DHDF 15

Of course, I knew the Grand Duke was going out of his way to look after my comfort. It was obvious he was being considerate on purpose. Still, I needed to show some gesture of gratitude for that favor. That was the only way to avoid any trouble later.

The Grand Duke was certainly a good man—but not a philanthropist. One should never mistake investment for kindness.

After Arthur left, I fell deep into thought.

“From the clothes to the foster parents… this might soon get to a point I can’t handle.”

How could I politely ask him to refrain from going too far?

After much consideration, I decided to write a letter.

There’s no medium that conveys sincerity better than a letter, after all.

Through Rosalyn, I got paper and a pen, and carefully began to write, crafting each sentence with care.

“My handwriting looks crooked, but I can’t help it.”

Even though I pressed hard on the pen, the result still looked childish.

Since I hadn’t written anything since my first letter, my grip hadn’t quite settled into a steady hand.

I considered rewriting it, but realized it would just hurt my hand without improving the situation. Eventually, I folded the letter and let go of my attachment to the penmanship.

“Um, Rosalyn, could you please send this letter to His Grace, the Grand Duke?”

* * *

The stage of feeling weary about endless work had long passed. He had endured for years, planning to hand over the duties entirely to his eldest son soon.

In fact, he had already begun transferring some responsibilities as part of his heir’s training. Though it was supposed to be “educational,” the workload was steadily increasing.

When he finished signing the last document, the surroundings had already grown dim.

As always, it was well past midnight.

Leonold drained his now-cold tea and rubbed the stiffness out of his neck.

Even with his busy schedule, he maintained his physical training regularly, so he wasn’t particularly tired—just bored.

“I want to go somewhere.”

The words held no special intent.

Even so, to Arthur, his aide, it was a statement he could not simply ignore.

Arthur, who had been hastily preparing to leave work, froze and replied nervously,

“You just went to Valossier not long ago, Your Grace.”

Contrary to how the public viewed him, Leonold had a rather free-spirited nature.

He was better than in his younger years—when his restlessness had been a constant source of worry for his family elders—but that chronic wanderlust hadn’t disappeared entirely.

Arthur did understand that no one could work all the time.

‘But he leaves suddenly, without notice, and usually for reasons unrelated to work—that’s the problem.’

The Duke’s occasional escapades always kept his subordinates on edge. They had to rush through their tasks, always accounting for his possible absence.

In truth, it was sheer luck that Berjene had met Leonold when she did.

“Valossier… such a dull city,” Leonold muttered through his cigar.

There weren’t many sights to see, and the place still couldn’t shake the shadow of death that lingered over it.

Still, meeting Berjene had made the trip worthwhile.

“Speaking of which—what happened to that man?”

“That man? Ah.”

Even after deciding to take Berjene in, the investigation had continued.

Not long ago, they had finally tracked down the outsider they’d been searching for.

When they found him, though, his condition was a complete mess.

According to the investigator, the man’s lips and nails were blue from poisoning, and he had lost his cognitive function—unable to comprehend speech.

Naturally, the list of suspects had narrowed down.

Berjene—the girl who would one day bear the name of Edendale.

“At first, we thought it might be someone she bore a grudge against, but it wasn’t.”

“I see.”

“Yes. According to the report, he was a criminal who had fled from another city. He’s been abducting children and women—extorting money or selling them if he couldn’t. It seems he approached Miss Berjene for the same reason.”

The man had been handed over to the guards and locked in a holding cell.

The authorities were digging deeper, convinced he hadn’t acted alone.

‘She’s not an ordinary child,’ Leonold mused. ‘To think she’d pull off something like this.’

Her actions were bold and calculating—far beyond her years.

From how cautious she usually was, it was likely she had arranged for the man to be found in that poisoned state.

A punishment for his vile intent—or perhaps an experiment.

Unable to contain his amusement, Leonold burst into laughter.

Arthur, unable to follow his master’s line of thought, simply waited silently until the laughter subsided.

“Ahem. Right, I also asked you to look into the orphanage.”

“We’re still investigating, but… we’ve already found traces linking it to ‘Silber Lawa.’ We suspect some form of symbiotic relationship.”

Arthur’s face hardened as he said it. “Silber Lawa” was the name of the largest secret society on the western continent.

It wasn’t merely a luxurious salon for nobles to indulge themselves—it was far more sinister.

Leonold himself had once attended an event under invitation, but after seeing the items auctioned there, he never went back.

“The children… are the merchandise, then?”

“There’s a good chance.”

Berjene’s decision to seek out a guardian before experiencing such horrors had been the right one. Her desperate plea for protection now made perfect sense.

Though he would still need to watch her closely, of course.

Truthfully, once he had decided to bring her under his wing, her background no longer mattered much to Leonold.

‘Still, it’s better to deal with potential obstacles early on.’

It wasn’t enough to just build a bridge over the pit—he needed to fill it in completely, or destroy it beyond recognition.

“Report to me as soon as new information comes in.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

At first, it had been nothing but curiosity.

“The poison of Dalvta,” he recalled. He had thought he knew every toxin there was, yet this was a new one even to him.

He’d ordered as much of it purchased as possible, intrigued. Then, the seller had requested to meet him personally.

So Leonold had prepared to depart immediately.

Of course, the seller’s identity was supposed to remain secret—but with the Edendale family’s resources, any secret could be uncovered.

Berjene. Female. Estimated age ten. Resident of Sanctu Orphanage.
Follow-up surveillance revealed no contact with known manufacturers.

Arthur had been convinced it was a trap. But Leonold—his curiosity burning—heard none of it.

When they finally met, he’d been slightly disappointed to find her just a frail little girl.

‘Still, her eyes and her hands were anything but ordinary.’

That kind of presence didn’t come from education alone.

Most children found it hard even to breathe in the same room as Leonold, let alone meet his gaze.

But this fragile, determined girl had done both—calmly and clearly stating her purpose.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that she hadn’t sought him for himself, but merely as a means to an end.

He found that both infuriating and fascinating.

He wanted to see what she would accomplish, what she would eventually grasp in her hands.

Call it admiration, even. Watching Berjene’s growth and achievements would surely be a delight.

But watching wasn’t enough. Once a treasure was in his grasp, how could he possibly let it go?

The claim that he didn’t want more children, already having three sons, was just an excuse.

“Starting point? Nonsense. If anything, she’s the destination.”

If she entered the family as a daughter, she’d one day marry out with her husband.

Better, then, to have her stay within the main house permanently.

Even upon reflection, it was a fine decision.

Though his motives were partly personal, it wasn’t without benefit to the family.

A poison controllable only by the ducal house would be an invaluable asset.

‘And through study, perhaps we’ll find even more uses for it.’

Leonold thought Berjene was perfectly suited to be a duchess.

Birth and background were meaningless. Only a person with that kind of will could handle an heir.

Of course, if she chose the second or third son instead, that would be another story—but not necessarily a bad one.

“What do you think, Arthur?”

“About what, Your Grace?”

“Which of my sons do you think Miss Berry will end up with in the end?”

A deep question, indeed. Arthur pondered for a moment before speaking.

“…This is a wager, isn’t it, Your Grace?”

“Not exactly a wager. Let’s just say the loser buys the other a drink.”

Arthur thought hard again.

The eldest, Aete Edendale, was mature and thoughtful but distant and aloof—he’d kept people at arm’s length since childhood.

The second, Laote Edendale, was delicate and pure, yet sensitive and prickly, difficult to approach.

Which left only one.

“I think it’ll be Lord Ritema, in the end. And you, Your Grace?”