Chapter 08
The Man Who Will Kill Me (1)
Half a year later.
The last house on the slope of Primrose Hill—where mostly nobles lived—looked almost abandoned after standing empty for so long.
The once-lovely little garden was choked with waist-high weeds. The wooden pillars that held up the roof were flaking with peeling paint and riddled with insect holes.
And that wasn’t all.
Ivy and mold covered the stone wall, which leaned inward at a precarious angle, as though it might collapse at any moment.
“Are you really planning to sleep here?”
Gray’s face grew more serious when he spotted a broken window on the second floor.
It wasn’t just the window. Now that their eyes had adjusted to the dark, the sagging gutters and loose shutters looked as if they might fall at any second.
“Captain, I swear something just moved over there.”
Anje frowned where Gray pointed. A scrap of cloth had blown onto the eaves and flapped in the breeze like a wild head of hair…
“Don’t tease me.”
“I’m not teasing. Want to bet who’s more serious right now?”
Gray’s earnest tone made Anje waver. She didn’t like the house either—it felt as if a ghost might leap out at any moment.
“Think again, Captain. Even under the Fenris Bridge would be better. At least there aren’t ghosts there.”
“Didn’t you say you were busy?”
Despite Anje’s reminder, Gray only scowled, showing no sign of leaving.
“We start repairs tomorrow. So stop pestering me and go!”
She tried pushing his broad back, but he didn’t budge.
With no choice, Anje rummaged through a shelf, found a candle, and carefully lit it.
The flame flickered in the draft from the broken window, throwing strange shadows across the mold-stained wallpaper.
The warped wooden floor groaned with every step, and tattered curtains fluttered like a mad witch’s hair.
Even Anje had to admit it was worse than it had looked in daylight.
No wonder the mansion on Primrose Hill had been cheap enough for a down-on-her-luck information broker—and debtor—to buy.
With a rueful sigh, she gave Gray another push.
“I’m going to bed. Tomorrow we’ll start fixing this place, or whatever.”
It had been another long, exhausting day. Her mind refused to think anymore; she only wanted to collapse into sleep.
“So stubborn.”
Gray’s worried frown deepened, but Anje was simply too tired to care.
This was Primrose Hill, after all, not the vagrant-ridden streets of Suddock. However shabby, this neighborhood was lined with the estates of the empire’s proudest nobles.
The land here cost a fortune, and the houses even more. Soldiers and mercenaries posted by the noble families guarded the bottle-necked entrance, so no outsider could wander in.
This once-beautiful mansion overlooking Primrose Hill had, she’d heard, belonged to a lady who lived out her old age alone.
But after her death, the house sat unsold for years, slowly decaying.
“That’s why it ended up with me. If it were in good shape, no one would sell it to a has-been broker like me.”
“Hmph. A so-called haunted house. The up-and-coming nobles prefer townhouses near the commercial district these days—better shopping, fancy dessert cafés.”
Gray clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“It was my mother’s dream,” Anje said softly. “She wanted to see me in a Primrose Hill mansion, elegantly dressed, sipping tea. If it doesn’t suit me, fine—but I had to try.”
Her mother had always been saddened by her daughter’s plain life. Thinking of her brought a bitter note to Anje’s voice.
But with so few intact windows, the house felt wide open to the elements—hardly different from sleeping outdoors.
Though she’d stood her ground with Gray, Anje worried about getting through the night.
“It’s still cold. I’ll wake up with a frozen face,” she muttered.
Gray shot her a puzzled glance. Frozen face? At times he couldn’t understand her at all.
“I’m going, I’m going. Just lock the door… not that locking it matters in this wreck.”
After dawdling, Gray finally turned away only when she smacked his back.
“We’ll start repairs tomorrow. Go mind your own business.”
“You and that stubborn streak. Tsk.”
He clicked his tongue again and disappeared into the dark.
The old iron gate clanged shut, leaving silence behind.
“….”
Now truly alone, Anje rolled her eyes.
Why did it feel like someone else was still here?
Surely, as Gray said, there weren’t really ghosts… right?
Whoooosh—
“…Maybe I shouldn’t have sent him away.”
Before long she regretted it. A chill wind slipped through the cracked upstairs window of the only halfway decent bedroom.
Whoooosh.
The eerie sound sent a creeping fear through her. This was all Gray’s fault for mentioning ghosts.
“Come on, there’s no such thing as ghosts.”
She said it aloud, but it wasn’t reassuring. After all, she herself had died once and awakened inside a novel—if that was possible, why not ghosts?
Her attempt to stay calm failed when the door rattled violently.
Her eyes went wide. Sweat dampened her palms as she tightened her grip on the broom.
The door rattled for a long moment, then slowly swung open. Moonlight cast a long shadow across the threshold.
Anje’s eyes could not open any wider. Her pupils dilated, her mouth fell open.
Above the man who suddenly appeared, his manse-mark floated in the air, glowing ominously red.
In her whole life, Anje had seen a red-lit manse-mark only once.
Duke Joseph Syde…
Since learning that this was the very novel she had once read, she had avoided this male lead at all costs. Yet once, for money, they had worked together.
She’d thought she would forget him soon enough, but his mannerisms and voice had lingered in her mind.
Staring at the glowing letters of his manse-mark, she let out a faint groan. It could only be Duke Syde—no one else was born at that exact date and time.
Her eyelids fluttered in panic.
She’d believed they would never meet again.
The Duke’s ominous red manse-mark pulsed like a warning, tightening around her throat.
Get a grip!
But sweat slid down her back, and her legs trembled. She had finally bought the house she’d dreamed of, ready to live like a normal person—how had it come to this?
Joseph frowned when he caught sight of the figure in the candlelight: a small woman, half-braided long hair, a simple dress.
“…A woman?”
Startled, the woman wobbled and dropped to the floor.
“I knocked but no one answered… If I startled you, I apologize. But I was told this house belongs to the Black Wolf.”
Joseph offered his hand to the fallen Anje.
But she only eyed it suspiciously and didn’t take it.
For someone of his rank—one of the empire’s few dukes—this was a first. Normally, people schemed for even a single encounter with him.
After a long pause, the woman finally composed herself and smoothed her skirt.
Joseph awkwardly withdrew his hand, frowning.
“The Black Wolf is a woman?”
Since he was looking for the “Black Wolf,” at least he hadn’t come to kill her. Relieved, Anje schooled her expression.
“Unfortunately, yes, Your Grace. But surely you didn’t come at this hour just to confirm that?”
She glanced up; a thin crescent moon clung to the spire of the temple. It must be past midnight, close to dawn.
Just to check, indeed.
Her impertinent reply hardened the Duke’s brow.
“I need something from you.”
“Another war has broken out?”
Joseph’s cold gaze fixed on her. Did she know what she was saying?
Even as an information broker, she’d always stayed safely behind the lines, playing at childish games, never knowing what real war was.
But Joseph still couldn’t sleep through the nightmares.
The physician said time would heal, but he doubted it. Even after returning home, the horrors had not faded; every night they tormented him.
“You call that a joke…”
His voice sharpened, though his face remained in shadow.
“You think war is a game.”
Contempt twisted his mouth in the dim light.
Anje bristled as well.
Has-been broker or not, barging into her house without notice was rude. Her heart still pounded from thinking it was a ghost.
“Of course not. I just can’t imagine what would bring Your Grace to my door in the dead of night—and in such an abrupt manner.”
He gave a short, dry laugh and glanced around.
No wonder she’d left him standing; the interior was as ruined as the outside.
No proper furniture, nowhere to sit. The floor creaked ominously, and the wind moaned through the broken windows.
“What happened to all the money you made, to be living in a place like this?”
His sharp gaze returned to her.
“I retired. I have to be careful with my savings, don’t I?”
As his eyes adjusted, he took in her jet-black hair and obsidian eyes.
Her curt voice and unfriendly expression made it clear she didn’t think much of him either. Even if this house had been well kept, she probably wouldn’t have offered him a seat.
Insolent.
Joseph curled one corner of his mouth.
“This isn’t the first job you’ve taken from the ducal house. A man named Hans under your command once saved my life.”
Anje’s shoulders twitched, though thankfully the darkness hid it.
“…That did happen.”
“I’m still grateful for it.”
“Yes, well.”
She dropped her gaze to hide her uneasy eyes.
Surely he hadn’t come simply to offer thanks. The memory was far from pleasant—she’d nearly died more than once.
Because her work favored a male guise, Anje often dressed as a man when she took the field, even for the Syde commission.
But such ties could never last; Hans had been declared dead before the job ended.
So why bring it up now?
Rumor had it the Duke still suffered war-born nightmares, waking drenched in sweat and screaming.
That, at least, was unofficial information through Gray. Inside the ducal household, only the Dowager Duchess and the butler supposedly knew.
After a long pause, the Duke spoke.
“Do you know Hildegard Crow?”
Who didn’t know that name?
Anje arched a brow. “Of course. She’s to be Your Grace’s fiancée, isn’t she?”
“I’d like you to look into her.”
“…In what way, exactly?”
Anje could hardly believe her ears as she carefully asked.
(to be continued)
