ICUBIHNIW 07

Pulling her hood low over her face, Evelyn intentionally dropped her voice to a soft, conspiratorial murmur.

“Hello. Could you perhaps recommend a book?”

“Of course, my lady,” the bookseller replied smoothly. “What sort of literature are you looking for?”

“I’d like to purchase a book that a gentleman might enjoy.”

At that, the bookseller’s expression turned utterly peculiar. “Ah… did you come after hearing the rumors?”

“Pardon? Ah… yes. Yes, I did.”

Evelyn had absolutely no idea what rumors he was talking about, but she offered a vague, agreeable nod anyway. The bookseller’s face instantly lit up with excitement as he clapped his hands together.

“You’re the very first customer to come by recommendation! Well, I simply cannot hold back. I shall select a truly breathtaking masterpiece for you!”

With a burst of energy, he threw his entire weight against the massive bookshelf lining the wall behind the counter. Packed tight with volumes, the heavy case groaned and slid aside, revealing a hidden compartment concealed beneath.

What an incredibly efficient use of space, Evelyn thought, her eyes widening with genuine interest. Anyone with a true love for books would yearn to possess a secret shelf like that.

“Heheh,” the bookseller chuckled warmly. “As luck would have it, a fresh shipment arrived just this morning.”

The Elegant Days of Lady Ielo

The book he proudly slid across the counter possessed an entirely ordinary cover and an equally unremarkable title.

“Do gentlemen truly… enjoy this sort of thing?” Evelyn asked, tilting her head. Judging by the title alone, it sounded like the exact flavor of romance noble young ladies would obsess over.

When she voiced her doubt, the corner of the bookseller’s mouth twitched upward into a knowing smirk. “Indeed they do. They absolutely adore it. It sells out so fast I can barely keep it in stock! In all my years, I have never seen descriptions so profoundly intricate and passionately intense. I swear it upon my very name.”

He was practically staking his honor on it. Then again, Evelyn reflected, times were changing. Lately, the number of men picking up embroidery or taking up flower arranging as a hobby had been steadily on the rise.

I was letting my own prejudices get the better of me, she thought, feeling a sudden wave of self-reflection.

Chastised by her own narrow-mindedness, she readily purchased several volumes recommended by the passionate merchant before stepping back out into the bustling streets.

Her next destination was the blacksmith’s forge. It was there that she intended to acquire the absolute core component of her entire operation. While the iron rings and heavy chains bolted into the stone wall of the basement’s innermost room were surprisingly intact, the handcuffs were a completely different story. They were battered beyond recognition—ruined by whatever history had unfolded in that dark cell—and required immediate replacement.

Granted, I could probably lock the Grand Duke away without handcuffs, but…

She swallowed hard. If I make even a single mistake, I’m dead.

To lose her life while attempting to save her savior? Absolutely not. She could not allow such an ironic tragedy to unfold. Steeling her resolve, Evelyn hardened her heart. Fortunately, she already had a specific forge in mind—another recommendation left behind by her late grandfather.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

She knocked firmly on the heavy door, but the deafening roar of striking metal swallowed the sound entirely. Hesitating for a fraction of a second, she pushed the door open and stepped cautiously inside. A burly, robust old man sat positioned before a blazing hearth.

Inspecting a piece of glowing metal held tightly in his tongs, the old smith turned his head to glance over his shoulder. “A customer?”

He possessed a strange, commanding aura—one that felt deeply familiar, mirroring the presence of her deceased grandfather. The memory brought a polite, respectful bow from Evelyn.

“Hello. May I purchase a few items from you?”

“I don’t sell to just anyone,” the old man grunted, turning back to his fire.

Evelyn didn’t panic; her grandfather had left explicit warnings about this precise attitude in his notes.

He’s a stubborn, particular old fool who refuses to sell his wares to just anyone. But there is a way to make him yield.

And that method was simply to introduce herself properly.

“Allow me to properly introduce myself,” Evelyn said, stepping forward with practiced grace as she lightly lifted the hem of her skirt. “I am Evelyn El Frilly, granddaughter of Baron Frilly.”

The old man paused, using a massive, calloused hand to scratch at his jaw. “Frilly… Frilly… where have I heard that before?”

Suddenly, the blacksmith sprang straight into the air like a startled scythe-lizard. “Gah! No way! Impossible! You’re… you’re that old bastard’s granddaughter?!”

Evelyn could only blink in stunned silence at the wildly explosive reaction. The old man’s face twisted into a magnificent scowl.

“You’re lying! How could a scoundrel like him ever manage to get married, let alone have a family?! Damn it all, I thought everyone was just spinning tales to mock me!”

For reasons entirely unknown to her, her grandfather’s reputation here seemed abysmally low. After grumbling and pacing for several long moments, the smith let out a heavy, defeated sigh and fixed his sharp gaze back onto her.

“Even if you are that old fool’s kin, I don’t give handouts. You want my work, you pay the price. And for the record, I don’t take coin.”

“Then… what do you require?”

“Did that bastard leave you anything unusual?”

Something unusual from Grandfather?

Evelyn fished through her pockets and pulled out a peculiar coin she had been carrying around just in case. She hadn’t expected much, but the moment the old man’s eyes locked onto it, a gruff smile broke across his face.

“Aye. That. That’s more than enough.”

What on earth was this coin? Evelyn opened her mouth to ask, but the blacksmith clearly had no intention of explaining. He snatched the coin away, staring down at it with an unreadable expression. For a fleeting moment, he looked like a man drowning in the bittersweet memories of a time long past. Respecting his silence, Evelyn waited quietly.

“Right then,” the old man muttered, stowing the coin safely away as he forcefully cleared his throat. “What is it you need?”

“Handcuffs.”

“Handcuffs?”

“Yes.”

“Like grandfather, like granddaughter,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “The things your family looks for are always identical. Fine. Follow me, I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

He led her into the deeper recesses of the forge, where rows of weapons and various specialized tools hung in pristine, meticulous order. Even to Evelyn’s completely untrained eye, every single piece looked masterfully crafted.

“Handcuffs are over here. Do you happen to know the gender or the strength of the person you’re using them on?”

“It’s a man,” Evelyn replied softly. “And… he is incredibly strong.”

“Well, then there’s only one option.”

The blacksmith reached up and pulled down a specific pair of shackles. Forged from a dark, midnight-colored metal, the interior possessed a bizarre lining—a dense, surprisingly fluffy layer of deep pink fur.

“It’s lined with the hide of a magical beast that dwells only in the harshest wilderness,” he explained with a wicked grin as he handed them over. “It absorbs impact completely. Combined with this grade of metal, you get a pair of cuffs that absolutely no one can break out of.”

Evelyn took them into her hands. Though they appeared to be solid, dense metal, they were shockingly light. The alloy itself was clearly something extraordinary.

“I don’t know who you’re trying to catch, little girl, but these will perform far beyond whatever it is you’re imagining.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Save it. I took what was owed, and I gave what was fair. Nothing more.” The old man waved his hand dismissively. “If you don’t need anything else, clear out. I’m a busy man.”

Practically shooed out of the forge, Evelyn stepped across the threshold only to find that night had already fallen over the city.

With this, the vast majority of her preparations were complete. The only thing left to do now was to kidnap the Grand Duke—her savior.

Could a perfectly ordinary girl from the countryside truly abduct one of the most powerful, legendary warriors in the entire empire? It felt like a newborn pup trying to pick a fight with a mountain-sized behemoth.

Evelyn slowly closed her eyes, the night breeze brushing against her cheeks.

Even so…

She couldn’t back down. If she failed to save the Grand Duke, her grandfather would never be able to rest in peace. Every single night, his voice echoed through her dreams. Until that voice fell silent, she couldn’t afford to stop.

Evelyn opened her eyes, her small hands curling into tight, determined fists.

“Let’s do this!” she whispered to herself.

There was still work to be done.

Kars was undeniably one of the most prominent and influential newspaper agencies in the capital.

The papers published by Kars featured several highly popular segments, but none were as beloved as their Advice Column. Readers would write in with their deepest worries, and the editors would carefully select the most intriguing ones to print. In the following issue, the responses sent in by other readers would be publicly unveiled. Because the agency offered gifts to those who submitted the most brilliant advice, the column enjoyed immense popularity among the common folk.

Of course, that wasn’t the only reason the public was obsessed with it.

In the beginning, the column had started with perfectly mundane, everyday questions.

[What are some good dishes I can make using potatoes?]

But as the issues rolled on, the nature of the submissions began to warp.

[I discovered my fiancé is living a double life and seeing someone else. What should I do?]

The questions grew progressively spicier, and the newspaper agency, realizing they had struck gold, intentionally pushed the boundaries further and further.

It was during this peak of sensationalism that a rather peculiar worry was delivered to their desks.

[How can an ordinary woman defeat a Sword Master?]

Sifting through the pile of submissions, a journalist tilted his head in sheer bafflement. “Well, this is an bizarre question.”

A colleague leaning over his shoulder nodded in agreement. “Bizarre indeed. I mean, aren’t there only about three people on the entire continent who actually hold the title of Sword Master? And one of them resides right here in our empire. That gentleman.”

“Exactly! He’s currently staying right here in the capital,” the first journalist said, looking torn. “That’s why I’m hesitating. It’s an incredibly thrilling premise, but can we actually publish this?”

If the fierce Grand Duke Gracias saw this and took offense, would he march down and burn their entire printing press to the ground? The journalists debated the risk with dead seriousness. Yet, their curiosity regarding the person who sent it—and the chaotic answers it would inevitably draw—triumphed over their fear.

“Lately, hasn’t he been rather quiet?” the colleague pointed out thoughtfully. “Besides, he’s never actually retaliated over newspaper articles before.”

Even when the press subtly criticized him, he had never gone so far as to dissolve an agency. Of course, the trashy, third-rate yellow journalism tabloids were an exception to the rule—those had published utterly fabricated, slanderous nonsense, and their writers had swiftly departed to the afterlife.