“Why?”
“It says here the man claims to be this name.”
“What?”
Ferguson looked at the blacklist pinned to the wall: a list of people absolutely forbidden from entering the castle town.
Recently added in fresh ink was a clear portrait of Count Zeppelin Devonshire.
The name was underlined in red; letting him in would mean hell.
Ferguson compared the portrait with the soaked figure below.
The rain made it hard to see features, but it did look similar.
“Open the gate! Now!”
Zeppelin was still roaring, veins bulging in his neck.
If he really was a noble, this could be trouble. Refusing entry had led to retaliation before.
But Yulian always paid it back double, so no real worry.
Being the duke’s soldier felt reassuring in moments like this.
Ferguson spoke in a suddenly polite tone.
“Ahem. Regrettably, even if you are the count, you may not enter. Not…
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