RTGD 04

Chapter 04

‘Why is he here?’

Thinking he might have seen wrong, Isis rubbed his eyes.

What the man handed him was none other than a banquet invitation.

The elegant silk envelope bore a clearly imprinted seal that looked familiar, prompting Isis to look more carefully at the man.

“This… Are you sure this is really yours?”

The man, noticing how much more cautious Isis had become compared to his earlier outburst, touched his chin with amusement.

“You seem quite suspicious by nature. If you’d checked the front, you should’ve seen my family crest on the carriage. Ah, or did you not come that far? Considering you’re asking about my identity directly, maybe not.”

“…There was mud splattered on the carriage, so I couldn’t confirm it properly…”

Trailing off awkwardly, Isis glanced once more at the crest on the invitation.

An eagle perched atop thorny brambles.

It was the emblem of none other than the Marquis Hilton family—known supporters of the Empress Dowager.

Isis tilted his head in confusion.

‘Strange. I thought the heir to the Hilton family had gone to study in the Eastern Continent. Did he come back already?’

“Why? Still not convinced by that?”

“No, it’s just that… as far as I know, Winston Hilton is still in the East… Ugh.”

Just as he was expressing his doubts, Isis stumbled backward.

He hadn’t sensed the man approach, but somehow, the man was now standing right in front of him.

Up close, the man’s frame was larger than expected.

Isis was tall himself and even the top swordsman of the Academy’s fencing club. He’d never once felt intimidated by someone else’s presence.

Was it the man’s height, broader shoulders, or the strangely oppressive aura he exuded?

Whatever it was, Isis felt a strange pressure just standing before him.

“Eastern Continent? Ah, yes—I was there until a few days ago. But I came back a little early since I heard there’d be a victory banquet.”

Swoosh.

The man lifted his veined hand and slowly pushed back the hood of his robe.

From beneath the shadows, a pair of predator-like blue eyes gleamed before fading to a lighter shade as the robe fell away.

The face that emerged had light brown hair and dark brown eyes—strikingly similar to the Marquis Hilton.

‘Wait a minute. I could’ve sworn he had blue eyes? Did I see it wrong…?’

The face under the robe was different from what she had imagined, and Litricia found herself staring intently at Winston.

Sensing her gaze, Winston turned and looked at her.

But a moment later, he looked away again with a crooked smile.

“I hear the cursed prince from the North is showing up—how could I miss such an entertaining sight? Don’t you agree?”

“Um… sure, I guess.”

Winston turned to the passengers in the black carriage behind Isis, seemingly seeking their agreement. One man, who appeared to be their master, reluctantly nodded.

Seeing that, Winston’s lips curved into a barely noticeable smirk.

“Well then, Esteemed Young Master of House Esta, how else would you like me to prove my identity?”

Now speaking respectfully—as if finally acknowledging Isis as the heir of another noble house—Winston lightly tapped the emblem of House Esta engraved on the carriage wall.

His words were polite, but the tone was stiff, making the sense of pressure all the more pronounced.

Isis endured that pointed air and came to one conclusion about Winston Hilton:

For some reason, this annoyingly smug man absolutely did not like him.

Otherwise, why would such a formal tone feel this uncomfortable?

‘Damn it. What the hell did I do to deserve this? Is he really mad because I didn’t recognize him and spoke a bit sharply?’

How petty.

Swallowing the urge to hurl some biting sarcasm, Isis forced a smile and shook his head.

“No, I must’ve been mistaken.”

Though the feeling of something being off hadn’t disappeared, if the man before him was truly Winston Hilton, then it would be improper to continue pressing him, especially since the hair and eye color clearly marked him as the Hilton heir.

As Isis backed down, Winston stroked his chin.

“Alright then. Let’s skip the formalities. Now, how do you plan to get out of here?”

“Well…”

Isis trailed off, staring at the two carriages blocking the road.

He had gone to check things out personally, but nothing had changed.

Just as the coachman had said, the space beside the carriages was too narrow for their own carriage to pass.

There was just enough room to walk through on foot, but…

He raised his eyes to the hazy outline of the Imperial Palace beyond the mist.

It looked close at a glance, but walking there would still be unreasonable.

‘Walking is out of the question. I’ll have to go by horse. But… is that even possible?’

Hope sparked briefly on Isis’s face, but as soon as he noticed the thick layer of mud on his shoes, he shook his head.

Riding a horse in this muck? A fool’s errand.

Even where they were standing was relatively firm. As they moved forward, the ground grew soggier, and near Winston’s carriage, the mud was deep enough to swallow a foot whole.

Trying to cross it on horseback? He could already imagine the result.

‘We’d get stuck like saplings in spring.’

Worse still, Isis’s own carriage couldn’t move from its hole—it kept spinning its wheels uselessly. Turning around and finding another path was also impossible.

Damn it.

Cursing inwardly, Isis raked his hand through his hair.

He hadn’t wanted to go to this banquet in the first place—but he never imagined fate would side with him like this.

If he really ended up missing the event…

Remembering the countless times the Academy drilled into him the punishment for disobeying a royal order, Isis’s face darkened.

Just then, when Winston looked like he couldn’t care less about the situation, he unexpectedly spoke.

“Doesn’t look like you have many options. But since it’s my carriage that’s blocking the road, I’ll help you get through.”

“…! Really? You have a way?”

***

“You could’ve said something sooner if you had a solution like this.”

“I was going to, but you were too busy running around.”

“Ah, yes. My bad.”

Clip-clop. Clip-clop.

As their horse trotted through the narrow path beside the carriage, Isis grumbled.

Ordinarily, just as he’d thought, getting through on horseback would’ve been impossible.

But as if they had prepared for this in advance, the horses pulling the Hilton carriage wore specially-fitted horseshoes.

Whatever strange trick they used, those horseshoes let the horse walk through the mud as if it were dry land—even while carrying two passengers.

“By the way, how did you prepare such horseshoes? I doubt they’re commercially available.”

“I’m just always well-prepared.”

Yeah, right. Of course you are.

Swallowing the sarcasm rising in his throat, Isis shifted in the saddle.

And in doing so, he brushed against the thick thigh of the man riding with him.

“Ugh. This is uncomfortable. Could you scoot over a bit?”

“I’m comfortable.”

“No… I’m the one uncomfortable.”

“Is that so?”

What kind of person is this?

Seeing no point in arguing with someone so unreasonable, Isis gave up and turned his gaze forward.

There weren’t enough of those special horseshoes, so they couldn’t ride one per person.

Instead, three horses had to carry two riders each. Isis ended up paired with the owner of the black carriage that had been parked behind Winston’s.

He didn’t want to ride with Litricia, and he couldn’t ride with the attendants either. So he had asked Winston Hilton to ride with him. But Winston had replied:

‘That’d be a problem. I’d be uncomfortable brushing bodies with you, young master.’

And so, Isis had ended up stuck with whoever was left.

‘Damn Winston and his smug attitude.’

Glaring daggers at the back of Winston’s head, Isis shifted again in his saddle.

‘Didn’t notice with the robe on, but this guy’s huge too.’

Everyone around him seemed so much bigger than usual today—it was hurting his pride.

So, to vent his frustration, he kicked at Winston’s carriage. He assumed it was empty.

“Hm?”

But then, the carriage jolted slightly as if something inside had reacted.

“What the…?”

“What are you doing? The banquet’s starting soon. Let’s move.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going… Did I imagine that?”

Scratching his head at the voice urging him from behind, Isis gently urged the horse forward again.

But once again—jolt—the carriage shook. And this time, he swore he heard something.

“Wait, hold on. I think something’s in there—”

Just as he tried to stop the horse, the carriage jolted once more—then sank.

From the rear came a voice.

“Apologies! We must’ve bumped it on the way through. The carriage sank further!”

“Ugh, is that all? Be more careful, will you?”

“Sorry for the scare!”

Frowning, Isis turned his head. The attendants scratched the backs of their heads and bowed.

With such sincere apologies, there wasn’t much more he could say. So he pulled on the reins and passed by the carriage.

“Miserable bunch, all of them,” he muttered.

“Sorry! We’ll be careful from now on. Hehe.”

The attendants watched Isis ride off while apologizing repeatedly.

And once Isis’s horse had moved far enough ahead, one of the attendants wiped the smile off his face and opened the door to the Hilton carriage.

Inside, tied up hand and foot and flailing like a fish, was the real Winston Hilton.

“Mmgh! Mmgh!”

“Come on, now. I said stay quiet for a bit. You noble types really are impatient.”

As Winston shouted and pointed furiously, the attendant clicked his tongue and shut the door tightly again.

And ahead of them, the other Winston—

No, the one who had stolen Winston’s appearance—today’s true host of the banquet, Duke Heverus—was riding ahead.

The attendant looked at him with a gaze full of loyalty.

“Count yourself honored, my lord, that our master has borrowed your name.”