TYND 55

Chapter 55

Walter looked around with a surprised expression, wondering why Lucy was in the outer room instead of the inner study. Sure enough, he spotted Vanessa Rutherford emerging from the study holding something.

“Long time no see, Sir Heiberg.”

“And what brings the Marquis here?”

Lucy answered on his behalf, pointing to the seat ahead. Rutherford, abandoning his usual calm demeanor, sat in front of Lucy with a flushed, excited face.

The serious atmosphere seemed to mesmerize Walter and Zendo, who sat down instinctively. Lucy took the worn letter Rutherford had been holding and lightly tapped her knee with her fingertips.

“Duke Witten has taken the bait.”

The gazes of the three scattered individuals shifted toward Lucy in an instant. Walter asked dryly, expressionless.

“Bait? What do you mean?”

“A merchant who frequented Duke Witten’s estate has been confirmed as an agent of the Empire. And yesterday, one of Duke Witten’s galleys disguised as a merchant ship entered Port Myer Harbor.”

“……”

“Can’t guess who he’s meeting?”

There was no direct route from Witten’s territory to the Empire.

To contact the Empire, one must inevitably pass through Port Myer. Moreover, for an imperial spy to come and go freely, and for the family’s ship to be disguised as a merchant vessel to enter Port Myer…

Everything about this situation seemed suspicious. Yet Walter betrayed a hint of concern.

“Confirming that Duke Witten is an imperial spy is the core of the operation, isn’t it?”

“That’s correct.”

“But you’re not certain that the person he’s contacting is truly from the Empire.”

As if to puncture the core of the problem, Lucy’s eyes curved into a narrow, playful smile.

“Exactly. It may or may not be. Fifty-fifty chance.”

Though she admitted uncertainty, her tone was carefree. Lucy reached for the blanket draped across the sofa and tossed it to Walter.

“There’s a chance we might come back empty-handed. If luck isn’t on our side, we might even give Duke Witten an excuse to catch us in the act.”

“Your Majesty……”

“But this time, trust my instinct. I might not know a good man’s heart, but I know a bad man’s very well.”

Despite Walter’s disapproving expression, Lucy turned the conversation with a smile.

“More importantly, there’s another problem. Duke Witten is clever, so he probably suspects he’s being watched. The moment he contacts the Empire, we need to catch him. The question is how.”

“Can’t we just deploy the navy? Or, if not, we could use the Rafi squad as before.”

“That won’t do.”

Lucy pointed to Port Myer Strait on the map fixed on the table.

“This area is Parnassus’ waters. Beyond this lies the Empire’s waters. They’re likely to meet somewhere near this border or on the Empire’s side.”

Walter, realizing the point she was driving at, looked at the map with a pained expression.

“We can’t send in troops, since that would violate their waters.”

“Exactly. If the person really is from the Empire, a misstep could escalate into a diplomatic incident. The goal is to expose Witten as an imperial agent, but we can’t provoke the Empire in the process. We must capture him carefully, disguised as a coincidence.”

“Then how do you plan to tail him?”

Lucy lightly tapped her crossed legs and fell silent. After a brief pause, she smiled mischievously and spoke suddenly.

“General, do you like fishing?”

The sound of seagulls circling in the air was swallowed by the waves, disappearing into the background.

In the middle of the rickety wooden pier, Count Bubehol reeled in his fishing rod and fixed his gaze on the blue sea.

Though over eighty, his eyes staring at the rod were sharp and intense.

As the eldest and a respected figure in the council, Bubehol was admired not just for his age. He constantly learned new things, introduced them to his domain, and was proficient in five languages, including the continental lingua franca, southern nomads’ dialect, and ancient languages. He had vast knowledge of old texts, avoided alcohol and tobacco entirely, and spent his days fishing or hiking with his grandchildren.

Fishing and mountains—these were not only hobbies but essential sources of vitality for him. Paradoxically, the energy that kept him active came from these very pursuits.

Bubehol turned his head to glance at the mountain enthusiast he had influenced.

“Was expecting to catch something big today, but Sir Heiberg, you haven’t even had a nibble.”

Walter, sitting beside him with his rod cast, slightly raised an eyebrow and tugged the line forward.

A rare hint of lethargy lingered on his usually dry face.

“No need to catch anything. Today, I’m here just to enjoy leisure with you, Count.”

“Ha! Still, it would be dull to leave empty-handed. If I catch something decent, I’ll give it to you.”

“No need. Even if we catch it, there’s no one to eat it.”

“What! With all your subordinates, surely someone can eat it. Take it without hesitation.”

“It would take a full day of fishing to feed everyone at headquarters anyway……”

As their trivial conversation went back and forth, the bright sunlight warmed their cheeks. The cold sea breeze chilled their fingertips, but the sun made sitting tolerable.

It had been Walter’s idea to go fishing. He had suddenly visited Count Bubehol’s residence, and after receiving a rare vacation, suggested a fishing trip. The Count readily agreed, excited for a long-overdue outing.

On the promised day, the Count, expecting a nearby location, raised a suspicious brow when he learned they had to go to distant Port Myer. But Walter dismissed his doubts with a single remark:

—“I heard that many large red sea breams have been caught near Port Myer lately.”

Red sea breams—couldn’t resist that.

So the two men arrived at Port Myer at early dawn, leaving subordinates behind.

By noon, they had not caught even a single fish, let alone the red sea bream. While fishing without success happens, it felt disappointing given that the general had initiated the trip.

Count Bubehol checked his bait again, holding the rod.

The salty sea breeze flowed gently under the bright sun. Walter, dressed in an outdoor coat over equestrian attire, looked every bit the noble enjoying leisure.

Adjusting his flapping coat, he glanced at the Count, whose rounded hunting cap made him look much younger than usual. Though sharp and formidable in council, in this private setting he seemed like a friendly grandfather.

Walter sighed internally, recalling Lucy’s instructions:

—“Bring Count Bubehol along. He will witness the events of this operation.”

Lucy had insisted on including Bubehol, a key figure with influence among the elders after Rutherford and Witten. Walter felt guilty using an innocent old man as part of the operation, but he had no choice but to obey. He rubbed his furrowed brow and returned his gaze to the sea.

Time passed quietly, like flowing water.

Looking at the horizon, Walter raised his head to the sky. After about an hour, three black specks—likely migratory birds—passed overhead in a triangular formation.

It was the Rafi scouts.

This signaled that Duke Witten had begun to move. Upon noticing the signal, Walter quickly stood and grabbed Count Bubehol’s arm.