DRRS 12

 Chapter 12

“Sion, I’ve altered the clothes that didn’t fit before. Want to try them on? Oh my, Miss, you’re here too.”

Fortunately, the brief moment of confusion didn’t last long.

A voice calling for Sion came from outside the door.

“Sion, you may go.”

By the time Medeia spoke, her hand had already lifted from Sion’s head.

Yet Lucian’s persistent gaze followed Sion, as if silently expressing his unease.

Sion paused at the door and turned to meet Lucian’s eyes.

“Don’t act recklessly. Don’t reveal your true nature.”

In a low voice, Sion whispered the warning. If Lucian unleashed his full power here, the place could be destroyed—and even Sion’s escape would not be guaranteed.

“Behave yourself.”

A cold, mocking smile accompanied a sudden gust of wind, and Sion moved instinctively.

“…!”

Before he could respond, the door closed. Quietly and carefully, as if someone had closed it by hand.

“Oh, Sion. If I’d known you’d like it this much, I should have altered the clothes sooner. You’ve grown so much in just a few months. Next time, you could just wear the servants’ clothes as they are.”

A brown-haired servant waiting outside the door beamed with joy.

“….”

Even if Sion recounted what had just happened, there seemed no one who would believe him.

Silently vowing future revenge, Sion obediently followed the person before him.

Back in the room, only Medeia and Lucian remained.

The earlier cold, mocking look was gone, replaced by the innocent eyes of the child gazing up at her.

“Lucian, do you have something to say to me?”

With all eyes on her, Lucian almost blurted out his true feelings. Why did he approach Sion first, but never do the same with her?

Yet Medeia had only ever shown him a fraction of pity. To hope for more would risk everything they had built.

Medeia wasn’t someone who gave her closeness easily.

So Lucian suppressed his feelings, promising himself to wait for a more distant future.

“Miss, did you like that person—Prim, or Prel, or whatever his name was?”

His question came after a long pause, colored by innocent curiosity.

“Yes. He seemed lighthearted, but I think he doesn’t handle matters carelessly.”

Medeia’s observation of Prel’s relaxed demeanor was likely due to his confidence in his own ability.

“Then, Miss, do you like competent people?”

“You could say that.”

“And the masters of competent people? Should their masters also be competent?”

The child’s puzzling question left Medeia momentarily speechless.

“To manage competent people, the master must also be competent. Whoever holds a position, if they are competent, it’s good.”

Medeia answered slowly, observing Lucian’s eyes to see if this was the answer he sought.

“I see.”

Lucian’s grin widened as he gazed into Medeia’s violet eyes.

It was only after reuniting with a different side of Lucian that Medeia finally understood the meaning behind that smile.

“The humiliation I suffered then—I will repay it.”

“You certainly will. And you’ll come to me in tears, begging once more.”

“Have you finished talking?”

As always, Psibel was full of chaos.

Yet even here, there was a single quiet place: an old wooden building on the outskirts of the port.

Long ago, it was known to some as another secret site of the Lissran Trading House.

Here lived the King of Psibel—Ryle.

“Hey, Ryle.”

A mischievous voice floated through the open window as the sea breeze blew.

A blue-haired man slipped into the room through the window, familiar as ever.

Despite the building’s old exterior, inside it remained preserved exactly as it had been before. Entering felt like stepping back in time.

“What is it, Prel?”

Ryle responded calmly, pen in hand. The open window sent his silver hair fluttering in the wind.

“I came to see a friend.”

“Are we the age to be friends?”

“You’ve known me so long, and now you care about age? I’m hurt, truly.”

Prel lifted the hat resting above him and placed it on Ryle’s hand—an unspoken way of saying, “Enough, listen to me.”

Ryle didn’t even glance and tossed the hat precisely toward the window.

“You’re crazy! Who gave you this hat?”

A single scream echoed as Prel disappeared out the window.

Moments later, a soft knock sounded on Ryle’s door.

“….”

Ryle, as if used to this, continued writing swiftly with his pen.

Knock, knock—this time, even more careful.

“….”

Ryle remained silent.

The gust of wind from outside tousled his hair, but he simply closed the window and sat back down.

“Ryle, please open the door…”

Prel’s desperate voice came from the other side.

“It’s already open.”

“Are you joking? It’s locked tight! And you even blocked access from the window… Ugh!”

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a grumbling Prel stumbled in.

He barely avoided slamming his face to the floor with a quick movement of his arms.

“You’re going to treat me like this? After all I’ve done to help you!”

“You’re the one who intruded. You disturbed me. And you’re still bringing up something over a hundred years old?”

Prel closed his pouting mouth at that. Indeed, Ryle had helped him countless times—but this was the last instance Ryle would receive his aid.

“…So, why did you come here?”

Clearly, Prel had some purpose beyond barging in. This also explained why he was in Renear rather than Cetanel.

“Someone wants to meet you.”

“You, who hates trouble, are arranging meetings? Is the child you recently took in coming too?”

Ryle set down his pen and removed his glasses. Sunlight streaming through the window made his golden eyes shine.

“Exactly. Not one or two, but likely a group. They have abilities similar to yours, so it won’t be hard to recognize them.”

Prel, back to his usual playful self, clapped his hands. His grin refused to fade.

“When is it?”

Ryle finally turned to meet Prel’s eyes.

“Now.”

Suppressing his laughter, Prel flung open the window with both hands.

“…What?”

“Then I’ll leave it to you—”

With a wink Ryle hated, Prel disappeared outside.

A final scream of unknown tone left the room silent once more.

Moments later, a calm, even voice sounded from the door.

“Excuse me. I was sent by someone named Prel. May I come in?”

Outside the old wooden building, a group of people had gathered.

All wore black capes, but passersby paid them no attention. Most of them were refugees from Leshanie, unable to live among ordinary citizens.

“Miss, I can’t bear it any longer. Why not just send Mosquies far away? Tell the Duke he’s out on urgent errands.”

One of the black-caped figures broke the silence. His pale pink eyes burned with anger.

“Meril, the day your father’s plan fails, Mosquies’ life will end. Already suspected, if you remove Mosquies, both you and I are in danger.”

Despite the calm voice, the fists were stained bright red.

“Did you like the gift I sent? I guarantee it was the best surprise you’ve ever had.”

Just as Medeia was about to leave the mansion with a letter from Prel, a mocking voice rang out.

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Medeia let out a dry laugh.

But Mosquies, as if knowing everything, shifted his gaze from her to Lucian.

Medeia had decided to take Sion and Lucian along to meet Ryle, just in case Mosquies tried anything.

“So it won’t be long before you pretend ignorance. On the day your father’s plan succeeds, you’ll be the first to be cast aside.”

Mosquies muttered softly, eyes fixed on Lucian’s injured spot.

Wearing the mask of a kind father, Alec Leshanin could love no one sincerely, Mosquies knew well.

So the moment Medeia defied him, he would have no hesitation casting her aside.

And the position would be claimed by Mosquies himself, loyal servant of Alec Leshanin.

From Mosquies’ slightly open lips, a chilling laugh began to slip out.

“You speak nonsense, but your father will cast you out first. I know you’d want to return to the streets. When you see him, I’ll tell him myself. That Mosquies longs to be back on the streets.”

Unlike the fiery Meril, Medeia responded with a calm, confident smile.

“Th…!”

Mosquies’ audacious act was only growing more insolent, even after all that had happened.