”

“…….”

“Indeed, one would need a level of persistence like yours to climb up a mountain piled with corpses.”

These were words filled with ruthless contempt. His tightly closed lips hardened. Emotions stained with displeasure and insult surged up from his toes in an instant. His burning mind was sending warning messages that it was becoming difficult to make rational judgments.

The ducal title of his father, vast ancestral lands passed down from antiquity, and immense wealth. A pathetic breed who draped themselves in authority and arrogance despite having achieved absolutely nothing on their own. A man whose beautiful appearance was merely a shell, and whose entirety consisted of a rotten mind and black intentions. A man to whom the contradiction of wearing elegant attire while smoking opium from a vulgar cigar, rather than a pipe, suited perfectly.

“I shall take my leave. Should we meet again in the future, I shall ensure I am thoroughly educated before greeting you.”

“…….”

There was no answer. MacQuan no longer cared and turned around to walk toward the door. The heaviness of his steps trampling the floor spoke for all the humiliation he felt. His green eyes, clouded with rage, flickered precariously.

Slam—

Staring at the door the intruder had roughly closed, Aaron exhaled a long stream of smoke.

“How vulgar.”

A short impression. Unlike the eyes curved with laughter, the atmosphere he exuded was fierce and chilly. Only the noble history of the Spencer family, embroidered on the lavish tapestry, silently recorded the secret incident that had unfolded between them.

As the sun set, Lacey Hall became further steeped in deep hedonism. The antique classical music was merely a decoration.

The group of nobles, who had discussed the safety of their homeland and performed austerity, filled their glasses with liquor instead of tea as the day ended, accompanied by the courtesans who had arrived one after another. Lavish hairstyles and makeup, dresses, heavy perfumes, laughter, and the secret whispers and gestures that pierced through them. Above all, there was a separate protagonist who allowed them to let go of the dignity and grace that had constrained them during the daylight hours.

“Thank you, Baronet.”

Miller Waison, greeting him with a long, drawn-out tone, already had eyes heavily intoxicated by opium. Sneering at the sight of him appearing unable to distinguish right from wrong, MacQuan shrugged his shoulders.

“Please go in and enjoy yourself to your heart’s content, Viscount. Is this not the atmosphere you desired? If it is insufficient, please tell me at any time.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right…”

“However, regarding today’s events, I may have something to discuss with you later, Viscount.”

It was a reprimand regarding the attendance of a hardline Tory at the Canning faction meeting.

“Of courrrse… come to my residence anytime. A Baronet of Enfield is always welcome…”

From the start, he was in no state to maintain a proper conversation. MacQuan’s gaze, watching Miller Waison stagger repeatedly with a pipe in his mouth, was extremely cold, contrasting with the excited atmosphere of the mansion. The pungent scent of opium stimulated his peripheral nerves. He covered his nose with a handkerchief and slowly surveyed the interior. He could already see a few couples beginning their intimate time, oblivious to the gazes around them.

Most of the attendees of the decadent gentlemen’s clubs that had begun to trend in London a few years ago were sons of high noble families who had passed through public schools like Eton, entered Oxford or Cambridge, and followed the course of a Grand Tour immediately upon graduation. That a group rolling around in pleasure, opium, and sex were the most noble and intelligent bloodlines in England was truly laughable.

‘It’s about time I slip away.’

Given the atmosphere, there was a high possibility of orgies occurring today. His gaze, checking the amount of opium prepared throughout the hall, was calm, without any emotional amplification.

‘It should be enough to last until morning.’

Just as he was listing the tasks he had to do and gauging the timing of his exit, a sharp crashing sound rang out. The commotion was occurring toward the hall. At the unwelcome sound, MacQuan frowned and shifted his gaze slightly. Food, liquor, and broken glass were scattered messily under a table. It looked as if someone had pushed it intentionally; the surroundings were a wreck.

“Kyaaa—!”

Contrary to his expectation of a fight between men, joyful screams and laughter erupted from all sides. Unconcealable excitement was etched into flushed faces and coy nasal tones. Suddenly, a man’s hand wrapped around the slender waist of a courtesan caught MacQuan’s eye with particular intensity. It was a long, slender hand wearing a black glove.

“My Lord, why are you so mischievous?”

A woman, heavily intoxicated by drugs, hugged the man’s neck and leaned her upper body back. An adorable, coquettish laugh flowed continuously from her lips like an endless stream of wine.

“What did I do? Hmm? Bahrain, come here…”

“My Lord.”

Her curled brown hair cascaded and shimmered like a grapevine. The man kissing her slender neck also chuckled continuously at the woman’s teasing. A sharp bridge of a nose, enough to be a veil, repeatedly pressed against the woman’s fair cheek. The cravat—

His tie had long since been loosened, and his waistcoat and shirt were half-undone. MacQueen clicked his tongue at the man’s state, which was even more disheveled than it had been in the morning. He was truly the kind of person MacQueen wished to avoid.

“A mess. What is that on your lips? It’s smeared everywhere.”

“It’s all the Earl’s fault. Hehe.”

A damp, lingering laugh escaped. Beside the young Earl, another woman leaned against his chest, drinking. The rug cushions had long been soaked with spilled liquor.

The eyes of the observer, watching the two women and the one man, gleamed coldly. MacQueen actually quite liked the shameless debauchery of the man. In this moment, that man was rolling around in a gutter deeper than the one MacQueen had once despised and looked down upon.

‘No matter how high and mighty one pretends to be, everyone collapses before pleasure.’

MacQueen lightly kicked a black top hat rolling carelessly across the floor and leaned his back against the wall. The anger that had been boiling in his chest all morning felt as if it had cooled in an instant. A stifling sense of unpleasantness flickered through the gap, but he quickly blocked out the unfamiliar emotion.

‘I have a lot to do.’

He would head straight to the office as soon as morning came. Thinking of the backlog of work made the nape of his neck stiff with fatigue. His heavy eyelids lifted, revealing deep green eyes. The dense verdure within his pupils made it difficult for anyone to guess that he was the filthiest businessman in London.

* * *

At that moment, an empty glass that had rolled from somewhere tapped the toe of MacQueen’s shoe and stopped. His thick eyebrows rose naturally at the unfamiliar sensation. Just as he was about to kick it aside discreetly—

“Bring it here.”

Amidst the noise of cheap laughter and soulless conversation, a voice, drunk and even more vulgar, pierced his ears. It was a command with a clear intent to humiliate.

Despite being clearly intoxicated, the heir to Cornwall’s pronunciation was clear and his resonance distinct. It was a situation sufficient to spark rage, yet MacQueen became strangely calm.

It was peculiar.

MacQueen slowly shifted his gaze from the floor to the glass, from the glass to his shoe, from his shoe to the table, and finally to the gentleman sitting on the spacious sofa beyond. Cold eyes were staring straight at him. As he had felt in the morning, the eyes were far too clear and clean for an opium addict. Suddenly, he felt an intense thirst.

“……Understood.”

It would be foolish to fall for such a cheap provocation.

Having made his decision, MacQueen bowed his waist without hesitation and picked up the glass. Humiliation was only momentary. While telling himself that such a thing was nothing, strength tightened in the fingertips gripping the wine-stained glass. He had to suppress the searing anger. With a stiff expression, he walked resolutely toward Aaron.

“The item you were looking for.”

“Hmm.”

Aaron, still leaning his half-collapsed body against the cushions, gestured toward a passing servant. He then took a new wine glass prepared on a silver tray and spent a moment savoring the aroma.

“Have a drink.”

MacQueen’s hand, about to hand over the picked-up glass, stopped.

“Oh my, it’s going to spill. The Earl is being mischievous.”

The cackling laughter grew louder. Aaron’s mindless laughter mixed in, adding a layer of sarcasm. The glass, dirty from rolling on the floor, remained in MacQueen’s hand.

“Hm? You worked hard, so have a drink. Your name… your name, what was it? I can’t recall.”

The mouth of the wine bottle touched the surface of the glass MacQueen held. Following the movement of the wrist, the red wine surged precariously near the rim. Even if the other party’s status was low, it was an utterly rude attitude, yet no one stopped the young heir of the Cornwall family. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that everyone was too intoxicated on opium to stop him.

“…….”

MacQueen’s grip on the stem tightened.

“A Baronet… yes. A Baronet it was… Good heavens, I had no idea England had so many Baronets and knights!”

Still holding the bottle’s mouth to the rim, Aaron laughed frantically. With every movement of the glass, his hair fell loosely and repeatedly. He brought the pipe he was smoking close to the woman’s lips. His sharp jawline tilted elegantly.

“Bennettsa… hey, Bennettsa, have you heard of him? He’s a Baronet who sells the opium we love so much.”

“Goodness, I’m Bahrain, Earl.”

The woman, correcting her name even while drunk, giggled. The thick scent of rose water mixed with the smell of opium, seizing and shaking the tip of his nose. It was a nauseating smell. With a calm face, MacQueen stared at the mouth of the bottle touching the rim. His clenched jaw trembled. The wine, on the verge of spilling, resembled the anger that had risen to the top of his throat, but it was not easy to discern where that anger originated.

“Listen, Baronet.”

The moderately plump lips were full of malicious mischief. Aaron, leaning his collapsing body entirely against the woman, waved his other hand—the one not holding the wine bottle—in the air.

“Have you ever traveled to France?”

MacQueen bit his lower lip firmly and faced the man again. The rounded, curving eyes seemed to be searching through the past.

“……Unfortunately, I have not had the chance to visit, Earl.”

“Oh, what a pity.”

Phew. He took another deep drag of the filter. Smoke, meant to hide a hideous desire, spread wide.

“I think it would be good for you to go when you have the chance. Your friends are waiting for you.”

“I don’t know what you mean by friends.”

Tap. The mouth of the bottle tapped the rim once more. Simultaneously, red wine poured gushing into the half-tilted glass.

“The farmers there are probably mostly Earls or Viscounts.”

“…….”

“Someone of your caliber could probably even become a French Earl.”

His facial muscles stiffened rigidly at the blatant insult. Meanwhile, the wine filled the glass and overflowed, flowing frantically over MacQueen’s hand and onto the carpet. MacQueen glanced at the red wine soaking his hand and sleeve, then shifted his gaze back to the front. Having lost interest in his lack of reaction, the man was already burying his face in the chest of the woman beside him, chuckling incessantly.

Haha.

The vulgar laughter reached its peak. The musicians in white wigs were also completely immersed in the music. Thick opium smoke filled the central hall, and men wearing the masks of gentlemen and nobles enjoyed themselves by craving voluptuous women. It was the hour for full-blown hedonism to begin.

“I shall keep that in mind, Earl.”

It is only a moment.

MacQueen calmly watched the scene before him, where greed, disgrace, and loathing reigned. Lewd hands, digging between pale, slender legs, played freely without shame. Sweat-soaked bright blonde hair shone even more brilliantly, and skin as white as a patient’s flushed pink with the heat of sexual arousal, appearing even more obscene. Perhaps the title of courtesan was more fitting for that man than for the woman.

Without becoming excited, MacQueen lightly swirled the wine glass.

Acting on emotion was something only novices did. Overheated pleasure was destined to thoroughly destroy their deceits and masks. The sandcastle you have built is but a moment. It will vanish without leaving a trace.

After watching the chaotic scene for a while and confirming that none of them were in their right mind, MacQueen turned away without regret. With the sound of his extremely refined footsteps as the finale, the space was filled with the rushing black desire.

✧ ✧ ✧

As they entered a road that was not properly paved, the swaying of the carriage intensified. The man looking out the window in silence had a coldly frozen expression. Robert, having received a rough report of the situation from Aljef, spoke cautiously.

“Why don’t you adjust your attendance at the gatherings for a while?”

“No. There is no need for that.”

MacQueen cut his friend’s suggestion short and immediately continued.

“Don’t worry, Robert. Haven’t we met and dealt with too many people over the years to let our pride be wounded by something like this?”

“Even so……”

“Miller Waison still has high utility value, Robert. Even if Miller Waison himself is unremarkable, there are many capable figures among the Canning faction members he leads. Earl Spencer is in a state where he could pass away any day now, so if that fellow Miller succeeds the Earl, he will be a reliable ally to us. Today’s incident was that man’s obvious mistake and excessive behavior. He will find it hard to simply overlook.”

The only asset he possessed was a mind quick at calculation. Starting from nothing—no capital, no connections—he had climbed this far solely on the desire for success. Lineage was merely a relic of the old era. The world was changing, centering around capital.

MacQueen did not care in the slightest what the world called him. He was capable of doing anything for greater success. Everything depended on the results, and hollow nobility was one of the traits he loathed most.

“The degenerate of the Duke of Cornwall’s house—”

His voice trailed off. His eyes, searching through his memory, frowned faintly with contempt and unpleasantness.

“No matter how much he pretends to be superior, he is nothing more than an opium addict who doesn’t even know how Parliament works, what the political landscape is, or how the economy and state affairs are changing. He’s just frolicking in the shadow his father created, still unable to enter Westminster. If that man were sane, the heir to the leader of the orthodox conservatives wouldn’t have come to a Canning faction gathering. Today’s event is quite a good harvest. Rob, he is definitely an addict. A narrative that the press would love is emerging.”

Despite the answer acting as a facade of composure, the contempt within it was evident. The carriage wheel jolted upon hitting a stone. Robert, who had been observing MacQueen’s complexion, finally showed a look of relief.

“I was worrying for nothing.”

“Of course.”

“I heard there is a luncheon with the Duke of Devonshire this weekend. Will Lady Elisha be joining?”

His thick eyebrows curved again in a gesture as if asking why such an obvious question was being asked.

“You say the obvious. You know well that she is the one I put the most effort into.”

Yes, that’s true. Robert agreed with a light smile. The game of transactions played between the Duke of Devonshire and MacQueen Lester over the Duke’s youngest daughter had been tediously continuing for several years.

“Get some sleep, Rob. I’m a bit tired as well.”

“Right, indeed. Lester, I lacked consideration.”

The dampness rising from his toes was excessively unpleasant. MacQueen leaned his body completely against the backrest and closed his eyes. His head throbbed with fatigue. After catching his breath for a while, a deep, black darkness descended. Within the sinking consciousness, an arrogant man whispered in a sweet voice.

“Someone of your caliber could probably even become a French Earl.”

He was truly the worst kind of man.

Arrogant, pathetic, insolent, and contemptible—an unpleasant individual. A pathetic junkie whose only asset was a polished appearance.

MacQueen recalled the sight of opium addicts dying in the opium dens when he had visited the Daecheong in the past. Even without dirtying his own hands, once one started opium, the future was predetermined.

The time they spent together had not been long, but it was enough to grasp Aaron Wizfeldon’s condition. His eyes were still relatively clear, but judging by the way he inhaled a considerable amount without hesitation, he must have been smoking steadily for at least a few years. It was only a matter of time before his body or mind broke.

A sneer played on MacQueen’s face.

It won’t be too late to point and laugh when he falls from the highest place to the lowest. There is nothing easier than trampling on trash whose mind and body have been devastated.

Spending emotional energy on someone not worth trading with is highly inefficient.

Regardless, he was a man he would likely never see again.

✧ ✧ ✧

Although the railway connecting Liverpool and Manchester had opened and a full-scale railway boom had occurred throughout England, carriages remained a primary means of transport and a tool for flaunting wealth and class.

On a sunny weekend, by the time the four-wheeled carriage drawn by two horses arrived at the Duke of Devonshire’s town house, the estate manager and several servants were already waiting in front of the main entrance of the residence. The arrival was somewhat later than the appointed time.

“Sir Lester. The Duke of Devonshire is waiting for you.”

The butler, who approached the carriage, took the black top hat and cane handed over by MacQueen. His steps guiding him to the main entrance seemed more hurried than usual.

“My apologies. It was an important transaction. Was the Duke displeased?”

Handing the items back to a footman, the butler replied with an awkward smile.

“Please come inside quickly.”

Checking the time with his pocket watch, MacQueen gave a short laugh. The Duke of Devonshire was not a man of a mild temperament.

“He must be angry.”

“It is not something to worry about excessively. The luncheon is prepared in the Brinzel Garden.”

“I see. Please lead the way.”

Without any sign of panic, MacQueen walked toward the central garden of the mansion.

The Devonshire residence located in Winchester, on the outskirts of London, was luxurious enough to be called a country house of a provincial estate. Matching the taste of the owner, who took pride in collecting artworks, numerous pieces of art acquired through various channels were displayed inside the mansion. Among them, the ceramics that had come from the East were mostly gifts sent in the name of Klaus Diugen.

With a blank face, MacQueen scanned the evidence of immoral transactions as he passed through the dining room. After walking for a while longer, the exit leading out of the annex appeared. A thick scent of flowers stimulated his olfactory sense through the gap of the open door.

“The flowers must be in full bloom.”

“Most of the roses bloomed last week.”

“Lady Elisha will love it.”

Matching the taste of the daughter who loved flowers, Brinzel Garden was also referred to by the nickname ‘Rose Garden.’ Even though he hadn’t arrived yet, he felt the illusion of smelling roses.

“Sir Lester, please wait a moment. I must report to the Duke……”

Before the butler could finish his sentence, the door burst open. In that instant, a voluminous dress hem and ginger hair instantly filled MacQueen’s vision.

“MacQueen!”

“My lady!” The old butler’s expression turned troubled as he called out to the woman. Ignoring the reaction, the woman ran quickly and gently caught MacQueen. Her bright smile was more beautiful than any rose blooming in the garden. Only then did the consistently cold MacQueen soften his expression.

“Elisha.”

Looking at the woman with a rarely tender gaze, MacQueen also called her familiarly. It was a fairly warm expression and tone, though it contained a layer of artifice.

“Why are you so late? Do you know how long I’ve waited?”

“My apologies. In my effort to leave as quickly as possible, I have committed a discourtesy.”

“I waited for a long time. Truly.”

“I missed you very much as well, Lady Elisha.”

At the sweet whisper, her round face instantly ripened into a bright red. Covering her flushed face with an embarrassed expression, Elisha pretended to be pouty and changed the subject.

“Since you know, you must tell me a funny story after the meal.”

“Gladly, if you wish. Did you apply rose water? You smell lovely.”

“Please pretend you didn’t notice that.”

At her coquettish complaining, MacQueen curved his eyes further and bent one arm toward her. The woman, to whom a shy appearance suited well, possessed a naturally kind and pure disposition, unlike her vile father. The scent she emanated was also cozy, incomparable to the smell of that brothel from a few days ago.

‘When the ship arrives this time, I must look for the most splendid rose water.’

Gifts were the easiest tool to open someone’s heart.

“The Duke is waiting. Let us go.”

A hand wearing a sleeve that was greatly puffed out carefully linked arms with MacQueen. They looked like a couple that had stepped out of a painting. Of course, there were eyes that viewed such a sight with discomfort.

“Elisha!”

Despite the shouting heard from a distance, the two looked at each other, smiled awkwardly, and walked toward the table where the food was set.

“Have I not told you repeatedly that a woman must behave with modesty?”

“I’m sorry, Father……”

“You must not behave lightly.”

The scolding fell as soon as they arrived. The gold-rimmed glasses with crystal glass lenses contributed to making the old Duke look solemn.

Herald Lenzdoor.

He was the head of the House of Devonshire, one of the two most powerful ducal families in England.

“I hope you will forgive the discourtesy, Duke.”

At the apology devoid of sincerity, the Duke of Devonshire waved his hand lightly.

“I did not wait long. Unexpected situations can occur when conducting business.”

“Thank you for your understanding.”

“My daughter waited more than I did. She has been singing your name since morning. It would be good if she were that greedy about her music lessons.”

“Father!”

At her father’s mischievous joke, the woman’s pale cheeks flushed red. The warm sunlight of spring mercifully hid her frailty. Haha. A low laugh scattered over the table.

“I shall return the Baronet to you soon, so if you have finished your greetings, would you give us a moment of your time?”

“But… I just saw Lord Lester.”

“I shall finish this conversation shortly.”

As if forgetting how sternly he had been urging her moments before, Herald Lenzdoor spoke with a rare warmth in his expression. MacQuan, seated opposite him, also smiled at the young woman.

“I shall see you again soon, Lady Elisha.”

“I understand. But please come back quickly, alright?”

He hoped that his lovely prospective fiancée would not be tainted by the place where such sinister and base conversations took place.

“Lady Elisha’s beauty grows more radiant by the day.”

“She is an adult in appearance, but I worry she is still so immature.”

“How is her health?”

The Duke of Devonshire’s eyes clouded with worry as he thought of his frail daughter.

Elisha Lenzdoor’s health was so poor that she had to spend more than half the year recuperating at the Wales estate, overlooking Cardigan Bay. Even this visit to London came only after she had barely returned following nearly six months of treatment for severe pneumonia at the start of last winter.

“There has been little progress. They simply repeat that a place with clean air is best.”

Though it was known that he had adopted the children of a fallen noble family, there was no one in London society who did not know that Elisha Lenzdoor was actually the illegitimate daughter of the Duke of Devonshire’s young mistress. He had made a woman’s life a mockery for the sake of his honor, yet ironically, the old Duke cherished and loved his youngest daughter the most. Of course, that love always came with limits.

“It would be a pleasure for me as well if Lady Elisha could recover her health as soon as possible.”

“It is truly frustrating that she collapsed again this year and missed her debutante season.”

“While the debutante season is important, the Lady’s health is paramount. Nothing else matters to me.”

“Still, I must take her to several events this season. She is, after all, a daughter of the House of Devonshire.”

Offering a cleverly evasive answer, the old Duke did not hide his discomfort at the fact that his daughter was being discussed between the two men.

‘He wants to keep Klaus Diugen tied to his hand, yet he loathes giving his daughter to someone who is not a high noble.’

Savoring the aroma of the blended black tea, MacQuan smiled calmly. Despite pretending to care, the one who treated Elisha Lenzdoor most like an object to be used as a bargaining chip was none other than the Duke of Devonshire himself.

“More importantly, the members of the Canning faction I met at the Spencer gathering were still largely skeptical about military intervention on an imperial scale.”

MacQuan moistened his lips with the lukewarm tea and naturally shifted the topic. There was no need to rush. In any war, victory belonged to those who endured patiently until the end. As the subject changed, the old Duke looked visibly relieved.

“It cannot be helped. We have been cleaning up after the war for years. The problem is that thanks to an incompetent monarch, there is simply no end in sight.”

“It is not solely the responsibility of Prince William.”

“His father was the same. There is no difference.”

After the Battle of Waterloo, England established itself as the largest empire in Europe, gaining immense economic and military influence, but the lives of the common people, who paid the price for nearly twenty years of war, were harsh.

The costs England incurred to maintain the blockade of France and prevent invasion shook the nation. Hundreds of thousands of citizens dead, a depleted standing army, and unstable public security. Moreover, to fill the empty national treasury, an increase in taxes borne by the people was inevitable.

To make matters worse, the opium smuggling trade, which had filled the balance of payments deficit caused by the trade imbalance with the Daecheong, was now facing difficulties due to tightened crackdowns within China.

“If the Canning faction thinks that way, I imagine the extreme Tories would be even worse.”

“For now, perhaps. But compared to last year, the trade deficit is widening further. We cannot handle the outflow of silver bullion due to the increasing demand for tea. You know as well that England’s cotton exports are in decline. This is no time for the Tory Party to be stubborn. National-level measures are necessary.”

After a brief silence, the Duke of Devonshire spoke.

“Opinion in Parliament has converged toward not approving the extension of the East India Company’s trade monopoly.”

Since the atmosphere in the Indian territories was already full of negativity toward the East India Company, this was somewhat expected. Rubbing the bridge of his straight nose, MacQuan let out a low groan.

“I shall have to review the operational plans for the Guangzhou factory.”

“Shameless lot. I cannot stand by and watch the main culprits who drove the national economy to the bottom after the war scramble for power again without taking responsibility for the resulting losses. Look at how they refuse to accept their crushing defeat in the last general election. They must face the reality of where the people’s hearts lie.”

The old Duke immediately revealed his inner thoughts without hesitation.

“I intend to accelerate the Prime Minister’s fall from power.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“I must create the right atmosphere.”

The hand stroking his groomed beard slowed.

“He is a rigid man, so it will be difficult to find a flaw in the Prime Minister’s own morality. He is airtight in that regard, so we must attack from another angle.”

“And what angle would that be?”

His cold, sunken eyes resembled a predator waiting for its prey.

“Is there not a fine piece of bait? One that you know, and I know.”

As soon as the words were spoken, MacQuan recalled a man with an impression bordering on nervous breakdown. Naturally, a sense of unpleasantness followed. Ah. An admiring sigh of agreement followed. He was a man whose personality was so foul it eroded even his quite passable appearance.

“Are you referring to Aaron Wizfeldon, Earl Vispilt?”

“Yes. Exactly.”

A sinister conspiracy glistened, aimed precisely at the heir to the Dukedom of Cornwall.

“Edmund hides his son so thoroughly to avoid being caught. He does it to keep his flaws hidden, but how long can he endure that?”

“He did not seem to be in good condition.”

“Have you met the Earl? He hardly ever appears at official functions.”

At Devonshire’s question, MacQuan remained silent. There was no need to lie, but there was also no need to report in detail.

“It certainly wasn’t an official occasion. It was likely a social club gathering.”

Since MacQuan frequently attended social gatherings for legislative lobbying, the old Duke continued without further suspicion.

“I heard he was famous as a degenerate since his days at Eton School. Even if the Duke of Cornwall keeps him restrained now, he lived a life so chaotic that rumors spread throughout London society; he must have a significant flaw. For now, no one dares to expose the incidents of those days because of Cornwall’s reputation. But even so, if the newspapers and organs report it daily in extra editions, even Edmund will find it difficult to manage.”

MacQuan let out a short laugh at the term ‘degenerate.’ There could be no more accurate word to describe the man.

The most amusing part was perhaps the current contradictory situation. He would not let anyone touch a hair on his own child’s head, yet he had no qualms about using someone else’s child as a tool to drag their father down.

Of course, all of this had nothing to do with him. Since both parties had grievances, he only needed to involve himself moderately to provide support.

“I hope it is something that is not illegal, but a flaw significant enough to be a major liability.”

“Do not worry, Duke. I am already preparing it.”

“Perfect.”

The Duke of Devonshire smiled with satisfaction and lit his pipe.

“Prepare for next year’s general election. It is about time you entered the House of Commons. We should arrange an official event.”

“Thank you for your consideration. If given the opportunity, I will do my best.”

His cool eyes curved softly. It was the moment the opportunity he had longed for and waited for so long drew one step closer.

“If the work is handled well, it will be easier for me to give you my daughter. Elisha must complete her debutante season and perhaps have an engagement ceremony within this year.”

Both men wore smiles that contained not a shred of sincerity.

“I shall look into it as soon as possible.”

“Thank you. As expected, you are my most intimate partner.”

In the ugliest of fights for their respective interests, MacQuan willingly stepped into that corrupt and rotting swamp. For him, the task of driving a common opium addict to the brink was not a difficult feat.

✧ ✧ ✧

A thick book was thrown mercilessly to the floor.

Thud—

The impact was strong enough to snap the head to the side, leaving a vivid red mark on a pale cheek.

“When on earth are you going to come to your senses? Opium again! Do you truly think I—”

Gasping for breath, the old Duke shouted, unable to contain his rage, and picked up books and statues rolling on the floor to hurl them. A piece the size of a fist hit Aaron’s shoulder and fell back to the floor. The ground was already a mess of statue fragments.

“There is a limit to how much you can disgrace this family. You are protesting in front of me just because I stopped that vulgar habit. You truly won’t wake up until you’re dead!”

Seeing his son not even respond to his words, the Duke of Cornwall finally lost his temper and raised the cane in his hand high. The sapphire embedded in the handle glittered enchantingly in the light.

“Do you have any idea what the position of myself and our family is in Parliament right now! Instead of waking up and helping as soon as possible! A man who is supposed to be the heir!”

A dull sound echoed. The motionless body suddenly lurched. The cane, carved from ivory, was a formidable weapon in itself. Despite the pouring violence of his father, not a single groan escaped his lips.

“And yet you are completely mad with drugs, doing things like this.”

The beating continued fiercely, striking unseen areas. Unable to contain his fury, the Duke of Cornwall eventually threw the cane aside, grabbed his son by the collar, and began to slap his cheeks mercilessly. As the intensity showed no sign of waning, the expression of the one silently enduring the violence gradually became tinged with irritation.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re thinking by acting like this! Going out into the streets again to meet vulgar people and carve stones or whatever? Because of you, I have—”

The relentless violence stopped abruptly. The Duke of Cornwall’s face instantly filled with rage as his son gripped his wrist.

“You…”

Red blood flowed from a torn wound on his forehead. With an indifferent face, Aaron pushed his father’s hand away and wiped the blood. The small wounds on the knuckles of the hand that had touched his cheek were different in nature from the results of violence.

After roughly wiping the blood from his face, Aaron spoke.

“Stop it.”

Tsk.

The sound of clicking his tongue was sharp. At that sound, the old Duke’s eyes flashed fiercely.

“What? You, you dare!”

Watching his enraged father with indifference, Aaron brushed back his blood-stained hair.

“I am telling you to calm down. It seems you are the one who is intoxicated, Father, not me.”

“You, you bastard.”

At the cold tone, the Duke’s expression crumpled even more hideously. Brushing up hair tangled with dried blood, Aaron spat out blood with a deep frown.

“I assume you don’t intend to inform the Royal Family and the members of Parliament…”

His eyes, scanning the books, statues, pipes, dried opium, and leaf-cut tobacco rolling at his feet, were colder than ice.

“The entirety of Rupert and the Fleet Street newspapers would shout about the true nature of the dignified Duke of Cornwall. What could be more ridiculous than the faces of you and me decorating the cover of The Examiner?”

“You brat. How dare you say that!”

“The one who needs to exercise restraint is not me, but you, Father.”

The Duke of Cornwall trembled, but he no longer raised his hand. The eyes that had been filled only with rage moments ago now held clear hesitation.

A sneer, unable to be hidden, leaked out. Aaron wiped the continuously flowing blood haphazardly and violently kicked a book that was in his way. The book, its cover torn by the rough kick, rolled violently before being shoved into a corner. The Duke of Cornwall, speechless at his eldest son’s depravity, trembled in shock.

“It is best to do everything in moderation.”

His cool gaze shifted to the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Aaron tilted his chin slightly and smiled with a tilted head. In front of the mirror stood a madman with blood smeared all over his forehead and hair.

“Anyone seeing this would think I had been shot in a duel.”

The laughter of the man seeing his hideous reflection in the mirror echoed throughout the drawing room.

✧ ✧ ✧

The room where the war had ended was dark and peaceful.

At the sound of rustling, the man lying on the chaise longue blinked slowly.

“It’s distracting, so just stop and leave.”

“…I am sorry.”

“I wonder if everyone these days thinks my words are merely dessert…”

Thud—

A book thrown with all his might hit the other’s broad back and bounced off. Only then did the person cleaning up the fragments slowly stand up. Their eyes met, but Aaron, who had thrown the book, pretended not to notice and placed his hand on his forehead with a nonchalant expression.

“Are you awake?”

“I wasn’t asleep to begin with.”

The hand brushing back his blood-dried hair was irritable. The wounds torn by the statue and cane were swollen red with blood beading in places, and his body was covered in bruises. Caliven’s eyes sank darkly as he looked at him.

“Are you alright?”

“How sudden of you to ask.”

“Still, you must treat them. The wounds will fester if left alone.”

“Who are you saying that to?”

“Brother.”

Aaron laughed with an incredulous expression as he looked at his brother’s worried face. The face of the one rambling was just as much of a mess as his own. It was because he had blocked their father’s sudden intrusion first. Even a renowned soldier was powerless before the violence of blood. Aaron waved his hand with an annoyed look toward his more wretchedly broken brother.

“Just bring the box.”

“Brother, the Duke is still in the mansion. If he comes up again…”

“Instruct the servants to clean up and just leave.”

Though it was worry based on affection, there was no mercy. Aaron cut him off sharply and pointed to the box overturned on the console. It was a box containing cigars rolled with the Turkish opium he usually enjoyed, as well as pipes used for adding leaves or pills. Caliven watched his expression for a long while before cautiously speaking.

“Why don’t you stop for today? You’ve smoked enough. It is not good for your health.”

“Caliven.”

In the air that froze instantly, Caliven gazed silently at his brother. His heart broke helplessly at the sight of him so broken and worn out that there was nowhere left to lean.

“Do I…”

A pale blue flame blazed. It was a color that reminded one of someone, and a color that contained hatred toward someone.

“…need your permission?”

“…I am sorry.”

“If you intend to say something arrogant, shut your mouth and bring the box.”

Caliven Wisfield knew that his brother was exercising a rare amount of patience. After hesitating and parting his lips several times, he eventually could not overcome Aaron’s stubbornness and turned toward the console where the box lay.

“…”

The hand reaching for the pipe box was heavy.

Seeing the bottles containing unknown powders and liquids and the pipes inside the half-open box, Caliven’s eyes wrinkled in pain. He knew well that the drug was sickening the soul of his precious brother.

Only after the last unwelcome guest had left did perfect silence finally arrive. After confirming once more that no one was in his room, Aaron leisurely reached for the nest table. His face, humming an unidentified song, felt much softer than before.

「Lord, have mercy on me.」

Passing the rounded edges, he reached a bit further. He felt the texture of a box. His humming grew louder with satisfaction. His fingers, following the rhythm, moved slowly. He flipped the latch and opened the lid. The hand rummaging between the pipes and cigars stopped at some point. Because the effects of the drug had not worn off, Aaron fumbled several times before finally gripping the object. Even then, the humming did not stop.

「Save me.」

The object he took from the box was an old carving knife. He then reached his other hand beneath the cushion. The hand wandering through the maze stopped again. He had found the object. His body, intoxicated by the drugs and the song, swayed lightly. Soon, a piece of wood carved with countless knife strokes emerged. Though not yet refined, the sculpture had reached the stage where the basic outline was set. His eyes narrowed slightly over an expression of joy.

「This body prays earnestly.」

With an expression of complete ease, Aaron lay stretched out upon the plush bed. From this moment on, the time belonged entirely to him. His humming drifted on, lingering without end. Due to the influence of the drugs, his Latin pronunciation was slurred, making it difficult to discern. His hair, damp with sweat and blood, lay haphazardly across his forehead.

“Deliver me.”

The chandelier on the ceiling shone within its brilliant patterns. Eyes of a blue that shone even brighter focused on a small piece of art.

Slowly.

As if he were the only thing that existed.

The right hand holding the carving tool began to move with practiced skill. The sharp tip of the blade dug between the carvings to create a more exquisite shape. His smile deepened.

After carving, refining, and carving again several times, the relief of the image he had first envisioned in his mind took shape. That ecstatic moment when imagination became reality was incomparable to the satisfaction provided by opium.

Art always delivered him from the gutter. As the sculpture was refined, a peaceful aura gradually settled over his once fierce and violent expression.

“…Deliver me.”

The only sounds were the low humming and the noise of wood being carved away.

✧ ✧ ✧

William IV was not as wise as his brother, George IV, but he was well aware of the limitations of ascending the throne at a late age.

In the power struggle between the Tories and the Whigs, which had grown more intense following the reform of the election laws, he often hosted royal events to promote political stability between the two factions. Sporting events such as the Epsom Derby, frequently hosted by the royal family during the London Season, were part of such efforts.

One night, unable to sleep easily, William decided he should hold a unique event ahead of this year’s London Season. He immediately summoned the leaders of the Tories and the Whigs separately and proposed a hunting competition.

Usually, grouse hunting was the custom in summer, but due to the avian cholera that had struck since last year, the bird population was poor, and the fox was selected as the final quarry.

Considering that fox hunting typically took place at the onset of winter, this was excessively early; furthermore, hunting events had recently been disappearing from official circles on the grounds that they evoked a sense of class disparity. However, this time, the King’s will was strong: he wished to arrange a meeting of harmony between the two political forces—and further, a reconciliation between the Tories and the Whigs—in preparation for the war-like debates preceding the House of Commons election in a few months.

Of course, expectations are always prone to be missed.

The result of opening the floodgates was not noble governance, but a wasteful fight over who would host the competition first. The rift between Cornwall and Devonshire was deeper than William IV had anticipated, and after a fight between the two leaders that lasted nearly a month, the aging monarch eventually regretted his decision deeply and threw out a very careless suggestion.

“Cast the dice to determine the order!”

It was the moment a die, carved from 500-year-old oak and thrown haphazardly by the King, decided fate.

Worburn House, established on the eastern estate of Northampton, was one of the Duke of Cornwall’s most cherished country houses, famous for the vast forests that covered the surrounding area. Winklear Forest, which encircled Worburn, rivaled the royal Woodstock estate in terms of the quality of game and the richness of the land.

The mansion was bustling with people who had gathered from all over since morning. Fine horses grazed leisurely throughout the estate, catching their breath, and high-bred foxhounds frolicked in the expansive gardens. Due to the result of the dice game, only the house servants were frantic.

Bernard Austin, the house steward of the Duke of Cornwall’s family, who was welcoming a scale of event and a number of guests that surpassed any previous hosting, had been rushing about without a moment’s rest since dawn. For nearly two months, none of the house servants had been able to properly rest or sleep.

“Bernard, Bernard!”

The Duke of Cornwall, the winner of the dice game, called him in an agitated voice. The old butler, who had been directing the tea settings for guests in the dining room, immediately approached his master.

“You called for me, Your Grace.”

“Where is Aaron? The royal party will arrive shortly; what is the meaning of this!”

Despite having forcibly dragged him from London to Northampton, the Duke’s anger toward his son, who had vanished since morning, echoed up to the ceiling. Having already ransacked the mansion and the rooms once, the Duke of Cornwall was holding a small wooden sculpture he had found somewhere.

“If he is holed up somewhere doing opium again, I truly will not let it slide today.”

Bernard the steward closed his eyes once and opened them before continuing.

“The young master went out this morning to survey the hunting grounds.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“For what reason would I dare utter a lie to the Duke?”

Contrary to the content, there was not a shred of confidence in the end of his sentence. The young heir of Cornwall had indeed gone to the hunting grounds, but his purpose was different. The last sight Bernard had seen was the young master entering the forest with a courtesan he had brought to the mansion last night.

“Truly?”

Under the fierce gaze of the old Duke, who looked at him with suspicion, Bernard nodded with an even less confident expression.

“Even while doing something like this?”

Unable to contain his rage, the Duke violently threw the sculpture he was holding. His gaze, looking at the sculpture that had instantly become trash on the floor, was stained with loathing. It was a color identical to someone else’s.

“This is a headache. I cannot understand. How can the eldest son of the Duke of Cornwall be interested in such vulgar work? What is he lacking? A fellow who has everything, doing a mere thing like this—!”

Bernard silently watched his master, who was having a fit of temper. Instead of offering useless interference, he responded quickly to calm the head of the house who was veering toward the extreme.

“I shall instruct them to find the young master.”

“Bring him back before the King arrives. Tell him that if he does not show his face, I shall disown him!”

After issuing the threat, the Duke of Cornwall turned and left the dining room. Thump, thump. The footsteps of his anger echoed fiercely. Watching this, Bernard let out a long-suppressed sigh.

“It would be better if he could contain his anger just a little more.”

Even if Aaron returned on time, there was a problem. Due to the violence of a few days ago, it was difficult to call Aaron’s appearance decent, even as a white lie. He had been hit so hard that the swelling on his right cheek had only recently subsided, and various parts of his skin were stained with bruises, leaving no spot unscathed.

Until then, the Duke had tended to hit areas that were not visible, but this time, there was not even such consideration. It was unknown what had further provoked that violent head of the house.

“Lord.”

Bernard placed a hand on his forehead, imagining Aaron’s room, which must have been made a mess by the Duke of Cornwall’s rampage. It was obvious that the young master, who was equally ill-tempered, would explode upon returning to see his room.

✧ ✧ ✧

“The weather is hot.”

Pushing through the brush that covered the promenade, MacQuan shielded his forehead from the sun. Although it was still morning, the temperature was quite high. His handsome face distorted under the scorching sun.

“Whew.”

MacQuan stood for a moment and looked back at the path he had walked. In the distance, the grand scale of Worburn House boasted a splendid and magnificent beauty.

Suddenly.

He felt a strange sensation, as if time had stopped.

As trade began with various continents and the economy developed alongside various political and social movements and shifts in consciousness through the Industrial Revolution, the Empire was undergoing rapid changes. In the struggle between the past and the future, as goods and equipment unimaginable in the past were developed and commercialized, many countries were deviating from the path established during the old monarchical era.

In this rapidly changing time, the majesty of Worburn House, which preserved past glory like a specimen, was like a certain obsession that the owner of the house, the Duke of Cornwall, could not let go of.

A foolish Duke, captivated by the past and unable to see the present.

“An old man like a lingering ghost, unable to forget the old days.”

MacQuan muttered cynically and turned back to continue his walk. In the meantime, the sun had grown hotter, to the point where sweat was flowing. Eventually, unable to bear the stuffiness, he loosened the knot of his cravat.

The reason he had come out to the promenade was with the intention of catching a brief nap away from people. While there was no reason he couldn’t endure it if he had to, the accumulated fatigue was considerable, having worked at the trading company all last night and departed since dawn.

Unlike the Parliament, which had a season before opening, there was no particular dormant period for a trader. Especially in the few months before the monsoon blew, there were many things to attend to, from goods to ships, for sailing preparations. In such a situation, the representative of the trading company being away for a few days was, in fact, something he felt sorry for regarding his partner, Robert. Considering the balls scheduled one after another, the itinerary of wandering outside was certainly excessive.

“To think it’s this difficult just to find a place to take a nap.”

Brushing his hand over the long, tangled vines and the flower buds blooming between them, MacQuan took another step. Beads of sweat had already formed on his high forehead. It was a superb landscape, but not to his taste. As the gardener had said—that the distance within the garden, excluding the forest, was nearly 10 miles—the path seemed to have no end. At this rate, he should have come on horseback.

The brush and tree leaves shook noisily following the direction of the wind. As MacQuan turned a corner, a suspicious sound reached his ears.

“…is, you know.”

“No… you are… more of a…”

“…it tickles… your hand… is, you know.”

At the sound of disordered breathing and secret laughter, the hand that had been rustling through the thick brush stopped abruptly.

“…People?”

MacQuan reflexively turned toward where the sound came from. A clump of brush a few steps away was shaking frantically. It was of such intensity that it would be difficult to attribute it to the wind, even as a joke. Meanwhile, embarrassing whispers and moans continued to flow without pause.

Oh dear.

MacQuan let out a short sigh. If he went further, he might encounter an embarrassing scene between a gentleman and a lady. It was the moment he decided to return and immediately turned his body.

Snap.

A dry twig stepped on by his shoe broke.

“…”

“…”

At the unusually loud sound, the dense conversation was abruptly cut off. It was clear they had noticed the presence of an unwelcome guest who had interrupted their secret time.

‘This is awkward.’

Unfortunately, the Goddess of Fate was not on his side today. It was the moment he thought it would be better to leave the scene quickly.

Bang—!

At the ear-splitting gunshot, all movement stopped instantly.

MacQuan had to ponder for a while the nature of the sound he heard and the sensation that had narrowly passed his leg just now. It was that unrealistic a situation.

“…”

With a completely stiffened expression, he slowly turned his body. His gaze landed on the brush that had been shaking mercilessly until a moment ago. At the figure of someone visible through it, MacQuan unconsciously held his breath.

“E-Earl, there is someone there…”

“Wait… a little mouse has entered my garden.”

The man, who was staggering yet accurately aiming a pistol at him, was undoubtedly the one who had delivered an unforgettable insult at the Spencer Earl family residence a few days ago.

‘That brat!’

Bang—

Before he could even utter a curse, a second gunshot rang out.

This time, too, it was at his feet. The bullet from the muzzle embedded itself deeply into the ground right next to his shoe. The faint heat informed him that the shock from a moment ago was real. He wondered if it was a hunting rifle, but judging by the appropriate length and the shape of the body, it was clearly a dueling pistol.

“Kyaaaah—!”

Taking advantage of the brief lull, the woman, trembling in fear, clutched her dress and ran out of the promenade. It happened in an instant.

“She’s gone.”

The man, who looked at the spot where the woman had left for a moment, soon muttered gloomily and slowly walked out of the brush. He was dressed in a lounge suit and gloves. Leaves were scattered messily over his pale blonde hair.

“She ran away because of you.”

Contrary to the lips curling into a smile, his eyes were cold. The man didn’t even seem to intend to tidy his messily wrinkled clothes. It was a familiar sense of déjà vu. The young heir of Cornwall playfully spun the pistol with one hand and took a deep drag of a cigar with the other. A low laugh permeated through the smoke of pleasure.

‘Madman.’

At the sight of a completely deranged Aaron Wizfeldon, MacQuan silently gnashed his teeth. Though anger surged, he first had to calm the mad dog.

“My apologies, Lord Wizfeldon. I lost my way while walking the promenade and committed a rudeness. Sincerely…”

The man, receiving the insincere apology, narrowed his eyes.

“Drug-dealing mouse.”

“…!”

It was the first insult he had heard since acquiring a title. MacQuan’s expression stiffened for a moment. Normally, regardless of the title, it was a level that would warrant an immediate challenge to a duel, but the situation was not favorable. No further commotion should occur at an event where the royal family was present.

“…Your words are harsh.”

While he suppressed his anger with extreme patience, amidst the giggling laughter, the black muzzle was already pointing accurately at his heart. The unpleasantness was brief. At the renewed threat, MacQuan naturally raised both hands.

“Lord Wizfeldon, please calm down for now. I am…”

“A mouse sneaked in… the management is a mess. Should I fire the gardener… what should I do?”

The corners of Aaron’s mouth, humming a song, curved to the limit. His face looked as if he could not bear the joy. The hazy eyes, the languid smile, even the eerie atmosphere. He had clearly taken opium.

‘That lunatic.’

No matter how arrogant the son of a Duke might be, it was truly unbelievable that he would use drugs even at an event attended by the Royal Family. In a life-or-death situation, MacQuan resolved to persuade the lunatic before him as much as possible. Of course.

“Earl. I—”

Bang—

“The weather is lovely…”

It was a complete failure, without even a chance to try. Unlike before, where it stood on the boundary between a joke and a failure, the third bullet accurately grazed his cheek. At the throbbing sensation, MacQuan slowly cupped his cheek with his palm. One or two drops of red blood gathered over the thin scratch. It was at a level where it was difficult to consider it a joke any longer.

“Lord Wizfeldon!”

MacQuan shouted with a face that had completely lost its composure. At the movement of the man pulling the trigger for a fourth shot, even someone as experienced as he was could not help but be flustered.

“Today is fox hunting…”

Regardless of the commotion, Aaron whispered slowly with the cigar in his mouth. Due to being properly intoxicated by the drugs, his gestures lacked strength.

“A fox called out in an untimely season needs prey.”

Though there was some distance, the whispering voice was excessively clear.

The ‘prey’ likely referred to him.

Immediately, the sound of a bullet being chambered was heard again.

‘How many shots was that?’

MacQuan quickly calculated the number of bullets the man had fired so far and the number of bullets remaining.

“Ah, there’s one shot left.”

The heir of the Duke of Cornwall, reading his inner thoughts, provided the answer with a nonchalant expression. Immediately, the long muzzle pointed accurately at MacQuan’s heart.

“…You have completely lost your mind.”

At the sensation of his hair standing on end, MacQuan naturally raised both hands to shoulder height.

“Haha, you’re right. I smoked a bit of opium. I might be in a properly mad state…”

“How much did you smoke to be in this state? The King is coming. This is a matter that can never be easily overlooked at a gathering attended by the Royal Family.”

“I’m so scared I’m tearing up.”

“Listen to me. I am not saying this because I want to live, but sincerely for your own sake, Earl.”

“I’m truly grateful that you’re worrying about me.”

In his giggling appearance, there was a clear intention to hit the mark. Calculations ran quickly in an instant. MacQuan gnashed his teeth and moved his body slightly.

If he were to be hit anyway, it was important not to sustain a fatal wound. An arm or a leg wouldn’t be too bad. If he survived, he would surely drown that lunatic in the Thames one day. While pouring out endless curses, MacQuan’s complexion had long since turned pale white.

“Stop this.”

Yes. If only I survive, I’ll stuff so much opium into your mouth that you’ll die of acute shock. Just as you’ve heard of my notoriety, to your heart’s content.

“Don’t worry too much. My shooting skills aren’t particularly good…”

At the sight of his opponent completely frozen, Aaron smiled even more joyfully. His pale hair shone brightly under the pouring sunlight. It was a golden light that swallowed the sun entirely. Without time to acknowledge that brilliance, the sound of the cylinder turning followed. As if someone were slowly winding a clock, every scene flowed slowly. The sound of swallowing dry saliva sounded exceptionally loud.

“If you’re lucky, you might be hit glancingly and crawl away…”

If only I survive.

I’ll definitely…

“Young master!”

At that moment, a shout filled with horror echoed through the promenade. The old butler, looking as if he might collapse at any second, was running toward them breathlessly.

“Young master, young master!”

A scream that shook the heavens echoed throughout the entire forest.

“Farewell.”

Damn it.

At that same moment, MacQueen shut his eyes tight, anticipating the terrible pain that was about to surge through him. As expected, he should never have come to a ridiculous hunting competition like this.

Bang—!

As the final gunshot rang out across the woods, the branches and leaves shook violently. A flock of birds, which had barely returned, soared high into the sky once more.

✧ ✧ ✧

The main event took place after a light luncheon. At the entrance to the forest, dozens of foxhounds and gentlemen in formal attire wearing derby hats were gathered to catch a red fox.

Though the weather was warm, the masters and hound handlers, dressed in scarlet coats to maintain formality, moved busily to lead the dogs. They were the true hunters who would deliver the final blow to the fox.

Amidst the pre-departure commotion, a silent war continued—men keeping a wary eye on members of the opposing party while clustering with their own groups.

“Whoa.”

The horse, sensing the excited atmosphere, shook its head. The Duke of Devonshire’s eyes filled with curiosity as he watched MacQueen skillfully stroke the horse’s mane.

“Baronet Enfield. What happened to your cheek?”

Whoa. The touch stroking the horse’s neck and mane remained relaxed.

“I was scratched by a branch during a walk.”

“My goodness, shouldn’t you have it treated properly?”

“It isn’t severe, so it is fine. Something like this heals quickly if left alone.”

Feeling the gaze of the Duke of Cornwall from a distance, MacQueen smiled inwardly. He must be burning up inside. He is likely watching closely to see what words will come out of my mouth. Contrary to his words, the wound on one cheek was quite noticeable. He had intentionally left it untreated.

“I am truly sorry.”

At Worburn House, where he had returned for treatment, the Duke of Cornwall had maintained a high-handed attitude from the moment he realized the victim of his heir’s outburst was not a high-ranking noble. That arrogance, attempting to crush the opponent with rank, was strikingly similar to the behavior of his son.

“The King will arrive soon, and the event is nearly upon us. If the Baronet does not wish to make a scene, I suggest we let this matter rest. I shall send a separate letter in due course.”

“It wasn’t a serious injury, so what does it matter? I was simply concerned about the Earl’s condition. Well, I hesitate to say this, but it seems to be related to the business I handle.”

“Baronet Enfield seems to be far too interested in the affairs of others.”

An heir to a dukedom who tried to kill someone while intoxicated on opium. It was prime fodder for the press. Mocking the old Duke’s face as it crumpled like a piece of paper in his mind, MacQueen leisurely proposed a deal.

“Do not worry too much. I am not demanding an apology. Nor do I wish to receive one. I will simply cover this up in exchange for a favor I may one day ask of the Duke.”

The beauty of chess lies in the fact that one cannot relax until the very end. Sometimes, an unexpected rook swallows the queen and king, plunging the board into ruin. One must not make a deal hastily. Efficiency is highest when the most advantageous card is played at the most disadvantageous moment to shatter the board.

MacQueen Lester was a skillful businessman. Specifically, an English businessman who succeeded through the most despicable means—making money by selling opium with the lives of an unspecified multitude as collateral. He looked forward to the day he would eventually fish the opium-soaked corpse of Aaron Wizfeldon out of the Thames.

“…Keep in mind that the favor must be of a level appropriate to your station.”

“Earl Vispilt is not attending even an event like today.”

Looking at the second son assisting the Duke of Cornwall, the Duke of Devonshire clicked his tongue with a look of disbelief. MacQueen, snapping out of his reminiscence, shifted his gaze. He noticed the second son of the Cornwall family, who had taken the place of Aaron Wizfeldon, who was absent for health reasons.

Caliven Wisfield, the second son of the Duke of Cornwall, could not inherit the title due to primogeniture and thus chose a military career. Regardless of the reason, he was a promising officer recognized for his integrity and competence.

“The eldest and second son should have been swapped.”

Tsk-tsking, the old Duke gently pulled the reins. While he called it pathetic, his face was full of vague envy and regret. Devonshire, who had only three daughters, had no direct male heir.

“The legitimate heir is a complete mess, isn’t he?”

“That is true.”

A vile conversation ensued. While moderately humoring the old Duke’s whims, MacQueen thought back to the man who had pointed a gun at him a few hours ago.

‘He’s not sane. He was more of a degenerate and completely mad than I thought.’

Had he truly lost his mind to opium addiction? He couldn’t be certain. To call him a mere addict, there were clearly moments of lucidity. Even while thinking of him as a class of person not to be associated with, an unpleasant and stifling feeling endlessly tightened around MacQueen’s neck and heart. Perhaps it was because the afterimage of those strangely bright sky-blue eyes remained.

“More than that, it would have been nice if Lady Elisha had come along.”

To erase the uncomfortable sensation, MacQueen hurried to change the subject. Thinking of Elisha, who had returned to her sickbed after last night’s seizure, he checked the leather pouch hanging from the saddle. It contained simple hunting tools for catching a fox.

“It is just a light cold, so she will recover soon.”

The expression in the response was dark. Seeing the Duke of Devonshire like that, MacQueen also silently adjusted his hat.

“The weather is lovely.”

“It is.”

“It is on days like this that one tends to let their guard down. It never hurts to be careful.”

The sound of barking hounds echoed throughout the forest. A subtle tension lingered before the start.

“We are about to begin.”

Under the skilled hands of the handlers, dozens of foxhounds were tied and divided into set numbers. Just before the start, an excited atmosphere spread through the entire group.

“I shall have to bring a red fox tail as a gift for Lady Elisha.”

It was customary to gift the tail of the first fox caught to the lady who located the fox, but it was also common to gift it to a lover who could not participate. The Duke of Devonshire paused for a moment, then nodded with an ambiguous expression.

“I shall see your skill this time.”

A moment later, the long blast of the master’s copper horn rang out. It was the start of the fox hunt, which would last for five days.

✧ ✧ ✧

Bang—

A gunshot rang out loudly. The leaves filling the forest vibrated violently.

Woof woof woof—

Dozens of hounds rushed toward the animal that had fallen, hit by the shot. A group of hunting assistants ran to check the condition of the prey. After a while, one of them blew a horn. It was the signal confirming that the shot prey was indeed a fox.

“It’s over!”

“A direct hit. Impressive.”

“You’ve already caught five.”

Amidst the hearty laughter and conversation, the master turned his horse toward a mound. It was a space prepared for rest. Following the master’s lead, the participants also turned their horses one by one and moved. MacQueen let out a dry laugh with a disinterested face at the sight of them flocking together. They were people who did nothing for themselves if there was no one to assist them.

‘They only know how to fire a gun; I wonder if they can even cut a tail properly like that.’

In an actual hunt, the master and hound handlers led everything, and the participating royals and nobles simply rode their horses while engaging in refined conversation, finally aiming their guns in the direction the master pointed. It was a truly tedious and meaningless hunt.

“Baronet, come over here quickly.”

“Sir Lester, what are you doing over there?”

At the sound of someone calling him from afar, MacQueen pulled the reins and turned his horse toward where the nobles were gathered.

“I am coming.”

Time flowed tediously through the repeating schedule.

Accidents were like the unpredictable pranks of a god.

It was around the third day of the hunt when Aljef, one of Klaus Diugen’s most capable secretaries, made a hurried visit to Worburn House. The young secretary, who had ridden his horse all the way to Winklear Forest in one breath, handed a letter to his employer as soon as he dismounted.

“Captain James has sent an urgent letter.”

Due to the secretary’s urgent tone, the attention of the nobles on the adjacent mound focused on one spot.

“Over here.”

Leaving the curious gazes behind, MacQueen took the letter and read the contents quickly.

“There was a friction with the customs officials just before the Queenville departed, and some of the goods and opium quantities were seized. President Robert mentioned that he believes you must check this personally.”

“…….”

MacQueen’s expression was extremely dark as he read the letter that had crossed the sea. “Hmm,” a troubled groan escaped him. After thinking for a moment, MacQueen immediately gave instructions to Aljef.

“First, return to the office immediately and determine the scale of the loss caused by the change in order volume and the current status of payments. I will return to the office after meeting with the representative of Jive Company and Member Burrend.”

“I have already called for a carriage. You may leave immediately.”

“Fine. James will arrive within this week, so please prepare so that Robert and I can depart for Liverpool tomorrow. I need to tidy up my things, so you leave first.”

“Understood.”

As soon as the order was given, Aljef immediately turned his horse around. Having settled the commotion, MacQueen approached the Duke of Devonshire.

“Is it urgent?”

The Duke of Devonshire, who was drinking tea while being served by an accompanying servant, asked without turning his gaze.

“It seems there has been friction between the newly appointed customs officials in Canton and the local personnel. Some items were seized, and a significant amount of tea leaves that were supposed to come in this time were held at the port and could not be loaded on this voyage. It seems the damage suffered by other trading houses, not just Klaus Diugen, is substantial.”

“I must return then.”

“Yes. I intend to verify the scale of the damage as soon as I arrive.”

“Ensure the safety of our merchants as well.”

MacQueen nodded with a regretful face. The situation was not good enough to force himself to complete the hunting schedule.

“I shall have to postpone gifting the fox tail to Lady Elisha.”

“Not at all. Business is always the most important. Elisha will certainly understand.”

Expressing his polite gratitude to the Duke of Devonshire, who offered comfort while pretending not to know the truth, MacQueen picked up his formal jacket.

“Baronet.”

The Duke of Devonshire, who had been watching MacQueen silently for a moment, spoke slowly.

“Visit my private residence as soon as the matter is resolved. I wish to discuss Elisha’s affairs with you.”

Those words carried many implications. Having grasped the other’s intention, MacQueen hid his expression and bowed deeply.

“I shall visit you immediately.”

“I will be waiting. Be sure to inform the King as well.”

Leaving in the middle of an event attended by the Royal Family was a great discourtesy, but no one criticized him. Aside from the Duke of Cornwall, who vehemently opposed the opium trade, the hardline Tory group was also quiet. It was a tacit acceptance. Mocking the contradictory atmosphere, MacQueen turned his steps toward the King and Queen, who were resting.

The glossy black mane swayed with the direction of the wind.

The touch adjusting the reins carried an unusual urgency. Frowning, MacQueen drove the horse more violently to find the exit to leave the forest.

The problem was that he had strayed from the path in an attempt to go even slightly faster. His expectation that cutting across would allow him to exit more quickly missed the mark completely.

“This garden is practically the size of a small country.”

His irritable voice was drowned out by the sound of horse hooves. To reduce the wind resistance cutting across his cheeks, MacQueen leaned further toward the saddle. He pretended everything was fine, but there were many things to worry about.

The customs officials in Guangzhou were already so corrupt that it was nearly impossible to find someone who didn’t take bribes. Occasionally, a newly appointed official, failing to read the room and citing imperial orders, would swing the sword as they had this time. MacQueen’s patience was starting to run thin with these clumsy rebellions that repeated in regular cycles.

‘I must bring this to a conclusion one way or another.’

He pressed his tightly closed lips even harder.

There were limits to resolving international trade disputes from the position of a simple businessman.

‘I should get my money’s worth.’

Even if every friction was resolved with money and power, the same problems repeated whenever a new person arrived, and the losses always fell upon the company and the merchants.

‘I must have power.’

Considering the taxes he had paid to the state, this kind of neglect did not fit the profit-and-loss calculation. It was time to grow the organization and move more strategically. Or, someone at the helm needed to possess strong power and authority. While this incident might cause losses for the trading house, in the long run, it might be an opportunity to increase the cohesion of the individual actors.

As he visualized future countermeasures in sequence, MacQueen tightened the reins further.

“It’s uselessly wide.”

Regardless of his deepening worries, the exit simply would not appear. Just as he thought it would be better to run across the Salisbury Plain, he saw a partially groomed path in the distance. Seeing that the endless shrubs and thickets were ending, it was clearly the path to the exit.

“That must be it.”

Even while driving the horse frantically, MacQueen breathed a sigh of relief. The wind brushed his cheek warmly. The sweetness, which didn’t fit the situation, resembled the smile of his naive fiancée.

The sound of horse hooves running along the long path echoed loudly. It was the moment he increased the intensity of the whip in his urgency.

Rustle.

In an unexpected place, accompanied by the sound of brush, a black object suddenly leaped out in front of him. It happened in an instant.

“Ugh—!”

By the time he realized the intruder was a red fox, which he had hunted tediously for the past three days, the startled horse had already reared its head high.

Neigh—!

“Damn it!”

As the excited horse’s upper body rose, its front hooves went high. To make matters worse, the fox hiding in the brush also sensed danger and revealed itself. Without a moment to balance against the sudden tilt, the excited horse convulsed and shook its body. The snorting sounds indicated it was extremely startled and agitated. The fox, which had been driven to the limit by horn blasts and hounds for days, also bared its teeth and began to bark fiercely.

“Calm down! Calm…”

His attempt to quickly grab the reins and press his body close to calm the horse failed, as the horse perceived MacQueen’s actions as an attack and reacted violently. Neigh— neigh— realizing its body was still not free, the horse shook itself again and reared its front legs once more. The tilt was more abrupt than the first time.

“…Ugh!”

Due to the violent movement, the strength in the hand holding the reins finally gave way, and simultaneously, his body flew high into the air. It was a terrible sensation of floating. A bad premonition struck his mind. The horse’s cry, resembling a scream, rang out noisily.

‘Damn it.’

Until the moment before the fall, MacQueen sincerely regretted and regretted again coming to Worburn House. Perhaps the incident of being shot at by that degenerate on the first day had been a signal of disaster.

He should not have come.

He grit his teeth and shut his eyes tight. He should not have come. He should have left this place when he was threatened by that madman.

“I will bring back a wonderful gift.”

“I’ll be waiting, MacQueen.”

Just before losing consciousness, MacQueen recalled Elisha’s face, smiling shyly and happily at the promise of a fox tail as a gift.

“Medicine-selling mouse.”

Actually, the image of someone smiling mischievously even before that flashed by, but it was so momentary that he couldn’t even recall the name.

Thud—

Immediately, an immense pain hit his head, followed by a blackout. His body, bounced off the ground by the impact of the fall, rolled violently across the grass before disappearing down a hill.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Phew.”

The hands pushing through the lush thickets were full of irritation. His sweat-soaked hair appeared a darker shade than usual.

Bang—

At that moment, a gunshot echoed from afar.

“…….”

Aaron turned his body toward the direction of the sound. The sound of excited dogs barking rang out. Judging by the distance, it was a considerably far-off location. Since they would have entered Winklear Forest for the hunt, it was practically the opposite direction of his current position. Aaron expressed his displeasure toward the group that had been hunting recklessly in his space for several days.

“So noisy…”

Breaking a dry branch, Aaron increased his pace. Because there were more eyes watching, his movements were twice as restricted as usual, and he had to walk through unmanaged brush for nearly two hours, so it was natural to be angry. The leather pouch containing tools and simple food felt exceptionally heavy today.

The hand wiping the sweat from his smooth bridge of the nose was slow and indifferent. Even when his fingertips touched the area around the wound several times, there was not even a grimace. The traces of violence visible between the features of his neat face were an emotional riot and excretion poured out by someone—something no one would believe unless they saw it firsthand.

A gust of wind swept through the forest once more, shaking the entire woodland. Fine strands of hair fluttered helplessly in its wake. As the cool breeze chilled his sweat, Aaron’s hurried pace gradually steadied.

“…….”

Aaron silently opened his right hand. His long, straight fingers were so pale they were almost translucent, yet they were covered in old scars and calluses. Scars from blades and sharp tools. A satisfied smile played across his face as he looked down at his hand.

Scars were the medals of survival.

They were proof that he had endured yesterday, was enduring today, and could endure tomorrow. They were also the only escape route to fend off the boredom that made him want to commit suicide at any moment.

“Hmm.”

Now in a better mood, Aaron slung his bag back over his shoulder and quickened his pace. Thanks to the scars that flamboyantly decorated his face, his father wouldn’t have looked for him for several days. The Grand Duke of England, who was excessively conscious of public perception, would never show evidence of his own lack of virtue in a formal setting. That was why Aaron had let himself be beaten quietly, without resistance.

A chuckle escaped him. Aaron was deeply satisfied with the few days of freedom he had gained, even with very important work still remaining.

Rustle.

At that moment, a sound from nearby made him stop in his tracks. Recognizing an intruder, Aaron’s expression instantly turned fierce. This was his space, where no one was allowed to enter. Any insect that crawled into his territory had to be killed. There were no exceptions, at any time. Aaron drew the pistol he always carried and aimed it toward the source of the sound. His murderous intent and tension spiked to their limit.

Slide—

The foot revealed through the brush was too small and blunt to be human.

“What is this?”

His elegant face momentarily twisted in irritation. Upon seeing the identity of the intruder, Aaron put the pistol back into his coat with a somewhat deflated expression.

“Ha……”

The animal that emerged with an unnatural gait was a red fox, a sacrifice for the frenzied hunting event. Because it was still young, the red of its fur wasn’t very deep. It was clearly a cub forcibly sourced from somewhere for the competition. Its right leg, soaked in blood, had likely been hit by a gun or bitten by a hound. The way its body trembled suggested it was terrified.

“You ran quite far.”

A hollow laugh escaped his lips. Standing still for a moment to look down at the wounded fox, Aaron searched his bag and tossed it some lightly cooked meat. It was food he had ordered a servant to prepare to tide him over during his work.

“…….”

Despite this half-hearted kindness, the small beast could not easily approach the suddenly appeared food. It seemed wary of the figure before it, unable to flee yet unable to draw closer. After watching this for a while, one of Aaron’s eyebrows arched sharply.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll survive.”

His interest ended there. With a face devoid of lingering attachment, Aaron turned away. He knew cooked food wasn’t good for wild animals, but even that was simply the beast’s luck. In the first place, he had little interest in anything other than himself. It made no difference whether it was a human or an animal.

It was just as he had walked a few more steps, suppressing his irritation. Another object entering his field of vision from a short distance caught Aaron’s attention again. It was a grassy patch only a few steps away from where he had found the fox.

“What now?”

A sigh escaped him unconsciously. The identity of the suspicious object was, this time, indeed a human. There was no horse, as if they had fled somewhere, but judging by the attire, it was certainly a participant in the hunting competition.

“How did he get all the way here?”

With a bewildered expression, Aaron looked across the dense ridge to the forest on the opposite side. The Ramdiff Forest where they were was in the completely opposite direction of the Winklear Forest, the hunting route, and the distance between the two forests was immense. He must have lost his way, wandered for a long time, and then fallen from his horse. Moreover, to have come this far meant he had taken a wrong turn in the most absolute sense.

“Idiot.”

Tsking softly, Aaron languidly rubbed the back of his neck.

Normally, he would have ignored him and passed by, but unfortunately, the location was poor. Near where the man lay was the most important passage leading to a place that must never be revealed. Though he had spent a long time concealing it with all sorts of brush, if someone were determined to scour the forest to find that man, there was no reason they wouldn’t discover this spot.

“What kind of idiot……”

He threw his bag to the ground with a rough hand. Anger surged at the violation of his own space and time.

“Is he dead?”

To verify the intruder’s identity, Aaron pushed the fallen man’s face with his foot. The way he flinched suggested he was alive. With a rough kick, the injured man’s face, buried in leaves, was partially revealed.

“……Huh.”

The moment he confirmed the appearance, even Aaron Wizfeldon couldn’t help but be taken aback.

He scanned the fallen man with rare bewilderment. He had a vague memory of those dark brown hairs and a masculine, handsome appearance that remained striking even with eyes closed. The reason he didn’t remember clearly was partly due to his indifference toward others, but largely because the few times they had met, he had been heavily intoxicated by opium.

“Hmm.”

Swallowing a low breath, Aaron rubbed his chin. No matter how hard he thought, he still couldn’t remember the man’s name. However……

Tap.

He tapped MacQuan’s forehead a couple of times with his dirt-stained shoe. There was not a shred of consideration for the injured man in the crude kicking. The other party seemed to have completely lost consciousness, as he didn’t open his eyes despite the impact.

“……Mouse.”

Leaning forward slightly, Aaron called out to him with a bright smile.

“Yes. The drug-dealing mouse.”

In the end, he couldn’t remember the name. He had heard from Viscount Spencer at a salon that he was an opium merchant, but that was all. Opium dealers were as numerous as the trash rolling around the back alleys of London. A scene of them conversing seemed to flicker in his mind, but he couldn’t recall the content at all. There was another reason why Aaron Wizfeldon vaguely remembered the face of this foolish and dim-witted opium merchant.

The contemptuous gaze that dared to look at him as if he were trash.

Dared.

A crooked smile etched itself onto his violence-stained face. Aaron looked down at the opium merchant, who lay there like a corpse, with an expression of pure delight before standing back up. Even then, the man didn’t move an inch.

“Go sell your drugs across the sea.”

With a benevolent tone, Aaron kicked the pitifully injured man down the hill. Because he was at the edge of a steep slope, the body rolled down easily. A cheerful whistle served as the background music for this ridiculous comedy.

“He rolls quite well.”

For whatever reason, he had no intention of letting others into his space. He had never permitted anyone’s intrusion.

“Oh, dear.”

The man, who had been watching the trash be cleared away with his arms crossed, suddenly frowned. The merchant’s body had stopped halfway down the slope, likely caught on a rock.

“How annoying.”

With a face full of rage, Aaron walked down the slope to kick the intruder the rest of the way. He judged that if he kicked him further down, he would be on the path to Winklear Forest, where anyone would find him.

As Aaron gauged the distance and time, a sudden thought made him turn around. He looked back at the path he had descended and frowned deeply. From where the man had fallen to where he had rolled, red blood was smeared across the grass. It seemed something had torn while he rolled down the hill. It was a sight that looked suspicious to anyone, and a low curse finally escaped his lips.

“It’s filthy.”

Whether the man lived or died didn’t matter, but he declined to be involved in a tedious affair. After a moment’s thought, Aaron reversed his decision to push the stupid intruder to the end of the mound. Whether he died soon from deep wounds or froze to death as the temperature dropped, it was no longer his concern.

He gave a brief glance at MacQuan, who lay awkwardly halfway down the slope, and then retraced his steps. Upon returning, he saw the fox, which still hadn’t left the meat.

“If that fellow dies, you can eat him.”

With a subtle smile, Aaron turned away.

“Enjoy your meal.”

His words were almost affectionately kind. In the steps he took again, there was not a shred of hesitation or delay.

✧ ✧ ✧

The clear sound of stone meeting iron echoed through the space. A sharp chisel and skilled hammering gradually breathed life into the formless stone. The process of creating planes and lines from a blunt mass and gradually building three-dimensionality always trapped him in euphoria.

Marble fragments fell with a clatter in time with the rhythmic sounds. Beads of sweat formed on his straight forehead and soft bridge of his nose. His face was a mess from the stone dust flying with every hammer blow, and the floor was littered with food and drinks packed by a maid. Covered in stone dust, none of the food was in a state to be properly eaten.

For several hours now, Aaron had been immersed in his work without taking a single sip of water. Sculpting always pushed him to his limit, but the moment he carved a soul into the stone, he would reach a state of trance. He thought of nothing—not his family, his father, his title, his status, any rights, or any duties. To Aaron Wizfeldon, sculpting was an addiction more potent than opium.

“Hmm.”

Wiping away sweat haphazardly, Aaron set down his tools and stepped back. This was to check the moment where reality and ideal converged.

Though it was still crude as he hadn’t entered the detailed work, it was enough to grasp the balance. Seen from a step back, the true value of the work revealed itself, freed from the obstructed perspective.

“A bit deeper……”

Aaron meticulously compared the image drawn in his mind with the work carved in stone. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly. His sparkling gaze and soft expression stood in stark contrast to how he looked when intoxicated by opium. After pacing around the marble for a while, he tilted his head with a dissatisfied expression, readjusted his chisel, and approached the statue.

The crude noise began again. Amidst the stone dust and debris, an intense longing became a flame of passion that enveloped him. To Aaron, sculpting was both a desperate yearning and the archetype of the desire he kept hidden deep within. His hands, resuming the work, were relentless.

By the time he returned to Worburn House, the sun had completely set. As he entered the foyer, servants were gathered in the central hall of the first floor with somewhat serious expressions. Sensing an unusual commotion in the air, Aaron handed his coat to a maid and asked,

“Where are the Duke and Calvin?”

“The young master is with the master in the annex.”

“I suppose he’s performing some tricks for the Royal Family.”

“They are having dinner in the annex dining room.”

The maid pretended not to notice the irreverent remark and answered. The old butler, seeing the two of them, walked toward him from a distance. Bernard, seeing Aaron’s slightly damp hair, handed him a soft towel.

“Have you been to the lake again?”

“Mm.”

“Entering the water at night can easily harm your health.”

“Enough of that. More importantly, why is it so noisy?”

At the question, Bernard’s complexion darkened.

“An official came by saying that one of the hunting competition participants cannot be reached.”

“And who might that be?”

His eyebrows, a shade darker than his hair, twitched slightly. Bernard, who had no way of knowing, sighed with a troubled expression and continued.

“It is Baronet MacQueen Lester, the representative of the Klaus Diugen Company. He reportedly left, saying he had urgent business during the competition, and his whereabouts have since become unknown. Only his horse, wandering at the entrance of the walking path, has been found. There has been some commotion over whether he left the estate…… or if he might have fallen from his horse somewhere.”

“Hmm.”

Snorting with an uninterested face, Aaron untied his red cravat and handed it over.

“Why all this fuss over a mere merchant?”

“The Klaus faction has requested confirmation on whether he left his horse on the walking path.”

“He must have been scared of a fox and fled, leaving only his horse. Or perhaps he’s selling opium somewhere.”

“Young master.”

“Who is there that doesn’t know he’s an opium trafficker?”

At the blatant sarcasm, Bernard hurriedly continued, fearing someone might overhear.

“The situation is quite serious. It seems the carriage sent by Sir Lester’s company has been waiting at the main gate. Neither the coachman nor the estate servants remember everyone who came and went from Worburn House throughout the afternoon, so there are many difficulties.”

The hand straightening his stiff shirt collar stopped.

“We plan to organize a group to search the forest as soon as morning comes. Currently, since members of the Royal Family are attending the hunt, the Duke has ordered that there be no commotion. For now, I have told the Klaus Diugen Company to visit again once all schedules are completed.”

“Do not touch Ramdiff Forest.”

“Young master.”

“I’m sure the hounds have already bitten and killed him.”

“Young master, this is Lord Cornwall’s order.”

At the firm words, Aaron’s face finally twisted with irritation.

As soon as the door closed, Aaron violently ripped off his vest and threw it aside. The way he ruffled his hair was equally rough.

It would have been better if he had just thrown him completely down the mound. Or perhaps it would have been better to drag him out of the passage, kill him, and leave him there. No matter which he pondered, it was already too late. Because he had clumsily pushed him down the mound, he might be difficult to find. If they happened to conduct a detailed search of the entire forest, there was a high possibility that the entrance to the cabin would be revealed.

‘This has become a nuisance.’

One thought led to another.

If he hasn’t returned yet, he must still be there. Since he injured his head, he might already be dead. It wouldn’t matter if he died, as long as he died far from ‘that place’…… but even if he had cleaned up roughly, the blood from the head would still be smeared across the grass. There were too many complications.

Should I have killed him?

A murderous glint appeared in his blue eyes.

He could have just killed him and ordered Calvin to dump the body under a bridge in some secluded street.

A ripple of instability stirred in his heart. In his rising anxiety, Aaron quickly opened the drawer of his commode. Inside the drawer, a pipe and opium-filled cigars were neatly arranged. Instead of the luxurious pipe, he chose a cigar for its fast absorption and convenience.

Though his hand trembled slightly while lighting it, he was decisive. When he suffered from severe headaches or anxiety, opium was the best remedy. Dr. Boswell, his Scottish physician, had advised him to stay away from opium, but it was an unrealistic piece of advice.

“Huu.”

As the cigar wrapper burned, the smoke entered quickly. With practiced movements, Aaron repeated the process of inhaling and exhaling the opium. His sharp eyes grew hazy and unfocused, and his unstable, pounding heart found its calm. Leaning his sagging body against the chair, he continued to ponder.

He had to deal with it one way or another. If left like this, it was only a matter of time before his father discovered ‘that place.’

Kill him, or move him.

Either way.

“I really should have killed him.”

A curse, resembling a whisper, flowed between his lips. After a long time, Aaron left the room with staggering steps, carrying a pistol and a frock coat.

The surroundings were silent, enveloped in complete darkness. The night sounds, indistinguishable between the rustle of grass and the chirping of insects, aided the dreamlike sensation. Amidst the tranquil night scenery, a white horse carrying its master was galloping.

“Young master. Please, where are you going at this hour? If the Duke sees you, there will be another uproar.”

“It’s just a walk, why the fuss? You handle it.”

“You’ve already been swimming. What if you happen to meet someone talkative?”

Aaron completely ignored Bernard’s plea to refrain from nighttime outings and left the estate. Since he frequently swam by the lake or left the estate again after returning, no one among the servants suspected him, though they worried about the fallout his movements might cause.

The sound of horse hooves striking the ground shattered the silence of the forest. The moonlight shone brighter than the oil lamps that illuminated the exterior of Worburn House.

Neigh— neigh—

Between the hair fluttering in the wind, an angry expression was revealed without reserve. Even so, an unplanned midnight walk was hardly pleasant. Only after galloping for a long while did Aaron reach his destination.

“Wait quietly.”

Aaron carelessly stroked the mane of the horse tied to a tree and then turned and walked away.

After walking a bit further along the winding path, a familiar place appeared. It was near the mound where he had kicked the intruder a few hours ago. Only the sky had grown dark; the surrounding situation was no different from the daytime. After descending halfway down the hill and pushing through the thick leaves a few more times, the being that had drawn him here appeared.

“Ha.”

A sigh, hovering between irritation and rage, blended into the night air.

“Truly a useless piece of trash.”

Looking down at MacQuan, who lay collapsed with blood soaking his head, Aaron poured out every curse word he knew.

“What a nuisance.”

His hand, fumbling for the pistol in his coat, hovered on the boundary between hesitation and impulse. Regardless, he had to move this man elsewhere. Whether alive or dead.

Aaron stepped closer to the intruder, who still hadn’t regained consciousness. No sound could be heard other than the rustling of grass. Seeing as the man didn’t move an inch, Aaron wondered if he was already dead.

“…….”

It was just as he knelt on one knee and placed his hand beneath the man’s nose to check for breath.

Kying.

It was a very faint cry. Aaron quickly looked toward the sound and let out a hollow smile at the creature that appeared from the brush.

“I’m going crazy.”

It was the red fox he had seen this morning.

“Even you are bothering me.”

The anger in his voice had subsided, mixed with a light laugh.

“Come here.”

Aaron beckoned to the fox. The wary beast did not approach any further, merely observing the prank played by the night.

At that moment, a faint groan echoed from behind him.

“……Ugh.”

The body that had been motionless until now began to twitch slightly. The way he clawed at the ground with fingertips matted with dirt and blood was a truly pitiful struggle.

“…….”

Sitting back down, Aaron rested his chin on his hand and observed the half-corpse lying before him with indifferent eyes. The sight of him squirming to survive was quite a spectacle.

“Should I just kill him?”

He had no intention of helping the man up. On the contrary, if he were dead, Aaron planned to bury him or hide him in the brush and then dump the body in front of Winklear Forest once the hunting competition ended.

While he pondered the disposal of the casualty with merciless deliberation, the intruder’s tightly closed eyes slowly opened.

“Uuugh……”

A groan laced with pain leaked through his teeth. His hazy eyes, wandering through a dream, looked straight ahead for a moment and then shifted left and right. Having barely regained consciousness and surveyed his surroundings, it took a long while before MacQuan recognized the presence of the savior standing before him.

“……He, help…… me……”

His voice was desperately pathetic. In the meantime, another wound must have burst, as a streak of red blood flowed down his forehead. The man blinked unstabley, his expression suggesting he couldn’t quite grasp what had happened to him. Aaron tilted his head, looking at the blood-soaked man with curiosity.

“Did it burst again? You’re bleeding.”

“Ugh……”

“How does your head burst so easily?”

The calm question melted chillingly into the air. Of course, there was no way the half-conscious man could answer.

“……Whe, where……”

“Where else? Right where you fell off your horse in such an unsightly manner. You must have made quite a bit of money; you should have learned how to ride.”

The situation was more ridiculous than a cheap street comedy. Having no further intention of answering the absurd question, Aaron stood up. Dark clouds spread across the entire sky. He could not afford to linger here any longer. Glancing coldly at the casualty, Aaron sneered.

“What a miserable sight.”

“Ugh……”

The man, unconsciously trying to push himself up following Aaron’s movement, collapsed back to the ground, unable to withstand the ensuing pain. His linen shirt, which must have originally been white, was hideously stained with dark red blotches of blood from his wounds.

“Go……”

Muttering in slurred pronunciations, MacQuan scrambled against the ground. His violently trembling hands betrayed his desperation. Finding this struggle—which almost felt like a plea—amusing, Aaron let out a series of cold laughs. He suddenly recalled the irreverent gaze of the man who, despite being a vulgar merchant, had pretended to be noble while drinking wine and looking down on the aristocrats at the banquet.

“Isn’t this an overly comical end for a cheap merchant who didn’t know the fear of the world?”

The amusement was short-lived. An endless lethargy washed over him again. These mood swings, fluctuating several times a day, had long since become his daily routine.

Rapidly losing interest in the situation, Aaron fumbled at his chest, cursed when he realized he had no opium. It was late, and during this unplanned outing, any shred of humanitarianism had already vanished.

“Save…… me……”

“You aren’t dead, so find your own way out. It would be best if you crawled as far away from here as possible. If you die before then, your servant will come to collect the corpse. Consider my decision not to kill you as an act of mercy.”

“Plea…… se……”

“Next time, ride a donkey.”

Without any further lingering, Aaron walked toward where his horse was tied. He had judged that the man was stable enough to get out on his own without being moved.

“Wait……”

At that moment, a silent scream escaped. MacQuan managed to push his upper body halfway up and called out desperately to the departing man. A pain so severe it clouded his mind engulfed him. It was a horrific sensation, as if hot clots of blood were flowing backward.

“My…… my name……”

At that instant, the merciless footsteps stopped.

“…….”

Aaron took his time and slowly turned around. He looked down at the man who was still curled up in the same spot, clutching his head and shivering. In the man’s wretched gestures, there was no trace of the arrogant and confident businessman. Not only that, but the distorted eyes visible through his fingers were drenched in fear and confusion. His sophisticated and masculine features had long since been ruined by dirt, leaves, and blood.

“What did you say?”

“Who……”

At the completely unexpected words and situation, a flash of surprise crossed Aaron’s expressionless face.

“Haha. What on earth is this……”

“I……”

Realizing exactly what the fallen man was saying, Aaron placed his hands on his hips and leaned his upper body forward slightly. His eyes, which had been motionless, curved softly downward, and his cold impression instantly transformed into something gentle.

“Say it properly, one more time.”

He smiles like an angel.

With the image of Aaron looking at him with curiosity as the last thing he saw, MacQuan lost consciousness once again.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sound of birds broke the morning silence. The pain pressing down on the back of his head was excruciating. His entire body felt hot, as if he had stepped into a furnace, and his head was so dizzy that normal thinking was impossible. Groans escaped him naturally from the unprecedented pain.

Experience?

MacQuan questioned the thought he had just had.

I had an experience? Where and what did I experience?

A profound sense of isolation, as if standing alone in a dark alley, enveloped him. Without realizing it, a whirlwind of information and memories repeatedly entered his brain only to be bounced back.

He was confused.

There was too much information, yet ironically, there was none. MacQuan had no idea how to define his current state. He knew something, but he didn’t know what he knew. Everything was in a state of emptiness.

Fragmented memories repeatedly crashed violently against his mind on a heartless tide before receding. Storms and lightning struck fiercely. Thick vines entangled him. Even as he sank into a swamp, the waves continued to crash violently. The dismantled fragments took on distinct shapes, alternating between threats and compromises. The people passing by quickly, their names, expressions, and even emotions—everything was unfamiliar. At that moment, a massive, unavoidable current suddenly swept over him.

“……Gasp!”

MacQuan bolted upright, but unable to withstand the immediate surge of pain, he slumped back down. His entire body was drenched in sweat from his sleep.

“Ugh……”

Just a small movement brought out a groan. It was a pain severe enough to make his mind go hazy. He barely managed to lean his back against the wall and blinked.

“This place is……”

As the cold sweat and chills subsided, an unfamiliar scene unfolded in his vision. No matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn’t remember where he was or why he was in this strange place. At that moment, he sensed singing and a human presence not far away.

Singing?

The stranger was a young man. He was sitting crookedly on an old wooden chair, humming to himself while continuously carving something with a knife. Smoke drifted endlessly from the end of the cigar precariously held in the man’s mouth.

“Who…… are you?”

A hoarse sound escaped his throat. It was a ragged, ugly voice, but it was enough to draw attention, as the man’s hands stopped moving.

“You’re awake?”

The man tossed the piece of wood carelessly onto an old table and stood up. The person entering his field of vision was taller and leaner than expected.

“You slept for quite a while.”

As the man spoke slowly, the distance between them closed. Following the change in eye level, MacQuan slowly tilted his head back. Stopping about a step away, the man inhaled the cigar until his cheeks hollowed and gave a thin smile. White smoke briefly obscured the view.

“…….”

As the smoke cleared and their eyes met again, MacQuan felt the illusion that his breath had stopped.

“I thought you might die.”

The fog in his mind suddenly flashed as if struck by lightning. His throat tightened and his ears felt blocked. Forgetting the pain of his wounds, MacQuan stared at the man.

The man had hollows beneath his eyes and pale skin, and while there were scattered scars, he had a very beautiful face. Simply calling him handsome was an understatement. Beyond the wicked smile mixed with ferocity, there was even a sense of dignity. Combining his natural condescension and the way he looked down on others, it was clear he was not a person of ordinary status.

No. Why does that matter? More than anything, he is the one who saved my life.

Recalling the memory of seeing Aaron before losing consciousness, MacQuan hurriedly bowed his head in greeting.

“You…… saved me. Thank you.”

“I brought you here because I thought it would be interesting.”

“Interesting……?”

It wasn’t the answer he expected. Staring blankly at the man with the radiant appearance, MacQuan parted his dry lips. He was a strange person. The reason MacQuan couldn’t easily look away might have been the bright blonde hair that seemed to hold shattered sunlight and the piercingly blue eyes. Blue eyes weren’t rare, but he had never seen a shade so bright it was almost like the sky. Despite the man being of the same gender, MacQuan couldn’t tear his gaze away for a while.

Am I crazy? What am I doing in front of a man……

Even as he thought he was crazy, his curiosity didn’t stop. Was he a noble? He was a man who truly captured the eye regardless of gender, to the point where one would believe him if he were royalty.

“Cleaning up the blood was truly exhausting. I almost pushed you off a cliff.”

“Ah…… yes. That must have been very difficult……”

Regardless of MacQuan’s unsettled state of mind, the man frowned and voiced his complaint. With just a small change in expression, the atmosphere instantly turned spiteful.

“Do you know who you are?”

A long, white finger pointed to MacQuan’s forehead. The tapping gesture was unpleasant, but MacQuan silently accepted the insult. Contrary to his refined appearance, the man’s hands were full of small scars. They didn’t look like wounds acquired recently.

He doesn’t seem like someone who does rough work.

MacQuan’s mind was filled more with curiosity about the other person than with questions about himself. Who was he? What was his name? Why were there so many scars on his hands? Where did he get the injury on his face? Who hit him? He looks to be in worse shape than I am. It seems he hasn’t even been treated properly. What does he do? What is our relationship?

“Did you forget how to speak too?”

Seeing the lack of response, Aaron tilted his cheek with a puzzled expression. When their eyes met again, MacQuan hurriedly looked down. Heat rushed to his earlobes, and he felt awkward meeting the man’s eyes. He feared those bewitching pupils might peer into every corner of his heart.

“My memories……”

With a suddenly darkened face, MacQuan rubbed his cheek and jaw roughly. It was uncomfortable and difficult to make eye contact.

“I cannot remember.”

He remembered nothing. Only then did the anxiety he had momentarily forgotten rush back. Who he was, what his name was, who the man before him was. When he opened his eyes, his mind was as empty and white as a field turned into ruins, as if everything had been blown away by the wind.

He was aware that his memories were gone.

His knowledge remained. Only his memories had vanished. It was a difficult-to-explain, extremely bizarre sensation where only the information regarding himself had been erased amidst a vast sea of other information. Once he realized his condition, MacQuan’s body began to tremble with dread and fear.

“You don’t remember?”

“……Yes.”

MacQuan gripped and pressed his hands together to soothe his anxiety. The smell of dried blood rose nauseatingly into his nostrils.

“Hmm.”

Unlike the confused MacQuan, the blue eyes staring at him held no emotion other than interest. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms again.

“Your name too?”

“……Yes.”

“Your age?”

“Yes.”

“Your profession?”

“……I have no memory of anything regarding who I am.”

To the repeated questions, MacQuan nodded with a stoic face.

“You’ve become a moron.”

Aaron’s eyes widened, and he let out an exclamation and laughed flippantly. Leaning forward with his arms crossed, his giggling looked genuinely amused.

To laugh in front of an injured person.

MacQuan was shocked first by the word ‘moron’ and second by the sight of him genuinely mocking him with joy, leaving his mouth agape. Perhaps that sight was funny, as the laughter grew louder.

What on earth is with that attitude?

Even amidst the pain that felt like his head was being blown away, MacQuan was quietly appalled by the sight of the man laughing like a loose screw.

Madman.

He could not understand the mental state of a man who laughed so joyfully in front of someone injured and memory-lost. Moreover, when he carefully felt his head, there were no signs that the wound had even been treated. It was clear he had been left as is after the injury.

If it wasn’t properly disinfected or treated, he could have died from an infection!

The torn wound at the back of his head suddenly hurt mercilessly.

Is he a noble?

Based solely on the atmosphere emanating from his appearance and attitude, he was a perfect noble, but there were suspicious points. His unostentatious clothing, scarred hands, and the face that bore the remnants of violence—collecting this information, it was certain he wasn’t a laborer, but it was too ambiguous to confirm he was a noble.

While MacQuan’s expression grew more serious as he tried to fathom Aaron’s identity, the man himself laughed for a good while longer before wiping his eyes and continuing.

“Theodore.”

“……Yes?”

“Your name.”

His neat fingertips tapped MacQuan’s forehead somewhat sharply. His head naturally tilted back following the force of the fingertips. When MacQuan frowned in wounded pride, the force of the tapping grew stronger. Aaron’s lips curled up as he watched the handsome face distort with humiliation.

“You are Theodore.”

“Theodore……”

MacQuan whispered his name softly.

Theodore.

Even amidst everything being unfamiliar, this name felt exceptionally strange. It didn’t sit easily on his tongue, so he muttered it several times. Theodore, Theodore. Even the pronunciation felt awkward.

Regardless of the confusion he was experiencing, Aaron added an explanation with a nonchalant expression.

“You were my servant.”

“A servant? I was?”

It was an unexpected revelation. A servant? Shock after shock hit MacQuan. Servant, servant…… With a vacant face, MacQuan pointed to himself.

“Am I really a servant?”

“Of course.”

“I…… am a servant……”

“Look at your state. Surely you didn’t think you were some noble lord.”

At those words, MacQuan finally examined his attire more closely. The clothes he wore seemed to be of high quality, but they were covered in dirt, torn in places, and stained with blood, making them no better than rags. As the man said, it would be difficult to see him as the child of a noble house, even as a joke. Though he wasn’t sure if he even had the capacity to distinguish such things.

“May I contact my family?”

To the question that was his last hope for salvation, Aaron replied with a chilly smile.

“How could someone from an orphanage have a family?”

“An orphanage…… Then I have no family I can contact?”

“How stupid. If you had such a family to begin with, you wouldn’t have gone to an orphanage.”

A disinterested answer returned.

“I see……”

MacQuan looked at Aaron, still struggling to accept this reality. The expression he met was truly brazen and confident. Thinking that this is exactly how a swindler would act while manipulating someone, MacQuan composed himself and asked back.

“Then what do you do? Are you…… perhaps a noble lord?”

As the question continued, Aaron’s expression turned serious again. He pretended to think deeply for a while and then lifted his chin with a rather arrogant look.

“I am an artist.”

At the unexpected answer, MacQuan repeated the words as if he had become a parrot.

“An artist?”

“It seems you’ve become a fool; do you understand what I’m saying?”

“……I have only lost my memories; I have not become a fool. I understand.”

It was a tone thick with self-loathing. Even so, his mind raced. An artist. From the fragments of information remaining in his head, artists were not the type to live in abundance. He recalled hearing somewhere that true artists are always poor during their lifetime and only receive recognition after death. Could he be that kind of person? No. Even so, someone who could afford a servant like him wouldn’t be a starving artist skipping meals, but that didn’t exactly improve his own situation.

‘Maybe he’s being sponsored by some noble family. Then he uses the leftover money to hire me… though his lifestyle doesn’t look particularly affluent. I guess he’s just living miserably with a single servant.’

Based on his quick assessment of the situation, MacQuan realized that his own circumstances and the environment surrounding him were far from ideal. In terms of finances and status, he was at the bottom, not the top.

As he grasped the reality, his complexion grew even gloomier.

“Do you paint?”

Since a painter was the first thing that came to mind, he blurted it out, but the icy glare that returned immediately made MacQuan realize his assumption was wrong.

“Is painting the only thing you know?”

“I’m sorry. Then perhaps… I’m just not well-informed.”

“Idiot.”

Sneering sharply, Aaron carelessly stubbed out the remaining half of his cigar. Returning to the table, he turned a wooden carving he had been working on and added,

“I’m a sculptor.”

“…Ah.”

Following that foolish response, silence fell. It was a strange stillness, neither light nor heavy.

A sculptor.

MacQuan sensed the chilling atmosphere. The man was like a tightly stretched string. He felt precarious, as if the slightest mistake would cause him to snap. Was asking a sculptor if he was a painter a mortal sin?

‘Is he that sensitive? How dramatic.’

Despite his dissatisfaction, he was in no position to argue right and wrong. MacQuan cleared his constricted throat and changed the subject.

“Then, what should I call you?”

Aaron placed the wooden carving back on the table and shot him a cold look.

“You should call me Master.”

“…Master?”

“Of course. How else did you intend to call me?”

The man’s question was so confident that MacQuan found himself speechless.

“That may be so, but…”

MacQuan conceded reluctantly, his voice sounding unconvinced. Why on earth should he use the title ‘Master’ for a mere poor sculptor, not even a noble? Much of what the man said was questionable, but since his current situation didn’t allow for the luxury of logic, he had no choice but to accept it to some extent.

“Everything you’ve done so far has been tending to this place or assisting with my work.”

At those words, instead of answering, MacQuan looked around the interior of the old shack. The space was spacious and clean, but not luxurious. Furniture was minimal, and what did exist were all old, cheap items. As the man said, it was a place where someone who didn’t earn much money would live. The claim that he was the sole servant of a poor artist gained more credibility.

“Is that so…”

MacQuan bowed his upper body and covered his face with his large hand. A low groan escaped him as chaos overwhelmed him. Despite his naturally suspicious nature, everything was a blank slate now that he had lost his memories. Regardless, the sound of mocking laughter continued right in front of him.

“…”

After a brief moment of depression, MacQuan stared at the man who continued to laugh joyfully. He looked a bit more relaxed than when he had first coldly scanned him. Based on the available information, he certainly wasn’t an ordinary person. He might have been a noble or a man of a similar rank. Ah, he said he was a sculptor. To forget that immediately after hearing it—he really had become a fool.

“I shall tell you what your duties will be from now on.”

Aaron’s tone, which had been hovering on a precarious edge, shifted completely to a condescending manner. It was the absolute attitude of someone treating a servant.

“First, clean up this house.”

“Cleaning?”

“What is the problem?”

“I am still a patient…”

Aaron tilted his head, as if wondering what nonsense he was talking about. The expression on his face was so innocent, malicious, and nonchalant that for a moment, MacQuan wondered if he really was the one in the wrong.

“Your arms and legs are perfectly fine, aren’t they?”

If there were a devil in this world, it would be this man. Putting his absurdity aside, MacQuan shook his head.

✧ ✧ ✧

Bang—!

A clenched fist slammed hard onto the table.

“Why won’t they allow a search! Two days have already passed!”

“It was the order of the Duke of Cornwall that no outside personnel are permitted to enter the villa until the hunting competition ends. He stated that he would not tolerate anyone causing a disturbance at an event attended by His Majesty the King. The hunt ended today, but a ball is said to be held immediately for a week. It is impossible for us to enter during that period.”

“A ball? Ha, a ball. A person has gone missing, and they’re talking about a ball? What did the Duke of Devonshire say?”

“He said to wait and see, repeating only that he is searching by deploying servants from the Wavont side. Lord Lenzdoor is also in a position where it is difficult to move recklessly since members of the royal family are attending.”

“Damn it!”

Robert sat in his chair and pressed his hand to his forehead. His distorted face was full of anguish.

The Duke of Devonshire clearly had no intention of ruining an event where he was engaged in a war of nerves with the Tories. As the head of the Whig Party, Robert understood Devonshire’s situation, but his heart was withering. Even after several requests to the police department, the only answer he received was that it was currently difficult.

‘Lester, where on earth are you.’

He should have accompanied him to the hunting competition. Robert regretted his past choice. When he received the report that the master was nowhere to be found and only the horse was wandering around the walking path, his vision turned black with despair. Could opposing forces have harmed him? Was it a kidnapping for money? His suspicions spiraled painfully.

Sensing his mood, Aljef cautiously continued.

“I know this is difficult for you. However, you must go to Liverpool today. A considerable amount of time has passed since Captain James’s ship, the Queenville, departed from Lintin. You cannot delay any further.”

Robert swallowed another groan. MacQuan’s problem was one thing, but the issue currently facing Klaus Diugen was also not to be taken lightly. Losses had occurred in the Lintin Island shipments, and to make matters worse, the situation at the opium manufacturing plant in Guangzhou was not good. Large-scale corruption among the compradors had been uncovered, and he needed to urgently verify the losses of the companies that had made joint investments in this trade.

“Yes… I must…”

After agonizing for a while, Robert pressed down on his throbbing head and pushed himself up from the chair. Klaus was the fruit of everything the two of them had built. While he worried for his friend’s safety, he also had to overcome the current crisis in some way.

“Aljef, I will depart for Liverpool alone. You stay behind and keep in contact with the Cornwall side. I will return before the ball ends, so I ask you to track the situation in real-time.”

“Understood.”

Robert closed his eyes again. He was another representative of Klaus Diugen, and he could not leave the company unattended for even a day.

✧ ✧ ✧

A disciplined knock echoed through the door. Leaning against a wooden chest of drawers, Aaron put down the book he was reading and turned his gaze.

“Come in.”

Upon permission, a familiar figure dressed in an officer’s uniform appeared.

“Brother.”

Calvin strode forward, welcoming his brother who, for once, was not using opium. Of course, regardless of his reaction, Aaron’s expression remained indifferent as he flicked his chin toward the lounge table.

“The items I mentioned.”

Despite Calvin’s promptness in getting straight to business as soon as he sat, Aaron snatched the items he had brought without a word. The large cotton bag was quite bulky.

“I have prepared everything. But where do you intend to use all of this?”

“Is there a need to explain it to you?”

Calvin couldn’t finish his sentence as Aaron abruptly seized the bag.

“Nothing is missing, I assume.”

“No.”

Inside the bag were plenty of loose, old clothes, various small tools, medicines, and preserved foods. After briefly checking the contents, Aaron sat in the chair with a satisfied expression. In the languor of the afternoon, a sleepy look was evident on his neat face. Observing his brother’s mood, Calvin cautiously brought up his business.

“Brother.”

“Speak.”

“…Still, shouldn’t you attend the ball for at least one day?”

After hesitating for so long, that was all he had to say. Aaron scoffed at the worry-filled words and pointed to the torn forehead and the scarred cheekbone hidden beneath his hair.

“I am not a soldier like you; do you expect me to appear before people in this state?”

“Brother…”

“Tell me how I should explain it. Should I say I participated in the war to make a noble sacrifice for this country? Should I say I was shot? Or that I got into a brawl? No, first I should confess the sins committed by the great Duke of Cornwall to the Pope and beg for forgiveness.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“If you have no proper answer, do not even bring such things up.”

“…I am sorry.”

Calvin’s lips twitched for a moment, and he soon lowered his hands, folding them with a dark expression.

Edmund Wizfeldon of Cornwall.

The Duke of Cornwall, the father of the two brothers, was the most respected Duke in England. Due to his upright character, intense patriotism, and loyalty to the royal family, the world called him the ‘Royal Duke.’ Duke Edmund Wizfeldon of Cornwall took pride in his position as the top politician and leader representing the Tory Party, and he valued honor and prestige more than his own life.

“You can attend in my stead.”

“That is a place I dare not intrude upon. I am not qualified. You know there are many people looking for you, Brother.”

Aaron snorted and picked up his glass.

“I want to believe that your brain hasn’t hardened from marksmanship training.”

“Brother.”

Aaron took a slow breath and looked out the window with a distant gaze. The endless, luxurious, and grand buildings and gardens fully showcased the majesty possessed by Cornwall.

“Calvin.”

A voice devoid of emotion rang out.

“Is it not a truly massive prison?”

“…”

“I feel as though I am being strangled.”

“…Brother.”

The helplessness of being unable to do anything or go anywhere was becoming a corrupt boredom, eating away at his spirit. A suffocating silence followed. Calvin could not find the words to respond. He simply covered the back of his own hand, which had been scarred by their father’s blows, just as Aaron had been.

“Prepare a bit more food next time.”

“I understand. I am glad you are eating more than before, though.”

“Stop with the useless meddling.”

The only thing he could do was simply follow his brother’s instructions like this.

“I will take my leave.”

After a time that yielded no particular result, Calvin bowed lightly and left the study.

“…”

Only after confirming the receding footsteps did Aaron put down his cold coffee. Then, with somewhat hurried movements, he rummaged through the bag. A smooth yet cool sensation touched his fingertips. A moment later, the item he pulled out was an ointment in a small circular tin.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Ugh.”

Unable to finish the endless task, MacQuan finally collapsed onto the floor. Various small cleaning tools were scattered around him. Despite spending two full days cleaning while dragging his aching body, the interior of the shack remained cluttered. In fact, some areas were in worse shape than when he started.

Nothing felt familiar, to the point where the claim that he had managed and served here seemed suspicious; most things broke the more he touched them.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

MacQuan threw the rag aside and lay flat on the floor. Wiping his sweat-soaked forehead, he let out a long sigh.

“Did he even manage this place?”

Contrary to his blunt tone, MacQuan’s mind was filled with thoughts about the man he called ‘Master.’ The one who, after a somewhat shocking first meeting, had thrown him some mysterious oil and scraps of cloth and ordered him to clean the house, had not shown his face for two days.

“Isn’t this his house? Where did he go?”

He seemed to have a bad personality; perhaps he went somewhere and got beaten to death. Knowing that was unlikely, the useless thoughts wouldn’t disappear. As he indulged in these fruitless worries, a loud sound erupted from his stomach.

“I’m hungry even in this situation.”

Rubbing his hungry stomach, MacQuan sat up again. Although the man calling himself Master had thrown him some food to eat before leaving the shack, the amount wasn’t much. Because he had mismanaged the portions and eaten his fill on the first day, all he had eaten from last night until this morning was a single slice of apple and a bit of rum.

“This is driving me crazy.”

His hand, about to roughly ruffle his hair, paused momentarily due to pain. Since he hadn’t been properly treated, dried blood still clung to his hair in clumps, and the torn wound was swollen and difficult to touch.

“Ow, it hurts.”

His sharply drawn eyes distorted. The pain was so severe that he had tossed and turned for two nights. He wanted to perform some simple treatment, but there were no basic medicines in the shack. Even for a place where someone lived, how could it be this defenseless?

“What on earth is even in here?”

Speaking hollowly, MacQuan looked around the house again. The man calling himself Master said this was an abandoned estate of a noble, and the shack was a converted residence once managed by a forest keeper. He hadn’t forgotten to warn him that he was living here in secret while fleeing from debts, and that if he were caught, he might spend the rest of his life turning a treadmill. He had worn such a cold expression that MacQuan had almost asked what made him so confident despite being a debtor.

Throughout the house, there were various tools needed for hunting or managing the forest. Of course, there were many strange things. Looking at the single bed, the lone chair, and items that only had one matching piece, it was a stretch to say two people lived here. When he pointed this out, the Master had simply smiled arrogantly and said,

“This is where you lived. I only come here when I work, and most of the time I wander through various provinces to sell my pieces. You managed this place alone and waited for me.”

“Aren’t sculptures usually bulky and heavy? Are you saying you went around selling them alone, Master?”

“Of course I have assisting messengers.”

It was strangely convincing, leaving him momentarily speechless. The man’s expression was also extremely nonchalant. The more he heard the flimsy explanations, the more his understanding plummeted. He truly felt as if he had become an idiot. This was also why he couldn’t say anything when he was scolded for becoming a fool after losing his memory. The Master also didn’t seem to expect much trust from him.

Above all, there was another reason why he could not easily rebel against the Master.

“Theodore.”

While he was deep in thought, a pleasant voice quietly called his name.

Theodore.

An unfamiliar pronunciation. A name that didn’t feel familiar at all. In that moment, he felt an illusion piercing his heart.

Theodore.

My name.

MacQuan felt that the name, called while the man gazed directly at him, was like a thorny vine wrapping around his entire body. He felt like a newborn animal meeting its mother for the first time. A blind, almost manic devotion bloomed in his heart. As if reading his chaotic inner thoughts, the Master smiled faintly and patted MacQuan’s cheek as if soothing him.

“I shall return in two days. So, be waiting.”

It was a voice so soft it felt out of place. Despite a gaze that wasn’t warm in the slightest, the voice acting out kindness was strange.

“He treats me not as a servant, but as a dog kept at a mansion.”

Despite his constant grumbling, MacQuan’s gaze wouldn’t leave the firmly closed door of the shack. Although the two days the Master mentioned had long since passed, that old door showed no sign of opening.

“When on earth is he coming?”

He hadn’t even been able to ask his name.

Looking only at appearances, the man was clearly younger than him, but perhaps because of their positions as master and servant, he felt accustomed to the man’s condescension.

‘Maybe I should have asked his age.’

From what he had gathered in the short time, the Master had a terrible personality. If he had asked the things he was curious about, he surely would have been cursed at for being annoying. He hoped he wouldn’t clash with that personality. Still, the curiosity didn’t vanish. Far from disappearing, his curiosity and longing only grew as time passed.

“Shall I start again?”

MacQuan stood up and looked around.

“What should I do with this…”

The interior of the shack was divided into three main spaces: the large room where he currently stood, the dining area, and a small, firmly closed workshop. The cooking utensils in the dining area were few and showed almost no signs of use.

“Did they even eat anything? No. Before that, does anyone actually live in this house? There isn’t a single thing here that I would have used.”

His wandering steps stopped in front of a small room.

The door was firmly locked. The interior and exterior latches were different, and the owner always carried the exterior key. According to the owner, it was a studio.

“Remember that no one but me is allowed to enter.”

The owner’s voice, while delivering the prohibition, was calm and devoid of inflection, but his expression was more ferocious than a demon’s. The atmosphere was so chilling that it felt as though he would shoot anyone who dared open the door.

“Let’s stop here.”

Leaving behind the suspicions that grew stronger the more he thought about them, MacQueen left the cottage. His mind was on the verge of paralysis from overthinking. In times like these, he needed to keep his heart at ease.

As he opened the door, the scorching sun poured in. Looking around, MacQueen spotted a lake and walked straight toward it. The lake was a deep cobalt color and so clear that the bottom was visible.

“…I need to wash up first.”

MacQueen hesitated for a moment with his hand in the water before carefully removing his clothes, which were stiff with dried blood. He worried about water getting into his wounds, but enduring his sweat-soaked body was more difficult.

The reunion with the suspicious owner came sooner than expected. After swimming for a while and returning to the cottage, MacQueen finally reunited with the man he had been picturing in his head for two and a half days. Upon seeing Aaron as he opened the door, MacQueen greeted him with a bright, instinctive smile. Though the man had a perverse nature, MacQueen felt a primary sense of relief simply because he was a human being.

“You’ve returned.”

“Where have you been?”

“When did you get back?”

“A moment ago.”

The steps that had been rushing forward in greeting came to a halt. The owner, glaring at him, looked displeased.

‘Why is he so angry? Is it because I didn’t finish cleaning? I haven’t even fully recovered yet.’

MacQueen tried to hide his disappointment and took another step closer. As the distance closed, the owner’s face and expression became clearer. The glare was so menacing that the words stuck in his throat and wouldn’t come out. In the meantime, water dripping from his hair landed on his cheek.

“I asked where you went.”

“Um… I went to the nearby lakeside. It wasn’t far from the cottage.”

Aaron frowned, criticizing MacQueen’s half-naked state.

“Who told you to wander around as you please? Moreover, to go about in such a state—it’s not even funny.”

“I was too dirty. There was so much blood… I wanted to wash up.”

“There is nothing here you can do as you please. So, wipe off that filthy running water properly before you come inside.”

No matter how much of a servant he was, the blunt, cold words were bound to be offensive.

“How can you say such a thing? I’ve washed up, so what do you mean by filthy? There weren’t any towels to dry off with, so I couldn’t dress properly. I dried myself as best I could.”

To hide the surging embarrassment, MacQueen rattled off excuses. He was aware that he looked ridiculous, having wrapped a shirt around his waist. After watching him for a moment, Aaron walked forward with a stiff expression, closing the remaining distance between them.

“Uh, why…”

As the man’s cold face suddenly appeared right in front of him, MacQueen instinctively stepped back.

How is he so handsome? I’d believe it if someone told me he was a painting. If it weren’t for the scar, he’d be even more…

The useless thoughts didn’t last long. A pale hand sliced through the air immediately.

Slap—!

With a searing pain, MacQueen’s head was whipped violently to the side.

“What are you doing?”

Crash—!

Before he had time to be bewildered, a ruthless kick sent the table flying, scattering the odds and ends he had spent all day organizing. Green eyes filled with horror as he looked at the surroundings that had become a mess in an instant.

“Theodore.”

The tone was very low and cold. Faced with the sudden violence and tyranny, MacQueen held his swelling cheek and blinked silently.

Did I just get hit?

But I have a head injury?

Before he could find an answer, the other man’s lips curled into a thin smile.

“I don’t particularly like people who make excuses.”

“…”

“The word ‘why’ should never come from a servant’s mouth.”

Aaron threw a large bag at MacQueen’s feet. Naturally, his gaze followed it down. The black shoes the owner wore were exquisite and luxurious, unlike those of a poor artist.

“I’ve brought the things you need, so use them as you see fit.”

“Yes…”

While angry at the unprovoked violence, MacQueen didn’t know how to react upon seeing the daily necessities, medicine, and food filling the bag.

“Check it. Though it’s likely more than you deserve.”

It was a command laced with amusement. He didn’t even have time to be angry at such brazenness. Perhaps his body remembered even if his mind had lost the memories, as he naturally moved to follow the order.

“…I understand.”

His slapped cheek still stung, but MacQueen began rummaging through the bag without any particular resistance. He had no time to be baffled or angry.

The first thing he saw was a round cylinder. Upon opening the lid, he found ointment inside. Other small medicines seemed to be included as a bonus. The clothes were a size that seemed to fit him. Naturally, they weren’t luxurious. There were also canned preserved foods, smoked ham, and fruit. At a glance, they were exactly the items needed for someone injured and living alone here.

“You may take what you need.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Despite it being a kindness, his heart grew increasingly uncomfortable as time passed. Eventually, the hand that had been half-heartedly searching the bag stopped completely. After a moment of hesitation, MacQueen stood up with a determined expression.

“Do you usually lead with your hand?”

“What?”

“I’m asking if you just resort to violence without even listening to what a person says.”

“You…”

Aaron, who had been perched slightly on the wooden table, opened his mouth in disbelief.

“I don’t think I said anything particularly harsh, so I’m a bit bewildered to be hit out of nowhere. It’s not as if I did anything wrong.”

MacQueen spoke his mind calmly, even as he faced eyes that were growing fiercer and narrowing into triangles.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“I am perfectly sane. I merely swam in the lake for a bit. Moreover, I’ve spent over two days here doing the work you ordered while injured. To make a patient clean without even giving them medicine—this is the height of abuse.”

“Ha—”

“If I were the master, I would have at least encouraged you by saying you worked hard.”

Aaron let out a loud, incredulous scoff.

“I cannot understand the reason for your anger.”

“Is there such a thing as a servant who only moves when they understand the master’s reasoning?”

“Then, Master, would you remain still if someone who earned more money or held a higher rank than you slapped you for no reason? Because it’s only natural? One might be angry, but you went too far.”

“What?”

He had acted with reckless courage, but he wasn’t confident in the result. Fearing the reaction that would follow this uncharacteristic bravado, MacQueen quickly averted his eyes. He intended to reduce the impact of the blow to his cheek, but contrary to his expectations, the response was silence. Surprisingly, the owner seemed to be in deep thought.

“…I should kill them.”

“Pardon?”

MacQueen gasped in bewilderment at the extreme answer. Looking at the brazen expression, it wasn’t a joke. No, wasn’t this man someone far removed from the concept of joking in the first place? A groan escaped MacQueen’s lips.

“K-kill who? How can you say that so easily… No, more importantly, I was assuming someone of a higher rank than you.”

“I’d kill them and then go to the guillotine.”

“What? My goodness, what on earth…”

At the absurd remark, MacQueen finally dropped his head and sighed heavily. Seeing a master who lacked more common sense than he, a man who had lost his memories, he wondered if he could truly trust and follow him.

“Where are there even guillotines these days?”

“You know that?”

“I’ve lost my memories, not my intelligence…”

As he grumbled in disbelief, a subtle change in expression appeared on the face that had been like a doll until now.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No. Just that you seem smarter than I thought.”

“What? Why would you say such a thing?”

“I have things to think about, so shut up.”

“…Yes.”

Aaron observed the opium merchant who showed such a variety of reactions before him. It was arrogant of him to talk back so persistently, but surprisingly, Aaron found this utterly useless conversation rarely interesting.

Perhaps this idiot might play a fairly useful role in this tedious daily life.

As the thought reached a conclusion, his tightly closed lips curved slightly. For the sake of amusement, a small measure was needed.

✧ ✧ ✧

The journey leading from the fox hunt to the ball required a considerable amount of time. Upon notification that it had been extended by about two days more than planned, Robert eventually had to visit Northampton in person. To a degree that made his anxiety seem almost comical, the Duke of Cornwall’s country house was in the midst of a festival.

Amidst the orchestral concerto filling the ballroom, Robert had been trying to persuade the Duke of Devonshire for several hours.

“Isn’t the forest already being searched by the Woburn servants?”

“There is no progress at all. The police must get involved.”

At the urgent reaction, the Duke of Devonshire sighed deeply and pressed his hand to his forehead.

“I understand your concern well. I, too, sincerely worry for the Baronet’s safety.”

Ahem. Clearing his throat softly, the Duke of Devonshire gazed at the King and Queen sitting some distance away. Near them, the Duke of Cornwall was holding a celebratory toast for the success of the event with a satisfied face.

“The Northampton Estate is part of the Wizfeldon family’s dukedom. The host of the event is also the Duke of Cornwall. For now, we must be careful with every word. It would be different if Edmund had taken no action… but that’s not the case. The police, in this situation?”

The Duke of Devonshire slowly gripped and twisted the ivory handle of his cane.

“If we insist on a search more forcefully in this atmosphere, it will appear as though we are doubting the Duke of Cornwall’s intentions.”

“But Sir Lenzdoor…”

“Wasn’t the horse found near the bridle path? We cannot be certain he disappeared in the forest. Problems could have arisen after leaving the mansion.”

The Duke of Devonshire immediately added an explanation to Robert, who had inhaled to argue.

“Since the Cornwall side hasn’t accurately identified the Baronet’s disappearance route, that possibility isn’t entirely ruled out. If the Duke of Cornwall finds any fault in that regard, we will inevitably be at a disadvantage. Above all…”

His eyes, which revealed nothing of his inner thoughts, narrowed. Tap, tap. The sound of the rattan cane hit the floor.

“The Baronet’s disappearance becoming public knowledge is by no means a good thing for the Klaus faction or for us.”

At least in London society—or more concisely, in Westminster—everyone knew that MacQueen Lester, the representative of Klaus Diugen Company, was the primary source of funding for the Whig Party and the Duke of Devonshire. Especially in the parliamentary party struggles, his massive investments supporting the activities of the reformist political forces were closely linked to the interests of the emerging capitalist class.

“Won’t that only slow down the process?”

“In exchange for not making it public, the Home Secretary said he would cooperate with us as much as possible, so we must rely on that. Edmund is also in an awkward position since a key figure of the opposition has disappeared during an event hosted by Cornwall. Whether he likes it or not, he will have to cooperate.”

“…Yes.”

“If the fact of the disappearance is openly revealed at this stage, the dissolution of the centrist faction will inevitably follow. They are like bats, after all. The election is not far off.”

Since it wasn’t wrong, Robert had no choice but to agree to some extent.

As the representative of Klaus Diugen, MacQueen Lester had actively lobbied Parliament, mobilizing merchant guilds and ideologies to pass a resolution for state intervention against the opium trade sanctions in the Daecheong. The reason he had spent so much effort courting members of the Canning faction and those in the center was for the same purpose. In a situation where he had gained momentum with the tacit consent of the Duke of Devonshire, the leader of the Whig Party, the members he lobbied had to succeed in re-election for the fruit of the bill’s passage to be realized.

And himself, in the near future.

“Do not worry too much, Robert.”

“Your Grace, I only…”

“Anyway, hasn’t it been confirmed that no outsider who left Woburn has done so since the hunting competition began? There will be plenty of time to examine suspicious individuals before the event ends.”

The goal was within sight. Public opinion and the political climate were all swirling toward a single point. With a Whig victory expected, there was no benefit in broadcasting that a major asset had encountered a problem.

“I will look into it further. The matter will be handled as discreetly as possible. I will also do my best to find the Baronet without fail before the general election, so do not be concerned.”

“…I understand.”

At the determined assertion, Robert questioned no further. The Duke of Devonshire’s words were not wrong.

✧ ✧ ✧

Walking for a long time north of Grosvenor Square in London, one would come across an old building made of faded red bricks. On the first floor of that building was an old shop with a somewhat ridiculous sign that read ‘Migellan Trading Company.’ This old shop was one of those common stores that sold various materials and tools for sketching, as well as various arts and sculptures.

Squeak.

As the old door opened, a man with black hair, dark sunglasses, and a charcoal-grey beret pulled low entered the shop. The shopkeeper, dusting off the settled grime, opened his arms in welcome.

“Who is this! How long has it been? You disappeared for a while, I thought you’d been beaten to death somewhere!”

Clumps of dust floated in the air. The man, covering his nose and mouth, frowned fiercely.

“Clean this up. It smells like rot.”

“What a disappointing thing to say! I cleaned this place over the weekend, for your information.”

The owner, accustomed to the other’s irritability, laughed awkwardly and wiped under his nose.

“It’s probably cleaner than your studio. Honestly, your sensitivity is enough to make royalty weep.”

With a playful expression, the owner pulled on Aaron’s braces. The golden eyebrows hidden beneath the wig immediately distorted.

“You must want to die.”

“Ha, this fellow’s reaction is as fierce as ever. It’s a joke, a joke. More importantly, your eyes look hollow. Someone would think you’re a sick man.”

“Enough. Mark, the items?”

“So cold, even after we haven’t seen each other in so long. Some fine pieces just arrived from across the sea last week. I guarantee you’ll be satisfied.”

The man called Mark let out a hearty laugh and ran in one stride to open another door inside the shop.

“Come here, Blake.”

“…”

“Hurry. The quality of all of them is top-tier. I went to the quarry myself. You have no idea how many people had their eyes on these. Now, I assume you’ve prepared plenty of money?”

The steps, walking at half the normal speed, stopped upon reaching the destination.

“Some magnificent pieces have arrived.”

As the door opened, a space unfolded that was unimaginably wide for such a small shop. In the center of the space were two polished blocks of marble; one was about 7 feet high, and the other was about 3 feet. Even without special treatment, the overwhelming presence inherent in high-grade materials evoked a sense of awe.

“Not bad, right?”

“Not bad.”

Contrary to the indifferent words, the gaze looking at the marble became a tangled mess of desire and fervor. The stiff corners of his mouth formed a faint curve.

“The one on the left is Pentalic, and the one on the right is Carrara. I brought both with small crystals and absolutely no impurities. They are top-grade, extracted using the latest methods without any damage. Above all, look at the color! They are incomparable to the pieces I’ve shown you before. Isn’t it amazing? I went through unbelievable trouble to move them, but it was worth it.”

The marble was stark white, yet a subtle bluish tint lingered. Even without listening to the rambling explanation, Aaron knew the value and rarity of the items. He stepped closer and imagined the process of breaking, splitting, refining, and carving the large marble.

The entire process will be carried out solely by my hand.

My work, my possession.

His slowly blinking eyes shone with nobility.

“Pick whichever one you like and let me know.”

“I’ll buy both.”

“What? Look, Blake. I showed them to you first because I know your crazy obsession, but the price of these items is beyond imagination. No matter how successful and sculpture-mad your patron is, they’ll faint when they find out how many pounds this is.”

“I told him to buy them even if it’s tens of thousands of pounds. So, hand them all over.”

“Even tens of thousands? Oh, my goodness. Your patron is a truly benevolent gentleman.”

Despite Mark’s fussing, Aaron was preoccupied with checking the condition of the marble. He absentmindedly touched the stone surface, envisioning the sculpture he would create. Brilliant inspiration flooded his mind.

“A patron who doesn’t skimp on materials—incredible. Moreover, if he’s hired you exclusively, that gentleman must be immensely wealthy. Are you sure he’s gentry? Or perhaps some royal heir? Regardless, Blake, this is an opportunity.”

Aaron shot a fierce glare at the man following him with annoying persistence.

“Like I told you before. The person I know…”

“Why are you so talkative today?”

“Hey, look here.”

Faced with the immediate, fierce reaction, Mark shrugged with a look of familiarity.

‘He must actually like him quite a bit.’

Considering the man’s usual malice and irritable temperament, the fact that he had tolerated this much chatter was practically a miracle.

Even after several years of dealing with him, the information Mark had regarding this fierce and sensitive sculptor was extremely limited.

He only knew him by the name Blake; he didn’t know his full name.

He knew that Blake was the exclusive sculptor for a commercially successful member of the gentry, received full support from that patron, and always carried out his sculpting work in a cottage located deep and remote within a forest owned by said gentry. Even that information had been gathered bit by bit over several years while continuing the inefficient and absurd trade of transporting massive slabs of marble from London to Northampton.

Since the forest where the cottage was located bordered the estate of the Duke of Cornwall, Mark had been incredibly careful at first, fearing he might trespass on the ducal lands. This was because most of the land east of Northampton belonged to the Wizfeldon family, the Dukes of Cornwall.

“I know you’re not interested. Still, I’m saying this because it’s a pity that your work is locked away in private ownership, unable to be known to the world.”

“You’re really noisy.”

Frustrated by his partner’s indifferent attitude, Mark stepped directly in front of Aaron and continued.

“Look, Blake. Don’t brush me off. While you have a capitalist helping you, you need to land one big deal. What you’re doing now is practically volunteer work. He only buys the expensive materials, but in the end, the ownership belongs to that gentry. That is truly foolish.”

Before Aaron, who glared back without answering, Mark continued relentlessly.

“Trust me. Just tell your patron that you broke it by mistake during the process. I can procure as many fragments as you need. If you entrust your work to me, I can sell it for the highest price in London. I’ll even create a fake identity for you. You’ll become the most famous sculptor in this country. I guarantee it.”

Mark had once happened to see a piece the man had created while transporting stone to the cottage in Northampton.

‘It was truly magnificent.’

The work born from the hands of that fierce wild beast was so wonderful and wondrous that it could hold its own even when compared to the works of masters who had dominated a past era. Of course, the price for seeing it secretly was a barrage of rage-filled abuse the likes of which he had never heard in his life, but it was nothing compared to the emotion he had felt.

“I have no need for it, so stop.”

“Stop what! You’re being unilaterally exploited. Even the Factory Acts have been repealed, yet look at your situation.”

Mark sincerely pitied the young, foolish sculptor who let such extraordinary talent rot in the forest. Of course, as a merchant, he was also greedy. The man was merely fierce; he was shallow in calculation and lacked a sense of reality. Such cases were common among those called artists.

“Are you finished?”

From the calmly sunken tone to the cold expression, Mark had the illusion that the other man might be holding a gun. Unable to overcome the chill emanating from the man, he eventually pouted with a sullen face.

“Just think about it. It’s for your own sake.”

“That won’t happen.”

With a deadpan expression, Aaron fiddled with the surface of the marble a few more times, sketching his own blueprint in his mind.

“Can it be transported next week? I’ll settle the payment tomorrow.”

At the request to naturally change the subject, Mark gave up on persuading him and answered sullenly.

“That’s not difficult. Should I deliver it to that cottage again?”

Instead of answering, Aaron shrugged. It was an expression of affirmation.

“I’ll have to bring several laborers. The weight is considerable, so the transport cost will be a bit higher than before. Since it has to be transported to Northampton, it’ll take some time to arrive. I’m worried the cottage might burst. They’ll have to move it a bit even inside.”

Having received the okay sign, Mark brought out his ledger and drew up an estimate, considering the manpower and tools required for transport. Even if he didn’t get the answer he wanted, the fact that the item he had struggled to obtain had gone to the best worker at the best price was a satisfying result for a middleman and a commoner who admired art.

“Hmm, the dog at the cottage will help. Though I don’t know if he’ll still be there…”

“Dog?”

The hand marking various fee items on the order form paused. The person who had dropped the comment was still fiddling with the marble with eyes full of love.

“You must not use horses this time. Keep the laborers to a minimum. I ask that they be people who haven’t been up from the countryside for long.”

“You’re talking in a way I can’t understand at all. Your conditions are getting more and more demanding. Do you know how hard it is to load marble on a cart and go to your cottage in this day and age? No horses, and strictly laborers! And the minimum number at that. Those who have gone there once never want to go back.”

“I’ll pay as much as needed. I’ll pay whatever the laborers want.”

“Those who are demanding always tend to create perfect results!”

Aaron knew exactly how to shut that incessantly chatting mouth. Mark, who had been incongruously talking about rights, immediately smiled and handed over the settlement statement as soon as money was mentioned.

✧ ✧ ✧

Quite some time had passed since MacQueen Lester, the most famous opium merchant in England, had acquired a rootless new name, Theodore. Thanks to the medicine provided regularly by the man who called himself his master, his wounds were healing well. Only the issue of his memory remained stagnant. Whenever he concentrated on trying to remember, an intense headache accompanied it, making everything difficult.

“How long do I have to live like this? I’m not even a slave.”

MacQueen stopped cutting weeds and sat down in the grass. There were many suspicious points about the things his master had told him to take at face value. However, since there was absolutely no information to be gained from the surroundings, there was no way to verify.

“Damn, there’s really nothing around here but grass.”

Once, unable to find any relief from boredom, he had tried to find a way out, but after nearly losing his way back due to the shrubs and thickets surrounding the cottage, he gave up on exploring.

There was truly nothing around except the cottage. As time passed, the silence became so agonizing to bear that he even thought it might be better if the crazy master came or if he were caught by a creditor. He couldn’t remember his past, but it was clear that his nature was not the type to live tucked away quietly.

—!

Just as his thoughts were deepening, the sound of something breaking was heard beyond the firmly closed door. It was a sound made by the master.

“Another commotion.”

At the now-familiar noise, MacQueen sighed lightly and turned toward the studio. Seeing as the loud noises had continued without pause from the moment he returned to the cottage two days ago until this morning, it was clear the man hadn’t slept a wink.

“Hmm…”

Despite standing before the door, MacQueen couldn’t bring himself to knock easily. After hesitating and pacing the room for a while, he finally made up his mind and cautiously knocked on the door.

“Master.”

[…….]

“Um… Master. Are you alive?”

[…….]

“Did you perhaps die while carving stone?”

[…….]

There was no reaction even to the random nonsense he spat out. MacQueen swallowed hard, feeling a sense of tension.

The first piece of information he had learned about the master.

If there is no answer after calling a few times, do not call any further. If one opened the studio door unable to withstand worry and curiosity, there was a high possibility that a piece of stone would fly at them.

That ferocious master intensely hated acts that disturbed his time and space. It would be more accurate to say it was a reaction close to loathing. It seemed excessive, but since it was obvious that a slap would fly if he said so, he had never expressed it. Mumbling words he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud, MacQueen naturally dropped his gaze.

“Ugh.”

His eyes, discovering something at his feet, sank sullenly. In front of the door, the meal he had prepared with clumsy skill last night remained exactly as it had been placed. It was clear it hadn’t been touched.

No. It would be more accurate to say the door hadn’t even been opened.

“You didn’t eat a single bite.”

The voice talking to himself was somewhat deflated. MacQueen pondered for a moment and then returned to his spot. As he organized the laundry that had been sufficiently dried in the sun, he recalled another characteristic of the master he had experienced over the course of nearly a month.

The master visited the cottage often, but he didn’t stay long. He would stay for a day or two at most, or as short as half a day, before leaving. Even those times had no regularity, sometimes being morning, sometimes afternoon, and sometimes night.

The master’s condition also differed every time; sometimes he was neat, and other times he returned with wounds as if he had been beaten up by a back-alley brawler. The latter was absolutely more frequent, but there was a commonality. For the most part, his face remained clean. The upper body of the master, which he had glimpsed by chance, was drawn with countless deep black bruises. It was surprising that he could perform the work of carving stone with such a body.

‘I wonder where on earth he goes and what he does.’

MacQueen narrowed his eyes, recalling the master he had observed. Since waking up, he had almost never seen the master in a healthy state. It was only a difference of whether it was worse or not; the master always lived with wounds.

‘If he throws that temper around outside, it’s likely there would be fights. …Still, he was beaten too severely.’

Whenever the master stripped off his clothes to change or go for a swim, MacQueen would occasionally steal a glance at him. Even as a white lie, it was a body that was hard to call intact anywhere. The exposed parts were clean, but the inner flesh was a mess—it was an intelligent and vile form of violence.

Yes. The previous assumption was wrong. This wasn’t the handiwork of back-alley thugs. It was violence committed by someone more cruel and someone who needed to hide themselves.

‘It wasn’t a mark of being hit once or twice. Did he pick a fight somewhere?’

He felt worried, wondering what on earth he did when he went out and came back. Despite carrying wounds that looked painful, the master didn’t even groan, let alone treat them. Sometimes it even felt as if he was neglecting himself within the wounds. At such times, he felt a strangely pitiful heart.

Besides that, there were a few more facts he had realized.

To the point that his angelic appearance was a waste, the master was an extremely fastidious and eccentric person. He had a strong pride and was sensitive to the level of a nervous breakdown. More difficult than that were his severe mood swings and his habit of raising a hand at the slightest provocation.

Because of his fickle personality, it was not easy to cater to him as one never knew where he might snap. On a day when he was in a good mood, he would ignore even a big mistake, but on a day when he was not, he would glare with piercing eyes and act out just for being spoken to. In short, he was a man with no middle ground.

The master, who mostly ran wild, was surprisingly docile in only two cases. When he smoked cigars, or when he was in the studio making something. When he smoked that mysterious leaf tobacco, the master would either slump listlessly or fail to keep his senses properly.

‘It’s definitely not a common type of Leaf-Cut Tobacco.’

MacQueen somehow disliked those hazy eyes that seemed to wander in a dream despite being conscious. Those pretty pupils couldn’t even be seen, hidden by the smoke. In that case, it was rather better for him to use foul language or exercise violence out of temper as usual. At least then, the bastard’s eyes were alive.

He had tried advising him not to smoke those unpleasant cigars, but as soon as the words ended, an object nearby flew at him. The reason was that he was arrogant for a mere servant.

“Theodore!”

At a point where his worries were deepening, the door burst open. At the call mixed with irritation and nervousness, MacQueen jumped up.

In times like this, you mustn’t touch him. You must lie flat.

The appearance of the master, who had been shut in his room for a full day since yesterday afternoon, was a mess, covered in stone dust for anyone to see.

“Prepare my clothes.”

“How would you like your meal?”

“I don’t need it.”

“Are you leaving immediately?”

Without giving him a chance to answer, Aaron headed straight for the lake. His expression was not good. Whenever the master left the cottage, he always had a dark and exhausted complexion, like a laborer being dragged to a coal mine.

“Shall I clean the studio?”

“Don’t go in!”

A hysterical shout rang out.

“Ah, yes.”

Looking at the firmly closed studio door, MacQueen sighed silently. The master was generally neat, but he did not even allow cleaning in the sculpting studio. Since nothing was resolved even if he was curious, he picked up the master’s clumsily folded clothes and stood up.

“He won’t let me touch a single thing, yet he tells me to clean… Did he hide jewels or gold bars? If he has such things, he should sell them and go to a hospital.”

Managing the cottage’s household was very unfamiliar, clumsy, and incredibly uncomfortable. MacQueen was so unskilled at everything that it made him wonder if he had ever done this work before.

“To think you don’t even know how to do this, what on earth do you know how to do?”

“My memories haven’t all returned yet.”

“What does memory have to do with doing work? Your arms and legs are fine, aren’t they? You don’t know how to do anything properly. Useless.”

“Why do you speak so harshly? Do you truly have no compassion as a human being?”

“You arrogant brat!”

The master’s ridicule, reprimands, and violence that poured out every time he made a mistake were enough to leave a mark in just a few days. His pride was deeply wounded, but he couldn’t easily show it. He had tried talking back a few times, but all that returned was fierce malice.

As his troubled mind deepened, the sound of water was heard outside the window. Turning his gaze toward the sound, he saw the master who had jumped into the lakeside. Only his head was sticking out, and his completely soaked blonde hair took on a color slightly darker than its original. It was a pale, bright blonde that held the afternoon sunlight. As if swimming wasn’t the purpose, the master immediately walked back to the opposite shore. His body, which was exceptionally fair-skinned, was full of moisture.

His half-naked back had moderate muscles and elegant lines. He was on the taller side, and his posture, with his back held straight, was very correct. Though there were many black bruises and wounds, it was nonetheless a beautiful body.

“Stripping anywhere… even a servant wouldn’t do that.”

As the master began to take off the remaining pieces of clothing, MacQueen turned his head away, pretending not to see. Without realizing it, a slight fever rose to his ears.

“When will you return?”

The hand fastening the sleeve buttons paused. To the question of where he was going, he had answered haphazardly that he was leaving to sell the item he had worked on last time. Finding it absurd that he believed such nonsense, Aaron snorted and asked back.

“Why do you ask that?”

Um… MacQueen, who cautiously broached the subject, handed the dark gray vest the master had worn a few days ago with one hand and continued awkwardly.

“I’m worried, for one.”

At that awkward gesture, which was neither serving nor not serving, a pale gold eyebrow rose diagonally.

“It’s lonely. There’s no one else… I don’t know what to do.”

“Are you saying I’m supposed to play with you here?”

“Why are you being like this again?”

As a twisted answer returned immediately, MacQueen sighed deeply.

“It’s truly disappointing when you say such things. I’m saying this because it feels like a home where people live when you’re here, Master.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

“Who else do I have to rely on but you, Master? There are no other people around… and because it’s such a desolate place, sometimes I even talk to the firewood. I’m on the verge of losing my mind.”

“Hah.”

“Of course, I’m just using that as an example. I don’t actually do that. I’m not a crazy person.”

Feeling embarrassed even as he spoke, MacQueen needlessly rubbed the tip of his nose. At the gentle reaction, Aaron only snorted and didn’t act pricklishly any further.

“When you come next time, could you bring some crop seeds?”

“Crop seeds?”

At the unexpected request, Aaron frowned.

“Looking around, there’s plenty of open space, and there are quite a few farming tools in the cottage, so I’d like to try growing some crops.”

“Are you saying you’ll farm? Here?”

“Yes. If there are vegetables, it’s better for cooking.”

“Hmm.”

If it had been a clumsy request, Aaron would have rebuked him and refused immediately, but he was momentarily speechless at the unexpected plea. After pondering for a long while, he gave a short nod with a somewhat ambiguous expression.

“I’ll look for them.”

“Really?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“That may be so, but I thought you would refuse.”

“Stop playing with words.”

At the affirmative answer, MacQuan’s expression brightened slightly. In the meantime, Aaron donned a luxurious wool vest over his shirt.

“You seem to be in a decent mood today.”

“You’re talking nonsense.”

Aaron brushed his neatly combed hair once more and examined his reflection in the mirror from various angles. Nowhere in this sophisticated appearance was there a trace of a poor sculptor covered in stone dust. The man in the mirror, dressed with an air of nobility, was a perfect prisoner returning to a gorgeous and expensive jail.

After staring at the mirror for a while, Aaron glared sideways at the sound of laughter beside him. A faint smile lingered on the lips of MacQuan, who was tidying up the clothes Aaron had taken off.

“What is so funny?”

“I thought I’d get cursed at, but since you said you’d actually get them for me, of course I feel good.”

“Is that something to be wagging your tail over?”

“…Please soften your expressions. I beg you.”

It was difficult to understand why he was so happy over the mere promise of bringing back some crop seeds. When asked, MacQuan’s face remained calm and earnest.

“Well… it gives me something to do.”

“To call such a thing ‘work’ is pathetic.”

“Try looking at it from the perspective of someone who seems to be alone here, Master. You’ll realize how happy one is to even do such a thing.”

“Your cooking skills are abysmal.”

“I believe they will improve with effort.”

“Your excuses are impressive.”

Amidst the intermittent conversation, Aaron opened a wooden box with a gentle touch. Inside, three or four cigars were neatly aligned. They were also the medicine he used to calm himself before he inevitably hit rock bottom. Whenever he returned to the family estate, it was always difficult to maintain his sanity.

Unaware of such feelings, MacQuan stood beside his master, brushing off a tiny speck of dust from the jacket and letting out an exclamation of admiration.

“It suits you well.”

The hand reaching for a cigar paused. Unaware of the other’s reaction, MacQuan spoke honestly based on what he felt.

“When you dress up like this, you really look like a young master of a noble house. If you went somewhere and claimed to be a high noble of this country, people would believe it.”

“Insane talk.”

“I’m serious! Try it while you go to sell the statues. I bet everyone would be completely fooled.”

His already irritable face twisted instantly.

‘Seeing how the corners of those eyes are curving…’

Despite it being a compliment, it looked as though he might be slapped, so MacQuan quickly took a step back.

“You—! How dare you dodge?”

“I only dodged because it looked like you were going to hit me. Uh, please don’t glare at me with such fierce eyes. Who likes being hit?”

“I should carve out that mouth of yours for you to come to your senses.”

“How can you be so temperamental all day? I can’t live like this with you being annoyed and irritable all the time. It was a compliment, so why react so sensitively and why carve out my innocent mouth?”

“You truly must want to die.”

“Given your temper, Master, I would have died hundreds of times by now. Should I just put my neck on the guillotine?”

“Haa, stop it.”

Listening to the barrage of talking back without a single gap in time made even the will to be angry vanish. Aaron pressed his palm against his eyelids to ward off the dizziness. There was no reason to continue this foolish conversation. The more he spoke, the more he felt himself being swept up in a bizarre atmosphere.

“Is it a place where I absolutely must dress formally?”

As the hostile atmosphere fizzled out, MacQuan approached again with a relieved face to continue his service.

“That’s how you sell them for a high price.”

The voice, having lost the energy to be angry, sounded sulky. MacQuan took the dampened mood as an opportunity to add more.

“Isn’t that the kind of thing a merchant would say?”

“A merchant? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

“Then a con artist?”

“Say whatever you like.”

After letting out a series of hollow laughs, Aaron finally closed the cigar case. He found it so absurd that he was giving stupid answers to ridiculous questions that he didn’t even feel like using opium.

“May I go with you next time?”

MacQuan, who had followed him out to see him off, cautiously voiced the wish in his heart.

“Where?”

“To where you sell your things. Do you go to an exchange or a market?”

“Ha.”

“If there are many debts, wouldn’t two people earn money faster? My body has recovered quite a bit, so I’m sure I’ll be of help.”

It was an arrogant statement. The man he had picked up was, quite literally, nothing more than an untrained dog. Thinking that he would have pulled the trigger on that arrogant mouth if he had a pistol, Aaron spoke.

“Theodore.”

He only called the name, but a cold current instantly swirled around. Sensing the meaning, MacQuan nodded with a crestfallen expression.

“I understand. I’ll stop.”

“….”

“I didn’t have bad intentions. It’s just… if I accompany you, it would be easier to respond if a quarrel breaks out. Don’t you always come back after fighting whenever you go out?”

“Useless worry.”

“Yes. Looking at your expression, it seems so.”

The answer lacked strength. As he looked down at MacQuan’s hand stubbornly gripping the doorknob, Aaron’s blue eyes wavered strangely for a moment.

“Just do your work.”

“I’ll have the field work done by the time you return.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“But you’ll come back early, right? Please buy plenty of food when you come back this time. The amount is woefully insufficient.”

“That’s because you eat too much.”

“Why don’t you consider my physique? An average adult male doesn’t eat so little.”

“There is no limit to your arrogance.”

“And please don’t fight with people. If someone picks a fight, please just avoid them.”

Even knowing that a positive answer wouldn’t return, he implicitly asked for the information he was curious about. Aaron found the man who bothered him annoying yet amusing. His gaze moved slowly—from the veins on the arm, to the long stretch of the nape, to the handsome face that was still full of scars.

“….”

His interest ended there. No matter how flashy the shell, it gave Aaron no inspiration.

“Master.”

At the trembling call, Aaron raised his gaze. The face of the dog, smiling faintly with an awkward expression, was exceptionally vivid. Feeling a dryness in his throat, Aaron looked away from the other’s fervent gaze.

“I will be waiting.”

MacQuan greeted him silently and turned the handle to open the door. Following him, Aaron slowly turned his eyes.

“…Fine.”

Despite it being just that, a bright smile spread across the man’s face once more. It was an incomprehensible reaction. Aaron tilted his head and carefully examined MacQuan’s face, which was backlit by the sun. Despite applying medicine and treating it for quite some time, the face was still a mess, with small scratches and peeled scars remaining. It would heal eventually, but it kept catching his eye and bothering him.

If he had known it would be this troublesome, he would have let him die there.

A brief thought flashed through his mind. Aaron fiddled with the shirt collar that felt suffocatingly tight around his neck and looked at the other with an indifferent gaze.

“Why do you keep looking?”

“These are my eyes; can I not even look?”

“You really do say the most nonsensical things.”

“Tsk.”

Of course, he could not possibly notice the irreverent face stained with embarrassment that had avoided that blatant gaze.

✧ ✧ ✧

The events that had lasted for nearly a month finally came to an end. Worburn House, now emptied of people, was eerily quiet. Just as the sound of heavy footsteps echoing through the lobby became nearly a noise, the door burst open. Having already anticipated who would visit his room, Aaron stood up and placed his quill in the inkstand without a hint of surprise.

“You’ve arrived.”

The calm reaction only fueled the Duke of Cornwall’s anger. His thick hand sliced through the air.

Slap—

“Brother! Father!”

By the time Caliven Wisfield rushed in to stop his reckless father, a red fire had already passed over Aaron’s cheek.

“How can you not show your face even once!”

“….”

“How!”

The roaring shout echoed through the entire hall. Unable to contain his rage, the Duke of Cornwall threw a book he had grabbed straight at Aaron. With a dull thud, a scratch was carved into his white forehead.

“….”

With an irritated expression, Aaron pretended to touch his cheek while covering one ear with his palm.

“If you knew how precious the opportunity to serve the royal family is, you couldn’t do this. Do you truly not know what effect it has when you don’t show your face in such a position? If you knew how much the King wanted to see you, if you knew how much your absence shamed me, you wouldn’t be able to make that expression.”

“….”

“Do you intend to remain silent until the end!”

The tension escalated due to the disregard that consisted only of cynicism. The old Duke exploded and raised his hand. With a harsh sound, the opposite side of Aaron’s head snapped back. The cheek, tattooed with violence, swelled up instantly. Swallowing his surging murderous intent, Aaron slowly opened his mouth.

“What use is any of that?”

The glint in the Duke of Cornwall’s eyes as he glared was piercing.

“For this country, of course! I cannot stand by and watch the Whigs seize power and drag England’s prestige through the mud and make it lose its dignity. Are you saying this because you truly do not know?”

“I have no interest in politics. I told you I have no intention of doing it.”

“If you have no interest, then what on earth do you plan to do? If you think you can just smoke opium and play around with women, think again! Do you not know that the Prime Minister has changed three times this year alone? How many months do you think have passed since we reclaimed power from those Whig bastards? Do not think of yourself as just ‘you.’ You are a high noble of England and the sole heir to our family!”

Aaron parted his lips but ultimately chose silence. He knew that in such a state, no words would reach his father.

“His Majesty has invited our family to a discourse tomorrow. No tricks will work this time, so prepare yourself from the morning. I will send Caliven to your room.”

“Do as you wish.”

“Stop acting so foolishly. The situation is difficult enough even without you doing this.”

Seeing his son who did not react no matter how much anger he vented, the Duke of Cornwall shook his head with a look of despair. The Whig Party, led by Devonshire, was waiting for an opportunity with a snake-like open mouth, and the reality of the Tory Party was like a single ship tossing in a storm. It was a political climate where it was hard to be certain of either side’s victory, a situation like walking on thin ice, waiting for a chance to bite the opposing camp.

The old Duke did not want to understand an eldest son who was so indifferent to family and national affairs during such a turbulent time.

“I heard you haven’t been playing around lately.”

The body, stiff as wax, flinched for a moment. The Duke of Cornwall scanned the room with a grim face. Aside from a few oil paintings purchased for investment purposes, the only decorations in the room were the books filling one entire wall and a stuffed deer from a successful hunt last winter.

“Whether it be painting, sculpture, or music, those are acts for lowly clowns to make a living. I will not stop you from enjoying such trivial work to a certain extent, but I will not overlook anything beyond that. That is the limit of the patience and tolerance I grant you.”

“Haa…”

“If I catch you doing such a thing one more time, I truly will not let it slide. Remember my warning.”

“….”

“Aaron.”

A weary sigh from one who had endured long years escaped.

“I provided you with tutors so you could acquire culture, yet you’ve learned such bizarre things. If you associate with those kinds of people once more, I will no longer let it pass with words.”

The old Duke, who had not wanted an answer, turned around. The heavy sound of his boots made the cold space feel even more frozen.

The door closed again with a loud bang.

“Caliven.”

At a languid gesture, Caliven rushed to his brother’s side.

“Brother, the injuries are severe.”

Looking at the red, swollen cheek and the torn forehead, Caliven’s expression was sorrowful, as if he were the one who had been hit. Regardless of the affectionate brotherly love, Aaron continued in a calm tone.

“About the medicine I asked for before.”

“Medicine?”

“The medicine for abrasions.”

Long, thin eyelashes blinked slowly.

“I’ll need you to get some more. …And if possible, hair dye.”

Medicine and hair dye. Caliven paused for a moment at the unexpected combination, but he did not ask why. It was not surprising, as Aaron had often instructed Caliven to procure wigs and tinted glasses in the past.

“By dye, do you mean pigment for wigs?”

“Yes.”

“What color do you want?”

Hair as thin as golden cotton thread rested softly over his rounded forehead. His eyelashes were the exact same color. Aaron pondered for a long while before slowly parting his lips.

“Red. I would like it to be red.”

“I shall do so.”

At the clean response that didn’t ask for reasons, the sharp eyes softened a bit.

“Ah, and.”

Starting briefly, Aaron fiddled with the documents on the table. His black-gloved hand played over the paper as if dancing a waltz. After a moment of thought, he changed the subject.

“Never mind.”

“Yes.”

“More importantly…”

Picking up the fallen book, Aaron carelessly wiped away his own blood from the corner and skillfully placed it back in the empty spot.

“Bernard mentioned that someone has gone missing.”

“Yes. I heard it was the representative of the Klaus Company. They say there has been no way to find his whereabouts for several days. They are searching the forest using servants, but there has been no great progress. Since the manor events have ended, I plan to deploy more people tomorrow to look for him.”

A glint appeared in the eyes that had been devoid of emotion until now.

“Caliven.”

The noble pronunciation vibrated lowly. The man lightly rested his hand on his hip and curled the corners of his mouth.

“I want you to bribe someone.”

“Someone?”

“There is something that requires us to align our stories. Someone with a tight lip, and preferably someone without a family.”

The curved eyes and the picture-perfect, bright smile made him look even more like a villain.

✧ ✧ ✧

St. James’s Palace, which held over 300 years of history, had an appearance that was modest yet emphasized practicality, following the traces of the Tudor dynasty. Once the construction of Buckingham House, which had been under renovation for several years, was completed, this place would be recorded only as a part of history.

Scanning the interior, where restraint and empty space were in harmony, Aaron struggled to swallow his rising boredom. Perhaps this kind of ennui was the cause that had driven the previous king to madness. That might be why the insane act of rebuilding Windsor Castle was possible.

Despite having already had a luncheon and conversation, the dialogue showed no sign of stopping.

“How is the situation? I have many concerns in various ways.”

“The sales are not at a significant level yet, but we are keeping a close watch.”

The Rodinton Company was a cotton textile trading company based in Wales. It had started as a joint venture between England, the Netherlands, and America, but as the domestic supply of cotton textiles dropped rapidly after the war, Rodinton failed to keep up with the changing times.

Eventually, the Dutch and American sides, believing that recovering their investment would be difficult, withdrew their shares at the end of last year, plunging the company into crisis. The one who extended a final hand to the nearly bankrupt Rodinton was the Duke of Cornwall. While there was an ulterior motive to revive the popularity and public opinion of the Tory Party, which had plummeted after the change of government, the primary reason was the grander goal of strengthening the integration between England and Wales, especially since most of the company’s employees were citizens.

Separate from his severe personality flaws, Duke Edmund Wizfeldon of Cornwall was the type of man who dedicated his entire life to the state and its people.

“There are issues with promissory notes, but we currently view this as a re-investment stage. We are pushing to acquire a factory with outstanding production capacity within the Indian territories, so we intend to strive for the revival of the domestic cotton industry without letting our eyes wander to other sectors.”

“I hope your extensive and prudent investments generate remarkable profits. If only the domestic economy is revitalized, it will be a great help to the unemployment and inflation problems.”

The Duke of Cornwall continued the momentum of the conversation.

“That is an important point. To revive the stagnant economy, we must solve the distorted trade problems the Empire currently faces. Please consider the amount of silver bullion that left England this past year, Your Majesty. The trade deficit problem must be solved by restructuring and discovering the items that serve as the source of exports and imports; we cannot keep filling that gap with opium forever.”

“Of course, I agree with your opinion. However, it is an obvious fact that the long-term interest debts of the East India Company are rapidly decreasing due to opium. Because of this, the perception that it is unavoidable is also widespread, is it not?”

“It is because there are crowds inciting others with sophistry. The House of Lords should be providing support, but since the redistribution of constituencies, it has not been easy to gather a consensus among the members of the House of Commons. The impartiality of Viscount Sainsbury, the Speaker of the House, has long been under scrutiny.”

The tone of the Duke of Cornwall, as he lamented, was tinged with resentment. A few years ago, during the revision of the election laws, William IV had ridden his horse all the way to Westminster to dissolve the House of Lords and eventually declared the dissolution of Parliament.

「Le Roy le veult」

It was the opening of the reform proposal written on parchment.

“Ahem.”

William cleared his throat softly with a troubled expression and raised his glass.

“Was the redistribution of constituencies not a necessary measure? Had we not done so, we would have lost something of far greater value.”

“You must at least provide support for the formation of the cabinet. Even if the power of the House of Commons grows, the ministers within the government cabinet can neutralize that imbalance to some extent.”

“If only things worked as one wishes. Dissatisfaction still seethes over my appointment of the Prime Minister according to my own opinion this time; it is not easy to appease them.”

Times had changed. The King could no longer select and dismiss cabinet ministers at his own will, nor could he manipulate the House of Lords and the House of Commons as he pleased. The political role of the Prime Minister and the cabinet was evolving into a form dependent on the House of Commons.

It was, in every sense, governance through Parliament.

Aaron chose to willingly watch the comedy performed by his father, who defied the changing times and indulged in nostalgia for the era of absolute monarchy.

“It is the natural power of the King.”

“Is the era not changing?”

“The various removals of trade restrictions requested by the Duke of Devonshire are far too dangerous. There is no morality, common sense, or justice in the free trade they advocate. I am not opposed to trade itself. Opium does not simply end its role as a painkiller. When abused, it has tremendous side effects and destroys lives.”

“I understand what the Duke is concerned about.”

“The opium trade may be effective as a way to resolve the trade deficit, but in the long run, it will drag the prestige of the British Empire through the dirt. The opium trade is nothing more than plunder, addicting the people of a nation to drugs. Furthermore, dirty money earned through unscrupulous channels will only empower merchants and emerging forces who threaten the royal authority. It will undermine the discipline and dignity of Parliament.”

“I agree to some extent, but rather than merely criticizing before making a proposal, would it not be better to present an alternative? That is likely why you, my Lord, intend to acquire Rodinton and conduct various experiments.”

“I believe that just and peaceful trade alone is sufficient to reduce the deficit. I pledge that all profits from Rodinton earned through terrestrial economy shall be donated to the British Royal Family. I firmly believe that such power will further empower the next master of the royal house. I will ensure that legitimate trade and business, not opium, support our empire’s economy.”

Amidst his steadily declining health and the various shifts in domestic and international affairs, a high aristocrat who was a fervent royalist and loyal to the crown was a useful card to play in any game. The King raised his glass with a satisfied smile.

“I sincerely admire your sacrifice and devotion to England and the Royal Family.”

“I shall do my utmost so that all glory flows toward the Royal Family.”

The laughter of two men, their minds racing through countless calculations, filled the garden. Aaron wore a cold smile as he observed his father’s blind loyalty, which struggled in vain.

The English cotton industry was already in decline, lacking both price and quality competitiveness compared to the cotton fabrics produced in Daecheong with cheap labor. It was a problem that even he, who was not a businessman, knew well.

He must be mad with the joy of eating his own flesh.

It was a subject that failed to interest him from start to finish. If not for the strict surveillance, he would have rather been tucked away anywhere than endure this tedious conversation.

For instance… yes. In my forest.

The King, noticing the gesture that disrupted the serious atmosphere, turned his gaze.

“It seems Earl Vispilt finds this gathering boring.”

It was a blade wrapped in laughter. As the atmosphere suddenly focused on him, Aaron stopped fidgeting without any change in expression.

“I do not.”

“Since you say nothing, I wondered if I was needlessly keeping you two here.”

“I sincerely beg your forgiveness. My knowledge and insight are shallow, making it difficult for me to dare join the conversation.”

“Hmm.”

At the mechanical tone that lacked even a shred of sincerity, the King’s brow furrowed strangely. He had a bold personality and disliked formalities, but he had not abandoned his royal authority. At that moment, the Duke of Cornwall quickly intervened.

“My son is still young and foolish, with much to learn. Since Your Majesty is providing us with such wonderful discourse as an opportunity, I believe it will be a precious experience for my heir. He has not attended many official functions, so he lacks in etiquette and social skills. Look at him; is he not stiff even now?”

Making a joke uncharacteristic of himself, the Duke of Cornwall gripped his son’s shoulder affectionately. At the exaggerated praise, the King laughed heartily and raised his glass again.

“In that case, how about we have a slightly more pleasant conversation that everyone can join, Duke Cornwall?”

“It would be an honor.”

In an invisible instant, the wrinkled cheek trembled with rage. He looked ready to crush the shoulder bone right then and there. Aaron tilted his glass, mocking his father, who could not hide his inner thoughts. It was obvious he would have to deal with a father turned demon on the way home.

‘I should go back.’

Pressing his temples to fight the oncoming pain, Aaron thought of his cottage. It was the only space where nothing existed except the cool breeze and the sound of rustling leaves. If he worked until he was exhausted and then took a nap, that place would be a paradise beyond desire.

Suddenly, Aaron thought of the dog guarding that place. A very arrogant and nasty dog. It was strange that despite losing his memory, that irritating gaze remained, so Aaron had committed an act he wouldn’t normally do. It was bound to become a nuisance, but for the moment, he didn’t give it much thought. It was a result that perfectly reflected his impulsive nature.

“I will be waiting.”

He babbled ridiculous words, as if he considered himself a domesticated beast. Despite the fact that he didn’t believe it at all. With those eyes full of suspicion.

Recalling MacQuan, who had been nitpicking until the very end, Aaron let out an unintentional chuckle. Farming—it wasn’t even funny.

‘Crop seeds… what should I bring?’

His expression as he pondered was quite serious. After thinking for a while, he quietly chuckled at how unfamiliar such a sight was of himself.

What was the point of it all?

Aaron had no intention of breaking free from the reality that strangled his neck. Nor did he have any intention of abandoning the wealth and power he currently enjoyed. This was because he had spent a long time learning exactly how his numerous attempts at rebellion and escape returned to him in horrific ways. He was like livestock that had learned helplessness.

He simply loved the stimulation that allowed him to momentarily forget the boredom and hatred that gnawed at his life. Much like alcohol and opium, the dog at the cottage was part of a whim.

‘I can just throw him away.’

Even while realizing he had already strayed from the path, Aaron believed until the end that he could control all these deviations.

✧ ✧ ✧

It took more than fifteen days for the owner of the cottage to return to Northampton from London. Nevertheless, considering the murderous schedule of balls, yacht races, hunting, banquets, and club meetings, it was a very swift return.

Of course, the cause behind that was opium. When the Duke found his son intoxicated by opium in the middle of the Pellington Hall drawing room once again, his thin thread of patience finally snapped. The moment a cane made of wisteria sliced through the air with a shout resembling a scream, Aaron finally felt glad that he could return to his cozy sanctuary.

Click.

Arriving at the cottage after walking to the point of exhaustion, Aaron faced the back of the dog sitting at a table, making something.

“Theodore.”

At the cold, brief call, the bustling movements stopped instantly. He now fully recognized him by his name.

“Eh?”

As the body slowly turned, their eyes met. Upon confirming the person who had entered the cottage, a feeling of welcome quickly seeped into the green eyes. Thinking that the color resembled Ramdiff Forest, Aaron tilted his head slightly.

“Master.”

MacQuan sprang up and rushed toward the door. It was a reaction so intense that it almost felt like a dog wagging its tail. Despite the warm welcome, Aaron passed him quickly without any particular response.

“When did you arrive?”

“Now.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I don’t want to.”

The fierce loyalty was satisfying. Aaron stopped for a moment, threw the luggage he was carrying toward MacQuan, and headed for the workshop. A grumble followed, asking why he threw it instead of giving it properly.

“You said you’d return early, but fifteen days have passed.”

“I had a lot of work.”

“I don’t know how much I worried, thinking you might not return at all. I thought I was going to die here alone.”

“What an exaggeration. There was plenty of food.”

“It’s not a matter of food. How can a person live all alone? If you’re going to be away for a long time in the future, please at least tell me. Please think of the person waiting for you.”

“Why should I tell you all such things?”

“Do you know how worried I was? I thought something terrible might have happened… I thought all sorts of things.”

At the endless nagging coming from the mouth of the man trailing behind him, Aaron finally stopped and let out a light sigh. To shut that talkative mouth, it was wise to change the subject.

“Your face has healed a lot.”

“I know you’re changing the subject because you hate listening to my nagging. You haven’t even looked at me properly since you came in, so how do you know if my face has healed?”

“The medicine?”

Faced with a brazenness that didn’t even bother to deny it, MacQuan gave up on the interrogation and shrugged.

“I applied the medicine you gave me diligently, so the wounds have almost healed.”

“I see.”

“Why did you bring so many things?”

MacQuan’s eyes widened as he checked the items packed in the bag.

“They are the things you requested.”

“That’s true, but there’s an enormous amount.”

“Too much if it’s too much, too little if it’s too little. Your whims are unpredictable.”

Aaron chuckled and took off his hat. His pale blond hair, which had been covered, sparkled in the light. As he headed toward the workshop, he stopped upon discovering a large pile of dried grass stacked in one corner.

“What is that?”

“I was just making whatever. I had plenty of time and nothing to do.”

“You’ve been doing useless things.”

“More importantly, did you bring all of this yourself, Master? You barely eat, yet your stamina is impressive. If you had called for me…”

MacQuan, who had been skillfully packing the items, looked up. He was about to continue his nagging, but he froze upon seeing his master’s appearance clearly revealed under the sun.

“What is it?”

As the conversation suddenly stopped, Aaron looked up at his servant with curious eyes. The green eyes, meeting his from a slightly higher vantage point, were frozen cold, making it difficult to deduce his emotions. After a long, awkward silence, MacQuan spoke in a choked, low voice.

“Are you hurt?”

“…”

“Why is your face like this?”

“Ah.”

It had been a war where, in a rare occurrence, fists were actually raised. His father usually avoided visible areas when exercising violence to be mindful of others’ eyes. However, when it came to the opium issue, he could not control his rage. This level of ‘medal’ was relatively mild, but there was no need to explain such circumstances to a dog.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? What are you talking about? Have you looked in a mirror? Do you know how you look and still say that?”

“Stop it.”

“The bruising is severe. Wait, the skin on your forehead is torn. What kind of lunatic did this… oh, my god.”

Unable to even bring himself to touch the face, MacQuan let out a low curse and gnashed his teeth. His face hadn’t been pristine before they parted, but in just a few days, the wounds had become far worse. These were clearly new injuries. His master had a nasty temperament, but he didn’t dislike him. Seeing the ruined face made his throat tighten and his heart feel heavy.

“Were you beaten?”

“I said no.”

“Don’t lie and say you fell. I haven’t become a fool just because I lost my memory. These are marks of being beaten. Who beats a person to this extent? What kind of bastard—!”

A fire surged, crossing the threshold. At the unfamiliar atmosphere, Aaron let out a light sigh and restrained MacQuan’s excitement.

“Calm down. I’m the one who’s hurt, so why are you making a fuss?”

“Look at the state of you, Master!”

“You’re getting bold.”

Chuckling repeatedly, Aaron slowly rummaged through the bag containing groceries.

“There was a dispute during price negotiations.”

“A dispute? Who did that? How much of a negotiation does it take to beat a person into a mess like this? No, if they didn’t want to trade, they could have just not done it; why beat a person? Aren’t they insane! We have to call the police. We can’t just let this slide!”

“Stop it.”

Feeling the annoyance of continuing the conversation, Aaron stopped answering. He walked past MacQuan and lay down on the wooden bed pressed against one wall. The old mattress offered no support and sank deeply.

“I need to sleep for a bit.”

Seeing the obviously uncomfortable posture, MacQuan placed the bags on the table and approached Aaron.

“The bed is uncomfortable; are you alright?”

“Not really.”

“Are you going to sleep right away?”

“My head hurts.”

Covering his eyes with his arm, Aaron answered indifferently. Drowsiness washed over him. Having enjoyed only a luxurious life since birth, he was picky, but in some aspects, he was indiscriminate.

“Still, how about you get treated before you sleep?”

“I’m fine.”

“If you sleep like this, you’ll have a severe fever tomorrow. I’ll just wipe the wounded areas quickly and be done, so…”

Sensing something was not right, MacQuan hesitated, unable to easily leave his side. Irritated by that aura, Aaron sat up irritably. Because he had taken a large amount of opium the day before, all his nerves were on edge now that he was sober.

“I said I’m fine. Why do you keep bothering me?”

Aaron glared viciously at the man hovering in front of him.

“Unless you want to be beaten too, get lost.”

“It’s not me, but you, Master, who should apply the medicine.”

“I’ll take care of it, so leave me alone.”

“If you just get up for a moment…”

“I said stop it!”

Slap!

In that instant, with a harsh friction sound, MacQuan’s face whipped to the side. Silence fell instantly as the back of the hand that delivered the slap turned bright red.

“…”

He wondered if his father, who exercised merciless violence upon him, felt this way. A cruel heart where the desire to simply dispose of something extremely annoying eventually leads to the use of force, ultimately swallowing the soul.

“You’re noisy, so shut your mouth.”

The hand covering the cheek flinched. MacQuan slowly lowered his hand and met Aaron’s eyes again. His vision was almost dark with disappointment and humiliation toward the other, but that wasn’t the only emotion. To overcome an unknown surging feeling, MacQuan clenched his jaw tightly. His cheek trembled.

“Is your personality originally this violent?”

“What? What did you just…”

An indescribable unpleasantness struck Aaron’s heart. His fingertips trembled at the rebellion and insolence of a mere subordinate. The moment he raised his hand to slap the cheek again, MacQuan quickly stepped back.

“I asked if you always behave this way toward someone who worries about you.”

“Shut up.”

“I was only worried because it looked too severe. Does it satisfy you to hit someone who worries about you?”

“I told you to shut up. I don’t need your worry, so get out.”

The dog’s cheek swelled red. It was a sight he had seen in someone for a long time. Feeling an inexplicable discomfort, Aaron turned his head and roughly took out a cigar. Seeing the object he took out, MacQuan’s expression immediately distorted. Even if he didn’t know exactly what it was, he knew how his master changed when he burned those leaves that smelled unpleasant.

“Wait, Master, that is…”

“I told you to get out. I don’t want to get any more excited either.”

The plea to stop ultimately failed to leave his lips.

“…I understand.”

“Get lost.”

“I will say one more thing before I leave. If you can only accept the attention of others in that manner, no one will remain by your side, Master.”

“Get out!”

“I’m leaving now, even if you don’t tell me!”

Communication was no longer possible. To calm his own roughening heart, MacQuan quickly exited the cottage.

Slam—!

The old wooden door closed, and silence immediately followed. With a face that showed no concern for the whereabouts of the person he had been with moments ago, Aaron lay on the worn mat and lit a flame. The hand scratching the match trembled.

“Phew.”

He exhaled slowly after a deep breath, then inhaled deeply again. Only after repeating this motion several times did his body and mind begin to calm down.

“…….”

His eyes, following the smoke, moved from the firmly closed door back to the table. He saw the items he had instructed Calvin to prepare. Among them were pots containing seedlings of an unidentified crop. They were seedlings he had personally chosen and bought.

“Could you bring some crop seeds the next time you visit?”

Aaron slowly frowned at the unpleasantness rising from beneath his feet. Perhaps there was no need to be considerate. No, it would have been better to just let him die in the first place. Because he had done something out of character, a human who would normally be scrubbing the floors dared to intrude upon his time and space.

“Is your personality naturally this violent?”

“How presumptuous…”

He recalled the person who had glared straight at him and poured out everything they wanted to say until the very end. Even if they lost their memories, that filthy nature doesn’t change. To erase the suffocating feeling pressing down on his heart like a stone, Aaron took another deep drag of opium. As his body relaxed, his perfectly combed hair became disheveled and his focus quickly blurred. He leisurely ran his gloved hand through his hair several more times.

He closed his eyes. Cold sweat flowed along the curve of his rounded forehead. The greenery of a dream visited him tenderly.

“After all that!”

A violent kick sent pieces of wood rolling across the pile of hay. It was wood he had prepared for firewood a few days ago when his condition had improved slightly. He had felt quite proud while stacking them into neat bundles, but now they were merely targets for venting anger.

“Who does he think he is, a king or a noble? He’s just a sculptor, what makes him so special!”

A large hand messily ruffled his hair. MacQuan poured out every curse and insult he could remember toward the collapsing pile of firewood.

“Who can handle that temper? And why are his habits so foul? He’s a completely twisted and warped human being!”

Recalling the owner’s face, mottled with bruises, an inexplicable rage surged within him again.

“With a personality like that, it’s no wonder he gets beaten. Who would ever…”

Despite being furious, the words saying it was good that he got hit wouldn’t come out. Swallowing the anger that couldn’t be expressed, MacQuan’s face sank gloomily.

His chest felt strangely tight. Just when he thought he was feeling better, the thought of that sight would make his anger flare and his heart flip.

“Coming back after getting beaten up again.”

Even before leaving, hadn’t he already been badly hurt, with only his face appearing intact? To anyone, he looked like a sick man. And yet, someone had raised a hand against him. Was there even a place left to hit? It would be impossible for anyone other than a street thug who had sold off all their conscience and morality.

“He must have bargained the price ridiculously, so that person probably resisted.”

Before he knew it, the target of his anger had shifted to an unknown stranger. MacQuan could not understand the person who had committed violence against his master.

“How could someone beat a person to that extent? Are they insane?”

Of course, with that temper, he wouldn’t have stayed quiet, but no matter how eccentric the master’s nature was, it could not be a justifiable reason for violence. On the other hand, he felt upset by his master’s stubbornness in bargaining to the point of getting beaten over a mere amount of money.

‘Or… could it be because of that debt problem he mentioned before?’

At the sudden thought, MacQuan’s expression darkened further.

He had said he fled here because of financial issues. Was he beaten by a creditor rather than the person he traded with? If so, instead of struggling to live while constrained by money, wouldn’t it be better to just surrender and serve a few years in Marshall City? He could take care of the support.

Even as the beaten cheek continued to swell, MacQuan’s attention was entirely focused on his heartless master.

“Why is his personality so eccentric?”

He stood for a long time, sighing as he looked back and forth between the lakeshore and the pile of firewood he had just kicked.

“Twisted and violent.”

Though he spoke grumpily, the worry he couldn’t hide surged endlessly.

The wounds were severe. If the visible parts were like this, it was obvious without checking how much worse the hidden wounds would be.

“Still, he’s not a human being vicious enough to deserve being beaten like that.”

A gloomy tone escaped. His master was fierce and had a bad temper, but he wasn’t without virtues. When MacQuan was stubborn, the master would scold him but still listen to some extent, and when asked a question, he would answer diligently despite finding it annoying.

Above all, though he pretended otherwise, every time he returned to the cabin, he never forgot to bring the items MacQuan needed. Perhaps he had taken note of the comment about being lonely, as the frequency of his visits to the cabin had increased significantly. Though he had a ferocious side, this man was the only one MacQuan could rely on here.

“Phew.”

Even while indulging in useless thoughts, the traces of violence carved into his master’s body would not leave one side of his mind. His forehead had been quite torn. With a wound like that, he would surely run a high fever at night.

“And he has no one else to look after him but me.”

Contrary to the thought that he should suffer for once, his attention was focused entirely on that one person. The way he kept appearing before his eyes and the worry he felt were not emotions he could control.

“Let him suffer a bit.”

Contrary to his words, his expression had softened. MacQuan knelt on one knee and began organizing the firewood again. To treat the wounds, the blood had to be wiped away first, so warm water was needed.

“……He has no pride. What’s so great about this that he’s doing this.”

The organizing lasted only a moment; the hand rummaging through the wood soon lost its purpose and wandered before stopping completely. After a silence, MacQuan stood up again and turned toward the place he had just stormed out of. Between the tall grass, a worn and flimsy cabin was visible.

This place was strange.

There was nothing but birch trees soaring high into the sky, lush thickets, a worn cabin, a collapsed fence, and a small vegetable garden. Occasionally animals passed through, but the only humans were himself and his master, who visited the cabin sporadically. It was a truly terrible and dreamlike sense of isolation.

Mornings at the cabin were excessively quiet and peaceful. No one threatened him, and no one rushed him. He simply ate the food his master brought, spoke only with his master, and spent his time swimming by the lake or making things he thought of using natural materials found nearby when he was bored.

Suddenly, MacQuan felt a sense of incongruity in this strange peace. He couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but it felt unstable and precarious. He didn’t know the origin of this anxiety. Perhaps his master’s sensitive reactions were because he felt this same emotion. The dizzying anxiety that this peace could shatter at any moment.

His hair fluttered in the direction of the wind. Without even thinking to tidy it, MacQuan simply gazed silently at the cabin where his sensitive master slept.

The sound of splashing water was heard. Within the swimming unconsciousness, Aaron recalled the deep, cold lake in Ramdiff Forest.

Swimming was a good way to hide the evidence of his work. If he immersed himself in sculpting for hours, his entire body would be covered in stone dust, and his father would immediately realize what he had been doing.

“…….”

At the warm sensation touching his forehead, his eyelids slowly lifted. He felt the texture of cotton repeatedly and softly rubbing his forehead and cheek. On the boundary between reality and dream, Aaron gradually regained consciousness. On the nightstand right next to him was a basin full of water. It was the source of the sound of water he had heard while unconscious.

“Are you awake?”

Through his gradually clearing vision, a familiar face appeared.

Theodore.

The name that hovered around his lips went back inside his mouth. The expression of the man looking at him wavered unstably. He was still groggy. Following his slowly returning consciousness, Aaron examined the man before him carefully for the first time. He had a fairly decent face, but the straight bridge of his nose, sharp eyes, and firmly closed lips gave him a stubborn impression. Mixed within that was a worry and concern that bordered on fervent blindness.

“I was worried because you wouldn’t open your eyes.”

“…….”

Aaron didn’t know the dog’s real name. He had heard an introduction at Lacey Hall of the Spencer family, but he couldn’t remember it. It would be more accurate to say he wasn’t interested. Even that was merely the past. Now, there was only one name the two of them knew for the dog.

Theodore. The name he had given him.

Dog.

Aaron murmured in his heart, his dry lips twitching.

My dog.

The man was a dog.

A dog I picked up and saved.

A dog that waits only for me.

“You slept for a full day.”

The more he blinked, the more clearly he saw the other’s face. For example, the deep emerald pupils trembling with anxiety beneath thick brown eyelashes. They were eyes that feared loss.

“I really thought something terrible had happened.”

The cautious touch wiping his forehead and cheek was clumsily inept. The pressure was so strong that he might have created wounds where there were none. His expression was so serious that his tightly bitten lips looked almost solemn. Aaron laughed silently. With such caregiving skills, he wouldn’t have any excuse even if he were fired immediately.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Because you’re so bad at it. My skin is about to be peeled off.”

“You employ me without paying a single penny, so please bear with this much.”

A warm towel wiped his forehead again. He must have heated the water. The sensation against his skin bothered him, but Aaron chose silence, as even speaking felt tedious. Due to fatigue and lethargy, his mind did not return easily. His wet blonde hair hung limply over his forehead. Masculine, straight fingers carefully pushed his hair back as if removing a feather. His fatigue-laden body sank deeper into the softness.

“Looking at it, the crown of your head was also torn and the wound was deep. If you get beaten again, avoid the head. The head is the most dangerous part.”

“…….”

“If you feel the opponent is hitting you severely, cover your face and head as much as possible and instead expose your back. Tell them to step on your back.”

He spoke such ridiculous words with a tone more serious than anyone. It was so absurd that Aaron crumpled his face.

“Who would dare step on my back?”

“No one dares step on your back, but they’ll crack your head? You don’t know how the world works. Just trust me and listen. While getting beaten as you are might be the way to get the most compensation, it is by no means a wise method. In an emergency, even if you perform a defensive attack, the judge will take it into account during the trial.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

A hollow laugh burst out at the nonsensical talk. Regardless, the hand wiping his face remained steadfast. He didn’t dislike the feeling of the pain subsiding as time passed.

“If you can’t even do that, hmm.”

When Aaron glared at him, MacQuan’s lips twitched for a moment, but he nevertheless continued.

“Next time, I hope you’ll throw some dirt in their eyes. It would be even better if you mixed in some stones. Or, ask someone for help. It will be more effective if you specify a person to ask for help. If you’ve gone that far and still no one helps, just crush both the one who hit you and the bystanders with stones.”

“Ha.”

Eventually, a low laugh he couldn’t hold back leaked through his lips. Aaron rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, then frowned at the texture of the glove. He stretched his arm out toward MacQuan. Stop talking nonsense. His adding tone was extremely languid.

“Theodore.”

Their eyes met. The deep sea and the fresh greenery perfectly captured each other’s image. Blink, blink. Even while closing and opening his eyes several times, the focus did not shift. His elegantly extended fingers moved slightly.

“Take it off.”

“Pardon?”

“The glove. What were you thinking?”

“Ah, yes.”

At the rebuke mixed with ridicule, MacQuan’s sun-tanned face flushed red. The narrow eyes of the master looking at him almost seemed amused. MacQuan hesitated for a moment, wiped the remaining moisture from his hands, and began to undo the wrist seam of the glove. Though it couldn’t be called precise even as a joke, the touch was quite cautious. Once the embarrassment faded, the nagging continued from his pouting mouth.

“Master, please don’t refuse to bargain too much either. If you feel threatened by the other person’s words or actions, let it slide to some extent.”

“I’ll handle it, so be quiet.”

“I’m saying don’t just get beaten like a fool. If someone uses violence to the point where a person becomes like this, they are truly a piece of trash. How could you possibly bargain with such a person? There’s nothing good about getting into a quarrel. It may be a waste, but just consider it gone.”

“…….”

“What is it that makes you get beaten? Is there anyone who doesn’t feel pain when they’re hit? If you aren’t confident in hitting them back more than twice as much to get revenge, please remember my words.”

While he spoke alone, two sapphire buttons that resembled the color of his master’s eyes were pulled, and the cloth covering the back of the hand and fingers slid out smoothly. The lining was made of silk, so the touch was extremely soft. Only then did the hand hidden inside the black glove reveal itself.

It was long and white, but filled with cuts and punctures from knives here and there. The wounds drawn like spiderwebs across the hand were like a painting. There were also a considerable number of wounds where the blood had not yet faded. The reason for wearing black gloves was likely to hide the blood soaking through to the outer fabric.

“The wounds are severe.”

“…….”

“I should apply some medicine.”

“Theodore.”

The master called his name again in a low, elegant tone. He should have answered immediately, but for some reason, MacQuan couldn’t say anything.

Theodore.

Whenever the master called his name, MacQuan was often swept by a sensation that was difficult to explain. MacQuan didn’t dislike the master who lay peacefully even in a ruined state, commanding him with the tips of his fingers. To be more truthful, despite that personality, he was quite a source of reliance.

“Theodore.”

“…….”

“Theo.”

When there was no answer, Aaron reached out and mischievously pulled MacQuan’s hair.

“It hurts.”

“Endure it.”

“Why should I endure it when it hurts? Stop it. I’m applying medicine.”

“Endure it. You’re a servant.”

A faint light flickered in eyes full of boredom.

“Honestly…”

Knowing the master would immediately lose his temper if he said anything, MacQuan gave up on resisting and quietly left his head in the master’s hand. His body, toned with lean muscle, was easily pulled. Aaron rubbed the dark brown hair with his calloused hand, humming to himself repeatedly in his heart.

Dog.

My dog.

The dog I saved.

The dog who cannot live without me.

“Theodore.”

“Why do you keep calling me?”

The clumsy hand repeatedly pulled his hair haphazardly.

“It hurts.”

He felt strangely distressed even at such a trivial action, but the words to stop didn’t come easily. Looking at the master’s face full of wounds, his heart felt tight again. He looked so pained, yet his expression was as if he didn’t even perceive the pain.

Who beat that person? Who wounded that person?

In the silence, their straight, meeting gazes pierced through each other.

“Next time…”

A cracked, ugly sound broke through his vocal cords of its own accord. His eyelids slowly opened, revealing tightly locked green particles. Aaron knew the jewel that resembled that color well.

Emerald.

The jewel his mother loved most. The jewel his father had presented to win her favor and bewitch her.

Aaron swallowed hard and continued. Perhaps because it was after the opium, he didn’t feel bad.

“I’ll let you go out.”

As if he had made a grand decision, Aaron smiled triumphantly.

“…….”

Even as time passed, there was no word from the other. Contrary to the expectation that he would be happy, wagging a non-existent tail, the response that returned was lukewarm.

“I see.”

It was an irreverent and insincere answer. Aaron felt a surge of anger for a moment, but even that was tedious, so he let out a light yawn. In between, the warm towel repeatedly wiped the sweat-soaked forehead and hands. Aaron closed his eyes at the refreshing sensation and called MacQuan again.

“Theodore.”

MacQuan also responded to that call once more.

“Please speak.”

Different wavelengths became strangely intertwined.

“How about trying to dye your hair?”

An abrupt suggestion fell from Aaron’s lips.

“Dye it? Suddenly, why…”

The eyes that were always irritable and full of annoyance were, for this moment, full of mischief. It was strange. It was such a beautiful color, containing all the skies that exist in the world, that he simply couldn’t take his eyes off them.

“In red. Redder than the sun.”

The attempt to say they didn’t want to do it failed completely, defeated by their master’s smile, which was more radiant than the sun. He smiled so beautifully that MacQueen had the absurd thought that perhaps red might actually suit them. Rubbing their chest where it felt tight, MacQueen turned around and let out a long, heavy breath.

✧ ✧ ✧

Herald Lenzdoor, the Duke of Devonshire, used liberal imperialism—which didn’t hesitate to employ military force between nations under the guise of spreading liberalism—as a means to solidify his political standing. He spared no support in shaping public opinion in favor of an active foreign policy. Of course, there were personal ambitions for Devonshire behind this, but he was also a patriot in his own right, desiring the empire’s economic development to be maximized in the way the Whigs pursued.

“Are these words entirely devoid of lies?”

At the cold tone of the question, a middle-aged man in worn clothes and with a fatigued expression repeatedly bowed his head. The man was responsible for the maintenance and plumbing of Worburn House and had come to Devonshire’s London residence accompanied by Caliven Wisfield.

“Yes. After dismounting, the gentleman looked for a carriage. He asked me if I had seen the carriage prepared in front. I told him that the door he had exited from was the side gate of the villa, not the main entrance. He asked for the location of the main entrance again, and I informed him. Then, he hurriedly handed over his horse and ran in the direction I pointed. He seemed to be in such a rush that he didn’t even answer when asked what to do with the horse.”

“Are you certain he ran toward the main entrance?”

An anxious Robert abruptly cut in. The man looked startled for a moment before regaining his composure.

“Yes. He definitely went toward the main entrance. Usually, guest carriages wait around the cochère. If he had gone inside, why would he have given me the horse? He would have taken the carriage. Not knowing what to do with the horse, I went back through the side gate, rode it, and left it in front of the promenade before departing.”

“Why did you leave the horse on the promenade without entrusting it to anyone? There should have been servants throughout the forest due to the hunt.”

At the sharp question, the man quickly lowered his eyes. His blunt fingertips trembled with anxiety, but he knew those who were far more terrifying.

Opposite him stood the second son of the Duke of Cornwall’s family, watching him with arms crossed and an expressionless face. At this moment, Caliven Wisfield was the perfect observer. It was obvious that everything said here would reach the Duke of Cornwall. The man knew well the cruel nature of the head of the Cornwall family. Biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, the man continued.

“I led it to the entrance of the forest, but no servants were in sight, perhaps because they were all busy with the fox drive. After wandering for a while, I grew anxious as my appointed time approached. After hesitating, I left the horse at the entrance of the promenade and hurried back into Worburn House, thinking someone would eventually see it. After that, as you know, I began the heating repairs with my colleagues. Northampton gets cold as soon as autumn arrives.”

The man continued, glancing cautiously at his listeners.

“That is everything I saw and experienced. For what reason would I lie? If there is any falsehood in my words, I will gladly accept punishment.”

At the plumber’s final statement, Robert collapsed into a chair, unable to overcome his despair. Though the man seemed thoroughly intimidated, his clear speech did not sound like a lie.

“So, he vanished after leaving Worburn House.”

Herald Lenzdoor sank into deep thought, resting his chin on his hand. Tap, tap. The sound of his cane hitting the floor was quite effective in piecing together the scattered clues.

“Your Grace, we must request help from the London Police Department. This is a situation that requires central authority. If he left the estate, someone must have kidnapped him. Baronet Enfield has always been plagued by threats!”

Robert’s clenched hands trembled. It had already been a month. A full month of complete silence from MacQueen Lester, waiting only for that damned fox hunt and the superficial ball to end.

The forest search party, composed of estate servants, had brought back no results, and the operation had been conducted cautiously for fear of ruining an event hosted by a high noble or bringing shame upon the King. Police force had been deployed, but they only searched the vicinity of the Northampton Estate; they didn’t dare enter Worburn House, where the formidable Duke of Cornwall presided.

Robert buried his forehead in his trembling hands. Even when trying to think positively, his thoughts kept drifting toward the extreme.

“Robert, calm down. Have we not already deployed local police? It is difficult to conclude hastily that a crime has occurred. For now, it is a case under the jurisdiction of the local police department. The moment the London Police Department intervenes, the incident will snowball beyond measure.”

His calm, sunken eyes flashed. The Duke of Devonshire lowered himself to slowly meet the plumber’s gaze. The man, receiving that piercing look, flinched and hunched his shoulders. The old Duke stroked his neatly trimmed mustache.

“No matter how I think about it, there is no reason for the Duke of Cornwall to intentionally hide the Baronet. It would be a situation where he gains nothing and is certain to be suspected. Even if he is somewhat uncommunicative, he is not a despicable schemer.”

The Duke of Devonshire thought of Elisha, who had ceased eating and drinking, drowned in sorrow. While not a perfect match for a son-in-law, considering the future, Klaus’s representative was superior in every aspect compared to marrying her off to some mediocre noble family. He had the title of Baronet, however modest, and above all, Klaus Diugen’s immense financial power played a crucial role in consolidating his influence within the Whigs.

‘He is still too valuable a piece to lose.’

This conclusion was reached after thorough calculation. Taking MacQueen Lester as a son-in-law meant owning the entire underground economy of England. Furthermore, it bothered him that members of Parliament with daughters showed great interest in MacQueen at every gathering he attended recently. This pragmatic thinking had a significant influence on Herald Lenzdoor’s unconventional decision.

“There are indeed one or two points in that man’s story that are questionable. I shall have to consult with Commissioner Newman on how to conduct the search. That said, we must not neglect the search of Worburn. I will discuss that matter with the Duke of Cornwall. And you.”

“Yes? Yes, yes.”

The intimidated plumber snapped his head up.

“You may have been warned by the Duke of Cornwall as well, but you must not disclose the conversation we had today anywhere. Keep that in mind.”

“Yes… yes, of course.”

Searching a private residence was a dishonorable insult, regardless of the reason. The Cornwall family, in particular, was a great English noble house with centuries of history. While they were currently cooperating clumsily and keeping MacQueen’s disappearance quiet because it wasn’t beneficial for either side, the Duke was not one to easily allow a search of Worburn House.

“Sir Caliven Wisfield, you agree as well, do you not?”

“Of course, Duke of Devonshire.”

Responding with perfect etiquette, Caliven lightly lowered his gaze. Seeing the second son of the Cornwall family faithfully fulfilling the role of proxy instead of the degenerate eldest son, Caliven gripped his cane tighter. It was an irrepressible envy and jealousy.

✧ ✧ ✧

Translucent curtains hung long from the ceiling down to the carpet. A heavy, exhausted air weighed down the room.

“Robert.”

“Yes.”

“Did he return?”

Deep sorrow settled upon her innocent face. Her breath was so faint that it was hard to hear without listening closely. Robert took a cautious step toward the bed.

“He returned a short while ago.”

“Did he say anything? Did he find any evidence? Mr. Robert, please tell me.”

“No particular clues were found. There was no gain other than the testimony that Baronet Enfield accidentally exited through the side gate of the estate and returned to the main entrance. Still, we plan to request cooperation from the police. An official investigation will be possible, so please do not worry too much and try to get up.”

It was an answer exactly at the expected level. Her sunken cheeks and bloodless lips trembled. Her body, wasted by a long period of bedrest, shook piteously. The pillowcase gradually became damp with salty moisture.

“Rose… water.”

“…”

“He said… he would give me rose water as a gift…”

“…Lady Elisha.”

“I know… what people think of him.”

Robert listened silently to the faint, steady whispers.

“Still, MacQueen… was the only person who wanted to take me out of here. Though the emotions we shared couldn’t be called love…”

Unable to continue, the woman finally buried her face in her hands. Damp moisture flowed continuously between her gaunt fingers.

“He is like family to me, Mr. Robert…”

Huu, hic— huu… Heart-wrenching sobs filled the room.

✧ ✧ ✧

Miller Waison’s salon was always crowded with people.

When his secret invitation arrived at Pelinton Hall, the London residence of the Wisfield family, it happened to be just after the Duke of Cornwall had left London due to riots in Scotland.

A man leaning against a stained-glass cabinet exhaled smoke repeatedly. His well-combed hair was perfectly groomed. Despite being intoxicated by drugs, his sharp eyes and sneering lips could not hide his naturally fierce aura.

“Earl Vispilt.”

Miller Waison, holding wine glasses in both hands, approached him.

“It seems the Viscount is quite drunk.”

His staggering steps and disheveled appearance were a mess. Finding his own reflection—not much different from the eldest son of the Spencer Earl Family, who was in a state of endless decline—amusing, Aaron chuckled with a cigar in his mouth.

Miller Waison also smiled deeply and offered a glass.

“Am I not always like this? Have a drink, Earl.”

“Did we not gather to debate? What do you intend to discuss in that state of mind?”

Rumors that the eldest son of the current Tory Party’s most powerful figure was participating had filled the Spencer Earl Family estate with those wishing to witness that power in person.

“Did we not talk enough about the tedious election this morning? Those who desire more debate will seek out enlightened citizens at the coffee houses, and at night, there are other stories to be told.”

Miller Waison smiled darkly and gestured with his eyes.

“Despite this state, couldn’t the Earl and I discuss various things? Just as we did before. Very intimately.”

He was referring to the hedonistic social party held at the Spencer estate a few months prior. Raising both eyebrows, Aaron took another deep drag of the filter.

“That is true.”

He recalled the memory of responding to Miller Waison’s invitation and playing along. He had willingly attended the event to spite his father, who wanted to distance himself from the Canning faction.

“The Earl must also prepare for his entry into Parliament.”

“Would the Viscount not enter before me?”

“Whenever it may be, the day will come when I face the Earl in the House.”

“It would be a blessing if neither the Viscount nor I die of addiction before then.”

At the indifferent reply, Miller Waison laughed loudly and leaned against the wall. The whites of his eyes had long been shot through with red veins.

“I cannot say otherwise. It is simply impossible to quit.”

Even while spending decadent days immersed in opium, Miller Waison was a man of great political ambition. Depending on the inclinations of his father, Earl Spencer, most of the attendees of Miller’s salon were of the Canning faction; though they were fellow Tories, they stood at the opposite end from the Cornwall family. Aaron knew well how his presence here would be interpreted and criticized. He knew, but he simply did not care.

“Sir Waison, you too must decide your line before entry. The Canning faction cannot remain in the Tory Party forever. It is only called neutrality for the sake of convenience; in the eyes of the world, you can only be seen as a coward. Since the perception is prevalent that the Spencer Earl Family plays a large role as the pivot of the Canning faction.”

“I am also contemplating it. It so happens that there are parts of my father’s opinion that I cannot agree with.”

“It is a pity, but I hope that my family does not end up at odds with the Viscount.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

Some to confirm their position, some to decide their intent. Though their goals differed, the actions of greedy men were the same. In that sense, Aaron Wisfield belonged to the group that did not hesitate to solidify the power of his position and crush those beneath him.

“Actually, there has been a friend who has provided help at every gathering. It would have been nice to introduce you this time.”

At the casual opening, Aaron narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t hard to deduce who the “friend” Miller Waison was referring to. Unconsciously, his grip on the cigar tightened.

“Because he is a friend who always brings gifts that bring joy.”

Miller tapped the opium-laced cigar with his fingertips and smiled slyly.

“Did he come today as well?”

When Aaron asked while pretending not to know, the other took a sip of wine and shrugged.

“No. A proxy sent a letter saying he is leaving for India on business for a few months. Still, he sent plenty of gifts. There will be more than enough to enjoy tonight.”

“India. He has traveled a long way.”

“Indian goods are of the highest quality.”

From Miller’s answer, Aaron guessed how the disappearance of the opium merchant had been covered up. He recalled Caliven’s report from a few days ago that he had brought a henchman before the Duke of Devonshire. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly in satisfaction.

Once again, a long trail of smoke spread distantly. It was a deviation no different from his daily routine, but for some reason, Aaron found this situation dreadfully exhausting. He pressed his lips firmly. The mask, conditioned by violence over a long period, was precarious. In his blurring consciousness, he thought of the cabin in Ramdiff Forest. The bright greenery, the clear air, and the space nestled within.

And someone who would be waiting for him there.

“Let us move to another room, Earl.”

The still-staggering Miller Waison led the way. The place he was heading toward was a space where all sorts of expectations and greed lurked.

“Let us do so.”

After watching him for a moment, Aaron carelessly crushed his cigar against the silk wallpaper and willingly entered the furnace of pleasure. The wallpaper printed with purple forget-me-nots shriveled into black. Not a single trace of the cabin’s afterimage remained on his desolate expression.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Young Master, are you not hunting too frequently these days?”

A man, half-perched on a table while cleaning a gun, glanced sideways. Ash fell from the end of the cigar in his mouth. The butler, Bernard, carrying a bottle of liquor prepared by a servant, cautiously approached the table where the heir of Cornwall sat.

Judging by the lingering scent, fortunately, it was not opium. The old butler, who had welcomed the young master returning home heavily intoxicated from a social club a few days ago, had spent the night sleepless, fearing the young heir might start a war with the Duke.

“The Duke is very worried.”

“Since he is so worried, did he not send you all the way to Northampton? As a faithful monitor.”

“Young Master.”

The wrinkled face distorted in distress. Bernard had originally been the general manager of Worburn House, the Cornwall family’s country house in Northampton. There was only one reason why he would be traveling repeatedly between the London residence, Pelinton Hall, and the great estate, Worburn House.

The best servant who is also the best monitor.

Concerned about Aaron, who stayed in Northampton unusually often after the fox hunt, the Duke of Cornwall gave Bernard strict instructions as he watched Aaron preparing to leave again.

“To think that after stopping that damned project, his interest has shifted to nothing more than opium and hunting.”

“Your Grace.”

“Since the timing is poor, it might actually be better for him to stay at Worburn and not cause any trouble.”

Society was in turmoil. As awareness of human and labor rights grew domestically, protests occurred more frequently year by year, and the situation regarding assemblies in Ireland was also poor. On the firm face of the old Duke, who looked out the window with his hands behind his back, the weight of years he could not defeat was layered thick.

Edmund, showing his discomfort, wandered by the window for a long time before leaving the estate. The object he watched until the last moment was his eldest son, lying carelessly and sleeping near the promenade outside the window.

“The Duke may treat you somewhat harshly, Young Master, but he is the one who thinks of you more than anyone else.”

Despite the sincere words, Aaron stood up with his hunting rifle, his face devoid of interest. The cleanly polished muzzle shone smoothly. Bernard’s gaze followed. He had an appearance so noble that he could pass for royalty, but the old butler knew the wounds inside that had rotted and festered black.

“Duke Cornwall deeply regrets this matter as well. As you know, Young Master, he is a man whose words and actions often precede his heart. I know he can be somewhat excessive at times. Nevertheless, he loves you more than anyone. After doing that to you… he suffered greatly until the day before the event.”

Even in the face of words designed to stir emotion, there was still no clear answer. Aaron’s steps led him to a console in a corner of the study’s bookshelf, where a cloth bag rested. The bag was filled with hunting gear, preserved foods, and canned goods. Since the young master always packed plenty of provisions, as if he intended to live in the forest for days whenever he went hunting, Bernard ignored it and continued speaking.

“As soon as your health recovers…”

“Bernard.”

Cutting him off cleanly, Aaron turned back toward the table where the liquor bottles sat. His stride was light and brisk. Humming a tune, the man picked up the strong gin and bottle of wine prepared by the butler, checked the labels half-heartedly, and tossed them carelessly into the bag. His movements as he tied his shoelaces were firm.

“I think you are a very competent butler. Even if I succeed Cornwall, I will trust you and your family until the end. I hope you will protect our house for as long as possible.”

“Young Master, those words are more grateful and honorable than I can express.”

Bernard felt a lump in his throat at the words of the young master, who had been nothing but cold to everyone since reaching adulthood, but he could not find an answer to what followed.

“Therefore, as a token of my affection and my wish for you to stay with me, would you be willing to endure it if I were to exercise violence? Since you are loyal, I shall specially use a magnificent cane owned by the Duke. It has a very large sapphire embedded in it.”

“….”

“Is this explanation sufficient?”

“Young Master…”

“Do not attempt to wrap that man’s atrocities in such cheap emotions in front of me.”

“I am sorry.”

As the old butler instantly fell silent, Aaron smiled faintly and slung the rifle and bag over one shoulder.

“That is how it is. The relationship between the Duke and I. He has no hesitation in destroying and breaking the jewels he cherishes.”

Looking back, it was difficult to find any emotion on his face.

“Unfortunately, I have inherited a great deal of that side of His Grace.”

“Young Master.”

“It is a tragedy.”

With one corner of his mouth curled in a smile, Aaron left the study with a quick pace. No one in the mansion could stop his light footsteps.

Sunlight filtering through the leaves cast long shadows upon the ground. The exterior of the cabin, sitting solitary in the middle of the brush, had undergone many changes over the past few months. The half-collapsed wall had been repaired—albeit with clumsy skill—using stones and wood gathered from the surroundings, and the overgrown areas had been cleared of weeds to be reborn as a small vegetable garden. Various crop sprouts revealed their leaves atop the rich, colorful soil.

There was a small hole in one side of the fence. When Aaron asked about it, MacQuan deflected, saying he would tell him later. Regardless of how things were unfolding outside the forest, peaceful days continued at the cabin. The only “incidents” that occurred were minor daily accidents.

The man’s haphazardly messy hair swayed with his movements.

“Stay still.”

“This is strange. It feels stifling.”

The bridge of Aaron’s straight nose tightened with effort. The cause of the frustration remained silent. MacQuan frowned, holding his hair, which was stained red in several places. Though he was someone who rarely showed emotion, a rare pout appeared across his pale face.

“Wait.”

“Are you sure you’re doing this right?”

“Just wait.”

“My head is tingling incredibly.”

“I told you to be quiet.”

“Is this actually meant for human hair?”

“….”

Faced with the relentless barrage of protests, Aaron frowned and unfolded the instruction manual again. His eyes moved busily over the tiny print. His white shirt, tucked up haphazardly, was also a mess, stained red in various spots.

“Let’s try again.”

“Forget it. It’s just going to get messier.”

“Then do you intend to keep your hair like that?”

“…Is it that strange?”

“Hmm…”

It was a silence that held all the answers. While the ruined hair was amusing, MacQuan had never been particularly concerned with appearances, so the absurdity didn’t last long.

Looking at his master, who was watching him with a prim expression, MacQuan thought he looked like the red wild fox he had discovered not long ago. Of course, he didn’t say it aloud. If he did, a fierce hand would surely come down on him. Not just a slap—he might actually die.

“…It’s just okay.”

At the answer that came after a long pause, MacQuan finally couldn’t help but chuckle. The master looked deeply wounded in his pride, as if he hated admitting failure.

“What is this? I told you I wouldn’t do it.”

“Be quiet, you’re too noisy.”

“In the first place, this isn’t meant to be applied directly to human hair. Isn’t this dye for wigs?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Did you even check the safety or anything before painting my head?”

“Why are you so talkative?”

“It’s my head. Sigh.”

The bickering conversation continued for a while. Even then, Aaron’s hands did not stop, and MacQuan did not block the young master’s clumsy touch. When Aaron, losing his temper, intentionally tugged at his hair, MacQuan eventually let out a small laugh.

‘Strange person.’

As the time they spent together grew longer, he began to learn the traits and sides of the man he hadn’t known at first. The master was an extremely sensitive and closed-off man. He was violent and irritable, yet extremely cautious; because the bolts on his heart were so sturdy, he never allowed even a sliver of a gap.

“Let’s stop for now.”

“Why?”

“Because you keep chatting away noisily.”

Nevertheless, MacQuan could vaguely feel that the relationship between himself and the master was changing, in a cautious and very minute way. Occasionally, like today, the master would show him a relaxed side in unexpected moments. Though the other party would never admit it.

“Fine. But if we stop here, what about my hair?”

Swallowing the rising surge of emotion deep inside, MacQuan sat before Aaron and pushed his head forward. It would likely be another failure, but he didn’t dislike the feeling of fingers touching his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Do it properly. Shouldn’t a man have a sense of responsibility? How am I supposed to live with this hair?”

“….”

After a long while, the answer “Fine” fell from above his head. It was his usual arrogant tone.

After the commotion of the day, peace returned to the cabin. All day, Aaron repeated the same task. Mixing the dye, applying it to the hair, and combing. In the end, he spent plenty of time venting his frustration on the other man, regretting why he had agreed to do this in the first place.

“Would you like to eat?”

“I’m not thinking about it.”

“You have to eat something.”

“I’m tired.”

A humid breeze blew through the tedious hours. The sky was clear, but a faint scent of rain lingered. He recalled Bernard’s words before leaving Woburn, saying that rain would soon fall.

“Are you smoking cigars again? How many have you had since morning? Stop smoking.”

With dye still all over his head, MacQuan reached out to snatch the cigar. His silent, strong gaze implicitly reproached the other’s extravagance.

“Tsk.”

With a click of the tongue, a sharp jaw dodged the reaching hand. A white forehead creased with irritation.

“Stay still.”

With the cigar in his mouth, Aaron combed through the dye-soaked hair with somewhat clumsy hands. His clear blue eyes, focused on the task, were rarely so lively with curiosity and mischief.

“Stop smoking those strange cigarettes.”

“I told you to stay still. The dye is dripping.”

Because he moved his face again, the red dye streamed down over the tops of both ears. Only after being hit on the back of the head with the comb did MacQuan finally shut his mouth.

“…Niya.”

“What?”

MacQuan looked down at the floor with a sullen face before turning his eyes back. The master was still puffing away on his cigar. When MacQuan unconsciously frowned, Aaron responded with an equally fierce expression.

“This is just a normal Leaf-Cut Tobacco.”

“Ah.”

“You’re completely looking down on me, aren’t you?”

“…It’s just that it’s hard to serve you when you’re in a bad mood.”

“Hearing you speak such fearless words, it seems your time to die has come.”

Aaron glared at him with an incredulous look and set the cigar down on a plate. Because he had been immersed in the task for hours, beads of sweat had formed on the tip of his sharp nose. The sporadic banter soon ceased.

“Hmm.”

Checking the time with his pocket watch, Aaron rested his chin in his hand. The time specified in the manual had sufficiently passed. He gave MacQuan’s hair one last careless comb and set the comb down.

“Go wash it now.”

“Can I go like this?”

“Yes. It’s finished.”

Speaking with a confident expression, Aaron used his dye-stained hands to tuck Westphalian smoked ham between slices of dry bread and took a large bite. Having spent the day on an energy-consuming task, he was rarely this hungry.

The forest was silent. The only sounds were the swaying of brush and leaves, and the cries of birds. Overcome by exhaustion, Aaron leaned his back against an old wooden chair and closed his eyes. His heavy eyelashes trembled slightly with the wind.

Aaron loved the stillness of Lamdiff. The forest gifted him a tranquility that could never be experienced in the mansion, where shouting and violence were commonplace.

“Master.”

In the meantime, MacQuan had returned after haphazardly rinsing his hair in the water he had drawn. The tall man strode toward his master.

“How is it?”

The two-stage process had been a relative success. The blotchy parts now bore a color similar to the reapplied dye. While not perfect, it was decent enough. Since his original hair was a dark chestnut shade, the red dye didn’t stand out too harshly, instead giving it a heavy, lustrous glow. MacQuan’s expression as he looked in the mirror wasn’t bad. Watching this, Aaron let out a long breath.

“I think it’s okay.”

“I think so too.”

MacQuan, who had been repeatedly stroking his hair with an awkward expression, left a short review. As feared, reddish marks remained on the ears where the dye had run, but no one minded.

“I thought it would be a disaster, but you’re surprisingly handy.”

“Getting cocky again, I see.”

“Admit it. You couldn’t say a word the first time I washed my hair.”

“….”

Aaron stood up, brushing off the moisture from his clothes.

“Are you not working today?”

The dog, sensing the intent to move, approached his master’s side. His quick pace and hesitant demeanor truly resembled a dog that had only just begun to follow its master; if he had a tail, he would be shaking it right now.

“I have to go into town for a few days.”

“You’re going again?”

How long had it been since he returned? Aaron’s eyes narrowed at the expression that laid his inner thoughts bare.

“Are you going to sell your work?”

“Perhaps.”

The voice, tinged with amusement, was utterly light. Smoke continuously drifted from the Leaf-Cut Tobacco held between his fingers. Aaron inhaled deeply again, his cheeks hollowing. He was practically a walking factory.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Perhaps.”

“Will it take long?”

“…Perhaps.”

“If it’s a long way, please eat before you go. And don’t refuse again. I’ve developed several recipes while you were away. You’ll be satisfied.”

Despite the other’s half-hearted answers, MacQuan laid out what he wanted to say with an unbothered expression.

“Oh, the vegetables I planted last time are growing very quickly. I think a few can be harvested and eaten soon. Since your meals are so irregular, it’s best to consume a balanced diet.”

As the one-sided serious conversation continued, Aaron’s eyebrow rose slightly.

“If it’s hard to eat them right now, I’ll pack some for you to eat easily on your way. I made a small basket, so you can take them in that. The weather is fickle, so please eat them as soon as possible.”

“….”

“Why do you keep glaring at me? I’m too scared to say anything. Anyway, don’t leave them in the forest.”

The dog habitually countered the master’s silence, listing the things he wanted to say. His tone was polite, and there was no particular change in expression. Looking at MacQuan with an ambiguous expression, Aaron reached out with the hand not holding the tobacco. Soon, deep red hair became entangled between his long fingers.

“Theodore.”

At the low call, the continuous nagging stopped. The red-stained hair scattered the afternoon sunlight. It was a color he had created with his own hands.

Poppies.

Aaron recalled the poppies he had happened to see in Grantour years ago. The red flowers swaying in the direction of the wind had left an afterimage that did not easily fade over time. He only later learned that the flower was a material for opium, but the memory and sensation remained. Recalling that memory, Aaron murmured in a flat tone.

“I wanted to capture the sun, but it became a flower.”

“….”

“It suits you.”

“….”

“And I’ve changed my mind about going today, so I don’t need the meal. That last stew was the worst.”

In a slow, languid tone, Aaron answered each of MacQuan’s questions. Without skipping a single one. Suddenly, the corners of his mouth curled slightly. It was a smile so faint that one wouldn’t know he was smiling without looking closely.

Eyes that were not just quiet but desolate gazed at MacQuan. The color, containing a bright, bright lake, was so beautiful that…

I cannot take my eyes off him.

A voice drenched in heat, likely his own, whispered toward MacQuan’s heart.

It wasn’t simply because of appearance. No matter how beautiful he was, the master was a man of the same gender. Was this not something that could be understood or explained?

Then why?

The intense attraction felt the moment he first saw him, and the simultaneous discomfort that rushed in, were the ambivalent emotions that had dominated MacQuan since regaining consciousness. The first person he saw upon waking. The person who saved him, the person who protects him. An intense longing and blindness toward the first being he ever met in his life. A heart drawn helplessly.

Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of fear, MacQuan repeatedly clenched and unclenched his fist. An uncomfortable sensation lingered in his throat. A time of mutual silence passed.

“….”

MacQuan blinked slowly. Even in that short moment, it was hard to withdraw his interest from the other. The deep, sharp eyes hardened with confusion.

A vague hypothesis flashed through his mind.

The master might not be a simple sculptor.

A man who could make another person so immersed could not possibly be just a common street artist.

“…You’re talking nonsense.”

MacQuan answered bluntly and turned his gaze away. It felt as if grains of sand were rolling around in his vocal cords. No matter how deeply he exhaled, the symptom did not improve at all. As he answered awkwardly, stiffened, a small chuckle was heard at his feet.

“Right. Let’s go inside.”

The master, who had now fully stood up, pointed toward their cabin, which sat a short distance away.

He did not remember the past.

Not people, not events, not emotions, nor anything else.

Nevertheless, MacQuan was certain that the sensation he felt now was a kind he had never experienced before.

“What are you looking at?”

The master’s expression distorted with irritation at his utterly awkward behavior.

“Still, it’s a long way. I’ll prepare some simple snacks.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“It is not. You’ll be starving all day.”

If he kept looking, he might blurt out something he couldn’t take back. MacQuan quickly averted his gaze to block the surging emotion.

Suddenly, he realized that he still did not know the master’s name.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Young Master, thank you so much. Truly, thank you. This kindness…”

“Make sure to keep the part I mentioned in mind. You must not tell anyone.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Since I cannot trust you completely, I will station a guard. It may be uncomfortable, but as it is the Duke’s order, I have no choice but to follow.”

The man flinched slightly at the word ‘guard,’ but then bowed excessively again, clutching the bag full of money. After repeating his vows and greetings several more times, he left the drawing room.

Long after the man had left, Calvin leaned against the window and watched the retreating figure of the man running away in joy. As he tightened his grip on the curtain, the soft fabric crumpled mercilessly.

“I want you to bribe someone.”

“Someone, sir?”

“There is a matter where stories must be aligned. Someone tight-lipped, and preferably someone with no family.”

As he watched the man grow smaller in the distance, Calvin’s gaze darkened.

“Why would you say such a thing…”

He followed his brother’s instructions without a shred of doubt, but the moment he heard the details, he had to ask. It was because he sensed something ominous beneath that beautiful, cunningly smiling face. Aaron merely wore an inscrutable smile, legs crossed.

“What is the problem? The Duke is struggling because that man disappeared, is he not? Just say that as a son, it was difficult to watch him suffer. Regardless, our family is currently under Devonshire’s suspicion, so it is better to cleanly pluck out any seeds of discord.”

“Is it truly necessary to tell such a lie? If that man were to leak the truth to someone else later, wouldn’t it only deepen the suspicion?”

“Calvin.”

A chilling gaze swept over Calvin.

“Read between the lines: I would prefer it if he were someone with no family.”

Calvin could offer no protest at the implication regarding the man’s disposal.

“It is for the sake of the family.”

“If that is the case…”

It was the habit of the father he hated so much. Tsk. Clicking his tongue softly, Aaron leaned his head completely back. He looked listless, fatigue etched across his face.

“You have a face that looks as if the world would end if I told a joke twice. Why, are you wondering if I will order you to kill him? Do you dare equate me with that man? How absurd.”

“No, brother, I only…”

“Enough. Send him wherever before the Duke takes action. Make sure he can never return. The Duke is a man who will do anything to achieve his goals. We must act before he does.”

An overwhelming sense of anxiety clouded Calvin’s mind. If he tallied up the uses of the items his brother had asked him to retrieve, he feared he might arrive at a truth he did not wish to know.

Aaron neither hid it fiercely nor revealed it candidly. Calvin could not fathom what was truly in Aaron’s heart, nor could he determine the right course of action.

✧ ✧ ✧

The accident happened suddenly.

MacQuan, without a doubt, had never once disobeyed an order given by his master. Of course, there were moments where he deviated in the smallest of details, but for the most part, he followed faithfully. The reason he defied instructions this time was due to a very small feeling, a very small act of sincerity.

He had been lingering in front of the workshop door for quite some time. MacQuan carefully held a grass mat in both arms, woven densely from the softest grass he had plucked and dried in the warm sun for several days.

“…Honestly.”

After hesitating a while longer, he finally inserted the key into the lock with a determined expression. With the feeling of the key fitting perfectly into the hole, the lock turned in the direction of his hand.

Click.

MacQuan held his breath as the key turned. He was so tense that the back of his neck felt stiff.

“I can just come out quickly before he makes a scene.”

When his master finished working, he would often come out quietly at dawn and fall asleep leaning against a dining chair. Even then, his insomnia was so severe that he would wake up at the slightest noise.

Whenever MacQuan saw that, he worried that the bed in the room was uncomfortable. In truth, he didn’t even know if there was a bed. Whenever he tried to even touch the doorknob, the master would glare with narrowed eyes and fly into a rage, leaving no opportunity to look.

He couldn’t remember the context, but at some point, the fact that sleeping on dried grass was quite effective for insomnia had flashed through his mind. Without time to consider if it was reliable, he had moved.

From then on, whenever he had spare time, he circled the cottage, plucking young grass and herbs that had just begun to grow, drying them thoroughly in the sun, and repeating the process of weaving them with long grass. It took a considerable amount of time to complete, but the result was satisfying.

That day was as if fate were playing a prank. On the day he finished the final row of the cover, the master had left the workshop keys—which he always carried—behind in the cottage. MacQuan, who was cleaning the room as usual, discovered the ring of keys, hesitated for a moment, and decided to take a gamble. The result was the current situation.

‘Since I did it out of care, perhaps he will overlook it.’

Regardless of everything, the master had been relatively generous to him lately. Rather than worrying that the master would fly into a rage upon seeing the cover and asking if he had entered the room, his desire to alleviate the master’s insomnia was greater. If he got angry, he could just take a hit. Of course, even after deciding this, he hadn’t easily put it into action.

Dammit, the sun was exceptionally bright today.

“At this point, it must be the will of God.”

Steeling his resolve, MacQuan pushed the door open with force. It was the moment the workshop door, which no one had been allowed to enter, swung open.

“….”

In the space finally revealed, MacQuan was speechless.

The workshop was on the narrow side. It was more shabby than he had imagined, and contrary to his expectations, there wasn’t a single old bed in sight. There wasn’t even enough space to lay out the cover. There were only a few stools and scattered tools. A space dedicated solely to sculpting.

He had no knowledge of art or sculpture. Even though he had lost his memories, MacQuan knew of his own indifference and ignorance regarding art. Nevertheless, he had to admit that the moment he saw the works his master had created, he fell into an indescribable ecstasy. The marble statues carved and refined by that violent man were not just precise; they were perfect to the point of evoking awe.

Without even realizing he had dropped the pile of dried grass on the floor, MacQuan walked toward the statue.

The statue in the center of the workshop was the Virgin Mary, carved from pure white marble. Looking at the texture of the soft cloth enveloping her body, her benevolent expression, and her smile that felt almost divine, he felt as if he should kneel before her right then and there. Heat rose in him, and his throat grew dry with excitement. He had never seen such a wondrous and holy crystallization of art.

“My god.”

MacQuan touched the sculpture with trembling hands. The cold sensation against his fingertips was certainly just stone, but there was undoubtedly life dwelling within it. Someone’s passion and longing were captured entirely.

Beautiful.

It was the moment he let out a sigh of admiration and moved toward another statue.

Thump— clatter—

“…!”

At the sound of something falling to the floor, MacQuan spun around hurriedly. A tin can that had fallen in front of the door had rolled right to the toes of his shoes.

‘Oh no.’

A dizzying gasp escaped him. As he turned quickly, he came face-to-face with his master, who stood there radiating a sharp killing intent. Before he could even make an excuse, Aaron approached with fast strides. His long, aggressive steps betrayed the level of fury he felt.

The man, who had reached him in an instant, raised his hand high without hesitation. MacQuan knew the master’s hand was heading for him, but he had no way to stop it. It happened in a literal flash.

Slap—!

“Wait a—”

Before he could even regain his senses from the sudden violence, the hand rose again. With an even louder crack, his face snapped to the side.

“Just a moment—!”

The other man raised his hand again, his face still clouded with anger. It was just as the scarred hand, devoid of a glove, sliced through the air again.

“Please listen to me before you hit me.”

MacQuan, who had barely managed to catch the flying wrist, spoke politely. At the act of blocking his hand, Aaron’s eyes flashed with a deep, blue rage.

“Let go.”

The short tone naturally carried a chill. Despite Aaron’s blade-like anger, MacQuan did not loosen his grip on the wrist even slightly.

“Master!”

“I told you to let go.”

“I am sorry for entering. But there was a reason…”

Slap—!

The uncaptured hand struck the opposite cheek. From the impact that made his entire head ring, MacQuan’s expression hardened this time. He bit his lower lip hard and gripped Aaron’s remaining wrist violently. As both hands were seized, the other man began to scream in a fit.

“Let go!”

“Please calm down!”

“I said let go!”

The face shouting again was stained with anger and disbelief. He seemed utterly incensed by the fact that he had to look up at a servant and was unable to move properly, but the difference in basic physique and strength was significant.

“How dare you…”

Holding both of Aaron’s trembling wrists, MacQuan let out a light sigh and spoke.

“I am sorry for shouting. Please just calm down a little.”

“I have no intention of playing word games, so let go.”

“I didn’t enter on purpose. If I had, I would have entered long ago.”

“You couldn’t enter before because you didn’t have the key,” Aaron shouted, grinding his teeth.

MacQuan shut his mouth tight at the accurate point. It wasn’t a lie. After contemplating for a while, he finally acknowledged the master’s opinion.

“I will not deny it. But it has been several days since you left the keys. I entered for the first time today. I truly intended to just leave the cover and leave immediately. I didn’t intend to disobey your orders. It’s just…”

“Shut up.”

Aaron clenched his fists, unrestrainedly revealing his killing intent toward the man who had intruded into his space.

“I heard your insomnia was severe, so I came in because I wanted to lay down something I made for you.”

“What?”

“It’s true. Though I see you’ve already trampled all over it upon entering.”

His gaze, looking at the floor some distance away, sank gloomily. After some thought, MacQuan released the master’s wrists. He realized that his actions were only fueling the other’s anger.

“What kind of crazy talk is this?”

“…It’s true.”

Red handprints were clearly engraved on the wrists. Rotating his throbbing wrists, Aaron only then slowly surveyed the surroundings. After a while, his gaze landed on the pile of dried grass thrown into a corner of the workshop.

“What is that?”

Aaron asked, his aura still menacing. His tone remained fierce and rough, as if he were ready to shoot him on the spot depending on the answer. MacQuan, cupping his swelling cheek, muttered gloomily.

“It doesn’t have a specific name. If I had to say, it’s a type of bedding… perhaps. It’s good to have underneath you when you sleep.”

“Bedding?”

At the unexpected answer, the rage that had been exploding until a moment ago subsided slightly. Aaron, unable to easily comprehend what he had heard, pointed to the pile of grass and asked again.

“That pile of dead grass?”

“Dead grass? It’s dried. I washed it cleanly for several days and dried it evenly in the sun.”

“Isn’t that kind of thing used for horse feed?”

As Aaron continued his questioning, his expression grew deeper with bewilderment. The one answering felt the same.

“Horse feed?”

Frowning, MacQuan pressed his hand against the corner of his eye. Though they were master and servant, both were in a state of poverty. He couldn’t express it outwardly, but a sigh escaped him at the master’s ignorance. MacQuan continued the explanation with an extremely calm expression.

“When you have insomnia, it’s good to sleep with a thin cloth over dried grass. I mixed in some fragrant herbs, so it should help stabilize your mind.”

“…There’s nowhere to put it.”

Aaron replied with a dazed expression.

“Yes. I realized that after I came in. Since you’re always inside when you come, I thought there would at least be a place to lie down. I wanted to lay it out before you arrived.”

“How foolish. If I had returned and opened the door to find something like that laid out, I would have known you entered. What on earth are you talking about?”

“I suppose so.”

With a heavy sigh, MacQuan picked up the pile of grass that had been indiscriminately trampled. He had stepped on it so hard that the grass was poking out wildly through the tightly tied knots, making it hard to recognize its original form.

“It’s a mess.”

Though it was clumsy, he had spent a long time making it with great care, so his heartache was all the greater. The way it was torn apart felt like his own discarded heart.

“I was just worried.”

In the suddenly dampened atmosphere, Aaron also could not hide his absurdity. He could not understand the opponent who, instead of begging for forgiveness, brazenly tilted his chin and argued, even seeming to resent him. The cruel desire to blow his head off from a moment ago had long been pushed aside by sheer bafflement.

“…I don’t need such a thing.”

“….”

“It’s just unpleasant.”

MacQuan lowered his eyes without a word. He looked thoroughly annoyed.

“I understand.”

At the blunt answer, Aaron’s eyebrows twitched. Who is the one getting angry here? Aaron ground his teeth.

“Why that expression?”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be going now.”

MacQuan walked toward the wide-open door, clutching the mysterious pile of grass. In the absurd situation, Aaron hurriedly chased after him.

“I clearly warned you not to enter.”

“I said I understand, didn’t I?”

“Why are you the one getting angry?”

Following behind, Aaron asked with a look of disbelief. The other continued to walk forward without answering. In the glimpses of his face, the scratches were vivid. Aaron’s eyes twitched for a moment as he saw the wounds he had caused.

“That is why I am leaving.”

Speaking in a tone that dripped with coldness, MacQuan stepped abruptly out of the workshop door. The steps chasing him became hurried in turn.

‘A mere dog.’

Looking at the back of the man who walked forward without looking at him, Aaron’s anger surged to the top of his head.

“…Are you calling that an apology right now?”

Contrary to his angry heart, the words coming out of his mouth had already lost much of their venom. Perhaps it was because the reason for the intrusion into the workshop was too absurd.

“Then how else do you want me to say it?”

Because the house was small, Aaron caught up quickly. MacQuan roughly threw the pile of grass into a corner of the wall and headed toward the entrance to leave the cottage. Aaron followed him again. His fast pace was fierce and aggressive.

“Stop following me.”

“It’s my house.”

“Yes, it’s the great master’s house. Since someone like me shouldn’t dare live here, I am intending to leave.”

“I suppose you want to die?”

“Do as you wish.”

He seemed poised to leave the forest just like that. At the resolute back, Aaron felt something inside him jolt for some reason. With an unfamiliar sensation of his chest tightening, he frowned deeply and grabbed MacQuan.

“What do you plan to do once you leave?”

MacQuan shook off the hand gripping his arm without hesitation.

“….”

At the sharp brush-off, Aaron stared silently at his hand hanging in the air. A wave of turbulence swept through him.

“My body is fine; is there anything I cannot do?”

“What could you possibly do?”

Unaware that anxiety had crept into his own words, Aaron sneered, his expression distorting.

“What could someone like you possibly do out there?”

“….”

“You’re just a moron with no memories.”

Every time the lips, tight as a blade, poured out poisonous words, MacQuan’s expression became colder and more vacant. He felt a sense of disappointment at the master’s naked personality. After listening in silence for a while, he responded with sharp words.

“Yes. I am a moron. That pathetic moron will live from now on truly grateful for your grace, so you, Master, please spend your whole life working here alone. Did you not say you didn’t want anyone to disturb you? Please live your whole life in noble solitude, sculpting to your heart’s content.”

Each word spoken slowly contained condensed rage.

“What the hell are you babbling?”

“I believe there is no reason for me to remain here.”

Flames ignited in the blue eyes that took in the fiercely driving words.

A mere dog.

A thing like a dog.

Exasperated anger lingered around his lips.

“Theodore.”

At the coldness emanating from the voice, the steps toward the exit stopped abruptly. His broad back froze coldly.

“If you leave this place, it is completely over. You will never be able to return here again.”

A chilling final ultimatum was delivered. This was a man who already knew too much. Anger that did not know how to detour struck in a straight line. He knew of the cottage’s existence and location, and all his secrets. If he could not be controlled, it was better to eliminate him.

Yes, I could just kill him and order Calvin to dump the body in the river or the mountains. No one would dare search this place, and no one would find him anyway.

“Do as you please.”

MacQuan, having no way of knowing what the other was thinking, cut off the conversation and started walking again.

I should just shoot him in the leg.

Violent emotions shook Aaron’s mind. The hand searching for the best option was stiff. Even though he hadn’t taken opium, violent emotions ran wild. No, perhaps it was because he hadn’t.

While he retraced the shape of the emotions that had entwined him, the insolent dog was completely leaving the cottage. Despite the pace not being particularly fast, Aaron could not catch up to the dog attempting to leave. In truth, he had been frozen in place for a long while, but he was not properly aware of his own state.

Thud—

Just as the sound of footsteps faded, the creaking old door slammed shut. Silence instantly descended upon the cottage.

“…….”

Damp air settled over his head. Long, slender eyelashes blinked slowly. Aaron looked down at his hand, which had failed to draw the pistol until the very end. His pale hand, riddled with cuts, melted into the darkness. A heavy breath and a distant exhaustion sank down to his toes. It was a discomfort akin to vertigo.

Let him just get lost.

Aaron scoffed and reached for the table. He could simply call someone to handle it in the morning. It would be difficult to escape this forest anyway. The hand holding the opium trembled slightly. He needed the drug.

Sculpting had been merely a diversion from a stifling daily life. Aaron had fallen fiercely for the allure of creating something from himself, a man who was nothing but wounds. He considered his hobby a brief excursion, but his father, Edmund Wizfeldon, did not agree. One day, after seeing the heir sculpting personally, the Duke of Cornwall used that incident as a turning point to completely destroy every piece of work and thoroughly block all activities related to sculpting.

The works were always broken and lost their form at his father’s hand. The number of shattered fragments was too many to count. Whenever he saw the pieces scattered and broken on the floor, Aaron always wondered why his father reacted so violently.

Perhaps the instinct of the old Duke, mad for his family name, had sensed some kind of future. The great Duke wanted the eldest son of the house to do nothing other than receive his succession training. He did not want him to take interest in unnecessary things. Clumsy aspiration was an unnecessary emotion. He wanted his son to know only the state and the family, and to be controlled within his palm.

Fearful that his precious heir might cast a glance toward another path, the Duke of Cornwall did not hesitate to wield his power to trample the passion his son hadn’t even realized he possessed.

It began with the deaths of those close to him.

The teachers who taught Aaron painting and sculpture were thoroughly retaliated against. Some were killed, and some were crippled. Among them, he did not even know if his first teacher was alive or dead. Every studio he had ever stepped foot in was closed. If equipment or tools were purchased under the name of the Wizfeldon family, that general store would close its doors and head toward bankruptcy for one reason or another.

The spaces where he could work to his heart’s content dwindled. They shrank bit by bit until, eventually, no one anywhere dared to contact Aaron. Wherever he went, watchful eyes followed, and the violence to prevent the heir’s deviation grew more extreme by the day.

Until the moment everything tightened around his throat, Aaron did not realize he was dying. There was nothing he could change by his own will anyway. Long before this, the old Duke had wielded omnipotent power within the family, inflicting violence upon his two sons. Under the guise of love and discipline, it had only worsened as the years passed. For Aaron Wizfeldon, his father’s violence was a daily occurrence.

Aaron helplessly observed the things happening to him. Unlike his conscious mind, which brushed it off as something that always happened, his unconscious mind, which loved sculpting, rotted and sickened uncontrollably. Amidst the daily onslaught of violence, Aaron vaguely sensed that his life would end in suicide or murder by a demon.

He first started opium around the time the Duke of Cornwall’s interference and violence reached their peak. When his migraines became so severe that daily life became impossible, Dr. Boswell, the family physician, prescribed an extreme remedy. The effect of the drug was astonishing. After a certain amount of time had passed since ingestion, the body became languid, and all worries naturally sank away. Though it was called a simple painkiller, it was a marvelous experience.

The amount of opium inhaled and the frequency of dependence naturally increased. The types varied: powders, leaves, and liquids. As the dependence grew, the effects appeared instantly, and his self-destructive behavior became bolder. When he wasn’t using opium, Aaron became coarser and more ferocious. By the time he realized his body and mind were completely ruined, he was already addicted. However, Aaron had no will or desire left to follow a grueling treatment process.

No matter how wildly he behaved, the Aaron Wizfeldon owned by Cornwall was the heir to England’s highest noble family and the successor to the Prime Minister of the Cabinet. No one could stop him, and no one dared treat him lightly. The Duchess, who had a strong tendency toward avoidance, ignored her husband who beat their children more severely by the day and her son who was becoming an addict, and left for a long, indefinite recuperation at a provincial estate the following spring.

Only when he reached a point where no powerful sanctions worked did the Duke of Cornwall finally stop his excessive surveillance and regulation of his son for a while, but by then, countless people involved had already been ruined.

The conclusions and actions he took of his own will destroyed every value that made up the individual known as Aaron Wizfeldon. At some point, he stopped all attempts to oppose the Duke of Cornwall. His father’s spasmodic rage did not improve in the slightest, but if he could just endure that moment, peace followed. It was the complete annihilation of free will.

But was it not said that humans live through every era and every moment?

At the beginning of summer, while losing his way during a hunt, Aaron noticed the existence of a cottage at the westernmost edge of the Northampton Estate, at the entrance of a closed forest. The old cottage, nestled amidst the lush greenery, was a temporary dwelling built decades ago when a forest keeper had been stationed at Lamdip.

The first emotion he felt was ecstasy.

The longing and desire for sculpting, which had been murdered long ago, leaped out of his unconsciousness without a chance to be blocked. The vain hope that perhaps he could start again here drifted through his mind. Even knowing it was a foolish thought, he could not abandon hope.

Aaron hid the joy of discovering the abandoned place and turned his horse around. After returning to the mansion, he asked the servants who had worked there for a long time in passing, but no one knew of the cottage’s existence. It was a coincidence and an opportunity that could not be traded for anything.

After that, Aaron began the work of hiding this shabby yet grand secret sanctuary. He repaired the broken parts, arranged the necessary supplies, and secured a route to bring in goods from trading companies. That process alone took a full three years. To keep the monster’s mood stable and avoid suspicion, he occasionally acted out his deviations, thoroughly hiding the existence of the cottage. Everything he owned was in his father’s grasp, but there was one existence that deviated from that orbit.

A space where he lived entirely alone.

Only for him.

His own.

And the rootless dog that guarded that place.

“…….”

As his consciousness gradually returned, he smelled the pungent scent of herbs.

“Were you determined to die?”

Sharp, dry blades of grass pricked his cheek. He was certainly on top of the dried straw bundles he had made a mess of. Feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, as if it were the exact same situation as a few days ago, Aaron rolled his eyes. He saw a man sitting on an old stump chair next to the bed. The dog, who had arrogantly stormed out of the cottage in anger before he lost consciousness, looked for some reason extremely exhausted.

“Or have you lost your mind?”

Aaron slowly closed and opened his eyes over a long period. The words were truly insolent, but the expression was miserable and bleak. The dog did not try to hide the distress he felt. He was consistently unstable, burying his face in both hands and breathing heavily or repeatedly stroking his cheeks.

He looked pained.

“Are you aware of your condition? Or did you do this on purpose?”

“…….”

His parched lips twitched. It was to tell him to get lost. The indulgent dog, perhaps sensing what his master was about to say, immediately furrowed both eyebrows.

“……Drink some water first.”

His eyelids lowered and rose very slowly. No matter how many times he tried, his blurred focus would not align. Aaron turned his head again. Every single movement was so slow it was difficult to control, and his thinking was sluggish. It was the aftereffect of the opium.

Water flowed between his roughly chapped lips. Because his thirst was severe, Aaron accepted and drank what was given rather than pushing it away. At the sight of him quietly receiving attendance, MacQuan’s face distorted miserably.

“I thought you said you were leaving.”

“I intended to leave. I would have left if my master hadn’t been lying there collapsed.”

“Then get lost right now.”

At the cold words, MacQuan let out a deep sigh. He hesitated for a moment and then met Aaron’s eyes again.

“……I was wrong.”

It was an apology that finally admitted defeat. His stiff lips curved slightly. The dog’s words were not wrong. The one who was wrong was certainly the dog, not him. He had ordered the dog never to enter his space. The dog should have obeyed the order. The one who did not listen was the dog. Therefore, the dog should not have fled from here. He should not have opened that door, nor should he have shown his back to him.

“I am sorry.”

“…….”

“Entering that room was wrong, and speaking carelessly was also wrong.”

“…….”

“Everything was my fault.”

MacQuan apologized in a low, very low whisper. A large hand stroked Aaron’s sweat-drenched forehead. It was an impossibly insolent act for a mere servant.

Should I dispose of him?

Aaron fell into thought for a moment. His eyelids moved slowly again. The stiff feeling was extremely unpleasant. Even while he thought, that insolent hand was still stroking his head. He thought about cursing at him, but the touch was so clumsy and cautious that even the will to do so vanished. The gaze looking at him was also ridiculously desperate.

“Still, please don’t let this happen again.”

“Stop talking so insolently.”

At the tone of someone soothing a child, Aaron’s brow immediately furrowed. A firm thumb rubbed his forehead. It was appalling.

“What on earth is it? What is that strange drug that makes my master’s condition worsen when he smokes it?”

“Shut up, you’re noisy.”

“Is it opium, by any chance?”

He cautiously brought up a fact he had only guessed at for a long time. The heavy silence indicated that the assumption was not wrong.

“No matter how much I’ve lost my memory…… I can still judge a situation.”

It really was a drug. A demon’s drug that destroys a person’s body and mind. Not even realizing how he knew about opium, MacQuan simply covered his eyes in distress. A distant breath fell to the floor.

“You aren’t using it for treatment, are you?”

“…….”

“Then again, if it were for treatment, you wouldn’t smoke it like that.”

As if he didn’t particularly expect an answer, the dog was busy talking and answering to himself. Aaron stared at him silently. His eyes were hidden by the large hand. Silence followed. His expression grew stiffer as a strange feeling washed over him.

“I thought you were dead.”

Recalling the memory from a few hours ago, MacQuan stopped speaking and closed his lips. His complexion was very dark and he looked fatigued. Since that look was similar to the reaction Bernard showed after smoking too much opium, Aaron let out a small, wordless chuckle.

“I thought you were dead. No matter how much I called, you didn’t move and wouldn’t open your eyes……”

“……It’s your fault.”

A desolate voice whispered gloomily. It’s your fault. Aaron repeated it once more. It was very low and quiet, but the other party understood immediately and nodded.

“……Yes.”

“Never enter the studio again.”

“I will.”

“I don’t like people I haven’t permitted entering my space.”

“I understand.”

Even while answering diligently, the dog did not remove the hand covering his eyes. Aaron’s whole body felt heavy and limp. He did not hide his irritation at his body’s inability to move properly. After a long while, he managed to lift his right hand and lightly tapped MacQuan’s arm.

The man, who had been sighing with a face that looked like the world had ended, met his eyes with a look of questioning. A painfully distorted expression, on the verge of bursting into tears, entered his field of vision.

Worry and pain, pity and concern, and sympathy mixed within.

Aaron could not understand the dog who was suffering more than necessary. He did not know what to say to someone in such a state. He had never comforted anyone in his life, nor had he ever said anything similar.

“Theodore, you were wrong.”

Upon understanding the sullen mutter, MacQuan’s face distorted greatly. A person who did not know how to apologize and likely had never apologized in his life. A person who, not knowing what to apologize for, simply insisted that the other party was wrong—his master was such a person.

“It’s all your fault.”

A person who was awkward, awkward, and awkward in relationships with others. A person who could not even engage in the emotional exchange and empathy of daily life. MacQuan realized instinctively that the reason for this was ignorance stemming from a lack of experience.

“Yes.”

“…….”

“Yes. It is all my fault.”

Groaning in unbearable distress, MacQuan leaned his forehead against the back of Aaron’s wound-filled hand. What kind of life had this person lived? Why had he become so broken?

“I was wrong.”

A deep, low bass resonated softly. The cool sensation of the skin was not bad, so Aaron decided to forgive the other’s insolent attitude. MacQuan, having no way of knowing this, swallowed his silence with his eyes cast down for a long time. His eyes were hot and his lips were parched with a burning thirst.

“Master.”

“…….”

“Master, I was wrong. So……”

Before his eyes, the image of his master collapsed on the floor repeatedly surfaced. Rather than collapsing and breaking like that, it would have been better to vent his anger on him. He had thought he was merely ferocious and fierce; he had not imagined he was a person who expressed emotions by destroying himself. He regretted having pushed away the wound-ridden hand that had held him, unable to overcome a momentary surge of emotion.

“I wish…… you would stop using opium.”

“…….”

“I truly thought you were dead.”

“…….”

“Please, please don’t smoke it again.”

With a face of genuine distress, MacQuan murmured the same words over and over. His long, slanted eyes trembled. Because his whole face was scrunched up, the wrinkles on the bridge of his nose were deep. Seeing this, Aaron’s expression distorted subtly.

“Please promise me.”

He tilted his cheek to the side and watched his thoroughly intimidated dog for a long time. It was truly laughable that the most notorious opium dealer in London was asking him to quit the drug.

“Promise me.”

After carelessly stroking the red hair that was blindingly bright, Aaron gave the answer the other wanted after a long silence.

“……Fine.”

The beast he had picked up was a very insolent and arrogant dog.

Dull and foolish.

A dog that belonged entirely to him, along with this old cottage.

Chapter

✦ ✦ ✦

The mansion’s servants guided the man with utmost courtesy. As he ascended the wooden stairs, the man’s face was filled with an unmistakable air of authority.

Walking at a moderate pace, the man paused for a moment to catch his breath and scanned the interior of the mansion. The vulgar gentry’s residence was gaudy, overflowing with countless ornaments. His grip tightened on the railing. He stopped mid-stair and stared silently at a certain point on the wall for a long while.

“Earl.”

When the sense of him following vanished, the servant hurriedly called out to the man. His quietly shimmering eyes slowly returned to face forward. His gaze was confident and unyielding.

“It is this way.”

Having guided him to the door, the butler bowed deeply. Stepping back cautiously, the butler knocked on the door and announced the identity of the visitor.

The door, crafted from expensive old wood, bore an engraved crest of a lion and an eagle entwined, pierced by a spear. It was so exquisite that it would not have been out of place as the crest of a high noble family. It was the manifestation of someone’s immense greed—a desire to swallow not just wealth, but authority and honor as well.

✦ ✦ ✦

Chapter

The Duke of Devonshire’s letter arrived the day after the Duke of Cornwall returned to Pellington Hall in London. The butler handed the silver tray holding the letter to the head of the house and immediately withdrew from the study. As the door closed quietly, the old Duke turned the letter over in his hands.

“He must have been counting the days until my return.”

With a look of ridicule, the Duke of Cornwall leaned back and let out a loud laugh. His breath, laced with fatigue, was somewhat labored. He pressed his hand to his forehead as another headache surged. He was currently plagued by the issues surrounding Rodinton, which he had acquired as an act of Noblesse Oblige. From a successor who was losing his mind to business, opium, and sculpture, to the recent disappearance of England’s most famous opium merchant—all these situations were pressing down on him.

“How tedious.”

His weary gaze fixed on the fireplace. He skillfully sliced the envelope open with a letter opener and read the contents.

“…….”

The content of the letter was concise, but it contained every intention Devonshire had designed. The blue eyes, symbols of an ancient lineage, trembled with rage. As time passed, his gaze grew fierce, eventually culminating in a thunderous crash as he slammed his hand onto the table.

“How dare he……”

His face, defined by pride and authority, flushed red with humiliation.

“That old fox. His head is filled with nothing but greed! Of course!”

Without hesitation, the old Duke tore the letter into pieces. After shredding it beyond recognition, he flung the scraps to the floor and slammed the tabletop again with a fist fueled by indignation. Regardless of the reason, Devonshire’s objective was clear.

“Police in my house. Not a chance.”

A chilling aura emanated from him. He would not be easily subdued by a group that threatened his family and the Tories. To protect his honor, he was more than willing to stain his hands with blood.

✧ ✧ ✧

The aftermath of the Lintin Island incident was dragging on longer than expected. Robert had sent legal representatives to Guangzhou and spent nearly fifteen days staying up all night in his office to resolve the case, but MacQuan’s absence only felt more profound. Having taken responsibility for all internal and external company matters, Robert was so burdened by the weight of responsibility that he could barely sleep.

“…….”

His eyes trembled violently as he read. The contents filling the stationery moved in a direction contrary to Robert’s hopes.

I am sorry, Mr. Robert. We are doing our best, but so far, we have been unable to find any witnesses who saw the Baronet after he left Worburn House.

He had approached every police department within his reach, using both requests and bribes, but for months, the response remained the same. A man had vanished without a trace. Perfectly, as if he had never existed in the world to begin with.

“And I’m supposed to believe this? It’s absurd.”

His fingertips tapped the desk surface, trembling with anxiety.

“Cornwall is definitely hiding something……”

The letter pushed to one side of the desk was from the Duke of Devonshire. Similarly, it stated that he had requested cooperation for a search from the House of Cornwall and was awaiting a response. Whether ally or enemy, everyone was simply repeating the same words.

‘I should have made this public from the start. If I had conducted a full-scale investigation then, it wouldn’t have dragged on like this.’

His clenched teeth trembled. Entrusting the initial search to Cornwall’s forest scouts was one of the most foolish decisions he had ever made. Using hunting as an excuse, balls as an excuse, the King as an excuse, political standing as an excuse. It was all just excuses. Robert knew all too well that he had consented to those excuses. It was a clear mistake and a misjudgment.

“Damn it!”

Crash—!

The chair slid back violently as he stood up abruptly.

No one saw. There were no witnesses. No, there was only one witness. Robert thought of the man who claimed to be a plumber for the House of Cornwall. Was he supposed to take that man’s words at face value and believe them?

His hands gripped the desk tighter. Robert thought back to the starting point.

The place where his friend disappeared.

Northampton.

And Worburn House.

His conflicted mind reached a conclusion. Once what he had to do became clear, there was no longer any reason to hesitate. Robert grabbed his coat and left the office. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for someone else to solve it. He had to see it for himself, with his own eyes.

✧ ✧ ✧

Following the major incident, the air had shifted, creating a strange current. On the surface, daily life seemed unchanged, but upon closer inspection, there were definite changes in the subtle details.

MacQuan still tended to the cottage.

He diligently created a vegetable garden every morning and evening to grow crops and attempted various dishes, however clumsy they were. Whenever a dish turned out successfully, he made sure to feed it to the master returning to the cottage. Aaron had refused with irritation at first, but recently, he had begun to at least pretend to eat, which pleased MacQuan.

Except for essential London schedules that were impossible to miss, Aaron spent most of his time at the Country House in Northampton. He frequently entered and exited the forest without worrying about the servants’ gaze, and naturally, the time he spent at the cottage grew longer.

In another change, he no longer raised his hand carelessly against the dog. The frequency of his use of alcohol, Leaf-Cut Tobacco, and opium had noticeably decreased. Because the amount of opium had dropped, his irritability and nervousness due to withdrawal symptoms had doubled, but during such times, he replaced them with swimming or hunting until his strength was completely spent. Even when working on his sculptures, unlike before when he hid everything meticulously, he now left the door slightly ajar more often.

The change was slow, but certain.

MacQuan was curious about his master. Furthermore, he was curious about himself.

The information the master had given him was limited, and as time passed, contradictions began to emerge. MacQuan thought that the information about himself might not be true, but he didn’t press for answers. He quite liked the peaceful moments they spent together, and since he felt no great discomfort even without his memories, he didn’t mind.

The past wasn’t that important.

If he didn’t know it, he could simply build new memories with his master. Although the master’s basic nature was cold, he was someone with a crude kind of tenderness. As the time they spent together grew, it was perhaps natural that he became a source of support and that MacQuan’s heart began to open.

Creeak—

The old door opened. The head covered in a towel was soaking wet. MacQuan, who had been sitting at the table prepping ingredients for dinner, jumped up and walked toward the entrance.

“You must dry yourself properly.”

“It’s fine.”

“I won’t allow it. Do you want to catch another cold?”

He took away the drenched towel and handed over a fresh one, dried fluffy in the sun. Aaron took the towel with a disinterested face and shook his hair.

“How tedious.”

“I have your clothes ready. Are you returning today?”

Whenever Aaron left the cottage, he always swam in the lake for a long time before returning. It felt as if his purpose was to erase any remaining traces of himself from the place, and seeing this always made MacQuan’s heart feel heavy and stifled.

“I intend to go out, so get ready.”

Contrary to expectations, Aaron said something entirely different.

“Go out? Is there something you need?”

Instead of answering, Aaron looked straight at him. He met those excessively bright sky-blue eyes that never felt familiar, no matter how many times he saw them. Feeling the directness of the gaze, MacQuan turned his eyes toward the dining table.

“Shall I prepare some food for you to take?”

“Together.”

The hand that had been rubbing the back of his neck in awkwardness suddenly stopped.

“You’re coming with me, so just prepare your clothes. I intend to stay here for a few more days, so do not ask any more unnecessary questions.”

“Me too?”

“Who else would I go with?”

Continuing in an indifferent tone, Aaron took off the shirt he was wearing and handed it over. Since he had put it on immediately after coming out of the water, the clothes were completely soaked.

“New shirt.”

Caught off guard by the sudden sight of a bare body, MacQuan quickly averted his eyes. A body always filled with vivid, colorful scars. A body he had stolen glances at many times while serving. Perhaps because he had spent more time at the cottage recently, the scar-filled body was gradually regaining its original color.

Though some bruise marks remained, the master’s skin was quite smooth. At first, he had deliberately avoided looking out of pity and sorrow, but as time passed, other supplementary emotions intervened, making it even harder to look. MacQuan tried to hide his embarrassment and pouted his lips.

“How can you just strip off your clothes anywhere?”

The motion of taking off his trousers stopped. Aaron rolled his eyes in silence for a moment. MacQuan, with his ears flushed bright red, came into view.

“What are you so embarrassed about?”

“Who said they were embarrassed?”

“Your face is……”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. What is wrong with my face?”

MacQuan armed himself with an expressionless face and protested blindly. At the brazen response, Aaron sneered and narrowed his eyes. Normally, this would have been a situation where a hand or foot would have flown at him without a second thought.

“……Never mind.”

Aaron remained silent for a moment, then finished taking off his trousers with a blunt expression. In the end, the one who couldn’t bear to watch first headed out to the vegetable garden, ending the situation.

✧ ✧ ✧

It took a long time to exit the forest.

The path was covered in shrubs and thickets to the point where it was impossible to gauge where they were going, but the lead walker’s pace was unwavering. Aaron walked, turning the path quickly with an indifferent face, yet occasionally stopping to check on MacQuan following behind. After walking for another two hours without a compass, a passage appeared through the dense brush. Exhausted, MacQuan was certain they had walked dozens of yards.

“I didn’t think it would be this far.”

“Your stamina is weak.”

“It hurts my pride to hear that from you, Master.”

“Talking nonsense again.”

“How do you find the way so well? I can’t remember the path we came from at all.”

“That’s because you’re stupid.”

“Do you have to put it that way?”

After exchanging a few words that sounded like a bickering match, the two had finally emerged from the forest. After walking down several dark street blocks, the downtown area, lined with various shops, revealed itself.

“Over there.”

“Ah.”

The city was exactly as he had once imagined. It was the moment the scenery he had drawn in his head while working, or just before falling asleep, became reality. The crowds on the street were mostly in comfortable everyday clothes, while some wore well-tailored, expensive suits.

Among the busy crowds, luxurious carriages occasionally passed by. Two to four well-trained horses ran in sync. The appearance of the carriages varied, reflecting the status of their owners.

“…….”

Seeing all this, MacQuan felt an eerily strong sense of déjà vu. The more he saw the people, buildings, and objects, the more information was instantly input into his mind. It felt as if he were reconfirming facts he already knew.

“Why are you looking around so much?”

At the cold tone, MacQuan, who had been scanning the surroundings, suddenly stopped all movement. Only one thing—the appearance of Aaron standing beside him—felt utterly unfamiliar.

“What?”

“……It’s nothing.”

The fierce gaze remained, but with the shaggy black wig reaching just below the eyebrows, a hat pressed down low to hide the awkwardness, and glasses with very dark lenses, he looked like a completely different person when all these unremarkable items were combined.

When asked why he was disguising himself just before going out, Aaron had nonchalantly said it was because of the debt collectors chasing him and MacQuan. He wondered if a magistrate was really such an idle profession to be constantly hunting them, but he didn’t respond. If he did, it was obvious that those nasty hands would beat him.

“We must hurry. There are many places to go, so we can’t spend time here.”

As if the glasses were uncomfortable, Aaron kept fiddling with the round frames before leading the way. MacQuan followed, taking long strides.

“Is it far?”

“Not really, but there are many things to buy.”

As they walked, the coarse black synthetic hair of the wig fluttered in the wind. It was such a poor-quality wig that he wondered where one could even find such a cheap thing. Knowing how dazzling the pale golden threads hidden beneath were made him feel a sense of regret, but at the same time, he felt a secret surge of emotion knowing that he was the only one who knew that fact.

“Why is the wig like that?”

“Be quiet.”

“Couldn’t you just dye it? Shall I do it for you? In black.”

“Not necessary.”

Though the tone was not kind in the slightest, the answers were quite sincere. Finding that discrepancy amusing, MacQuan smiled silently. Considering the past when Aaron would either remain silent or act out in malice, this was a surprising development.

“Why did you bring me along? I don’t particularly need anything. You’ve brought me most of what I need anyway……”

“You might not know, but I do.”

“Did you bring me as a porter?”

“I’m glad you’ve realized it.”

When MacQuan joked with a chuckle, Aaron responded with a glare.

Not bad.

Feeling a tickle around his neck, MacQuan rubbed his cheek roughly and looked around.

“There are so many people.”

“Because it’s the city center.”

The sound of walking along the road became busier. The city center was packed with ordinary general stores, restaurants, butcher shops, and gentlemen’s shoe stores. The path along the street was bustling with the sound of pedestrians talking, horses’ hooves, carriage wheels, and laughter. The weather was extremely hot, and unlike the forest, there was no freshness. It was a picturesque sight, but MacQuan felt uneasy. To be more precise, he felt anxious.

“It’s so noisy. There are too many people.”

The back of the man skillfully weaving through the crowd kept catching his eye. Despite the lively atmosphere, for some reason, his mood gradually sank as time passed. He wanted to return to the cottage quickly and see his master’s original face, hidden by the black wig and glasses.

“You said you wanted to come out.”

An unexpected answer came from the one still walking forward.

“Did I say that?”

“Then who was it that asked to be taken along?”

“Ah……”

Only then did MacQuan realize that he had said something similar. He hadn’t asked again since being rejected, but Aaron had kept remembering it. His throat tightened, and he felt an odd thirst.

“……I don’t remember well.”

“You’ve truly become a fool.”

“I suppose so.”

Perhaps finding it strange that he was answering so obediently, unlike usual, no further sarcasm followed. Though no words were exchanged, MacQuan could roughly guess what his master was thinking. Probably something similar to himself.

Dark brown shoes stepped on the ground at a steady pace. The paved road was magnificent, incomparable to the cottage where dirt clung to one’s feet with every step. The shoes and new clothes had been brought by the master a few days ago. Compared to the rag-like clothes given before, it was a great improvement.

He had certainly been happy when he first received them, but as if that memory had evaporated somewhere, his chest now felt tight and his heart fluttered. Was it because there were too many people on the street? Had the voices of others always been such unpleasant noise? Had he already become accustomed to the life of spending time alone with his master in the silent cottage where there was not a single sign of another person?

“It’s too noisy.”

Swallowing dryly, MacQuan muttered gloomily again.

“It’s so noisy that I want to go back quickly.”

The busy walking pace suddenly stopped. MacQuan, moving with the same stride, couldn’t adjust his speed in time and lightly bumped into Aaron’s back.

“Why do you stop so suddenly?”

Despite the words being almost irreverent, the other person just stood there without any response. Is he unwell? A moment of worry crossed his mind.

“Is something bothering you?”

“…….”

“Master?”

Unable to contain his worry, MacQuan carefully grabbed Aaron’s shoulder. Normally, he would have fiercely brushed him off for touching his body, but for some reason, he only looked down at the hand and gave no other reaction. Just as he was about to check if he was sick, the other person turned around. In the short silence, their eyes met. He had the illusion that the eyes hidden behind the tinted glasses were shining even more blue.

“Let’s go back immediately after this is finished.”

Having spoken, Aaron turned back and continued walking toward the destination. MacQuan, who had been staring blankly at his back for a moment, hurried to catch up. Without realizing it, the corners of his mouth curled up.

Let’s go back.

Let’s go back. To our cottage.

MacQuan didn’t know why those words felt so painful yet so wonderful. He just couldn’t stop smiling.

✧ ✧ ✧

“You must not enter and exit the forest recklessly without prior notice, Mr. Robert. I hope you will visit again formally after obtaining the Duke of Cornwall’s permission. I am merely an employed servant; I have no authority to grant Mr. Robert access.”

Robert’s expression was infinitely dark as he left the Woburn estate. It wasn’t an unexpected situation, as even the Duke of Devonshire had not yet attempted a direct search. In reality, far from searching, there was no way he could have visited a masterless mansion without an appointment. Robert felt miserable at the reality that he had no choice but to come here blindly, knowing full well that nothing was possible.

“You’re back quickly. Shall the gentleman depart immediately?”

“Let’s do that.”

Robert climbed back into the waiting carriage with heavy steps. There was still plenty of time before the train to London. He leaned his back against the plush seat and quietly closed his eyes. His eyelids trembled uncontrollably from tension.

“Where shall I take you? Would you like to return to the station?”

“No. Go to Sheberham Street.”

Sheberham was a street where a significant number of wholesalers who had long traded with Klaus were gathered. Although the visit to Woburn had ended in failure, there was still work he had to do as the representative of Klaus.

✧ ✧ ✧

After a quick bite of a sandwich, they arrived at a materials shop with a worn exterior. A small, palm-sized sign read ‘Smith’s General Store.’ The interior was even shabbier than the exterior, to the point where one wondered if the business even survived; the shop was deserted without a single customer, and the counters were cluttered with various tools. There were mostly art supplies, such as dyes, paints, and brushes.

“Do you paint as well?”

MacQueen, sticking close behind Aaron, asked quietly. His eyes were full of vigilance toward the suspicious shop. Aaron, who had been rummaging through the brushes with an indifferent hand, gave a short shake of his head.

“Not properly. I just need them before I start working.”

“Before you carve?”

“It’s easier if I draw the parts I’ve thought about before I start.”

“Do you paint the colors too?”

“No. Just sketches.”

“Then why are you looking at the brushes?”

“I’m just looking…”

The end of his answer trailed off. It was a reaction clearly showing his annoyance. MacQueen chuckled and took a step back.

Perhaps because the surrounding streets were quiet, the inside of the shop was also silent. It was a place a step removed from the boisterous noise. Only then did MacQueen breathe a deep sigh of relief. The tip of his sharp nose wrinkled for a moment.

Even after a long time, the shop owner did not appear. It was unclear where he had gone, leaving the shop abandoned. Suddenly, MacQueen felt a strange sensation, as if all this silence were a dream. Perhaps that was why the words in his heart came out so recklessly.

“Master.”

A soft, low voice filled with affection called out to the other. Aaron, who had been lost in deep thought, turned his eyes to meet his gaze at that moment. His heart felt strangely fluttery. MacQueen glanced briefly at the dust-covered ceiling before continuing without hesitation.

“Could you draw me next time?”

Only faint sounds of breathing passed between them during the silence. As the atmosphere suddenly became serious, MacQueen scratched one cheek with an awkward expression. Even when he tried to add that it was a joke, the direct gaze did not change.

“Or it would be fine if you carved my likeness.”

The master was a man with high pride in his work. Since it was literally just a wish, MacQueen grinned, expecting a scolding as the answer.

“Could you at least tell me if it’s possible or not?”

“Too much trouble.”

“That’s harsh.”

It was the moment he tried to change the subject with an awkward laugh at the answer, which was firmer than expected.

“A simple drawing would be fine.”

The cold eyes curved softly. After speaking, Aaron returned to examining the materials intently.

“…….”

At the unexpected answer, MacQueen couldn’t say a word and pressed his lips tight. The master’s smile, which had passed in a brief moment, remained as an afterimage, haunting him.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

How wonderful would it be if he only spoke such pretty words.

“Truly?”

“I said yes.”

“……I’m actually quite happy.”

Seeing MacQueen unable to hide his smile, Aaron gave a light snort and turned his head away.

“You’re frivolous.”

“Honestly, I’m really happy.”

Irreverent thoughts kept encircling his mind. His heart pounded terrifyingly. It felt as if he were riding a steam locomotive. Just as he thought that with this feeling, he could clear even the brown fog that filled London in an instant—

……London?

At that moment, a sensation like a bursting water droplet occurred, and a sudden blackout hit his emotions.

London. Have I been to London?

As the question arose, information flooded in. It was a violent storm regardless of his will. New pieces were being fitted between the memories shrouded in mist.

Streets with more gentlemen in formal attire than here, offices, shops with diverse and sophisticated interiors, a king, a palace, the Parliament building, large sailing ships, luxurious carriages, an engagement, a woman, curly red hair……

“Mac……”

“……lisha.”

“……Queen, look… next time… Devonshire……”

“Theodore.”

The rain that had been falling silently stopped all at once. The rushing fragments of memory also quickly retreated. MacQueen blinked with a vacant expression at the sudden change. An abrupt shock struck his head hard.

“Does your head hurt?”

The master, who had approached him before he knew it, gently grabbed his arm. Though he seemed indifferent, there was worry in the gaze looking at him. Considering the beginning, when he had treated him as more insignificant than a discarded object, it was an enormous improvement.

At that moment, the tension in his hunched body vanished. A drained laugh escaped him. What had he been afraid of? It was right to focus on the present rather than a past he couldn’t remember.

And so……

“……No, I’m fine.”

And so, he had the ridiculous thought that he wanted to focus only on the person standing before him and want to be for him.

Whether this emotion was pity, compassion, or the clumsy loyalty of a servant toward a master full of wounds hidden behind sharp thorns, he did not know.

“You look like you’re in pain.”

“Could it possibly hurt as much as when I’m slapped in the face?”

Thinking he had been mocked, a deep crease formed between Aaron’s brows.

“Nonsense again.”

Looking at the annoyed face, MacQueen felt an impulse to gently smooth out the master’s furrowed brow. He wanted to rub those pretty eyebrows. He wanted to cup his cheeks. He wanted to hear his breathing. He wanted to brush back his hair. He wanted to touch his eyelashes. He wanted to embrace the body full of scars. His smooth lips tightened as a sudden surge of emotion hit him.

“Why are you looking at me with those eyes?”

At the cool reaction, MacQueen started and met his eyes. His heart sank, fearing that the various dirty and lewd imaginations in his head had been discovered.

“What do you mean?”

“Your gaze is extremely irreverent.”

As an unfounded heat gathered, the density of the air rose instantly. At the words that hit the mark, MacQueen quickly looked away and answered, pretending to be calm.

“You’re nitpicking everything. What could I possibly be looking at irreverently between two men?”

“You’re trying to play on the edge. I’ll let it slide this time, but there won’t be a next time.”

“What are you letting slide in the first place? I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything. Your imagination is quite impressive.”

“Stop being stubborn.”

“Who’s being stubborn here?”

“……I am the fool for dealing with you.”

With a smirk, Aaron focused on selecting materials again. The subtle tension continued for a while until the general store owner, having finished his meal, returned to the shop. Even while he was talking to the owner, MacQueen wanted to return as quickly as possible to their old shack, where they would be alone.

Before long, the sun dipped, and the sunset spread across the entire sky. The horses waiting seemed to want to finish their day’s work, tossing their heads repeatedly at the red hue mixed among the clouds.

“Please return safely. You have a long journey ahead of you again.”

The man who had come out to the front of the building to see them off requested a handshake again with a regretful face.

“Although there are difficulties in supply distribution right now, a new sailing ship will arrive next month, so please wait a little longer. We empathize with the difficulties your company is appealing. We will deliver the goods with top priority as soon as they arrive, so let us endure this crisis together.”

“Thank you for always being considerate. I believe we will overcome this.”

Strength entered the clasped hands. The other man also stopped speaking and waved his hand instead of a greeting.

“Let’s go to the train station.”

Robert, who had climbed into the carriage, announced the destination. The coachman gave a short reply and slowly drove the horses. Clatter, clatter. The shaking of the carriage running on the somewhat poorly paved road was more severe than usual. Robert leaned against the window, resting his chin on his hand, and caught his breath.

What should he do?

Even as his thoughts deepened, the carriage moved forward with a loud noise. Like the urgent situation of Klaus, which gave no time for delay, the sound of the horse hooves was pressing and precarious. Robert continued his thoughts while fiddling with the handle of his cane.

He did not trust the Duke of Devonshire. Although the Duke was providing help now, trusting the commercial rights and economic power held by Klaus Diugen, he was a man who would wash his hands of it the moment the company showed signs of collapsing. Was he not the one who had played mind games over the marriage issue of Elisha and MacQueen for the past three years, despite receiving so much money? Nevertheless, he didn’t know how things would turn out currently without the Duke of Devonshire’s cooperation.

“……Hm?”

Amidst the agony of complex thoughts, it took only a moment for a man’s figure to catch his eye.

Among the crowd, he saw a familiar back. The hair color and attire were different, but the silhouette was too familiar. The man’s figure repeatedly disappeared and reappeared among the people. At the scene that passed by in an instant, Robert shouted abruptly to the coachman.

“Stop for a moment!”

“Pardon?”

“Right now!”

The startled coachman hurriedly stopped the carriage. In his urgency, Robert scrambled to open the door and get out before the carriage had even come to a complete halt. He stumbled greatly, unable to keep his balance, but quickly stood up.

“Lester!”

Robert shouted, pushing through the bustling crowd. Passersby whispered at the sudden eccentric behavior of a gentleman on a peaceful street. He barely managed to steady his wobbling body and began to run with all his might. In the distance, the people he had seen earlier were faintly visible.

“Lester!”

The hair color was different. It was a burning red hair, and the clothes were not the neat suits he always wore, but worn-out clothes that a factory worker might wear; however, the height, build, and the face he caught a glimpse of were definitely someone he knew. Moreover, there was a companion. A man with black hair wearing a hat, of similar height but a slightly slimmer build.

“Lester! MacQueen!”

There was a cry of desperation in his shout. Fearing he might lose them, he ran blindly after the two people he had seen. Robert didn’t know where he was going or where he should go.

Three months. Three months had passed.

The season was changing to the point where the chill touching the skin could be felt immediately.

“Kyaa—!”

“What are you doing!”

His body collided with a well-built man and tumbled to the ground. From the impact, fruit from a stall scattered across the floor. Ignoring the screams of the passersby, he ran in the direction where the two had disappeared, but their traces had vanished in an instant. Protests and curses poured around him as he stood there blankly.

“……This can’t be.”

His tightly closed lips trembled violently. He was sure. Even if everything else was different, the man he saw was definitely MacQueen Lester, the representative of Klaus Diugen and his friend and business partner who had vanished without a trace three months ago.

To be continued in Volume 2 of .

Footnotes

Great Qing: A term referring to the Qing Dynasty of the 19th century.

Cohong: A guild of government-authorized merchants who held a monopoly on foreign trade during the Qing Dynasty in China.

Tory: The predecessor of the English Conservative Party, based on the capitalist and landowning classes.

Gentry: A term referring to the upper strata of the middle class between independent farmers and the nobility. While not nobility by rank, they were permitted to use family crests and included landowners, merchants, and professionals.

Garraway: A coffee house near the London Exchange. A central hub for opium auction trading.

Whig: The predecessor of the English Liberal Party, based on the commercial and industrial classes.

Porte-cochère: A wide, high gateway facing the street, allowing carriages to enter a building’s front or inner courtyard.

Inner Temple: One of the four Inns of Court in England.

Chaise-longue: A long upholstered seat with a backrest at one end, allowing one to lounge diagonally.

Protestant: A general term for the denominations that split from the Roman Catholic Church during the 16th-century Reformation; used to refer to the “New Religion” in opposition to the “Old Religion.”

Courtesan: A woman who served as a mistress to men of high society.

Grand Tour: A trip across Europe undertaken by upper-class youth for educational and cultural purposes from the late 18th to the early 19th century.

Cravate: A piece of fabric worn around the neck by men, similar to a necktie.

Top hat: A tall, cylindrical formal hat worn by men.

Footman: A type of domestic servant, primarily responsible for daily tasks such as entertaining guests and delivering letters.

Country House: A large mansion built by the nobility or upper class on their rural estates.

Debutante: An upper-class woman making her first appearance in society, or the debutante ball itself.

The Examiner: One of the political organs of the Tory Party.

London Season: The social season of the upper class; a period when provincial nobles move to their London townhouses to coincide with the opening of Parliament, leading to a surge in social events.

Epsom Derby: Officially known as the Investec Derby, a type of horse racing competition.

Ptarmigan: A species of bird in the grouse family.

Monsoon: Winds that blow periodically in a constant direction according to the season. They blow from the sea to the continent in summer and from the continent to the sea in winter.

Private Trade: Business conducted by an individual, or the trader themselves.

Comprador: Local Chinese individuals employed by foreign trading houses and consulates in China from around 1770 to act as intermediaries for trade with Chinese merchants.

Treadmill: A type of punitive device used in 19th-century British prisons.

Braces: A type of suspender used to hold up trousers.

Normand French, “The King desires”

Marshalsea: A debtors’ prison.

Reading: A system for deliberating bills. In modern Britain, this consists of three readings each in the House of Commons and the House of Lords.