Chapter 28
For several hours, Benedict pored over all the records of his father’s activities from the past three months. But nothing in particular stood out as suspicious.
True to his reputation for being upright and incorruptible, his father had devoted all his time and resources to the people of the duchy.
However, there was one single exception.
There was a trace of action that seemed unrelated to the management of the territory.
“…A traveling troupe.”
A thin contract stated that the performer “Lucien” was to be permanently transferred into the custody of the Winfield ducal family.
In return, the Duke had handed over a large sum—enough to support an ordinary household for half a year.
The Duke buying a performer? It certainly wasn’t a common occurrence.
More importantly, if that much money had been spent, there had to have been a reason.
But his father had said Lucien wasn’t brought in as a study companion for Benedict. Nor was she hired as a maid. In fact, she hadn’t even been brought into the mansion proper.
Toward the end of his life, his father had even arranged for Lucien to live in a separate house.
And that wasn’t the only odd thing.
Lucien didn’t seem to know the full details of the contract. She still talked about how she would return to the troupe someday.
‘Why didn’t Father tell Lucien that she would never be going back?’
With arms crossed, Benedict slowly paced around the desk.
Why hadn’t he thought it strange until now?
Because his father had risked his life to protect her, Benedict had simply believed it was his duty to ensure her safety.
He hadn’t really thought about why his father had gone to such lengths.
“If there was a reason… that he couldn’t even tell me or Lucien…”
As he muttered to himself, he noticed a shadow flit across the slightly open door. It was Lucien.
She had been walking down the hall, but now peeked inside the office. When Benedict looked up and met her gaze, she jumped in surprise.
“Sorry.”
Her soft voice came from the gap in the door.
“You looked deep in thought.”
For some reason, a chill ran down Benedict’s spine.
Had she just overheard him muttering about her?
“N-No, it’s nothing.”
Forcing a smile to hide his unease, Benedict opened the door himself to welcome her in.
“Come in.”
“Thanks, Benedict. Did your trip go well?”
Lucien smiled as she handed him today’s newspaper.
“Uh, yeah.”
But his voice was stiff as he took it. Despite having wanted to talk with her when he returned, he now felt awkward.
“You looked serious, so I was waiting by the door.”
“Oh.”
Only then did Benedict realize that the desk was covered with the contract with the troupe and his father’s journal.
“It’s nothing. Just a second.”
He quickly gathered all the documents in his arms and haphazardly dumped them into the safe.
“Hey, you shouldn’t just throw things in like that!”
Lucien let out a small laugh, amused by his flustered behavior.
“You dropped some.”
She hurried over and bent down to pick them up.
Benedict froze in shock. What she had picked up was the contract with the troupe.
Come to think of it, that contract was proof that she had been treated like an object in a transaction. For the sake of his father’s honor, he couldn’t let her see it.
No—more importantly…
He didn’t want to hurt Lucien.
Thud!
He quickly stepped on the fallen contract with his boot.
“Don’t touch that!”
The urgency in his voice came out as more of a shout. It was sharper than even he expected.
Startled, Lucien looked up at him while still holding one edge of the paper.
“…Ah.”
Benedict realized he had made a mistake. Yelling at a lady!
But the paper was still sticking out from beneath his foot. He didn’t want her to see it.
“It’s important,” he said curtly, trying to keep her gaze away from it.
“I’m sorry.”
As she apologized, he shoved the rest of the papers into the safe, but in his haste, everything spilled onto the floor again.
Lucien instinctively reached out to catch a falling book. A reflex worthy of a former troupe performer.
She was so fast that he had no time to stop her. Unfortunately, the book she caught was his father’s journal.
Benedict panicked and quickly snatched it away.
“I said no! Ah, seriously. Step back!”
He yanked the book so hard that Lucien stumbled and stepped back.
Why did this keep happening? Benedict felt frustration bubbling up.
“Maybe… I should come back later. Right?”
Lucien said cautiously. Benedict just nodded, afraid of making another mistake if he opened his mouth.
“If you need me, call me anytime. I’ll be waiting, Benedict.”
She said with a smile, then slipped out of the office.
Benedict’s gaze lingered on the red eyes that briefly turned back toward him.
Because in that moment… they looked like—
Jewels.
Crystals.
The crystal of promise his father had searched for?
Without even realizing it, Benedict arrived at a conclusion.
He stood frozen, not even thinking to pick up the papers on the floor, simply staring at the door Lucien had disappeared through.
Was it the aftereffects of his first long journey?
That night, after returning to the ducal estate, Benedict was struck with a severe fever—the worst in a long time.
As if his body were being thrown into flames, he writhed in agony, calling out for his father.
Even amid the burning sensation, his consciousness flickered in and out.
He could vaguely hear people shouting urgently and footsteps rushing around him.
Am I going to die like this? That fear kept him listening.
But the voices made no sense to him. So instead, he just stared into the pitch-black void.
At the center of his vision was a red jewel.
He knew instantly—it was the crystal of promise. The one that would cure the long-standing fever tormenting the ducal family.
‘I must grab it!’
But the jewel floating in the void began drifting away.
‘No!’
Benedict reached for it.
Suddenly, he realized there was a sharp fire poker in his hand—the same one he had used to stab Algeron’s skin at the palace.
‘Ah, I see.’
A sudden clarity. He had to stab the crystal. That was the only way to end it all.
He leapt from the ground toward the jewel. The distance between them closed rapidly.
Yes, this was finally the end.
Benedict had grown so weary of the endless illness.
His inability to interact with other nobles like a normal person—it had all been because of this.
That yearning for normalcy gave strength to his hand. He found himself smiling.
It was over. Finally, it was over!
With a shout that rang in his head, he drove the sharp tip into the jewel.
Crack. Cr-crack.
The flawless surface of the jewel began to crack. Something thick and red oozed out of it.
Red and sticky, like the jewel itself.
It was blood.
Blood from a jewel?
Startled, Benedict blinked hard. The scene before him shifted completely.
What he had stabbed was—
“Lucien!”
With a scream, he jolted upright and clutched his arm with trembling hands.
“Ah, ah…”
He looked around in confusion.
“…A dream.”
He finally managed to whisper, as if reassuring himself.
“A dream… It was just a dream…”
Beyond the now-familiar darkness, he saw Alfie dozing by the door, snoring peacefully.
That sight helped calm the terror gripping him.
Thank goodness.
Thinking back, it really had been a ridiculous dream. The crystal of promise was supposed to break curses.
Why would he dream of destroying such a precious thing? And on top of that…
“…!”
Benedict suddenly noticed a strand of white hair near his knee.
He slowly turned his eyes.
Lucien was collapsed by his bedside, unmoving.
Gasp!
He instinctively shifted to the side.
His heart began pounding wildly. What if the dream wasn’t a dream?
“Lu…”
He reached out with a trembling hand and touched her hair, inching toward her ear.
He had to check.
Had her eyes turned red with blood?
Tap.
He lightly touched her ear—but no reaction.
“Luci… en.”
Even calling her name brought no change.
“Lu—Lucien!”
He now shook her shoulders frantically.
“Mmm… Is Jun here already?”
She mumbled without tension, groggy and still half-asleep.
Benedict froze, watching as she raised her head.
Rubbing her eyes with one hand, Lucien pushed her curly hair back behind her ear.
And then he saw them—her healthy, vibrant eyes.
“…Ah.”
Benedict, staring into her round eyes, realized how foolish he had been.
Lucien’s eyes were like cornelian cherries blooming among pure white snow—not jewels.
He had always thought that. Never a gem.
So why had he imagined otherwise?
“Sorry, I must’ve dozed off… Benedict?”
Even in her casual, sleepy voice, he couldn’t calm down. Instead, he pulled her into a tight hug.
He was so relieved she was safe. And ashamed that he had even imagined such a horrible thing.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lucien.”
How could he dream of hurting such a precious friend?
That breaking her red eyes would cure his illness?
Even if that were true—he could never do such a thing.
Who in this world would choose to live by killing their closest friend?
