Chapter 105
The march proceeded peacefully on the surface.
By tomorrow, they would already reach the ceded territory and join forces with Count Conrad, who was confronting the troops of the Taran Kingdom, uncertain when they might cross the border.
However, if one examined the interior closely, it was far from peaceful; sprouts of anxiety were sprouting lush and green. The one who had watered those budding sprouts and exposed them to sunlight, urging them to grow well, was none other than Count Matterson.
In his own tent, he gnawed at his nails, forgetting all decorum. His steps swayed aimlessly from side to side, perilously unsteady.
Before long, Count Matterson pulled out the thumb he had been chewing on and spat out the nail and hangnail caught between his teeth with a “ptui.”
“Damn it all.”
A vicious curse accompanied it. What had enraged Count Matterson to this extent was the entire unfolding situation.
First, Crown Prince Ian. Despite Count Matterson’s report, which was akin to an accusation against Duke Bilton, he showed no response whatsoever.
There was a time when he had gone to Count Florence as if he would immediately track down the arsonist and uncover the truth, but after losing the duel with him, the crown prince promptly tucked his tail between his legs. And with that, Count Matterson’s report fizzled out into nothing.
If he had his way, he wanted to roll up Duke Bilton’s sleeve and scream at the top of his lungs for everyone to see the burn mark here. But it was obvious that a blade would reach Count Matterson’s neck faster than he could even lay a hand on Duke Bilton.
Sigh, the suspicion was certain, but there was no proper way to prove it. That’s why everything that came out of his mouth was a sigh or a curse.
“Damn.”
In addition, another incident had occurred that grated on Count Matterson’s nerves. It involved Angela, the daughter of Duke Bilton, who was brazenly leading the march as if nothing had happened, despite being the arsonist.
A few days ago, Count Matterson had personally witnessed her being attacked by a black beast. That day in the forest, besides Angela, Kalian, and Ian, Count Matterson was also present.
It was the result of following Ian, whose shoulders were slumped in defeat from the duel, in order to mention Duke Bilton to him once more.
Hiding his presence and stealthily lurking behind a massive tree, the scene he spied was utterly bizarre. For her leg, deeply embedded with the massive beast’s teeth, to become perfectly fine in an instant.
Having unintentionally witnessed this unbelievable sight, Count Matterson rubbed his eyes until they reddened. But that didn’t change the reality before him.
Good grief, he hadn’t even resolved the issue with the father, and now the child too.
“What am I supposed to do with all this, tsk.”
Count Matterson, clicking his tongue in irritation, pondered deeply before suddenly bursting out of his tent. Even if he couldn’t roll up Duke Bilton’s sleeve, it seemed he could easily expose his daughter’s secret. All he had to do was drag her out in front of people and slice her once.
The knights of the Matterson family, who had been resting outside, hurriedly lifted their rears from their seats and stood up. They moved to follow him. Waving them off with a gesture, Count Matterson headed alone and quietly toward Angela’s tent.
However, upon reaching his destination, Count Matterson realized just how delusional his thoughts had been. Easy? What was supposed to be easy about it?
“Are you saying you’re going to stay up all night here again? Count Florence, you should go and prepare for battle.”
The voice resounding through the night belonged to Crown Prince Ian. He stood with his arms crossed defensively, glaring askance at Count Florence.
“On the battlefield, staying up for several nights is just part of everyday life.”
The one who replied was, of course, Count Florence. His tone itself was polite, but since the content opposed the crown prince’s wishes, there was a hint of insolence in his demeanor.
Fine wrinkles etched themselves densely into the crown prince’s soft features.
“In that case, shouldn’t you sleep when you can? Leave this to me and go rest comfortably.”
The crown prince continued, nodding toward Angela’s tent. But what he received in return was a cold refusal.
“Your Highness, isn’t it you who is still unfamiliar with this environment, pushing yourself for days? It would be better if you left this to me and got sufficient rest.”
“Count…!”
Now it was the crown prince’s turn to retort, having his own words thrown right back at him. He raised his voice as he opened his mouth. At that moment, the flap of the tent parted, and someone emerged.
Count Matterson craned his neck, thinking it was Angela who had come out. But it was Duchess Bilton. The prey he desired was hiding inside, not even showing the tip of her nose.
“You’re being noisy. If you’re not going to be quiet, both of you go back right now. Sir Jamie is sufficient for guard duty, so don’t make a fuss.”
“……”
“……”
“She said to convey this to you.”
Having relayed Angela’s words without missing a single syllable, she left the two men standing there dumbfounded and went back into the tent.
“Ahem.”
Only then did Sir Jamie, who had been pushed far away due to the two men’s quarrel, make his presence known. Fully armed, he cleared his throat and boldly took his original position in front of the tent door.
Still, Count Florence and the crown prince merely shut their mouths; they didn’t completely leave Angela’s tent. It seemed they would stay like that all night. And it didn’t appear to be just for tonight.
“Tch.”
Realizing that, contrary to his thoughts, exposing Angela’s secret had also gone awry, Count Matterson turned on his heel without hiding his dissatisfaction.
“Eek!”
At the same time, he came face to face with Duke Bilton. A quiet warning came toward Count Matterson, who recoiled as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Don’t entertain useless thoughts.”
Duke Bilton turned away after those words, but Count Matterson instinctively realized. The ones guarding the tent behind him weren’t three people, but four.
* * *
Useless thoughts…
Dominic himself didn’t know what he meant by that warning. It was a remark that had blurted out after reading something unpleasant in Count Matterson’s gaze as he watched Angela’s tent.
But now that he’d thrown it out there, doubt crept in, and he found himself questioning his own motives. Was he afraid that Count Matterson might harm that child? Why?
The night air stirred faintly before settling calmly. Confirming no presence around him, Dominic removed one of the gloves he had been wearing all along.
Sticky pus clung to the inside of the glove, stretching out like threads. As soon as that connection snapped, unbearable pain surged in. Biting his lip, Dominic looked down at his hand, covered in burns.
It wasn’t just here. Burns of various sizes scarred his entire body. They were grotesque to look at, but more than that, the pain was excruciating. Every moment he pretended to be fine, he was suppressing screams that felt like they would burst out. Even now.
“Haa.”
Transforming the scream into a light sigh, Dominic slipped the removed glove back onto his hand. He stubbornly smoothed out the distortion around his eyes.
Still, thanks to these burns, his mind was wide awake. It was as if he had finally escaped a vicious trap by cutting off his own leg.
It felt like he had at last thrown off the hazy veil that had been covering his eyes all this time. The world came into clear focus. Especially his feelings toward Angela—that child—became vividly apparent.
She was pitiable. Endearing. Precious. Lovable. He wanted to see her. He missed her. All these emotions that had welled up inside him were fake. Layers upon layers built up by Grace.
Dominic himself had never loved that child for even a single moment. It had been that way from the very day she was born, resembling Grace so perfectly. There wasn’t a single corner of his heart he could give to her.
If it hadn’t been for the shimmering golden hair, if it hadn’t been for the rippling green eyes, if her blindingly radiant appearance hadn’t pointed straight to Grace—might he have been able to cherish her a little?
But it was a meaningless hypothetical. No matter where he looked, the child was the spitting image of Grace. To Dominic, Angela had been nothing more than a small Grace, even in the moments he believed her to be his daughter, and in the moments he knew she wasn’t.
He had thoroughly ignored her tiny hands desperately seeking to cling to him for support. He had given her poison, wishing for Grace’s trace to vanish from the world as soon as possible. He had watched her consume it with a sense of satisfaction. And when he thought she had disappeared from the world, he hadn’t shed a single tear.
Yet… even so, why was he still her father?
It would have been over if she had turned away from him and let go of his hand, just as Dominic had done. She shouldn’t have come searching for him, no matter how madly she missed him. Even knowing she was being toyed with by Grace, she should have ignored it. She shouldn’t have leaped into the flames to save a madman who had set the fire himself and then raged to bring it back to life.
Why didn’t that child… know how to turn away, just as he had? If she had learned by watching, all she should have known was cold rejection—so where had she learned to be so different?
Angela… was it because of that name?
‘If we have a daughter, I’ll name her Angela.’
‘Angela?’
‘Yes, so she’ll grow up as good as an angel.’
‘If she takes after you, she’ll surely be like an angel.’
It had been a conversation shared while holding the hand of Wendy, who could barely take care of her own body, let alone bear a child. Had that name become a curse, binding them? Perhaps Wendy would resent that the name had been given not to her own daughter, but to another child.
Dominic rubbed his face, heavy with sighs. He had clearly escaped Grace’s clutches, yet he was still trapped. This time, it was a trap laid by Angela. Deeper, darker. As if he could never easily escape.
* * *
The arrow from the enemy, tied with a red cloth, embedded itself in the soil of the Phaelon Empire precisely at noon that day. The Taran Kingdom, which had been watching warily, had finally declared all-out war.
Count Conrad stepped on the arrow that had burrowed into the dirt, snapping it in half at the waist. Then, with a concise gesture somewhere, a loud horn blast echoed out. Simultaneously, an enormous number of arrows flew toward the territory of the Taran Kingdom.
Thud! Thud! The sounds rang as arrowheads embedded into the shields of the Taran Kingdom’s soldiers. Intermittently, human screams mixed in between. And soon, arrows from the Taran Kingdom flew back toward Phaelon.
The soldiers under Count Conrad’s command moved in perfect unison, raising their shields to cover their heads. Count Conrad signaled once more. This time, along with the arrows, several massive boulders flew as well.
The screams of humans were more raw and vivid than the sounds of arrows embedding somewhere. With that as the starting point, the full-scale battle began.
The Taran Kingdom’s soldiers fired arrows set ablaze, while Phaelon’s forces crossed the border, sending earthquake-like tremors through the earth.
Cavalry mounted on armored horses swung their weapons, attacking the enemy troops. They stabbed with spears and slashed with swords. They wielded their weapons at anything dressed differently from themselves.
The Taran Kingdom was no different. With the mindset that any human before them in unfamiliar attire was no longer human but a monster aiming for their lives, they mercilessly cut them down.
The silence just before the war was instantly dyed in bright red blood. Agonizing cries plundered and seized the place where stillness had reigned, like a raid.
“Archers, hurry and reform your lines!”
At Count Conrad’s shout, the archers straightened their disrupted formation, dodging the incoming flaming arrows.
Then, pulling back their bowstrings, they awaited the attack command. When the horn sounded, arrows flew with fierce speed, pouring down like rain.
Aiming was a luxury. The arrow one fired could strike and kill an ally entangled in combat with the enemy.
Even so, the battlefield was no place to weep in regret. The archers had to immediately prepare to fire the next arrow.
The soldiers readying the catapults were in the same predicament. They couldn’t know whom the stones they launched would kill. The one crushed beneath the massive rock could be their own comrade. But if they didn’t launch that stone, even more soldiers would die.
Still, the momentum was shifting toward the Phaelon Empire. Even though the forces from the major houses had not yet arrived, Count Conrad’s command was composed. Thanks to that, Phaelon’s army could focus solely on repelling the enemy without significant disruption.
It was then. The ground shook violently, and a hazy cloud of dust began to rise from the Taran Kingdom’s camp.
It was an ominous sign. Count Conrad’s eyes wavered for the first time.
