Chapter 64
My office had become April’s hideout again today.
She was studying letters with Aiden.
Because of that, I couldn’t open and read Ferdinand’s letter here so casually.
“Is something wrong?”
When I opened the office door, Dylan—who was working—looked up.
After Kylen left for the expedition, Dylan had been buried in work just like me.
Rubbing his eyes under deep dark circles, Dylan stared at me in surprise, then quickly adjusted his glasses and stood up.
“Is… is something the matter?”
My serious expression made his voice tense.
“Dylan.”
“Yes.”
I looked once at the letter in my hand, then at Dylan, and finally opened my mouth.
“The Imperial Family sent me a letter.”
“…What?”
Dylan frowned sharply, as if he couldn’t believe what he heard.
“Who from the Imperial Family would send a letter to the Grand Duchess…?”
While wiping his glasses with his sleeve, he muttered.
When he put the clean glasses back on and stepped closer, he noticed the envelope in my hand—and froze.
“Wh-who is it from?”
“Crown Prince Ferdinand.”
The look in Dylan’s eyes began trembling like a tiny boat in a violent storm.
“It’s miserable.”
Isaiah gripped the reins tightly.
The day after they arrived at the border, Kylen went straight to the border village with the knights at sunrise.
Seeing it with his own eyes was completely different from reading the report.
“Most of Buro Village burned down.”
Those words were nothing compared to the reality—the black ashes, the half-burned houses left like sad skeletons.
Among the houses still standing, almost none were intact.
Windows shattered, doors ripped off, walls broken.
People who had lost their homes in a single moment had empty, hollow expressions.
“Most women were raped and killed… or kidnapped.”
The villagers who lost mothers, wives, daughters—and hope—looked as if they no longer had the will to rebuild anything.
Kylen clenched his teeth hard.
“Count Brodyshengster.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The Count answered brightly.
Kylen turned his head sharply and glared at that shining, smug face.
“What exactly have you been doing until now?”
“…Pardon?”
The Count’s eyes widened at the question.
“I asked what you did from the moment His Majesty issued the order until the moment I arrived here.”
Facing Kylen’s cold, terrifying eyes for the first time, the Count swallowed nervously.
“T-that… I… well…”
He stuttered, rolling his eyes, then glanced behind him.
“Wh-what did I do again?”
At that, his aide stepped forward.
“You ordered us to track the mercenaries who attacked the village.”
“Y-yes! Exactly! I sent twenty knights! Twenty!”
The Count raised his chin proudly, emphasizing the number.
“That’s only natural.”
Kylen swallowed down his anger.
He exhaled deeply, trying to calm the boiling rage.
It wasn’t as cold as Winterford here, but it was still winter.
Kylen’s warm breath, mixed with fury, turned white in the frozen air.
“I asked what measures you took after your people lost their families and homes overnight.”
“T-that… I…”
Again, the Count couldn’t answer.
He looked helplessly at his aide, but the aide also stayed silent.
Kylen closed his eyes briefly, then spoke:
“First, identify exactly who was killed or kidnapped. Then secure temporary places for the homeless.”
The Count blinked slowly, looking stupid, as if he couldn’t understand.
“They won’t be able to work for a while, so provide them with living expenses and exempt taxes during the recovery period—”
“Wh-what?! L-living expenses AND tax exemption?!”
The Count shouted, his mustache trembling violently—he was extremely sensitive to money.
“Your Grace, is that really necessary? Once the mercenaries are caught, we can just make them pay—”
“Ahem. Count.”
His quick-witted aide cut him off.
The Count looked frustrated—though he was the last person with the right to feel that way.
The villagers were the ones who lost their homes and families.
What did he have to be upset about?
Kylen ran a rough hand through his hair and dismounted.
The villagers were still terrified.
Fear and suspicion filled their eyes as they glanced at Kylen and the knights.
Then Kylen noticed a child.
A girl around April’s age was hiding in a narrow alley between burned houses.
He looked for a guardian nearby, but found no one.
Her clothes were thin, and she was dirty—as if she hadn’t bathed in days.
When Kylen took one step toward her, the girl flinched back.
He stopped moving, knelt down, and smiled gently.
“Hello.”
The girl jumped—once at the smile, and once at the greeting.
“What are you doing, Your Grace?!”
The Count loudly objected.
A noble kneeling to a commoner orphan—especially a girl—was improper, he shouted.
The girl’s eyes filled quickly with tears.
Kylen kept his smile, but bit his lower lip.
He glanced at Isaiah.
Isaiah immediately raised both arms.
“Oh! Count! Why don’t we go look over there?”
“W-where? Hey—let go! Ack!”
Isaiah grabbed the Count’s arm tightly and dragged him away.
The aide hesitated but eventually followed them.
Once they disappeared, Kylen spoke softly to the girl again.
“Your home… where is it?”
The girl roughly wiped her tears with her sleeve, then turned her head slightly.
Following her gaze, Kylen looked.
A half-burned house stood there, with only pillars and floor barely remaining.
“Is this it?”
The girl nodded weakly.
A tear fell from her eye and rolled down her cheek.
Kylen’s eyes turned cold as he stared at the ruins of what had once been her home.
He stood, removed his scarf, and walked toward her again.
Her clothes were clearly pajamas.
She must have escaped in the middle of the night, unable to take anything with her.
He wrapped his scarf around her neck.
She flinched at the touch, but didn’t run.
Her dirty cheeks were stained with tear marks.
Kylen wiped them gently with his thumb and stroked her hair.
“You’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.”
Maybe his warmth reached her.
Her eyes filled with tears again.
“Hic… hic… uwaaaaa!!”
The girl burst into loud sobs.
Her bottled-up fear and pain exploded.
Her crying echoed through the quiet village.
One by one, villagers began gathering.
“Pl-please save us!”
“Have mercy!”
“We beg you!”
They knelt on the cold ground, begging Kylen.
Some cried like the girl.
Others shouted angrily, demanding justice for those who destroyed their village.
The alley soon filled with grief and rage.
As Kylen looked at them, something tugged on his pants.
The girl had stopped crying but was breathing shakily, holding tightly onto him.
“M-my mom was taken… hic… bad men… took her… Please find her…”
Her small hand clutching his pants trembled desperately.
Kylen gently placed his hand over hers.
He couldn’t promise it for certain.
Her mother might have been sold at a slave market.
Or worse… she might already be gone.
But he still wanted to tell her something.
Feeling the small warmth of her hand beneath his, Kylen spoke.
“Alright. I will make sure of it.”
