Chapter 98
Count Matterson, having relocated from near the tent where the fire had broken out to a spot by the water’s edge, watched the soldiers bustling about with sharp, irritable eyes.
They were lined up in several rows, passing buckets of water hand to hand.
Yet the billowing clouds of smoke stretching up into the pitch-black sky showed no sign of abating. If anything, the pillar seemed thicker than before, its color even darker.
“Damn it.”
A curse slipped from Count Matterson’s lips.
The march had been fraught with troubles from the start. The tension between Duke Bilton, who commanded the bulk of Phaelon’s forces, and Count Florence had been an unsettling factor right from the beginning.
On top of that, the absent-minded Count Florence had brought his fiancée along on the campaign.
Well, judging by her skill at hunting beasts, she didn’t seem like someone who needed much protection, but it was still an utterly absurd thing to do.
Did he think others had left their wives and daughters behind because they wanted to?
And now, out of nowhere, a fire had erupted.
It felt as if someone was repeatedly signaling them not to proceed to the battlefield.
The black smoke piercing through the trees looked like malevolent spirits.
Count Matterson stood staring toward the fire’s direction, unable to even sit down until the flames were under control.
It was only then, belatedly, that he realized Duke Bilton was nowhere to be seen.
Count Florence would be directing things at the scene since the fire had started in their own tents.
Finally tearing his gaze from the rising smoke, Count Matterson scanned his surroundings.
* * *
The fire only subsided as dawn approached. Because the flames kept spreading, the unexpected blaze had consumed nearly five tents.
Once the last embers were extinguished, the personnel mobilized for firefighting collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion, sitting haphazardly wherever they could. The knights who had been closest to the flames were especially worn out, black beads of sweat streaming down their faces.
Still, the fortunate part was that, given the scale of the fire, there were no casualties.
This was thanks to a knight from Duke Bilton’s household who had alertly noticed the outbreak.
There had been concern because the fire’s origin was the tent assigned to the women of Duke Bilton’s family, but thankfully, they were found elsewhere—in the tent scheduled for Count Florence.
The burned tents and singed clothing could be replaced with supplies.
Everyone assumed that would resolve all the issues left by the fire.
But it was Count Matterson, returning to the scene, who finally voiced the words no one else had dared to utter.
“Could it have been arson?”
Suspicion. It was something everyone had thought of inwardly but dismissed, thinking it couldn’t possibly be true.
When Count Matterson brought it up as if it were a matter that naturally needed addressing, the soldiers’ gazes focused on Count Florence, who had been questioned.
“It’s too early to judge.”
Count Florence replied coolly, as if dousing the flames with cold water. Then he shouted to the weary troops.
“Today’s march will begin two hours later than originally planned!”
At those words, the soldiers cheered enthusiastically, banishing the budding suspicions from their minds. Their own comfort took precedence over doubts that couldn’t be resolved immediately.
After such an exhausting ordeal, with little time left until the scheduled departure, they had been worried about having to cover that long distance without a proper night’s sleep. The cheers came naturally.
Glancing at them, Count Matterson followed behind Count Florence, who was turning away with his elite knights to finish organizing the site.
“Count Florence! Let’s have a word.”
Count Florence halted his steps, turned, and responded in a low voice.
“Yes, Count Matterson. You should have done this sooner.”
Puzzled by the incomprehensible remark, Count Matterson frowned, and Count Florence stepped closer, speaking chillingly.
“Don’t sow unrest among the soldiers. Even if you had suspicions, it was something we could have discussed privately.”
Ah, so mentioning “arson” in a place where many ears could hear had irked him. Count Matterson was about to retort that they were all thinking the same thing anyway but closed his mouth instead.
He couldn’t deny that the moment the word “arson” had escaped his lips, what had only been a vague thought in his mind had taken on a tangible form.
Count Matterson clicked his tongue in irritation. Still unwilling to admit his fault, he shifted to another topic.
“So, what is it really? Are you truly unable to judge yet?”
“I told you that’s the case.”
Count Florence’s answer was resolute. Yet Count Matterson couldn’t shake off the lingering unease.
“Then where is Duke Bilton?”
It was his absence that fueled it.
After all, it had been Calian Florence who had initially claimed that Duke Bilton’s mind was not sound. From the moment Count Matterson realized the duke was missing from the scene, that assertion had been circling in his head.
But Count Florence’s returning response was still firm, painting over the suspicion with a clean coat of white.
“He seemed startled by the fire, so I suggested he rest in my tent. Duchess Bilton and the young lady are there as well.”
His demeanor was so confident, as if inviting him to go check for himself. Count Matterson backed off subtly, thinking that’s all it was. He reasoned that Count Florence, who had been trying to remove Duke Bilton from command by any means, had no reason to lie.
However, the suspicion that had once risen didn’t fully dissipate. Suspicion was harder to extinguish than flames. As Count Matterson turned away from Count Florence, saying he understood, a trace of unease still lingered on his face.
* * *
“Fortunately, no one was injured. But Count Matterson suspects arson. More precisely, he suspects him. It seems my opposition to this campaign on the grounds of his mental instability has influenced that.”
Back in the tent, Calian explained, gesturing with his eyes toward Dominic, who lay with his eyes closed. Angela, standing over him with her arms crossed defensively, nodded.
Dominic had scattered burns across his body. Yvonne was treating them, applying finely ground herbs. Occasionally, a groan escaped his lips as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
In a fire that had ended without harming anyone else, the only person injured was Dominic, the one who had started it. Angela, biting her lip, turned her head away from Dominic, whom she had been staring at intently. Her feelings were tangled.
The first to witness the moment of the fire weren’t the knights from Duke Bilton’s household, but Angela and Yvonne. They had been on their way back from Calian’s tent.
‘His gaze keeps following us. You need to be careful.’
Calian had informed her that Dominic’s eyes were persistently fixed on Angela. And that the gaze was no longer just one of desperate paternal affection.
Angela had sensed it to some extent herself. How could she not notice the obsessive stare that seemed ready to meet her eyes the moment she turned her head slightly? That’s why she had made an effort not to glance toward the Bilton side.
Even so, when Dominic’s gaze wouldn’t relent, this incident had occurred. Without any hesitation, Dominic had tossed a flaming log into Angela’s tent.
His face had looked relieved, as if he had accomplished his task and was brushing off his hands. The emotion Angela felt while watching her father attempt to kill her once again was something no one could imagine.
At that moment, Yvonne beside her had quickly covered her eyes.
‘Don’t look. It’s just Grace’s trickery.’
It was the touch from Yvonne that she had always longed for—the hand that kept wandering away, making her lash out in harsh anger.
Yet strangely, it offered no comfort at all. She ought to have been overjoyed, but the dark energy coiled within Angela’s chest remained stubbornly in place, unable to dissipate.
Angela stood there in a daze, unable even to alert anyone to the fire. All Yvonne could do was cover her eyes. Neither had the strength for anything more.
It was at that moment.
“An… Angela…?”
At the sound of Dominic calling her name, Angela brushed Yvonne’s hand away. His voice, echoing in her ears, carried the desperation of someone dangling from a cliff, pleading for a hand to grasp.
“Angela, my little girl…”
The man who had just hurled fire into Angela’s tent was gone; instead, Dominic wore a face filled with anxiety, shouting her name toward the tent where the flames were beginning to spread.
“Angela, how could this… I, I…”
As if unable to believe it, he alternated glances between his own hands and the burning tent, and moments later, he hurled himself into the inferno.
“Angela!”
Dominic vanished into the tent, piercing through the fabric that now seemed woven from flames. Even then, his voice calling for Angela intermittently pierced the air. Why, after starting the fire himself…
Even as that thought crossed her mind, Angela’s feet propelled her toward the tent that had swallowed Dominic. Yvonne had no time to stop her.
Startled, Yvonne moved to follow immediately. But then, recalling what she’d heard—that Angela wouldn’t be harmed—she clenched her fists and began running in the opposite direction, toward Calian’s tent.
Unaware of her skin melting, Angela seized Dominic, who was frantically searching for his precious daughter.
“What are you doing!”
She had intended to lead him out quietly, but rage surged within her. If he meant to kill her, that would be one thing, but she couldn’t comprehend why he’d suddenly snap back to his senses, call her name, and plunge into this blaze.
“Angela!”
Yet Dominic, oblivious to the havoc he’d wrought, lit up with joy at finding his daughter. Realizing they were amid the flames, he pulled Angela fully into his embrace.
“Is it hot? Let’s get out quickly. This time, your father will save you, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Perhaps because Angela’s body remained cool, the fire’s heat felt all the more vivid. The sensation of skin melting away was stark and immediate.
But this pain, too, would vanish once they escaped the flames. The melted flesh would heal as if it had never happened, and any spilled blood would disappear without a trace.
The one who truly needed to fear the heat was Dominic, holding her close. Unlike Angela, his wounds would etch themselves permanently into his body. Even so, he refused to release her. And Angela found herself unable to break free from his grasp.
“Don’t worry. Your father’s here, so there’s nothing to fear.”
His muttered words, like those of a madman, consumed her. Even as they emerged from the tent, Dominic still clung to Angela. By then, he had already lost consciousness, yet he wouldn’t let her go from his arms.
The knights that Yvonne brought, along with Calian, quickly grasped the situation and hurried to erase any traces. They coordinated their stories with the knights from Duke Bilton’s household who had come running from their watch duty.
These knights, well aware that their lord Dominic had been exhibiting strange behavior lately, eagerly followed Calian’s instructions.
Even as he was carried to Calian’s tent afterward, Dominic tenaciously refused to release Angela. When she finally slipped from his embrace, he sought out her hand in his unconscious state and grasped it.
She wondered if he had awakened, but no—it wasn’t that. He was simply acting as if his daughter was all that mattered in the world. It was a selfish behavior, utterly ignorant of the emotions it stirred in Angela.
Until Calian returned from extinguishing the fire, Angela’s hand remained captive in Dominic’s. It was Calian who decisively severed that connection, forcibly prying Angela free from Dominic’s grip and granting her liberty.
As if fearing it might be snatched away again by Dominic, Angela stood with her arms crossed, hiding both hands as though tucking them away.
How could someone be so wicked? How could he be such a terrible father? How could he…
Angela halted her thoughts there. She endured, biting back the urge to delve further, afraid that what awaited was the image of Dominic leaping into the flames to save her.
As she held firm like that, Calian approached, looking her straight in the face and asking,
“I was too caught up earlier to check properly. Are you hurt anywhere?”
It was a lie. Even amid the chaos outside from the sudden fire, Calian had meticulously inspected every inch of Angela’s body for injuries before finally stepping out of his tent.
Yet the reason he posed such a question now was singular. It meant: Are you okay in the places I can’t see? He was asking if her heart was unharmed.
