Chapter 41
Edith asked in the exact same tone as before.
“And what about the shooting competition? That’s really the main event, after all… The winner even gets the privilege of joining the Imperial Marksmen Corps.”
He replied smoothly, as if he had prepared the answer in advance.
“My Graves family will be participating too, just like everyone else. We’ve called in a distant relative who lives in the provinces and are training him.”
“Really? Is he good?”
“They’re people deeply devoted to hunting as a hobby. I think they could even aim for first place.”
“Wow! That would be wonderful if they won.”
The top-ranked contestants were recruited directly into the Imperial Marksmen Corps, while those below them were given the right to enlist in the army near the capital.
The emperor’s standing army was widely praised as a stable occupation. Because of that, many commoners aimed not for the elite corps but simply for military service. Anyone with the means could apply to this competition, and it wasn’t rare to see people borrowing guns just to fire a few shots and try their luck.
Given that atmosphere, it was only natural for Payton to enter a relative into the competition.
“Payton, other families will probably be sending skilled people too, right?”
“Even among those I know, there are more than I can count. It’s a chance to increase the number of allies one has inside the palace.”
“That’s true. And it’s a legitimate opportunity, too. Then who do you see as your rivals?”
He smiled brightly, full of confidence.
“I think my people will be the best.”
That seemed to be Payton’s nature. He wasn’t the type to act humble. If he had something impressive, he displayed it openly and even boasted about it.
That straightforwardness had both pros and cons, but it was something to take note of as part of his character. She should only finalize the marriage talks once she felt she could handle it after experiencing it fully. If she ever became his wife, his bragging might become unbearable.
Still, there were people who suited this kind of personality. Some even found excessive modesty unpleasant.
So she neither liked nor disliked Payton particularly. She simply felt like meeting him a little more.
“Then could you show me the contestants’ skills?”
“Of course.”
He readily agreed, seemingly welcoming the chance to show off his people’s abilities.
The shooting range used by the Graves family was a short carriage ride away. Someone was in the middle of practice. She couldn’t be sure if they were the same men she had glimpsed earlier, but although she didn’t remember their faces, the guns they carried were the same imperial models.
Payton had no idea Edith could distinguish firearms. Normally, a noble young lady wouldn’t even touch a gun. Even people with some knowledge had trouble telling apart the subtle differences between modern models.
But Edith had laid out many kinds of guns and compared them in person while being taught by Clyde. It was to modify the imperial firearms—originally made for men—so that she could use them comfortably.
The type of gun was extremely important in shooting. She had heard endless lectures about balance, barrel length, and the like until her ears rang.
“Come this way, Edith. This is my relative, Sendric. And this is Duke Ketsmoris, who serves as the Crown Prince’s attendant.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The honor is mine.”
When he casually introduced one of the shooters, Edith greeted him without revealing anything.
While wearing a polite smile, she glanced at the gun.
It was indeed an imperial firearm.
Very few people knew that Edith practiced shooting every dawn at the imperial range. Only tight-lipped palace staff and loyal knights were ever there.
The fact that Edith herself was preparing to participate in the competition was top secret.
Her purpose in entering was to observe whether the event would proceed smoothly.
She was to act as the competition’s hidden inspector.
While posing as a contestant, she might detect sabotage from hostile factions in advance—or uncover unexpected flaws in the management.
If she displayed extraordinary skill, her identity would be revealed, but it was better to remain unnoticed if possible. Even if she were discovered, the later it happened, the better.
That was why Edith deliberately acted ignorant.
She even pretended to be startled by the gunshots.
“Wow, it’s really loud.”
Payton puffed up with pride and spoke knowingly.
“You’ve probably never seen shooting from this close, have you, Edith?”
Right then, another round was fired, and she covered her ears. Thanks to that, she didn’t have to answer. It was acceptable to lie a little for official duty, but it was better to avoid awkward explanations altogether.
“Are the others also entering the competition together with your relative?”
“Yes. They’re friends from his hometown.”
From what she could tell, Sendric was the weakest among them, while the others were all excellent.
It seemed likely that they had put him forward as a figurehead under the Graves family name while recruiting skilled marksmen. They didn’t look like true hometown friends—their clothes and speech suggested they had been hired with money.
Do other families operate like this too?
She kept her expression neutral while thinking hard.
But an uneasy feeling lingered.
As she spent time with Payton, she constantly felt as if she were probing his atmosphere—wondering whether there was a hidden side to him.
In the original story, Payton’s role had been very small. Among twenty-five volumes, the secondary male lead appeared only briefly, barely leaving more than an introduction. There were no signs that he would become a villain.
But people didn’t change overnight. He might still possess some villainous traits. If Edith sensed them, she would withdraw from the marriage talks; if not, she would continue seeing him.
Moreover, just as many parts of the story had changed, there was also the possibility that Payton would no longer become a villain at all.
That was why Edith had been paying attention to him from the start—to observe objectively rather than judge in advance.
Keeping many angles in mind, she pretended to be timid and watched from a distance.
Nearby, a cart held various pieces of equipment: large storage crates, spare bullets, gunpowder, and paper targets marked with concentric circles.
There were also sheets of paper riddled with bullet holes, showing how much practice they had done. Each man’s targets were scattered in his personal storage box.
Then something strange caught her eye.
She glanced at a nearby box and saw that the placement of the holes was unusual.
Some sheets were almost perfect, all shots clustered in the center.
Others were pierced only in areas worth less than one point.
It was far too regular to dismiss as mere inconsistency.
Half were perfect-score targets.
Half were sub-one-point targets.
They weren’t mixed at all—only extremes.
A chill ran down her spine.
It felt like she had seen something she wasn’t meant to see.
They had clearly been deliberately missing.
Practicing how to miss…
Why?
Payton seemed not to notice the scattered papers. Edith also pretended not to see, turning her head without touching the boxes.
“They’re all excellent shots. Who’s the best?”
“Nixon has the best results. He’s the brown-haired young man standing at the far end.”
Earlier, she had seen the name “Nixon” scribbled in chalk at the corner of one box.
Goosebumps rose all over her body.
She prayed her complexion hadn’t changed noticeably. Acting natural in that state was no easy task.
“Oh, then I’m getting a preview of the future winner.”
“Winning is…”
Payton, who had been quick to boast before, trailed off for a moment.
He had just said his people were the best—so did he lack confidence about victory?
“Well, I suppose he could aim for first place.”
It was an ambiguous answer.
If he truly meant that the best marksman would not win, then the situation was serious.
Payton was clearly plotting something.
He must have a special objective. She couldn’t know exactly what it was, but it was almost certainly something improper related to the shooting competition.
She needed to return to the palace quickly and inform Clyde.
She also wanted to postpone the marriage talks with Payton.
In her mental scorecard for a contract marriage, she dropped him from 100 points to about 50.
The remaining 50 were left only out of consideration for his circumstances—and a lingering thought that this scheme might have its own story and context.
* * *
A carriage from the palace came to fetch her.
Edith boarded it immediately, without needing to borrow Payton’s carriage.
Her mind was full of thoughts, and her body was tired. She still wasn’t used to waking early, so even though it was only early evening, she already felt worn out. She leaned her head against the cushioned seat and closed her eyes.
The rhythm of the carriage was steady.
Then suddenly, it stopped.
Thinking they had arrived, she looked outside, but they were still in the city.
“What is it?”
She called out toward the driver’s seat, and at that moment the door flew open.
A man wearing his hat low suddenly climbed inside. He sat beside Edith and slammed the door shut.
“Go.”
His voice was familiar.
That curt command was thick with anger.
He roughly unwound the scarf wrapped around his face, his movements dry and harsh. He threw off a coat that looked borrowed, its shoulders too tight for him, as if it made him uncomfortable.
Finally, he tossed his hat behind him.
In the dim interior, his blue hair looked almost black.
He raked his fingers through his frowning brow and into his hair.
The strands that had been mussed by the hat swayed as his five fingers passed through them.
“If what you did today was to test how I’d react…”
“Clyde.”
He moved closer, pushing against her thigh. Crossing the width of a single seat cushion, he crushed the hem of her skirt.
There was nowhere to escape in the narrow carriage.
Even if there was space, she couldn’t possibly handle Clyde’s furious movements.
Edith froze.
His thick arm wrapped tightly under her arm.
“You really did it this time.
You properly provoked me.”
