<Chapter 7>
Despite having drunk strong liquor, her mind was unusually clear. Perhaps it was the alertness kicking in.
Following him silently, Ivel realized that the Grand Duke made almost no sound when walking.
Just as on the battlefield.
Was this his natural habit, or some aftereffect of the war?
Victor Bayern—the “Commander” and the “Grand Duke”—she thought she knew him quite well. Yet when it came to the man beneath the title… Ivel knew nothing at all.
All she could perceive was the straightness of his back and the elegance of his posture. Wherever the moonlight touched, the muscles beneath his thin shirt were sharply defined.
And she understood that he was exceedingly courteous toward a lady—even if that “lady” happened to be disguised as a man.
“…Is this a dream or reality?”
She could not tell.
Later, after washing in the small en-suite bathroom, Ivel stretched out fully on the bed.
Everything felt insane, yet her eyes remained wide open despite the alcohol. Sleep was impossible.
“A proper bed… and a meal that actually fills you up…”
She could hardly believe it.
When she woke, the battlefield would still exist, and some officers who joked with her earlier would probably come to check if she was still alive. They would laugh if she told them this story, clutching their stomachs.
“Yet… that was my reality.”
Pulling the rustling blankets over her face, she exhaled softly.
War, surgery, bombardment… and just now, the warm wine she had drunk.
She felt as if she were standing on the edge between reality and unreality.
As a wave of unnecessary anxiety struck, she clutched her pillow and took a deep breath, wondering if his night felt the same as hers.
Victor, having seen Ivel inside, spoke quietly without turning back.
“Begin investigating Abel Klaren tomorrow. There’s word he’s somewhere in Lindau’s gambling dens.”
“Yes, sir.”
Matthias, who had followed with the documents, bowed.
He had never once witnessed any eccentric behavior from his master. Always rational, practical, concise in command—this was the first time Matthias had seen this side of him, and it unsettled him.
‘I couldn’t eavesdrop on my master’s conversation, so I stayed back… but I’m dying to know what was said in there.’
Who was this person to cross-dress so naturally? And how did he even decipher that Morse code? It was definitely specially made—unreadable by ordinary people.
‘Could it be an elite operative he knew during his intelligence days?’
Matthias’s reasoning was not unreasonable; there was little else that made sense.
“What should we do once we find this Abel Klaren?”
“He will need to regain his senses, it seems.”
“Yes! Understood!”
Even as industrialization swept across the lands, the shadows of the nation were far from erased.
Understanding the Grand Duke’s intent, Matthias bowed and withdrew, thinking: Whoever this is, he’s lived a thoroughly miserable life to warrant the Grand Duke saying he needs to “regain his senses.”
A few days later, in a back alley of a gambling den in the port city of Lindau…
“Wh-what the—! You guys…! Mmph! Mmph!!!”
Abel, who had lost all the money he extorted from his younger brother and had collapsed drunk on the street, was seized by several burly men and thrown into a carriage.
“Is this about money? Who sent you? Northwick? Or Coran?”
He had run off several times after borrowing money without repayment.
Blurry-eyed, Abel tried to find an escape while muttering the names of loan sharks he remembered.
He and his twin were born on the same ship. His brother had become a top-ranking university student—but that was trivial. Abel could achieve that if he truly tried.
He was always drunk or drugged, but that was only because he was too smart for the world around him, and the world’s stupidity frustrated him—hence his addiction to gambling.
Despite his excuses, there was no denying that Abel’s mind worked as quickly as Ivel’s—albeit for mischief.
‘They’re dressed like ordinary workers, but everything’s new. No one has patched or added fabric, not even the driver. And the shoes are spotless, clearly bought for this purpose.’
So the client must be someone of high status, concealing their identity.
‘I don’t recognize anyone. I’ve been dodging these loan sharks for years. Yes, definitely. This isn’t about debt.’
When his life was at risk, Abel’s mind worked faster than ever—faster than calculating the cards in a hand.
“Oh, nobles. Why bother with someone like me, hm?”
Feigning charm, Abel twisted his wrist subtly. His hands and feet were bound, but his mouth was not gagged.
Why not? With such meticulous people, they would have gagged him.
“I’ve lived without harming anyone. Perhaps you’re mistaken?”
No response. No one met his gaze.
‘Then they specifically came for me. Someone must have ordered this.’
Good. His head was clearing from the alcohol. Even in silence, how much could he deduce?
‘If I’d known, I should have squeezed more money from that girl. I was thrown out yesterday for being short.’
Abel paused. He hadn’t thought in that direction before—but now…
“Ahaha! Ivel. Ivel sent you, right? She didn’t want to give me the money!”
Laughing until tears came, he shook his body, exclaiming:
“She stole my brother’s name and now wants me dead! Incredible, just incredible. Born on the same ship, and you really are one of us. Always acting noble, saying you’d become a doctor… but your behind is rotten. Blood doesn’t lie! Ahaha!”
Gulp.
His laughter cut off as the man before him drove a fist into his stomach. The shock stole his breath, making the world sway before his eyes.
After what felt like an eternity, the carriage reached its destination.
The entrance of the gray building loomed, a sign creaking ominously: [Grayhaven Mental Institute].
“Pleased to meet you, miss. I am Banya Halme.”
“Ah… pleased to meet you as well.”
“Please, speak freely. I’ve been sent to attend to you comfortably.”
Early morning. Bacon, raw eggs, warm bread, expensive cheese. A salad rich with fruit and olives.
After an unbelievably peaceful meal, someone came to see Ivel.
The elderly woman had snow-white hair and a solid build, her presence both hearty and refreshing.
“I was once a governess for the Bayern family in my youth. I received basic combat training and would protect His Highness in emergencies.”
“Ah.”
“Now I oversee the main mansion’s staff in the estate. I took leave to come here.”
Her demeanor naturally put people at ease—so she had been a governess.
Banya Halme flung the curtains open, dusted off her hands, and exclaimed generously:
“Now, let’s prepare you, miss. I even bought a few dresses on my way here; we’ll see if any need alterations.”
Dresses…?
She couldn’t even remember the last time she had worn one. Including the war, it had been at least seven years…
Ivel sank into the prepared bathtub, receiving meticulous care from fingertips to toes for two hours. Her hair was short, so drying was quick.
“Short hair makes it easier to attach the chignon, hoho.”
Seeing the wigs on the trolley, Ivel grimaced. Yet there was no choice—dressing up was now part of her duty.
“Makeup is done. How does it look? This Banya hasn’t shown her skills in a while.”
Opening her eyes, Ivel was slightly startled by the reflection. It was almost unrecognizable.
“You’re skilled with makeup.”
“Thank you. Before becoming head of the maids, I served Lady Seosanna for many years.”
