Chapter 20
“Yes, I really did come here on business.”
Arnulf smiled confidently, as if to say, see for yourself. They say no one can spit on a smiling face — but judging by Sigmund’s hard expression, that clearly didn’t apply here.
Apparently, even the meaning of a “smiling face” depended on who you asked.
“Well then, I’ll be going first.”
With that, Arnulf stepped past Sigmund.
“What are you here to find?”
He froze mid-step at the voice behind him.
“…Just the money I left in deposit.”
The question caught him off guard, and his answer came a bit late.
“Money?”
“Yes. I’ll need it when I return to the duchy.”
“You’re returning to the duchy?”
Arnulf, too focused on sounding casual and avoiding suspicion, didn’t notice how Sigmund’s expression turned cold.
“There were… certain things that happened, and since I lost my memory, my family’s been worried sick. So I thought I’d go back—”
“What kind of nonsense is that?”
Arnulf looked at him, startled by the oddly shaken tone in Sigmund’s voice. For once, the usually composed man’s eyes flickered with emotion.
He seemed genuinely unsettled — and that, more than anything, left Arnulf dumbfounded.
“Have you forgotten what I said?”
“…Pardon?”
“I told you we’d be seeing each other often from now on.”
“Well, yes, but—”
He had heard it — and brushed it off as a joke at the time.
“Or do you find even running into me unbearable now?”
Arnulf blinked. The unexpected question — and Sigmund’s darkened expression — completely threw him off.
“…What?”
“Of course, Hessen must be a wretched place for you.”
His tone carried something faintly… wet, almost sorrowful.
Arnulf’s face twisted in confusion.
“No, I didn’t mean—”
What was with him all of a sudden?
Arnulf couldn’t make sense of Sigmund’s mood at all. If he were angry, yelling, ‘You think I’ll let you leave that easily?’ — that, he could understand.
After all, to Sigmund, Joseph (Arnulf’s former identity) had always been a worthy adversary.
But this — this tone that sounded like someone refusing to let go of something precious — was bizarre.
What the hell is happening?
Arnulf wasn’t unfamiliar with that look on Sigmund’s face. He’d seen it many times before — that expression Sigmund wore when he couldn’t bring himself to hurt him, even when he should have.
“When are you planning to leave?”
Sigmund wouldn’t even meet his gaze now. Arnulf hesitated to answer, feeling that one wrong word might turn the situation in an unpredictable direction.
“…I haven’t decided yet.”
That was the safest answer he could manage. I’ll go, but I don’t know when.
At that, Sigmund finally met his eyes.
“I see. Then it seems I still have some time left.”
A soft curve appeared in his eyes, a faint smile touching his lips — as if relieved.
That expression made Arnulf’s chest tighten for reasons he couldn’t name.
Why… am I reacting like this?
Before he could make sense of the feeling, Sigmund spoke again.
“We’ll meet again soon.”
The gentle yet loaded farewell lingered in the air as Sigmund brushed past him and entered the bank.
“Welcome, Lord Sigmund. It’s been some time.”
The Göttingen bank clerk greeted him respectfully. Sigmund nodded curtly. After confirming his identity, the clerk led him through several winding corridors to a familiar door, then stepped aside.
Sigmund walked straight to vault number fifteen. He turned the dial deftly, the motion practiced from repetition.
With a heavy click, the door opened. Sigmund’s eyes automatically swept the interior — a habit by now.
Then they widened.
Something was missing.
The blue diamond ring — the one he had given Arnulf as a gift — was gone.
Arnulf had thanked him politely back then but never wore it, always keeping it locked away.
Sigmund knew why.
He probably found it cumbersome.
He hadn’t minded. He’d simply thought that one day, he’d take it out himself and place it back on Arnulf’s finger.
But now the ring was gone.
At that realization, Sigmund recalled the man he’d just run into outside the bank — Joseph.
“So you’re saying it wasn’t you?”
A faint, knowing smile curved Sigmund’s lips as he stared into the empty vault.
Arnulf shivered suddenly while walking back home through a nearby park. A chill ran up his spine.
“What was that?”
He quickly scanned his surroundings — nothing unusual. Of course, this wasn’t a battlefield.
“Maybe I’m just worn out.”
He’d been training regularly these days and felt stronger, but perhaps he’d skipped practice today and his body was reacting.
“Guess I should get back and handle a sword a bit.”
He quickened his pace.
“Sir Joseph, you’re back?”
As soon as he stepped into the mansion, Finn approached him eagerly. He looked glad — but there was something odd in his expression.
“What’s wrong, Finn?”
“Well, um…”
Finn’s face turned nervous. Clearly, something had happened.
“You have a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
“Yes. Waiting in the drawing room.”
Finn didn’t mention who it was, and Arnulf, not thinking much of it, assumed it was probably Sieben again — the only person persistent enough to keep showing up.
I’ll just see who it is.
He entered the drawing room — and froze.
“You’re late.”
The man sitting at the table smiled as if greeting an old friend.
It was none other than Sigmund.
“What are you doing here…?”
Hadn’t they parted ways at Göttingen? When had he even arrived?
“Have you been keeping up with your sword practice?”
The question came out of nowhere, completely unrelated to Arnulf’s.
“…Yes, I’ve been practicing regularly.”
“I see. Well, that suits you.”
It almost sounded like, You’ve always been diligent.
Arnulf blinked. No, that couldn’t be right. Sigmund knew perfectly well how reckless and self-indulgent Joseph had been.
“It’s nothing impressive, really.”
Arnulf replied offhandedly. Finn, placing teacups on the table, couldn’t help nodding inwardly.
Even so, seeing Arnulf consistently train with a sword these days was impressive enough — though today he’d been distracted.
“I never once saw you train back at the academy. What changed?”
“Well…”
It wasn’t so much a change of heart as a change of soul, but of course, he couldn’t say that.
And that phrasing — “back at the academy” — reminded him uneasily of the last time Sigmund had questioned him about his fighting techniques.
“Then shall we spar together?”
“…Pardon?”
The sudden offer left Arnulf momentarily speechless.
It was true that solo training had its limits. Sparring with someone would help — but Sigmund of all people?
He knew Arnulf’s sword style better than anyone.
“If you’ve been training alone, you must be hitting a plateau by now, no?”
Sigmund’s tone softened into persuasion. And he wasn’t wrong.
Sparring was the best way to grow.
“…All right.”
Arnulf nodded. Sigmund didn’t look like he’d accept a refusal anyway.
He could always go easy and end it quickly.
At Arnulf’s agreement, Sigmund turned toward Finn, standing at the doorway.
“Finn, bring the sword I use for training.”
Finn’s eyes lit up, and he hurried off.
Arnulf hesitated for a moment, wondering if he’d made a mistake — but it was too late to back out now.
A faint trail of smoke curled upward in the dim room. Baron Freang, who had been absentmindedly watching it, turned his head as the door creaked open — and immediately stood.
He even forgot to extinguish his cigar. The man entering was not one he could face sitting down.
“Oh, you’ve arrived.”
The newcomer stood with light behind him, casting his front in shadow. Even so, Freang wasn’t foolish enough not to recognize him.
If he had been, he wouldn’t have been entrusted with such an important task.
“Sit.”
The low, deliberate command made Freang snap to obey instantly, perching on the edge of his seat.
Even in silence, the man before him radiated authority.
After all, the person he was meeting was someone from far above his station — a meeting he considered an honor in itself.
It meant his work had earned genuine trust.
“How did the meeting go?”
The voice was arrogant, but Freang smiled obsequiously.
“Yes. Thanks to your concern, it went smoothly.”
“I heard the two of them met.”
“Yes. I thought it best to deal with both at once to avoid future complications, so I proceeded immediately.”
The questions came, and Freang answered each promptly.
“I see. And the situation?”
“There were some unexpected developments, but nothing serious. That man isn’t the type to let the one who killed his master live for long. You’ve heard about the incident in front of the hospital, I assume — he’ll make his move soon.”
The shadowed figure folded his arms, tapping them thoughtfully. Freang waited in tense silence.
“And the other matter?”
“There’s something I must report about that.”
“What is it?”
“Joseph Pomozein… has amnesia.”
The man’s obscured face twitched — a faint grimace, perhaps. Even that small reaction made Freang swallow hard.
“Could it be a lie?”
“I confirmed it with the physician. It’s genuine.”
“In that case, it may actually work in our favor. Still… we can’t afford to leave loose ends. Handle it cleanly.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Bowing deeply, Freang watched as the man turned and left without another word — never even sitting down.
When the door closed, Freang finally exhaled — and then, reverently, bowed once more toward the empty space.
