Chapter 105: Perhaps I … You
At Damian’s accusation, Alby’s eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head frantically, his voice tinged with desperation.
“What?! No, Sir Damian, I swear it wasn’t me! Why would I take orders to kill someone? That’s not who I am!”
He insisted so vehemently that he’d allow a search of his home in the capital to prove his innocence.
Finding no clear evidence of guilt, Damian dismissed him.
One by one, others were questioned, but no one in the subjugation team showed any direct ties to Ken or the Vandemir duchy.
Still, Damian didn’t fully let go of his suspicions—there could be a traitor among those not present in the mission.
Meanwhile, Isaac took on the task of investigating Ken’s background. Returning from a visit to Ken’s mother in Poshan village, he reported his findings.
“Ken’s family was burdened with a debt of about fifty million gold, left by his late father. A few days ago, Ken suddenly paid it off in full. When his mother asked where the money came from, he told her not to worry about it and refused to explain.”
“Then it’s certain someone hired him,” Damian concluded.
Ken’s attack wasn’t a spontaneous act of madness—it was a calculated move, orchestrated by someone with a clear agenda.
After sending Isaac away, Damian sat alone in the room, lost in thought.
Ken had officially joined the investigation team just a week ago. The very next day, the Red Hawk Knights had received this mission.
The timing was too perfect to be coincidence.
No matter how he turned it over in his mind, the Vandemir duchy couldn’t have learned of the knights’ mission and bribed Ken in such a short window—less than a week.
Unless Ken was already bought and planted in the investigation team from the start.
That thought cast a shadow over the entire mission. Perhaps it had been a setup from the beginning, designed to take his life.
Damian recalled Ben Diark’s words:
“Rather, a high-ranking imperial official strongly recommended your team, citing your reliability.”
Could that unnamed official be connected to the Vandemir duchy?
The imperial family wasn’t to be suspected lightly, so he had to tread carefully. Historically, the duchy had kept its distance from the imperial court.
This wasn’t about personal friendships, like those between the previous duke and the emperor—it was a matter of power dynamics. As one of the empire’s pillar houses, the Vandemirs had no need to bow to the imperial family, and both sides avoided entanglements to limit each other’s influence.
Neither wanted the duchy meddling in the imperial succession nor the imperial family interfering in the duchy’s heir selection.
But the current ducal family isn’t so principled. They’d do anything to secure their position.
It was entirely possible they’d allied with someone in the imperial court to ensure Oscar’s succession as the next duke.
The question was: who would align with the Vandemirs?
There’s only one name that comes to mind.
Crown Prince Frederick. Among the imperial elite, he was the only one with a clear motive to harbor deep animosity toward Damian.
Damian’s expression grew grave as he rubbed his jaw slowly.
Could the Crown Prince really have joined forces with the duchy?
It wasn’t unthinkable. Frederick’s feelings for Aracila were evident, and that alone could have driven him to temporarily align with the duchy out of spite.
Once we return to the capital, I’ll need to investigate the Crown Prince as well.
Damian dragged a hand down his face, exhaling a low sigh.
Whether Frederick was involved or not, it was clear that, beyond the Vandemir duchy, another formidable obstacle had emerged.
***
Thanks to a restorative potion made from herbs Rudy had thoughtfully brought, Aracila’s complexion visibly improved.
Yet, days passed, and she still hadn’t opened her eyes.
Damian, in between his interrogations, visited her regularly to check on her condition and tend to her.
This evening, as he entered her room late, he poured water into a basin and soaked a cloth. With gentle care, he wiped her face and hands, his movements tender and deliberate.
Bathed in the pale moonlight streaming through the window, Aracila looked like a princess from a fairy tale, cursed to sleep not for any fault of her own but simply for being near something wicked.
As he carefully cleaned each of her slender fingers, Damian bit his lip and pressed his forehead to the back of her hand.
You’re in this state because of me.
The guilt weighed heavily on his heart, refusing to let go. The nightmares that once haunted him with visions of his bloodied, fallen mother had shifted—now it was Aracila, collapsing before him, her blood staining the ground.
“Damn it…”
Damian squeezed his eyes shut. The memory of Aracila throwing herself into danger to save him made his heart race unsteadily.
The mere thought of losing her felt like a vise tightening around his throat, suffocating him with pain.
When did losing you become so terrifying?
Opening his eyes, he gazed at her with a tender, aching look.
From the beginning, he’d felt a sense of duty to protect her from his family’s schemes, a responsibility tied to his very identity. He didn’t want her to meet the tragic fate of others who’d been hurt by the ducal family while trying to help him.
It wasn’t because she was special—at least, that’s what he’d told himself. He simply didn’t want anyone else to suffer because of him.
That’s how it had started.
But at some point, things had changed.
What began as a moral obligation to shield her from the Vandemirs had transformed into a genuine desire to protect her, pure and untainted.
Unbeknownst to him, Aracila had quietly carved out a special place in his heart, so naturally that he hadn’t even noticed until now.
“Do you know, my lady,” he murmured, his voice soft and raw, “when I started to change like this?”
No answer came to his half-spoken question. With a bittersweet smile, Damian pressed his cheek to her palm, lingering in the quiet moment.
As Damian gazed at the strands of hair splayed across the white bedspread, a sudden memory of the day he first met Aracila flooded back. Even now, that day remained vivid in his mind.
She had sent him a letter proposing marriage out of the blue, without so much as a prior meeting, and then barged into his life unannounced—a peculiar wizard, to say the least. Her hair, as if dyed with lavender petals, flowed in soft waves, framing a face that was pale and delicate. Her eyes, clear and pristine as glass marbles, sparkled with intelligence and confidence. Many had trailed after Damian, professing their affection, but Aracila was the first to meet his gaze head-on, without a trace of hesitation. Most people faltered under the subtle intimidation he exuded, unable to hold his eyes for long.
Perhaps that was why, when their gazes locked for the first time at the knights’ training grounds, Damian found himself thinking, unbidden: Her eyes are beautiful. It was a fleeting, instinctive impression, untainted by calculation, that vanished as quickly as it had come.
True to her reputation as an eccentric and the audacity of her bold proposal, Aracila made an unforgettable impression at their first meeting. When she spoke of herself with unapologetic confidence, assessing her worth with startling objectivity, Damian found it both absurd and amusing. Yet, strangely, he had no desire to contradict her. Instead, a single thought crossed his mind: She looks perfectly normal, but she must be out of her mind. Why else would she propose to him so brazenly?
And yet, Damian had ultimately accepted her proposal and married her—a decision made entirely of his own will. Aracila’s unpredictable words and actions brought a fresh spark to his life. Watching even the formidable House of Vandemir struggle to contend with her gave him a sense of relief, tinged with a thrill of satisfaction. For someone who had always fought his battles alone, it felt as though he had finally found a steadfast companion to walk beside him.
Of course, her troubled upbringing made it difficult for him to fully trust her at first, and that hesitation led to a few conflicts. But over time, as they slowly came to understand each other, their bond deepened. It wasn’t a sudden shift but a gradual evolution, so much so that Damian couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Aracila became someone vital to him.
Was it the day she came to him, bold as ever, and declared, “You want to push your brother aside and claim the dukedom, don’t you? I’ll help you”? Or perhaps the moment he first opened up about his past wounds and took her hand, and she said, “No way. You can always hold my hand like this”? Maybe it was when, fearing she might suffer the same wounds as he had at the hands of the Marchioness, he rushed to her side and blurted out a feigned confession of love: “My lady, you are the person I love most in this world.” Or could it have been after they joined forces to fend off assassins, when she placed a flower crown on his head and smiled, saying, “It suits you, Damian. You look beautiful”? Her smile that day had been radiant, breathtaking.
There were other moments too: the Johnny Pattinson incident, where they shed their prejudices and truly saw each other; the partnership in the magical airship venture that allowed them to share each other’s worlds; the urgent moment at the garden party when he stopped Nora from striking Aracila’s cheek; or, most recently, the trip to the duchy for the Duchess’s birthday, where he laid bare his deepest wounds to her.
Memories of Aracila came rushing in like a tidal wave. As Damian carefully traced the arc of their time together—short in some ways, long in others—he came to a realization. He didn’t know exactly when it had happened, but he understood why she had become so special, so essential to him. The reason was simple.
Perhaps it’s because I… He had come to harbor a unique affection for Aracila. The same emotion that had once ruined his mother’s life.
A soft laugh escaped Damian’s lips, a complex mix of emotions—part hollow, part liberating. At last, he was facing his feelings head-on. Overwhelmed by a sudden urge to cry, he pressed his lips firmly against the back of Aracila’s hand and whispered, “Wake up, my lady.”
Though he knew her injuries weren’t life-threatening, the sight of her lying there, hurt because of him, was unbearable. If, by some cruel twist of fate, her condition were to worsen against all odds, Damian knew he wouldn’t be able to endure it. Not after losing his mother, and now facing the prospect of losing another person he cherished.
Bowing his head, Damian gripped Aracila’s hand tightly. A low voice slipped from his slightly parted lips. “I don’t think I could live normally if I lost you, Aracila.”
His heartfelt words reverberated with quiet intensity. Like a prayer to the heavens, Damian wished with all his being: Please, let her wake up soon.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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