IPSK 13

Chapter 13

“What?”

Ziven stared at Finn in disbelief.

“That guy, practicing swordsmanship? He doesn’t even know the ‘sword’ in swordsmanship. Right, Arnulf?”

He turned to Arnulf at the end, seeking agreement as if to prove his point.

Finn looked like he was about to argue again, but Arnulf waved his hand as if saying he didn’t care.

“If you’ve got nothing else to say, leave.”

“Hey!”

Ziven looked flustered. Arnulf’s tone was full of annoyance, and Ziven hadn’t even gotten to the point yet—he couldn’t just leave like that.

“Ah! Wait, wait! Remember that social gathering you said you wanted to go to before? That’s why I came!”

Arnulf raised an eyebrow, silently asking what he was talking about.

“You know, the one I told you about—the party Prince Albrecht sometimes attends.”

“Prince Albrecht?”

Arnulf’s interest flickered at the unexpected name, even though he hadn’t heard where this “gathering” was.

“Yeah. What, you forgot again? Well, you were pretty drunk that time, to be fair.”

Ziven chuckled, clearly thinking he’d hooked Arnulf’s attention.

“I told you, right? Prince Albrecht said he was interested in you. When he heard you were a member of the Millionen social club, he even asked if you attended the parties!”

Arnulf nodded slightly, signaling him to continue. Ziven eagerly took that as encouragement.

“He said it was too bad he couldn’t join the Millionen gatherings himself since he’s not an academy graduate, but if he ever got the chance, he’d love to go. You told him you’d get him in if the opportunity came up.”

Arnulf remembered the drunken Joseph causing a ruckus at that banquet.

That night, Joseph had gotten into a nasty fight with Baron Freang, one of Prince Albrecht’s associates.

From how it looked, they didn’t seem close at all—so this story was strange.

And the idea that Albrecht would take interest in Joseph? That was even stranger.

Albrecht was ambitious and selective about who he dealt with. Joseph, a notorious scoundrel, was hardly someone Albrecht would bother with.

“Anyway, we got permission to attend that social gathering. Come on, let’s go.”

“You?”

“Me? Of course… it’s tricky. Heh. But you can go first, get us in good standing, and then bring me along later.”

Ziven grinned slyly.

A private club that only accepted certain people—by that, it sounded like Ziven wasn’t a nobleman, or at least not one respected enough to be invited.

That made it even harder to believe Prince Albrecht had any reason to meet Joseph.

‘How troublesome.’

Arnulf had never been one for parties or gatherings anyway. He preferred battlefields—where blood flew and tension was real—to the dull chatter of political circles.

To him, such meetings were for politicians and schemers, not soldiers. Ziven’s suggestion didn’t appeal to him in the least.

“Forget it.”

Especially since this one was tied to Albrecht—he wanted no further connection to that man or his circle.

“Aw, come on. Why not? You used to be interested in this kind of thing!”

“Not anymore. Stop bothering me and go home.”

Ziven looked displeased at Arnulf’s curt tone. He couldn’t understand it. Joseph used to go along with everything—why was he acting so cold now?

“Hey, Joseph, don’t be boring. Who else even hangs out with you besides me—”

Arnulf’s green eyes suddenly locked on Ziven.

It was a calm, detached gaze, yet something about it froze Ziven in place. There was an intensity in that look that made one instinctively tense.

“F-Fine. Whatever!”

Ziven quickly jumped up and left the room.

Finn watched his retreating figure disappear, then turned back to Arnulf with satisfaction.

Once again, she thought—her young master with amnesia was so cool. Strong, beautiful, and he reminded her of… someone.

‘Huh? What am I even thinking?’

Finn scratched her head, shaking away the odd thought.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it anyway—Arnulf had stood up and picked up his sword.

“Lord Joseph, are you going somewhere?”

“I just thought I’d move around a bit since I’ve got a new sword.”

Arnulf spoke casually, without much thought. But to Finn, those words were enough to fill her with emotion all over again.

No matter how many times she thought about it—

‘Long live Amnesiac Joseph!’

She cheered silently in her heart.

Of course, Arnulf didn’t notice—he was too focused on testing out his new weapon.

“Hmm. Not bad.”

The Kollischmarde sword wasn’t particularly heavy, so even Joseph’s weaker arms could handle it well enough.

“Wow…”

Finn’s eyes sparkled as she watched Arnulf swing the blade. At first his movements seemed clumsy, but they quickly grew sharper and more precise.

Her mouth dropped open, eyes filled with awe. Then a puzzled look crossed her face.

‘He’s amazing… but was Joseph always that good with a sword?’

Ziven turned out to be surprisingly persistent.

Arnulf had thought he’d disappear after being driven out last time, but a few days later, he showed up again.

Even when Arnulf shot him a cold, cutting look, Ziven didn’t leave—he just shifted nervously but stayed put.

“I came to give you this today.”

Arnulf, with arms crossed and offering not even a cup of tea, watched as Ziven pulled something from his coat and handed it over.

Arnulf’s eyes followed the movement. It was a silver-gray envelope labeled Invitation.

Arnulf frowned.

“There’s a gathering this weekend,” Ziven said quickly, stretching the envelope toward him as if urging him to take it.

Arnulf took it halfheartedly and opened it. Inside was a simple message inviting him to a social event, along with the date, time, and location.

“You have to come. If you don’t, I’ll be in trouble too.”

Arnulf stared silently at him. He hated this kind of nuisance.

And the repeated invitations from a man who clearly wasn’t of the best reputation didn’t help.

Still, Ziven’s persistence made him consider going—just once—to see what kind of place it was.

If he went and settled things properly, perhaps Ziven would never bother him again.

He didn’t care how Joseph had lived before, but he disliked being dragged into his past.

He would soon return to the duchy anyway, but it was better to tie up loose ends.

“Fine.”

At last, Arnulf gave a reluctant nod.

Ziven’s face lit up with excitement. If Finn had done that, it might have been cute—but coming from this uninvited pest, it was just irritating.

Around the same time, Sir Sigmund was reading an unpleasant letter delivered by his subordinate.

Sir Sigmund, I heard of your distress regarding Prince Arnulf’s passing. I offer my deepest condolences—and extend this invitation, as I have some useful information to share.

Sigmund’s brow furrowed.

Not only the contents, but the sender bothered him—none other than Baron Freang.

Baron Freang was one of Queen Luise’s loyal nobles, a prominent figure among her faction.

Though not originally from Hessen, he’d earned his position purely by merit—a fact that made him even more noticeable.

But to Sigmund, Freang was someone tied directly to that night—the night of Arnulf’s supposed death.

He still couldn’t accept the explanation for what had happened.

His violet eyes darkened as his mind replayed the events of that evening.

After separating Joseph and Baron Freang, who had been causing a commotion, Sigmund ignored the awed stares from the onlookers and returned to find Arnulf.

But Arnulf was gone.

Instead, all he found were nobles eager to approach him, waiting for an opening to speak.

Expressionless, Sigmund searched the hall, but there was no sign of Arnulf anywhere.

As time passed, his expression hardened, the air around him turning colder and more menacing.

Those who had wanted to speak to him began retreating like prey avoiding a predator—but Sigmund didn’t notice.

Finally, after searching every corner of the ballroom, Sigmund was just turning his gaze toward the balcony when—

“Th-there’s been an accident! Someone fell into the pond! An accident!”

A servant burst into the hall, pale and panicked, shouting to no one in particular.

He seemed to be looking for the event host, but instead, he caught everyone else’s attention.

“An accident? Who?”

“The pond? The one below the balcony? That thing’s really deep. How’d someone fall in?”

“Was it a fight? A lover’s quarrel? Who fell?”