Chapter : 69
It had been a tiresome, bitter fate. The Baydecker brothers were the offspring of the late Marquis Marcus’s younger sister. Considering that Raiden was the child of the late Marquis Marcus’s half-brother, it could be said that, with a mother in common, the Baydeckers were closer to the marquis.
Yet the late marquis had insisted on calling Raiden to the west and ultimately named him as his heir.
When that fact was publicly announced, everyone was shocked. Understandably so—while the Baydecker brothers’ parents were all nobles, Raiden’s mother had relinquished her family register and title, making her a fallen noble, essentially a commoner. It wasn’t surprising that they rose up in protest, refusing to accept it.
“But the marquis was no ordinary man.”
He had been dying of illness. Those who had once feared him under his reign of terror eventually began to underestimate him as his strength waned. Their attention shifted to the Baydecker brothers, who were likely heirs.
The marquis quietly observed everything. He waited until his people, calculatingly, shifted their allegiance to the Baydeckers and until the brothers’ arrogance eventually led them into trouble.
Then, with a single strike of the blade, he wiped them all out. For Raiden, it was as if the marquis had done the dirty work for him.
But the marquis made a mistake he wouldn’t have committed at his peak—he had only roughly checked the brothers’ bodies. In the end, they had fled to the capital and, regaining their strength, launched an attack on their homeland again.
“That’s why they must not become lords. They don’t value this land or its people.”
Jackson ground his teeth. Among the dead were his own brothers.
Raiden lowered his gaze and thought. Even in this horrific tragedy, he had gained something.
“All the survivors and bereaved families have turned to my side.”
The terrible disaster became an opportunity for those dissatisfied with Raiden behind the scenes to reconsider. The reason was exactly what Jackson had said: the head of the Marcus family had to be someone who valued the Marcus territories, and that principle had once again proven itself without fail.
“That foolish pair probably don’t even realize what they’ve done.”
Meanwhile, Jackson, having calmed himself, reported matter-of-factly.
“This morning, the last of the captured remnants died.”
Raiden’s eyebrows twitched. These were the ones Jackson had personally found and escorted—those who had been hiding nearby to trigger the remaining explosions in the mines.
“Did we get what we needed?”
“No. They were stubborn. Though, they spoke with the capital’s accent.”
Jackson excelled in schemes, inciting the public, and extracting information through torture—despite his outwardly smiling, pleasant appearance.
“So even someone like Jackson couldn’t uncover anything?”
Raiden tapped his thigh thoughtfully. Capital accent, huh? Surely, the Baydecker brothers had allied with nobles from the capital to gain manpower and resources. But…
“The trail is gone.”
He suspected which nobles were helping them but couldn’t get concrete proof. They were extremely cautious.
Raiden glanced at the glooming Jackson.
“Tracking—how far did we get?”
Two or three of the remnants had been deliberately left alive to learn their base and their supporters. Jackson’s skilled subordinates were supposedly tracking them, but…
Jackson’s face crumpled in despair again.
“As soon as they entered the capital, the trail went cold.”
Raiden pressed his lips together, rubbing his chin with a hand. He spoke in a low voice.
“There was an attempt to infiltrate Marcus Castle in the capital.”
“!”
Jackson looked up sharply, startled. He asked in a trembling voice:
“Are the castle people… safe?”
“Yes, they were all captured.”
“Ah… of course, it’s Louis.”
Relief and resignation flashed across Jackson’s face simultaneously. Raiden’s expression remained stern.
“If we hadn’t let them slip here, such an incident wouldn’t have occurred.”
“…I have no excuse to offer.”
Jackson lowered his head, ashamed. Raiden said in a commanding tone:
“The Marquis’s wife is in Marcus Castle. Make sure to pay special attention from now on.”
Jackson lifted his head, staring at Raiden with a complicated expression.
“Did you… really marry her?”
“Yes.”
He swallowed dryly.
“Her… it’s really her, right?”
Raiden whipped his head around to glare at Jackson.
“Call her the marquise.”
Then he stood and, in a softer tone, said:
“I leave this place in your hands as before. I won’t come back if there’s no reason, but guard carefully just in case.”
“Then…,”
Jackson’s gaze darkened.
“You mean the capital is more dangerous now.”
“Yes.”
Raiden nodded simply. Seeing him turn, Jackson asked urgently:
“Are you returning to the capital?”
“Of course.”
Again, Raiden confirmed. Jackson, like a dog unwilling to let go, fretted.
“There’s nothing to do here, then?”
Raiden glanced at him, scolding lightly:
“Repair the mines properly. The stored supplies will run out in six months, so make sure mining resumes before then.”
“Yes, understood.”
As Raiden turned fully and headed for the door, a thought occurred to him.
“I heard many people come to pay respects at the graves of the deceased.”
“Yes, transportation and lodging are provided. It costs a lot, but you said not to skimp on such things.”
Jackson glanced at Raiden, gauging him. Raiden nodded curtly.
“Yes. You’re doing well.”
“Thank you.”
Only upon receiving praise did Jackson’s face relax. Raiden paused at the door and glanced back.
“Spread a subtle rumor among them.”
“What kind of rumor?”
“Something like, ‘The damage was so great, the Marcus family is shaken.’ That should suffice.”
“…What?”
Jackson’s eyes went wide. But Raiden had already disappeared. As he walked down the corridor, Raiden frowned. The idea of people mourning the dead reminded him of a memory from the past.
The old man Raiden considered a benefactor—who had hidden him in his house when assassins attacked and recovered his mother’s body—was, for convenience, called the “neighboring old man.” In reality, he was a recluse living across a valley from Raiden’s home.
He had once been a hunter, skilled in taking down large beasts and selling their hides. He knew the mountains Raiden and his mother lived in like the back of his hand.
The old man had pulled his mother’s body from the burning house and buried it temporarily nearby. He nursed Raiden after the battle with the assassins and secretly disposed of the assassins’ corpses. When Raiden awoke two months later, he reported that a suspicious person had visited the burnt site several times.
[He wore a robe covering his face but was extremely small.]
He cautiously added:
[Do you know who it is?]
He was asking if anyone would come to find Raiden. It seemed obvious—likely remnants of the assassins checking if the job was done, or searching for the boy who had not been found among the corpses.
The old man, surprisingly naive for someone who had been betrayed and had to hide in this rural area, asked such a question.
Raiden listened in silence. The old man finally spoke his mind:
[Once, the person circled the house and fell to the ground, shaking their shoulders. It looked like they were sobbing, which felt strange.]
Raiden stared at him in disbelief and turned his head. He was the one with a head injury, yet the aftereffects seemed to be on the old man. How could he even think such nonsense?
For a moment, Raiden’s absurdity faded, replaced by an unbearable pang of grief. He had once believed that if he disappeared, someone would mourn him. But he was wrong.
Under the sky, there was no one who cared for him and his mother.
Raiden shook his head in self-mockery.
“The old man must have been mistaken.”
Who would have come all the way to their home to pay respects?
Resuming his steps, he walked out of the front door. The staff were lined up, waiting for him. He barely acknowledged their greetings and mounted his waiting steed.
“Move out.”
Raiden’s low voice cut through the air. He led, followed by a dozen carriages carrying knights, guards, and staff. Their destination: the capital.
Clang.
“Oh my, madam, are you alright?”
Anna, suddenly soaked with perfume, silently swept back her wet hair. Beside her, the maid who had temporarily been assigned to Anna instead of Silla, Janet, stood with her hands by her sides, staring blankly.
Lucy rubbed Anna’s head and face with a towel, shooting Janet a sharp glare.
“What on earth are you doing? Are you doing this on purpose?”
“Of course not,” Janet replied, eyes wide. Lucy pounded her chest repeatedly; Janet’s brazen attitude wasn’t new.
“That’s enough, Lucy. Prepare the bathwater; she needs a proper wash.”
“Yes, madam.”
Soaked from head to toe, washing with water was the only option. Lucy grabbed the towel Anna had left behind, glaring at Janet, and headed for the bathroom.
Anna, using the towel Lucy left behind, rubbed the slippery back of her neck and sighed.
‘It’s been three days since Silla went on vacation…’
