Chapter 39
At the end of the hallway was another iron cage.
Inside, curled up in the deep shadows, was a severely thin man who kept muttering nonstop.
Dylan stopped in front of the bars and called out to him.
“Hey. Who are you?”
He thought the man might not respond—but surprisingly, the man immediately lifted his head and looked straight at him.
His hearing and vision were intact.
Dylan quickly examined him with his eyes. The man had clearly been imprisoned for a long time, but the most important thing to check was his sanity.
I need him sane enough to give us information harmful to Rickman.
Dylan’s gaze sharpened.
And unexpectedly, the prisoner’s eyes were very clear.
More precisely—his gaze was sharp, almost predatory, flashing at the slightest bit of light.
The man let out a strange, low giggle and curled up even tighter.
“He finally fell. Finally… finally…”
“What fell?”
“The Crown Prince came… so that bastard’s business is finished now.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes at the word Crown Prince.
This starving man recognized him—but must have been cut off from the world for years, because he thought Dylan was the Crown Prince.
Dylan had never officially been appointed Crown Prince, but there was a time when everyone treated him like the unspoken, inevitable successor.
Before that battle, it was practically assumed that Dylan would be crowned soon.
People had even casually called him “Your Highness, the Crown Prince.”
If so, this man would have been imprisoned here since that time.
Dylan’s expression darkened.
A man locked in Rickman’s secret mansion—
A man who still believed Dylan was the Crown Prince.
And Rickman’s older brother died around that time.
Dylan remembered that from his investigation.
Many young nobles had died in the unsuccessful campaign, so the records had stood out.
But Rickman’s brother had died before the battle even began, which had seemed odd.
And now, a crazed man with a disturbing smile stood in front of him—a man who could be connected to that “death.”
Dylan checked that only his close knights were nearby before asking:
“Are you Hassel Overhan?”
The man burst into hysterical giggles… which suddenly turned into frantic gasps as if he couldn’t breathe.
Dylan raised his sword and sliced the thick chain holding the cage shut in one clean motion.
The chain clattered heavily to the ground.
The man flinched violently and scrambled toward the far corner of the cell.
“I—I can’t talk. I can’t! If I talk—if I talk, that bastard will kill me!”
He started screaming in panic.
Dylan replied in a cold voice:
“Calm him down. Don’t kill him, and don’t let him go any more insane.”
“Master, who is that man?” Pavel asked, frowning with pity at the prisoner.
It was obvious—this man was most likely Hassel Overhan.
Meaning Rickman had locked up his own brother to take the title.
A monstrous betrayal of family.
But why keep his brother alive instead of killing him?
Dylan soon remembered: Noah.
If Rickman was truly impotent, and if he needed a blood heir as proof of legitimacy…
Then Hassel would have been the perfect “stud,” in Rickman’s twisted mind.
And for some reason, Rickman had kept him alive all these years—
not out of mercy, but to trap him forever in terror.
A horrifyingly cruel man.
While the knights tried to restrain the panic-stricken prisoner, Dylan called out to Pavel.
“Yes, my lord. Your command?”
“Do not leave Lady Everchen’s side from now on. Her protection is your top priority.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Forget the investigation here—go to her immediately. If she questions you, tell her I’ll explain everything later and ask her to please wait.”
“Yes.”
Pavel looked confused but obeyed and hurried off to Agnès.
She was currently in the Basteron townhouse—safe for now—but Dylan still felt uneasy.
He had never believed Rickman to be sane.
That’s why he always assigned escorts to Agnès on important outings.
But after seeing this man, Dylan realized… that wasn’t nearly enough.
Perhaps Agnès needed guards even when visiting a salon, drinking coffee at a café, or simply walking in the townhouse garden.
Looking at the result of Rickman’s cruelty made Dylan dread what danger might fall upon Agnès.
He clenched the collar of his shirt tightly, then slowly released it.
Why am I this unsettled?
Agnès was important to him.
She was someone he did not need to hide his identity from.
Someone who allowed him to regularly drink blood without fear.
Someone who made it possible for Dylan to live more like a “human” again.
Was that why?
Because he didn’t want to lose this fragile sense of stability ever again?
It was a reasonable thought.
He steadied his emotions and watched the knights attempting to calm the prisoner.
But they eventually failed, looking to Dylan for permission to use force.
One knight approached and chopped the man lightly behind the neck.
At that moment—
A loud thump echoed as the knight was suddenly thrown backward.
The prisoner had knocked the knight over without touching him.
Not far, but strong enough to topple a trained knight—definitely not normal.
Dylan stepped toward them and demanded an explanation with his eyes.
The fallen knight pointed shakily at the prisoner.
“H-he never even touched me… I don’t know what happened!”
He was confused.
But Dylan instantly understood.
The prisoner had reflected the knight’s strength.
And only one type of person could do such a thing:
A mage.
Long ago—centuries past—mages were common.
Now? Not at all.
Not because they were rare, but because they were useless.
Magic was a field of study; without research, it naturally declined.
Modern mages still appeared, but most had trivial powers—lighting fires, or warming their hands.
Of course, once in a while, a genius born with divine talent appeared.
Like someone Dylan once knew.
Dylan’s blue eyes darkened.
“A mage…”
He approached the prisoner and pressed his sword’s sheath against the man’s neck.
“Be careful—!”
A knight tried to warn him.
But Dylan ignored it and struck the back of the man’s neck.
The prisoner collapsed instantly, as if he’d never resisted in the first place.
“Don’t be afraid of each little thing. They’re all incompetent fools.”
Dylan said this coldly, then turned away as if nothing had happened.
The knights, stunned for a moment, finally gathered the unconscious man and whispered among themselves:
“Of all times, a mage shows up in front of our lord.”
“H-how were we supposed to know?! But why is that so bad?”
“Just be careful from now on!”
The newer knights, unaware of the deeper backstory, could only feel wrongfully scolded.
* * *
After hearing the full situation from Dylan, the first thing Agnès did was request a secret trial from the temple.
The crimes were too cruel—they could disrupt noble society—and
the witnesses were mentally unstable, terrified, and unable to speak properly in public.
These were the official reasons.
But in truth, Agnès simply didn’t want people gossiping about Noah’s biological father anymore.
She also strongly insisted that Noah should not attend the trial.
Fortunately, the temple agreed to everything.
They preferred maintaining peace in noble society as well.
So once again, Agnès and Rickman stood before the solemn judgment of the temple.
This time, the priest could not pretend ignorance.
The priest declared the start of the trial, and Agnès stepped forward—bringing out multiple criminals and witnesses all at once.
The moment Rickman saw them, his face turned completely pale.
And for the first time, Agnès was certain:
Rickman Overhan would NOT walk away victorious today.
