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Chapter 31
In truth, matters like this were most effective when the family head stepped forward personally. Felix could have intervened to calm things down, of course. But a young duke and a family head—
Those two titles carried very different weights. Unlike Felix, who rarely engaged in social affairs, Wistons had displayed overwhelming power in this place for decades.
From the nobles’ perspective, it was only natural that they feared the family head more.
And that person was suggesting a threat—no, a negotiation.
Who could possibly refuse him?
Dion shrugged.
At that moment, Maytel bowed his head.
“My apologies, Milord.”
“It’s fine. Has that brat ever behaved properly anyway?”
No one knew Felix’s temperament better than Wistons. So although he knew Felix could protect himself, he always felt as if the boy were standing right at the edge of a cliff. He himself had acted like a troublemaker when he was young, but still…
Felix right now was practically a wild stallion with no reins. He was more accustomed to crushing opposition with force than negotiating.
Had Wistons not arrived at the perfect moment, Felix wouldn’t have been able to handle those furious nobles alone.
The situation would’ve certainly escalated.
Wistons narrowed his brows. Maytel, aware of this too, expressed his thanks once again.
Then, with a slightly relieved expression, he reported,
“Lord Felix and Sir Gilbert should currently be pursuing the leader.”
Wistons nodded knowingly.
“They’ve likely caught him by now. It doesn’t take long to reach the main crossroads from here.”
Maytel agreed with a nod. Wistons tossed his empty sheath onto the floor and narrowed his eyes, staring out the window like a predator.
“Well then, I should get going.”
“Huh?”
Maytel asked, startled.
Wait, he’s leaving now?
“You’re not going to see Young Master Felix?”
Wasn’t the purpose of his visit to follow the Black Cat? Now that the leader had been caught and the remaining potions secured, it made no sense for him to suddenly vanish again.
“I still have something to take care of.”
“??”
Maytel tilted his head in confusion.
He desperately asked with his eyes what exactly that “something” was, but received only a dry reply.
“Just tell that brat I’ll visit soon.”
“M–Milord!”
Maytel reached out, but it was useless. The nimble family head disappeared in an instant.
Staring blankly at the empty space, Maytel blinked slowly. Dion, who had soothed his irritable son earlier, waved a hand.
“Well then, see you later.”
He left only those words—promising to explain more later—before pulling out a scroll. A teleportation scroll capable of taking him anywhere.
With a rip, Dion tore the scroll and vanished as quickly as Wistons had.
“…Ha.”
Left alone, Maytel let out a hollow laugh.
Soon, familiar footsteps echoed. A scream followed—like a pig being butchered. It seemed they had indeed arrived.
“Damn it.”
Maytel pressed his fingers firmly between his brows.
“I’m doomed…”
How on earth was he supposed to explain this?
“Milord, Milord!”
Meanwhile, Dion landed in a dark alley. No trace of light reached the place. He carefully called out to Wistons, who had gone ahead.
Wistons frowned.
“Be quiet, fool. You’ll scare the rats away.”
“What’s the point if the rats run? Why did you come here anyway?”
“To clean up.”
“Here?”
Dion immediately checked the surroundings. But aside from the gloomy air, nothing stood out.
At most, there were a few petty thugs. Hardly the kind of opponents Wistons would bother handling personally. They were the sort commonly seen on the streets.
But soon, Dion’s expression shifted. In the darkness, faint cat tattoos glimmered.
“The Black Cat.”
Wistons smirked.
“Shall I take care of them?”
“No. I came to do this myself.”
Wistons extended his hand. Dion handed over his sword—a blade still slick with fresh blood.
“I promised I’d squash the bugs.”
The night was only just beginning.
Inside a dimly lit room.
A man held a wine glass near a lone candle flame. A knight approached, freshly returned from a mission.
“You’re back.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I have just returned.”
“And the situation?”
The man took a bitter sip and furrowed his brows. The knight carefully reported.
“The Duke of Kazriden has made his move. It appears he directly coerced the nobles into agreement.”
“And the branch leader?”
“He has been captured. And as you anticipated, he did not reveal himself.”
The man nodded and drank again.
“The young duke may be one thing, but Raymond, the branch leader, is also quite capable. If he had stepped forward and exposed himself, it would’ve been troublesome.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
He was a piece they had intended to discard from the start.
“Was the resistance intense?”
“Yes. Well, considering Kazriden’s infamous reputation…”
“Hah! Infamous, my foot.”
At the end of the day, he was no different from any other low-born thug. No matter how much he puffed himself up, a loser was still a loser. Struggle as he might, he would forever remain a frog in a well.
“But the remaining potions were taken while he was captured. I heard the items in this auction were of high quality…”
“Let it go. One shouldn’t stare at a single tree and miss the forest. No need to mourn a few lost potions.”
Those trinkets could be replaced anytime.
“Our true goal lies elsewhere.”
The knight widened his eyes, then nodded in understanding. The man raised his glass with a satisfied expression.
“For now, we stay back.”
It was not yet time to step forward.
For now, they would hide—quietly, silently.
“What do you mean you met a friend and came home covered in blood?! Should I be shocked or not?!”
Early morning.
I frowned deeply as I stared at the blood-soaked clothes tossed in the trash bin. Who was it again who repeatedly told me not to cause trouble?
“…Ahem, Amelia.”
My grandfather shuffled out from the kitchen, voice timid.
“As I said earlier, it’s not my blood.”
“Is that the point right now?!”
How on earth did he end up returning drenched in blood overnight? No matter how I tried, I simply could not wrap my head around it.
He claimed he fought a drunk last night…
But there was no way a simple brawl would cause this much blood. Narrowing my eyes suspiciously, Grandpa cleared his throat.
“It was just a minor scuffle. You know there are plenty of lunatics in Proud. I simply ran into a badly drunken one.”
“Still… if it got this bad, it must’ve been serious.”
Even if I didn’t fully understand Proud’s ecosystem, if his clothes were soaked in blood, it definitely wasn’t normal.
Feeling strangely upset, my shoulders drooped. Thank goodness he didn’t look injured, but still…
“A–are you crying?”
