IATVWAMOLS 88

88. Let’s Leave It at That, Criminal (1)

Count Gote roared furiously.

At his glare, the servants of the household flinched.

“They say the Ducal House is hastening to secure the weapon production rights, which were left unresolved after the recent incident.”

The attendant continued in a timid, shrinking voice.

“The Duke’s family has already completed all preparations. They plan to proceed as soon as Count Vermon regains consciousness. Rumor has it that they’re not only after the weapon production rights, but also intend to push through with the transfer of the Vermon estate…”

“What did you say?”

Count Gote froze for a moment.

Things were going terribly wrong.

It was obvious that the Duke’s family knew the Count of Vermon’s successor seat would become vacant because of this incident.

No—being directly involved, they would know better than anyone else.

They were planning to seize the entire Vermon fortune while the man was at death’s door.

Once all the formalities were complete, the barely breathing Count Vermon would be quietly disposed of.

“Thieving scum…”

Count Gote ground his teeth.

Looking back, wasn’t Count Vermon as well as his own wife both being held in the ducal residence?

With every card already in the young Duke’s hands, the situation was utterly disadvantageous to him.

The thought of his hard-earned feast being stolen right off the table by those Duke’s bastards made him frantic.

‘This is no time to leisurely play the role of a devoted husband.’

Count Gote leapt to his feet.

“H-horses, prepare the horses at once!”

“Damn it, what the hell is going on?”

The count’s once-confident face was now clouded with confusion.

After hearing of the Duke’s vile conspiracy, he had rushed to meet the head of the assassin’s guild.

But, for some reason, the meeting place was completely deserted.

Not only was the one-eyed man gone, but even the henchmen who normally loitered about had all vanished.

‘Did they already begin the move to finish off Count Vermon?’

Still, it was strange that they had left no contact behind.

Count Gote paced nervously around the building.

Not a single trace of life could be felt, no matter how long he waited. His unease only deepened.

What should he do?

Should he wait longer for the one-eyed man? Or…?

Tormented by indecision, he finally couldn’t bear it and rushed to the Duke’s residence.

Having wasted time already, it was now well past late afternoon.

He pulled up his carriage in front of the gates and hurried breathlessly toward the entrance.

“E-excuse me.”

“Oh, isn’t this Count Gote?”

As he hesitated at the gate, the guards recognized him.

“What brings you here today?”

“I came to see my wife. And to check on Count Vermon’s condition as well.”

“I see. Do you have a prior appointment?”

“W-well, no, I didn’t make one, but…”

“?”

Count Gote forced a servile smile.

“My worry for my wife left me unable to sleep a wink. Please, just for a moment, could I meet her?”

“Hmm. The rule is to refuse all unannounced visits.”

The guard looked him up and down before continuing.

“Still, given your unique circumstances, I’ll inform the young Duke of your arrival.”

“Th-thank you!”

“Then please wait a moment.”

A few guards bowed and went inside.

Not long after, the chief steward appeared.

“Count Gote, welcome. I have been informed of the situation. Please, come inside.”

“Has the young Duke permitted my visit?”

“Partially, yes. It will be difficult for you to see the Countess, but visiting Count Vermon at his sickbed should be possible.”

“I see.”

Count Gote feigned disappointment, but inside he was secretly delighted.

Seeing his wife was just for appearances—to keep up his façade of a faithful husband.

His true goal was Count Vermon. He didn’t care about not seeing his wife.

As the steward led him down the corridor, Gote casually probed:

“It seems I’m not the only guest visiting the Duke’s residence today.”

Unlike the day before, the mansion bustled with activity. Administrators were coming and going, and butlers hurried past holding bundles of documents.

“Yes, there are many matters to handle concerning the aftermath of the incident,” the steward replied smoothly.

Count Gote scowled.

‘So it’s true. They really mean to swallow Vermon’s fortune whole.’

Just as the attendant had hinted, the young Duke was preparing to devour the Vermon estate.

The steward brought him to an empty parlor.

“The young Duke has stepped out on urgent business. He may be gone for some time—will you be alright waiting?”

“Of course. I came unannounced, after all. I shall wait until his return.”

“Very well, then I’ll have refreshments brought.”

Click.

The steward bowed deeply and left.

Refreshments were set out, teacups were emptied and refilled, but still there was no word from Icart.

Count Gote stared anxiously at the wall clock.

“Tell me, is the young Duke still far off?”

“I’ll check the situation right away.”

The attendant left, but even after a long time he did not return.

‘What is this? He said he’d check, so why hasn’t he come back?’

Left alone in the parlor, Count Gote gnawed his nails in frustration.

‘Time is of the essence…’

Even as he sat idling, who knew what was happening outside?

Perhaps he was being deliberately left here to rot.

“Damn these bastards…”

Cursing under his breath, Count Gote finally leapt to his feet.

He slipped out of the parlor and made his way straight to the infirmary.

He had already asked the steward for its location earlier.

The Duke’s knights were focused on guarding Icart and keeping watch over the suspected criminal—the Countess.

That made it relatively easy for him to approach Count Vermon.

By chance, the physician was also absent at the moment. For Gote, it was the perfect opportunity.

“……”

Dusk was falling outside the windows.

In the deepening darkness, Count Vermon lay on the bed, his body wrapped head to toe in thick bandages.

‘So he really suffered severe burns from the explosion.’

The wrappings were so thorough that not an inch of skin was left exposed.

Shallow, rasping breaths hissed through the gaps, each one sounding as though it could be his last.

Count Gote looked down at him and felt a surge of irritation.

‘If you were going to die, you should’ve just perished neatly with the carriage.’

Why linger in this half-dead state and complicate matters?

If only he hadn’t signed over the rights transfer to Icart, things wouldn’t have gotten this messy.

‘Useless fool.’

He clicked his tongue and pulled a dagger from inside his coat.

The man’s body was already ruined beyond repair.

If he bled out from a cut or two, it could be passed off as an aftereffect of his injuries.

Gote swallowed hard.

‘The heart? No, maybe just slit the wrist—it won’t be obvious. No, too risky. If he survives again, I’ll be in trouble…’

After a moment’s hesitation, he raised the dagger.

‘The neck. Yes, that’ll do it.’

A quick slice and the blood would gush. Even if discovered late, it would already be too late to save him.

‘Farewell, old fool!’

Count Gote swung the blade down, determination in his eyes.

The steel gleamed—

Clang!

“……?”

The dagger froze just short of Count Vermon’s throat.

“Wh-what the—”

To his horror, the person who stopped the blade was none other than Count Vermon himself.

Count Gote went pale, as if seeing a ghost.

‘How can a dying man have this kind of strength…?’

Panicking, he tried to force the dagger down with all his strength, but Vermon’s bandaged arm held his wrist fast.

That crushing grip only tightened further.

“Wh-what is this…! Y-you—!”

As he gasped in disbelief, Gote finally noticed something strange.

Through the bandages wrapped around the man’s face, a pair of piercing eyes were staring straight at him.

They were not the eyes he knew.

To be precise, their color was entirely different from the Count Vermon he remembered.

And then—

“Let’s leave it at that, Count Gote.”

A clear voice rang out as the infirmary door swung open.