10 – Act 4, Chapter 1

“……we are not yet prepared to do so. For systematic support, we must first address the citizens within the electoral districts…”

A resonant voice rang out clearly through the hall. Gordon Baillyn’s conviction-filled expression, paired with his exceptional eloquence, played a crucial role in conveying sincerity. Amidst the speaker’s opening remarks that captivated the room, only one person in the Chapter House was unable to focus in the slightest.

“I heard he died.”

Sitting in the wool-colored seats and waiting for his turn, MacQueen Lester’s complexion was excessively pale. His gaze toward the podium was strangely unfocused, lacking its usual keen brilliance.

“Therefore, the options available to us can be broadly classified into two. One is the force still stationed locally…”

“I heard he died.”

His fingers, fiddling with the documents, were awkward and stiff, unlike his usual self. The atmosphere in the hall was poor. Thanks to Croports’ abysmal speech just prior, Gordon Baillyn was reaping the reflexive benefits.

The negotiation results achieved by Sir Howard, the plenipotentiary ambassador, were unsatisfactory, and to secure a favorable negotiation with the Imperial Court of Daecheong, it was necessary to change the ambassador. Since it was no easy task, this was a critical moment to find a flaw in Gordon’s remarks, who was attempting to block the move.

“I heard he died. The heir to the Duke of Cornwall.”

However, the words piercing MacQueen’s ears were not Gordon Baillyn’s speech, but something entirely different. The owner of the voice was the Duke of Devonshire, yet voices of those who were not the Duke seemed to mingle within it. His fingers, which had been slowing down, eventually froze completely, to the point where he could not even turn a single page of paper.

“The heir to the Duke of Cornwall.”

He could hardly bear the feeling of his cravat. MacQueen grabbed the knot and shook it from side to side. It loosened quickly, but the suffocating feeling did not diminish. It felt as if something invisible was tightening its grip on his throat. How strange. Muttering brusquely, MacQueen finally ripped the cravat off.

“Into the sea, along with a few sailors.”

The Duke of Devonshire’s laughter was so vivid that MacQueen felt as if he were sitting right next to him. Even though it was impossible. Turning his head, he saw Herald Lenzdoor still sitting in the special gallery. The relaxed set of his mouth and the twitching of his cheeks indicated that he was in a state of extreme satisfaction. The old Duke was sincerely rejoicing in someone’s death.

“I hear they couldn’t even find the body.”

He turned his eyes back. In the crowded room, there was one particularly conspicuous empty seat. It was the seat the Duke of Cornwall had occupied until a moment ago. MacQueen recalled the sight of the Duke of Cornwall hurriedly leaving the Chapter House with a vacant expression. A back that radiated urgency and anxiety. It was a back far too frail and shabby to belong to a great Duke who commanded England.

MacQueen swallowed hard. With every breath, a pain followed, as if a metal rake were scraping his entire throat. His cold, inscrutable eyes remained fixed on Gordon Baillyn.

A back.

MacQueen recalled another back from his memory.

A straight back, without a single bend. The man always kept his waist erect and looked straight ahead. He bowed to no one and desired nothing from anyone. Whether the opponent was a noble or a servant, he did not show a shred of servility, not even to the King. It was an arrogance that placed everyone beneath his feet. MacQueen had despised that attitude, perceiving it as the typical pride and authority of the nobility.

“We must remember how much Sir Howard has sacrificed his own life, traversing the seas for the national interest of England and the Royal Family.”

Applause erupted from the gallery at the sincere outcry. Gordon Baillyn. He was still a young novice, but he was a man with a high probability of reaching a position that could not be ignored as time passed. He was a regrettable talent, as their pursued directions differed.

‘A new plenipotentiary ambassador must be sent to coincide with the arrival at the final engagement site.’

What would be the most efficient way? The Whig Party had already decided on Mill as the successor. How should he persuade the audience? The King had been sensitively monitoring the unsettling public opinion since the war began.

“…….”

MacQueen took a deep breath and examined the documents again. No matter how hard he tried to read, for some reason, not a single word entered his eyes. He felt a sense of helplessness, as if he had suddenly become illiterate, and his breath hitched again. Unable to remember how to breathe, his inhalations and exhalations became unstable. Sweat soaked the hand gripping the undone cravat. It was strange.

“It is more accurate to view recent events not as a blunder committed by Sir Howard, but as a result of the strengthened will of the Daecheong side to protect their own citizens. To drive a change in the political situation toward the incompetence of a single individual…”

Gordon Baillyn’s speech was now nearing its conclusion.

His tightly clenched jaw trembled faintly. If he didn’t apply force, he might lose control and let his inner thoughts spill out.

This is not good.

I must think.

MacQueen widened his eyes and tried to continue his fragmented thoughts. Due to the overwhelming difference in weapon scale and military power, Daecheong was losing its will to respond by the day. It was right to proceed with a deal quickly, taking advantage of this opportunity. Sir Howard, with his humanitarian tendencies, was an unfit person for such a deal.

“I heard he died.”

The veins on the back of his hand bulged sharply. His throat felt parched and unbearable. Stuffing the ruined cravat into his pocket, MacQueen stroked his chin.

Just then, the opening remarks ended, and thunderous applause broke out. Having finished his speech, Gordon Baillyn scanned the room with determined eyes. It was the act of driving the final nail. Aljef, who had approached the wool-colored seats, leaned forward slightly.

“Lord Lester, you must prepare.”

“I shall.”

Answering stiffly, MacQueen stood up. Contrary to his confident reply, the papers had not advanced by a single page compared to when he first sat down. MacQueen blinked several times, feeling the illusion of his vision blurring. The dizziness showed no sign of improving.

“Are you unwell?”

Sensing something was wrong, Aljef asked in a worried voice.

“It is nothing.”

MacQueen waved Aljef away as he tried to approach, but despite his words, his forehead was pale and his hair was drenched in cold sweat.

“I hear they couldn’t even find the body.”

A vile laugh would not leave his ears.

“Will you be alright?”

“I was just dizzy for a moment.”

“You are sweating a great deal…”

“I must be nervous. The previous speech was such a mess. I wonder if it can even be salvaged.”

MacQueen made a joke as he stepped forward. His stride toward the podium faltered for a moment. This cannot happen. He must not let his guard down until the end. Muttering the contents of his speech, he straightened his back.

“What a perfect death.”

The Duke of Devonshire whispered with a face that looked truly delighted. Just like that day months ago, when he regained consciousness after suffering a gunshot wound. Just like when the Duke repeatedly confirmed to him that Aaron Wizfeldon had left as part of the negotiation delegation. On that day, that man had also said.

What was the problem?

Brilliant lights poured down.

MacQueen stepped forward, staring straight ahead into the blurring light. His posture was straight, and his eyes shone clearly. Only after turning his back on the slowly flowing time did he reach his destination. In the circular seating surrounding the podium, thousands of eyes were fixed on him.

He swallowed a heavy breath.

Though he had undone his cravat long ago, an invisible cord was still tightly strangling his windpipe.

“…….”

After confirming the signal from the Speaker of the House, MacQueen gripped the podium with both hands. He put great effort into the corners of his mouth to form the cheerful smile he always wore.

“First, I am overwhelmed by the daunting atmosphere of this room. Sir Baillyn always possesses the power to captivate the hearts of the audience, so my tension is heightened as well.”

It was a joke intended to reverse the unfavorable atmosphere, but his rigid smile failed to follow the intent. Every sensation felt awkward and foreign, as if it belonged to someone else’s body.

“Don’t misunderstand.”

A fragment of memory suddenly popped up again. Those confident, deep green eyes shook violently for a moment. The final words of Aaron Wizfeldon, which he had recalled thousands of times over several months. Whether he was conscious, talking to others, eating, or falling asleep—those words followed him everywhere, and they surfaced once more.

“Because it wasn’t because of you.”

It was a very low and heavy voice. The fingertips that occasionally touched his skin were cool. The man’s skin tended to be cold. MacQueen liked that coolness so much that there were many times he held the other tightly and refused to let go long after their intimacy, preventing him from washing. In those moments, that arrogant noble would toss and turn a few times with a face clearly showing annoyance, but would eventually give up and stay quietly in his arms or pat his back.

“…….”

Because of the excessive force, the hands gripping the podium turned white.

MacQueen slowly regulated his breathing to regain his composure. He was in a state where it would be more accurate to say he was leaning on the podium rather than standing properly. His pale face was covered in cold sweat.

Noticing his employer’s abnormality, Aljef quickly scanned the surroundings from a distance. Regardless of that, MacQueen continued his speech, maintaining a rigid smile.

“Despite Sir Gordon Baillyn’s perfect remarks, I wish to point out several problems today.”

“Because it wasn’t because of you.”

What did that mean?

You.

Why did you make such a choice?

“Currently, in the vast ocean, our England’s brave navy is…”

The ocean.

A hot, dry fire surged from the bottom of his chest. Breathing became difficult, and he could no longer continue speaking. His tongue froze, and his vocal cords felt horribly hot.

“…….”

As the silence stretched, an awkward hush fell over the hall. This was a mistake he hadn’t even made as a first-term member. No. This could not happen. Gathering his resolve again, MacQueen attempted to continue his speech.

“In the ocean…”

The words, which had been coming out sporadically, finally stopped.

The audience all exercised patience, waiting for the opening remarks of the promising member representing the Whig Party. The silence flowed helplessly. Despite the expectations around him, no words came to MacQueen. His eyes, completely devoid of focus, stared at an undefined point.

“I heard he fell into the sea.”

The master enjoyed swimming.

When his work was finished, he would carelessly shake the stone dust from his hair and head straight for the lakeshore. His body, cutting through the water, was flexible and beautiful. Those were muscles forged from sculpting work that required great strength and power over long periods. Of course, lake swimming and sea swimming were different, but the fact that he was capable was what mattered. So, if there had been even a fragment of the hull, he could have clung to it. It was nothing to worry about.

Aaron Wizfeldon loved horseback riding and hunting. He claimed not to like exercise, but his lean body was agile and toned with lean muscle. Chronic neurasthenia was the only problem; he had basic physical strength. Therefore, the master surely…

“Lord Lester!”

All strength drained from his body. Unable to overcome the dizziness, MacQueen collapsed onto the floor. The hall buzzed at the sudden turn of events.

“Lord Lester, are you alright?”

Aljef, who rushed over, supported him. He tried to say he was fine, but his mouth would not open. After a long while, MacQueen managed to push away the hand holding him.

“Can you stand up?”

“Lord Lester, what is happening?”

“Good heavens, Lord Lester, are you injured?”

People crowded around the podium in a commotion. There was nothing good about receiving attention this way. Leaning heavily on Aljef, MacQueen forced himself up again. The hand wiping away the cold sweat trembled minutely.

“……I am fine.”

“Baronet, why don’t you take a rest?”

“I will continue my speech. I am fine.”

Faced with his stubborn persistence, Aljef, who was supporting MacQueen, immediately intervened.

“Member, you are not in a good state. It is impossible to continue the speech like this.”

“I am fine, so do not worry.”

“You cannot even stand properly.”

As if to prove him wrong, his knees buckled again the moment Aljef let go of his arm. It felt as if a giant boulder were crushing his body. The hand touching the floor had no strength. His breathing became even more irregular. MacQueen gasped for air, doubled over.

“I will call a doctor. This cannot continue.”

“Lord Lester. Please follow your secretary’s words. Your complexion is poor.”

“I agree. Rest comes first.”

“……Very well.”

Realizing it was not a situation to be stubborn, MacQueen accepted the suggestion after a long while. Even in the short moment of answering, cold sweat poured down. Aljef immediately requested medical staff from the administrator. The sounds of hurried footsteps and conversations to organize the situation mixed chaotically.

“Please give me your attention.”

The commotion from the sudden accident was brief, and the Speaker, having assessed the situation, focused the room’s attention on himself.

“You may have been surprised, but fortunately, it is nothing serious. It is said that Baronet Enfield suffered a brief shock due to a lack of proper sleep over the past few days. It is a process that a spirited member of Westminster goes through at least once. It is unfortunate, but as Lord Lester’s condition is somewhat poor, the subsequent security speech and rebuttal speech will be…”

Under the experienced Speaker’s explanation, the commotion quickly subsided. Another member, prepared for such a contingency, stood ready to speak in his stead. Meanwhile, MacQueen was assisted back to the wool-colored seats. Though it was a short distance, he felt exhausted and worn out as if he had walked hundreds of yards.

“I heard he died.”

The voice laced with laughter repeated endlessly. The fingertips gripping the armrest of the wool seat turned white.

Why is he so happy? Is this not news that a person has died? A person… that man is said to be dead… MacQueen blinked very slowly. His fragmented thoughts soon flowed into memories, into the past.

Aaron Wizfeldon came to mind. He was a man plagued by neurasthenia and frequent irritation. He had a violent streak, often raising his hand… and above all, he had a foul temper. He was so difficult to please that unexpected situations often occurred.

“I hear they couldn’t even find the body.”

At the repeating voice, MacQueen covered both ears. Deep wrinkles formed between his furrowed brows and across the bridge of his nose. No matter how much he blocked it, the Duke of Devonshire’s voice did not stop. He was truly a vile and senseless creature.

“I heard he died.”

Aaron Wizfeldon loved swimming. The master would cut through the water of a wide lake without hesitation. Whenever he entered the cabin drenched in water, for some reason, MacQueen could not take his eyes off him. It had been that way even before he realized he liked him.

MacQueen curled his upper body further. Memories of unknown origin invaded indiscriminately. Following his quickening breath, his shoulders and back heaved several times.

Died? How could that be?

That arrogant man of all people—there was no way he would die so easily. He must be plotting some scheme. Whether it was a ploy of those foolish Tories, a thought of the insane Duke of Cornwall, or a prank by someone else, it was a truly cruel joke.

Aaron Wizfeldon is dead.

That could not be.

✧ ✧ ✧

When he opened his eyes again, the window was filled with the darkness of night.

“……Ugh.”

An oil lamp, lit in advance by a maid, dimly illuminated the dark room. His confused eyes scanned the surroundings. The scenery of the room was familiar. Only then did MacQueen realize he was not in the Chapter House, but in his private residence. He did not remember how he had returned. He concentrated all his mental energy to fill the gaps in his missing memories.

“My god…”

As the scenes surfaced one by one, MacQueen groaned, covering his forehead.

It was a most important session. Everything had gone wrong after he heard those bizarre words while maintaining his tension until the end. The certain fact was that he had completely ruined the speech he had painstakingly prepared. Ironically, it was terribly unlucky that various incidents occurred every time he had to deliver the final speech. Just as he was slowly stroking his cheek, intending to lament his misfortune.

“I heard he died.”

“…….”

The fact he had momentarily forgotten was driven back into him through the voice of the Duke of Devonshire. All movement stopped. A brand was seared into every breath.

Why was he forced to ruin the speech?

Returning to the beginning, the cause that led to the result emerged. It was because he had received absurd news. The ridiculous claim that someone had died. His lost gaze lingered on the edge of the wall for a long time.

MacQueen pushed his stiff upper body upright.

“Shuman.”

“Shuman.” Muttering the name repeatedly, MacQuan stepped down from the bed. Though he staggered a few times as his knees buckled, he was in better condition than he had been during the day.

“Shuman.”

His footsteps on the floor felt alien. A sense of urgency rose to the tip of his throat.

“Shuman!”

When the butler didn’t answer, MacQuan shouted in a sudden burst of anger. Only then did the door open, and a waiting servant entered.

“Where is Shuman?”

As he asked irritably, the first valet to enter answered hastily.

“He is downstairs. I will bring him immediately. If you could just wait a moment—”

“Prepare my coat.”

“Sir, the time is…”

“Bring the coat!”

Uncontrolled rage erupted as a shout. As his heart raced, his breathing became labored again. Thinking he must have a severe indigestion, MacQuan gestured again for the coat to be brought.

“Yes, yes…”

The servants exchanged glances, unsettled by this unfamiliar side of an employer who had never once raised his voice. Eventually, the maid in charge of clothing left the room. A moment later, she returned with a black frock coat, which MacQuan snatched and put on roughly. His movements were clumsy yet desperate.

He had to hurry. Even a little bit faster.

“I shall prepare your hat and cane as well.”

“Not necessary.”

His fingers slipped several times while fastening the buttons. In the meantime, the head butler, Shuman, entered the room.

“…Sir.”

The old butler couldn’t help but be bewildered at the sight of his usually cool-headed master standing barefoot, wearing a frock coat over his indoor clothes. Struggling to hide his perplexity, he hastily supported MacQuan, who looked as if he might bolt out the door at any second.

“Where are you going?”

“The carriage…”

The coat, with its buttons still undone, fluttered haphazardly. MacQuan pointed frantically into the air and commanded:

“Prepare the carriage.”

His pale blue lips moved awkwardly. At his master’s strange behavior, Shuman sighed deeply and tried to soothe him.

“Where could you possibly be going at this hour? It is already dawn.”

“I must go.”

“Sir… why not sleep for now and depart as soon as the morning sun rises? I will have everything ready for your outing.”

“No.”

Despite the repeated suggestions, MacQuan refused firmly. His sharp gaze was fixed on the gap of the half-open door. His eyes, searching for someone who wasn’t there, shifted from moment to moment.

“I must go.”

Aaron Wizfeldon had departed for the sea.

It was a journey with no promised date of return.

The master often left on trips with no set return date. To sell works sculpted by consuming his own soul. He always returned with terrible wounds, yet he never gave up and continued to leave, eventually returning to the cottage where the two lived.

Count Vispilt’s end had been a blood-soaked sight. Until the very end, he longed for a man named Theodore. Though he never said it directly, the tone, the manner, and the breath with which he called that name all pointed toward a single emotion. Lost memories continued to clash and tangle, mixing into a chaotic mess.

“Where is it you are going…”

“Briston.”

“I heard he was dead.”

Answering briefly, MacQuan walked calmly. His feet felt as heavy as if iron weights were attached to them.

“Sir.”

“When will you return this time?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to see how the items sell. Is there anything you need?”

“If you have the means, could I ask for some fruits or vegetables this time?”

“You use me like your own servant.”

“That is because I cannot go. In exchange, do I not grow them well and cook them for you?”

“Fine. I shall bring them if I don’t forget.”

“To Briston House.”

Beyond his blurred vision, he saw someone leaning against the entrance, smoking Leaf-Cut Tobacco. The intruder was his lover, smiling mischievously beneath platinum blonde hair that held the light.

Please wait for me.

Knowing it was an illusion, MacQuan smiled back. While complaining that the man was truly a wicked, wicked fellow.

It was a ridiculous and tedious time.

The carriage arrived at Briston House just after midnight. Thick clouds had swallowed even the moon, leaving the surroundings in darkness.

Whoosh—

The moment the fierce sound of horseshoes echoing on the road came to a complete halt, MacQuan flung open the carriage door.

“We have arrived. Shall we wait?”

“No. You may go.”

Answering curtly, he leaped from the carriage with a face devoid of lingering regret. The exterior walls of the red-brick building were certainly a familiar sight to him.

“….”

The bleak night air wrapped around his cheeks. It was a cold, damp wind. Unlike a moment ago when he had been ready to rush inside, MacQuan stood motionless for a long time, simply staring at the townhouse.

Only when his fingertips grew stiff from the cold wind did MacQuan slowly begin to move. His steps as he climbed the stairs were extremely unnatural.

“Haa…”

Even over such a short distance, his breathing grew labored. Despite his will to move forward, the hand gripping the railing trembled, and every single step returned as an overwhelming burden. Fighting through the dizziness that made his vision sway, MacQuan grit his teeth harder.

Bang, bang—

The knocking on the door was forceful. Like someone who had forgotten how to call for a servant, MacQuan repeatedly shook the door knocker and pounded on the door violently.

“Open up.”

His eyes blurred as he stared at the door that would not open. His fist, flushed red from the friction, struck the entrance again.

Bang—

“Someone…”

Anyone, come out.

Contrary to his desperate wish, his scorched vocal cords could not produce a proper sound. After parting his lips repeatedly, MacQuan finally put all his strength into his body, intending to kick the door down. Just as the noise reached its peak, the sound of hurried footsteps leaked out from inside the mansion.

“Sir, what brings you here at this hour…”

As the front door opened, a middle-aged woman appeared. Her wrinkled face, illuminated by an orange oil lamp, was full of surprise. Despite her cautious question, there was no answer from the other party. As he stepped into the mansion without hesitation, Helen Magner, the Briston housekeeper, hurried after him.

“Do you have any instructions? If you tell me, I shall prepare—”

“That will be all.”

Answering briefly, MacQuan moved his stride quickly toward the central staircase. Realizing where her master intended to go, the woman wore an awkward smile.

“The study is currently locked. I will open it immediately, so…”

“Helen.”

Cutting her off again, MacQuan looked down at the floor for a moment and then held out his hand.

“Give me all the keys to the mansion.”

“Pardon? Why the keys all of a sudden…”

“From this moment on, send away all the servants in Briston except for you. You shall write the letters of recommendation in my name. I intend to pay their severance in a sufficient amount without lack.”

“So suddenly…”

It was a sudden notice of dismissal. After handing over the keys, Helen was speechless for a moment, searching for her master’s intentions.

“It is too abrupt… and it is impossible for me to manage Briston alone.”

“You need not manage it.”

The voice answering was flat and extremely rigid. The employer had never been of a kind or gentle disposition, but he had never been this cold. The confused servant’s steps became as hurried as MacQuan’s.

“The matter of the mansion’s management, later again…”

“Helen.”

MacQuan called her while leaning on the railing. His pale face looked directly at Helen. The desolate expression she faced suggested that something very bad had happened to her employer.

“Send them all away.”

Sensing an ominous energy, Helen immediately bowed her head. MacQuan watched her for a moment and then climbed the stairs again. The sound of clicking boots was the only noise filling the mansion.

“I heard he was dead.”

Strength tightened in his firmly set jaw. It was a sound he had likely heard hundreds of times today. Damn it. Chewing on the surging curses, MacQuan walked with his back even straighter. Under his weighted steps, the meticulously polished walnut stairs shrieked with creaks. The man in the portrait, commissioned from a court painter to flaunt his wealth, seemed to be sneering and laughing at this farce.

I should burn it.

A strange smile crept onto his lips. No. I should tear it apart. With large, sharp shards of glass, he should carve through the layers of paint and rip the canvas to shreds, erasing the form entirely.

“It would be wonderful if I could smash everything, carve it out, and burn it.”

Just as you did.

His scarred hands were always full of blood. The dark red blood was not from others, but all from that man. He didn’t want to know what that fact meant. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know that emotion which was never conveyed in words until the end.

Creak—

The firmly closed door opened. A scent carried by the night air stimulated his olfactory sense. The blackout curtains covering the entire window left no gap. He didn’t know where the scent was coming from. It was a strange thing.

“….”

His stiff Adam’s apple twitched. MacQuan slowly scanned the entire study.

One wall was packed with books spanning philosophy, economics, and sociology. It was evidence of vanity and an expression of inferiority, intended to flaunt his knowledge to visitors as something more than a mere opium merchant.

“There are many new books.”

He turned his head toward where the voice came from. A faint afterimage appeared. It was also a projection of an old memory. It was the period when he had deceived the other most, yet ironically, when they had opened their hearts to each other the most. Frowning his thick eyebrows, MacQuan quietly recalled how he had answered back then.

“I have brought in quite a few books that you might like.”

“To assume that I would like them is your arrogance.”

The corners of the man’s lips moved, and a faint smile was drawn across his face. A bloodless hand reached for a corner of the bookshelf. The man playfully flicked the edge of a book before pulling it out. Silence returned. The hand turning the pages was indifferent.

Ten pages, twenty pages; the inner sheets turned at will and suddenly stopped. The man, who had been laughing with his chin held high in arrogance, was now focused on savoring the wisdom contained within the old book.

MacQuan, who had been pretending to be uninterested while reviewing documents, finally stole a glance at the sight. As the sun found its way through the gap in the blackout curtains, bright light poured over the pale blonde hair. Gold shimmered. It was the greedy gold that had robbed many of their conscience and made them abandon their humanity.

Whenever he saw that sight, MacQuan’s throat would grow dry. After a long while, he set aside all his work and headed toward the bookshelf.

“How long are you going to just read books?”

He felt resentful that the man was not paying attention to him. At the sound of his voice, thick with irritation, those piercingly blue eyes finally left the book. The experience of such a wondrously beautiful color being focused entirely on one person never became familiar, no matter how many times he experienced it.

“Didn’t I say it was fine to read a bit longer?”

“It is a cherished book.”

“…It doesn’t really look like it.”

The man sighed lightly and put the book back on the shelf.

“Being greedy for the books one possesses is not a bad thing.”

“I suppose you enjoy reading?”

“Rather than enjoying it…”

The hand resting on his chin moved smoothly to his cheek. The man perched lightly on the writing table and naturally opened the box containing Leaf-Cut Tobacco. Sizzle— Thick smoke emerged from the lit end of the cigar.

“I tend to enjoy it because while reading, no thoughts come to mind.”

“What thoughts do you have so many of?”

“Most of them are completely useless thoughts.”

“Am I included in those thoughts?”

It was a bold question. The man held the cigar between his fingers and widened his eyes. The lake contained within them was of a color that bewitched the opponent to a sinister degree.

“You’re talking nonsense.”

The man smiled with an arrogant face. Watching that relaxed demeanor made MacQuan’s insides burn. MacQuan took one step closer.

“Did you truly not think of me?”

The man, who had been laughing with his arms crossed, had returned to an expressionless face. He felt a sense of regret, but only for a moment.

“…Why do you keep asking such questions?”

The arrogant noble frowned, not hiding his discomfort. MacQuan knew well the gestures the man took when he wanted to avoid a difficult conversation. Frowning his eyebrows, avoiding gaze by looking down, or inhaling more deeply from a cigar or pipe.

“Because I am curious.”

“Sometimes you say things that are unbelievably childish.”

Just like now.

The man inhaled so deeply that his lean cheeks sank further, then carelessly stubbed out the half-remaining cigar in his ashtray. Thinking that the man was deeply uncomfortable since he wouldn’t even meet his eyes, MacQuan took another step closer.

“I do not mind being called childish.”

Now, the distance was a mere two steps. The pale hand resting on the writing table was stiff with tension.

“This childishness is the most intimate emotion possible only between lovers.”

Uttering words that sounded as if they came from a pulp novel, MacQuan quietly traced the old scar on the back of the man’s hand with his eyes. The frivolous thought that the scar on the white, long hand looked like a painting also lingered.

“In the end, are not all my childish and petty feelings simply love and jealousy toward you?”

As he spoke these plausible lies and deceits, the man’s expression distorted further. MacQuan waited, thinking the man might pour out fierce words at any moment, but for some reason, the reaction was quiet. He was happy even with just that. MacQuan took one more step. As the distance closed, their hot breaths slowly began to mingle.

“I love you.”

He gently leaned his upper body forward. He had the illusion of hearing the sound of a clockwork mechanism. A tender silence enveloped them. After a long while, the man sighed with a face that suggested he had no choice and tilted his head. At the warm breath touching his cheek, MacQuan smiled smoothly.

“Aaron, I love you.”

He was a man full of vigilance in every small action. MacQuan was not unaware that he was being doubted at every moment. That was why he believed he had to deceive him with a very precise performance. That he must first deceive himself to deceive the other.

“…Yes.”

If I act as a sincere lover, will you not also open your heart to me and be fooled?

“You too.”

He rubbed his nose against the other’s, coaxing a confession. Warmth rose from the touching skin.

“You must tell me as well, quickly.”

The pointed tip of the nose and the firm bridge met again. A snickering laugh broke the silence. He rubbed their foreheads and leaned his cheek against the other’s again.

“Please tell me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

He felt warmth. Warmth. The temperature of a living person. MacQuan bound the arrogant and foolish man more tightly. The fine hair became ruthlessly disheveled, and the cold-blooded eyes tilted softly.

“That you love me.”

At the repeated, rude request, Aaron’s eyelashes trembled. MacQuan found the hesitation shown by this arrogant man lovely. It was an emotion that surged with irresistible force. At a heat like a branding iron, MacQuan struggled to swallow his breath.

“Tell me that you love me.”

Strength gathered in their interlaced fingers. A desperation to seize eternity entwined and bound the other. It was a precise trap. The body held in his arms was warm, and the sound of the heartbeat was clear. He breathes. He is alive.

MacQuan slowly stroked the man’s body. The lithe body was composed of skin, muscle, and bone, and hot blood flowed within. There was no longer any scent of opium anywhere. Suddenly, he had the illusion of smelling a nostalgic scent of grass. The sound of the heart that had been beating anxiously faded into the distance. MacQuan buried his face in the white, straight nape of the neck and muttered once more.

“Please tell me.”

He was alive. The man was alive. The heir of Cornwall, who boasted a power that did not even fear the King, was clearly alive and held in his arms. This warmth, this touch, could not possibly be an illusion.

“Aaron, hurry.”

At the whining demand, the laughter from the opposite side grew deeper.

He is alive.

Aaron Wizfeldon was clearly alive in his arms. Foolish man. A low whisper mocking him spread throughout Briston House.

‘You are mine.’

MacQuan also laughed softly and hugged Aaron Wizfeldon even tighter. Facing this wicked greed, the lover sighed with annoyed eyes, hugged MacQuan back, and patted him. At that tender and soft gesture, MacQuan’s eyes grew hot.

‘Mine.’

It was a success.

It was the moment the most noble immortality entered his arms.

✧ ✧ ✧

When the competent secretary Aljef Duncliffe visited Briston House again, it was several days after MacQuan had left the London townhouse. Meeting his employer after a few days, Aljef could not hide his dark expression.

“He hasn’t budged from the study all day. He just sits there without saying a word. He won’t even let anyone inside. He’s refused all his meals, and he won’t let the lamps be extinguished even when night falls; I simply don’t know what to do.”

Right before leaving the estate, the experienced housekeeper confessed the observations of the past few days in a worried tone. Aljef let out a sigh so deep it felt as if his heart were sinking.

‘What on earth happened…?’

Despite having served him for over ten years, Aljef found the current situation utterly alien. Perhaps because he hadn’t slept properly through the long nights, his employer’s face looked haggard, and the red veins in the whites of his eyes were prominent. His attire was completely disheveled, making it hard to find any trace of the confident and strong aura he usually possessed. Suddenly, Aljef recalled Shuman’s words—that he had rushed into a carriage and departed in the dead of night, still dressed in his indoor clothes.

“I heard he isn’t eating at all.”

“…….”

“Mrs. Magner is very worried.”

Aljef placed the documents filling both his hands onto the table. As a Member of Parliament, these were papers MacQueen Lester needed to review as soon as possible, but for some reason, Aljef couldn’t bring himself to press him.

“Leave them. I’ll look over them this evening.”

It was a perfunctory instruction, devoid of any plan. Walking over to a desk in one corner of the study, MacQueen collapsed into the chair. Feeling that the heavy, awkward atmosphere was strikingly similar to the time the heir of the Wizfeldon family vanished last year, Aljef spoke cautiously.

“It is too much for Mrs. Magner to manage Briston House alone.”

The estate, from which all servants had vanished overnight, was eerily silent. Even inside the study, the stillness was such that not a single breath could be heard.

“A minimum staff is necessary.”

Aljef sighed deeply, recalling the scene he had witnessed moments ago.

“A week has already passed. Next week’s reading schedule is fully set, and the Duke of Devonshire is growing suspicious. You must return now.”

Despite his elegant phrasing, the discomfort remained. Aljef recalled the situation when he had arrived at Briston House just a few hours prior.

Crash.

At the sound of the door opening, the employer, who had been rushing down the central staircase, did not hide his disappointment upon confirming the visitor was Aljef. The emotion dwelling in his eyes at that moment felt like sheer despair, to the point where Aljef couldn’t even bring himself to state the purpose of his visit.

“Many eyes are watching. Showing yourself in this state will only be disadvantageous.”

“…….”

“Lord Lester.”

Despite the increasingly desperate plea, MacQueen remained motionless. Far from answering, he was instead staring somewhere while gripping the armrest. Aljef followed his employer’s indifferent gaze. It ended at the half-open door of the study. Despite the piercing look, there was no sign of anyone near the door.

“Do you happen to have any appointments this afternoon?”

All the servants had been dismissed, and Helen, the only one remaining, had stepped out briefly to prepare meals. At the secretary’s question, the lips that had been frozen finally parted slowly.

“Leave now.”

His indifferently shining green eyes were still fixed on the door.

“Lord Lester.”

“He is expected to return soon.”

Aljef frowned, unable to comprehend the immediate answer.

“Is a guest coming?”

At the questioning follow-up, MacQueen shook his head slightly and took out his pocket watch.

“He stepped out for a moment, and it is nearly time for his return. He is a sensitive soul; if he knows you are in the house, he will absolutely refuse to enter.”

“Pardon?”

“Please leave. I wish to avoid crossing paths with him if possible.”

“Lord Lester……”

Anxiety quickly mingled with the faint confusion.

“I’ve even heard the sound of conversation, as if he’s talking to someone. Oh, Mr. Aljef. I am so afraid that something might be happening to the Master. Even when I try to call a doctor, he won’t let them take a single step inside the room. Please, help Lord Lester.”

The message delivered by Helen Magner was truly shocking. Since the duel incident, Aljef had also experienced his employer acting like a different person from moment to moment over the last few months, so he could understand those words instantly.

“Surely…”

Aljef hoped his hypothesis was wrong regarding who the master was talking about. With a rarely flustered expression, he stammered.

“Surely… the person you are speaking of is not Earl Vispilt?”

The motion of fiddling with the watch froze instantly.

Good heavens.

Convinced that his thought was correct by the other’s sharp reaction, Aljef hurriedly added.

“Lord Lester, Earl Vispilt was said to have died during the war—”

“Enough!”

A fierce roar erupted. The body, which had been frozen like a statue, moved as a violent rage poured out without hesitation. At the shout that echoed through the entire study, Aljef could no longer continue and recoiled.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

The employer looked as if he truly found it difficult to understand. His dark brown eyebrows were deeply furrowed and angled downward. Aljef. The whispering voice was gloomy.

“His voyage has ended.”

Clicking his tongue lightly, MacQueen slowly stroked the front of the armrest with his entire palm. The carved eyes of the lion also faced the direction the master was looking.

“The Duke of Cornwall is a snake of a man. We must be careful of his spying.”

The strange words, pouring down like a midsummer rainstorm, began to fit together like gears. Unable to hide his astonishment, Aljef looked at MacQueen again.

“Lord Lester……”

Eyes that stared obsessively only at the door.

A stubborn attitude, as if he would remain in that spot for hours or days unless someone forcibly dragged him away.

Endless denial.

It was not difficult to deduce what all these signs meant.

“My God……”

Aljef leaned against a cabinet with trembling hands to support his staggering body.

“Aljef, by strengthening our relationship with him, we shall gain immense profit. Do not worry. There is no need to look at me with such eyes.”

MacQueen soothed his secretary in a considerably softened tone. The fingertips tapping the armrest were tinged with desolation, but no one noticed. An awkward and chilly current flowed.

“Therefore, Aljef.”

MacQueen called him once more in a deeply sunken voice. Still not granting the secretary a single glance, he gave his final instruction without hesitation.

“Please leave now.”

The eyes of the young politician, who had commanded the House of Commons and maintained a confident attitude toward everyone, no longer shone with brilliance. All that remained in this place was a man whose reality and reason had collapsed, drenched in grief. Facing this stark change, Aljef waited a long while before heavily bowing his head in response.

A cold darkness descended. Damp air seeped through the gap of the open door. London’s climate, then and now, was nearly intolerable to MacQueen.

“That fellow always worries too much.”

At those words, the man standing by the window turned his head. His narrowed eyes were full of suspicion. With an expression suggesting it was nothing, MacQueen shrugged.

“He can be tedious, but… he is tight-lipped and clever. He is worth keeping by one’s side for a long time. So you don’t have to glare… hm… oh dear.”

MacQueen paused and crossed his arms. He had recalled something his subordinate had done in the past. Hmm. After hesitating for a while, he stroked his chin with a troubled expression.

“Come to think of it, there is something I haven’t told you.”

A stuffed deer hanging on one side of the wall silently watched the deception he whispered.

“The one who put opium in the tea leaves was not me. Nor other drugs, of course. Though I don’t know what they were.”

It was something he hadn’t been able to say, swallowed by the time that had passed like a storm.

“I didn’t put it in.”

MacQueen recalled the accident that occurred in the Long Gallery. He had received a report that before he and Devonshire arrived, that fierce beast, in his final moments, had tried to gouge out his own eye with a glass shard.

If the servants hadn’t stopped him then, that fierce and violent heir to the dukedom might have actually carved out his eyeball with that hideous shard. The mere thought brought up a wave of nausea. That was how impulsive his lover was.

He had to explain that it was a misunderstanding.

He had to hold onto his raging lover, look into his eyes, and explain sufficiently that it wasn’t his doing.

“Though it is far too late… you should know.”

Smiling awkwardly, MacQueen stroked his sunken cheek. Even if he tried to act as if nothing were wrong, there was no helping the melancholy steeped in his voice.

“To be honest, it’s not that I didn’t try.”

At the impulsive confession, the glaring gaze grew even sharper. To soothe his enraged lover, MacQueen took a large step forward. Despite the fact that they were clearly together, a terrible loneliness overwhelmed him.

“But it was only once.”

As his head tilted back slightly, their eyes met again. Eyes stained with trust, anger, and confusion. Pained by the wretched reflection of himself in those blue pupils, MacQueen hurriedly embraced his lover. A savage night wind clawed across his broad back. Enraged by the cowardly confession, his lover shouted fiercely. Thinking it was better that he was angry, MacQueen buried his face completely into Aaron’s shoulder.

“It was only once.”

It was an excuse disguised as a plea. As the body of eternity kept trying to slip away from him, MacQueen clung to it more desperately. He could not bring himself to answer the question of why he had done it. He could never put into words that sinister and hideous plan—that he had tried to drag you down to hell once more, to drop you to the bottom where he resided, and to make the whole world point their fingers at you.

“But I regret it.”

Recalling a painting so damaged it was unrecognizable, MacQueen grit his teeth. He heaved his chest for a long time to catch his breath.

“……I regret it.”

MacQueen murmured the same words over and over, rubbing his eyes against the soft white shirt.

The lover, whose anger had softened at the sincere apology, carefully stroked MacQueen again and whispered something.

But strangely.

Strangely.

I cannot hear your voice.

To hear the breath that kept growing fainter, MacQueen listened with even greater concentration. To remember for a long time, to remember even a little more clearly. The moonlight, buried in grey clouds, slowly revealed itself. A bird perched on the roof of the building sang joyfully, shaking off the weariness of the day. As the song grew longer, the well-pressed linen shirt slowly became soaked with moisture.

✧ ✧ ✧

“A retreat at a time when we should be pushing forward!”

The Duke of Devonshire’s irritated lament rang out loudly. After hesitating for a moment, Robert handed his top hat and overcoat to a servant and took a seat opposite the Duke of Devonshire.

“Duke, it is only for a short while. Baronet Enfield has been handling an overly demanding schedule alone all this time. He must have needed rest.”

“It’s not that I don’t know that. But you know as well that the current situation is not very good. Since the news of Earl Vispilt’s disappearance became known, public opinion has been deteriorating rapidly. Even the King is being excessively passive regarding the issue of deploying additional troops.”

The news that the heir of Cornwall had vanished during the war set the public ablaze. The press, which had previously criticized Earl Vispilt’s loose and dissipated conduct, instantly shifted its stance and treated the tragedy that struck one of England’s most ancient ducal houses as an extra edition. In the process, it was only natural that sympathy spread toward the Wizfeldon family, who had been oppressed by Westminster and the royal family for some time.

“The matter of the plenipotentiary ambassador also ended in failure, and it’s hard to expect additional troop deployments. Even if we win the war, there’s no guarantee that the negotiations won’t be affected by the mess created by Earl Vispilt’s disappearance. The effect of the tax audit in Rodinton is also wearing off. We should be silencing the nonsense spreading through the streets right now!”

“Of course. Please give me a little more time. I will visit personally to check on the Baronet’s condition.”

It was a flat answer. The Duke of Devonshire continued his questioning with suspicious eyes.

“Many people have already been sent to Briston to check on the Baronet’s condition, but not one has been able to meet him. What on earth is the reason for him hiding away like this? Do you know something?”

As a Member of Parliament, MacQueen Lester was a sociable man who knew many people, but if one pulled back the curtain, the number of people he was actually close to could be counted on one hand. In his semi-disappearance, the only place to confirm his whereabouts was his longtime colleague, Robert Higgins.

The closed and mysterious behavior surrounding MacQueen Lester made Herald Lenzdoor, who wished to control every situation, even more impatient. Above all, there was another problem tormenting him.

“……I, too, do not know that much. Since entering the House of Commons, we have avoided meeting as much as possible, mindful of public perception. As you know, Duke, Baronet Enfield is someone who reacts sensitively to the gaze of others.”

“I am not unaware of that, but if he cannot even be contacted during such a critical time, it will become a major problem. To think the Baronet was such a reckless and irresponsible man! I have misjudged him utterly.”

Regardless of the victory or defeat of the war, if even a small problem occurred, the politicians who agreed to the troop deployment would find it difficult to evade responsibility. Furthermore, the date for the announcement of the audit results regarding the lobbying circumstances at Klaus Diugen and the collusive relationship with the House of the Duke of Devonshire—which the royal audit team had investigated for months—was drawing near. Compared to a few years ago, the perception of opium had also shifted rapidly toward a negative current.

“In a situation where all sorts of conspiracy theories are rampant, I and my family are in a position to take all the blame.”

“Duke, it’s not quite at that level yet—”

“No. The feeling against my skin is distinctly different from a few months ago. While the group that actually started the trouble is stepping back one by one, I, who tried to keep the promise with you until the end, find it utterly baffling.”

Herald Lenzdoor of Devonshire, who had led the way in deploying troops and narrowing Cornwall’s position in Parliament, belonged to the group that took the direct hit of moral condemnation. With even allied nations issuing statements criticizing the decision for war, England was facing negative public opinion in the international arena.

To the press, which hunted for provocative material, Devonshire—the greatest rival of Cornwall—was delicious prey. The interests they began to dig into were augmented by imagination; in third-rate dailies and magazines, conspiracy theories flourished that even the duel between Earl Vispilt and Baronet Enfield was a backroom plot orchestrated by the Duke of Devonshire.

“If this continues, realize that the collaboration promised with the Baronet will inevitably be problematic. Of course, the marriage issue as well.”

For a moment, a cold current pierced through the silence like an awl. For a mere complaint, the implied meaning was significant. Baseness and malice spread without hesitation across his wrinkled face. It was no different from a threat to reconsider the relationship between Devonshire and Enfield in marriage, politics, negotiations, and everything thereafter. Even at a moment like this, to Herald Lenzdoor, his daughter’s marriage was nothing more than a transaction for himself.

‘So he intends to be the first to pull out if the situation becomes unfavorable.’

At the thought that immediately surfaced, Robert couldn’t hide a hollow laugh. At the same time, he realized he had to meet his longtime partner as soon as possible.

✧ ✧ ✧

The cold iron bars rattled. At the sound breaking the silence, the hand turning a page paused. The space where the man resided felt somewhat cramped, but considering the specificity of a prison, it was very clean and pleasant.

“Sir Caliven Wisfield.”

The sun, stretching long through the gap in the door, warmed the cold floor. It was a visitor after a long time. Caliven’s expression as he looked at the person who entered was very calm.

“……What is the matter.”

The prison for nobles was a place where silence was the norm. In other words, it meant that when something was not normal, it was usually not a good thing.

“An order for temporary release has been handed down from the higher-ups.”

“Temporary release? What on earth does that mean all of a sudden.”

At the unexpected words, his gentle eyes furrowed for a moment.

“……There is some bad news.”

Under the gaze staring intently at him, the guard hesitated for a long while before finally speaking. It did not take long for the book to fall to the floor following the words that followed.

The despair carried in the footsteps treading on the carpet made the pace toward the bed even slower.

“Young Master……”

The physician and the maid, noticing the person who had entered the room, bowed their bodies.

“…….”

A dark gaze passed the servant and headed toward the bed. Firmly set lips parted slightly for a moment. As the distance closed, the sound of irregular breathing became more distinct.

“He collapsed while traveling to Buckingham to seek an audience with His Majesty the King regarding the matter of locating the accident site.”

With a short nod, Caliven instructed the remaining servant to leave the bedroom. After a moment, only three people remained in the spacious room: the aged Duke, who was half-dead and merely gasping for breath, Caliven, and the long-time physician of the House of Cornwall.

“He has grown very thin.”

“He has been unable to eat for nearly a week. He regained consciousness last night, but…”

“…”

“The shock was immense. Given the nature of the news… it must have been too much for the Duke to bear. There is an issue with his blood vessels, and the condition is poor.”

“…It seems so.”

Eyes a shade darker than his brother’s turned toward the stiff, wrinkled hand. That hand had always been the source of ruthless violence directed at his brother. The large hand that had completely destroyed the lives and souls of the two young brothers no longer existed. All that remained was the hand of an old man, wrinkled and spotted with age.

Had he lived his entire life trembling in fear of something like that? An unconcealed sense of emptiness seeped through the cracks of his crumbling expression.

“Half of his body is paralyzed. From the neck down to the tips of his toes… the right side of his body cannot move at all. His tongue is also stiff, making conversation difficult.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed heavily. Though his father’s eyes were closed, it was not hard to notice that one side of his face was unnaturally frozen. The old man’s face, a mixture of a completely distorted expression and a numb one, was both grotesque and pitiful.

“What is the prognosis?”

At the short question, Boswell shook his head with a dark expression.

“It is not good. He suffers seizures whenever he intermittently regains consciousness. Upon realizing his own condition, the Duke is unable to control his emotions at all. His condition worsens further when he becomes agitated…”

“…”

“It may be difficult for him to lead a normal daily life any longer. He is at a level where he requires the help of an assistant therapist for all basic activities.”

“…I understand what you mean.”

A resigned answer followed. A silent storm swept through Caliven’s inner self. The endless sky had flipped to become the floor beneath his feet.

“Could you step out for a moment? I will call you again if I need help.”

“…I will be standing by. Please call me immediately if any problem arises.”

A heavy response followed. Sensing the tangled threads of anguish, the physician left the bedroom without further word.

As the door closed, Caliven collapsed onto a simple chair. The sound of wheezing breath could be heard within arm’s reach. The characteristic scent of a sick person clung to every corner of the room. It was the scent of death, and the scent of despair. Biting his trembling lips, Caliven slowly curled his body inward.

“…”

The disappearance of the heir, the imprisonment of the second son, the Duke and Duchess collapsing from shock, and severe aftereffects. The tragic news that swept through the Wizfeldon family broke even the fortress-like vigilance of the monarch.

The Queen convened an emergency meeting with cabinet officials and pushed for the temporary release of Caliven Wisfield. Of course, it came with the condition that if Aaron Wizfeldon returned, he would have to return to prison to serve the remainder of his sentence, but that was a scenario unlikely to be realized.

“Did you torment my brother so much just to end up lying here in such a state?”

“News has arrived that Sir Aaron Wizfeldon met with an accident during the war. It is said that he went missing along with several crew members when the Melville was swept away by rapids and collided with a reef.”

Following the slow trail of words, his eyes grew damp.

“Since all the officials and the negotiation delegation were inside the cabins at the time, the fact of the disappearance was discovered too late. Unfortunately, several junk ships that had fled returned, and engagements continued for another day. That is why confirmation was further delayed. They say people were deployed late, but the Earl could not be found. It is highly likely he was swept away by the current.”

“For an ending like this…”

Veins bulged on the back of the hand gripping the sheets. He could not even bring himself to cover the gaunt hand that was nothing but bone.

“Did you treat my brother and me so cruelly just to see an ending like this?”

The grotesquely frozen face twitched. It was a wretchedness that made it hard to imagine he was once a commander who had commanded battlefields while remaining loyal to the state.

“You are truly pathetic.”

It was an utterly awkward sneer. The accusing voice also trembled.

“You are truly miserable and laughable.”

Damp droplets fell onto the soft fabric. They were tears flowing through the fingers covering his face. Trivial, utterly trivial tears.

“I’ll be going now.”

Brother.

Caliven desperately called out to his brother, who had suddenly departed for the battlefield, in his heart. The brother who had left Pellynton Hall had a light expression on his face. The only reaction he had shown him until the end was a sneer, but his back as he walked away from the manor looked truly free.

Neither the name Cornwall,

Nor the family,

Nor the mentally ill relatives, nor the shackles of the heir that had tightened around his fate for a lifetime—nothing could hold back the steps his brother took.

Though he did not possess a warm nature, there was a cheap sense of kinship in knowing he wasn’t alone in this hell. Even if the method was harsh and wrong, he appreciated that cold comfort—the way his brother always tried to protect him at critical crossroads. To him, who had nowhere to lean, Aaron’s existence was the only solace, even if he was a blood relative with a broken mind.

“Brother…”

Heat mixed into the stifled sobbing.

Caliven could not bear the misery of himself, his brother, and his parents, all of whom had lived such lives only for it to end so hollowly. It was a war of wretched lives where no one won, no one gained anything, and no one remained unbroken.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sight that greeted Robert, who had rushed over by carriage, was far beyond his expectations.

“It’s been a while.”

Contrary to Aljef’s assessment that he looked disheveled and out of it, the man standing before him was perfectly fine—exactly as Robert Higgins had known him for a long time.

“Lester…”

“What brings you here without any notice?”

At the attitude of offering a handshake with a smile and neat attire, Robert finally breathed a sigh of relief. His friend’s clothing was perfectly impeccable, and his hair and beard were neatly trimmed. Although his complexion was poor and he was thinner than before, he did not look like a patient exhibiting symptoms of mental derangement as Aljef had reported.

“My god, Lester… I really thought you…”

Swallowing the unfinished words back into his throat, Robert squeezed the held hand tighter. In this moment, not a single one of the numerous worries that had plagued him for the past few weeks came to mind. Robert pulled the shaking hand and gave MacQuan a light hug. For a moment as their bodies crossed, he felt a strangely unpleasant scent, but he brushed it off as insignificant.

“It seems Aljef has been nagging again.”

“If you leave Briston, Aljef is the first person you should meet. You have no idea how much he suffered. Looking at the current state, Aljef seems more like the patient than you.”

“Dear me. But I, too, was tormented quite a bit by Aljef. He visited almost every day and rushed me so much that I had no time to rest.”

“You may have had no time to rest, but we had no room to breathe.”

Sighs of lament continued to leak out. After overcoming the initial shock, Aljef had visited Briston House several more times. He repeatedly informed his employer that the heir of Cornwall had died, but he was met with an equal amount of evasion and denial.

Eventually, the young secretary from Scotland realized that this entire situation was not something that could be resolved on his level and immediately rushed to Robert to inform him of the current state of affairs. That was the reason Robert had rushed to Briston House in one go.

“Were you on your way out?”

MacQuan shrugged and gestured with his eyes toward the luggage.

“I was planning to go to the Enfield estate for a while.”

“Enfield! Don’t talk nonsense.”

At the unexpected answer, Robert shook his head violently. It was a situation where returning to London as quickly as possible would not be enough.

“I met the Duke of Devonshire last week. It is truly despicable how he immediately switches his stance since the situation is bad.”

Leaving his complex emotions behind, Robert brought up the business first.

“The situation was always bad. Don’t worry about it.”

“Public opinion began to deteriorate rapidly after Earl Vispilt died. The atmosphere among the people is unusual. You will feel that change immediately upon your return.”

At that moment, the fingertips tapping the desk stopped. Robert, not sensing the change, naturally continued the conversation.

“The Duke of Cornwall collapsed recently. Seeing that Caliven Wisfield has been temporarily released, it seems his condition is poor. Well, he couldn’t be in his right mind after the heir he cherished so much died.”

Opinions on the Duke of Cornwall’s illness were divided. From assessments that it was a mild symptom of fatigue to rumors of unconsciousness, the range was too wide to gauge.

“Anyway, now is not the time to leisurely go to Enfield. We can talk in detail inside the carriage…”

“No.”

At the chill that cut the conversation short, Robert looked straight ahead again. There stood a stranger with a completely erased expression, glaring at him. He was clearly a friend and business partner he had known for a long time, yet Robert found it hard to accept that the man standing before him was the same person.

“You are just the same.”

A cold voice rang out.

“Lester, what do you mean by that?”

Unable to hide his bewilderment at the unfamiliar gaze and voice, Robert took a step forward and grabbed MacQuan’s wrist.

“No, no. Let’s talk as we go…”

With a sharp sound, the hand gripping the wrist was shaken off. Robert, covering the back of his hand that had instantly turned red, looked at MacQuan with a look of disbelief.

“Lester, why are you doing this?”

“Please leave. I must go to Enfield.”

“Why on earth Enfield…”

“There are too many eyes watching here.”

Putting on the frock coat draped over the chair, MacQuan bit his lip. Robert Higgins had been a friend by his side for nearly twenty years, but that was the limit. Right now, he was so bothered and angry that he could not bear it.

Because of you, that person won’t come out from behind the curtain.

He is waiting for you to leave. That person does not want anyone but us to enter this room.

The reason he did not say it aloud was that he had realized through Aljef’s reactions that others would not believe his words.

Forcing down the rising pit of fire, MacQuan glanced at the scarred hand slightly revealed between the curtains. His lover was a coward. His lover was conscious of the surrounding gaze and feared being discovered. Thinking he was hopeless, MacQuan laughed softly. Please wait just a little longer. I will take you to a place where no one can find us.

“Are you… serious?”

With a face pale as a sheet, Robert grabbed MacQuan’s shoulders and shook him.

“Is what Aljef said the truth!”

“It doesn’t matter what Aljef said.”

“That you’ve gone mad!”

A terrible scream sliced through the air.

“…He said you’ve gone mad.”

Unfiltered emotions were expressed without restraint. With a slightly bewildered expression, MacQuan pulled down the hand gripping his shoulder.

“What is that supposed to mean? That I’ve gone mad.”

“Are you really seeing the ghost of Earl Vispilt?”

Ghost.

A cold blade pierced his throat. Slowly swallowing his saliva, MacQuan gazed blankly at the opposite curtain again.

Hide for just a bit longer.

Even without words, his lover read his thoughts well. The curtains fluttering in the wind hid all traces. It was silent. As his lover’s figure was not visible, MacQuan grew anxious. Even though he knew he was merely hiding.

“What do you mean by ghost?”

“Lester. Earl Vispilt—Aaron Wizfeldon—is dead. I am asking if you acknowledge that fact.”

“You’re stating the obvious. I know he died during the war because Aljef told me until I was sick of it. What is the problem?”

MacQuan shrugged, pretending to be relaxed. A grotesque smile, where only the lips curved without any expression, settled on his face. It was a lie to reassure his bothersome friend, but his heart pounded.

I wonder why there are so many people who treat you as a dead man…

When he offered a joke to his lover, a fierce glare and a lecture immediately returned. Along with the accusation that it was his own fault. Even that appearance was lovely to MacQuan, who had to hurriedly cover his mouth to stop the laughter from bursting out.

“But why are you going to Enfield?”

“…I don’t see how my purpose for going to Enfield manor relates to the news of Earl Vispilt’s death. It’s just for a vacation.”

MacQuan shrugged his shoulders again with a peaceful expression. The inside of his throat felt parched.

Death, ghost.

The area under his tongue was completely dry, making it hard to utter a single word. They were disgusting and loathsome words. MacQuan wanted to end this tedious and destructive conversation as quickly as possible. He had too much to do to waste time on such a conversation.

“Robert, just leave for now. Let’s talk outside.”

“Lester!”

Forcing his friend, who tried to continue the conversation, MacQuan hurried out of the study. Just before stepping out the door, the window curtain parted slightly, revealing his lover’s figure. His lips moved as if trying to say something, but it was impossible to understand. Recently, the frequency with which he failed to understand the secret whispers of his lover was increasing. Forcing down the rising anxiety, MacQuan smiled even more brightly.

Please wait just a little longer.

Just a little more.

“Lester, wait a moment. I haven’t finished speaking.”

“Let’s talk downstairs. This is not an appropriate place for conversation.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

Robert, who had been pushed relentlessly down to the first-floor stairs, asked back with an incredulous expression. His bewildered voice echoed hollowly through the interior of the manor, where there was no one but them.

The manor, devoid of a single servant, was truly reminiscent of a ghost house. Even the last remaining housekeeper had been finally dismissed two days ago. Unable to shake off the unsettling feeling, Robert eventually gave up on the conversation and pulled MacQuan’s arm again.

“Fine. I get it. Let’s just go out. Now that I’ve come down, let’s leave Briston quickly. We’ll talk as we go.”

“I just told you. I must go to Enfield.”

“Lester, please listen to me, please!”

Despite having the advantage in physique, his body, which had neither slept nor eaten properly for weeks, was played with by the hand forcing him along. It was the moment MacQuan, unable to hide his displeasure, grabbed Robert’s hand.

“…Ugh.”

The door opened.

The late afternoon sunlight instantly poured through the opening, illuminating the manor.

“Let’s go. The weather is nice. Since you’ve kept the curtains drawn all day, you probably couldn’t tell if it was day or night. Once you go out and get some sun, your mind will feel refreshed.”

Robert, who had been standing with the sun at his back, finally let go of the hand he had been struggling to hold.

“Let’s hurry. The carriage is waiting. The necessary luggage is…”

The words could not be finished. Robert could not hide his bewilderment at the sight of MacQuan, who had collapsed onto the floor with a face pale as a ghost.

“Lester, why are you doing this?”

“The door…”

“They said he was dead.”

Eyes wide to the limit trembled. The two hands bracing the floor wavered several times before gripping again. From the hands to the arms, the body, and the legs, eventually his entire body shook uncontrollably.

“Close the door…”

An unknown fear surged. The demon that climbed up from the tips of his toes instantly filled him to the top of his head, blocking all airways. Cold sweat flowed, and his vision blurred. Following a rising surge of nausea, gasping breaths followed.

“Hurry.”

“Lester, are you unwell? Can you hear me?”

“Hurry, the door, close the door…”

Like a person who had forgotten how to breathe, MacQuan could not breathe properly. It was a sudden seizure. Amidst the abnormal symptoms of short inhalations and exhalations, another fear engulfed him. Unable to move far, MacQuan stopped again and his body heaved violently.

It was a terror resembling death. A highly irrational and illogical fear—that he must not leave this place, that he would die if he went out—struck his inner self like a raging wave.

I cannot go out.

I must not go out.

Not yet.

Not yet, he has not returned.

Seeing him clutching his chest and breathing heavily, Robert hurried to close the door. As the light that had briefly illuminated the interior was cut off, a heavy darkness settled over the mansion once again. Even though silence returned, MacQuan remained curled up, gasping for air for a long time. It was as if someone were gripping his throat; breathing was difficult.

“Lester, you…”

Robert approached him to check his condition. Lester. At the sound of the worried voice, MacQuan lifted his creaking head.

“What is the problem?”

His friend had asked with an innocent smile. It was the question he had posed to MacQuan, who had asked several times about the fact of his lover’s deployment.

“Robert, the efforts we’ve put in over the last few years will soon bear fruit.”

It was the day a small bill had passed. On that day, MacQuan had laughed heartily and raised a toast. It was the initial reading to lay the foundation for military spending.

“MacQuan, we succeeded.”

Robert Higgins had also been overjoyed. He smiled brightly, saying that the years of effort and the long persecution he had endured were finally being rewarded. Robert Higgins was MacQueen Lester’s longtime friend, business partner, family, and the one who had watched over him from the closest position.

“Robert, we will soon hold power in our hands.”

After the audience with the King ended, MacQuan sought out Robert first to inform him of the fact. The two of them spent the entire night drinking the finest wine and celebrating.

Theodore.

A voice, devoid of any tenderness and merely flat, called him. Who was calling? An intensified confusion shook his head. Lester, Lester! Robert’s voice gradually drifted away.

Even as his shoulders shook violently, MacQuan blinked slowly. His wavering gaze lingered at the end of the stairs leading to the second floor. A blurred afterimage gradually took on a detailed form. It was the figure of a man, composed of straight, falling lines, as silent and sunken as a lake in the dead of winter.

Theodore.

…And hair of a beauty that could be compared to nothing.

“I told you to hide…”

A rusty, metallic sound leaked from his vocal cords.

“Did I not tell you to stay hidden?”

He was truly not an easy man. The man was still leaning against the stair railing with a noble expression, watching this cheap play. To expose himself so defenselessly—he was truly a foolish man.

Barely standing up by leaning against the wall, MacQuan walked toward the stairs again.

Lester, what on earth—

A desperate cry was heard, but only for a moment. He shook off the gestures that kept obstructing his path and hurried up the stairs. His lover was smiling mischievously as he entered the study again.

Theodore.

Now, he couldn’t even tell whose memory it was. All dreams were intertwined, and all memories were a chaotic mess.

His pace quickened. His jaw was stiff, making his entire face rigid. The further he moved from the entrance, the further away the fear of death that had just stormed his interior drifted. However, the dread remained.

Damn it, in this state, Enfield will be impossible for now.

Tsking lowly, MacQuan hurried into the study.

Slam—

Simultaneously with the loud sound of the door, he slid the interior bolt shut.

[Lester! Lester!]

He heard Robert’s desperate voice and the sound of knocking immediately following, but it was no longer important. Forcing himself to swallow his rising breath, MacQuan scanned every corner of the room. When the person who should be there didn’t appear, anxiety filled his eyes. His lover was not visible.

“Stop this. Neither you nor I are at an age to be playing such pranks.”

Sighing with a look of absurdity, MacQuan walked toward the console. He knew exactly what to do when his lover played such malicious tricks.

With somewhat urgent hands, MacQuan took a cigar from a wooden box. After a few attempts, as soon as it caught fire, he inhaled deeply. To achieve the fastest and strongest effect, it was best to burn and smoke refined opium as it was.

As deep breaths followed a couple of times, a pungent scent slowly spread. In the past, it was a smell he had found so disgusting. The initial sensation was foul, but it quickly vanished. The nerves and muscles that had been tense until a moment ago began to relax one by one. A languor enveloped his entire body.

Just as the strength was draining from his body, he heard the rustle of footsteps. Noticing that cautious movement, MacQuan smiled faintly. Immediately, a warm sensation touched his cheek.

“Where were you hiding?”

Behind the curtain.

Only now did he hear his lover’s voice. Wanting to hear it more clearly, he drew the cigar even deeper.

“I’ll pass on the lies. Tell me the truth.”

Really.

The laughter grew thicker. He felt an abundance of leisure, to a degree that it was hard to believe he had returned alive from the battlefield.

“I’ll have to push back going to Enfield a bit.”

Why.

“The situation has become a bit troublesome.”

As his body grew heavier, the ends of his words slowed down.

What happened.

“The matter with the Duke of Devonshire, and… I have some issues of my own.”

Your issues?

“I tried to leave the mansion, but my condition wasn’t good.”

At the dampened voice, his lover snorted and approached him.

That’s because you’re smoking opium.

The cold eyes curved softly. A sweet smile from his lover, one he had never seen before, bloomed.

“No matter how much I smoke, I don’t know what’s so good about it. The unpleasantness is greater.”

Then why are you smoking it?

His lover asked back, his voice still laced with laughter. Rolling his mind, which wasn’t functioning properly, MacQuan struggled for a long time to answer.

“Because only then can I see you…”

White smoke puffed out from between his slightly parted lips. As his keen eyes blurred, the nauseating scent of opium shook his sense of smell.

“And I can hear your voice…”

MacQuan.

His heavy eyelids lowered. MacQuan. His lover called him gently. It was a soft voice that did not suit his fierce and ferocious nature.

“Does it not all feel like a futile dream?”

MacQuan.

A tender voice.

MacQuan.

Tears fell powerlessly from between his tightly closed eyes.

It was ironic. The more his lover’s voice continued to call him as if he were lovely, the more MacQuan fell into an unbearable pain. A fear swept over him that if he opened his eyes, all this precarious happiness would shatter. He must not realize. He must not acknowledge it.

MacQuan…

A delicate hand wiped MacQuan’s wet cheek.

“Stop it.”

No matter how much the other wiped them, the hot tears did not stop flowing.

“Stop it.”

You’re like a child.

The playful voice teased him. The sobbing only grew louder.

Stop it. Stop it…

Pretending to be uninterested, pretending it was nothing, pretending it was insignificant—he had ignored and turned away from it, but MacQuan knew better than anyone.

“You have never called me that.”

MacQuan…

“Not even once.”

The man had never once called him by his name. After they became deeply involved, he didn’t even utter his surname. The title Aaron Wizfeldon of Cornwall used to call MacQueen Lester was merely ‘the Baronet of Enfield.’

MacQuan… open your eyes.

Therefore, you, who call me so tenderly, are not you.

Perhaps, truly, the terrible, terrible stories people chatter about are actually true.

No.

It’s not.

Covering his eyes with one hand, MacQuan denied it vehemently. It’s not true. There’s no way you, who are comforting me by my side, are a phantom.

✧ ✧ ✧

Boom—

A brilliant streak of white light flashed through the moisture-laden clouds. Once the thunder and lightning began, they continued for a long time. The hull, constructed long ago, repeatedly shook precariously following the violent waves.

“I’ve managed to get some clothes for you to change into.”

The man silently lowered his eyes at the old clothes that suddenly entered his field of vision. Due to the rain that had fallen for days, the air was damp and humid both inside and out.

“They’re old, but they should be decent enough. The clothes you’re wearing now must be uncomfortable…”

The clothes had been painstakingly obtained by asking someone who could barely communicate, but the reaction was lukewarm. Philip’s voice, which had been suggesting, gradually faded as he faced an expression that was hard to read. The nobleman, who looked down at the clothes in silence, had a pale face full of irritation. It was just as Philip was about to leave, worrying if he had done something unnecessary.

“Pathetic.”

A hand with many small scars picked up the clothes. The man examined them with a sullen expression. Philip, pondering how to respond, answered gloomily.

“Still, the state of the clothes the Earl is wearing is even worse.”

“Hmm.”

The cool eyes narrowed slightly.

“How did I come to hear the word ‘shabby’ from someone like you.”

“N-no. I didn’t mean it in such an impolite way…”

At the sight of him vehemently denying it with a flushed face, one corner of Aaron’s mouth curled up. Soon, a chuckle followed.

“Thank you.”

A short greeting was given. With an indifferent hand, he unbuttoned his gilet and shirt. Because his right arm was completely ruined, he had to handle most of it with only his left hand, making his movements quite awkward.

“We both look ridiculous.”

“A bit, yes.”

The coat and accessories he had been wearing had long since been swept away along with fragments of the shattered hull, and since they had both worn the same clothes for nearly a month, both were a mess. Moreover, their hair, which had been hit by the rain until a moment ago, was a darker shade than usual.

“Still, it’s a relief that we can wash with rainwater since it rains so often.”

At the indifferent remark, Philip recalled a memory from the past.

“When going on long voyages, there are often cases where there isn’t enough drinking water, so whenever it rained, the entire crew would come out onto the deck to wash.”

“That must have been a sight.”

“When the weather is hot, it’s just terrible. We have to wear uniforms, and everyone is drenched in sweat from the hard work, but there’s still a long way to the port… haha, at times like that, there are no fights. Because everyone smells, so they try not to get close to each other.”

The man, whose tension had vanished, smiled gently and recounted his past exploits. Although he received occasional indifferent reactions from the other, it was only a few. Feeling awkward about talking to himself, Philip took the wet clothes Aaron handed over.

“They say we’ll arrive at the intermediate port in about three more days.”

Philip took a single candle, which he had barely managed to get from a sailor, out of his bosom. In the humid air, the match did not light easily. As the failed attempts continued, a long, white hand suddenly reached out from opposite.

“Give it here.”

“Yes…”

“Hold the matchbox.”

After a few more attempts with a skilled hand, it quickly caught fire. The face concentrating was still sullen.

“You managed to get this. They probably wouldn’t have given it to you.”

“Surprisingly, I also got some bandages.”

“Nothing surprising about that.”

“Haha.”

Smiling silently, Philip carefully placed the lit candle on the candle holder on the shelf. As a small amount of light filled the damp space, the wounds were revealed one by one.

“I was prepared for great hostility. Even this much is truly something to be grateful for.”

Most of the ship’s crew and passengers were people belonging to the Qing. Many of them were those who had chosen to stow away to escape to a third country, fleeing from the previous engagement or avoiding participation in the war. Even if they had received sufficient money, they wouldn’t treat well the people of the country that had caused them to make such extreme choices.

“It’ll be a relief if I don’t die before arriving at the intermediate port.”

When the blood-stained bandages were removed, wounds that had not healed because they hadn’t been properly treated revealed their hideous maws. Painkillers were a luxury he couldn’t even dare to hope for. All he could do was obtain minimal medicine and disinfect them, making sure they didn’t fester. As the man said, the probability of falling ill and dying or being murdered before arriving at the intermediate port was higher than the probability of surviving until the end.

“Perhaps Baden-Baden was too big of a dream.”

“A dream of living happily?”

“I cannot say it wasn’t.”

Philip laughed hollowly and began to wrap the bandages with a cautious hand. Every time the bandage brushed the wound, a groan of pain leaked from Aaron’s lips.

“It will hurt, but please bear with it for a moment.”

“I envy you for having a dream…”

His tightly clenched jaw trembled. His eyes, intoxicated by pain, became clouded. Philip knew from long experience that one must not fall asleep at times like this.

“Earl, it’s hard, but please try to stay conscious. Your consciousness is fading due to temporary pain. If you fall asleep now, your fever will spike.”

“…I’m a bit cold.”

“That’s because your body temperature has dropped a lot due to the rain. I’ve brought a blanket to cover you, so just endure a bit more.”

“Do you truly love the lady of Newcastle?”

“Pardon?”

At the sudden question, the hand covering him with the blanket paused. Regardless of the awkward silence, Aaron muttered gloomily.

“Love or whatever…”

“Earl, can you hear me?”

“In the end, is it not an emotion that is of no use?”

“Earl, Ear—”

The lifeless voice drifted away. Unable to overcome the heat that began to rise slowly, Aaron blinked his eyes over a long period. Between his fading consciousness, a nostalgic forest unfolded.

Around an old cabin, a clumsily cultivated vegetable garden and a flimsy fence were visible. Smoke rose from the chimney, and the side of the entrance was filled with piles of firewood of irregular sizes. The smell of food wafting through the half-open door wasn’t very good, but Aaron pretended it was nothing and pushed the rest of the door wide open.

A man who had been engrossed in something in the narrow interior turned his head upon sensing a presence.

“Have you arrived?”

Red hair, dyed with crude skill, shone brilliantly. Even though he had torn, crushed, and burned it with his own hands, it was still a beautiful and cruel poppy.

✧ ✧ ✧

After the news of Aaron Wizfeldon’s death, the house of the Duke of Cornwall declined rapidly. The same went for the Conservative Party, which had put them at the forefront. Separate from the misfortune that struck the Wizfeldon family, the victory bells of the war rang daily across England.

The intoxication born of victory and the voices of self-reflection for having abandoned their conscience boiled over simultaneously. At Garraway, England’s largest opium exchange, various opinions were also exchanged. Expectations that it would be possible to force opium trade targeting the colonized Qing if they won coexisted with anxiety stemming from the blocked routes and inventory levels during the war. It was truly an era of chaos.

“Young Master, the guest from the Duke of Newcastle’s house has arrived in the drawing room.”

Caliven closed the book he was reading and left the room.

“I have prepared some light refreshments.”

“Thank you.”

Just before the door closed, Caliven captured in his retina his father, who was looking somewhere at the ceiling with dark, dead eyes. The broken body had sickened the soul, and he showed no will to continue living. A corpse that only breathed. That expression was everything.

“Have you been waiting long?”

“Sir Caliven Wizfeldon.”

Upon entering the drawing room, a familiar person greeted Caliven. The woman, who had returned from Baden-Baden after a long journey, was very thin and her complexion was not good.

“I heard the news that you returned to London. I should have greeted you first, but I apologize for making the Lady visit in person.”

“No. Rather, I worry if it was an imposition on you, Sir, to visit at such a late hour.”

“Not at all.”

Even as they greeted each other with polite etiquette, neither could do anything about the sense of melancholy. The silence continued until they sat in their chairs.

“How is the Duke of Cornwall?”

“…To tell you the truth, he is not doing well. He has completely lost his will and does not respond to any treatment.”

“I imagine so. Because he truly cherished Earl Vispilt. He must be deeply heartbroken by the Earl’s disappearance.”

The smile he wore while drinking the moderately cooled tea was calm, but it could not hide the despair.

“The Lady’s complexion has grown even worse. Was the journey arduous?”

At the cautious concern, Lariensa chuckled and rested her chin on her hand.

“I wonder. Rather than that… there should be something good to happen.”

Pouting her lips playfully, she glanced down at the already cold teacup. Her eyes, which looked almost indifferent at a glance, momentarily distorted in pain.

“You also look tired, Sir.”

“…Because I also have nothing good happening.”

“We both have nothing but bad things.”

Tears finally welled up in Lariensa’s eyes as she struggled to turn her gaze toward the window. The water droplets that slowly gathered soon fell plop onto her cheek. Caliven chose to empathize with silence rather than hastily intervene in another’s sorrow.

“No matter how long I wait, no word comes.”

“….”

“Normally, he should have arrived long ago, but there isn’t even a single letter. The Earl certainly said so…”

Caliven recalled Aaron, who had come to see him before the negotiation delegation set sail. The brother he met in the visiting room was very gaunt and looked deeply ill, but his honed sharpness remained, and nothing could diminish his inherent nobility.

“I have bribed people in every region suspected to be a primary negotiation site.”

“Whom did you bribe?”

“Someone to smuggle away the lover of Lady Lariensa and myself.”

“Lover? My god, brother, are you saying that lady has another paramour?”

At the shocked question, Aaron smiled crookedly and crossed his long legs.

“She and I maintain a better cooperative relationship than you might think. There is no reason to explain it to you in further detail. I will only tell you the things you need to know.”

“The things I need to know are…”

“I intend to leave for Baden-Baden as a dead man.”

“Brother!”

“I have prepared thoroughly, but since success depends on luck, this plan is essentially a gamble. I wish to test my luck.”

He said he would leave, that he would become a dead man. He vowed to escape the grasp of a father obsessed with him and to inflict eternal pain, plunging the man into a hell of having lost his heir until the moment of death. He smiled brightly, as if nothing could be more joyful.

“I shall return.”

“Sir Caliven Wizfeldon. Count Vispilt and my lover have truly been swallowed by the sea.”

A whisper, suppressing a torrent of emotions, spoke of despair. The hand gripping the armrest trembled. He feared that if he relaxed even slightly, he too might make a spectacle of himself before the woman.

“…….”

“I am telling you that my lover was sacrificed in a war waged by filthy people who do nothing but plot conspiracies in Westminster.”

For the past few months, the time Lariensa Filmore spent in Baden-Baden had been akin to hell. Would he come for her today? Tomorrow? Would there be some word of him? Vain expectations sent her oscillating between heaven and hell every moment.

“It is not certain yet.”

“No. If he were alive, he would have returned to me by any means. That is the kind of person he is. How long do you intend to remain optimistic simply because a body has not been found?”

It was a sharp rebuke. Her slender hand, clad in a lace glove, shook violently. A body. The word was so horrific that Caliven closed his eyes tight.

“I know it is improper to say such things to you, Sir. It is only because no one else knows but you, and I fear I may go mad if I tell no one, so I apologize in advance.”

“……It is alright.”

“Philip was the very time I grew up. Despite the difference in origin and status, he was the one who protected me as a friend, as family, and as a lover from childhood until now.”

“…….”

“He suffered over my marriage. He tried to leave me. I was the one who held onto Philip. I persuaded him countless times and lured him with sweet words—that this was merely a political marriage and that the one I would love forever was him. I feel as though I am being punished for my calculating greed, wanting to enjoy the wealth and glory I would gain by marrying the Earl while keeping the one I love as a mistress.”

That she would accept all the sins. The promise of a lover who vowed to remain as his shadow and love him for a lifetime had now returned as a lethal poison.

“Sir Caliven. I realized too late that the power of Newcastle was not my own. There were limits to what I could do alone without borrowing the power of my father and my family. Because I am a woman, I had no opportunity to know the military and was thoroughly excluded from politics. I was taught only the virtues and duties a woman should possess in marriage. Useless trash at the moment I needed it most.”

Without even thinking to wipe away the pooling tears, Lariensa Filmore vented her quiet rage. It was hatred and anger directed at the country, her father, and herself. Only after repeating heavy breaths for a long while did the woman straighten her back once more.

“I must find my lover’s body, Sir Caliven.”

“What do you mean? Lady Lariensa, such words are…”

“No.”

Despite Caliven’s attempt to stop her, Lariensa cut him off sharply and shook her head.

“Please help me. I ask that you consider this a final courtesy to my foolish self, who faithfully followed the advice of Count Vispilt—the architect of this entire plan—and to my pitiful lover. I want to cling to even the smallest possibility of finding a corpse. I have had enough of waiting without a conclusion over the past few months. Do not worry about the capital. I will only ask for help with things that are impossible even from my position.”

“…….”

“Please help me so that I may at least find the body.”

The eyes facing reality had long since lost their moisture.

✧ ✧ ✧

A thick stack of documents landed on the desk.

“The maximum they can endure is six months. Beyond that, they cannot sustain the debt. There is a limit to rolling over the promissory notes. The goods aren’t completely tied up at Dingzhou Port!”

At the fierce urging, sighs continuously escaped Robert’s mouth.

“Sir Gilton, as I have mentioned repeatedly before—”

“Look here, Robert, I invested my entire fortune based on what you and Lord Lester said. How long must I wait? Both Sir Gilton and I did this trusting Klaus Diugen.”

Before the sentence could end, another person joined the argument. It was Deacon Warman, the representative of a trading company and a long-time collaborator with Klaus Diugen.

“I understand your anxiety, Mr. Warman, but I am not a god. How could I possibly tell you when a war between nations will end? If I knew that, I would be the most trusted person to the Queen in Buckingham right now.”

Gilton, flared up by the somewhat irresponsible remark, countered.

“I don’t understand why you urged us to purchase so much opium in the first place if it wasn’t certain. Didn’t you say that back-channel deals through Macau were possible even now? I hope you don’t evade this by saying you have no responsibility. Do you think our company is the only one dissatisfied?”

“What is the problem? The tide of this war has been tilted from the start. I don’t know why you are so anxious and rush here every day in a war where victory is certain. Sir Gilton, this is a game of time. The one who endures is the winner.”

“Winner, my foot! Victory or not, the sales channels have been completely blocked for nearly a year! If you think the goods in the warehouses will stay put during a war, why don’t you call every merchant here today and ask them!”

After hours of repeated arguing, Robert finally pointed toward the door.

“Sir Gilton, I understand perfectly. Why don’t both of you step out and get some fresh air? I need a break as well. For several months now, numerous merchants besides the two of you have been visiting me daily, completely ignoring my schedule.”

“……Robert, it’s not that we want to act this way. The pressure from the damn bank to recall loans is getting worse, so we have no choice.”

“Mr. Warman, we will also devise a way. We will not stand by irresponsibly, so I hope you won’t worry too much. Your company is not the only one with goods tied up at Dinghai Port and the Macau window. The largest amount of Klaus’s traded goods are tied up. For the sake of my own company, I plan to explore various means. It won’t happen overnight, and I am continuously probing the Duke of Devonshire to bring the merchants’ opinions to the negotiation table.”

“Then you should have told us in more detail.”

“What on earth could I say at this stage? We are still in the planning phase.”

Once the desired answer was given, the tense atmosphere finally subsided. Gilton Scott, who had been raging until a moment ago, cleared his throat softly and brought up his final point.

“More importantly, is there still no reaction from Lord Lester? Isn’t his recuperation taking too long? Shouldn’t he at least show his face? Surely nothing has happened to him?”

“I agree. Is it truly just a health issue? If it’s a serious illness or a bad situation, information should be shared. The bills the Baronet laid out in the House of Commons and the resolutions to be processed have come to a complete standstill. I’m not unaware of Klaus’s hard work, but the Gateway merchants have the right to verify Lord Lester’s wellbeing. Considering only the money and time invested…”

Thump—

The sound of a hand slamming the table rang out fiercely. The incessant complaints stopped simultaneously.

“Robert, what is the meaning of this…”

“That is an excessive claim of rights. We are business partners. Even if I recommended the investment, I forced it upon no one. I have never borrowed money, nor have I forced any goods upon you. If you wish to question responsibility beyond what is necessary, please do so according to the law. Caston! Caston!”

At the irritated call, the man guarding the door approached with quick steps. The merchants flinched instinctively, feeling intimidated by the man’s bulk.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Escort these two safely to their carriages.”

“Ro—Robert, are you really doing this?”

“Now, Robert, this may be uncomfortable, but we haven’t finished talking and…”

“Sir Gilton, you went too far by mentioning the Baronet’s whereabouts. Do you not admit it yourself? It was Sir Gilton who used leading questions as if something serious had happened to someone who is perfectly fine.”

“I merely asked the questions I should naturally ask as an investor!”

“Get them out, now!”

The voice, having lost its patience, sounded strained. There was a struggle between those trying to expel them and those refusing to leave, but it did not last long. Due to the overwhelming difference in strength, the two middle-aged men were dragged out of the office without much resistance.

“Phew…”

Robert buried his face in his palms and sighed deeply. An indescribable emotion leaked out with his breath. After a moment, someone approached him.

“Complaints from the merchants and trading companies are pouring in.”

“Aljef.”

Robert groaned, his eyes still covered. Aljef also wore a tired and gloomy expression.

“……It can’t be helped. I understand. It’s just that there’s no particular way to solve it. Normally, we would have prepared sales routes in neighboring countries and domestically, but those are all blocked now. The companies that over-purchased raw materials while in a situation where they had to wait have reached their limit.”

“Klaus cannot compensate for all the losses.”

“Of course not. Klaus is not a state. Compensation in a speculative trade! That would lead to complete bankruptcy. We must take some measure.”

The one who represented the desires of Gateway had vanished in an instant. The aftermath brought by MacQueen Lester’s absence was immense. The anxiety felt by the group of trading companies rose day by day, and the London opium trade was abuzz. This was separate from the successive news of victory.

“The Duke of Devonshire has issued an ultimatum. He says he will no longer tolerate Lester’s act of ignoring the Parliament and Lady Elisha.”

“……Yes.”

“It’s a situation that can no longer be hidden. Lady Elisha’s condition has also reached its limit. It seems unlikely she will make it past this month.”

“Yes. I have confirmed that as well.”

Sighing repeatedly, Robert walked to the window where the curtains were half-drawn.

“How is Lester’s condition?”

“……Since last Saturday, he will not even open the front door.”

“And his meals?”

“I left some preserved foods last week, but that will only last a month, and it’s hard to guarantee nutritional status with such food. Now he refuses even my visits, so it’s difficult to put more in…”

“Haa.”

Another agonized sigh escaped. Having watched this for a moment, Aljef hesitated before continuing.

“If you approach him rashly, he hides further inside. The more you inform him of reality, the more he denies it… especially when asked to leave the mansion, his aversion is extreme. The reason he stopped opening the door entirely was because I went with a doctor last week…”

At the mention of a doctor, the fingertips resting on the window turned white.

“That… the condition is…”

“……It is indeed addiction. Because he was exposed to it so rapidly in such a short time, it is difficult to gauge exactly what level the condition is, but…”

The secretary, searching for the right words, soon frowned with a troubled face and bowed his head.

“I believe he wasn’t just smoking opium. The delirium is too severe… there is a high possibility that he mixed various medicinal herbs. Briston was… a place where such items were always kept in stock…”

Briston House was a townhouse MacQueen Lester had acquired for the purpose of secret entertainment. A place filled with filthy hedonism, where precious items and things to satisfy desire were exchanged. The harm that had once broken others had returned entirely to the creator who forged that blade.

“My god.”

Lamenting repeatedly, Robert barely supported his staggering body. When he first learned of this, he couldn’t believe it. His business partner knew better than anyone the harm and devastation opium caused.

While he had no qualms about plunging countless souls into the abyss with the flower created by the devil, he himself had thoroughly rejected it and never even inhaled the smoke. He had even joked that he would rather commit suicide with a gun than do opium.

Like Robert Higgins, MacQueen Lester was a man who was indifferent to the pain of others but managed his own well-being with terrifying sensitivity. Because both had discarded the conscience a human should possess, they were able to work together in a hideous business for a long time. Not once had they predicted a future where one of them would collapse due to opium addiction.

“He is in a state where he must receive treatment as soon as possible. At this rate, it is practically impossible to completely hide Lord Lester’s condition from the press.”

“There’s no luxury to hide it or not. He won’t budge from the mansion, so how on earth am I supposed to take him to a hospital? He has seizures the moment the door even opens. Aljef, you saw it too. If we try to drag him out by force, something even worse might happen.”

“That is…”

“I cannot believe the horrific sight I saw. Aljef. Was that truly, truly the MacQueen that you and I knew?”

At first, he didn’t believe it. He thought it couldn’t be, but his expectations crumbled in real-time. Every time he visited to persuade him, his colleague was visibly breaking down.

After last month, MacQueen no longer allowed Robert and Aljef entry into Briston House. The attempt to bring a doctor to drag him out was a mistake. MacQueen pushed the mansion intruders away ruthlessly, with a strength that seemed impossible for his withered body.

“Get out.”

“Lester, I’m not talking about that…”

“Get out! Get out right now!”

“Lester!”

“I said get out, get out! Get out!”

The sight of him screaming with bloodshot eyes was beyond bizarre; it was terrifying. The composure that had commanded the underground trade had long since vanished. Recalling those eyes filled with madness, Robert gripped the curtain tightly.

“Half a year… it didn’t even take half a year.”

The time it took for the man who had commanded various opium businesses under the notoriety of being the drug lord of Gateway to become an opium-addicted wreck was a mere six months.

“Do you think this makes any sense? No matter what filthy things Lester went through, he never lost hold of himself. He never made a single mistake.”

“…….”

“A man like that… how… how could he collapse this much in such a short time? Why on earth?”

Repeating a question that would receive no answer, Robert blankly recalled the time he had experienced over the past few years. From when, why, how. It was a process of tracing back through the pouring questions. The entity of the anxiety that had begun to bloom little by little. Before the war broke out—no. When he fought that absurd duel, when he confessed his dreams and confusion to him—no, actually, even longer ago, some…

A long silence followed.

“Aljef.”

At a voice even more sunken than before, Aljef bowed his head in response.

“There is something I am a bit curious about.”

Adding a word, Robert stroked his chin for a long while.

“Tell me honestly.”

“I have never told a lie to either of you. Please speak.”

“Yes, I know that. Aljef…”

His dry lips, unable to easily continue, twitched a couple more times.

“Could it be that Lester… with that person…”

Not as London’s top opium merchant or a Whig Member of Parliament who led Westminster, but as an ordinary man, an individual, MacQueen Lester’s daily life and human relationships were among the most monotonous.

Because he had been ruthlessly solitary, keeping no one by his side except for a trusted few, he had never been shaken or broken by others. Even the connections from his days in Camden Town—which he had severed and uprooted the moment he deemed them weaknesses—had collapsed in an instant. After someone vanished from his life.

“That man…”

Though he mocked himself countless times, insisting it couldn’t be, the suspicion rapidly took shape. Now, Robert had to admit that all circumstances and evidence pointed toward a clear conclusion. That something extraordinary had happened to his old friend and reliable business partner.

And that someone had been deeply involved in it.

“Was Count Vispilt… and Lester… in a special relationship?”

Only after a long pause did Robert bring up the fact he had kept buried in his heart for so long. It was a sentence that felt like a sin just to utter. Simultaneously, the puzzle pieces that had refused to fit began to slide into place one by one.

“What I can tell you is…”

Aljef, who had been glancing between the ceiling and the floor for a while, spoke with difficulty.

“…It is true that the two of them had frequent private meetings. Above all, Sir Lester was putting a great deal of effort into winning over the Canning faction members and Earl Spencer regarding the voting issue at the time…”

“No.”

Robert cut him off sharply.

“I am not talking about a political relationship. You know that.”

“That is…”

“Aljef. I am asking if Lester and that man were lovers.”

Robert quickly shielded his eyes, his expression one of disbelief at his own words. Lovers. A long-standing doubt had finally manifested into a concrete word. Even as he thought it absurd, it was impossible to explain the entire situation without a word describing such a relationship.

“That man is not dead. Robert, he is not dead.”

“He is here.”

“He never comes out when you are around. He has a foul temper. So, I would like you to leave my mansion now.”

No matter how much he tried to act calm and composed, he could not hide the crumbling expression on his face. Even the eyes that reacted only to the name Aaron Wizfeldon—the eyes of a man who had completely lost the most important value in his life. His friend was utterly denying the death of the heir to the House of Cornwall.

“I do not know either.”

“Aljef, hiding it will not solve anything.”

Robert had never met anyone better than MacQueen Lester at concealing their inner thoughts and emotions; Lester had spent over a decade controlling the back-alley markets where all sorts of schemes and thugs thrived. Yet, such a man was now pouring out grief with his entire body, denying and mourning the death of the young Earl he had supposedly loathed.

“It is not like that, Boss.”

Aljef shook his head firmly.

“I truly do not know. The Member of Parliament never even made a slip of the tongue regarding such matters. His meetings with Lord Wizfeldon were conducted in strict secrecy, and I merely served as the liaison between them; I never heard of what occurred during their private meetings. Nor have I ever personally witnessed any intimate scenes. What use would there be in hiding it now? However…”

His words, spoken in a pained tone, paused for a moment. Looking down at the floor with distorted eyes, Aljef cautiously revealed the anguish he had hidden as a loyal subordinate.

“I can only guess.”

There were the expressions of nervousness as the appointed date and time for a meeting approached; the fingertips that rewrote letters several times until dawn; the correspondence that had to be delivered so frequently that it eventually became daily; the obsession with knowing the other’s entire schedule—and countless other circumstances. How many times had he turned a blind eye to the way Lester smiled with genuine joy, unconsciously, whenever he faced the heir of the Duke of Cornwall, whom he claimed to hate and despise so much?

“…They were lovers,” Robert murmured in a tone of despair. His inability to continue speaking was the answer to every question.

“They were lovers.”

“…”

“Yes. Lovers. My friend was suffering from a terrible fever. …My God.”

He didn’t want to admit it, but he had no choice.

Robert Higgins, co-representative of Klaus Diugen, had to accept the fact that his only friend and precious partner was going mad, and that the influence of the man they had spent so long trying to ruin had been profound in bringing him to this state.

Every aspect of the situation was despair.

✧ ✧ ✧

Clang, clang, clang—

The sound of the brass knocker was loud.

“Is anyone there!”

No matter how much noise he made, the firmly closed door remained motionless. Bang— The man struck the door again with a rough hand and shouted.

“Sir Lester, this is an urgent message sent by Lord Devonshire!”

Bang, bang—

Even after stating his purpose and identity, there was still no response. As time passed, the furrow in the man’s brow deepened. Another companion, scanning the surroundings, approached.

“Look, O’Neil, the place isn’t being maintained at all. The garden is a mess. There’s no way a mansion caretaker is here.”

“There’s no sign of anyone inside the house either. The curtains are drawn at every window, and there’s no sign of anyone passing by.”

“I asked the people around here, and they said they haven’t seen anyone coming or going for nearly a month.”

“Right, no matter how I look at it, it’s an empty house.”

“As if that would work on Lord Lenzdoor.”

“True.”

The foot tapping against the doorframe was full of irritation. For several days now, the group employed by the Duke of Devonshire’s house had been visiting Briston House. Of course, the result was always the same. It was hard to find a single soul, let alone a human being.

“If we go back like this, there’ll be another uproar. Phew…”

“We’ll be lucky if he just gets angry…”

“He’s more sensitive because of the young lady’s condition.”

Thinking of their employer, whose sensitivity had reached its peak recently, both men felt a headache coming on.

“Waiting any longer is just a waste of time. Let’s go.”

“I guess so. We should leave the letter.”

After lingering around the townhouse for a while, unable to let go, the two men finally slid the prepared letter through the gap in the door before reluctantly turning away. The gap was already packed with a bundle of letters that had been inserted over the past few days.

“They’re finally leaving.”

MacQueen let go of the curtains only after confirming that the carriage carrying the unwelcome guests had completely departed. The interior immediately grew dark. In fact, because blackout curtains had been drawn over every visible window, the room was completely severed from the outside world. MacQueen shrugged his shoulders with a cheerful laugh.

“They were quite noisy. Who knows when they’ll storm in again. You know, don’t you? The Duke of Devonshire’s patience is shorter than an East End alley rat’s tail.”

It was cheap nonsense. For some reason, not even the sound of a mocking laugh could be heard. Unable to bear the silence, his eyes trembled violently with anxiety. MacQueen frantically paced the study, searching for the trace of his lover who had vanished in an instant.

“Did they bother you? Shall I teach them a lesson the next time they come?”

He pretended to be composed, but he couldn’t stop the trembling. Stroking his cheek as if it were nothing, MacQueen walked back to the turntable.

“Or how about you step forward? Yes, it might be more effective if you speak. They knocked on the door telling you to come out, and my God, if the heir of the House of Cornwall appeared, they might just collapse on the spot.”

The laugh he spat out was dark and heavy. Shaking his shoulders exaggeratedly, MacQueen opened a box slightly larger than his palm. The hand reaching for the opium trembled minutely, and urgency was etched on his face, which was covered in cold sweat.

“I know your secret.”

With an opium-filled cigarette in his mouth, MacQueen lit it with an unnatural movement. The hazy smoke quickly spread through his respiratory system.

“In public, you smoke it in a pipe, but in truth, you prefer rolling it. You sang so loudly about how vulgar I was, but in the end, you liked this better too, didn’t you? I often saw you smoking leaf-cut tobacco at the club meetings. Indeed, a gentleman is the very definition of contradiction.”

Phew. A thick cloud of smoke spread as he exhaled a long breath. Because he had been smoking without ventilating, the room quickly filled with smoke after just a few puffs. In the musty air, MacQueen scanned every corner of the empty room.

“Aaron.”

….

“Aaron.”

Still, there was no answer. No trace could be felt. With a more anxious hand, MacQueen inhaled the opium more rapidly. As the speed increased, the outer leaf burned away quickly. As time passed, his body and mind grew languid, but the sound he desired did not come. It was the same even after he finished the last bit. Muttering vulgar curses, he took out another one.

“You’re being mischievous.”

It was a cigarette containing various leaves in addition to opium, but he did not hesitate. Haha. Laughing without strength, MacQueen leaned forward. The leaf burned again.

Only after smoking for a long while did he hear it—step, step. The sound of footsteps carefully treading on the carpet somewhere in the room. A gait that was dignified yet elegant. Only then did the corners of his eyes, stiff with tension, relax faintly.

As expected of the noble Earl.

Even in his hazy consciousness, MacQueen laughed softly and listened to the footsteps of his lover. He recalled the image of Aaron Wizfeldon he had once secretly captured in his gaze. Was it at a ball, or perhaps at a Westminster reading? He couldn’t remember exactly. He only remembered that the person who stepped out of the luxurious four-wheeled carriage with an indifferent face shone brighter than anyone else there.

He had hidden a body stained with pain inside a frock coat; everyone would simply praise him for being dignified, but I know the wounds you hid. Your deficiency and pain, concealed beneath layers of ornate clothing and jewels.

He had brainwashed himself into thinking it was disgusting, but in truth, his breath had stopped the moment he saw him. Even when he tried to focus elsewhere, he unconsciously followed your movements with his eyes and kept all his senses wide open, longing to hear your voice.

Slowly, the tension pulling at his hollow eyes began to ease. Flickering emotions and memories became dregs and slowly sank. The boundary between reality and dream was clearly collapsing.

MacQueen.

A gentle voice called MacQueen. It was affectionate. When he turned his head, he saw a familiar, beautiful face.

“You’ve come.”

His lips curved softly. His lover’s mischief was growing worse by the day. He would not easily show his face or let his voice be heard. He only revealed his existence after more opium leaves were burned and more alcohol was drunk. Seeing as he only appeared late today, it was clear that he was in a foul mood about something.

“Where have you been? I was looking for you.”

MacQueen.

“Don’t stay away for too long.”

MacQueen, MacQueen…

A hand devoid of warmth wrapped around his waist. They were embracing each other, but no sensation could be felt. A fear arose, as if this were not real.

It was terrible. Fortunately, MacQueen knew from experience how to resolve such symptoms.

“Just a moment… just wait a moment.”

He inhaled the cigarette deeply again. He looked as if he were about to chew it. Not stopping there, he downed a glass of liquor into which he didn’t know how many grains of opium had been added. The drugs, messily mixed with strong alcohol, spread rapidly throughout his body.

“Huu…”

His body, filled with opium, grew heavy. A lethargic energy pressed down on his entire body and internal organs. Just as his eyes were completely unfocused, a thin finger brushed his cheek. He felt warmth. It was proof that he was a living person, with blood flowing and breath moving.

“I’m sleepy.”

Forcing his naturally closing eyes open, MacQueen lightly stroked his lover’s hand. He could feel the traces of coarse scars. The corners of his eyes curved pleasantly. In the quiet silence, his blurred gaze turned toward the fireplace across the room.

“The fire has gone out.”

It had been a long time since he had added logs. It had been a long time since he had forgotten the sense of season—whether it was summer or winter. It wasn’t just the sense of season that was blurring. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had eaten a proper meal. When he was unbearably hungry, he ate preserved foods, but otherwise, he consumed almost nothing.

Furthermore, he could not step a single foot outside the mansion. Even just approaching the front door made his heart beat erratically, his entire body stiffen, and cold sweat pour endlessly. A fear that his breath would stop and he might die washed over him. He even had the illusion that someone had bound his entire body to the mansion with chains. At that moment, a cold breath touched his earlobe.

MacQueen…

A low and soft tone uttered the name he had stolen. Unlike the beginning, when some level of conversation was possible, it was now nearly impossible to have a meaningful conversation with his lover. The heartless lover could do nothing more than call his name, but since he was alive, it wasn’t that important.

MacQueen…

MacQueen leaned his cheek against the sofa and slowly tapped the back of Aaron’s hand. The fingers responding to the call tapped his nose and eyelids. It was useless to tell him to stop. At the child-like gesture, a smile played on MacQueen’s lips.

It smelled like a forest. Very refreshing and nostalgic.

The hand touching his skin was rough, unlike the heir of a ducal house. His stumbling, groping memories raced toward a place further away.

“What did you think you’d do going there with hands like these? What do you think you’re capable of…”

The end of his sentences grew sluggish, and his pronunciation became imprecise. The sensation of his lips and tongue moving felt alien. His lover would surely point out his ridiculous pronunciation. For his lover had always used perfect aristocratic pronunciation.

Occasionally, on very rare nights when the atmosphere between them softened, his lover would recite a passage from an ancient poem or novel. He had loved the voice that melted into the night air and the sharp accent, and had begged him to say it again several times.

“You said your swordsmanship was a mess too…”

MacQueen…

An arrogant and haughty creature. One who never hesitated to insult others, looking down on them with a gaze of contempt.

The boy from Camden Town, who wanted to climb higher than anyone else, despised the noble bloodlines in the glass palace who looked down on people or offered cheap sympathy. Unlike himself, who had chosen all sorts of dirty and base deeds to survive, he viewed them as beings who possessed power, honor, and wealth from birth. He considered the circumstances and agonies of aristocrats to be nothing more than a luxury.

It was a deep-rooted hatred stemming from an inferiority complex and a victim mentality. Since he had done dirty and dangerous work just to live, he felt this level of hatred was natural. There was no one to point out the twisted rationalization of a boy who longed only for success.

“Who?”

The degenerate of the ducal house was no different.

“Did I give you permission to enter?”

He thought he was beautiful, but it was only for a moment.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the intensity, but he found it loathsome. Even when he tried to ignore it, his gaze was drawn and he was bothered, yet he despised him. Even while intoxicated by drugs, he wanted to hear that sophisticated and elegant pronunciation a bit more, but on the other hand, it was so disgusting he wanted to carve out his own ears. It was a terrible ambivalence.

“You didn’t even… know how to fire a gun properly… yet you boarded a dispatched warship… how foolish… didn’t you admit… your skills were… abysmal…”

He was always full of wounds. His palms, the backs of his hands, his fingers—his hands were always covered in scars. When they cracked and bled, MacQueen had to apply medicine and then massage every nook and cranny with brought-in fragrances or flower oils. Otherwise, they would dry out quickly.

Because of his master’s tendency to be completely indifferent to his own physical condition, tending to those scarred hands had always been MacQueen’s role. Because if he didn’t take care of him, no one else would protect him.

MacQueen…

“…Just stay here… and enjoy the… power you can enjoy… Live like that. It suits you better… If not…”

He had to cook whatever it was and feed him. Otherwise, he was a person who would starve for a day, two, or several days in a row. When the master worked, he became completely immersed in a large stone and forgot everything. A person without even the minimum survival instinct. The master seemed like someone whose soul had been stolen by sculpture. Rather than a passion for art, it looked like a blind and desperate clinging.

MacQueen, MacQueen…

“…If not, sculpture… yes… sculpture would be fine too.”

Stone dust was bad for the body. It would be better to cover the nose and mouth while working, but no matter how many times he nagged, the master acted as if he hadn’t heard.

Stone dust?

Who had sculpted the marble whiter than snow? Who was it? His mind collapsed in chunks once again. It was the master. Who was the master? Who was my master? Whose servant was I?

MacQuan, MacQuan, MacQuan, Theodore, Theo, Theo. Heh, heh. A confused laugh leaked out, devoid of strength. MacQuan gave up on seeking answers. Due to the opium, it was impossible to recall detailed memories or concentrate anyway. He simply surrendered his entire consciousness to the scenes floating by without order.

“Sculpting… that’s good. Somehow… I feel you would be good at it…”

MacQuan…

“Ah… yes, just a moment. Just a moment, Aaron… just a moment…”

Remembering something, MacQuan bolted upright. Aaron, Aaron. Wait for me. Despite the simplicity of the action, his entire body felt excessively heavy, and his forehead was drenched in cold sweat. His eyes were clouded.

“Just a moment… Aaron…”

It wasn’t just his body that had been broken in a short time. His reason and soul were also crumbling. MacQuan walked steadily, albeit slowly, toward the office desk. His steps staggered miserably.

“Where is it… surely, over here…”

The hand opening the drawer trembled violently. A senseless laugh continued to leak out. His strengthless body collapsed and rose several times. Items on the desk tumbled haphazardly to the floor. Only after rummaging through the mess for a long while did something catch his fingertips. His eyes narrowed as he found the object he was searching for.

“Ah, here it is… do you… remember?”

MacQuan…

“This stone… I mean, this one…”

MacQuan…

“I’m asking if you remember… stop saying the same thing… and answer me…”

MacQuan…

“A fragment, a fragment… it’s a piece… you sculpted…”

It was a fragment of stone that had broken off from somewhere. MacQuan cradled the shabby marble shard as if it were a masterpiece sculpted by a great artist. He let out continuous exclamations of admiration. Laughter filled with ecstasy overflowed from him.

“You… gave this to me.”

MacQuan… MacQuan.

He is alive.

He was alive.

As expected, that foul and arrogant man was alive and staying by his side. Was he not calling me with such a ticklish and soft voice? Looking up at the dizzyingly bright ceiling lights, MacQuan collapsed onto the floor. Hot tears soaked into the expensive carpet.

“You gave this to me…”

MacQuan… MacQuan.

He curled his body around, clutching the small piece of stone with both hands. His forehead, pressed against the floor, was crushed repeatedly. He could not suppress his laughter. His entire body shook as he burst into laughter several times. Heh— heh— a bizarre sound, neither a scream, a laugh, nor a sob, leaked out continuously. His back, heaving violently up and down, laid bare his intense emotions.

You gave it to me. You gave it to me. You, to me.

“What is this?”

“You’ll know if you look.”

“Does it have some kind of meaning?”

“…It has no meaning, but I just want you to keep it.”

Theodore…

His cheeks trembled as he clenched his teeth.

Theodore, Theodore.

The cruel lover approached him once more, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and whispering. Endlessly, in a voice that sounded as if he couldn’t bear how lovely the other was.

Theodore. Now it didn’t matter whose name that strange yet familiar name belonged to. If he were already dead, that would be a relief; if he were alive, he could simply find and kill him. Then he could take that place, pretending to be that man.

If it came to that, I would be your Theodore. No, I was already the Theo you missed so dearly. Having lived a filthy and hideous life for so long, doing one more such thing wouldn’t even leave a scratch.

Theodore…

Because the sea was too cold and lonely, I had to wait for you.

Here.

In this cozy cottage, old and shabby, where only the two of us existed in the world, I had to wait for my exhausted master, not knowing when he would return.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sun was hot but dry. It was hard to tell if his fading consciousness was due to terrible thirst, hunger, or his decaying body.

“You just need to endure a little longer. It’s hard to wake up once you fall asleep.”

Aaron blinked with a hollow laugh at the voice trying to encourage him brightly. The man supporting him was also a mess, covered in sweat and dried salt grains.

“I’ve heard that dozens of times…”

“But isn’t it thanks to that that you’ve managed to stay conscious?”

Seeing that he didn’t even feel irritated by the brazen answer, Aaron thought that his time to die had come. It was a truly impoverished and ridiculous life. The precarious steps he took while leaning halfway on the man soon caused trouble again.

“I want to rest for a bit. It’s hard to walk for long.”

“Shall I carry you on my back?”

“I’ll pass. With your current stamina, it’s obvious we’d both die.”

As soon as he stopped, pain surged up from his toes. Because he hadn’t received proper treatment, his entire body was a wreck. The pain was so severe that his vision spun, but Aaron didn’t let it show and perched himself on a rock of moderate height.

Cold sweat drenched his chilled forehead and temples. Philip, watching him with concern, also sat down on the ground and let out a heavy sigh.

“Then we’ll rest for a bit. It took a full day just to walk this far.”

“….”

“I have no idea where we are. This must be the continent of Daecheong, right?”

“…Probably. You can tell by the appearance and clothing.”

His voice cracked as he answered.

“The captain said something when we disembarked, but unfortunately, the Earl was unconscious, so I couldn’t understand. I am sorry.”

“….”

“I should be grateful for being allowed to disembark… but it’s bleak.”

The captain of the smuggling ship, which had drifted across the vast ocean, forced the two to disembark upon reaching an intermediate stop. It was a completely different island from the one agreed upon for disembarkation, but they had no complaints. Considering the state of war and the extreme diplomatic relations between the two countries, it was a relief they hadn’t simply been thrown into the middle of the sea.

“There were plenty of opportunities to kill me… but he didn’t… that luck alone is enough.”

Because he was intoxicated by pain, his words did not flow clearly. After staring at the coastline for a long time, Aaron wiped his sweat in silence.

“That is true. …Actually, I think it’s a miracle we boarded that ship. Even though it wasn’t a smuggling ship the Earl had recruited in advance. Haha. Above all, it was great luck that the captain saw the Earl fall into the boat while it was undergoing external repairs.”

A faint smile appeared on his sharp face at the added words.

“Luck, huh…”

He had no proper memory of it. He had lost consciousness from the impact that hit his entire body the moment he fell into the sea, and when he opened his eyes again, he was in a temporary repair boat with that soldier. After drifting on the sea for two days, the English soldier discovered a junk ship passing by; only after vomiting out the jewels hidden throughout his body as escape funds was he able to trade for passage for the two of them. From a worldly perspective, it was a miraculous event.

“Is it truly luck, I wonder.”

His eyes, which had been tracing past memories, returned to the sea. A quiet silence flowed. Philip Hughes murmured softly, unbothered by the cynical reaction.

“It is luck for me. Even if I were to die here, wouldn’t it be better to die in a place where no one knows me?”

It was an excessively sentimental statement. Aaron laughed irritably.

“How foolish.”

He was a pathetic and dull man. If he had been truly wise, he should have abandoned a wounded man who was nothing but a burden. Even if the man begged for his life, it would have been right to leave alone, even if it meant cutting out the mouth that hindered him. The end faced by those who were not naturally cruel was never good in any history. Clumsy compassion only hastened death.

“If I die first, there won’t be anyone who knows you either. What’s the difference…”

“Please don’t say such things… Oh, Earl!”

Philip quickly supported the young Earl, who seemed ready to collapse at any moment. Pus flowed from the festering wounds, and the body he touched was like a ball of fire. Considering the time it had been neglected, it was not surprising.

“Could you endure just a bit more? Let me carry you. This way…”

The body, lacking even the strength to refuse, was layered onto Philip’s back. With a short grunt of effort, the man stood up.

“Seeing buildings ahead, I think a hospital will appear soon. You’ll be able to get your wounds treated, so please don’t worry too much.”

“A useless effort.”

“Please don’t say that, Earl.”

His coldly sunken gaze moved with difficulty. As the man said, one or two people could be seen walking around. An unfamiliar yet familiar appearance. They were the people of Daecheong, whom he had seen countless times on the smuggling ship.

Aaron recalled the corpses scattering into the sea, losing their lives to the shelling poured from English warships. Due to the continuous shelling and explosions, it was hard to find a body with its limbs still intact. It was indeed a sea of hell, stained with greed and madness.

“Do you not think we’ll lose our lives the moment we cross that boundary…”

His gaunt body jolted along with the swaying steps. The sound of his breathing, which carried the pain plainly, was rough. Even at the pessimistic words, Philip Hughes firmly shook his head.

“Whether I die this way or that, it’s all the same now.”

“That is true…”

The tone of his response grew slower and slower.

“Are you alright? Just endure a little more.”

“…Useless talk.”

“There will be medicine and doctors.”

“….”

“You will recover fully, Earl.”

Aaron’s voice in response grew even weaker and slower, until eventually, no words could come out. A rusted blade sliced through raw skin, slaughtered muscles, and scooped out intestines.

Suddenly, a hideous afterimage surfaced in his mind. Violence and verbal abuse that poured out indiscriminately whenever the mood soured, followed immediately by an obsession with family and honor, the sensation of becoming numb to violence from some point on, and a broken, ruined mind.

Aaron had never considered himself sensitive to pain. The moment he succumbed and suffered from the violence poured out by the monster, whether physical or mental, he would not have been able to bear his ruined life. He would have rather died than face such humiliation. But looking back, that judgment was also arrogant. In a human life, there were more terrible and hideous pains scattered about than he had ever experienced.

‘I thought it was the only useful relic left by that monster. Even that was a delusion.’

Laughing at his past ignorance, Aaron chuckled continuously. Tears flowing from physiological reactions clung to the tips of his eyelashes. Everything was a useless effort.

Death was close.

Instinct told Aaron that he did not have much life left. Even if he were lucky enough to survive and return from here, the remaining life might not be very long. That fact also meant complete freedom.

“Earl!”

At that moment, Philip Hughes shouted in a voice filled with emotion.

“Earl, look over there. People are gathered. I will definitely ask for help, so just endure a little more.”

A desperate hope was mixed into his trembling voice. He found it fascinating that the man did not know how to give up even in such a situation. He was the type of person who, upon finding a small hope amidst great misfortune, would use it as a driving force to overcome hardship.

Aaron thought of the woman who had spoken about Philip Hughes. It was a gaze filled with emotion, something that could be called love. Did she like this about him? It was something he would never know or understand in his entire life.

“Haha—!”

After staring at the place the man pointed to for a long time, Aaron burst into laughter.

“…Can you not see them?”

His cheeks, straining to endure the pain, trembled. The cackling laughter was bizarre. Philip asked back, adjusting his posture as he kept nearly collapsing.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m asking if you truly cannot see the state of those people.”

“Earl, what…”

Following the direction of the skeletal finger, Philip also shifted his gaze. The entrance to the village was right in front of them. Despite the intrusion of strange foreigners, not a single person paid attention to them or approached. It felt detached from reality. Even though the country was engulfed in war, the atmosphere of the residents was utterly peaceful. It was a strange air. Before long, Philip realized the reality of the dissonance he felt.

“That is…”

There weren’t many people. To be precise, there weren’t many people walking properly. Most were sprawled on the dirt ground, clutching long pipes. Some fought while screaming, and some staggered while laughing senselessly. Their attire was a mess, and it was hard to find anyone clean.

Their hazy eyes and expressions were similar. Their movements were either excessively slow or, for the most part, clumsy flailing. Every single resident held something in their hand.

Long pipes, faint smoke, an unpleasant scent that shook the sense of smell.

Cheap opium.

“Look at those corpse-like eyes.”

“….”

“Once, I was like them.”

His thin back, unable to overcome the laughter, heaved continuously.

“Look at them, Philip Hughes, unable to even control their own bodies.”

Messy hair tangled over his forehead, which was full of cold sweat. Aaron squeezed out the little life he had left to laugh even louder and whispered again.

“Look at the sight of them driven mad by opium… Can you not see the masterpiece that you and I, our great Her Majesty the Queen, the proud nobles and the dignified parliament, and the great England together crafted?”

“…This, such a thing…”

“Quickly, look at the masterpiece my filthy dog created…”

Across distant lands and seas, Aaron finally faced the sin committed by his dog. It was a truly horrific sight.

“Indeed… who is helping whom… them? Us…”

He recalled the one who had stood on the podium and laughed arrogantly. A smile drenched in ambition. Unhesitating remarks and powerful agitation. The dog was an excellent politician and a murderer stained with ambition.

Heh, heh, heh, heh.

A sound that was neither a sob nor a laugh surged. Regardless of the man’s state, sunken in futility and despair, Aaron laughed even louder. The sunlight descended upon a face that looked as if it had been shaped by a carving knife. The softly curved eyes were dry, without a single tear.

Was there ever a time…

When I thought you were lovely?

Was that emotion a midsummer night’s dream?

It doesn’t matter. It was a relationship that should never have met. It was a worthless time that should have crumbled away.

The opium that filled the hand that had desperately hugged someone and stroked their back eventually followed him to a distant foreign land, intending to kill and strangle him until the end. This place was a magnificent hell. It was a grave. Those who committed sins must be punished. Evil is returned with evil, blood with blood. It was the only truth Aaron Wizfeldon believed in.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Elisha!”

In the silence, a desperate cry echoed throughout the bedroom.

“Elisha, Elisha!”

“…Haa, haa…”

“My child, my child…”

The skeletal face, with nothing but bone left, twisted grotesquely. It was a labored breath. Seeing the eyes that could not focus, the old Duke grabbed the physician by the collar.

“Why, why on earth is this happening? Walton, you clearly said she was improving just a few days ago!”

“T-that is…”

Breath barely continued just before it was about to extinguish. The symptoms, which had steadily worsened, were now heading toward the end at a steep pace. A sense of urgency flowed through the current of death that no one could deny.

“I am sorry, Duke. I did my best, but it was no longer possible. The young lady is at a stage where spontaneous breathing is nearly impossible. It may be difficult, but now you must prepare…”

“Prepare? Prepare what? What do you mean by that? She was fine until yesterday!”

“I am sorry…”

Anxious footsteps echoed on the floor. Even in that short time, the breath of the beloved child extinguished and revived several times. The old Duke looked back and forth between the trembling doctor and his daughter, who had become gaunt and blackened, and took a step back.

“…Elisha.”

The eyes that were always stern sank darkly. He turned back and approached his daughter lying on the bed. Her pale lips kept fluttering as if she wanted to say something. Perhaps she was looking for someone who wasn’t here. After watching her for a long time, the Duke of Devonshire’s eyes flashed fiercely.

“What happened to Baronet Enfield.”

It was a voice compressed with rage. The old butler, standing a few steps behind, hurriedly bowed his head.

“D-Duke…”

“I am asking where that man is and what he is doing right now.”

The accent, spoken in clipped tones, held the rage toward the man whose face he hadn’t seen properly for several months. Patience did not last long.

“I’m asking where MacQueen Lester is!”

“The door was locked, and no matter how much I knocked on the front door, there was no response…”

“You couldn’t even get in?”

“…I am sorry.”

The fist he couldn’t bring himself to strike trembled. His bloodshot eyes glared.

“Instruct the workers to tear down the doors. I shall take full responsibility for whatever happens afterward. Now, drag that damn bastard out of that mansion and bring him here this instant. I will no longer tolerate such an irresponsible dereliction of duty.”

“Your Grace, there are many eyes. If a scene is caused at the site…”

Crash— A violent impact echoed, loud enough to shatter the table.

“I do not care who sees! I told you to seize that man by his limbs and bring him here immediately! Or must I go myself? Summon him here now. Tell him that if he does not arrive today, I shall go personally to cut his throat. Whether he dies by my hand or dies isolated in that cursed mansion, death is death regardless. Joseph! Must I wait any longer for your answer?”

“……My apologies. I shall prepare the workers immediately.”

“Depart at once!”

Realizing that further persuasion was futile, the butler exited quickly. Only the physician and a few servants remained in the room to monitor the situation. Only after the door closed did the Duke of Devonshire return to the bedside.

“……Haa, haa.”

His breathing had grown rougher than before. It was a precarious respiration, so fragile that it would not be strange if it stopped at any moment.

“Elisha.”

As if perceiving the voice calling her, her swollen eyes moved toward the Duke of Devonshire. It was proof that she was still conscious. The old Duke blinked slowly, his eyes burning hot. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes grew rimmed with red. Even though the situation had spiraled to such a worst-case scenario, the old Duke could not bring himself to abandon hope.

“My child, just wait a little longer. If you wish to see that man, I shall bring him before you.”

His daughter’s hand, held in his, was so gaunt that the word ‘leather’ felt appropriate. A hand that was alive, yet dead. His gaze, sweeping over the fingers, the back of the hand, and the wrist—all of which were nothing but bone—became drenched in remorse.

“I am sorry.”

“……Fa-ther.”

“Elisha……”

“…….”

“My child……”

Tears he could no longer hold back carved paths through his sunken, wrinkled cheeks.

To the Duke of Devonshire, Elisha Lenzdoor was special.

Before Elisha, he had children by his legal wife. However, they were daughters who could not inherit the succession. Greatly disappointed, Devonshire had not spared a single glance for those children thereafter. He was that cruel of a man.

The situation was not any better for Elisha. Her biological mother was the daughter of a fallen noble house. A child had been conceived during a momentary lapse of a drunken night, but the relationship was based on nothing but lust. The woman had not left a great impression on Harold, and indeed, they did not get along.

Elisha Lenzdoor was the daughter born from that union. A child who had to grow up alone in an environment of neglect and indifference, she was warm by nature. Harold recalled the hand that had followed him endlessly as a father, no matter how coldly he had pushed her away.

That affectionate purity and love were enough to open the firmly closed heart of the Duke of Devonshire. By keeping Elisha Lenzdoor by his side, he realized for the first time that a child could be a lovely existence.

Of course, such love could not overcome the greed for an heir or the desire for power, but if he were to name the most precious being to him—excluding all the conditions he enjoyed—it was his youngest daughter, Elisha Lenzdoor.

“Just wait a little longer. I have sent people to seize him, so he will arrive soon. It may take some time, but……”

The thought of the man who had abandoned his duties as a fiancé and remained shut away under the pretext of health made his stomach churn. How dare he, how dare he.

“I should never have pushed for an engagement with such a rootless fellow……”

No matter how sincerely Devonshire cherished her, Elisha was not officially a legitimate child. Since there were not many options, he figured a great wealthy man would be better than pairing her with a mediocre noble.

“Just open your eyes, Elisha. If you only regain your health, I shall find you the finest of men once more.”

Baronet Enfield was someone he had observed and watched for a long time. He had concerns about the man’s origins, but he bet on the ambition, wealth, and power the man could achieve. He thought it would be sufficient because the man’s abilities were outstanding, but it was a terrible miscalculation. The Duke of Devonshire had no choice but to admit his failure.

“I shall never look upon the gentry class again. When you wake, I will find you a lover from a house of an Earl or higher. I promise you…… so, will you not wake up?”

“Fa……”

“……Elisha?”

At that moment, a thin voice flowed out. Father. It was clearly a voice calling him. Hearing his daughter’s voice for the first time in so long, the Duke lifted his head while clutching her withered hand. His wrinkled face was already smeared with tears.

“Fa…… ther……”

Her lifeless eyes were looking only at Devonshire. Consciousness had returned. It was truly a miracle. Overcome with joy, the old Duke sprang up.

“Oh, my God, Elisha…… Elisha, do not speak any more. You must not overexert yourself. Breathe slowly. Walton, Walton!”

“Yes, yes!”

“Quickly, quickly check Elisha’s condition……”

His attempt to drag the doctor over failed due to the skeletal sensation against his wrist. Bony fingers were flailing, scratching the old Duke’s wrist. At a gesture that felt almost desperate, the Duke of Devonshire instinctively leaned down.

Huu—

The scent of death mixed with the frail sound of breathing shook his senses. The moment their faces were close, her parched, cracked lips trembled. It was a movement of her entire soul.

“……recogni……”

“Elisha, what……”

At the voice that was hard to understand, the Duke of Devonshire frowned and pressed his ear close. It was a struggle to ensure not a single word from his dying daughter was missed.

“I…… am……”

Lips like dried flowers opened again. The warm, gentle brown eyes looking at her father were brimming with sorrowful tears. Realizing the state of his daughter who had reached the threshold of death, Harold affectionately stroked her withered cheek with a trembling hand.

“……recognize……”

“My child……”

Even amidst the pain tightening her throat, the woman did not give up. Through the wheezing breath and crushed pronunciation, the words she painstakingly spat out through such a grueling process finally completed the last sentence.

“……will you, ……recognize me?”

Only then did the old Duke understand his child’s final words and urgently shook his head. Tears full of remorse poured down his completely distorted face.

“Elisha, Elisha. My child, I, I……”

There was no time to affirm, nor time to deny. The hand that had given one last convulsion fell onto the bedsheet without a sound. In a moment that rendered his attempt to stammer an excuse meaningless, the fragile life that had barely withstood the scythe of the Grim Reaper came to an end.

Was I your daughter?

Could you not have recognized me just once?

Twenty-six; it was a short and futile life.

✧ ✧ ✧

“Sir Lester, Sir Lester!”

Bang bang bang bang!

“Sir Lester, please come out!”

Bang bang!

The old butler of the Devonshire house, who had been knocking on the door for a while, gave up on further attempts upon realizing that a normal approach was impossible. It was a meaningless waste. After a long sigh, he gestured toward the men arrayed to one side.

“Open the door.”

“Understood.”

Though he only said ‘open the door,’ in reality, it meant to break it down and drag him out by force. Soon, a group armed with various tools approached the entrance. The uncomfortable atmosphere lasted only a moment before the man standing at the front made the first attempt.

Crash!

Once the path was cleared, the rest followed in an instant.

Crash, boom, crash!

Numerous tools thrust their heads forward to tear down the townhouse full of secrets. To avoid the noise loud enough to burst eardrums, the old butler stepped back.

“Stop this!”

At that moment, someone stepped out of a carriage and rushed toward the gathered intruders.

“What on earth is the meaning of this!”

“Step back. You will get hurt.”

“Let go of me! Who are you people, and what is this act! Do you know where this is and who the owner of this townhouse is?”

Robert screamed and yelled at the sight unfolding before him. One of the familiar faces was the chief butler of the Duke of Devonshire’s household.

‘Devonshire, that damn bastard finally……’

The old Duke’s intentions were obvious. His goal was to forcibly drag out the one who had locked himself in an isolated castle. Robert had intended to do the same, but not through forceful methods. He could not drag MacQueen Lester back into the world in this manner.

“Go back this instant, this instant!”

“P-please don’t do this…… someone deal with this man!”

“I said leave, leave this instant!”

MacQueen’s condition must not be revealed to the world. No excuse could guarantee his future political life. No matter what they did, the nobles who shamelessly climbed higher were different from them in terms of starting line and number of opportunities.

How did you climb that high? You.

Filled with desperation and urgency to the brim, Robert grabbed the worker.

“Stop this immediately! To trespass recklessly into the residence of a Member of Parliament for Westminster! If you do not wish to see me in court, stop this now!”

“Sir, I am not doing this because I want to. Please do not do this……”

Due to the dangerous act of lunging at the man with tools, Joseph eventually approached Robert, unable to hide his discomfort.

“Mr. Robert, I am well aware that the current situation is a great discourtesy, but we are merely doing what we are told. You know this.”

“That is your opinion. Your arrogance is laughable. Is the Duke of Devonshire’s power truly at this level? Baronet Enfield is also an English politician and a figure who has won the Queen’s favor. If you believe such actions are justified……”

Unable to tolerate the violent reaction, Joseph gestured toward someone. The worker hesitated for a moment, then blocked Robert with a determined expression. It did not take long to bind him.

“Sir, this is dangerous. Please step back for a moment.”

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Mr. Joseph, what shall we do?”

“I will take responsibility, so proceed as planned.”

“Yes.”

No matter how hard he struggled with all his might, he could not defeat the strong men firmly gripping his limbs. Blue veins bulged distinctly on Robert’s forehead, fueled by rage. The whites of his eyes, where capillaries had burst, turned red with anger and despair.

“The Duke of Devonshire must take responsibility for this. I shall bring everyone here to trial!”

Crash—!

“Stop it, please, please don’t do this, Joseph!”

Robert closed his eyes tightly and sought God for the first time in his life. Please protect my sick friend, please protect my maddened family……

Screeech—!

“No…… no……”

Regardless of his desperate wish, the door that had guarded Briston House could no longer withstand the impact and collapsed. It was the moment the long-hidden secret was revealed to the world.

Boom—

In a dream of endless wandering, a faint noise caught his steps.

Boom—

Despite it being a sound loud enough to extinguish the world, it was difficult to gauge where or how the noise was coming from. His senses had long been broken. Covering both ears, MacQueen hummed any song from his memory.

It was a strange song with no clear pitch or rhythm. When had he started singing it? Perhaps a long time ago, in an old house, while waiting for someone, he had made up a song and sung it on his own. When will they return? Will they return today? Will they return tomorrow? Wondering and resenting whether that heartless and cold master even remembered if he were alive or dead.

……Waiting and waiting.

Boom—!

“How noisy……”

Frowning deeply, MacQueen hummed his tune even louder. He couldn’t sleep. He had barely been about to go to bed after days of insomnia, and yet, where on earth was this sound coming from? It sounded like a cannon.

A cannon.

Yes, a cannon.

Was it not a powerful weapon capable of destroying great fortresses and mansions alike? Yes, since it was possible on land, its majesty would not be lacking at sea. Defeating soldiers, ships, and warships in those numerous wars……

Ships, ships, sea, sea…… sea…… sea.

His tightly closed eyes snapped open. Fear and anxiety instantly seeped into the vividly shining green eyes.

The sea. His lifeless lips faltered.

The sea. The sea.

Bolting upright, MacQueen looked around with a frantic face. He felt no presence of any other person. Cool air brushed his cheek. Only then did MacQueen realize what was wrong. His lover was not visible. Terror spread rapidly.

He had disappeared again. That person, from my side.

Boom—!

It is the sound of a cannon. A war has broken out. Someone has headed toward that hell. Someone has set the stage for that hell. Someone lost their life there, and someone popped champagne while calculating the profits to be gained from the war. Shells flew back and forth. England’s warships were mighty.

A reef, they said it hit a reef. The ship someone was on faced the crisis of running aground. Someone was on it. He disappeared. His lover is not visible. He must have run away because there was no opium. Because he was an addict. Because he was an addict whose body and soul were so broken that he would suffer from the aftereffects even after several years.

Without time to think further, MacQueen climbed out of bed. Though it was difficult to even steady himself as he had neither eaten nor slept properly for days, his steps were resolute.

Boom—

This noise is the sound of shelling. It was the sound of war occurring on the warship someone was on. I had to save him from the scene of slaughter. Because I was the one who sent you. Because it was a war I had strove to incite.

He was barefoot, without even shoes, but MacQueen did not stop moving. His speed in descending the stairs grew even faster.

“Aaron……”

His stiff tongue called for his lover.

“Aaron, where are you.”

No matter how much he looked around, he was nowhere to be seen. He was surely playing a prank again. To see his lover, he had to burn opium immediately, but as of last night, all the medicines kept in the mansion had run out. He should have sent a letter to Robert a bit sooner. He had been foolish. MacQueen’s entire body trembled with anxiety.

“I’ve smoked…… smoked them all, so there are none…… since there are none now…… if I just wait a little……”

His eyes grew hot and wet. Despite stumbling several times, MacQueen did not stop walking. What a wicked person. His lover was someone without patience or mercy. Unable to wait for a single moment, he had disappeared again. Again, like this……

Boom—

“Stop it.”

Words, not knowing to whom they were addressed, burst out on their own. Eyes full of hatred glared into the void.

Boom—

“Stop it.”

Stop it. That person is still inside. Still inside. He is on that ship. If it takes any more shelling, the ship will sink. Into that vast ocean, into that deep sea. In the middle of the war I painstakingly planned.

“Stop, stop, stop!”

Boom—!

Following the final noise, a bright cluster of light suddenly poured in.

“Ah……”

At the light he hadn’t seen in months, MacQueen collapsed while covering his eyes. As soon as the cheap resistance crumbled, an unfamiliar intruder immediately entered the interior of Briston. It happened in an instant.

“MacQueen!”

Someone screamed. MacQueen slowly lowered his hand. He saw someone bound and struggling. It was a familiar face. Perhaps the only man who was his confidant and friend. Before Robert could even grasp the situation inside the mansion, numerous people surrounded MacQueen.

“Please forgive us, Baronet, we had no choice but to follow the orders given by the Duke of Devonshire……”

Joseph’s attempt to express regret failed. He quickly scanned the appearance of the man collapsed on the floor. It did not take long for the eyes of the old butler, exhausted by fatigue, to be stained with horror.

“M-my God, my God. Baronet, this……”

Joseph also quickly scanned the interior of the townhouse, which was entirely blocked by blackout curtains. It was a space perfectly isolated from the outside. It was a situation that defied all understanding, but something had to be done.

More important than his personal questions was the state of his master, who was so urgent that he might pull a pistol on a promising Member of the House of Commons the moment he arrived. Believing that this decision would be the path for everyone, Joseph quickly gave instructions to the workers.

“Quickly, quickly escort the Baronet.”

“Will it be alright? The gentleman’s condition is not good……”

“What choice do we have? If we do not take him now, the Duke will be at a point where he might harm the Baronet, so hurry!”

Following the irritable shout, Joseph hurriedly exited the mansion. He was an experienced butler, but he no longer had the stomach to witness this shambles.

“I am sorry, Sir Lester.”

A group of laborers, their faces etched with hesitation and distress, approached. Someone cautiously grabbed one of MacQuan’s arms. Another person nearby seized the remaining arm. MacQuan, who had been unable to gather his senses due to the sudden stimulation, only then slowly lifted his head as his body was restrained.

“Aaron?”

“Sir Lester, we will escort you out.”

“Where… where… where are we…”

Stammering like a witless fool who had lost his mind, MacQuan finally faced the now-brightened Briston House. The interior was thick with dust and completely neglected, resembling a derelict house.

Where on earth was this?

This is not our manor.

It is too bright.

Too bright.

“You devils! Lester, I’ll go, I’ll go!”

“I am sorry, Baronet, but if you would just come quietly, we…”

My lover will hide again.

And then I will wander in search of you once more.

We will not be able to meet again for a very long time.

“No…”

Strength returned to his limp arms.

“No…”

His legs, which had been dragged powerlessly, found their footing on the ground.

“Not yet… no matter what.”

He could not lose them again. This was the last chance. Muttering to himself, MacQuan threw off the arms holding him with all his might. Every aspect of him resembled a man seized by madness.

“Sir Lester!”

“No, no.”

Turning his body, he headed back toward the stairs. He had to return to the study. Count Vispilt of Cornwall loved reading. He had a great interest in old books and would often lose track of time once he started reading. MacQuan loved stealing glances at him leaning against the window where the midday sunlight streamed in. He still could not forget the sight of that bright hair melting into the sunlight mixed with pale dust.

So, so perhaps even now, you were hiding behind the curtains, reading a book.

“Sir Lester, come here, please. Please, just spare us!”

“That person is there.”

“Sir Lester, please…”

“Let go!”

MacQuan violently shook off the hands grasping him. His desperation, having reached its limit, was rapidly destroying his mind. He had to go back faster, even a little bit faster. MacQuan pushed through those blocking his path with a desperate scream.

“Whoops!”

Though he had grown thin, his basic frame was still large, and laborers were pushed against the walls or collapsed to the floor, unable to withstand the impact. Among them, one worker, unable to maintain his balance, crashed into a display cabinet.

Crash—!

The glass cabinet, taking the full force of the impact, tilted, unable to support the weight of a healthy adult male. Another laborer, seeing the cabinet falling toward the man, shouted urgently.

“Whoa!”

“Bowden! Get out of the way!”

“Whoa, whoa! Hey, look out!”

“Careful, careful! Quickly, grab the cabinet…”

The urgent voices caught the feet that were heading toward the study. Slowly, very slowly, MacQuan looked back. Every scene unfolded slowly before his eyes. The man collapsed beneath the cabinet, the shaking display case. Another man unable to move a single step.

“Bowden!”

With a tremendous roar, glass shards flew in all directions. It was an accident that happened in an instant. Panicked laborers swarmed around their colleague pinned under the glass cabinet. Amidst the commotion that resembled a war, the deep green eyes watching the frantically moving people were utterly calm and serene.

Shards, noise, roars, blood, wounds…

“Can you save him? Can you kill that person for me?”

“Shall I kill them?”

“Shall I kill them for you?”

The body embedded with glass was flipped over. The screams of someone unable to bear the pain blended with old memories. Who was it? Statues, wounds, old castles, screams, hatred—a demon opened its maw amidst the flames. Who was it? Who was that devil?

“How dare a wretch like you touch my body! How dare you!”

“This lowly merchant has completely lost his mind! You think you’ve become someone just because you bought a title with filthy money gathered by selling opium!”

“Step back!”

“Ah…”

MacQuan barely managed to grip the railing with trembling hands. His retreating steps stumbled several times. Ah. Soul-shattering groans leaked out one after another.

Falling statues, agony, pain, shock, blood.

That place was hell.

A place where no one was. A place where no one could go.

“Theodore.”

“Ah.”

His pupils trembled as he looked at someone who was not here. Fragments that had vanished and been discarded indiscriminately attacked an English opium merchant. The person standing with a spear was a man who looked exactly like himself.

“…Open your eyes, Theodore.”

A sobbing voice, arms embracing the body, trembling hands, a sorrowful whisper, a stroking touch, the warmth that touched the lips.

“Theo… please…”

His sunken cheeks were quickly drenched in tears. That lonely voice that called to me endlessly. His entire body trembled like a tree branch shaking in a strong wind. The order and content of the pouring memories were a mess.

However.

“…Theo. …My Theodore…”

In that place where I was absent, my master, my lover, who had been weeping alone.

My Aaron.

✧ ✧ ✧

After Elisha Lenzdoor died, the funeral was held on an unprecedentedly grand scale. People from all walks of life attended, led by the royal family. The woman, who had remained hidden during her life, left her name only in death, but it was only for a short while. The Duke of Devonshire refused to recognize her as a legitimate bloodline until the end.

Her death itself did not attract the interest of gossipers. Rather, the focus was on the fiancé who had been the most radiant in Westminster and then suddenly vanished in an instant.

A man who had been engaged for several years and had been on the verge of marriage, yet failed to appear at the funeral of his lover until the very end. Curiosity about him grew larger and larger. Furthermore, the fact that the Duke of Devonshire, who should have been furious at MacQueen Lester’s actions, remained silent was enough to further fuel public curiosity.

However, despite all efforts, no one could find the whereabouts of the filthiest and most flamboyant man in London.

As the door made of old wood opened, tired footsteps followed. From the moment he handed his frock coat to the butler who entered with him and sat on the sofa, Caliven Wizfieldon could not smooth out his crumpled expression.

“Welcome back.”

“There were many people.”

Pressing his stiff shoulders, Caliven sighed repeatedly. Signs of fatigue were evident all over his pale face.

“The Duke of Devonshire…”

“He was not in a good state.”

He recalled Herald Lenzdoor, whose expression had been rigid throughout the funeral. He had maintained a blank face throughout, only to break down during the final procedure of the funeral. It was an unbelievable sight for someone who had commanded the House of Lords in Westminster alongside Cornwall.

“How is my father?”

“He suffered from shortness of breath this morning, but he soon calmed down.”

“…I see.”

“Shall I prepare some tea?”

Caliven shook his head lightly.

“I’m fine.”

“You have hardly eaten for several days. At this rate, even the young master will collapse.”

“I’d rather that happen, then my heart might be at peace, Bernard.”

It was a bitter smile. The old butler could no longer look at him and bowed his head.

“Currently, there are instructions for all sailing ships to stand by just in case. It might be possible with a privately owned fast ship… but it is currently difficult to find a financier of that level. Although we are said to have the upper hand, we are still in the middle of a war, are we not? It is not easy to find a ship willing to go there. No matter how much money is offered…”

“I am doing my best to look into it… but they won’t budge for a reasonable amount of money. Since the amount you offered is so large, if you give me a little more time, I will surely find the right person.”

“Sir Caliven, if you set sail for Daecheong in the current situation, you will surely fall out of favor with the royal family, so it would be difficult to move rashly. Let us wait and see a bit longer.”

The reactions of those he had contacted over the past few days were consistent. Caliven sighed deeply. Cornwall’s capital was overflowing, but the situation was unfavorable. It wouldn’t be impossible if he made an official request to the royal family, but there was no justification. Moreover, he could not step forward and leave his father lying sick.

The royal family had already visited the Grand Ducal house, which held a pillar of the English political scene, several times to express their regrets over the tragedy and stated their intention to remain silent about the various troubles surrounding the Cornwall family. They also promised all follow-up measures for the heir of the Duke of Cornwall, who was practically as good as dead.

It was the greatest consideration the royal family could offer.

In such a situation, launching a ship to find the heir and publicly requesting the mobilization of manpower was equivalent to rejecting the royal family’s outstretched hand and contradicting them head-on. It was not an easy task for Caliven Wizfieldon, who had become the sole representative of the Duke of Cornwall overnight, to find a direction.

“Bernard.”

At the low voice, the movements of the person tidying the surroundings stopped. Caliven slowly leaned his head back. The ornate lighting shone confusingly, like his lost heart.

“What judgment do you think I should make?”

“Young Master…”

“If it were as I wished, I would want to leave for the sea immediately to find my brother.”

Countless people came and went according to the tide of power. Greedy footsteps reported victories daily. When the trumpets of war shouted glory, they headed toward the Duke of Devonshire’s house; when they criticized the justification for war by putting forward a heartbreaking tragedy, they headed toward the Duke of Cornwall’s house. It was not easy for him, who had always been one step behind in politics and the succession structure, to face those who revealed their desires without hesitation.

“I just don’t know.”

Caliven recalled the aristocrats who had offered him cheap condolences at the funeral. Whether it was the House of Lords, the House of Commons, or the Privy Council, they were all the same. They were all nothing but disgusting and loathsome humans. In utter solitude, Caliven remembered his brother, who had always viewed the world with twisted eyes.

“My brother must have felt the emotions I am feeling now throughout his entire life.”

“Young Master.”

“I couldn’t be of any help. I regret that. I only craved affection and attention like a child who hadn’t fully grown.”

“….”

“I cannot even properly pursue the task of finding my brother’s end. What am I so afraid of? No matter what I choose, something always gets in the way.”

In an atmosphere where it was difficult to offer any consolation, Bernard chose silence. The entire massive manor was swallowed by tragedy, pressing down on them.

“Young Master, I don’t know if I should say this, but…”

The old butler’s words did not reach the end. At the sound of a knock echoing desolately through the entire manor, both men stopped breathing simultaneously. Soon after, the door opened and a servant entered the study. His somewhat flustered gestures clearly showed his bewilderment.

“I apologize for interrupting…”

“Damon, what is the meaning of…”

“Just a moment…”

Bernard hesitated for a moment and then turned around.

“I am sorry, Young Master. I will go check what is happening.”

“…Yes. After checking…”

The words were cut off again. It was because of the noise heard through the gap in the door. The sound of climbing stairs, arguments, and shouting—the unusual situation outside the door was conveyed vividly. At the sudden commotion, Caliven also stood up.

“What is happening?”

“Young Master, let me just…”

“No. I will go out myself.”

Caliven raised his hand to stop the words. As he stepped out of the study, the noise became even more intense. The source was toward the first-floor entrance. The moment he tried to go down the stairs, a familiar voice was heard.

“Call Sir Caliven Wizfieldon! Sir Caliven Wizfieldon!”

Strength naturally flowed into the hand gripping the railing. Caliven stopped right there and looked down at the intruder surrounded by servants. His eyes hardened as he identified the man. Bewilderment and anger instantly swept over him like a gale.

MacQueen Lester.

The man who had stood at the very forefront of the current war.

The architect of the greed-filled Gareway opium market and Devonshire’s official cleaner.

The one who had driven his brother to the brink of death.

“Call Sir Caliven Wizfieldon. I have something urgent to say. I promise. It will not be a proposal where you lose out.”

“If you continue like this, we will have no choice but to call for one of our men.”

“Have you forgotten? I am the wealthiest businessman in England. I told you it won’t be a losing proposal. By what authority are you blocking me? Let go of this hand!”

At the sight of something feeling discordant, Caliven frowned slightly. MacQueen Lester’s state was somewhat strange.

“We will send him back immediately. We failed to settle the commotion…”

“Wait.”

Blocking Bernard, who had followed him out, Caliven went straight downstairs. As the distance closed, the shouting grew louder.

“To make such an impolite intrusion without any prior appointment. Please go back. Hasn’t the Baronet done this several times before?”

“That’s why I’m saying my words first…”

As he got closer, Caliven became certain that his judgment was not wrong. About half a year had passed since the last time they met in the courtroom before the imprisonment. In a time that could be considered long or short, what had happened to that man?

“Baronet Enfield…”

Caliven examined MacQueen’s condition with a bewildered face. His tall height and handsome features remained, but his cheeks were sunken and the area around his eyes was dark. His attire was a mess, and the sight of him clinging to a servant and shouting was unfamiliar. He looked like a madman. In the midst of this, MacQueen’s eyes met his, and he changed direction and charged toward Caliven.

“Baronet!”

“You must not do this!”

Despite the servant’s shout, the man did not lose his momentum. In the instant it happened, Caliven was unable to react and had his arm seized immediately by MacQueen.

“Sir Caliven Wizfieldon.”

The blood vessels in the whites of his eyes were exceptionally red. Caliven unconsciously frowned at the strong grip. As the distance closed, a pungent and foul scent wafted in. It was the scent that occurred when burning dried grass. It was also the scent that had never left his brother’s room in the past.

Could it be…

Only then did Caliven look into MacQueen’s eyes in shock.

“Please forgive my rudeness. I have just barely escaped from a place where it is difficult to speak, so my attire is not good. However, I promise that my business will not be as wretched as my appearance.”

“Sir Lester. It would be best for you to stabilize yourself first.”

“No, no, Sir Caliven, you must listen to me first.”

While Caliven’s lips trembled in bewilderment, MacQueen quickly continued.

“Do you remember?”

The exceptionally glinting gaze was eerie. Out of instinctive repulsion, Caliven took a step back, but the movement following him was twice as fast.

“Remember what?”

“That is a difficult question. I ask again. Do you remember? Before the trial, you told me. That your brother had committed a great mistake against me.”

“That was…”

“Your brother certainly committed a great mistake against the Baronet.”

Bewilderment flashed across Caliven’s eyes as he recalled the conversation from long ago. MacQueen did not miss the moment and wore a twisted smile.

“Sir Caliven Wizfieldon also told me that he was a thorough bystander.”

“….”

“That you looked away from the sins that person committed, pretending not to see and pretending not to hear.”

“Stop. I believe this is not an appropriate topic to discuss here.”

Caliven immediately cut the other man off. It was out of fear that his brother’s honor might be tarnished.

“Stop it.”

Muttering again in a voice too low to be heard, he waved his hand toward Bernard. It was a signal to dismiss all the servants.

Before long, the presence of others disappeared from around the two men. Caliven observed MacQueen Lester standing before him. Nowhere on the noticeably gaunt face existed the arrogance that had once roamed the Westminster Chapter House, placing the King, the nobles, and the world beneath his feet.

“….”

His appearance was a wreck, but the eyes staring at him were clear. Confirming the deep, deep abyss digging into his inner thoughts, Caliven naturally realized that his assumption was correct.

“Your memories have returned.”

“Memories.”

A sneer poured out. MacQueen’s shoulders shook several times. Memory, memory, memory. In the way he muttered the same word repeatedly with an expressionless face, no energy could be felt.

“Memories.”

His breathing became even rougher. A hollow laugh filled the void of the empty hall. MacQueen took one more step forward. The distance between them was barely one yard. He tilted his head with a blank face.

“Do you mean the memory of staying in that old shack in Ramdiff Forest?”

“….”

It was the killing blow. Under the weight of the guilt those words carried, Caliven finally squeezed his eyes shut. The smirk continued for a long while. Only when the air inside the hall had grown significantly colder did the trembling subside.

“Was that person me?”

A deeply sunken voice whispered gloomily. Following the sound, Caliven slowly opened his eyes. Through a blurred vision, he saw clenched fists shaking. He breathed slowly, anticipating the chaos that would soon ensue. Contrary to the expectation that the man would lunge at him at any moment, silence persisted for a while.

“Please tell me.”

MacQueen Lester asked again in an extremely calm tone.

“Was that person me? Was I the one in that forest, in that cabin? Was my dyed red hair, which I saw when I regained consciousness, the proof? Tell me, you great and noble representative of the Duke of Cornwall.”

“You’ve become the sun.”

“Lord Lester, I…”

He could no longer delay the answer. The man was a villain, but he was also a victim of the sins Cornwall had committed. Just as Caliven was about to continue, hoping to sever the long-entwined ill fate between them—

“Tell me, Sir Caliven Wizfeldon.”

“…….”

“Please, tell me.”

Contrary to the expectation that he would fly into a rage or have a fit, the man’s face was suddenly drenched in tears. The man himself didn’t even seem to realize he was crying, repeating the same question like something broken.

“Was that person me?”

“Theodore.”

A longing voice called out a name. Once, it was a name he had hated more than anyone else in the world. A name he had wanted to kill, a name he had wanted to erase from existence. He wondered who this person—colder than a frozen winter castle—was calling with such an affectionate voice.

“Was I my master’s dog?”

“Theodore. Theodore…”

The hand gripping Caliven again trembled. MacQueen did not remember what the doctors had babbled about in the hospital where he had been forcibly admitted by Robert. He only remembered that it was excruciatingly painful, a time more agonizing than death.

Unable to inhale opium, he was now threatened by suicidal impulses. Having survived to the end in the filthy back alleys, MacQueen Lester was someone whose craving for life was stronger than anyone’s. It was an impulse and desire he could not have imagined in his past self.

Eventually, unable to overcome his worry, Robert took advantage of a visiting hour to let MacQueen escape the hospital. It was out of fear that MacQueen might commit suicide by any means necessary if left there.

“Was I his…”

I cannot die yet.

I must not die.

God has not yet granted me the mercy of death.

“Theo…”

Beautiful wheat-colored hair blended into his memories. And eyes that held a sky just as brilliant. Everything was so wondrous that he couldn’t tear his gaze away. At first, it was the intense appearance that captured his attention, and then, the glass-like fragility hidden behind a fierce and violent personality. The moments when he let his guard down very slowly, very little, while remaining extremely wary…

“Was I his Theodore?”

The continuous flow of tears showed no sign of stopping. The fear and pain of a collapsing life throttled him. The memories and emotions pouring out in real-time were merciless. The order was tangled, and there was neither justification nor coherence. It was indiscriminate, aggressive, and violent.

“I love you.”

“What do you know of me.”

“Feelings can arise even without knowing.”

“A heart lighter than the wind.”

Even among the dizzying, unorganized memories, only that bitter smile remained.

He knew the fear the other had hidden.

You were a cowardly tyrant. Sensitive, precarious, nobler and stronger than anyone, yet someone who could break more easily than anyone.

“Did I bite my master’s neck? Did I kill him? Tell me, Sir Caliven. Was I his dog? Was I, was I…”

The handsome face was soaked in grief. At the sight of him completely breaking down, Caliven’s dry lips parted.

“Did I really kill him? Did I drive my master to death with my own hands?”

“Lord Lester…”

“Why did no one tell me?”

Amidst the sobbing, his strengthless body collapsed.

“Why.”

Following the force pulling at his arm, Caliven also leaned forward. MacQueen clung to his last savior with an even more desperate touch. Caliven carefully spoke to the man who had been sobbing while holding onto him.

“…What would have changed?”

The grief-stricken cheeks stiffened.

“My brother committed a sin against the Baronet… but he paid the price accordingly. Enough… my brother paid that price sufficiently.”

“…….”

“So please, forgive him.”

“…….”

“……Please forgive the sins my brother committed.”

Those words were not wrong. Nothing would have changed. It wouldn’t have been different. No matter what, he could not return to that time, and even if he did, he would have hated, despised, been enraged by, and cursed Aaron Wizfeldon. To kill the longing for a jewel he could not possess, no emotion was better suited for rationalization than hatred.

MacQueen knew his own twisted and distorted inner self well. He had spent his whole life blaming external factors for all his deficiencies and wounds. That was how he had survived until now. Because he knew better than anyone that the moment he acknowledged his weaknesses, his life would be so shameful he would want to die.

His hunched back heaved for a long time. Within his collapsing mind, MacQueen had to exert tremendous effort to hold onto his sense of reality. He had only briefly returned due to the death-like shock; his fragile mind was ready to return to the world of delusions created by opium at any moment. Before the great opium could eat away at his mind again, MacQueen hurriedly brought up the purpose of his visit.

“I heard you are having difficulty searching for Lord Wizfeldon.”

The drenched green eyes distorted. Despite the abruptness of the words, Caliven understood exactly what they meant.

“Lord Lester.”

“I possess more money than you could ever imagine.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“I own ten ships. All of them are fast ships guaranteed free sailing rights by the Queen.”

For the expansion of business. To make money. To climb higher. They were fast ships built as a means to plunge more people into hell with more opium, more quickly, and scrape up all that money. The demon dwelling in Garaway dreamed of crossing the sea carrying opium. Endless greed led to wealth, wealth led to power, and power sparked war.

“I will find even if it is a corpse.”

“…….”

At the resolute words, Caliven swallowed a breath amidst the silence.

“I know that I am the filthiest option you could choose, but…”

While he couldn’t bring himself to continue, his gaunt cheeks became wet again. After several more ragged breaths, struggling to control his emotions, MacQueen slowly shook his head. The hand touching his forehead trembled violently, and his condition was plummeting further by the second. A twisted smile leaked through his tightly closed lips.

“My political life is over. I no longer have any will left, and my body and soul are thoroughly broken.”

Thanks to the efforts of a long-time business partner, the fact that he was addicted to opium and half-mad had not become public knowledge. However, such facts were no longer important. He didn’t care if the world pointed fingers at him as an opium merchant and an opium addict. The drive that had pushed him forward for so many years had long since stopped.

In a state where no desire or motivation remained, power and wealth were meaningless to MacQueen. MacQueen realized the reality and looked clearly at himself. He had recognized the filth and realized the shame. He could not return to the time when all memories were buried beneath the surface.

“I will not use the deceptive word ‘repent.’ However…”

“Lord Lester…”

“Give me the chance to die there. If I cannot find him, I will not return, and even if God shows mercy and I find that person…”

“You always lie.”

“Until when will you refuse to believe me? Will you not meet me anymore?”

“…No.”

“Then kiss me.”

“…….”

“Please kiss me…”

At that time, what expression did you wear?

“I will leave England forever.”

“…….”

“I promise.”

Only after uttering words devoid of deception or lies did MacQueen exhale. The moment he realized the heart he had kept hidden for the first time, his lover was not by his side. The one hearing those feelings was not his lover either. He found it unbearably funny, this pathetic confession that the party concerned could never hear.

“So give me a chance, Sir Caliven.”

To say it wasn’t love would be too much of a lie; it was far too much like love.

It was a short, dream-like love, and because of that, it was a passionate and even more poignant love.

It was a heart that had been twisted, suppressed, and ignored, but in reality, it was a love that wanted to reach out just a little more, to lock eyes just a little more. He wanted to share his heart. It was a love that wanted to share bodies, time, and touch.

It was crude, petty, and filthy, but that too was love.

To say it wasn’t love would be too much of a lie; it was far too much like love.

From the first moment he saw him until now, he had loved Aaron Wizfeldon.

Continued in Volume 6 of .