82
The Duchess has been kidnapped.
A new rumor once again swept through the capital.
Following the Grand Theater terror, another major scandal had erupted.
There was not a single day without turmoil.
However, to those who were not directly involved, the consecutive incidents were merely sensational gossip.
Kalt’s cautious voice broke through the heavy silence.
“Colonel, how about you get some rest, even if just for a moment.”
Lionel covered his face with one hand and did not move at all.
Only the suppressed breaths leaking out through his fingers spoke in place of his condition.
After a moment, when he lowered his hand, his eyes, now cast in deeper shadow, were revealed.
The dark circles settled beneath his eyes made his already cold impression dangerously sharp.
Lionel frowned and brought his hand to his head.
“Is your head hurting again?”
“It is only like this for a moment. More importantly, there are no signs of suspicious individuals passing through the capital gates.”
“That is correct. It seems they are still within the capital.”
Lionel closed his eyes and pressed deeply against his temple.
There were no traces of Rebelt or Agnes leaving the capital.
However, they could not be found anywhere within the capital.
Then where could they be hiding?
If not above ground…
“Have you checked the underground waterways?”
“…! Not yet.”
Only then did Kalt realize the part they had overlooked and quickly shook his head.
“Identify the entire sewer system of the capital.”
“Understood. It will take some time, so please at least rest during that time.”
With that request, Kalt left the room.
Lionel lowered his hand in the remaining silence.
Cold sweat had formed on the palm that had been pressing his forehead.
Since Agnes disappeared, the headache had been pounding in his head all day like boiling water.
Even if he closed his eyes for just a few seconds, he saw her flushed face, desperately pleading for him to trust her and not abandon her.
Those memories blended together and stabbed at his temple like a heated blade.
Lionel carelessly poured the headache medicine into his palm.
He swallowed the rolling pills without even taking a sip of water.
His jaw muscles tightened deeply and then loosened again.
However, the pain did not subside.
Rather, it grew even more intense.
It felt as if only by finding Agnes would this wretched pain disappear.
Ignoring Kalt’s words to rest, Lionel stood up.
To calm his nerves, which kept sharpening due to the headache, it felt as if he needed to see even the traces Agnes had left behind.
☆☆
“……”
The place where Lionel’s steps stopped like that was Agnes’s office in the Bardo trading company.
The place he had made her leave with his own hands.
“Your Grace, what brings you here without notice. If I had known you would come, I would have prepared some tea in advance.”
Chloe, who had hurriedly run over upon hearing that Lionel had come, forced a smile onto her lips.
However, Lionel passed by her without even giving her a glance and went straight into the office Agnes had used.
At first glance, the office looked decent enough.
However, the moment one crossed the threshold, it could be felt.
That inside, it was beyond worn out and had festered.
The small window let in almost no light, leaving the entire room submerged in gray.
The walls were damp and peeling in places.
The desk looked as though it had been taken from somewhere after being used, worn out with its corners frayed.
Lionel’s gaze stopped on the desk.
Suddenly, he recalled Agnes’s face when she had been unable to contain her joy on the day he had prepared a new desk for her.
And the kind of smile that had bloomed upon her small, delicate lips.
“Is this… my desk?”
Again.
Once more, the headache spread from between his brows to his entire head.
Furrowing his brows, Lionel turned around and left the office.
Then he moved toward the living quarters connected to the second floor.
He had already learned the approximate location of the room Agnes had used before marriage from a worker of the company, so there was no hesitation in his steps.
As he climbed the stairs, Lionel’s mood sank lower by the moment.
The narrow and steep staircase was a structure that a wheelchair could never ascend.
Unless someone carried her, Agnes would not have been able to go up and down by herself.
If there had been no one to assist her movement, it meant that after injuring her leg, Agnes had effectively been confined to the second floor until her marriage.
“…This feels utterly disgusting.”
After climbing all the stairs, as Lionel moved toward the rooms lined along the corridor, Chloe hurriedly matched his pace and followed beside him.
Having already heard what Lionel was looking for, Chloe’s face plainly showed her anxiety.
Even she could tell that she must not show him the room Agnes had originally used.
So, Chloe led Lionel to one of the rooms she used.
“I heard you were looking for the room my sister, no, the Duchess used. Please follow me. It’s this way.”
As if she had been waiting, Chloe flung her door wide open.
However, Lionel recognized it at a glance, even with just a sidelong look.
That this place was never Agnes’s space.
The strong scent of perfume that rushed out the moment the door opened.
The decorative mirrors hanging all over the walls.
The dress stands displayed as if for show.
There was no need to look further.
Lionel swung his long legs and headed toward the other rooms lined along the corridor.
As befitting the Empire’s top trading company, every room was spacious and luxurious.
Each bed had decorations, and the curtains and furniture were of the finest quality.
However, none of them was Agnes’s room.
Then, at the end of the corridor.
One room, located where sunlight barely reached, caught his eye.
From the outside, it looked no different from the other rooms.
However, the moment he opened the door, Lionel froze in place.
Because an old dance outfit hanging on the wall right in front of the door came into his view.
The color of the outfit had faded, and the threads on the shoulders had all worn out.
A damp smell mixed with old scent and dust filled the room.
The room was small and dark.
The wallpaper had yellowed from use, and the bed was barely balanced by inserting wooden boards to match the uneven leg heights.
“……”
Lionel’s gaze turned toward the ceiling.
The peeling wallpaper hanging loose and the large stains as if rain had leaked through.
Even without hearing it in words, it was clear.
What kind of treatment Agnes had endured while living here.
The veins on the back of Lionel’s hand gradually rose.
Luxury?
Vanity?
Tyranny?
How could such words ever be placed alongside this room.
Why had he not realized it sooner?
No. It was not that he had failed to realize it.
He had certainly felt something was off.
He had simply ignored it.
Because Agnes was someone he had to hate.
Because it was easier that way.
He had rationalized it as the punishment she deserved to endure.
There had always been opportunities to confirm the truth.
If he had just looked inside even once when dropping her off in front of the company, he could have known.
But he did not.
Because it was bothersome.
Because he did not want to know.
And because he was afraid there might be a truth he did not want to believe.
Lionel approached the dance outfit and grabbed the worn fabric.
The moment his hand touched it, dust that no one had disturbed for a long time scattered into the air.
As he watched the drifting dust, Lionel’s expression twisted slightly.
Beneath the dance outfit, a lone box caught his eye.
When he opened the lid, numerous newspapers were neatly folded and stacked.
Bending one knee, Lionel picked up the newspaper on top.
There was no need to examine it carefully.
On the very first page, along with a large headline, there was a black-and-white photograph of himself in military uniform.
Lionel unfolded the next newspaper.
And then the next.
From those long yellowed with age to relatively recent ones.
All the newspapers arranged by date contained articles about the situation at the frontlines, the Black Iron Knights, and the Valheim Army Colonel.
And on the back page of each newspaper, a thin sheet of paper was attached.
The quantity of bullets to be sent to the North, lists of food and medical supplies, the required manpower, and even the estimated duration.
It was a table densely organized like a military supply ledger.
Lionel’s head slowly lowered over the newspapers.
‘Agnes, with what kind of feelings did you organize this…’
The headache rose again.
At some point, the discomfort in his throat that he felt whenever he saw Agnes’s clear smile became even more vivid.
Lionel’s lips trembled as if about to utter something.
However, that word could not bring itself to become a sound.
