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Chapter : 18. Chapter 2. What is Called Trust (4)
Lloyd strode forward with fierce, burning eyes. Perhaps shocked by this sudden reunion, the illegitimate child remained frozen in place.
But… that wasn’t the problem right now.
The biggest problem was that damned cat. That ugly, fat cat that had dared to mess up his hair and ruin his face.
Meanwhile, Ruby let out a triumphant cry and raised her claws. As the saying goes, enemies—no, mice—always meet again by chance. You picked the wrong time, ugly bastard!
Kyaong! Today, I will absolutely make you reach the peak of ugliness!
Only Ronel, pale-faced, fully understood the situation among the three of them. Having long since recognized Lloyd’s violent nature, she quickly scooped up the cat.
Then she ran down the hallway. She kicked off the slippers that were inconvenient for running and threw them away, running desperately—like she had lost her mind.
She had to protect Ruby from Lloyd. Ruby must not be hurt. Not even a little. Never.
“Uncle… Uncle Terriet, where are you?”
Ronel, running with teary eyes, was chased by Lloyd, who was laughing madly. To him, who enjoyed hunting, the panicked blond illegitimate child was nothing more than perfect prey.
“Hey, bastard. Where do you think you’re running off to?”
A mocking voice came from behind. The sneering laughter sent chills down Ronel’s spine, and she almost burst into tears.
“You’ll end up coming back to our house anyway! A bastard like you is destined to be sold off!”
The fate of a pretty-faced illegitimate child was obvious. At best, she’d be sold off as a concubine to some fat old man.
Amused by his own words, Lloyd stopped running and laughed while holding his stomach. Just as he was about to dash forward again to grab the fleeing golden hair—
“Well, it’s true that my mother was an illegitimate child and was sold off through an arranged marriage.”
A flat voice suddenly grabbed his neck.
Lloyd froze in place. He wanted to turn his head, but not even a single finger would move. It felt as if his entire body had been pinned like an insect caught for collection.
He couldn’t even blink—
With great effort, Lloyd slowly turned his creaking head. Next to a black-haired pale man stood a gray-haired boy with an expressionless face.
Who is it? Who are they? Who is trying to kill me like this?
Killing intent tightened around his throat. He could only gasp for breath, hiccuping. Even when he tried to speak, no words came out—only fear-filled eyes leaked out helplessly.
He had to run. His instincts screamed that he must escape immediately. But perhaps because fear had swallowed him whole, his legs trembled uselessly. If he took even one step, he felt he would collapse on the spot.
The boy who once enjoyed cruel hunts had become the prey for the first time.
“…Ah.”
A purple gaze, devoid of any laughter, looked down at his miserable state. The duke, who had been watching the hiccupping boy, briefly erased all expression and snapped coldly.
“Say it again.”
Hic.
Lloyd could not answer and only kept hiccupping, like a cat that had bitten its own tongue.
“Hey. I said speak.”
Hic. His hiccups only grew louder in panic.
Terriet observed the sight of the unruly boy being thoroughly shaken and stroked his chin.
Well. It was true that the Duke’s mother, Yulian, was known as a bastard child. Rumors had spread through high society that the illegitimate child of the former Sienna Kingdom had been sold off into a political marriage with the former Duke of Rihard.
The truth, however, was entirely different.
First of all, the Sienna Principality did not even have the concept of illegitimacy. She was not the blood of the former king, nor was she married off through politics—she had married the Duke of Rihard out of genuine love.
Terriet kept a straight face and ignored Bertrand’s distortion of the facts.
Honestly, it was somewhat amusing to watch the adult man himself deal with that foul-tempered kid. So he decided to leave the Duke to handle it and go calm the child himself.
While the Duke dragged the struggling boy by the nape of his neck, Terriet hurried toward Ronel. Meanwhile, Bertrand narrowed his eyes, ignoring the flailing child.
…Good heavens. That Terriet Duncan is running.
Terriet Duncan, once heir of the Duncan family, was known for his genius but extreme laziness. No—more precisely, he was a man made entirely of laziness.
Even while finding it strange, Bertrand grabbed the struggling boy and dragged him along.
“What the hell are you! Let go! Do you know who I am!”
“Duke.”
“What do you mean Duke, you—”
“I am the Duke. Bertrand Yurchen Friedrich Le Rihard. That is my name.”
Even the poorly educated brat seemed to recognize the weight of the title. Bertrand suppressed a laugh as the boy immediately shrank back.
Pathetic. Just like his father—he clearly distinguishes between the strong and the weak.
Bertrand dragged the child down the hallway and happened to bump into Aisa, who was wandering the mansion.
“Your Highness. I greet—oh my.”
“Artes Count’s young master. Where are Count Artes and Lady Aesilla?”
“They are in the young lady’s study. …Shall I guide you?”
“Please do.”
Thus, the Duke safely arrived at the study.
The count couple immediately stood up in shock upon seeing him. Bertrand casually dropped the boy as if throwing him and said coldly,
“The young master insulted my mother.”
As expected, the count couple’s faces turned deathly pale.
＊ ＊ ＊
Completely unaware that Lloyd was causing chaos in the hallway, the count couple entered the study with Aesilla. It was a spacious, comfortable room filled with morning light.
As soon as the door closed, Count Artes tried to ask where Ronel was. But the countess spoke first.
She sipped tea with perfect etiquette, commenting on its fragrance, while Aesilla matched her tone with a blank expression.
“Indeed, what I liked most when I was young was Cheka tea. Dried white lotus—”
“Lady Duncan.”
“Cheka tea is made from rolled white lotus leaves dried in Tishulen smoke. There is a similar tea in the Sienna Principality as well.”
“Madam, please wait. Lady Duncan.”
“My husband seems to have something to say to you, Lady Duncan.”
The countess pressed her lips together with a cold expression. Aesilla glanced at her briefly and spoke flatly.
“Bark.”
“…Lady Duncan. That is incredibly rude. Please mind your manners.”
“So camping outside the estate gate for days like a protest was polite?”
“And throwing salt at someone waiting is polite?”
“I thought you were possessed. In Fernburg, we throw salt at human trash acting like lunatics.”
The count gritted his teeth, gripping his teacup.
“But you’re so much trash that even ghosts avoid you. I’ll admit I was wrong.”
“Then stop barking and return Ronel. The Duncan family has no reason to keep a child.”
“You want to send an abused child back to the abusers? That’s not even trash—it’s monstrous, Count.”
At Aesilla’s words, the count carefully chose his words.
“Lady Duncan. We have reflected enough, so we will no longer—”
“No.”
A flat voice cut him off.
Startled, the count turned, and Aesilla tilted her head slightly while still seated.
“I cannot guarantee that.”
The countess’s cold voice cut like a blade.
Aesilla covered her mouth subtly with her hand.
She knew very well that the countess had abused the child. That was why she had turned the estate upside down before leaving. Beating an eight-year-old child until they fainted—that was the truth.
But—
“…Hah. I didn’t expect this turn of events.”
While Aesilla sighed inwardly, the countess spoke with trembling lips, though her voice remained oddly calm.
“Do you know what rumors I hear in society?”
“An incompetent wife who cannot even control her husband. How unattractive she must have been for him to cheat.”
“….”
“Such interest. Such pity. Such ridicule.”
Aesilla lowered her eyes.
No matter that the child was innocent, could she truly be expected to love the illegitimate child her husband brought home?
The count shifted uncomfortably.
“Madam, if I had known—”
“It’s just that you were the only one who didn’t know until now.”
“….”
“Did I cheat? Did I betray anyone? Was I the one who did wrong? No. It was you.”
She did not deny that she had been a cruel abuser.
But she could not accept being forced to raise the seed of this tragedy. She could not accept being told to continue this misery.
“Why was I the one who had to suffer all that pity and ridicule? Why did you get to remain noble while I was left with all the filth?”
“…Madam.”
“You’ve already made me miserable enough. Isn’t that enough?”
“Madam!”
Strangely, that cry felt oddly refreshing.
Only after falling into the abyss did she realize she had been in one—but admitting it brought relief.
“Don’t tell me to love that child unless you are willing to stop being human yourself.”
“Madam, why are you suddenly—”
“Isn’t this all happening because you want me to take the child back?”
“No! I came to take the child back! Of course we must!”
The count shouted in frustration.
“Abuse is not something to boast about, Madam! I only meant we would correct it—why do you—”
“….”
“—how can you speak so proudly about continuing such vile acts?”
“Proud?”
The countess opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Her throat tightened with suppressed rage.
“Are you seriously asking me that, you damn man?”
She could no longer hold it in.
“WHAT IS THIS SITUATION?!”
