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Chapter 8
A few minutes earlier.
“We’ve received information about Helena Morton.”
Dupon approached and reported.
Killian lifted his gaze and checked the time.
It was almost the time when Deacon Gold was scheduled to arrive with one of Knox Merchant Guild’s business partners.
The man had repeatedly requested an audience with Killian, claiming it could help with the recent disruptions in trade with the Kingdom of Crolin.
Under normal circumstances, Killian would have called Dupon back in about an hour.
“Come back a little later…”
Dupon, realizing there was a prior engagement, was about to withdraw awkwardly—then stopped.
Killian had reached out for the report.
The intelligence report, now under Dupon’s responsibility since yesterday, was taken into Killian’s hands.
Knock, knock.
“Your Grace.”
It was around then that Deacon Gold knocked on the office door.
Instead of Killian, who was absorbed in reading the report on Helena Morton, Dupon granted them entry.
“She’s dead? Helena Morton?”
Killian frowned as he asked.
“Yes. We held her funeral in Wickers a week ago.”
This was information from an informant planted in Wickers.
It meant that after a year of searching, Wickers had finally killed the woman who had taken revenge on the former count.
“The coffin was carried out of the mansion, and a new gravestone was erected in the Wickers cemetery.”
“A gravestone?”
“Yes. It was engraved with the name ‘Helena Wickers.’”
“Not only did they hold a funeral for the traitor who killed their boss, they even gave her the Wickers name on a tombstone.”
Killian’s lips curled faintly in amusement.
“So the new alpha of those wolf pups…”
“Wolf pups” was a mocking reference to Wickers, whose symbol was a red wolf.
“Seems like he wants to mark Helena Morton as his own territory.”
Killian’s gaze turned cold.
“But it’s highly likely that Helena Morton’s death itself is a lie.”
“Indeed.”
Helena Morton was not someone who would die so easily.
Edward Wickers’ funeral was likely a declaration.
That the crime Helena Morton committed—killing Benedict Wickers—would no longer be pursued.
From the moment Edward Wickers stopped hunting her, she would no longer be “Helena Morton.”
After a funeral, Helena Morton was already considered a dead name.
‘Edward Wickers probably hid Helena Morton somewhere only he knows…’
Killian thought that far and shifted his body.
As he turned and stepped back, a figure flickered into view, raising a leg high.
At the tip of that foot aimed precisely at his chest, a blade the length of a finger gleamed blue.
Swish!
Dupon drew his chain weapon.
‘Too slow.’
Killian calmly judged, his gaze dropping to the assassin’s ankle.
A bug that had been leaking killing intent toward him since the moment it appeared at the office door.
As long as it still had a mouth to extract information from, it would be enough.
One unnecessary leg could easily be removed.
Thud!
But only because someone suddenly shoved the assassin violently off balance.
“Gah!”
A scream echoed, followed by a sharp crack in the office.
Someone who had suddenly appeared struck the assassin’s jaw with an elbow as he lost balance.
The attacker immediately followed up.
Crunch!
The sound of bone breaking rang out as the blade hidden in the shoe was decisively crushed underfoot. The attacker’s back looked unusually small, and Killian narrowed his eyes.
“Your Grace!”
“Lord Duke!”
Knights stationed near Deacon Gold rushed in with pale faces.
“Ugh! Let go of me!”
While Dupon’s chain bound his legs and the knights secured handcuffs, the assassin struggled and screamed.
But it was useless resistance.
Like a pinned insect, once his limbs were restrained, there was nothing he could do.
“Killian Knox! I must kill you! I will, I will for sure!”
Bloodshot veins rapidly spread across the Green Merchant Guild master’s eyes, and saliva dripped from his mouth.
“You demon who belongs in hell! You will soon—!”
Killian, listening to the curses with an expressionless face, kicked the assassin’s head.
Thud—!
“Guh….”
The man’s eyes rolled back and he fainted.
A gag was shoved into his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue.
“Take him underground. Watch him carefully.”
At Dupon’s order, the knights dragged the Green Merchant Guild master out like luggage.
“Your Grace, are you unharmed?”
Killian did not answer.
He was staring at something.
“Your Grace?”
Following his gaze, Dupon looked down.
Beside the place where the assassin had fallen moments ago, a boy was sitting on the floor.
Killian’s golden eyes were fixed on him.
A boy sitting inside the Duke’s office.
Ssshhh—
A faint sound, like fabric tearing, reached Dupon’s ears.
The boy—clearly a member of Knox despite his young appearance—was using torn clothing to tightly bind his arm below the elbow.
“Uh…? You’re the one from yesterday?”
Dupon recognized him late and widened his eyes.
But the boy remained crouched, focused only on wrapping his arm.
“What on earth are you—”
Dupon frowned and approached.
The boy seemed to have been injured while subduing the assassin.
There was a cut on his forearm from a blade.
But the color of the wound was strange.
“Poison?”
The flesh around the bleeding wound had already turned black.
Startled, Dupon was about to reach for an antidote when—
“Ah, damn it. Too late…”
The boy muttered softly, then collapsed sideways.
When he opened his eyes, a white, high ceiling came into view.
Where am I?
“Are you awake?”
At the unfamiliar voice, he lifted his head and quickly assessed the person.
Mid-30s, platinum blond, dark blue eyes, refined appearance.
Neatly dressed, wearing luxurious silk from Luman territory of the Western Continent, and a star-shaped insignia only Knox executives were allowed to wear.
‘Why is Deacon Gold here?’
The last thing he remembered was getting a small wound while stopping the Green Merchant Guild master and being poisoned.
This must be the Knox infirmary.
As one of the Seven Executives, Deacon Gold had access to nearly anywhere in Knox Castle except the Duke’s private quarters, so his presence wasn’t impossible—but still suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“I was waiting for Agent Lunelc to wake up.”
That’s the problem.
“Why was I—”
“About that…”
Before Deacon Gold could answer, footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway.
Light, almost imperceptible to ordinary people.
Even Deacon Gold, a guildmaster and executive-level figure, turned toward the door.
Creak.
A young woman with loosely tied brown hair entered, bowed slightly to Deacon Gold, and approached.
“Agent Lunelc Eins?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
As he tried to sit up, Deacon Gold’s close presence made it awkward.
“Uh… Guildmaster Gold, I need to sit up.”
“Ah, shall I help you?”
“No, it’s just… could you move back a bit?”
“…Ah.”
Deacon Gold finally understood and awkwardly sat in a chair beside the bed.
The boy quickly sat up, adjusting his clothes while checking his condition.
His black hair was gone, his chest was flat, and his clothes were intact—so the artifact had not been deactivated.
Well.
If a low-ranking operative suddenly turned into a woman, he’d be waking up in a torture chamber, not an infirmary.
As he felt relieved, the physician spoke.
“That was dangerous, Agent Eins.”
“Yes.”
“Really, it was very dangerous.”
Obviously.
He had just subdued a lunatic trying to assassinate Killian Knox and ended up poisoned in the process.
As the physician repeated herself, he realized something.
‘Ah, she wants praise.’
Some people were like that—those who wanted recognition even after simply doing their job.
He bowed his head slightly.
“Thank you. You saved my life.”
“No, that’s not it!”
Frustrated, the woman struck her chest and glared at Deacon Gold instead.
“This is Dr. Valeska Hainchel, head of the infirmary.”
He already knew.
A genius physician known as the “Hand of God.”
Also Killian Knox’s longtime friend and personal doctor.
So thorough that even intelligence gathering through the infirmary had always failed.
“Nice to meet you, Agent Eins—”
“Agent Eins, do you not understand the situation?”
…Did they undress me while I was unconscious?
A cold sweat ran down his back at the disturbing thought.
