Chapter 02
The Black Wolf (2)
“No matter how long this war drags on, it’s not like every able-bodied man is gone. So what’s with these numbers?”
Joseph tilted his head, scanning the capital’s crime rates, which had skyrocketed to absurd levels compared to before the war.
The aide, lowering his eyes from the Side Duke’s glacial blue gaze, gave a sharp ahem. No matter how much time passed, that chill-inducing look never became easier to face.
“What are the other nobles doing while I’m away? Did they all throw banquets and leave me to die?”
Exactly that.
The aide almost nodded vigorously before forcing himself back to composure.
Joseph hardly needed him to say it; he surely knew about the endless parties at the Imperial Palace.
“They’re really having the time of their lives,” Joseph muttered, his words coarse and stripped of any polite noble phrasing—something he’d long since abandoned.
Pretending he hadn’t heard the remark, the aide finally spoke.
“Still, the fiefdom is holding together. The remaining people have organized a militia, and the knights Your Grace left behind are protecting the territory as best they can. But… the problem lies with several shops owned by our trading company here in the capital.”
Joseph gave a small nod for him to continue.
“Specifically, the shops belonging to the Side family are being hit repeatedly by thieves and robbers. With the city guard drastically reduced and every noble focused on protecting only their own households… there haven’t been any catastrophic losses yet, but the merchants in our employ are frightened.”
“And what have you been doing all this time?”
There it was—the question the aide had dreaded.
Alex forced down the bitterness rising in his throat and managed an awkward smile.
“Because of the war, it’s nearly impossible to hire mercenaries these days. We’ve been forced to patrol the trading company with personnel drafted from the fief.”
“Tsk.”
Joseph clicked his tongue, brow furrowing.
He hadn’t gone to war expecting some grand reward. He only wanted the people under his protection to live in peace. And yet, even that small wish was being violated.
“So this is how they want to play it…? Then what does that make me, who went to war first, and those who trusted and followed me?”
His low, ominous voice filled the room.
Stacks of documents requiring the duke’s signature towered on his desk, a reminder of his brief return to the rear lines for shoulder treatment.
Sleep had long since abandoned him, so Joseph opened the papers without complaint. Yet the more he read, the more it felt as if he were being cheated.
Even if the other nobles were duplicitous and petty, wasn’t it too much to treat a man risking his life for them this way?
Reality crushed his expectations all the same.
After signing a request to bring in foreign mercenaries, Joseph rose and reached for his coat.
“Your Grace, where are you going?” the aide exclaimed, eyes wide. “The physician will arrive shortly for your shoulder. And your presence in the capital is supposed to be top secret!”
“I’ve had worse wounds on the battlefield. Don’t fuss. I need to see the damage to the trading company for myself. No one will notice me if you keep quiet.”
“But you’re still injured. Please, stay home—”
Joseph waved off the concern. His injuries were serious enough that the army doctor had practically begged him to rest. And with his return to the front looming, he really should be recuperating.
“You mustn’t go out. I can’t allow it.”
Joseph brushed past the aide blocking the doorway. He’d been restless enough from being cooped up.
“And if bigger problems arise while I’m gone? Should I have Mother or Mariana handle it? Or wait until a merchant is hurt and the damage is beyond repair? Maybe I should call in one of those astrologers everyone in the capital seems to adore and pour out my troubles to them?”
Contempt colored his voice.
Joseph never believed in “astrologers” or “witches”—charlatans who beguiled the desperate with silver tongues instead of real work.
The aide fell silent, picturing the proud, iron-willed Dowager Duchess and the gentle young lady of the house. Astrology was the last thing their family business would stoop to.
Joseph, unsurprised by the lack of response, arched a brow and smirked.
“I’m going.”
“Safe travels, my lord!”
Leaving the merchant’s bow behind, Joseph surveyed the bustling street with a leisurely gaze.
The capital was lively, war or not.
His unkempt hair and loosened shirt buttons gave him a careless look—no one would guess he was the Duke of Side.
Even so, his striking features drew lingering glances.
Trailing him, Elliot suddenly stopped, his eyes fixed on a nearby alley.
A group of lightly armed men emerged, and pedestrians parted like water. A burly man with pale gray hair led the pack.
As he casually turned his head, the man met Elliot’s eyes and quickly pulled his hat lower.
Elliot, noting the glimpse of gray hair, spoke up.
“About the mercenaries…”
Joseph turned his gaze on the aide at the abrupt comment. Elliot gestured toward the back alley where their carriage waited.
“What if, instead of foreign mercenaries, we hired an information broker?”
“Why?”
Joseph had only signed the mercenary request this morning. What made his usually cautious aide change his mind?
Elliot shrugged.
“Managing foreigners who barely speak our language won’t be easy, especially in these chaotic times when checking identities is difficult. They could cause more trouble than they solve.”
“You must have another plan if you’re suggesting this.”
The question was more threat than inquiry, and Elliot gave a wry smile.
“Since the war, the number of information brokers has exploded. They used to focus on intelligence gathering, but lately they’ll handle just about anything for a price. The most well-known groups even hire mercenaries and take on secret jobs—practically fixers rather than mere informants, though they call themselves brokers.”
“They claim there’s no job they can’t do if the pay is good enough…”
“And where do they find these mercenaries we can’t?”
“I’ve heard they recruit soldiers badly wounded in the war.”
“Then why haven’t we hired them?”
“Well…”
Elliot looked uneasy.
“They’re men broken in both body and spirit. Not exactly the sort we’d bring directly into the ducal household. Hiring someone to manage them would be more efficient.”
He had just reached for the carriage handle when—
“Aah!”
A faint scream echoed nearby. Joseph’s eyes swept the street.
Another cry rang out, followed by the crash of falling objects.
“It’s coming from there,” Elliot said, pointing—
but Joseph was already moving.
He kicked open a suspicious door to find a woman sprawled among shattered furniture, a man straddling her and tightening his grip on her neck.
Before their eyes could meet, Joseph strode over and kicked the man square in the back. He spared the woman a quick glance—she was far younger than his sister Mariana, gasping desperately for air but too shaken to move.
“What is this nonsense?”
The attacker, flung aside, scrambled up and tightened his hold on his knife. He hesitated at Joseph’s imposing presence, then bared his teeth in a sly grin.
“Well, well. A fine nobleman and his commoner mistress. Sounds like the plot of a fashionable play—perfect for a bit of blackmail.”
His leering gaze darted between the woman and Joseph, full of ugly intent.
Disgusted, Joseph closed the distance and seized the man by the collar.
The knife clattered to the floor before the man could react. He flailed wildly, startled by the suddenness of it all.
“This way, Your Grace,” Elliot said calmly, holding the door open.
With one hand still on the man’s throat, Joseph hurled him outside.
“Guh!”
The man made a dramatic choking noise, only to be silenced when Elliot struck the back of his neck, knocking him out.
“Noisy fool,” Elliot muttered.
The armed group they had passed earlier came pounding toward them.
“There they are!”
Joseph straightened, glancing at the unconscious woman. He couldn’t afford to reveal that he was secretly recovering from a war wound in the capital.
“She’s unconscious but alive. We’re leaving.”
He knew better than to get entangled in a public disturbance—but as he said it, his feet refused to move.
“Your Grace! We must hurry before this becomes a scandal,” Elliot urged.
“I know.”
The woman, eyes clenched in pain, gripped his sleeve. Joseph gently pried her fingers loose, leaving behind a cufflink with a faint blue diamond glow.
By the time Joseph’s long coat disappeared into the alley’s shadows, Gray and his men burst into the room.
Gray’s face went pale at the sight of Anje unconscious amid the wreckage.
“Sorry I’m late. Come on, wake up. Please.”
He dabbed her face with cool water until a faint groan escaped her lips. Relieved, he tilted water to her mouth.
Her eyelids fluttered open, gaze still unfocused.
“Gray… is that you…?”
“Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe now.”
Gray whispered as he held her close.
This… idiot. Why weren’t you faster…
Anje seemed about to scold him, but lost consciousness again.
