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Chapter 9
“Damn it!”
Bella stopped abruptly and turned back again.
She could see Theodore walking away down the path lined with green trees on both sides.
Even though his retreating back looked so cold and heartless, somewhere inside her chest, her heart still pounded heavily.
Oh, yeah. You.
Let’s see if you can keep ignoring me and treating me like the enemy from now on.
The day I finally escape this wretched body—
I’ll make you cling to that empty shell, crying and snotting, just you wait.
That very afternoon, when Theodore and the Calypse knights left for Mount Valhalla.
By the Duke’s command, the Imperial Guard also departed from the ducal estate.
Everyone in Calypse was relieved at the news, though some couldn’t help but worry.
“What if the Imperial Court stops sending us purification stones from now on?”
“What good are purification stones anyway? Whether we last five years or ten, what difference does it make? We all saw it this time, didn’t we?”
The court physician who had been killed confessed that everything was his own doing, but no one in Calypse believed a word of it.
The Imperial Court was behind it.
Everyone was certain of that.
The memory of Calypse retainers being dragged off like beasts by the Imperial Guard was seared into their minds.
“Even if His Grace does as the Court demands, in the end, they’ll wipe out Calypse anyway.”
“In that case, there’s no reason to obey them.”
Still, one question lingered.
“But what about the Young Duchess?”
After a long silence, someone spoke.
“What is she thinking? She almost seems… like a different person.”
“Who knows if it’s thought or scheming? People don’t change that easily.”
“True. Best not to let our guard down.”
Bella, the headache of Calypse.
While everyone else merely speculated about her thoughts, there was one man who had to know what was really in her head.
Edwin chose the two sharpest agents among his direct informants and ordered them to watch her.
“There’s no doubt the Young Duchess has some scheme in mind. The Emperor’s rats are still here in the estate.”
With the Imperial Guard gone, Calypse was restless, and it wouldn’t be strange if someone tried to take advantage of the moment to stab them in the back.
“Stay close, pretend to be escorts. Watch who she meets, what she talks about, what time she gets up, when she goes to bed, when and what she eats—report everything, hour by hour, without missing a single detail.”
Even though the demand for hourly reports was outrageous, the agents took it in stride.
Under bloodless, tearless Edwin, that was the bare minimum expected.
An hour into the surveillance, the first report came in.
“She’s sleeping.”
The cold-blooded man let out a short laugh.
“Sleeping, you say?”
“Yes. She was already asleep when we started surveillance.”
Edwin glanced outside the window. The sun was blazing.
Well, what else would an idle princess do but nap in the daytime?
Another hour later.
“She’s still sleeping.”
The next report, and the one after that—always the same: Bella was asleep.
Edwin didn’t even bother responding, just sneered.
But when the fifth report also said she was sleeping, he finally asked:
“She’s not dead, is she?”
“No, sir.”
Edwin let it go.
So she naps like the dead. Fine.
Finally, after six hours, a different report arrived.
“…She ate all of it?”
“Yes, she’s still eating now.”
Edwin looked at his agents.
Even his normally unflinching subordinates looked disturbed.
The princess, waking from her bear-like slumber, declared herself hungry.
The maids had brought her an ordinary dinner, with steak as the main dish.
But Bella muttered as she stared at the plate:
“This isn’t nearly enough to restore this body.”
Then she pointed at the steak with her finger and said:
“Five more plates.”
The maids were flustered, but had no choice but to obey.
And the princess ate heartily, chewing every bite with care.
She ate so steadily that the onlookers blanked out—and when they snapped back, the sixth plate was already empty.
Meanwhile, Edwin muttered, “Six portions? Six?” Then his eyes lit up as if he had realized something important.
“The number six might have meaning. Six plates could be a signal to set some plan in motion.”
“…”
“Or maybe she’s overeating on purpose, to induce indigestion. Then she could use that excuse to call for a physician. Or she might vomit. There could be something hidden in the vomit. Maintain surveillance without pause throughout the night.”
“Yes, sir.”
And so, under Edwin’s relentless net of surveillance… Bella once again slept soundly through the night.
“She’s still sleeping.”
“Same position as before. Hasn’t even gone to the bathroom.”
The truth was, she was simply gifted at sleeping deeply.
By the time despair began creeping into the faces of both Edwin and his agents—
Bella rose as if on cue and ate again.
“At approximately 17:23, she woke up and said, ‘Ah, I slept well.’ Then she ordered food and is currently eating steak. I observed up to the fifth serving.”
Edwin clenched his teeth as he wrote on the white paper: ‘Ah, I slept well,’ Steak ×5.
Sleep. Sleeping. Bathroom. Six portions of steak. Three glasses of soda. Sleep. Bathroom. Sleep…
By the fourth day, after nearly a hundred such reports, one of the agents muttered blankly:
“…Feels like watching a hibernating bear.”
Normally, Edwin would have chewed him out for making rash judgments while on surveillance duty, but even he had no words this time.
Four days—yes, but a hundred reports.
Even sweet words would sour after being repeated a hundred times. But a hundred reports of nothing but eating, sleeping, and using the bathroom?
Is this even human?
Then, that afternoon—
At last, a strange report came in.
“A wolf?”
“Yes. She lay there absentmindedly, mumbling the word ‘wolf’ several times.”
Wolf?
The symbol of Calypse?
Edwin’s thoughts immediately jumped to the ducal basin, but he shook it off.
“Don’t miss a single murmur. Report everything in detail.”
It was no surprise Edwin thought of the ducal basin upon hearing “wolf.”
For in the basin behind the ducal estate, real wolves lived.
At that time—
A man stood peering through the iron bars.
Creak, creak.
Beyond the thick metal bars, a she-wolf writhed in the throes of labor.
“About to give birth, are you?”
The wolf bared her teeth, growling through the pain.
“Ha. Showing your teeth even now? Then I’ll make sure your pups are torn apart before your eyes.”
The man’s eyes gleamed madly, his lips curling into a crazed sneer.
But then—
“Lord Roman! Lord Roman, are you here?”
The sudden voice made him freeze.
With an annoyed scowl, the man muttered low.
“Those bothersome wenches.”
The man—Roman—pulled off his gloves and walked toward the direction of the voice.
The wolf pens formed a circle around the edge of the basin.
After passing dozens of cages, he finally stepped out into the sunlight.
“Lord Roman!”
They were maids of Calypse.
In the sunlight, Roman no longer bore the murderous look he’d worn while tormenting the wolf.
Upon his chest gleamed the Mark of the Howling Wolf—the crest of Calypse.
“You could’ve just left it there. What’s the point of bothering me? It’ll stink, so leave it and go.”
The maids, having set down a lunchbox, bowed politely and left.
“Truly admirable. If it weren’t for Lord Roman, the wolves of Calypse would’ve gone extinct by now.”
The maids believed it. In fact, most of Calypse admired Roman’s devotion.
Their love for wolves was so deep that the family itself bore the wolf as its symbol.
To go to such lengths to keep the species alive when it was on the brink of extinction was seen as worthy of respect.
That is—if it were true.
