9 – Act 3, Chapter 3

The northeastern outskirts road leading to Viscount Shefften’s estate was poorly paved, causing the carriage wheels to jolt repeatedly. After driving for a while longer, ivory-colored buildings adorned with stucco appeared in rows along both sides of the road. Thanks to having set out at dawn, they were only a few miles from their destination.

Watching his stiffly frozen friend, Robert sighed and hugged the box containing the pistols.

“The young Earl’s stubbornness is no joke. I couldn’t get a single word out of him until the end.”

MacQuan let out a small smirk at the exasperated tone.

In the short span of less than two days, Robert Higgins, who had suddenly become a duel second, had exerted exhaustive efforts to mediate between the two. He had tried with the opposing second as well, but the hearts of the primary parties remained unmoved. To be more precise, it was the heart of the party who had ‘received the challenge’ that remained steadfast.

“I don’t know how it ever came to this.”

“Don’t worry too much. I have no intention of being hurt, nor of dying. If such an unfortunate event were to occur, the victim of that tragedy would be Cornwall’s precious heir, not me. After all, it’s unlikely I’d be worse at handling a gun than someone who hasn’t even been properly trained.”

“Was it really necessary for you to step into the duel?”

MacQuan answered indifferently, brushing away the snowflakes remaining on his collar with his palm.

“If it weren’t for me, the person in this carriage right now would be the Duke of Devonshire.”

“Why didn’t you just let the Duke of Devonshire apply? Whether Devonshire wins or loses the duel, what difference does it make to you? By now, isn’t your own power enough, even without the Duke?”

The hand adjusting his clothes stopped. Simultaneously, the temperature of the gaze inspecting the pistols dropped sharply.

“Robert.”

MacQuan called Robert’s name in a heavy voice. His face, looking at the friend who had willingly shared this painful burden, was devoid of gratitude and utterly indifferent.

“If not me.”

His dry lips parted. A fire flickered within his unwavering, deep green eyes.

“If not me, then who on earth would aim a gun at that man?”

MacQuan asked back with an expression of genuine bewilderment.

“Devonshire? That decrepit old man?”

The heavy voice was freezing. It was closer to an emotion other than anger. Robert, who had been burying his face in his palms, slowly looked up.

“Lester, I…”

“This is my share.”

His tone was firm, as if he didn’t want to hear a single word.

“Whether I kill him, wound him, or do whatever! The one to leave even the smallest mark on Earl Vispilt will not be some old Duke trembling in fear of his position, but me.”

The man’s expression, unable to hide his wounded heart in the slightest, held a coexistence of desperation and hatred.

Just like someone in love.

Knowing it was an absurd thought, Robert felt that MacQuan looked like someone who had been betrayed by a lover.

“…Only I can do it.”

The silent voice cut off shortly. It sounded more like a vow than words spoken to someone. Even the forced mockery and vile words could not hide his crumbling heart. MacQuan couldn’t immediately continue, repeatedly opening and closing his lips for a long time. He looked somewhat vacant. Unable to bear seeing him like that any longer, Robert hurriedly averted his eyes. He felt a sense of guilt for stealing a glance into another’s secret heart.

“The end belongs to me.”

That arrogant noble’s heart was not his to own, but he would defile that man’s end with his own hands.

Even if he wasn’t the one to start it, he had to be the one to end it.

MacQuan’s lips curled with greed.

Theodore.

He would crush, burn, and annihilate him so that not a single handful of space would remain for that man to exist. So that he could never return, so that he could never approach that person again. Then, wouldn’t the master’s final side be perfectly filled by him?

A twisted obsession and possessiveness sprouted at the edge of his heart. It was a truly vicious and malicious desire, like tearing away raw flesh entirely.

An unbearable headache surged. It was a habitual pain. MacQuan pressed his temple and looked around at the scenery. The pre-dawn sky was already saturated with the light of daybreak.

The duel site was a wide, desolate field at the edge of Viscount Shefften’s estate. Whenever the wind blew, the snow resting on the branches scattered in all directions, and shrubs demarcated the area around the fence.

On a hill about 20 yards from the field, the carriage and coachman they had arrived in were waiting. They were the ones tasked with transporting the noble gentlemen’s bodies, whether wounded or dead. If one side carried away the loser, the other had to immediately flee the duel site as far as possible, carrying the winner who would instantly be under suspicion of murder.

The method of the duel requested by Earl Vispilt was excessively simple. The only peculiarity was that, besides the duelists and seconds, he had requested the presence of one referee.

A single shot.

It was the classic method where, following the referee’s signal, they would say the agreed-upon command word and fire at each other simultaneously. Firing into the air was not permitted, and the signal between seconds was decided as a clap. Furthermore, to prevent any possible trickery just before the duel, it was agreed that each second would stand behind the opposing duelist to monitor the situation.

The distance between them was twelve paces along a line crossing from east to west. Both were in positions where they could see the opponent clearly. Exactly in the middle stood Viscount Shefften, wearing a dubious expression. It was evident he had been dragged there by force, suppressed by hierarchy.

“Perform the final check.”

With somewhat clumsy hands, Robert took a pair of pistols from the box. Caliven did the same. In front of each duelist, the seconds checked the loaded bullets and the state of the percussion caps, with the pistols wrapped in handkerchiefs. Since both pistols brought were percussion cap pistols, this was to prevent any potential firearm explosions. Once checked, the pistols disappeared back into the boxes.

“Lester, may grace be with you.”

To his old friend’s greeting, MacQuan responded with a chilly smile. With those words, Robert walked quickly to the opposite side. Caliven Wisfield also approached MacQuan.

“I will check. Please raise both hands for a moment.”

“Of course.”

With an expressionless face, Caliven patted down MacQuan’s body. This was to ensure he wasn’t hiding something like a horseshoe to block a bullet. After thoroughly checking the chest and back area of the opposing duelist, Caliven and Robert stepped back. Beside the seconds stood doctors hired by each duelist’s side in preparation for any emergency.

As all preparations neared completion, the silence broke.

MacQuan stopped fiddling with his wrist and glanced up. The opponent was also looking down, loosening his left hand, which would hold the gun. His right hand was still heavily wrapped in bandages. Though they were far apart, MacQuan felt the illusion that he could see every single eyelash hiding the man’s emotions. Despite being at a disadvantage due to his injured hand, the man appeared remarkably calm.

“…….”

After staring at Aaron for a long time, MacQuan turned his head away again, fearing their eyes might meet. This was a man he hadn’t locked eyes with once since arriving at the duel site. Though he vanished from sight, the afterimage of Aaron Wizfeldon refused to leave his mind. As the ground, a mixture of dirt and snow, seemed to waver, a sudden, unbearable impulse surged.

“…Damn it.”

MacQuan spat out a low curse and walked quickly toward the opposite side. It was an action no one expected. The sound of his boots striding forward broke the silence along with the cold wind.

“…?”

Aaron, who had been rubbing his left hand, felt the sudden presence and looked up. The referee, the seconds, and the doctors were equally bewildered by MacQuan’s sudden action.

“Brother…”

The moment Caliven tried to jump in to stop the duelist’s erratic behavior, Aaron raised a hand to block the other’s intervention. He silently gazed at the man walking toward him without hesitation. Because of his long strides, the distance closed in an instant.

“…….”

With the final step, only about one pace remained between them. Messy footprints remained on the snow-covered ground along the path he had walked. Despite having walked over with such boldness, MacQuan couldn’t speak for a long time. It was a meaningless silence, but his glaring gaze was clear. Aaron watched him for a moment and then sighed with a frown.

“Even for a baseless duel, this is too much.”

His tone was devoid of emotional fluctuation.

“…….”

He was a man who had been cold and quiet for most of the time they spent together. Recalling the memories of the past few years, MacQuan clenched his fist. In their relationship, the one who was always anxious and desperate was only him. He was the one who led the conversations and endlessly desired the other. That arrogant man did not tolerate showing weakness to others. Because he showed no gaps, MacQuan had been thirstier and longed for him more.

“Really…”

A tight voice escaped through his vocal cords. Disliking his own crude appearance, MacQuan frowned and relaxed his dark brown eyebrows several times. After hesitating for a long while, he finally managed to speak.

“Do you really… not regret it?”

The eyes staring back at him contained a reproach, as if asking why he was saying this now.

“If I regret it.”

The cool voice rang out clearly. Aaron asked back with an expression of genuine curiosity. There was no regret or pain on that face.

“If I regret it, does anything change?”

“…….”

For a moment, MacQuan lost his words and avoided the transparent mirror staring intently at him. It was because of the anxiety that emotions he didn’t even know himself might be seen through. Despite receiving a firm answer to a cheap question, MacQuan could not easily return to his spot. Watching this, one corner of Aaron’s mouth loosened.

“Theodore was.”

At the unexpected name, MacQuan snapped his head around. In an instant, the right side of his face flushed red. He couldn’t believe that the man had held that name until the very end.

“You, until the end…”

As if he didn’t care about the shock the other would receive, Aaron put on his gloves with a peaceful face. Because of the bandages, the movement of his right hand was not precise.

“He was my faithful dog.”

Dog.

There was no way he didn’t know that expression didn’t actually mean a living dog.

“Ha…”

A hollow laugh escaped like a convulsion. The explanation regarding the man he had been curious about for so long ended with that. After checking a few more times if his buttons were properly fastened, Aaron tilted his chin toward the opposite side. It was a sign to go back.

“…Is that all you have to say to me?”

To the following question, Aaron replied instead with a sneer.

“How terrible.”

His inner thoughts, worn down by jealousy, were hideously revealed. MacQuan wanted to carve that man—a man he had never seen and of whom he knew only a name—out of the other’s life, raw flesh and all.

If he survived the duel, he would first find that man and kill him, and burn every document in the world that bore his name. So that he could never be thought of again, never be missed, and never be mistaken for anyone. To defile and annihilate memories, the past, and emotions so they could never be recalled…

“Sir Lester!”

Unable to endure any longer, Caliven quickly approached and grabbed MacQuan’s wrist. The grip on his arm instantly pulled MacQuan back to reality.

“Ah…”

For a moment, he looked around with a vacant expression. A few paces away stood Robert, looking bewildered.

“Baronet, do not insult this sacred duel any further. Please return to your position.”

MacQuan shifted his gaze from the hand gripping his arm and blinked calmly. After a short silence, he turned around again. There stood the man, looking at him, with not a single trace of the pleasure they had shared last summer.

Only after calming his breath for a moment did MacQuan bow slightly to ask for forgiveness.

“…Forgive my rudeness.”

Those were his final words. With a face that showed no more lingering attachment, he turned completely and walked quickly to the marked spot. It was exactly twelve paces away.

Confirming the commotion had settled, Viscount Shefften signaled for both duelists to quickly prepare.

“Take your positions, and seconds, please verify that the duelists are standing exactly on the marks.”

Following the referee’s instructions, Caliven and Robert led their respective duelists to the pistol’s range.

“Each duelist, please check the gun you will use one more time.”

The referee raised his hand again with further instructions. Each second brought the pistol box in front of the duelist. The pistols, having completed loading and inspection, were clean without a single scratch.

“Ready.”

A strange tension lingered in the hand taking the gun wrapped in a handkerchief. While inspecting the pistol, MacQuan tapped the ground, tangled with white snow, twice with the toe of his boot. It was an action to relieve tension.

“Confirmed.”

Watching him, Caliven stepped back with an awkwardly stiff expression. After repeating the same meaningless action a few more times, MacQuan finally let out a deflated laugh. White breath leaked out.

“Begin!”

Viscount Shefften’s shout rang out loudly across the desolate clearing.

Foolish.

MacQuan found it laughable that his heart was a mass of contradictions from start to finish.

From the moment he put the period on the duel application, from the moment he sought out Pellington Hall, from the moment he handed over the envelope, and even the moment he finally circled back to stand here, MacQuan had to admit that not for a single moment had he accepted the reality that he actually had to pull the trigger on Aaron Wizfeldon.

“…….”

Wrapping his palm around the cool muzzle, MacQuan looked straight ahead again. There was only one person in his sight. The man standing straight, having completed all preparations, did not waver in the slightest. It was a detachment devoid of any lingering attachment or hesitation, unlike himself. On the other hand, it was strange. For someone in a position anyone would envy, the man looked utterly exhausted.

“Ready!”

Confirming that both had their dueling pistols, the Viscount raised his right hand. It was the agreed signal to aim the muzzles at the opponent.

MacQuan slowly extended his arm and aimed the muzzle at the opponent. His hand gripping the ribbed handle tightened instinctively.

‘I was foolish.’

He had believed he was the one deceiving the other. He thought he had hidden his emotions and seized the superior position. He thought he could sway that person and manipulate him according to his will.

“…….”

The wind blew again. In the chilly breath of winter, the bright golden hair was messily scattered. The white forehead vanished in an instant. Gazing at him with a tasteless look, MacQuan hooked his finger over the cold trigger.

“Load!”

The referee, checking the time with a pocket watch, raised his hand again. Exactly one minute later, when the hand in the thick white glove signaled downward, the iron bullet would rush toward Cornwall’s heir.

Suddenly, a pure face entered his sight. A part of his mind felt blank, as if clouded by fog. In his fading heart, MacQuan, still holding the pistol, blankly recalled the face he had seen a moment ago.

‘It wasn’t the wound I saw last time.’

A question that had been gnawing at his brain since the last banquet suddenly surfaced. The faint blue bruise spreading from the cheek to around the right eye was clearly a wound from being hit by something hard. Who was it? A violent hatred toward an intangible target pierced his heart.

‘Who on earth.’

The muzzle aimed straight ahead wavered. Thousands of hearts hidden within indifferent eyes surged. Although he had to fire the gun once the signal dropped, the thoughts filling MacQuan’s head at this moment were not about the duel.

Who harmed you?

“Shall I kill them?”

Who did you.

“I will…”

Who dares.

The mercy of time was exceedingly short and futile.

Click—

As a blurred memory shook his mind, the sound of a bullet being chambered in the barrel nearby intervened. A distorted smile spread across MacQuan’s lips, anticipating what would follow. Yes. I wasn’t the only one whose acting was awkward.

Viscount Shefften, unaware of the strange current, quickly lowered his hand.

“Fire!”

A pathetic pride battle between noble gentlemen.

The final shout that would decide the result of that trivial duel opened the first dawn.

Flutter.

Startled by the referee’s voice, a winter bird flew away through the bare branches. The cold wind penetrated between every strand of hair.

Every scene flowed excruciatingly slowly. Time was fractured into thousands, tens of thousands of pieces. The trigger beneath his fingertips was as cold and piercing as a giant glacier, and his hesitation eventually became a thicket of thorns, winding around MacQuan’s entire arm, wrist, and fingertips. Even among the hundreds of millions of divided moments, the lingering regrets he could not cast away intervened repeatedly, making their presence known.

Memories became the past, and the past became emotion, swallowing the present.

The faint smile etched into his subconscious resembled the moon.

You always smiled with that face. It was so faint that one couldn’t tell if you were smiling or expressionless, which made the rare moments you did smile feel like a miracle.

Theodore.

Did you smile like that in front of that man? Indistinguishable memories and emotions became a chaotic tangle. Whether it was reality or a dream. Whether it belonged to me or another. Whether that person was you or not…

“…!”

In that instant, his deep green retinas, drenched in remorse, dilated to their limit upon seeing something. At the sight of a horrific scene defiling the illusion, not even a scream could escape his lips. His mind went blank, leaving only instinct.

No.

No, please.

The fingertips that had ceased to hesitate immediately tightened. Simultaneously, the trigger was pulled back to its limit.

Bang—!

Bang—!

Two gunshots rang out in short succession, echoing through the clearing, and two people collapsed onto the desolate snowfield.

“Gasp…”

Feeling a tremendous pain in his flank, MacQuan dropped to one knee on the snowy ground. Torn skin and muscle screamed in agony. A voice that couldn’t even manage a groan scraped against his vocal cords. The sensation of the bullet tearing through skin and lodging itself inside was violent and eerie. With every breath, he felt a hot liquid rapidly escaping his body.

“Lester!”

At the unbelievable sight, Robert rushed breathlessly toward where MacQuan had fallen. The waiting physician followed close behind. The sudden shift in atmosphere was the same for the opposing side. The duel site, turned into chaos in an instant, was filled with screams and shock.

“Lester, my God, my God… how could this…”

“Ugh…”

The bullet that failed to penetrate caused even greater pain. The hand clutching his bleeding right flank trembled. While dark red blood flowed in clumps, soaking the back of his hand, cold sweat broke out across his face, which was pale with agony.

Amidst the pain, MacQuan narrowed his eyes. Through his blurred vision, he saw the back of the witness, Caliven, who had stood behind him a moment ago and driven a bullet into his flank. Caliven threw the gun that had shot MacQuan to the ground and was rushing urgently toward the opposite side.

“Lester, Lester! Wake up. Quickly, your hand…”

“Mr. Ro, Robert. Please step aside for a moment.”

The physician, arriving in succession, quickly approached to check the wound. After assessing the condition from a step away, the doctor wore a grave expression and rummaged through his medical bag. His hands were urgent in searching for treatment tools.

MacQuan used all his strength to lift his heavy eyelids. It was a desperate struggle to find the trace of someone.

“…Kh.”

Painful breaths poured through his slightly parted lips. In his fogged vision, he searched desperately for one person. Aaron Wizfeldon was also surrounded by people not far away. Was he hit? Blurred questions tangled haphazardly. He saw an arm lying limp on the ground. There were bloodstains on the bandage. It was certain that he had been hit by the shot MacQuan fired. A sharp iron claw had savagely torn through the neck and chest.

“It would have been better if it had passed through; fabric has been driven into the wound. The condition is not good.”

“W-what should be done? If you tell me…”

“I need help cutting away the area around the shirt.”

The heart-wrenching worry didn’t even reach him properly. MacQuan frowned, steadying his mind, which was reeling from the pain. Where did I shoot that man? Since he couldn’t remember, he had to confirm. He had to confirm the meaning of the scene he saw just before pulling the trigger.

“Move…”

Before he could finish the sentence, blood surged back up. Whether his internal organs were damaged, his entire abdomen felt as if it were boiling. Without time to notice the metallic scent, his body moved on its own.

“First, disinfection… M-my God, Lord Lester!”

“Lester, you must not move. Your condition right now is…”

Robert’s pleas had no effect. MacQuan pushed away the physician attempting emergency treatment and his friend with all his might and forced himself up.

“Ugh…”

Even at that moment, his body, unable to overcome the pain, staggered violently. Robert, catching up to him again, grabbed his arm.

“Please, just stay still. MacQuan, please…”

“Move…”

“Lester!”

“Mo… ve… please…”

As his body refused to obey, irritation tinged his voice. A small movement caused blood to gush out again. The pain was enough to make him lose consciousness, but his steps headed forward without hesitation. Sweat poured like rain. His mind was hazy, and his entire body felt as hot as if it were in a furnace; it was absolute torture.

Thinking that this felt like the end of a villain in a cheap novel, MacQuan let out a series of laughs. There could be no ending more fitting for him.

“Lester, Lester!”

“Do… not… interfere… Gasp…”

Neither of the two could restrain MacQuan. The more he moved, the worse the bleeding and coughing of blood became. His anxiety deepened. He couldn’t see him, hidden by the crowd. That person.

That person.

A hollow duel for the sake of pride—he had no intention of taking it seriously from the start. He thought it would end simply by missing slightly and coordinating their stories. He didn’t care if he gave up an arm or a leg. Most vain gentlemen ended their duels with injuries that didn’t lead to death. Confident that he could persuade the opponent with sweet words and deception, he had confidently requested the duel on behalf of the Duke of Devonshire.

“MacQuan, please…”

However, the opponent was sincere. He had staked something truly important on this duel. He had pushed the duel forward fiercely, as if it were a means to another end. He had an attitude of being willing to throw away his own life without hesitation for that purpose. It was a situation MacQuan could not comprehend.

“Let go!”

Robert’s hand, which had been holding his arm, fell away helplessly. His lips and chin were a mess from the regurgitated blood.

“My God, my God…”

Eventually, fearing the possibility of his condition worsening, Robert stepped back, pacing anxiously.

“I will assess the situation and treat him. Please call the carriage here. Now!”

“I-I understand…”

At the request of the physician who had been watching the situation, Robert ran quickly toward the area where the carriage and driver were waiting, his face pale.

“Stop. The injury is severe. You will truly die at this rate!”

“….”

“What on earth… Lord Lester, Lord Lester!”

Leaving the shocked cries behind, his staggering steps were certainly heading toward their destination. Following his movements, dark red blood dripped thickly onto the freezing snow. Footprints and bloodstains were tangled in a mess. Since he couldn’t even take proper steps, it was more accurate to call them long streaks of something being dragged rather than footprints.

“I’ve gone mad…”

A strange laugh escaped. MacQuan forced his eyes to blink against his blurring vision, his shoulders shaking. Gasping breaths and laughter mixed, producing a continuous, eerie noise. The shot had hit his flank, but something was terribly wrong; his lungs and entire chest were in pain.

“…Opium… again…”

He must have taken opium again.

Since you were an addict beyond help.

It couldn’t be unless you were mad. Completely mad, out of your mind. Unable to make a proper judgment, completely broken…

“Opium…”

Everything was incomprehensible.

Why he didn’t fire immediately after the referee’s signal.

Why he changed the direction of the muzzle just before pulling the trigger.

Why your muzzle was pointed at your own head, and why your face was so peaceful.

As if you knew I wouldn’t be able to shoot you.

As if you intended to end it by your own hand.

Why.

Why.

For what reason.

Did you try to die.

You were the one who possessed the things I spent my whole life doing every kind of filth to obtain.

“Why…”

Due to the pain, not even half of his thoughts could become words. From somewhere, he smelled the familiar scent of burning leaves. It wasn’t the foul stench of opium. It resembled the smoke of the Leaf-Cut Tobacco that man always smoked while leaning obliquely against the window. No, it felt like the scent of oranges. Whatever it was, it must be an olfactory hallucination. Aaron Wizfeldon’s madness had clearly transferred to him.

Thud.

“Le, Lord Lester!”

His completely powerless body finally collapsed flat onto the snowy ground. The physician, who had been following MacQuan anxiously, rushed over. He heard the physician’s shock and the sound of clicking his tongue as he removed the coat and examined the flank wound. A merciless fire harshly branded his entire upper body.

“You are strange. You are excessively emotional.”

“Foolish…”

The hand brushing across the cold snow slowed. The more he applied pressure, the more the clumped snow rose dirtily between his fingers, eventually melting away along with the blood.

The neighing of horses was heard from afar. Even the rattling sound of the carriage body. Robert Higgins had clearly succeeded in persuading the terrified driver.

“Because I truly thought… you had feelings for me.”

“…Because I was… foolish…”

With a mutter that squeezed out the last of his strength, MacQuan finally fell silent. As his eyelids heavily descended, the green eyes drenched in obsession slowly vanished.

“I believe it.”

The intervals between his gasping breaths grew longer and longer.

“You are my dog.”

Snowflakes, mixed with damp earth, were stained red by the blood flowing from his body. Until the moment his consciousness completely vanished, MacQuan etched the image of his blood-soaked master into his retinas. He did so with a desperate, urgent longing, as if performing an act to remember him for eternity.

“Theodore.”

That image was the last memory he had of seeing Aaron Wizfeldon.

✧ ✧ ✧

The carriage rattled violently as it raced down an unpaved shortcut. Every time the wheels caught on a stone, Caliven hugged his brother with frantic hands.

“Shall I tell them to slow down?”

Caliven and the doctor shook their heads simultaneously.

“No. Tell them it doesn’t matter, to drive at full speed.”

He tightened his grip on his limp brother. Caliven repeatedly pulled the slipping coat back over Aaron’s body.

“We will arrive at the hospital soon.”

All possible treatments had been administered at the scene. There was nothing more to be done. With a face sunken in pitch-black despair, Caliven leaned down. The wide plains and church spires flashed by outside the window. The sound of horse hooves galloping powerfully down the road was loud and clattering. Brother. Despite the sorrowful whisper, there was no answer, but Caliven continued regardless.

“Please, just hold on a little longer.”

The carriage jolted sharply again due to a sudden change in direction. Please. The desperate whisper melted into the air, thick with despair. Heat surged to his eyes, unable to withstand the feeling of hopelessness. Caliven slowly rubbed his cold cheek against the blood-stained shirt. The metallic scent of blood made his agony even worse.

“Was it because of me?”

A faint warmth told him that his brother was still alive. His cheeks, stiff with tension and anxiety, gradually grew wet.

“Or did you intend to do this from the beginning?”

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t hesitated to shoot MacQueen Lester in order to ruin the duel as commanded. Nevertheless, the reason he had steadied his wavering heart several times was because of his father’s words.

“It cannot be helped. Your brother went so far as to commit such a pathetic act for your sake.”

“I simply cannot understand what my brother was thinking…”

Transparent tears fell in droplets onto the blackened, dried bloodstains. The moment he pulled out the pistol hidden inside the coat, the face of his brother he encountered; the shock that flickered briefly in those eyes that had never once wavered; the fact that the muzzle, which should have been aimed elsewhere, pointed toward his brother’s head—he felt it was all his fault.

“…….”

At that moment, a cool sensation touched somewhere on his arm. Shifting his gaze through wet eyes, Caliven realized it was a blood-stained finger and leaned in even deeper. The sensation of the quiet tapping on his arm resembled his brother’s chilling kindness.

Huuu. Heuu…

His broad shoulders shook several times as suppressed emotions exploded. Quiet sobbing slowly filled the tension-filled interior of the carriage. The doctor, looking visibly exhausted, turned his face toward the window to give the young second son of the Cornwall family space to compose himself.

Outside the small window, where shadows of varying depths had receded, the sun was now shining brightly.

✧ ✧ ✧

He was standing in the forest again.

Similar trees, bushes, lakes, sky, and clouds. Even the hawks and crows—every shape and position was identical to the dreams he had had until now. MacQuan clicked his tongue softly, realizing he had been drawn into that dream once more.

No matter how many times he returned, the result was the same.

The memories of the person he saw in the dream would vanish the moment he opened his eyes, and thereafter, various feelings of guilt, depression, and lethargy would inevitably follow. Yet, he could not escape the place. Even knowing this, the attempt to struggle was merely foolish.

‘I’ll eventually wake up from the dream again.’

Leaving his ominous feelings behind, MacQuan walked slowly across the lush green grass. For now, it was a silent state, with no shouting or screaming to be heard.

‘Where am I going this time?’

Even though he was walking on his own feet, he didn’t know where he was headed. He simply moved as his body led him. After all, it was merely a dream, and there was no need to attach great meaning to it. Only after walking for a long while did MacQuan discover a small cabin.

In preparation for the coming winter, firewood had been neatly organized on one side of the old cabin, and smoke rose incessantly from the chimney. Upon finding signs of human habitation, his heart beat faster than usual.

‘I have to go.’

Perhaps today, he had returned. His master was someone who repeatedly disappeared and returned unexpectedly. A blind thought that he must hurry back urged his steps.

‘He is waiting for me.’

His stride became wider and faster. Before he knew it, he was holding an envelope in one hand. It contained oranges with a fresh scent and simple food. He didn’t know where it came from or who gave it to him, but he cradled the envelope of food like a precious treasure.

‘I must go.’

His master had a poor appetite and would surely not even eat this properly. No, he would probably be starving, eating nothing until I arrived. As that thought occurred to him, MacQuan felt even more impatient. The cabin was just a short walk away. Just a little more.

“Theodore.”

The moment he was only one step away from the cabin, a low voice called a name that was both unfamiliar and familiar. In an instant, the surrounding scenery changed from a forest to a room. Even that was not a precise deduction, as he had his eyes closed. He merely guessed so from the warm temperature. His memories became chaotically scrambled once again.

“Theodore.”

It was truly cold and heartless. MacQuan clicked his tongue with a weary face, wondering why that name was being called even here. He was so indignant and angry that he violently forced open his eyelids, which felt as heavy as a thousand pounds. It was a night where even the moonlight had faded. He saw ornate antique furniture and a bed. Contrary to his expectations, the surroundings were dark, but ‘that person’ was vivid, as if receiving light alone.

MacQuan instinctively knew who ‘that person’ was. It was his one and only master. The master looked terribly worn down, as if he had been suffering from a severe illness. Nevertheless, he was a man who radiated light in himself. A cool fingertip touched MacQuan’s sweat-beaded forehead. He moved, wanting to touch him just a bit more, but it was useless.

“Don’t misunderstand.”

It was a nonsensical statement. He wanted to ask what that meant, but he didn’t have the strength to move a single finger. The master was looking down at him in silence. MacQuan felt a sudden surge of fear, even in a dream, at the master’s expressionless face, devoid of hatred or resentment. He wondered why he was being looked at with such cold eyes. No sound came from his parted lips.

“Because it wasn’t because of you.”

There was a bitter scent. The master might have smoked that damned opium again. He was a man who could not fall asleep without opium.

The speed at which his eyelids opened and closed slowed again. It wouldn’t have been strange if he had closed his eyes immediately. Fatigue washed over him, but MacQuan bit his lip until it bled, struggling to stay conscious.

“……It was for me.”

The master seemed extremely tired; a very faint smile escaped in irregular intervals. The fingertips slowly tapping his forehead didn’t feel bad. He wanted to hear that laughter a little longer.

Just a little more.

Theodore.

In truth, I wasn’t angry even when you called me by that name.

For the first time, I felt it didn’t matter whose name you called me by.

For that was proof that you were alive.

……ter.

Mac……

……ster……

“Lester!”

Only when the shout, gradually approaching his consciousness, reached a breaking point did MacQuan finally open his eyes. It was time to wake from the long dream.

“Lester, Lester!”

Robert called MacQuan’s name several times in a trembling voice. His distorted face looked as if he were on the verge of tears.

“Are you conscious?”

Watching his friend, who couldn’t easily compose his emotions, MacQuan blinked slowly.

“I rushed here this morning after receiving word that you almost regained consciousness last night. Others have been waiting until now, but they’ve stepped out for a moment for a meal.”

“…….”

“God has helped you. I believed you would rise again. My god, it’s a miracle. A miracle! Wait just a moment, I’ll call them in right away.”

Neither Robert, who kept praying to God, nor anywhere in the surroundings showed any trace of the dream.

Was it really a dream?

“…….”

There was no strength in his body. He felt as if his entire body were heavy and sinking, soaked in water. Having experienced something similar in the past, MacQuan knew the identity of this unpleasant sensation. He realized that he had been unconscious for quite a long time.

“Robert.”

His heavily cracked voice stopped the steps heading toward the door. MacQuan stared blankly at the ceiling. He saw ornate wallpaper with familiar patterns and a chandelier.

“How long……”

As he blinked once more, his field of vision expanded very slowly. The vast snowy field he had seen last before losing consciousness also vanished. This was not the site of the duel nor a dense forest, but his own bedroom within Emblin House.

“How much time has passed?”

MacQuan exhaled deeply. A dull pain spread through his right side. It was proof that the duel was not a dream. His unfocused eyes wavered. Robert, watching his confused friend, walked silently to the window and drew the curtains. As the thick blackout curtains disappeared, the bright sun illuminated the bedroom.

“…….”

The sky visible beyond the window was blue. Robert, walking back to the bed, supported the unable-to-move MacQuan and leaned his upper body against the headboard. Even a small movement brought out a long-held groan.

“Robert.”

“……You must absolutely not overdo it. You are currently in a state where it is difficult to move on your own.”

“Robert, please tell me quickly.”

Robert bit his lip, looking as if he didn’t know what to say, then slowly patted MacQuan’s shoulder.

“Lester, don’t be too impatient.”

“Are you saying I’ve been unconscious this whole time?”

“That’s not it.”

Robert pulled up a chair and sat down.

“You repeatedly regained and lost consciousness. There were many times you woke up… but the intervals were short, and you weren’t fully conscious. To be precise, you were in a state of delirium. A conversation like this was out of the question.”

A brief silence followed amidst a bitter smile. Both of them knew that the most important core of the conversation was missing. After a long pause, Robert slowly continued.

“The season has changed.”

“……Then.”

“Five months have passed.”

Five months.

MacQuan swallowed his breath slowly at the time, which was longer than he had expected. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. The fireplace in one corner of the bedroom showed no signs of having been lit recently, and the scenery visible through the window was tinged with green.

Strength gradually returned to the hand gripping the sheets. The sensation of having drifted far away was slowly returning, but his muscles did not move properly.

“Your condition was not good. There were several critical moments. Your ribs were broken, and your internal organs were damaged. The bleeding was horrific. My god… Lester, I’m telling you this now, but Dr. Jackson told me several times over the past few months to prepare myself for the worst.”

“…….”

“You haven’t fully recovered yet. You are in a state where absolute rest and treatment are necessary.”

The tone of voice compressing the past few months was full of worry, but the person listening to his own story was extremely calm.

“Don’t worry about the trial. Not only the Duke of Devonshire, but many members of Parliament are stepping forward as witnesses for us and waging a public relations war. You can consider it almost impossible that you will be indicted for the illegal acts committed by Caliven Wisfield. Even if you are, you will absolutely be found not guilty. Your actions were clearly self-defense, and you were the victim of a cowardly and petty duel orchestrated by a high noble, the Wisfield of Cornwall.”

That was not the story he wanted. There was something else he wanted to hear. Putting more strength into the hand gripping the sheets, MacQuan moved his parched, dry lips.

“……That man.”

There was a deep silence. Robert, unable to continue for a while, spoke with a somewhat uncomfortable expression.

“Caliven Wisfield is currently on trial. The Duke of Cornwall tried to smuggle him out of the country, but it didn’t go as planned. Since the situation has already spread to the public, it won’t be easy to bribe the judge and jury. The fortunate thing is that he has admitted his fault and…”

“No.”

Cutting the conversation short, MacQuan felt his right side, where the gunshot wound was still vivid. He felt the texture of the bumpy scar. The memory of blood draining from his body along with immense pain was clear. MacQuan thought of the one person who, like himself, had been covered in blood and had not opened his eyes until the end.

“Aaron Wizfeldon.”

The moment MacQuan uttered that name, silence fell again.

“I mean Earl Vispilt.”

The gentle brown eyes wavered greatly. Robert avoided the gaze of his friend who was looking straight at him. MacQuan, sensing the negative atmosphere from a small gesture, frowned. He had a bad feeling. Recalling the bloodless face of Aaron Wizfeldon he had seen last, he leaned his upper body forward and urgently grabbed his friend.

“Just before firing at Earl Vispilt, I was shot in the back by Caliven Wisfield, and my body jolted violently. Because of that, I don’t remember exactly which part of his body I hit. That man bled a lot. He lost consciousness. Could something have gone wrong…”

“Lester.”

This time, Robert was the one to cut the conversation. The rambling words and urgent breathing were cut off in an instant. Robert, who found his friend’s urgent and desperate appearance unfamiliar, also wore a troubled expression.

“Last month, the bill for the expeditionary military expenditure passed in the House of Commons.”

MacQuan’s eyes widened at the unexpected topic that deviated from the context. The expeditionary military expenditure bill was the signal flare announcing the start of a full-scale war. It was also a lobbying effort that he and the Duke of Devonshire had spent immense funds and effort on for a long time, to the point where he couldn’t even remember the starting point of the work. It was the fruit of patience and the moment when the most splendid celebratory toast should be drunk.

“It was tense until the very end. In particular, Sir Gordon Bailen’s final rebuttal speech heated up the audience. The situation was unpredictable until the end. The vote difference was only 9 votes.”

The voice reciting the result they had so long desired was dark and stiff.

“……That’s good.”

Several deep breaths were taken in the gaps between words. Despite it being something he had worked for and desired for so long, his impression was indifferent, and no joy arose. It was strange. His heart was anxious to a bizarre degree. MacQuan asked back with a somewhat dazed face.

“But what does that have to do with my question?”

A damp mass wrapped around his neck and shoulders. A sticky substance touched the area from the outer ear to the back of the ear. Even knowing that all these sensations were imaginary, MacQuan shook his head violently with an irritated face.

“The King also gave his final consent to the dispatch of the English army.”

“I understand. I understand what you’re saying, so…”

“Last week, the warships and troops led by Sir Harrison Howard departed for Daecheong.”

“Robe, did something happen to him…”

“Lester.”

Cutting him off again, Robert held his precious friend and met his eyes. Lester. The tone of calling him again was twice as calm as usual. MacQuan did not want to be called by the immigrant’s name he had stolen, at least by those who had been with him for a long time. Especially when having an extremely private and intimate conversation.

Complex thoughts were sorted out one by one. Robert, struggling to manage his overflowing anxious emotions, slowly delivered the facts he knew.

“Earl Vispilt also left as a member of the negotiation delegation.”

MacQuan narrowed his eyes. His face was speechless. He frowned to process the information he had just heard. No matter how many times he repeated it, he could not understand.

“……What does that mean? A negotiation delegation?”

“Lester.”

“No, no… Robe, I just can’t understand this.”

Robert covered the back of MacQuan’s severely trembling hand. The hand fraught with tension was extremely cold. MacQuan hastily pulled his hand away and covered his chin and mouth. A negotiation delegation. It made no sense.

“How could he have joined the negotiation delegation? How could a Conservative MP?”

“The Rodinton issue flared up larger than expected.”

A heavy breath scattered.

“Rodinton……”

His parched lips moved.

“……What on earth does Rodinton have to do with this?”

His eyes, groping the air, could not easily find focus. MacQuan did not vividly remember the events before he lost consciousness. The flow of time was a mess from start to finish, and it was difficult to distinguish whose memories and emotions had seeped in between.

“As a result of the investigation team’s audit, the Rodinton accounting problem was revealed to be more serious than thought. For several years already…”

“It wasn’t tax evasion.”

MacQuan met Robert’s gaze directly. His eyes, containing only desolate emotions, wavered violently.

“Robert, they didn’t intend for that. It wasn’t tax evasion.”

The voice, spitting out each word, was coarse and blunt. It sounded more like a monologue than a conversation. In a power struggle, a weakness acquired from an opponent was the key to victory. Because money could buy every secret, MacQuan had crawled his way up to this position using every despicable method imaginable.

The investigation into Aaron Wizfeldon and Rodinton had been conducted in that context, eventually leading the man to board a warship bound for the front. Since the data had been collected with the intent to use it when necessary and tear him down whenever the time was right, it could be said that the information had served its purpose. However…

“Robert, that madman Cornwall didn’t do it out of personal greed. Furthermore, those sons of his…”

“Lester.”

Robert’s face was clouded with bewilderment as he called his friend.

“Why does any of that matter?”

MacQuan stared straight ahead in silence. The coldness and ruthlessness hidden beneath his kindness were revealed without filter.

“What matters?”

In an instant, his heart rate quickened.

“Robert, why are you asking me what matters right now?”

MacQuan violently yanked his hand away from the grip. The cruelty and meanness Robert displayed were like a mirror, reflecting himself.

“Lester. A heavy burden of responsibility was placed upon the House of Cornwall. Public opinion was poor. The Wizfeldon family had to show that they were taking responsibility in some way.”

Robert added the explanation with a calm demeanor.

“What does that…”

MacQuan trailed off, leaning his trembling arm against the headboard of the bed. His vacant gaze scattered aimlessly.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Tangled memories flashed by in a mess. MacQuan recalled Aaron Wizfeldon from the days before he realized he was being deceived. That man was the quintessential aristocrat, a condensation of arrogance and the cleverness to know exactly how to handle people. No matter how one tried to belittle him, he was far from foolish.

“You’re saying that madman Cornwall agreed to the opinion of sending his heir there? In the middle of that war? With Colonel Harrison clearly there, what on earth could a Conservative MP—who isn’t even a plenipotentiary ambassador—possibly do? He’s nothing more than a puppet!”

As uncontrolled emotions surged, his voice naturally rose.

“The negotiation delegation was proposed first by the House of Cornwall. I believe they wanted an image of the Wizfeldon family willingly accepting sacrifice for the national interest. Regardless, it was a gamble where they could have lost a precious heir. The Duke of Devonshire also stepped back because of the lobbying scandal involving you and the Duke.”

For a moment, he was speechless. Seeing MacQuan completely devastated, Robert cautiously added his opinion.

“It was the only solution given the situations both sides faced. It was a trade where neither side had anything to lose.”

“…A trade.”

MacQuan remembered the old scars scattered across the man’s straight-extended hands. They were certainly not scars from military training.

“A trade, you say…”

“Yes. As I explained, it was not a bad trade for the Wizfeldon family. It silenced the critical public opinion, and depending on the situation, Earl Vispilt would also play a major role in the negotiations.”

“That man is not a soldier…”

A legitimate heir to a dukedom who was not a soldier could not have possibly received training for actual combat deployment. Even if he hadn’t participated directly, he was in the middle of a war. No one could predict what might happen at sea.

“I must check.”

“Lester.”

“I will check…”

The body that had been pushing off the bedpost lost its balance and collapsed.

“Lester!”

Watching this, Robert hurriedly supported him. The shock of the fall sent a long reverberation through wounds that had not fully healed. MacQuan barely swallowed a groan at the terrible pain that shot up to his shoulder.

“How many months do you think you’ve been lying there? There’s no way your muscles can move properly. Calm down, just calm down…”

“Call Aljef.”

“MacQuan. Calm down first. The Duke of Devonshire is expected to arrive soon, so after speaking with the Duke…”

“Call Aljef!”

Screaming with rage, MacQuan shook off the hand restraining him. A sharp slapping sound immediately followed.

“…Why are you acting like this?”

Robert, cradling the back of his hand that was beginning to swell red, grabbed MacQuan again with hollow eyes. Even facing the vivid sense of betrayal from his old friend, MacQuan ignored it and repeated the same words.

“Call Aljef for me, Robert.”

* * *

The night that fell was chilly. The sound of horse hooves galloping on the paved road was powerful, as if flaunting its vitality. The carriage body jolted violently several times, but the man never uttered an order to stop.

“Sir Lester, it is still cold at night.”

The secretary’s eyes were full of worry as he handed over a thick blanket.

“I am fine.”

“You only regained consciousness today. You cannot simply go headlong like this.”

Having been in a critical state for months, unconscious due to injuries severe enough to be life-threatening, he could not possibly be normal. Since he had bolted out, pushing aside those trying to stop him, his attire consisted of nothing more than a black wool coat thrown over his patient’s gown.

“Stop it. As you say, my condition is poor, and every sensation touching my body is an excruciating pain.”

“…I understand.”

Aljef, who had been fidgeting for a long time, eventually had no choice but to follow the instructions. Time passed in a silence where no one dared to speak.

The Duke of Devonshire, who had arrived at Emblin Hall a few hours ago, had instead asked back with an expression of absurdity.

“What is the problem? Is this not what we wanted so much? Of course, it would be troublesome if he earns merit, but if he happens to die there, where could there be a cleaner disposal than that?”

Numerous emotions passed through him. Both men were right. The truth remained that he had no right to criticize anyone. A sneer continuously escaped the lips of MacQuan as he watched the scenery flash by. His pale blue hands trembled, unable to withstand the chill.

“Aljef.”

Bleak air filled the carriage. Aljef silently looked up.

“Do you also think I’ve gone mad?”

Stifled breaths were exchanged.

The secretary averted his gaze again with a troubled expression. Since MacQuan wasn’t particularly looking for an answer, he cast his gaze back out the window.

“But I must confirm.”

The reason why you went there.

“Theodore.”

A low laugh floated quietly. It was a desolate, lonely laugh. He always laughed like that. Like a man with no one by his side.

Because they were traveling at full speed, the destination appeared shortly. Beyond the thick night fog, the great mansion of the Duke of Cornwall slowly revealed itself, boasting the same majesty as when he had last visited.

The House of Cornwall had been noisy due to a series of recent incidents, but for Bernard Austin, the caretaker of Pellington Hall, this was the worst time to remember. He had become accustomed to that unwelcome guest who would suddenly barge in in the middle of the night.

“I wish to see the Duke of Cornwall.”

The man making the demand was in such poor condition that it wouldn’t be strange if he collapsed on the spot. Bernard worried that he might have to clear away a corpse. In the unexpected situation, Bernard frowned in bewilderment.

“Sir Lester, instead of doing this here, why don’t you return and get some rest?”

Bernard replied moderately and signaled the secretary to hurry him away, but the response was merely another troubled expression.

“I have something to ask, so please deliver my message.”

“Please do not do this, Sir Lester. What is the meaning of this rude visit?”

“The conversation will not be long.”

“That is not the issue. No one within Pellington Hall welcomes the Baronet’s visit. You know this.”

Despite being a seasoned butler, it was not easy to erase the hostility toward the other party. Bernard steeled his heart, thinking of the eldest son of the Cornwall family who had left for the battlefield and the second son awaiting trial. His aged hand, clad in a white glove, repeatedly stiffened and flexed.

“The Duke has just retired for the night. Please send a formal letter to request an audience.”

“He must be sleeping quite soundly. In this situation… ugh.”

Aljef struggled to support the tall man, who staggered from a loss of balance, and pulled him back up. Even a small movement caused cold sweat to bead on his forehead. His broad shoulders, hunched in pain, heaved. A bizarre laugh pierced through the cold air.

“It is truly amazing that he can sleep peacefully after sending his son to war. To think that this great family would trade by selling their child to the royal family.”

“Sir Lester, what on earth…”

A shocked Bernard hurriedly scanned the surroundings. Aljef, holding onto MacQuan, also tensed up with nervousness. Even in a state intoxicated by pain, the vitriol continued without hesitation.

“For the end of a high-and-mighty ducal house, it is truly pathetic!”

“Sir Lester, please…”

The secretary’s desperation did not reach his employer’s ears. Gritting his teeth against the surging pain, MacQuan glared at Pellington Hall with fierce eyes.

“If he is so confident, why should the Duke not meet me? He should drive a pistol bullet right into the center of the head of this unwelcome guest who barged in at midnight. That is how a proud Duke of Cornwall behaves! Is he not a great nobleman of England!”

“This is no place to cause such a commotion. Since there is nothing to tell the Baronet, please leave.”

“Am I not saying I want to see the face of that noble lord precisely so I don’t cause a commotion? The Duke must see me.”

As the sarcasm continued, the expressions of those around him hardened. It was an ironic situation where the cause of all the trouble was pointing a finger at the victim. MacQuan laughed loudly, indifferent to the blatant hostility directed at him.

“The Duke of Cornwall must want to see me as well. He must have lingering feelings after I’ve systematically ruined the heir he cherished so much. I am more than willing to be the target of his venting.”

“Sir Lester!”

MacQuan frantically scanned the interior of the luxurious and solemn Pellington Hall. It was the fruit of the wealth and honor he had craved his entire life. It was a truly magnificent and dazzling sight.

I wanted to have everything.

I wanted to hold it in my own hands, to shake this board with my own hands.

“Is he not a Conservative politician respected by the entire nation! I, too, am a citizen of England, so should he not listen to my words? My words…”

“Bernard.”

It was a voice that pierced the skin. The surroundings fell silent instantly. The sound came from the end of the long staircase leading from the upper floor to the center of the entrance lobby.

“It is so noisy that I cannot sleep at all.”

Even MacQuan, who had been pouring out abuse, slowly shifted his gaze. At the end of his sight stood the sole master of this magnificent and giant mansion.

Edmund Wizfeldon, Duke of Cornwall.

Despite being over fifty, the man had a massive build, and his sharp, piercing eyes evoked a sense of intimidation. Had it not been for his silver hair, it would have been difficult to guess his actual age.

“Why is there such a commotion?”

“Your Grace, Baronet Enfield has…”

The Duke of Cornwall raised his hand to block the unnecessary explanation. The gaze looking down at MacQuan grew colder by the second.

“That you would dare…”

Sensing an ominous atmosphere, a few servants quietly vacated the area.

“That you would dare come here.”

It was a controlled tone, devoid of any excitement. Simultaneously, the old Duke threw his cane down the railing.

Thump— Clatter—

The cane fell, striking the old wooden stairs and railings here and there. The loud noise disrupted the air of Pellington Hall for a long while.

“…To think you were someone so lacking in self-awareness. I suppose you’ve fallen under the illusion that you possess all the power in the world just because of a seat in the House of Commons, Baronet.”

The Duke of Cornwall tilted his chin up, curling one corner of his lip. The look in his eyes as he gazed down at those gathered was full of authority and arrogance.

“Send him back. How dare a mere merchant who bought his title with money enter my mansion.”

With an expression that did not hide his displeasure, he turned his body.

“Haha!”

MacQuan, who had watched the scene in silence, sneered coldly.

“Sir Lester, let us return.”

“Move.”

MacQuan violently pushed back the secretary who tried to support him.

“With what thought did Your Grace accept the departure of Earl Vispilt’s negotiation delegation? Was he not the heir you cherished so dearly?”

“…”

The body climbing the stairs turned back and stopped. Seeing this, MacQuan wore an even more twisted smile.

“No matter if it is a negotiation delegation, is it not a battlefield? During combat, even the ship they are on is not safe.”

The blades coming out of his mouth attacked the opponent without hesitation. The face of the man slowly turning around was so cold it felt like a chill. Nowhere could one find the grief of a parent who had sent their child to a war zone. MacQuan glared at the Duke of Cornwall with a look of contempt.

“In a situation where Sir Harrison Howard is already commanding as the plenipotentiary ambassador, did you think the Earl, a Conservative, would play some great role? In a negotiation delegation of all places, a Conservative MP who opposed everything from start to finish!”

As his uncontrolled emotions peaked, his voice grew louder. As the atmosphere became increasingly hostile, Bernard instructed the remaining servants to leave immediately. With the sound of urgent footsteps, the lobby suddenly became silent.

“Did you trade with the Duke of Devonshire regarding Rodinton and Earl Vispilt? Or did the King promise to cover up the Rodinton affair if you sent your heir to war?”

Ignoring the silence, MacQuan continued with a fierce momentum. He could not endure the pain tightening his chest without expelling something from his mouth.

“I am asking if you made this choice just to divert the criticism heading toward Cornwall!”

Despite the excessive rudeness, the eyes glaring at the intruder were surprisingly expressionless. The Duke of Cornwall tapped the railing with his fingertips and let out a short laugh.

“To dare come here uninvited and raise your voice… in the past, you would have headed straight for the guillotine, Baronet.”

The calm manner of speaking was colder than ice and harder than iron. The movement of his hand stroking his beard was also excessively slow.

“How could a vulgar man like you, who spent his life craving money, understand the sacred duty of an aristocrat who sacrifices for the state and the people? Well, since you couldn’t possibly know, you must have challenged my son to a duel, someone in a position where comparison is impossible.”

“Do you truly believe that the decision to let Earl Vispilt board a warship was the duty of an aristocrat?”

“What is the problem?”

For a moment, MacQuan was speechless.

What is the problem.

The three men he had faced over time after regaining consciousness had all said the same thing. Robert Higgins, Herald Lenzdoor, Duke of Devonshire, and Edmund Wizfeldon, Duke of Cornwall. Every one of them joined their voices in saying there was no problem with the fact that they used the negotiation delegation as an excuse to put Aaron Wizfeldon on a warship bound for war.

“Invasion is an eternal destiny that occurs between a great power and a weak nation. However, there is dignity in the method. You and Devonshire have turned this great empire into a foolish country that cannot solve any problem without forcing the sale of opium.”

“…”

“My son made that choice to protect the honor of England, which may fall in this ugly and despicable war caused by you and Devonshire. And he will save the royal family from the filthy hell of opium. By fulfilling his duty so that the King is not tainted by greed and ambition. Since the past, true aristocrats have been loyal to the royal family and have not feared death.”

A strange glint shimmered over his deep blue retinas. The old Duke continued immediately.

“Harrison, the plenipotentiary ambassador, is a stiff-necked soldier, and the cabinet ministers will only board the ship when news of victory rings out; what negotiations can be done with such fellows? It would be lucky if they don’t just beg to sell more of the opium grown by your precious company.”

Twisted convictions and pride spread hollowly through the lobby. He looked exactly like an aristocrat preserved in time from hundreds of years ago. His scorched vocal cords screamed.

“Dignity?”

His soulless eyes stared at the stairs where the old Duke stood.

“…Must one consider even their child’s life a game of dice to become a great nobleman?”

MacQuan murmured meaninglessly several times before barely continuing.

“That does not seem like something for a man to say, who challenged my heir to a ridiculous duel and put him in danger. Was it not you, Baronet Enfield, who poured your strength into starting this filthy war?”

MacQuan kept his mouth tightly shut against the scathing bluntness of his opponent. In the first place, a rebuttal was impossible. Shame flickered quickly across his gaunt face. The Duke of Cornwall let out an impatient snort and pointed a fingertip at MacQuan.

“That is the limit of those with such humble origins as yours. To negotiate in a fraudulent war devoid of any justification, a critical perspective is absolutely necessary—if only for the sake of appearances.”

Under the dim light, the Duke’s face was laid bare. The grotesque interplay of light and shadow revealed the desires of England’s greatest Duke without hesitation.

“Earl Vispilt volunteered for that role before the Whigs and Devonshire could demand it. All to prevent the tragedy of his homeland falling into an even more vicious pit of hell. Where could there be courage more noble than this?”

“…….”

“In the distant future, my son will be revered as the great Duke of Cornwall who prevented this greedy war from remaining a disgrace to the British Empire in the annals of history.”

MacQuan’s stiffened hand dropped to his side. He looked at the old Duke, who was smiling with satisfaction, with stunned eyes.

Revered, he said.

Truly.

Truly, that man is……

“Sincerity……”

His green eyes quickly clouded with despair. Every muscle in his face contorted, twisting his expression into something hideous.

“……You are saying those words in all sincerity, Your Grace.”

MacQuan whispered, utterly devastated. That mad phantom was claiming he would sacrifice even his son’s death for the honor of the family. Mocking the uninvited guest who could not even compose himself, the Duke of Cornwall signaled to his butler.

“I believe no further explanation is necessary. Bernard, throw these rude and vulgar intruders out at once, and clean the spot where they stood immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Having finished his piece, Cornwall quickly ascended the stairs toward his room. The thumping of his footsteps was fierce. Only after the door closed did silence finally return to the main lobby of Pellynton Hall.

“…….”

MacQuan remained standing there, rooted to the spot. His gaze, following the path of the departed old Duke, wavered in chaos. Unable to bear the chill, he slowly pulled the collar of his coat tight. His large hands trembled violently with rage. If he relaxed his tension even slightly, he felt he might storm up those stairs and strangle the man who had been spouting nonsense until a moment ago.

“……He is truly insane.”

Bernard, who had been approaching them, flinched at the fierce curse.

“Councilman, please, let us go to the carriage.”

Aljef tried to support his master with an anxious gesture, but MacQuan did not move an inch. Instead, he continued speaking, looking completely entranced.

“I set the stage, yes. I am the one who started this war.”

“You truly must leave now. You cannot show yourself in this state any longer at the Duke’s private residence.”

“Aljef, you heard what that man said, did you not? Is he saying he will wash away my filth with his son’s blood? Is that what passes for honor among the English nobility?”

It was closer to a monologue than a conversation. Bloodshot veins appeared in the corners of his eyes as he stared at the stairs where the demon had vanished. Aljef tightened his grip on him, fearing MacQuan might bolt at any second.

“If he wanted honor so badly, he should have gone himself. Why did he send him?”

“Stop it, Councilman, please stop.”

The eyes still fixed on the stairs and the questioning voice trembled violently.

“Honor, my foot. It is a trivial death.”

The old man, mad for honor, clearly hadn’t given a single thought to the possibility of an accident befalling his heir. MacQuan couldn’t even fathom where such an irrational belief began. No, he was a man who lacked such beliefs to begin with. He was someone consumed by a warped conviction, willing to endure any sacrifice for the sake of honor—even if that sacrifice was his own son and the heir to the family.

“Aljef, is that not so?”

“Sir Lester, please……”

“No matter how much I think about it, I simply cannot understand.”

A lost rage boiled deep within his body. He was a senile old man. A man who deserved to die. The fragments of emotion that had been swirling frantically rushed toward their target at high speed.

“Yes, he must die.”

With a calm face, MacQuan uttered words that should never be spoken. At the profoundly profane expression, the servants opening the doors and the old butler froze in their tracks. MacQuan violently shook off the secretary who was holding him.

That man is not a father. He was a monster who sent his child to a place of death.

“Yes, he must be killed.”

MacQuan clicked his tongue several times and moistened his dry lips. It was a pity he hadn’t brought a pistol, but it didn’t matter. Even with a broken body, he could overpower the man if he struck his head with anything that could serve as a weapon.

“You are strange.”

In an emergency, he could even rip the veins in the neck with a pen. No matter what despicable trick he used, all that mattered was winning the fight. It was a useful skill that had allowed him to survive in the crime-ridden back alleys for so long.

That old man was a monster. A demon.

The one who broke his master. The one who broke his master’s emotions. He had to be killed.

“There is no need to look at me with those eyes.”

Memories began to blur and mix. In his mind, the Duke of Cornwall merged perfectly with someone shameless who had ruined his master in his dreams. The shouts of the secretary trying to stop him had long since vanished like a mirage.

“I am used to this.”

Without even knowing who the owner of that lonely voice was, MacQuan walked blindly toward the stairs where the old Duke had disappeared. Because his body and legs lacked strength, he stumbled and fell several times. In the end, he practically crawled up, leaning on the railing, but he did not stop moving.

That barbaric man strangled my master’s throat and crushed his head, and severed his arms and legs. He gouged out his eyes and tore out his heart. He slaughtered his soul.

He killed my master.

Therefore, he must be killed in the same way.

……Must kill.

“Sir Lester!”

At the force of someone gripping his upper body and a scream that tore through his eardrums, MacQuan stopped in his tracks and blinked. The tangled memories were instantly pulled back into reality. The hallucinations that overlapped with the real voice vanished.

“Sir Lester, you must return at once.”

The secretary clung to his employer as if begging. At the foot of the second-floor stairs, Aljef and the servants of Pellynton Hall were surrounding them with faces of sheer panic.

“Sir Lester, please, do not do this.”

“Ah.”

MacQuan stood frozen for a long time before slowly surveying his surroundings. Lush thickets, cheap candles with wax dripping mercilessly, foul-smelling ointments, a tablecloth with an impressive unique pattern, beautiful marble sculptures, a wretched fireplace with broken bricks at the entrance, a body full of scars, a faint smile…… every scene he had seen until a moment ago had vanished without a trace.

He looked down at his two hands, which were twitching violently. The trembling did not easily subside due to the terrifyingly vivid hallucinations.

“Why did I……”

The words that escaped his lips were dull and clumsy. Reading the confusion in his employer’s eyes, Aljef answered immediately.

“You are confused because you have only recently regained consciousness. It is alright. Come with me. We will go straight to the hospital.”

MacQuan was overcome with fear at his own unfamiliar behavior. Everything was a mess. He was in a state of fragmentation, unable to distinguish between dreams and reality.

“……I will return to the carriage.”

“I will escort you immediately.”

MacQuan slowly turned, following the guiding hand. His side, where the shock of the gunshot wound was still vivid, cried out in pain. His face, drenched in cold sweat, took on a bluish tint. He gasped for air. Until the very last moment the carriage left Pellynton Hall, MacQuan scanned every corner of the mansion with eyes full of confusion. Desperate and urgent, as if searching for a single strand of memory that might still remain.

* * *

The room was dark, but thanks to the lamp the maid had lit in advance, the area near the bookshelf was visible. MacQuan walked barely to the work table and sank into the chair, relaxing his body.

“…….”

His entire body felt heavy and damp. It was an overwhelming schedule for someone who had just regained consciousness. It wouldn’t have been strange if he had collapsed on the spot.

His tightly closed eyelids twitched slightly. The tremor soon spread to the area around his eyes, then to his cheeks, jaw, and ears. It felt as if his entire body was shaking. MacQuan leaned his head back as far as it would go and buried his face in both hands. His high bridge of the nose rubbed harshly against his cold palms.

“In the distant future, my son will be revered as the great Duke of Cornwall who prevented this greedy war from remaining a disgrace to the British Empire in the annals of history.”

As time passed, the accusation thrown by the old Duke became a larger, sharper scythe, carving into his raw flesh. Even while considering the man a lunatic obsessed with authority and honor, he could find no rebuttal. The man truly believed it. He believed his son’s sacrifice would elevate England’s honor. That such a death was a welcome thing. Those strangely glinting eyes were already possessed by a twisted madness.

MacQuan gave up on thinking deeply about what he had experienced. He was afraid of the gap between the situation he had known and the truths he was newly perceiving. Aaron Wizfeldon of Cornwall, Earl Vispilt—that man should have been nothing more than an arrogant, authoritative, and privileged heir of the splendid and praised Wizfeldon family.

He should have been.

MacQuan stared silently at the ceiling where shadows wavered. The longer he thought, the deeper and darker the color of his eyes became. After panting meaninglessly for a while, MacQuan suddenly opened a drawer at a flash of memory.

“Surely……”

His expression as he searched his memory was dry and tasteless. When he couldn’t find what he was looking for, his searching hands became more frantic. As various documents and writing utensils became jumbled, the inside of the drawer became a mess in an instant.

“Surely……”

His fingertips trembled as they wandered. MacQuan flung whatever he touched to the floor. When the object remained missing despite his searching, he opened the second drawer with an even more anxious expression.

He didn’t throw it away.

Surely, surely……

His movements became more urgent. Even as the number of drawers he opened and closed increased, the object he sought was nowhere to be found. It was while he was frantically searching with a distorted face.

Suddenly, a cold sensation brushed his fingertips. As he roughly opened the remaining drawer, a small marble piece, about the size of a finger, rolled out from the recoil. The surface of the stone was smooth, but the edges were somewhat sharp, clearly a fragment that had broken off from a statue.

“…….”

A silence passed, so deep that even the sound of breathing seemed to have fallen asleep.

With a face that was excruciatingly expressionless, MacQuan looked down at the piece of stone for a long time. It was an object he had never properly examined since receiving it from that man. He had simply regarded it as trash and never once considered its meaning. He still did not know what meaning it held. Nor did he want to know.

“This damn……”

Feeling a heat rise in his throat, MacQuan held the cold piece of stone and slowly bent his body. Perhaps due to a crushing weight, his heart sank heavily.

“Earl Vispilt visited only once.”

Shuman, the mansion manager, confessed that he had no choice but to let the Earl into the bedroom because of the threat that things would become difficult for him once his master woke up. The voice he had thought was a dream and the faint scent of cigarettes were reality.

“Was it not you, Baronet Enfield, who poured your strength into starting this filthy war?”

The Duke of Cornwall’s accusation circled repeatedly in his head. Beneath his damp tongue, a desolate sandy floor grated. The foundation he had used to justify the time he spent surviving dirtily and fiercely was shaking.

“Baronet.”

The accusing voice had changed by now. It had become the voice of someone who spoke in a tone that was slightly lower, softer, more precise, yet sophisticated.

“This is the scene of slaughter and opium that you planned and yearned for.”

Hair dusted with gold powder fluttered. The man in the vision stood on a low hill, pointing somewhere. Where his fingertip touched was a deep blue sea overflowing with barbarism and greed.

“The person who drove me to that place was you.”

His cool eyes curved slightly. It was a light laugh.

“It was the war you desired.”

It was a gaze and a voice that condemned him. MacQuan forced himself to look away from the desire to capture the man in his sight for just a moment longer. The sharp piece of stone he gripped tightly dug into the flesh of his palm and took deep root. Flesh and muscle, skin and bone were excellent nutrients for the stone fragment.

“……With a mere stone like this.”

Heat slowly rose over the still-red, scarred wound. A cackling laugh drifted hollowly. Unable to overcome the surging emotion, MacQuan raised his hand to throw the stone fragment away, but the thought did not translate into action.

There is only one.

The trace that Aaron Wizfeldon, that heartless man, left for him. Only this single, worthless piece of stone.

This trivial stone shall soon bloom brilliantly, using your sweet despair as a foundation and your greed as fertilizer, and bear a golden fruit of guilt.

Another voice whispered gloomily.

MacQuan buried his head deeply, cradling the stone fragment preciously in both hands. His tightly closed eyes trembled. He missed the cold fingertips that used to tap his forehead while sitting by his bedside, so much that he could hardly bear it. It was a dreadfully slow night.

✧ ✧ ✧

Despite the claim that it was conducted in secret, everything that happened during the duel between Earl Vispilt and Baronet Enfield spread throughout the streets of London. The Hurst newspaper, which had broken the Rodinton incident and Klaus Diugen’s corruption months prior, exclusively reported on the ridiculous and futile duel in which neither side emerged victorious.

Berenbara Porter, the editor-in-chief of Hurst, noted at the end of the article that while the full details of the duel could not be revealed, it raised the question of whether such an archaic duel was worth the lives of the heir to England’s greatest ducal house and its most influential politician.

The criminal trial linked to the duel began with two indictments. Baronet Enfield’s position in court also varied depending on the case; he was the perpetrator who had shot Aaron Wizfeldon, Earl Vispilt, and simultaneously the victim who had suffered a critical injury due to Caliven Wisfield’s intrusion.

It was still early morning when MacQuan arrived at the court. The front of the court, built in a classical style, was elegant and dignified, yet imposing. With every step up the stairs, a new sense of pressure was etched into him.

The result of the trial would signify the victory of one of the two factions. Accordingly, nobles from the Whigs and the Conservative Party had positioned themselves around the court early on. Furthermore, the area was crowded with prominent figures and citizens who had flocked from everywhere. MacQuan’s eyes shone coldly as he entered through the main gate.

Before the trial, he requested a meeting with Caliven Wisfield. Caliven also went directly to the judge’s office through the main court entrance rather than the prisoner’s waiting area. Such a situation was a privilege made possible because both men were backed by the most powerful families and authority in England.

MacQuan laughed for a long while at the consideration, which was incomparable to the hasty trial his father had endured. The law he had experienced was always hostile and cruel to the weak, and colder than necessary. Even after more than a decade, nothing had changed.

The door opened. Unlike the commotion outside, the office and waiting room inside the court were filled with silence.

“It has been a long time.”

Guided into the office, MacQuan felt the law that was not equal for all and offered a handshake to his counterpart.

“It seems you have been more unwell than I, Sir.”

Meeting Caliven Wisfield for the first time in half a year, he was so gaunt he was almost unrecognizable.

“Do we not look truly ridiculous?”

“…….”

MacQuan let out a hollow laugh at the haggard energy that could not be hidden even by the dignified attire.

“My second and doctor intend to give testimony unfavorable to you. Ah, and Sir Lawrence. You’ve hired the best lawyer. I heard his case list was full and that he doesn’t take just any client. I suppose even he couldn’t resist the names of Cornwall and Wizfeldon.”

Despite the continuous provocation, Caliven’s expression did not change. His empty eyes, like a corpse, reminded MacQuan of the man in his last memory, and MacQuan silently turned his gaze away.

“You have nothing to say.”

“…….”

“……Are you blindly convinced that you will be declared not guilty through the power of the House of Cornwall? Or perhaps you have bribed all the jurors?”

The reaction of silently accepting all sorts of condemnation was enough to extinguish what little fighting spirit he had left. MacQuan laughed with a deflated face and leaned back into the sofa, tilting his chin. Then, after frowning for a moment, he turned the arrow of blame toward someone who was not present.

“I saw the Duke of Cornwall recently.”

For the first time, a trace of regressed emotion passed over Caliven, who had been responding with no reaction.

“To be honest, I thought he had become a phantom. I thought the Duke was living alone in a monarchy from several hundred years ago.”

It was an insult sufficient to demand a duel on the spot, yet MacQueen poured out his caustic inner thoughts without a hint of fear.

“You pushed your brother into a fighting ring of my own design.”

As he spoke with self-mockery, MacQueen’s expression unconsciously twisted in anguish.

“A man whose hands are such a mess that he can barely hold a single pistol. You sent him to the battlefield under the absurd pretext of a negotiation delegation. I don’t know if the minds of elegant and noble aristocrats are all rotten. Ha ha.”

Though he forced a laugh, the corners of his mouth did not move. He felt a steady gaze upon him, but MacQueen refused to meet the eyes until the end. If he looked at a face that reminded him of a certain someone, he might have to admit the fact that there was no longer any trace of that foul and arrogant man anywhere in England.

“You told him that even if he were to lose his life caught in the chaos of war, it would be recorded as a great honor for a high noble.”

Unable to overcome the surging hatred, MacQueen leaned back into the sofa. He felt dizzy. Because he had not yet fully recovered, his body sent danger signals at the slightest overexertion. His vision blurred, and a fever rose again. Brushing a hand across his forehead damp with cold sweat, he spat out the words in his heart haphazardly.

“It was such dog shit that I couldn’t help but laugh. I wonder if I should thank you for clearing the obstacles for me…”

MacQueen paused, knitting his brows. An unpleasant laugh flickered before him, becoming a tangible reality.

You did this.

Firm fingers aimed straight for MacQueen’s heart.

You drove my son to the battlefield.

A smile that reached the ears melted gloomily. It was an auditory hallucination. Even knowing that, even knowing.

Into that war you started.

“It was just so ridiculous…”

Despite his exhausted voice, his glare remained fierce. Murderous intent, rising unconsciously, caused his interlaced hands to tighten. His lost gaze fixed on some point in the void. His eyes, stripped of brilliance and reason, were longing for something that was not here.

“…I couldn’t tell the difference between myself, whom that man despises so much, and the noble Duke. He was the same as always. I should have killed him in that hut; because I clumsily left him alive, this has happened again. My master hated him dreadfully, so he asked me if I could kill him for him. The trembling voice was sincere. In that case, shouldn’t he have been killed? Sir Caliven Wizfeldon, my master, Aaron, truly…”

In an instant, the air froze. The rambling words stopped abruptly. MacQueen hurriedly lifted his head. Similarly, Caliven’s expression, as he looked at him, had completely cracked.

“No…”

A wave of bewilderment surged rapidly up his spine. MacQueen stammered over the words he had just spoken and hurriedly wiped his mouth.

“What, what am I saying… I’m sorry. I’m talking nonsense. My condition isn’t great, so occasionally…”

Caliven, who had been strangely silent, asked back with a suspicious look.

“…Have your memories returned?”

“…Memories?”

At the unexpected question, MacQueen fell silent. Feeling a tightening in his throat, he unconsciously tore at the knot of his cravat. He was so suffocated he could barely breathe.

“Do you remember everything?”

The voice asking again trembled. It was too strange a reaction for someone who had simply heard nonsense.

“…I don’t know what you mean.”

The atmosphere grew heavy of its own accord. Anxiety filled his throat. MacQueen unconsciously clenched his fists tighter. His tense jaw trembled.

“I don’t know which memories you are talking about.”

“…Adore.”

Suddenly, a familiar voice sliced through the silent air. MacQueen hurriedly turned toward the sound. A meadow similar to the Salisbury Plain unfolded before his eyes. It was clearly an illusion, yet the scene did not vanish. A familiar laugh blended in. MacQueen stroked the soft skin and the lean, toned body.

A ringing in his ears sounded like a torrential downpour. Was it raining? Smelling the fresh scent of skin, he hugged the man tighter. Laughter burst out repeatedly. The man acted annoyed but did not push him away. He kissed lips that tasted of bitter cigarettes and buried his nose in soft hair that resembled an autumn barley field, inhaling deeply. Even through the humid air, the faint scent of the sun lingered.

“Theo.”

With a flash of light, the entire scene shattered and vanished. Despite being wide awake, it was a terrible feeling, as if he had been seized by a vision. MacQueen rubbed his cheeks haphazardly with his palms and looked around. The sanity he had been precariously holding onto was about to collapse with a thunderous roar.

“There are no memories I need to find.”

No matter how hard he tried to snap out of it, the illusion would not fade, and MacQueen’s pupils shook violently. The mask he had worn for so long was cracked in places and on the verge of shattering. Caliven, who had been taking in every one of MacQueen’s reactions, eventually nodded.

“…I see.”

Caliven stood up first.

“I also misspoke. There isn’t much time left before the trial, so it would be best if I left now.”

“Wait.”

Seeing him try to end the conversation in haste, MacQueen also hurriedly stood up.

“The words you just spoke, Sir Wizfeldon—do they perhaps have something to do with Count Vispilt?”

At the direct probe, Caliven’s expression immediately hardened. From that reaction, MacQueen realized instinctively.

“There is something I do not know.”

That man knows something I don’t. He knew something I had lost. Whether it was an incident, a memory, an emotion, or a person—some part of it.

“I ask you to tell me properly. Depending on your answer, I am willing to show mercy in my courtroom testimony.”

His mouth was parched, and his clenched fists trembled pathetically. Without realizing it, he asked again earnestly.

“Tell me.”

“….”

MacQueen did not know the starting point of his surging rage. Was it that mad Duke who packaged his son’s death as an honor with a bold face, or Devonshire, who begrudged even the opportunity for negotiation, or a close friend who laughed, saying the death of others was no problem for the sake of profit?

…Or was it himself, who had spent so much time meticulously driving you into a death trap?

“…I have been having nightmares ever since the accident in Northampton. I don’t know if those nightmares are simple dreams or lost memories.”

In the end, MacQueen revealed the question he had hidden in the deepest place to one of the people he trusted the least.

“Just tell me if my situation is related to what you said a moment ago.”

“….”

“Tell me.”

Caliven breathed slowly, looking utterly exhausted. A harsh silence flowed. No one could easily ask, and no one could easily answer.

“Lord Lester.”

After a long while, a gloomy voice flowed from between tightly closed lips.

“…I was a thorough bystander.”

MacQueen frowned at the answer that had nothing to do with the question. Caliven continued in a flat tone.

“I closed my eyes and ears, pretending not to see and not to hear, ignoring the sins my brother committed and ignoring the misfortunes that befell him.”

“Sins? What do you mean by that? And what misfortunes? Explain yourself clearly.”

“My brother certainly committed a great mistake against the Baronet in the past.”

The sound of self-mockery felt exceptionally loud.

“The answer to the question you asked today is a matter that only my brother can answer. It is not a matter I dare interfere with. Since the request for forgiveness is also something Lord Lester must seek personally, I earnestly ask you to wait a little longer.”

The corners of his lips rose slowly. The sun faintly revealed itself through the gaps in the sky, which was gray all year round.

“My brother will return safely. Fortunately, the wound to his right hand has healed quite well, so…”

“Fortunately?”

At that moment, a voice that had gone completely hoarse cut in.

“Did you say fortunately?”

Rage flared to the point that his vision blurred. Fortunately, fortunately. The voice repeating the words Caliven Wizfeldon had uttered was extremely eerie. MacQueen felt an impulse to kick the table in front of him.

“…Lord Lester.”

“He is a man who cannot even fire a gun properly in a duel. What does he even know how to do other than smoke opium? That man, whose swordsmanship and marksmanship are both a mess!”

Caliven, who was about to say that wasn’t the case, fell silent. The expression of the promising politician was on the verge of collapsing into despair.

“Fortunately?”

Feeling as though he were suffocating, MacQueen breathed rapidly and pressed his chest.

“It would be a disaster if he were dragged off to a battlefield.”

What had that brazen bastard answered to those fleetingly light words?

“Yes.”

What expression did he have?

“He would probably die without lasting half a day.”

“Do you truly believe that intellect built from books will allow a person to avoid death at a scene where people are dying? Truly?”

A harsh voice dropped from his lips. MacQueen slowly buried his face in both hands. His entire body trembled ridiculously.

“Do you and that mad Duke really believe that man will return alive, that you could say such things!”

The arrogant man, who wouldn’t lift a finger for anything tedious or troublesome, had headed for Daecheong. Carrying a hollow justification.

“Stop talking nonsense.”

Negotiations are nonsense. It was the empty talk of cattle and pigs who only get ink on their hands and know nothing of reality. For whatever reason, the moment one headed for the battlefield, they were not free from death.

It was the moment Caliven, who had been watching the outburst, opened his mouth.

Knock, knock—

Before words could come out, a loud knock echoed. Both gazes turned toward the door simultaneously.

[Time is up.]

The intruder was the judge, who had willingly lent his office to the two powerful men. MacQueen took out his pocket watch with trembling hands to check the time. The trial was imminent.

[Please wrap this up.]

At the sound of the doorknob turning, MacQueen spat out a harsh curse.

“Lord Lester.”

A calm voice called MacQueen. Turning around, he saw a man with dark circles around his eyes wearing a pained expression.

“This deployment was a joint project planned by the Whig Party to which the Baronet belongs, the Duke of Devonshire, and the Foreign Secretary. Ultimately, the King granted permission. No matter how negative my father’s aspects may be, that fact cannot serve as an excuse for what Lord Lester did. Do not blame my father for the reason my brother participated in the negotiation delegation. The ones who pushed him were those who designed this war.”

It was a quiet accusation. Facing the ugly truth once again, the hand holding the watch slowly tightened.

“I will pay the price for insulting the duel and causing injury to the Baronet. I have no intention of sugarcoating the wrongs I have committed. Even if my father uses the power of Cornwall to secure a not guilty verdict, I will apologize to you in some form and pay the price.”

Now, those words were meaningless.

“The price… what meaning does that have.”

“….”

Though he received no answer to the question, MacQueen, who had already lost his will to fight, merely stared at Caliven with vacant eyes. His trembling breath scattered.

The conversation ended there.

[I am coming in.]

Soon the door opened, and the judge, who had been considerate of them for a long time, appeared. Behind him, officials from the London Police Department stood in line. The trial had begun.

“Silence!”

The courtroom was extremely quiet after the judge entered and all parties were seated.

“On January 3, 1840, third-party intervention occurred during the duel between Aaron Wizfeldon of the Duke of Cornwall’s family and Baron MacQueen Lester Enfield.”

The trial began with a summary of the incident. In a solemn atmosphere, the clerk continued the objective explanation of the situation.

“Sir Caliven Wizfeldon, attending as a second, hid a loaded pistol and stood behind Lord MacQueen Lester. Immediately after the referee’s signal, Sir Caliven Wizfeldon shot Lord MacQueen Lester in the right side with the pistol, inflicting a fatal wound, and due to the shock, Lord MacQueen Lester was unable to control his pistol, which was ready to fire, and shot Sir Aaron Wizfeldon near the shoulder as a reflex.”

The cold tone recited the crimes committed by Caliven Wizfeldon. The contents of the indictment were facts not altered by a single word. Once the summary was finished, the lawyer for the Cornwall side spoke.

“In the first place, this duel could not have been established. The motive was weak, and the procedure was a mess. Lord MacQueen Lester was merely a proxy for the duel. Furthermore, Mr. Robert Higgins, the second for Lord Lester, did not put full effort into a reconciliation between the two. Sir Caliven Wizfeldon had no choice but to make a desperate move to prevent an unreasonable duel.”

Caliven Wizfeldon did not once make an excuse for the charges brought against him. When the judge asked if he admitted guilt for the charges detailed by the clerk, he calmly replied that he admitted all crimes, and remained silent during the subsequent opportunity for defense. Only the lawyer hired by Cornwall strove to sway the hearts of the judge and jury. Unfortunately, his defense was blocked again by the prosecutor’s interrogation of MacQueen’s side.

“The condition of Earl Vispilt was already extremely unstable. The party that suffered a one-sided insult was that of the Duke of Devonshire and Baron Enfield. They naturally deserved an apology for the act of insulting their child and fiancée.”

“As you say, Earl Vispilt attended a difficult gathering invited by a politically opposing family to fulfill his role as the heir of Cornwall, and he was in an extremely unstable state. What would be the reason for blindly requesting a duel without considering the process leading up to the result? It must have been an opportunity to eliminate a nemesis under the guise of a duel, and Sir Caliven Wizfeldon merely sought to prevent such an accident.”

“You go too far. Why are you blurring the essence of this case?”

“Then are you saying that Sir Caliven Wizfeldon should have just watched a murder scene where someone had to die?”

“Because of the actions of Sir Caliven Wizfeldon, Baron Enfield almost lost his life as well!”

“Silence!”

The judge’s order fell, but the sharp clash continued for a while longer. After the arguments from both sides ended, testimonies regarding the appropriate charges, motives, and heartbreaking brotherly love followed. In addition, the seconds from both sides and a doctor came forward in turn to describe the scene of the duel that day. The final statement was from the referee, Viscount Shefften.

“I provided the duel location for the two members and accepted the role of duel referee.”

“Was there any coercion or oppression in that process?”

“There was none.”

Viscount Shefften calmly recounted the events of the day of the duel. Contrary to expectations that the testimony would lean to one side, it was very neutral and unbiased.

MacQueen observed the entire trial process with a dry gaze. He maintained a consistently indifferent attitude, showing no interest in whether he won or lost.

From the start, the composition of the jury was a fight between Devonshire and Cornwall. They sought to elect those closest to their own power as jurors. The winner of the power struggle would be revealed in the trial’s result. For several hours, a fierce clash took place between the prosecution and the defendant. The verdict fell in the middle of the evening, just as the sun had completely set.

Guilty.

Unlike typical precedents for duels between nobles, the majority of the jury and the judge sentenced the second son of the Cornwall family to one year in prison. Of course, even that sentence was heavily influenced by the Duke of Cornwall, but regardless, the fact that it was not ‘not guilty’ was what mattered.

Shortly thereafter, in the trial related to Aaron Wizfeldon and MacQueen Lester, with the legal representative of Earl Vispilt present, the defendant MacQueen Lester was found not guilty. Indeed, it was a perfect victory for the Whigs and Devonshire.

✧ ✧ ✧

Waves crashed against the pitch-black sea. Thanks to the swift current, the speed was somewhat faster than usual. In the direction the bow was heading, dozens of auxiliary ships, including military supply transport ships and troop transport ships, were already sailing in a steady formation.

The frantic sea breeze recklessly ruffled the hair of the man leaning against a wooden pillar. Taking a deep drag of a cigarette, Aaron looked down at the noisily surging waves. It was an ocean stained with blood, embracing a countless history of colonial invasion, war, and bloody wars between great powers. One could not know what lives were buried between the violently breaking droplets of water.

Was this tragedy the future you dreamed of and desired?

Once again, the acrid smoke scattered in all directions with the wind. The motion of flicking ash toward the deck was slightly unnatural.

Aaron recalled the final House of Commons session he attended before leaving London. The scene, where the beliefs, justice, and interests of each party clashed, was no different from a war, save for the absence of guns and swords.

“This war will be the most shameful and cowardly war in the history of England.”

In his closing remarks, Gordon Baillyn appealed to everyone in the chamber. Until the very end, he believed in the conscience of his homeland. Aaron could not remember the expression on the man’s face after the voting results were confirmed.

It was a predicted defeat.

Even with his body in shambles, Aaron recorded the shameful moment the military expenditure bill passed in his mind, his face remaining utterly composed. Before the cheers and laments filling the hall, and the sighs mixed with joy and despair, he thought of someone who wasn’t there. A man who might have become the protagonist of victory by delivering the most fierce and persuasive closing argument.

“……Drug-peddling mouse.”

Taking another quick drag, Aaron smiled again. He found this deception-filled voyage—departing under a hollow pretext to sell opium—utterly trivial and unbearable. As was the greed of a man who had staked his entire life on such a meager war.

And that clumsy hand, trembling pathetically as it wiped blood from his own cheek.

“You have a new wound on your face…… Did another fight break out during a deal?”

“…….”

“The method I taught you…… have you forgotten it all?”

Even while drifting in and out of consciousness between life and death, the dog would constantly spout nonsense or laugh feebly.

“Please…… don’t get hurt again……”

Nothing was not trivial and futile. Not even the foolish lingering affection he couldn’t shake off until the end.

Every attempt to stop the man who, alongside the Duke of Devonshire, had been the vanguard of this war, had ended in failure. The dog had eventually tumbled into the filthiest and most hideous hell, and this disgusting war had begun. For now, he simply had to be satisfied with the fact that the man could not be involved in the final dispatch speech that ignited this hideous war.

“Excuse me……”

The presence of someone nearby caused his useless reveries to scatter instantly. With the sound of steady footsteps, another man appeared from the edge of the starboard side. The man looked around for a moment, spotted Aaron standing in a corner of the mast, and approached with cautious steps.

“I am sorry I am late.”

At the honest apology, Aaron glanced at him sideways. He had the strong appearance of a soldier, but he couldn’t entirely erase the underlying fear and anxiety. Aaron handed the half-open cigar case to the man.

“Since we are in a state of war, you likely can’t afford the luxury of a pipe, but this isn’t bad for managing nervousness.”

“……Thank you.”

The man did not refuse, pulling out a thick Leaf-Cut Tobacco and placing it between his lips. His hand trembled with anxiety as he lit it. He immediately frowned at the harsh scent that hit him upon the first inhalation. Watching this, Aaron let out a short sneer.

“You managed to enjoy secret trysts with my fiancée while being that nervous.”

At the relentless attack, the man coughed awkwardly. People moved about the deck, but few spared them a glance. Even those who did merely tilted their heads, wondering if instructions were being given, and passed by without much thought, as the two had no connection and the difference in their social status was far too great.

“Earl, that is……”

“Lady Lariensa possesses far more courage.”

“I am sorry.”

“What did you say your name was?”

“I am Philip Hughes.”

“Indeed, a name far too weak to handle Newcastle.”

Flustered by the malice-free joke, the man’s lips parted. Aaron exhaled a long stream of smoke following the wind and smiled mischievously. If that resolute woman found out he had played tricks on her lover, she wouldn’t stay quiet. Growing tired of even wordplay, Aaron cut straight to the point.

“I heard that all transport ships are scheduled to enter Dinghai Port tomorrow.”

“……The current is fast, so we arrived sooner than expected. All officials belonging to the negotiation delegation, including you, Earl, will transfer ships tomorrow. Since the Melville is the flagship, it will not participate directly in the engagement tomorrow, so any shelling will not have much effect on you.”

“I heard the official in the Zhoushan region did not accept the conditions proposed by Sir Brimmer. We will enter the port and anchor for a short while, but it’s hard to be certain, and even if we do, it won’t be for long.”

“……I have not heard about that part yet.”

“It isn’t a matter that would reach someone of your rank.”

It wasn’t information a lower-ranking soldier would know in advance. Though it wasn’t strictly a secret, Philip Hughes couldn’t hide his bewilderment at the casual discussion of military operations and looked around again. Aaron chuckled repeatedly and carelessly tossed the half-finished Leaf-Cut Tobacco into the sea. Philip also crushed the barely-smoked tobacco under his boot.

“You were with the land forces, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Sir Covert will lead them. Will you be transferring via boat?”

“That is the plan if a land battle occurs.”

“You will also move with me to the Wellsley tomorrow.”

“What? Earl……”

“Ah, wait.”

Stopping mid-sentence, Aaron clutched one shoulder. A groan he couldn’t hide etched itself deep into his skin.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. Pay it no mind.”

The hand pressing into his shoulder was somewhat irritable. Frowning for a moment at the surging pain, Aaron handed a note to the other man with a trembling hand.

“This is the person who will help you stow away. I’ve written down the date and location of the contact. Since the anchorage is uncertain, I’ve arranged a few spots. Because the arrival at Dinghai Port was moved up from the expected date, you’ll have to hide for a few days before meeting him. If that fails, the next contact point is Guangzhou Port, but I can’t guarantee anything. Either of us could die there, so the probability becomes even lower.”

Eyes scanned the contents of the note quickly. A week until the contact date. It was quite a risky gamble. A moment of hesitation flashed across the gentle face.

“There is no need to deliberate. Either way, the only paths left for you are to die at the hands of someone you don’t even know according to the plan designed by the Duke of Newcastle during the war, or return to London and similarly be killed by someone hired by the Newcastle Duke.”

The cold night air passed. Only then did Philip slowly raise his eyes. A sharp profile looking out at the sea caught the edge of his vision. The lights of a nearby transport ship slowly swept across the pale face.

“Of course, whether the contact succeeds depends entirely on luck. I cannot help you with that. If you’re unlucky, that fellow might lose his life in tomorrow’s engagement…… and if that happens, the situation will become quite comical.”

“Ah……”

Looking at the dazed man, Aaron let out a cold snort.

“Your acting is clumsy. Haven’t you already discussed everything with her?”

Philip Hughes hurriedly waved his hands.

“You misunderstand. I didn’t have the chance to discuss details with the Lady. I was simply told that the Earl would provide assistance……”

“Whatever that conversation was, I have absolutely no interest in it. Just keep in mind that if you fail at Dinghai Port, the probability of successfully stowing away at the remaining contact points decreases drastically. No one can predict what happens on a battlefield. If you fail, that too will be your luck.”

After examining the note in silence for a long time, Philip bowed his head with a determined look.

“Thank you so much for your help. Earl, I will truly never forget this kindness……”

Despite the courageous greeting, Aaron irritably cut him off, looking as if he had no reason to listen to more nonsense.

“Do not mistake this by adding useless sentiment. Since she must give up many of the rights and benefits she would enjoy as the daughter of a ducal house due to this engagement, I intend to grant her wishes if possible. Even if that results in making my fiancée’s lover a casualty of war, hidden from the eyes of my prospective father-in-law.”

Lover. At the blunt word, Philip Hughes’s face flushed with humiliation. A mischievous smile played on Aaron’s lips at the sight.

“Why act so surprised? That must be the reason you agreed to the unit transfer, accepting the dishonor.”

“…….”

“Lady Lariensa arrived in Baden-Baden early, so I will not interfere at all in the time the two of you spend together thereafter. Instead, remember that as long as I am alive, you must live forever as Newcastle’s lover.”

The tone was overbearing, but everything was true. At that moment, a powerful wave struck the side of the ship. At the sound of the rushing water, both of their gazes turned toward the sea. The yellow lights illuminating the transport ships spread across the ocean. The warm and soft colors were like the starlight on the Rhône River, sufficient to distort and hide the vile intent of invasion.

“……It doesn’t matter. Just…… just, thank you.”

Philip Hughes bowed with a docile expression. His voice was suppressed by emotions that were hard to describe. Aaron watched him for a moment, then turned away with a look of lost interest. After a steep silence, the answer came.

“Help always comes with a price. Where is there such a thing as pure goodwill? I am quite calculating, so there will surely be a profit I can extract from you at some point.”

A night wind, compressed with tension, blew. Even though the other couldn’t see him, Philip expressed his gratitude once more.

“If the Earl ever needs my help, I will assist you with all my heart.”

“……I wonder if such a day will ever come.”

Without giving the other a chance to speak, Aaron turned and walked toward the accommodations provided inside the ship. It was the night just one day before the battle of Zhoushan.

Controlling every situation unfolding on the ground was an impossible task, even on a god’s chessboard.

The morning after the peace negotiations broke down, the transport ships from the British Empire successfully entered Dinghai Port, riding the fast current. Dozens of pitifully inadequate Qing junk ships lined up along the coastline to show their will to resist, but the invasion of Zhoushan Castle ended in an instant. From the start, the difference in combat power was incomparable.

“Victory!”

“Victory for England!”

With excited shouts, champagne glasses clinked softly. Inside the Melville, the atmosphere was already noisy with a party celebrating the victory. The bodies falling into the sea and the noise of shells pouring down in heaps were meaningless to them. Only one person was alienated amidst the boisterous laughter.

“……So noisy.”

Amidst the officials enjoying the festive atmosphere, Aaron took advantage of the commotion to leave the cabin without hesitation.

Boom—

Not long after he opened the door and stepped out, the sound of shelling rang out loudly. Various sounds that hadn’t been audible inside the cabin poured out like fireworks. The Melville, which housed the Admiral and the officials of the negotiation delegation, had not participated in the engagement immediately before, but it was close enough to feel the atmosphere of the battlefield.

When he reached the top of the stairs, the sky was thick with fog. It wasn’t enough to block the view, but the weather was poor in many ways. The pungent smell of gunpowder also stung his nose.

Boom—

The sound of cannons echoed again. Even louder screams followed. Looking back, warships positioned far ahead of the Melville were firing their final salvos to clear out the remaining junk ships. Darkness settled deeply in his eyes as he looked at the coastline covered in black smoke.

Boom— Boom—!

Relentless shelling poured down. The sound of ships breaking and screams filled with agony echoed across the entire sea. Every cannon barrel was aimed at those who dared to resist opium. Just by looking at the wretched state of the warships, it wasn’t hard to guess the end that awaited the Qing soldiers guarding the docks.

Boom—

Flames flared again, and black smoke soared into the sky. The few remaining Qing junk ships did fire back, but the difference in firepower was incomparable.

The old warships continuing their meaningless resistance sank with hollow ease under the attack of the English Navy’s iron steamships. Debris of junk ships with destroyed masts and bows, along with the corpses of soldiers, repeatedly appeared and disappeared amidst the currents. It was indeed a gruesome sight.

‘It was a fight where they were no match from the start.’

The corners of Aaron’s lips twisted as he watched the flames leaping along the coast. The level of the Qing forces confirmed in the engagement was utterly pathetic. Their firepower was miserably weak and their precision was lacking, making them no proper opponent. The state of the warships was also old and flimsy, failing to read the flow of the era. It was a battle more cruel and easier than breaking a child’s arm. It was the moment the reality of the great Asian empire, which had been shrouded in mystery, was revealed in detail.

Boom—

Boom— Boom—!

Regardless of the sound of shells echoing in the distance, Aaron took in every moment of the junk ships’ annihilation. Every living scene was a record of history. The sensations entering his eyes and ears, every breath brushing against his skin, were a history of humiliation and arrogance, and a vivid reality being trampled by the sophistry of the Great Powers.

That great empire would soon walk toward its end. Now that its weaknesses had been exposed in this battle, the starving Great Powers would surely be ready to shed blood to seize that appetizing country.

By the time another junk ship was destroyed and sank, the fog had thickened, and the visibility distance shortened rapidly. Since the ear-splitting explosions remained, Aaron moved toward the rear of the ship to escape the noise.

“Left row, left row, left row—”

“Shells— load for 14 and 48 directions!”

Neither the people running busily to organize the formation and operate the flagship in preparation for any unforeseen circumstances, nor the commanders, noticed the deviation of a high-ranking noble heading toward the back of the ship. His pace quickened.

The shelling did not last long. Due to the opponent’s pathetic forces, the atmosphere of the engagement was quickly settled. The last remaining junk ship continued to fire at the English warships, but its range was insufficient, and its mast had long since been broken.

“Left row, left row!”

Following the commander’s instructions to prepare for anchoring, the sailors pulled the ropes at a steady pace. A thick sea fog, created instantly by rough spray and moisture, was obscuring the view of the bow.

“Keep the connection between the steamship and the ring as loose as possible! Open gun port 32!”

“Unfurl the sails!”

Disaster struck suddenly.

It happened while the Melville was moving along the Dinghai Port waterway at tremendous speed, aided by the fast current and the tow of the steamship.

“A reef!”

As the wind cleared the fog, a large object suddenly appeared near the bow of the Melville. It happened in an instant, leaving no time to avoid it.

Kugugugung—!

A massive vibration shook the flagship.

Kwkwakwang—!

A tremendous roar spread throughout the entire hull. From the impact that made his body stagger, Aaron gripped a pillar and turned his head toward the bow. The culprit of the accident was a reef rising about 20 feet in the middle of the sea. The attempt to quickly change the direction of the bow was not very successful.

“Turn the helm to the limit and unfurl the sails as much as possible! Lifeboat crews, prepare the boats!”

“It’s too late! It’s difficult to avoid the collision!”

“We must minimize the impact of the collision, so turn the bow to the end and the rest of you move quickly to the sides and rear! We must proceed with repairs as soon as damage occurs, so hurry!”

The sailors moved in an orderly fashion following the commander’s instructions. Aaron silently watched those running toward the rear of the hull where he stood. Despite the busy movements, the reef approached in an instant.

Kugung—!

Frontal destruction was avoided, but the sharp rock scraped the side of the Melville just as it was. With a crunching sound, the outer hull was damaged helplessly. The shouts of the navy, led by Admiral Harrison, echoed over the sea. Only then did the officials inside the cabins, realizing the situation, rush out of the hull in a panic.

“What is happening!”

“Everyone, do not come out onto the deck! Go back inside, go back inside until instructions are given!”

“The ship is tilting! To the bow!”

The deck instantly became a scene of chaos with people swept up in confusion and fear. Some officers and soldiers shouted at those who tried to come out unconditionally without order.

“It is more dangerous to be on deck right now, so go back inside!”

At that moment, the ship, which had not yet completely shifted its direction, collided with the rock again. Kugung— Kung—! In that instant, the keel broke once more, and the ship momentarily lost its balance.

Kwang, kwajik—

As the centerline extending from the bottom collapsed, the hull tilted toward the rear. Due to the rough current, the speed at which the ship tilted toward the sea surface was fast. Aaron, searching for something to hold onto, collided with someone running from the opposite direction and rolled straight onto the floor.

“Ugh……”

Aaron collapsed onto the deck, unable to withstand the shock of the gunshot wound. The hand clutching his shoulder trembled with pain. Despite the passage of time, his condition was wretched, having not been properly treated. He ground his teeth fiercely against a searing pain that shot through the crown of his head.

“This…”

His anger did not last long. His eyes narrowed as he watched a sailor frantically gathering repair tools scattered across the floor.

“Get to the bow! The rear is dangerous!”

The man, having no time to check who he had collided with, immediately sprinted toward the severely damaged rear of the ship. Following him, dozens of sailors rushed toward the lower deck to prevent the vessel from sinking. The scene descended into chaos in an instant.

Aaron stared in the direction the man he had dealt with in secret last night had run. Looking at Philip Hughes’s retreating back as he ran in a panic, it seemed he had not a single moment to spare to think about the smuggling plan scheduled for today.

‘An unlucky soul.’

In a situation like this, the probability of that man meeting the smuggled broker he had bribed at Dinghai Port was extremely slim. Rather, it would be a blessing if he managed to save his own life.

“Your waiting will have been in vain.”

Aaron thought of Lariensa Filmore, who had come to find him in tears before the ship set sail. They were truly a pitiful pair of lovers.

With a quiet heave of his shoulders, Aaron braced himself against the floor with both hands. Whether that man lived or died here was no longer his concern.

“To your stations! Everyone to your stations!”

“Pump the water out of the left cabin on the lower deck!”

“We need more tools!”

“It’s not at risk of sinking yet, so it’s fine. Hurry up!”

Caught in a swift current, the hull was tilting sharply. Because the incline was so steep, Aaron’s body slid toward the rear of the ship even while he was slumped over. If he didn’t grab onto something to support himself, he would be dragged right down. While the stranded hull wasn’t completely destroyed, there was a risk of accidents, so it was better to position oneself near the second-floor cabins or the lifeboats.

“…….”

His attempt to gauge a safe spot stopped abruptly. Amidst the frantic crowd, the deep blue sea suddenly entered his field of vision.

The white waves crashing against the hull were fierce enough to swallow all the sinners hidden within the ship in one gulp. The wild nature of the sea was demanding a sacrifice. A cowardly, weak, hideous, and greedy sacrifice to appease its rage.

A strong sea breeze whipped his hair into a mess. Blue eyes, more brilliant and bright than the ocean, wavered greatly, swept by impulse.

The ocean, so blue it appeared black, beckoned and whispered to him.

That an ecstatic hell awaited beneath those deep-sea waves.

It was a voice as mysterious and ethereal as the song of a siren. The sweet whisper was fantastic and aesthetic. A certain desire that had followed him from a time so long ago he could not remember, a desire that had not vanished for a single moment, seized Aaron’s hands and feet and pulled him downward.

Downward.

To tear apart that old, diseased heart.

To desecrate it.

To trample it.

If only he could kill it.

If only he could plunge it into hell by delivering the greatest loss and pain.

The ecstatic hell you desired is here.

A radiant smile slowly spread across his cold face.

If he could erase every seed of hope and snatch away the being he loved and obsessed over most.

If he could burn it all to the ground and leave no trace.

What more blissful, aesthetic hellfire could there be than that?

Down below.

This anger that had eaten away at him for so long would finally reach its end. That rotten, eternal hatred that shackled his soul would finally meet its conclusion.

“Aaron.”

The distorted face and trembling voice of someone flickered in his mind, but only for a moment. Nothing could overcome the longing and desire that had dominated him for so long. The strength in the hand gripping the pillar slowly drained away. His tense body lost its power to a sense of languor. It felt remarkably similar to the sensation of smoking opium.

Meanwhile, the hull tilted further, and there was no longer any resistance to his steps as he slid along the deck. Aaron welcomed the approaching black waves with a willing heart.

Splash—

Soon, the sound of something hitting the water was heard. The sea, having swallowed its sacrifice, merely played innocent, churning the water noisily as if nothing had happened. The stars, hidden by the sun, surrounded the clouds, rejoicing in the holy sacrifice. Simultaneously, the song of the rough waves echoed high in the sky along with the victory report of the warship that had finished off the last remaining junk ship.

The flag of the Kingdom of England, planted at the highest point of the flagship, fluttered brilliantly and majestically.

An invasion of annihilation and the victory of power.

Once again, it was a perfect victory.

✧ ✧ ✧

The atmosphere in the hall ahead of the reading was quite hectic. The first proposer of the agenda sat in a state of anxiety, waiting for the start while reviewing the materials prepared by the secretary. Since his turn was in the latter half, he had plenty of time before ascending the podium.

The expression of the man reviewing his notes suddenly distorted. Tsk. MacQuan clicked his tongue lightly and pressed his temples. Due to an oncoming headache and nausea, the words scribbled in black ink would not stick in his mind.

“…….”

His patience did not last long. MacQuan eventually pushed the review aside and leaned his head back. A distant sensation rose from his spine to the crown of his head.

He could no longer remember when he had last slept deeply. The dreams had gradually become clearer and their scope wider. Unlike before, when only sporadic scenes would surface, he now experienced fairly long conversations and sequences. He still couldn’t remember the people in the dreams upon waking, but the sense of familiarity and déjà vu grew stronger by the day. There were one or two times he had woken up abruptly at dawn, struck by the eerie feeling that the boundary between dreams and reality was collapsing.

“Are you alright?”

Aljef, who was organizing the papers, asked with concern.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Contrary to his words, the voice answering was very low and rough. While he didn’t not know the reason, his consciousness refused to delve deep into it.

“Your complexion doesn’t look good.”

“It’s because I’m lacking sleep. There’s nothing but good news, so what could be the problem?”

The smile hanging on his lips felt dry.

“The Duke of Devonshire will arrive shortly.”

Aljef continued after checking the time. Because discussions regarding the replacement of the plenipotentiary ambassador were scheduled, a majority of the House of Lords were expected to attend today’s reading.

At those words, the reality he had momentarily forgotten cast a shadow beneath his feet. Several months had already passed since the military forces were dispatched to Daecheong. Once the lid was opened, the Daecheong forces were more wretched and pathetic than expected. The results of the skirmishes that broke out several times were near-unilateral victories for England. It was akin to an adult trampling a child.

“I see.”

MacQuan rubbed his dry cheek carelessly. A foul pain followed every time his parched fingertips brushed against the skin. Stopping his thoughts, MacQuan closed his eyes again.

‘What is there to be anxious about?’

His clenched fist trembled slightly. There was no reason to be anxious. It was a long-awaited event, and there was nothing but positive news beyond imagination. He should have been cheering and raising victory toasts every single day. There was no news of any accidents that required particular attention. They even called it a perfect victory, with the number of dead being countable on one’s fingers. It was a daily life without any problems.

He hadn’t died.

Not yet.

Whenever news of victory arrived, MacQuan would feel relieved, only to be plagued by an unbearable anxiety upon receiving reports of the move to the next battlefield. In a daily life that oscillated between these extremes, his mental fatigue soared more steeply than imagined.

Aaron Wizfeldon is still alive.

Bright waves that shattered the sun flickered over his darkened retinas. The sound of a low sigh, the touch of cool skin at the fingertips.

“……door.”

When he followed the thread of painful thoughts, the conclusion always led back to one person. A man who was willful and utterly foul. The voice calling that name was irritable yet languid. The man was sharp at every moment, yet the air surrounding him was strangely light and empty. MacQuan could count on one hand the number of times he remembered seeing him smile. Even then, it was merely the faint movement of the corners of his lips, but it was enough to soften his sharp impression.

“Why don’t you do this in moderation?”

“Leave me be.”

“Aren’t you smoking too much? It’s not good for your health.”

Whether he was addicted to opium or Leaf-Cut Tobacco, there was never a day when a cigarette leaf didn’t fall from those lips. Whenever he rubbed his cheek or buried his face in the crook of his neck, a bitter scent always mixed with his body odor, stimulating the sense of smell. Even during intimacy, the man would occasionally smoke Leaf-Cut Tobacco. When MacQuan expressed disgust, the man would laugh flippantly and tighten his grip on the legs wrapped around his waist.

“You nag too much.”

“Because I nag too much, do you dislike it now?”

“Since when did I ever like it?”

“Are you saying that sincerely?”

“If I said yes, you’d cry right now. Your expression is a mess.”

“……You’re talking nonsense.”

‘No.’

MacQuan shook his head violently to escape the pouring memories. There was nothing good about thinking about it. It was a past memory and a finished relationship. His brow furrowed deeply once more.

‘No.’

Everything had been on that man’s own terms. He left as he pleased and decided as he pleased. Whether he was hurt somewhere or died, it was no longer any concern of his. Hadn’t his daily life already been ruined enough over the past few months by these endlessly repeating memories? When he opened his eyes, the reality where that man did not exist was distant, and when he closed his eyes, the image of a blood-covered Aaron Wizfeldon flickered. This was not right.

From an efficiency standpoint, it was right to shake it off as quickly as possible. It was a relationship of convenience anyway. He had been shaken for a moment, but that was in the past.

The resentment filling his heart was this petty and base. While shifting all the blame onto the other party, MacQuan simply wished to escape from this suffocating emotion.

“My head hurts. At this rate, I might actually start using opium.”

The chuckle was completely devoid of strength. In his distorted face, it was hard to find the confidence and ambition that usually filled it. An awkward and heavy silence lingered.

“……It is truly surprising that such progress has been made in academia.”

“Marquis Wickers must be very proud.”

With the sound of the door opening, a group entered the Chapter House. Accordingly, the long fingers pressing his head paused.

“If possible, from the next assembly, I intend to have the reading observed from the special gallery.”

“That would be wonderful. He will grow into a fine talent for our Conservative Party.”

At the familiar voice, dark green eyes flashed sharply. Without even thinking to hide his hardening expression, MacQuan glared at the Duke of Cornwall descending the stairs. Nowhere in his boisterous, laughing expression could one find the aftermath of the storm that had swept through the Cornwall family over the past few months.

“Earl Vispilt volunteered for that role before the Whigs and the Devonshire side could demand it. To prevent the tragedy of the fatherland falling into an even more vicious pit of hell. Where could there be courage more noble than this?”

The expression of the Duke of Cornwall, looking down from the stairs, was utterly cold. It was a firm voice without a single tremor or hesitation. Before a steadfast belief that had become fossilized over a very long time, the life of a child was not important. The memories flowed further along the current.

“You really intend to see the end of this.”

It was the same voice, but words he had never heard anywhere. At the same time, they were clearly familiar words.

Exactly when, and where.

His wide-open eyes wavered greatly with confusion. On the floor with long wood grains, sharp fragments were scattered chaotically. The fragments were marble. Despite it being impossible, it felt familiar. MacQuan knew well how wonderful and marvelous a piece the original form of those fragments had been.

Of course. It was magnificent.

The owner was the greatest sculptor humanity had ever produced.

Sculptor? A statue.

Who made it? From whose fingertips was the work born?

The expression of the owner entering the cottage was pessimistic and always exhausted. Between the unmistakable nobility, signs of being worn out by life were evident. Unlike his intact face, his hidden body was covered in wounds.

When asked what they were, the owner would say in an indifferent tone that they were evidence of having fought a war, and would smile coldly. If he followed up by asking what war, the owner would say something difficult to understand, that it was a war to survive.

The owner spent a very long time painstakingly carving and carving the crude stone. Wounds frequently appeared on his palms, fingers, and the backs of his hands due to the sharp tools, but the work did not stop. Even when pale stone dust settled heavily over his light hair, the owner, sitting on a small chair, devoted all his time, day and night, to the sculpture.

“You didn’t think everything would be solved by secretly bringing me here to live, did you? I don’t know how long you thought such a life was possible while avoiding my eyes. Truly, it is appalling!”

Even at the moment the statue was smashed, the owner did not stop the man driven by madness. He merely watched the scene with an indifferent gaze. It was a gaze that was strangely bored and stable.

Ironically, that was how Theodore knew.

That the experience of being exposed to violence that breaks a human soul was more natural to that person than breathing.

What collapsed and broke in the hands of the intruder was not a simple piece of stone, but the owner’s soul. It was his life and his meaning. Nevertheless, the owner was calmly accepting the scene of his soul crumbling. However, the moment he saw the owner’s eyes—darkly dead, appearing almost bored—the dog of the cottage naturally realized the identity of the demon who had inflicted violence upon the owner.

“Hahaha—not making it in time back then was the greatest stroke of luck!”

A hearty laugh echoed through the hall. It was a familiar laugh. It was the intruder’s voice. His stiff cheeks trembled with rage.

It’s him.

That bastard……

As memories flooded in rapidly, MacQuan bared his teeth fiercely without hesitation. The owner had left for the sea. It was a sea with no justification, no purpose. With that foul temperament, there was no way he could have endured the hardships of life at sea. The only thing he did with his own hands was sculpting. If one didn’t push him to an annoying degree, he wouldn’t even eat properly. He was a man with far too little appetite and a picky palate. Why would such a person go to a place like that?

Why there?

“Sir Lester!”

The moment he was about to shout to let go of the arm gripping him, MacQuan paused at the secretary’s bewildered expression.

“Please calm down.”

“……What did I.”

At the repeated request, MacQuan only then realized that he had risen as if to bolt from his seat. As the commotion broke out, the Duke of Cornwall, who was in conversation, glanced over, but only for a moment. The old Duke soon returned to his usual self and continued the conversation with his counterpart.

“I am……”

To hide his crumbling expression, MacQuan quickly covered his eyes with one hand. The heat gathered in his palm warmed his eyelids. Though he had experienced this chaos several times over the past few years, he could not get used to it. The symptoms were becoming more frequent and more distinct.

“It is because you haven’t slept enough.”

A kind voice offered consolation.

“Didn’t you say you haven’t been able to close your eyes properly for several days? It’s because of that, so please do not worry too much. Dr. Jackson also said that when physical strength weakens, confusing emotions often arise.”

“……He did.”

Answering gloomily, MacQuan sat down again. The line extending from his palm and wrist to his arm and shoulder trembled faintly.

“Yes.”

His lips moved heavily.

“He did.”

Whether it was an answer to the question or a mantra he was reciting to himself, he didn’t know. MacQuan looked down at the carpeted floor with somewhat blurred eyes. It took a considerable amount of time to regain his sense of reality.

The sensation of being unable to distinguish between dream and reality was confusing. His memories were clearly his, yet they would not settle. It was a strange and frightening sensation. It was difficult to understand why his anger toward the Duke of Cornwall had transitioned into raw memories and agitated emotions.

“At this rate, I’ll be lucky if I don’t stand at the podium today and spout nonsense.”

“Haven’t you always finished perfectly?”

“I don’t know. It’s so blurred now that I wonder if I ever did.”

“Do you not know how many people look up to and follow you, Councilor? It is because your health has not fully recovered.”

Laughing hollowly at the awkward consolation, MacQuan crumpled the documents in his hand. After taking a few breaths, his dizzy mind gradually calmed down. The secretary was right. He couldn’t be swayed by emotional games forever. The war was only just beginning. To stabilize the opium business, negotiation and the opening of new markets were necessary, and further military intervention for that purpose was essential.

“Yes, Aljef. You are right.”

MacQuan slowly shifted his gaze again. Across the aisle, he saw the Duke of Cornwall and his entourage seated among the Conservative benches. Among them, Edmund Wizfeldon, positioned in the center seat befitting his rank within the party, treated the Members of Parliament bowing to him with a relaxed and refined air. It was the look of a man accustomed to looking down upon others and reigning over them.

“Those people still haven’t given up, I see.”

His words trailed off. Contrary to expectations that they would be intoxicated by the fanfare of victory, the press and public opinion had belatedly sharpened their blades of criticism and doubt regarding the unnecessary war. The Conservative forces, who had been holding their breath as the atmosphere gradually shifted, began to assert their presence once more.

“There is still a long way to go, so we must run diligently. We’ve only taken a few steps.”

He had run his entire life to seize success. He did not care how much filth stained the process, as long as it led to the result. He needed no recognition, nor did he need conscience or morality. Sincerity and truth were merely among the human essences that MacQueen Lester had discarded.

‘He won’t die. As long as he’s alive, that’s all that matters.’

Even as he recited this like a machine, MacQuan trampled and buried the sincerity that had momentarily surfaced. Forcing himself to ignore the recurring afterimages, he lowered his gaze to the papers summarizing the opening statements.

Contrary to the news that he would arrive soon, the Duke of Devonshire only appeared when it was time for the second speaker to address the floor.

“For these reasons, the numerous military negotiation failures committed by Sir Howard in the past must serve as a critical justification for the replacement of the plenipotentiary ambassador. Setting aside partisan theories, we must make a decision based strictly on national interest and the stable lives of the people. To achieve this, the upcoming…”

The speech of the member at the podium was riddled with gaps. Whenever an argument was presented that left him vulnerable to attack, his dark brown eyebrows furrowed intermittently with displeasure. MacQuan was noting down the Conservatives’ expected attacks and countermeasures over the manuscript.

“Heh.”

At the short laugh from the seat next to him, MacQuan turned his head. The Duke of Devonshire was repeatedly suppressing laughter, covering his mouth. He was a man who had not had a single day to brighten his expression due to Elisha Lenzdoor’s deepening illness. MacQuan narrowed his eyes in curiosity.

“Lord Lenzdoor, is something the matter?”

“Hmm…”

The old Duke glanced around briefly and leaned his upper body slightly toward MacQuan.

“I was a bit late to the reading because I heard a very interesting story.”

“An interesting story?”

“Something interesting is about to happen.”

The Duke of Devonshire glanced sideways, his eyes still shimmering with amusement. Following that gaze, MacQuan unconsciously frowned. It was because he spotted the Duke of Cornwall. The Duke of Devonshire patted MacQuan’s shoulder gently a couple of times and whispered.

“I understand. He was a truly unpleasant fellow for both you and me.”

MacQuan acknowledged this with silence instead of an answer. Ha. Herald Lenzdoor’s laughter grew lower and deeper. Taking his time did not seem to be a sign that he would answer immediately. Though the mystery remained, MacQuan’s curiosity regarding the Duke of Cornwall did not last long. He focused once more on preparing for the speech to follow.

In the meantime, the member at the podium finished speaking, and the debate of the reading continued. As feared, criticisms followed regarding the disparagement of Sir Howard’s previous achievements, the justification for replacing the commander, and the responsibility for the transmission of incorrect facts.

“Who is that fellow?”

The Duke of Devonshire asked in an irritated tone. Similarly frowning, MacQuan rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.

“Felix Croports, a first-term member.”

“An arrogant novice driven only by zeal. If he continues with such reckless personal attacks, his opinions won’t carry weight with either side.”

Since he shared the same sentiment, MacQuan gave a light nod. His hand was busy scribbling on the corner of the documents, but there was no progress in the content. Despite the gravity of the matter, it was utterly difficult to concentrate. Noticing MacQuan’s unusually distracted state, the Duke of Devonshire tilted his head.

“You seem unable to focus today as well…”

Bang—

The one who cut off the words of the most powerful noble in England was neither Cornwall, his long-time political rival, nor the master of the Royal House. The sound of the door was loud enough to draw the attention of those sitting nearby, and the Duke of Devonshire turned his head first. MacQuan also shifted his gaze toward the northern entrance of the chamber where the sound had originated.

The person who entered through the door was a man of just over five feet, dressed modestly. Even from a distance, his face looked profoundly shocked, and his breathing seemed very labored, as if he had run all the way. Above all, his face looked somewhat familiar.

“My. He’s arrived in quite a hurry.”

“Pardon?”

The old Duke let out a short exclamation, his lips curving thinly. Regardless, MacQuan frowned further, struggling to remember the identity of the intruder who was quickly heading toward the opposite seats.

“He is Edmund’s chief secretary.”

“Ah.”

A vacant sound escaped MacQuan at the Duke of Devonshire’s explanation. Only then did MacQuan realize that the man was someone he had frequently seen around the Duke of Cornwall. His impression hadn’t been strong, so he hadn’t remained deeply in his memory. Thinking that this might be the first time he’d seen the man with such a panicked expression, MacQuan muttered in a low voice.

“Why is he here during the reading…”

“He’s likely on his way to deliver some joyful news.”

“Joyful news?”

“It is not bad news for us.”

He seemed to know something.

Meanwhile, the secretary, having reached his destination, was whispering something into the ear of the Duke of Cornwall. MacQuan captured every single moment of that process with his eyes. It was a determination not to miss any situation that might be related to Aaron Wizfeldon.

It did not take long for the Duke of Cornwall’s face to turn pale. Regardless of the small commotion, the discussion between the seats and the podium continued.

“I agree with the opinion asserted by Viscount Weaver. Setting aside what has already happened, sending a new negotiation delegation would require too much budget and…”

“What!”

At the harsh shout, the intense debate occurring in the chamber was momentarily severed. In an instant, the chamber fell silent.

“What on earth…”

The Duke of Cornwall shouted again toward his secretary, his expression filled with horror. The secretary only bowed his head and repeatedly apologized.

“What is happening?”

“I wonder.”

Only then did the Whig Party seats become noisy. All of them could not hide their curiosity at the reaction shown by the leader of the Conservatives. MacQuan also stopped all movement and silently watched the scene.

The commotion did not last long. After hearing the message from the secretary, the Duke of Cornwall hurriedly walked out through the exit, pushing through the crowd. His complexion was deathly pale, and his stride was unsteady. The secretary quickly followed behind the old Duke, and the two disappeared from the Chapter House.

It had happened in a flash.

“What…”

“What happened?”

“No, I didn’t hear it properly either…”

“From what I overheard nearby…”

As soon as the Duke of Cornwall left, the members began to whisper in unison. The hall was instantly filled with a buzz of conversation. Only then did MacQuan signal the Duke of Devonshire again.

“Does Your Grace know what happened?”

At MacQuan’s question, the Duke of Devonshire wore an even deeper smile.

MacQuan’s thick eyebrows furrowed again at a bad premonition. The sight of the sinisterly smiling Duke of Devonshire did not give a good feeling, no matter how much they were in the same boat.

“Well, you see.”

The hand languidly stroking his chin stopped. The Duke of Devonshire covered one cheek with the back of his hand and tilted his head toward MacQuan. Even in that short time, his chuckling did not stop. MacQuan leaned closer to Devonshire to hear the secret in more detail.

As the distance closed, a cold air rushed in. Ha. The Duke of Devonshire laughed low a few more times and cleared his throat twice before finally revealing the source of his pleasure.

“They say he’s dead.”

A vile smile was etched into the old Duke’s eyes.

“I don’t understand. Dead? Who are you talking about?”

At the incomprehensible words, MacQuan narrowed his eyes and asked back. It was a joke-like statement with neither a clear subject nor object. His slightly bent neck stiffened. Rubbing the nape of his neck, MacQuan revealed his displeasure without filter.

Dead. What on earth did that mean?

“Please speak clearly.”

Despite the reaction that could be called arrogant, the Duke of Devonshire opened his mouth with a smile, as if it were nothing.

“Who else, but the great heir of the House of Cornwall.”

Despite the added explanation, MacQuan tilted his head with an expression of continued incomprehension.

“What does that mean? The heir of the House of Cornwall…”

As the sentence continued, the speed of his speech dropped significantly. MacQuan still did not understand the words he heard, nor the words he was saying. As if glued together, his lips remained tightly shut.

Dead. The heir of the House of Cornwall.

The hand repeatedly stroking the nape of his neck was very slow and unnatural. The corners of his tightly closed mouth twitched minutely. His pupils shook back and forth, unable to easily find focus. He felt as if a sharp spear were piercing him from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, and cold sweat naturally broke out down his spine. Even in the midst of this, MacQuan could not properly comprehend the words from a moment ago. Like a fool who had never learned to read or speak.

“You seem surprised as well.”

Seeing him stammer, unable to properly interpret the sudden information, the Duke of Devonshire clicked his tongue lightly and offered a warm kindness.

“Aaron Wizfeldon, Earl Vispilt, I mean.”

At the clearly delivered name, the fingertips that had been anxiously tapping the armrest finally stopped. The Adam’s apple, which had been swallowing dry saliva repeatedly, also ceased its movement. MacQuan blinked awkwardly several times, repeating the words the Duke of Devonshire had spoken.

Cornwall. Aaron Wizfeldon.

Vispilt.

“An accident occurred where the flagship he was on, the Melville, nearly ran aground on a reef. Fortunately, thanks to the battle of Dinghai ending quickly, they prevented the grounding with the help of other warships, but it is said that he fell into the sea along with a few sailors working on the deck. He must have been on deck at that exact moment.”

His entire stiffened hand twitched unnaturally. The ground he stood upon was slowly collapsing. It had been precarious land to begin with. Mistaking the slightly expanding green irises for an expression of joy, the old Duke smiled even more brightly and put a period to the story.

“They say they couldn’t even find the body. What a perfect death.”

A full-bloom smile hung on the Duke of Devonshire’s lips.

“Edmund will have a headache over the succession issue. The heir is dead, and the only remaining son is in prison!”

With a face that no longer intended to hide his joy, he laughed boisterously and leaned his body back.

Hahaha.

Hahaha—

The sound of laughter, whether real or imagined, spread through the hall.

Only then could Baronet Enfield, MacQueen Lester, clumsily understand the words he had heard a moment ago.

The person who had died in that war, the one he had spent so much time and effort on,

Who it was.