CHAPTER 8:
If It’s Useless, Just Throw It Away.
Jeremy’s words seemed harmless on the surface, but there was a hidden trap.
If Dietrich confirmed that Celia was as beautiful as the rumors said, Jeremy would attempt to implicate him in the Emperor’s assassination. If he denied her beauty, Jeremy would insist on seeing her himself to verify the claim.
But Dietrich didn’t fall for such wordplay.
“She is a criminal who dared assassinate His Majesty. A noble prince such as yourself has no reason to be curious about such a person. And…”
“And? If you’re going to speak, finish your sentence.”
“Regardless of a criminal’s beauty, what value could that possibly hold?”
By this point, Jeremy no longer bothered to hide his annoyance.
“You really are no fun at all.”
“……”
“Just focus on arranging a grand funeral for His Majesty. We don’t want any rumors, do we?”
Jeremy said his piece and walked off. As he departed, the maids and knights trailing behind him kept stealing glances at Dietrich.
For once, Dietrich wasn’t in his usual uniform—he wore only a thin shirt, exposing the contours of his body more than usual.
Beneath the sheer white fabric, well-formed muscles rose and fell with each breath he took.
The knights looked on with a mix of admiration, envy, and reverence. The maids blushed and couldn’t take their eyes off him until they were out of sight.
Dietrich, however, spared them not even a glance as he walked toward the room connected to his office.
Though large and spacious, the room was surprisingly simple for the Commander of the Imperial Knights. It only contained the essentials: a wardrobe, a bed, a table, and a bookshelf.
Dietrich was a man who never wasted effort on unnecessary things. Which is why it was out of character for him to have given his uniform to Celia.
He furrowed his brow, remembering the scene earlier.
The sight of Celia with her white shoulders exposed, wearing a rabbit-like expression of surprise, had stirred a fleeting sense of pity in him.
Thanks to her otherworldly ability, with its hyacinth-like fragrance, she likely would’ve been fine even without his help.
So why had he sent the knights in to assist her?
“It was the perfect opportunity to test her powers.”
Was it because she was terminally ill, with only about a year left to live, and that stirred some momentary compassion?
Dietrich found himself pathetic for letting his pity get the better of him—and even going as far as giving her his uniform.
But negative thoughts did more harm than good. Dietrich quickly changed his mindset.
“There’ll be plenty of chances to confirm it later.”
Dietrich had no intention of killing Celia. At least, not yet.
Her life belonged to him now—he would decide when to take it.
Even if she was fated to die within a year, Dietrich could keep her alive well beyond that if he found it necessary.
There was something Celia didn’t know: Dietrich had a special ability too.
And he intended to keep that fact secret until the moment she died.
If she ever discovered that he possessed such a power, he would kill her without hesitation.
After all, Dietrich had spent years preparing to overthrow Avalon’s ruling class—especially the three great dukes. He couldn’t afford any more disruptions to his plans.
“Even if she has a power, if she’s useless to me, I’ll just throw her away.”
Dietrich’s eyes darkened. To clear his thoughts, he decided to submerge himself in cold water. He unbuckled his pants and pulled off his shirt.
Once freed from the cumbersome clothing, his muscular, lean body was revealed.
His back was covered in scars—wounds from countless assassination attempts. Some were from poison, others from burns.
Dietrich possessed the ability to erase these marks completely.
But he never did.
His power was unique—it manifested through all bodily fluids except blood.
“I’ve been thinking it’s about time someone replaced the Emperor. Guess someone saved me the trouble.”
A man with sleek silver hair said this in a soft voice. His long hair fell past his shoulders, and his pale, flawless skin gleamed under the light. With one hand supporting his chin, he stared at a chessboard.
Click.
The ivory white knight was moved across the board.
“Don’t you think so, Balt?”
Across from him, a man named Balt raised his head. With his bronzed skin and brown hair, Balt had the look of a wild beast—large and powerful.
He was a stark contrast to the silver-haired man who looked like a refined priest. Where one exuded calm and grace, the other radiated raw, untamed energy.
Balt glared at the silver-haired man irritably.
“Illeon.”
The name made the silver-haired man narrow his eyes slightly. His deep blue eyes curved like crescents, unreadable as ever.
It was a smile noblewomen would swoon over—but unfortunately for him, Balt was neither a noblewoman nor impressed.
Balt was the head of the Portman Duchy, one of the Three Great Houses that sustained Avalon. He was also one of only two Swordmasters in the entire empire.
Despite his lofty status, he had a foul mouth.
“Cut out that disgusting smile. I’m about to puke. Can’t you see I’m trying to focus on the game?”
Illeon simply chuckled.
“You’re going to lose anyway. Might as well enjoy some conversation.”
“You arrogant bastard! Just because you’re good at chess doesn’t mean you get to look down on people! It’s not over until it’s over!”
Fuming, Balt moved his black knight. Illeon shook his head.
“Muscles are fine, but maybe try using your brain too. Otherwise, the weakest prey ends up devouring you.”
“…You little—!”
“Look. Moving your knight left your king exposed. A foolish king who abandons his knight to save himself…”
Illeon trailed off as he moved a white pawn. Click.
It landed right next to Balt’s king.
“Checkmate.”
“Argh! You smug bastard!”
Balt roared and flipped the entire chessboard off the table. The mahogany table crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
Pieces scattered everywhere.
Illeon, displeased by the mess, immediately summoned his butler.
“Clean this up.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The butler bowed low, righted the table, and quickly collected the fallen pieces before leaving the room.
Illeon calmly observed the still-fuming Balt. Despite their differences in appearance and temperament, both belonged to the empire’s most powerful houses.
Balt was the head of House Portman. Illeon, of House Gredrick—home of the current Empress.
“Balt, could you work on that rough temper of yours? What would people say if they saw this?”
“Let them say whatever they want. Like I give a damn.”
Balt scoffed. Illeon continued, a quiet smile still on his lips.
“Why do you think Celia Brillion killed the Emperor?”
Balt knew Illeon was trying to change the subject. But feeling a twinge of guilt for flipping the table, he played along.
“The bastard Emperor laid hands on more than a few women. Lots of folks had a grudge against him. She probably did too.”
Balt stroked his chin.
Illeon murmured.
“A grudge, huh…”
“What else could it be? She’s famously pretty—what else would drive her to murder? The old man probably couldn’t keep it in his pants, and she snapped.”
Sometimes, Illeon envied Balt’s ignorance. Living without overthinking must be stress-free.
“You really think she killed him just for that?”
“Hell if I know. If you’re that curious, why don’t you go to the palace and ask her yourself?”
“……”
“Better hurry. Unless you want to talk to a cold corpse.”
Illeon furrowed his brow. Balt, seeing his pensive expression, got up from his chair. The heavy furniture creaked under his weight.
“The Emperor’s mad dog is probably already out for her blood. Without backing, she’s not likely to survive the palace for long.”
“We don’t know yet how that ‘dog without a master’ will act.”
“Hmph. I try to be nice and this is what I get.”
Balt headed for the door. Just before leaving, he turned back.
“I really can’t stand you. You’re as bad as that emotionless mutt.”
With that parting shot, Balt slammed the door behind him.
Alone in the room, Illeon thought about Dietrich.
What kind of dog claws its way from the bottom and seizes complete control of the palace’s military?
A dog that can command its master… is no longer a dog.
Illeon muttered to himself:
“Mad dog, my ass. More like a ‘thing’ wearing a dog’s skin.”
