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Chapter 18
“How can they let a guy like that roam the castle freely?”
Clea had planned to deal with it later, but after what happened with Demilton just now, her thoughts changed.
Something was seriously wrong.
She couldn’t understand the current Eisenbold at all.
No matter how difficult the times had been, letting the family members who had betrayed Eisenbold into the castle?
Even if it was part of knight training, this was clearly an act of disrespect toward Eisenbold.
Otherwise, how could Kurtsfel or Valiebone be so shameless?
It had been a mistake from the very start. Revenge wasn’t the priority. The first step had to be to properly rebuild the family.
And for that, it was necessary to go back to the beginning.
Standing before her was a tall woman: Clea.
She stared quietly at Seris. Her expression wasn’t exactly welcoming, but it carried a lingering doubt: could this really be healed?
“Why that face? I didn’t force you to come, did I?”
“…Can I really hold a sword again?”
“I told you—I don’t make empty promises.”
“But even doctors and priests have given up. No matter how much money you bring, they all said it’s impossible. The tendons are torn, the muscles severely damaged. Picking up a sword again would mean giving up your arm.”
“Did you meet another doctor in the meantime?”
Seris bit her lip as Clea slowly raised an eyebrow.
Leaning forward, Clea rested her elbows on her thighs and her chin in her hands.
“You came here even though you didn’t believe me, and even after the doctor said it was impossible?”
“…Tell me. Can it really be done?”
“You keep making me repeat myself. Yes, it can. But there’s a condition.”
Seris frowned at the word condition.
Clea lightly waved her fingertips in response to Seris’s changing expression.
“Don’t make that face. I’m not joking, and I’m not asking for money.”
“Then what do you want?”
Meeting Seris’s expectant gaze, Clea spoke quietly.
“Two things. First, grow to surpass Alsace Quarto as a knight, and be loyal to the family.”
If Clea represented Eisenbold, Alsace represented Quarto.
Although not exactly the same comparison, Alsace was also regarded as one of the most formidable in Quarto’s history.
Telling Seris to surpass such a man was quite excessive, but she remained calm.
“I don’t need to be asked. That’s my lifelong wish—to surpass my grandfather.”
“Good. Then, the last thing.”
Seris swallowed nervously. What could this final condition be?
Clea, staring at her tense face, smirked.
“From now on, don’t open your mouth and don’t scream. You can twist your body, but don’t remove the arm I’m holding.”
“What…?!”
Before Seris could question her, shadows clinging to the floor and walls flickered and instantly gathered at Clea’s fingertips.
Seris, stunned by the rare sight, swallowed hard.
“That’s…!”
“Here’s a tip: it’s better to faint as quickly as possible.”
Clea blew the gathered shadows into Seris’s arm, her expression tinged with a strange exhilaration. Seris stepped back instinctively, but the pain began instantly with a sharp snap.
The shadows forcibly crushed the bones and tore at the muscles.
“It’s going to hurt a lot.”
Isaac slowly opened his eyes and stared blankly at the ceiling.
The plain white ceiling felt unusually unfamiliar.
Frowning, he rose slowly and pressed his palm to his forehead.
Still trying to grasp the situation, he bent his head and let out a groan, rubbing the back of his head.
A bulge beneath his fingertips.
After rubbing for a while, Isaac finally realized he had passed out.
Along with the perfectly aimed punch that had flown toward his face.
Piecing together fragments of thought with a dazed expression, Isaac recalled Clea glaring at him with disdain.
“Haah—”
He let out a long sigh and leaned forward.
“What on earth have I done…”
Covering his mouth, he muttered slowly.
After all, he had loudly demanded someone hit him in a crowded place and ended up unconscious—there was no greater embarrassment.
He covered his flushed face with his hand and bit his lip, thinking of Demilton, the cause of it all.
“Drink this and go ask. What is this? Cold water, cold water! Don’t worry, just drink it and go!”
What Demilton handed him wasn’t water. It was alcohol from the southern regions.
Faint in taste and smell, nobles who couldn’t drink alcohol mixed it with lemon to make it palatable.
Isaac drank it without suspicion—and ended up completely drunk.
“Demilton…”
He muttered his friend’s name, frowning in frustration.
As he gritted his teeth, vowing revenge, he suddenly felt a gaze in the darkness and lifted his head.
Moonlight streaming through the window illuminated faint green eyes.
Eyes that proved he was from Eisenbold’s branch line.
“Awake, are you?”
A man leaned against the window frame. Eanock’s slow voice echoed.
The deep night matched the timbre of his voice, and Isaac exhaled quietly, lifting his head.
“How’s your condition?”
“Good. Nothing particularly wrong.”
“That’s a relief.”
At the brief reply, Isaac narrowed his eyes.
Surely, he hadn’t come all this way just to say that.
He met Eanock’s unwavering gaze and spoke slowly.
“Don’t worry. I won’t say a word to the main family.”
“What do you mean?”
“You were waiting, fearing that this incident might lead them to withdraw their investment, weren’t you?”
The reason Kurtsfel and Valiebone’s heirs could stroll freely through the castle—
Because both families had heavily invested in Eisenbold.
Of course, under the pretense of investment, they also planted their own children to monitor the family.
Clea was furious, but the sum was considerable. She had to watch the heirs walk through the castle calmly, no matter how resentful she was.
Eanock observed Isaac silently, then let out a dry laugh.
“You speak amusingly. Did you think I’d beg you not to withdraw the investment?”
“…”
“Even if the family is insignificant, they have some pride. Young Marquis.”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to dismiss you, I just wanted to ease your worry…”
“No need for worries from a young marquis who hasn’t even come of age.”
Isaac bit his lip, unable to reply further to the cold, cutting tone.
Eanock’s reputation for icy detachment was well-known in noble society.
Though opinions about him were mixed, the fact remained: Eanock was the one who breathed life into Eisenbold.
Perhaps he was the only person who could act freely even before the emperor.
“I was waiting here to give you advice.”
“Advice…?”
Isaac frowned as Eanock rose slightly from the window frame, looking down.
“I know your father is ambitious, but there are limits you must respect.”
“…What do you mean?”
“You know better than I do.”
A cold voice made Isaac frown, confused.
“Isn’t it excessive to covet other things after taking so much already?”
“I think there’s a misunderstanding. I haven’t—”
“Young Marquis.”
Cutting him off, Eanock stepped forward.
“Do you believe in coincidences?”
“…”
“I don’t. That the child claiming to be Clea came one day, that she knows all the inside information, and that you staged this crude little play—it’s no coincidence.”
“Play?” Isaac hurriedly spoke at the word.
“I think there’s a misunderstanding. I only—tried to stage something like a play to deceive the Duke…”
“You’ll see for yourself soon enough.”
Eanock cut him off and passed in front of him.
Isaac followed with his eyes and stopped at the door, watching Eanock silently.
“Take care of yourself. Don’t make unnecessary commotion.”
“…Understood.”
Without looking back, Eanock quietly left the infirmary.
As the door closed, Isaac let out a sigh and bit his lip.
