Chapter 38
“Father has allowed me to handle the trading company’s affairs?”
Agnes’s hand, which had been spearing a piece of duck meat on the platter with her fork, stopped.
A delicate drop of meat juice fell from the slightly trembling fork tip.
“It seems he’s desperate because funds aren’t moving freely.”
Lionel replied calmly, as if he had expected it.
Today, too, without fail, it was the once-a-week meal.
This strange routine had already continued for the fourth time.
Only one thing had changed.
The long table from before was gone, replaced by a round table of suitable size that was easy to approach even in a wheelchair.
Perhaps because of that.
The distance between Lionel and Agnes had grown noticeably closer than before.
Close enough that their hands might brush when moving forks.
Yet, it wasn’t as unpleasant as one might think.
The meal gatherings that began at Agnes’s suggestion were calmer than expected.
Rather than discomfort, there was sometimes a strange sense of relief.
Surprised by that fact himself, Lionel slowly savored the meat.
The aroma of wine lingered at the tip of his nose.
“Even so… it’s unexpected. I didn’t think Father would call me back.”
“Didn’t I guarantee it.”
Lionel gave a short laugh as he lifted his glass.
A faint cynicism was mixed in that laugh.
Agnes knew it too.
What role she had played in increasing the profits of the Bardo trading company, how many transactions her fingertips had moved.
Yet Adrian had always said that.
“There are plenty of people besides you who can do that work.”
That single remark had long crushed Agnes’s self-esteem.
And now he was calling her back.
It was a return driven by need, not recognition.
Lionel glanced over the rim of his wine glass.
He held the glass and fell silent for a moment.
The red light of the wine flowed down the glass wall, leaving subtle shadows.
On the day Adrian visited the mansion, one report had reached Lionel’s ears.
That Adrian, unable to secure investment funds after all, had scurried to Jerome.
And after meeting Jerome, Adrian suddenly changed his attitude.
He began actively pushing to entrust the financial management of the trading company to Agnes as soon as possible.
It was probably Jerome’s hand at work again this time.
“Jerome Winterbolt’s intentions are obvious.”
It wasn’t hard to deduce what kind of trap Jerome had set with his ingrained greed.
Jerome’s ingrained greed was always the same.
The way he laid traps, the eye for choosing bait.
For someone who couldn’t even set foot on the battlefield,
How many times had he interfered with the northern front while comfortably staying in a luxurious mansion in the capital.
Recalling the pattern he had already seen dozens of times, Lionel lowered his hardened mouth corners.
“He probably intends to entangle Agnes in it, not satisfied with just catching Rebelt.”
Yes, he plans to use Agnes as bait.
And through Agnes, he likely intends to bring down Valheim as well.
Everything was transparently visible.
So he had no intention of descending to the same level and playing along.
“If he plans to climb up using Agnes to pull Valheim down, I just need to cut the rope he’s climbing before that.”
The rope. Meaning Agnes Bardo.
Having finished his calculations, Lionel slowly rolled the wine on his tongue.
An object whose usefulness had ended could simply be discarded.
“…Or.”
Lionel swallowed the wine and lowered his gaze.
“There’s also the option of extracting Agnes at an appropriate time before that.”
Extract…?
Why bother with such troublesome effort.
Reason caught up to instinct half a beat late.
This wasn’t like him.
Why was an exception arising only for Agnes.
Lionel pressed his forehead.
Since the incident at the grand theater, Lionel occasionally felt as if he had lost his way.
And whenever that happened, the image of Agnes throwing her body to save him invariably came to mind.
This realm of emotion was outside the specifications for Lionel. It was a sensation unnecessary on the battlefield, one he shouldn’t even know.
Still, if he had to name it, he had felt something similar once before.
It was the day poor parents sold a child not yet ten as an errand boy to the unit.
The unpleasant pity he felt then. It was probably the same kind of emotion.
“Pity, perhaps.”
Lionel defined the earlier confusion that way.
Just as he had secretly released that child in the end, the feeling toward Agnes was merely an extension of that.
“As long as you do your part well, I might even hand over the Bardo trading company. Adrian Bardo doesn’t seem qualified as guild master.”
“Is that also one of the compensations Your Grace mentioned?”
“You could say so.”
In any case, as long as Agnes was useful, he intended to grant most of what she wanted.
The clearer the rewards and punishments, the more efficiently people moved.
“I have no desire to become guild master. Instead, could you grant something else?”
“What do you mean by something else?”
“Um… Would it be all right if I think about it a little and tell you?”
“Do as you wish.”
He thought Agnes, who liked luxurious things, would ask for that. What could it be.
Jewels? Money?
If she was refusing the guild master position for it, it must be something enormous.
That Agnes had proposed merely dining together was unexpected, but Lionel thought that was an exceptional request.
“A new wheelchair will arrive today. And the etiquette book too.”
“Yes. …Yes? An etiquette book?”
Agnes’s voice rose slightly as she answered without thinking.
“Yes. You asked Simon to obtain it.”
Thinking I wouldn’t know.
Agnes’s nape flushed reddish.
“If needed, I’ll assign an etiquette teacher. While you’re at it, it might be good to take other lessons as well.”
“Other lessons?”
“Those legs. I heard you can walk if you rehabilitate.”
Agnes’s hand stopped on the table.
Lionel didn’t know.
That this casually passed remark would leave large ripples in Agnes’s heart.
That he was the only person who had said her legs—legs even the doctors had given up on—could walk.
Thus, Lionel didn’t know why Agnes suddenly lowered her head.
“If you’re not going to rely on a wheelchair for life, it’s better to receive proper treatment starting now.”
Food still remained on Agnes’s plate.
But Lionel stood from his seat first.
Taking time out of lunch once a week was harder than expected.
He wanted to stay a little longer, but dawdling further would make it hard to sit at this table next week.
“I’m busy, so I’ll leave first. Eat slowly.”
Lionel touched his own nape.
Again.
Even after emptying a glass of wine, he felt thirsty.
Since her face wasn’t visible, he couldn’t tell what expression Agnes wore.
Yet somehow, feeling as if she was swallowing tears, his steps didn’t detach easily.
Lionel reached out toward Agnes.
But soon withdrew his hand.
“What am I trying to do.”
Lionel, clenching his fist, tugged at his innocent shirt collar.
It was frustrating.
“I’ll look into a doctor.”
Even after leaving the dining room, the thirst didn’t subside.
As if something he couldn’t swallow remained stuck in his throat.
Is this because of pity too.
Lionel irritably massaged his neck and called his adjutant, who was always by his side as usual.
“Kalt.”
The adjutant following behind immediately stopped and bowed his head.
“From now on, when Agnes goes to and from the trading company, you follow her. Monitor everyone she contacts and any suspicious points, and report everything.”
“Understood.”
“And find a doctor. One skilled in rehabilitation—”
Lionel paused for a moment.
For some reason, over the lingering image of Agnes he had left behind, the smile she had shown at their first meal flickered and vanished.
Like a quickly scattering illusion. Leaving no form.
“—and able to handle the mental aspects from post-accident trauma as well.”
Lionel’s sharply defined Adam’s apple moved up and down after finishing the orders.
Pity was an unnecessary emotion.
Agnes Bardo was merely a tool to use and discard.
Yet the more he thought so, the heavier the foreign sensation in his throat grew.
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