FJ 45

Chapter: 45

From Zachary’s point of view, the fact that Juliet was Lionel Levatin’s granddaughter was far less shocking than the revelation that she was the lover of the young duke.

The infamy of Duke Carlisle had spread far and wide—even to the eastern regions.

“I’m not entirely certain, but it seems the duke himself has come to the East.”

“To look for our child?”

“Yes…”

“Hmph.”

A familiar, crooked sneer tugged at Lionel Levatin’s lips.

“There are interesting rumors about that family.”

Though they possessed overwhelming wealth and power, House Carlisle was regarded with both fear and awe.

As a thousand-year-old northern house, there were so many rumors surrounding Carlisle that it was impossible to tell truth from fiction.

To put it bluntly, the previous duke—the current duke’s father—was said to be a madman who killed his wife on the day his son was born and even tried to kill the newborn child.

As if such a sinister family weren’t distasteful enough, they’d lived together for seven years without even being engaged, and then let the girl come alone to a place this dangerous?

And there was something else that bothered him.

Yesterday, when Juliet had pressed a blade to Theo’s throat and glared down everyone around her, there had been no fear in her eyes at all.

What kind of life had she lived to become so unyielding?

Only Juliet herself would know why she had come all the way here alone, but even without having met him, the young Duke of Carlisle had already earned Lionel’s displeasure more than once.

“What am I to do with this insolent brat?”

Even before knowing the duke’s identity, Lionel had already been keeping an eye on a group that had suddenly appeared in the East, rummaging around while claiming to be searching for a young woman.

As Lionel Levatin slowly tapped the tabletop with his fingertips, his gaze came to rest on a small silver ornament.

“……”

It was the pigeon-shaped brooch Juliet had brought to the library four days ago, asking to sell it. Zachary, who had appraised it as northern silver, had paid an exceptionally generous price.

Naturally so—the buyer had been her grandfather.

He had purchased it to keep Juliet lingering in the library as long as possible, but now Lionel could guess the brooch’s origin: the Carlisle ducal estate in the North.

“…Hm.”

Lionel Levatin’s gray eyes gleamed as he made his decision.

“Zachary.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Release this at the auction house in Lucerne.”

“Pardon? Lucerne?”

“Yes.”

Zachary accepted the brooch, momentarily bewildered.

The holy city of Lucerne lay far from Milos, in the exact opposite direction—deep in the East.

Ah.

Understanding Lionel’s intent at last, Zachary bowed deeply.

“I will do as you command, sir.”

Lionel Levatin intended to throw false evidence at the northern duke who had come chasing after his granddaughter.

He smiled mischievously.

“Let’s see how that arrogant wretch answers for his insolence.”

If Lionel Levatin set his mind to it, he could make anyone’s life exceedingly troublesome.

Even if that someone was the Duke of the North.

* * *

A man the color of blue dawn stood where he could overlook Sanbon Station.

Lenox gazed quietly at the finely crafted pigeon brooch resting in his palm.

It had come into his possession at dawn that very morning.

“They say it was found at a Lucerne auction house.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He had scattered eyes and ears throughout the East—and as if by coincidence, at dawn today, one half of a familiar pigeon brooch had fallen into his hands.

He drew out the other half he already possessed and aligned the two.

With a soft click, the pair of pigeons fit together perfectly in his grasp.

Naturally—they had originally been a single piece.

Lenox smiled faintly.

Lucerne, of all places. At this timing?

“…My lord, isn’t that the young lady’s possession?”

Milan’s cautious question betrayed his intent.

Since Juliet’s belonging had surfaced in Lucerne, shouldn’t they hurry there?

Sanbon, where they currently were, had originally been meant to be the terminal station of the train Juliet had escaped on—the easternmost city of the continent.

But instead of rushing off blindly to Lucerne in pursuit of evidence, Lenox reflected on the past several days.

The last location confirmed by the tracking relic had been Lovell.

It had been eight days since he’d followed Juliet—who had fled the capital—into the East. To be honest, when he first arrived and began the pursuit, Lenox had believed it wouldn’t take long to catch her and reunite.

No matter how lawless the East was, there were few problems that couldn’t be solved by pouring in enough gold.

Even after the tracking relic failed, his confidence hadn’t wavered. In fact, things had gone smoothly—up to a point.

Then, two or three days ago, something changed.

The information network that had run like clockwork began to glitch. The flow of intelligence slowed.

Spies he had placed throughout the East—men who had never made mistakes, lavishly supplied with gold—started bringing back distorted, false information, sending them on several wild goose chases.

Of course, human error was always possible. But instinctively, suspicion began to take root.

Lenox Carlisle was a born predator, accustomed to cornering prey and cutting off its escape. He was always the one doing the chasing; being chased was exceedingly rare.

And yet, something felt off—like a gear slightly misaligned. As though an unseen hand had suddenly appeared from the shadows to interfere with him.

This sensation of being hunted instead of hunting—of footsteps at his back—what was it?

“Milan, isn’t the timing too convenient?”

“…Pardon?”

Even if Juliet had sold the brooch, it should have taken time for it to circulate through the market and reach his notice.

Yet at the very moment the tracking relic had failed and his network of eyes and ears was malfunctioning, clear evidence hinting at Juliet’s whereabouts conveniently appeared?

That was precisely why Lenox found this pigeon brooch—so conspicuously timed—deeply suspicious.

Meanwhile, near the station, a ducal knight named Jude was interrogating Viscount Hilven.

“So you’re saying that steward was on the train?”

The viscount hastily pointed toward a young attendant hustling about the station, carrying luggage.

“Yes! I’m certain of it!”

Viscount Hilven bowed repeatedly before the duke’s knight.

After learning the full story, Hilven was dumbfounded.

He was looking for a woman?

The woman who had been on the same train as him—the mysterious figure who had released the wolf and disrupted his business—was the very woman the duke was searching for.

All that… for such a reason?!

Some might call it coincidence, but to Hilven, it felt like being struck by lightning out of nowhere.

His illegal operation had been utterly destroyed.

After letting both monsters and slaves escape, the young duke—absurdly calm and infuriatingly young—had issued a warning without even raising his voice.

If the woman was not found safely within a week, the next thing destroyed would not be his business—but his head.

It was a truly catastrophic butterfly effect. He didn’t even know where to direct his anger.

But how was the duke’s mistress running away his fault?!

Outrageous!

…And yet, despite thinking so, Viscount Hilven confessed everything he knew.

“…That’s what he says, my lord.”

At Jude’s report, the Duke of Carlisle slipped the brooch into his coat and rose.

Following him, Hardin offered quiet counsel.

“It won’t be easy to make them talk.”

Hardin frowned.

“The staff are unexpectedly professional.”

His tone carried clear sarcasm—or perhaps they had already been silenced.

They had tried bribing them with money, but the attendants only shut their mouths tighter, fear written all over their faces.

It seemed someone had already warned them.

Of course, like with Viscount Hilven, they could force the truth out—but the duke didn’t appear inclined to go that far yet.

In truth, not many attendants even remembered Juliet from the train.

At most, the conductor and three or four attendants. And in Hardin’s judgment, for people so terrified, they didn’t seem to possess particularly useful memories.

“Perhaps we should wait a little.”

The capable shadow that was Hardin had already set things in motion.

He had issued orders to check all inns near every station the train had passed, searching for places Juliet might have stayed.

“We should have results in a day or two.”

Lenox smiled gently. A day or two.

Hardin’s uncharacteristic naivety amused him.

“If I had that much time to spare, why would I bother coming all the way to the East?”

“…My lord?”

Leaving his bewildered subordinates behind, Lenox walked alone toward the station.

* * *

“Excuse me, miss.”

“…?”

The young attendant carrying a box halted and looked up.

She caught the scent of a forest—no, more precisely, the scent of standing deep within a rain-soaked forest.

Ah…?

Turning unconsciously, she froze.

Beneath a long row of columns stretching outdoors stood a young man—so tall he was almost oppressive.

Rain-darkened black hair. A black dress shirt and trousers. Broad shoulders and a lean waist outlined clearly.

With his hands tucked casually into his pockets, no outerwear in sight, he looked like a man strolling through his own garden.

“Are you Miss Enji?”

“Well… yes?”

Snapping back to her senses, Enji took a cautious step back.

Seeing her guarded expression, Hardin shot a look that said, What did I tell you?

But Lenox paid no mind and spoke politely.

“I’m looking for a passenger from a train eight days ago.”

“Eight days ago…”

Enji immediately understood.

The incident when armed men had boarded the train and taken passengers hostage, injuring many.

She glanced at the man cautiously. Was he here about that?

“The person I’m looking for is a woman traveling alone.”

His description was concise.

Light brown hair. Blue eyes. A woman traveling alone.

Despite the simplicity, Enji remembered instantly—the woman who had gone by the name Lillian Seneca.

“Yes. I remember her.”

Enji felt as though she were under a spell.

The man before her was strikingly handsome, but more frightening than his looks was his low, hypnotic voice and overwhelming presence.

Though the woman had mostly worn a veil, Enji remembered her clearly.

She was a memorable passenger.

Her softly flowing light brown hair shimmered silver when she moved, and her neat forehead and delicate eyes made her a beauty.

“She said she was heading to the eastern gate to meet her husband…”

“Her husband.”

For an instant, a spark lit in the man’s eyes—eyes that had seemed gentle until now.

Ah—did I say something wrong?

Enji snapped back to herself, as if waking from a dream. She wasn’t supposed to say that.

She didn’t know the details, but days earlier, a very important-looking man had come and handed the conductor a pouch of gold coins. The conductor had trembled as he swore to keep silent.

Mrs. Lillian Seneca had claimed she was traveling to meet her husband and wore a silver ring on her left ring finger.

But Enji remembered it precisely because she hadn’t believed it.

The woman wore a black veil that covered half her face—something ordinary married women didn’t do.

She seemed to have a story. Less like someone going to meet a lover, more like someone who had parted ways.

Realizing how far her thoughts had wandered, Enji stiffened.

“I—I’m sorry. I can’t disclose passengers’ personal information!”

She asserted her professionalism—albeit belatedly.

But the man’s voice remained gentle.

“Is that what she said? That he was her husband?”

“Ah… yes.”

Enji answered haltingly, as though enchanted.

She was surprised.

When his previously cold eyes curved into a faint smile, there was something unsettling in the quiet pressure of his voice.

Somehow, she sensed it.

Perhaps the woman who had called herself Lillian Seneca had used a false name—and a false identity.

And the reason she’d boarded the train under a lie was undoubtedly this man.

Enji adjusted the box in her arms and stepped back.

Was he a ruthless villain chasing her, or a lover separated by unavoidable circumstances?

How could she possibly judge?

Whatever her true identity, the woman had been kind to Enji. And Enji wanted to help her.

“I’m sorry, sir. But I truly can’t share personal information about a passenger.”

She spoke firmly, though tension crept into her voice.

“I wasn’t going to ask that, so you needn’t be on guard.”

The man spoke calmly, like a finely honed blade.

Enji hunched her shoulders defensively.

No matter what he said to persuade her, she had resolved not to reveal anything.

Yet, contrary to her expectations, he didn’t ask where the woman had gone.

“…Was she safe?”

“What?”

“I heard there was an incident.”

“Ah… yes. That’s right.”

Only then did Enji realize the most natural first question for someone searching for a passenger from that train.

“Was she injured anywhere?”

Enji startled.

For just a moment, the man’s low voice sounded restrained—pressed down.

Like someone barely holding his emotions in check.