SFMBIFS 16

Chapter : 16

“The last report is still the one from a month ago—that he’s alive and lying low, without making any major moves. If everything goes as scheduled, new information should arrive within a day or two.”

“Is that so….”

Raphael responded mildly. All he could do was hope that no report would come in saying the fool had done something reckless in the meantime.

That prince ought to be grateful simply for having made it back alive.

To send the prince home alive, Raphael had endured much and moved extensively.

Had Ario begun investigating Münje’s death as well? What a fool. Raphael despised that prince for rummaging about so rashly and without restraint.

This was an affair jointly orchestrated by the Empire’s emperor and its new duke. Any doubts boldly raised by a mere prince of a kingdom were bound to be useless. With no countermeasures, all he did was stir things up unnecessarily, leaving only Raphael irritated.

Octave saluted once more and exited the room.

Raphael set his pen down and pressed his palm firmly over it. The hand that slowly dragged across his mouth and jaw dropped onto the desk with a dull thud. He leaned back, burying himself in the chair without caring as the backrest creaked under his weight.

His arms slid naturally off the desk and came to rest on the armrests.

Staring into empty space, he curled the fingers of his right hand that dangled limply at the end of the armrest. Feeling something, he lowered his gaze.

A ring.

He stared silently at the hard, cold ring on his ring finger.

Two years and six months.

It had already been two years and six months since Münje disappeared alone. Two years and six months since he last saw her.

He simply hadn’t found her—that was all. She was alive. She couldn’t possibly be dead. His belief had never wavered. And yet he felt as though he might die from missing her. From longing for her so much he could barely breathe.

To him, she was his life. His breath. His world.

Raphael’s pale gray eyes were partially hidden as his eyelids slowly lowered. He leaned slightly forward from the backrest.

The prince he had just heard about came back to mind.

Long ago, Jay had once come to Raphael—who outwardly showed no movement for her sake—and hurled curses and abuse at him. Insults refined to suit one’s status, dignity, and position.

Didn’t you cherish Münje so dearly? How can you do nothing? How can you abandon Münje so completely, in an instant?

The new Duke of Loheol crumpled up and threw away what was practically her last letter, and you’re perfectly fine even if Münje is dead. You do nothing. Do you know what Münje said? She said she would love William Loheol no matter what. No matter what.

It hadn’t been worth responding to, so Raphael gave no reaction.

The prince glared at Raphael as though he might cry, then turned away. From then on, at every social gathering, he brought up Münje’s death. It grated on the new Duke of Loheol and the emperor—and on Raphael most of all.

Because Raphael was already moving quietly beneath the surface.

There was no reason to needlessly make the emperor and William more sensitive, so the prince’s actions only interfered with the search for Münje.

That desperate, reckless prince had overlooked many things. And above all, what he had most foolishly underestimated was Raphael himself.

The prince had failed to grasp that Raphael was a man who could, without hesitation, kill a prince from Ario and willingly ignite a conflict between Onnevalle and Ario.

Raphael had seriously considered killing Jay.

And yet, in the end, he did not. He could not.

Though forced upon her, he was still a prince whom she had ultimately protected with her life and honor. And Münje had treated the prince with genuine warmth. Even that held meaning for Raphael. Killing someone who carried remnants of Münje with his own hands—he decided to postpone that to the very end.

If William were to insult the prince Münje had protected, it would be no different from insulting Münje herself.

And so Raphael began to watch over the prince within Loheol.

If the prince whom Münje had carefully cared for were to die, it would be the same as Münje’s will dying.

Thus, he ensured the prince would not be killed by Onnevalle.

At just the right time, a secret request arrived from Ario’s royal family, asking for the prince to be allowed to return home. It was part of a power struggle. With Münje dead, the emperor no longer had need of the prince, and so the prince was sent back to Ario.

On the road back, Raphael’s knights followed in secret, protecting the prince.

For all of that protection, Raphael endured greatly.

Do you know how special she considered you, Archduke? It was obvious even to me. How can a person be like this…

If not for Münje, the prince’s sobbing would not have been worth anything.

The prince could see Münje’s generous friendship—but could he not see Raphael’s feelings?

Could he not see the man who had been breathing because Münje existed?

Raphael knew that the prince had envied him. He knew how deeply the prince resented the fact that the two people Münje cherished most both turned away from her.

He slowly reached out and placed his hand over the ring.

Staring at it, Raphael sank into hallucinations and echoes of sound.

Thank you, Raphael. You have no idea what this means to me.

He heard the voice of the friend who had whispered those words while wearing this ring.

At that moment, Münje had been holding him, so he didn’t know what expression she’d had. But she was always lovely in his memories, and at that moment his gaze softened with warmth. Before others, she was cold and razor-sharp—but only with him did she rest. Since childhood, she had only let herself loosen around him, and he, only around her.

Raphael stroked the ring and whispered inwardly.

Muse.

The name permitted to him alone.

Muse.

That pure face that laughed brightly while joking, that cool serenity, the precarious relationship between the two of them—like walking atop clouds.

Every memory became a rope, tightening around his heart.

“……”

Raphael withdrew his hand from the ring.

The Münje in his memory turned her head away from him. Holding her sword, looking forward, those pale ash-gray eyes left him.

Raphael stood up.

He knew his retainers thought his mind had grown unstable. A reasonable judgment. He had seen the blood-soaked scene with his own eyes.

A body murdered on a mountain path, blown apart into pieces.

Though the identity could not be confirmed with certainty, the torn clothing and shattered finger joints made it unmistakable—Münje Loheol.

Thinking that far, Raphael’s lips lifted—then fell.

Don’t be ridiculous.

There was nothing to give up.

He had no intention of leaving her alone. If this search is difficult, come before me and say so. I’ll find you. Don’t hide from me. When I come close to you, please—just send me even a fragment of your breath.

A hand thick with the scent of blood pressed into the hair at his temple and dragged across. Ash-colored strands slipped between his fingers and fell free.

Through the window behind the chair, he gazed briefly at the distant sunset sky, then reached out.

His faint reflection appeared in the glass, his fingers tracing where his eyes were.

Where eyes dyed by her reflected back at him.

His fingertips grew painfully cold. He soon let his focus drift again—back to the sky. At some point, the eyes that searched for Münje sharpened into a vivid blue edge. The killing intent simmering beneath his contemplation was chilling.

That murderous intent was directed at the emperor of Onnevalle and William Loheol.

Blinded by her devoted affection for William, Münje hadn’t noticed—but he should have. William, who rose to the dukedom as if he had been waiting the moment his sister died, and buried the suspicious circumstances of Münje’s death. And then—

The emperor.

Raphael’s eyes narrowed as he recalled that exalted woman.

Morning passed without a single customer. Not one person had entered the bookstore. It had already been three days—breaking records. The likely cause was the mistake made four days ago while playing territory games with the residents of Junk Alley.

Somehow, a craftsman had taken a sharp chop to the crown of his head from Wiz and ended up writhing on the ground in agony. Someone even clutched the man and wailed.

New Hero No. 24! Your sacrifice will be remembered forever!

The person wailing ended up becoming New Hero No. 25.

That was because, while flailing his arms to avoid falling during the continued game, he somehow punched someone straight in the solar plexus. Somehow.

Thanks to that, Wiz—who had spent three idle days resting her head on the counter—suddenly lifted her head and checked the clock.

Lunch time.

Right on cue, thunder rumbled in her stomach.

Grrr.

She froze. Blinking, Wiz made a decision.

Let’s go eat.

From the moment she decided, she stood up and tidied the place. As soon as she hung a small pouch around her neck, she bounced with excitement, moving to an upbeat rhythm as if she were full of energy. She even hummed a little tune. After carefully locking the bookstore door, she turned around.

Food. Food.

She fluttered over and opened the door of the house two doors down. The painter’s cozy home smelled of paint. She sniffed happily and sat at the table. She confiscated a set of dishes from across the table and placed them in front of herself, and just as she did, a man emerged from the kitchen holding a large plate.

Wiz greeted him with a beaming grin.

“Today’s the main dish!”

“……”

The man set the plate down in the center of the table and buried his face in his hands.

This bastard is here again.

Wiz cheerfully asked,

“Aren’t you sitting down?”

“…Why are you sitting here before me?! No, more importantly—when did you come in again?!”

Pete shouted at Wiz, who had appeared without a sound and was already seated at the table.

Pete’s story was a tragic one. Whenever he cooked, Wiz would trespass and somehow already be sitting at the table…! If she had such a miraculous sense of smell, couldn’t she use it for something useful? Instead, she only used it to detect whether the house two doors down was cooking or not!

Not even the next house—two doors down!

Wiz sighed and shook her head.

“You seem like an amateur.”

At that moment, Pete nearly suffocated. Forcing his breath back down, he shouted,

“Then what are you, a professional thief?!”

“I’m not stealing anything.”

“My meal! My meal! My food that your stomach steals! My supplies that you wipe out!”

She immediately conceded.

“I see. You’re right. I am a professional thief.”

“Drop that stupid tone!”

Trying to sound bright didn’t work on Pete in the slightest.

Pete dropped his head.