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Chapter 05
Werner, who had been naturally talking down to him before, was now using the highest honorifics. Judging by this arrogant attitude, the blue-eyed man did indeed seem to be the newly appointed governor.
Better make sure.
The governorship of Rosetea was a key political post. As the aide assigned to serve at his side, Werner gathered every bit of information he could about Pheron Edwin.
However, he had never heard anything about the man having such an appearance. If anyone had seen the man standing before him, there would have been some mention of his looks, one way or another.
Pheron Edwin was in his twenties, but he was clearly different from ordinary men of that age. Twenty years spent rolling through battlefields and twenty years without such experience were worlds apart. No— even among those who had never seen a battlefield, it would be hard to find a face like this.
An officer who had earned that many merits looked like this?
Whether for good or ill, Werner couldn’t believe it. The well-defined muscles, tall stature, and broad shoulders looked like something out of a painting. What truly unsettled him, however, was Pheron Edwin’s face.
That face carried the distinct air of a kingdom native.
“Is there something on my face?”
Instead of answering, the man tossed out a joke. Seeing his expression only strengthened Werner’s conviction. Having mercilessly slaughtered kingdom natives who shared that same air, he could not be mistaken. This man had kingdom blood mixed in him.
Werner tried to recall whether any of Pheron Edwin’s close relatives had been kingdom natives, then belatedly snapped to attention and saluted. Only then did he realize he had been staring openly at the governor.
“You look curious.”
“No, sir.”
“If you’re going to lie, at least put some effort into it, Captain Werner.”
Hemmel swept his gaze over the officer standing awkwardly before him, revolver in hand. Snowflakes settled on the embroidered nameplate on his chest.
“After passing the border checkpoint, there was a terrorist attack on the road to the capital.”
Guessing roughly what Werner was wondering, Hemmel decided to provide an answer. Deceiving a fairly high-ranking officer would lessen future risks.
“T-terrorism?”
“Yes. Whether it was terrorism or a rebellion, I’m not sure.”
At the shocking news that the governor had been attacked on his way here, a stir broke out. Questions poured in all at once. Hemmel selected only those worth answering.
“Where did it happen?”
“Near the border checkpoint.”
Werner asked about the whereabouts of the supplies that were supposed to arrive with the governor’s party.
“All lost. We’ll be requesting replacements.”
“Then the other attendants…?”
“They’re dead. I’m the only one who survived.”
The soldiers gathered there gasped in shock. They were beginning to realize that the increasingly aggressive terrorist acts in Rosetea could threaten their own safety as well.
“It was organized—so much so that I had no choice but to escape alone. And yet, the standing troops of the Governor’s Office, whose duty is not only to prevent terrorist acts against the Empire but to go further and punish those responsible, are in this state. I’m disappointed.”
“……”
“To call someone an intruder, there must be sufficient grounds. But instead, commanders who made regulations that amount to shoving a gun in someone’s face, and soldiers who overreact—”
Hemmel stepped forward and thud, knocked aside the rifle. The soldier who had been blocking his path and hadn’t yet managed to get up from the ground flinched and clutched his own weapon.
“Let’s go inside for now. Looks like there’s a lot that needs fixing. We’ll be busy.”
Hemmel strode ahead with long, confident steps. Werner followed behind. As the two high-ranking officers headed toward the building, the remaining soldiers scattered as if they had never gathered there at all.
Only after most of the soldiers had returned to their posts did the one with the broken finger finally come inside.
“And what are you staring at?”
He was just about to return to his guard duty when he saw her— a tiny woman from the kingdom, golden hair spilling out beneath a fur hat, frozen in place before the main gate of the Governor’s Office.
Vivian, who had been watching everything in a daze, finally bowed deeply and then turned and ran. Leaving without answering an imperial soldier—normally an act that would have gotten bullets riddling her fragile body—was something she would never have done under ordinary circumstances. But she had no room to worry about that now.
Someone who should have been dead was alive. What could be more terrifying than that?
The moment Vivian first saw that man, her cheeks burned red. Partly because the old fur hat couldn’t fully block the harsh winter cold, but not entirely for that reason.
A monster? Or a demon harboring wicked intent?
She didn’t know exactly what he was, but she thought he must be something other than human. Otherwise, how could he be so beautiful? After all, didn’t people say that all bewitching creatures were beautiful in order to ensnare humans?
But as she watched the commotion at the Governor’s Office, the flush on Vivian’s face quickly twisted into confusion.
Someone who should have been dead—no, someone she was certain she had killed—had appeared before her eyes.
That day, on the road leading to the Kingdom of Rosetea, Vivian and Tabe had assassinated the governor, Pheron Edwin, along with his entourage.
And yet the governor’s seat, which should have been vacant, was filled? It was absurd.
“Rozia. Are you listening to me?”
Uncle Walter, a chatty man sitting across from her, waved his hand near her face as Vivian shook her head back and forth.
“Yes, Uncle.”
“So anyway, I was really surprised. He looked so noble… And on top of that, the new governor himself has been out on the training grounds since dawn supervising drills. We’ve got an energetic governor now.”
Among the kingdom natives who had seen him in passing, the new governor’s beauty spread quietly by word of mouth. The first official event for a newly appointed governor was always an inauguration ceremony, followed the next afternoon by a brief speech in the commoner district, where kingdom natives made up the majority. Uncle Walter, who supplied food to the Governor’s Office, had happened to see him earlier that very day, the day of the inauguration.
As Uncle Walter chuckled, Vivian took a sip of milk and cleared her throat. The thought that with such zeal—personally supervising dawn training—he might slaughter kingdom natives flickered at her throat, but she forced it down and smiled gently.
“If you say that much, Uncle, I’m curious about him too.”
“Then come to the speech tomorrow, Rozia!”
“Are you going, Uncle?”
“Of course. It’ll give me something else to talk about. Oh, right, Rozia—speaking of which…”
After that, Vivian kept smiling brightly as she listened to Uncle Walter’s stories. They weren’t particularly interesting, but now and then something useful slipped through.
This was the role only Vivian could play within the Rote Association, the group calling for Rosetea’s independence. Winning people over, blending in—gathering information from all sides without raising suspicion. Vivian knew how to make use of her pleasant appearance, making this mission a perfect fit for her.
By the time her cheeks ached from smiling, Uncle Walter finally left. Vivian took out her key and opened the mailbox in front of her studio.
Inside was the reply to the question: Had they confirmed Pheron Edwin’s death?
They had worked together to restore the devastated scene, but handling the bodies had been Tabe’s responsibility. Told she would only get in the way if she stayed, Vivian had sworn never to help Tabe again, and instead gathered up the various documents that had been loaded onto the wagon and automobile.
So she had never even seen Pheron Edwin’s face.
Which was better? That someone believed to be dead was actually alive, or that an unknown man had naturally taken over the governor’s seat?
Both possibilities would cause confusion all the same, but after agonizing over it, Vivian decided to hope that the governor she saw that day was a fake.
If the real one—who had already survived one assassination attempt—were alive, there was no telling what kind of retaliation he might take. He could once again gather people in the square for indiscriminate slaughter, or devise horrific policies to torment them.
Vivian slowly opened the envelope.
[The real Pheron Edwin is dead, sis. I’m certain. From what I’ve pieced together from rumors, the current governor seems to be a fake. Same black hair and tall build, but he wasn’t handsome enough to be praised like this.
