TYWAUOM 48

Chapter 48

As soon as Aisha’s name was mentioned, Ian’s brow twitched. He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure and immediately retorted.

“My engagement is none of your concern, Duke.”

Seeing Ian even putting up his guard, Duke Levantus silently clicked his tongue. Truthfully, he liked almost everything about Ian—his noble lineage, his exceptional appearance, and his capabilities and discernment that far exceeded his age. Ian was, by all accounts, the most outstanding young man the Duke had ever encountered.

“It’s not your concern, huh… Sure. I’m not your parent or your guardian, so from a personal standpoint, I suppose it’s not my place. But since we’re walking the same political path, I figured I could at least say a word.”

However, even someone who seemed perfect like Ian had a fatal flaw: his long-standing ties to the Count of Parden.

“Marquis, the House of Lloyd is among the most prestigious noble families. But the Parden family doesn’t quite measure up. Their political stance is different from ours, too. As the leader of the Old Nobles faction, it’s my duty to make sure our people don’t stray because of personal feelings and end up ruining everything.”

“You have nothing to worry about. As I’m sure you’re aware, I stand firmly with you, Your Grace.”

Though he spoke with such assurance, the Duke could see that Ian was still tangled up with the Parden family. Otherwise, he wouldn’t still be considering marrying the daughter of his enemies, even while plotting revenge.

He recalled his niece Loretta, who had cried because she couldn’t get engaged to Ian, and his stomach churned. Suppressing his rising anger, Duke Levantus took a deep breath. Fortunately, patience and seizing opportunities were among his strongest suits. Instead of pressuring Ian, he decided to use a method that would strike deeper.

“Let me ask you just one thing.”

“…”

“The daughter of your sworn enemy… Are you even able to look her in the face without feeling sick?”

His voice was relaxed, almost casual, but Ian’s gaze sharpened like a blade, as though the Duke had touched a raw nerve.

“How much evidence has surfaced over the past four years? And yet you still feel some attachment to the Count of Parden? Is that why your revenge is dragging on and now you’re going through with an engagement to his daughter?”

“…There’s still no definitive proof. It’s all circumstantial.”

“Marquis. That much circumstantial evidence is as good as confirmation. A cat walks past a fish shop, and suddenly the fish is gone. Who else could the culprit be?”

“…”

“Ah… Or is it the opposite?”

“…”

“It’s not the Count you’re attached to, but his daughter? So you’re sparing the Count under the excuse that there’s no clear evidence?”

At the Duke’s pointed words, Ian’s lips pressed into a thin line. The third drawer of his desk was stuffed with reports—and many of the documents, including the first few pages, had been delivered to him by none other than Duke Levantus himself.

“Marquis Lloyd? Could I have a moment?”

“…”

“Don’t be so wary. I only wanted to speak to you… about your late foster parent.”

The Duke was the one who had instilled in Ian the desire for revenge. He was also the only one, aside from Ian himself, who knew of that revenge. And yet now, he was poking and prodding as if questioning Ian’s resolve. Ian’s composure began to unravel.

Is he implying I’m acting like this because of Aisha?

An icy rage swirled around Ian like a storm. His voice cut through the air, sharpened like a drawn sword.

“I am under no obligation to explain myself to Your Grace, but since your misunderstanding is incredibly offensive, I will say this.”

“…”

“My engagement to Aisha Parden is merely a part of a larger plan. When the time comes, I intend to discard her. So please stop worrying about it. It’s a nuisance.”

The chill in his tone was unmistakable—a warning. But instead of backing off, the Duke leaned in further.

“If that’s the case, then that poor young lady… To think a man could so casually say he’ll discard his fiancée. If she were ever to learn the truth, it would surely break her heart.”

“If you have nothing further to say, I’ll be going.”

Ian tilted his head slightly, then stood up. His resolute posture left no doubt—he would not entertain this conversation any further.

“…Before you go, let me say this in advance. If you ever feel like discarding Lady Aisha, tell me.”

Just as Ian was about to take a step, the Duke’s suggestive remark made him pause and glance back. The Duke reached for the cigar box on the table and continued.

“Of course, the Count of Parden and the men in that family need to die. But your fiancée might actually prove useful.”

The cigars, worth their weight in gold, looked as luxurious as expected. As he lit one, a faint smoke and a distinctive aroma spread through the room.

“You look curious. It’s simple. She’s very pretty. Too beautiful for mere words. There are quite a few who have their eye on her.”

The cigar’s scent, meant to demonstrate its worth, wasn’t unpleasant. Yet the longer it burned, and the more the Duke puffed on it, the more Ian felt the urge to block his nose.

“It’s a vulgar thing to say, I admit… but if the Parden family falls, someone might want to keep that lovely face around for their own use.”

Watching Ian’s expression twist behind the smoke, the Duke crossed his legs with satisfaction. Ian, who had turned away, was now facing him directly again.

“Remember the Marquis of Nante from the Duchy of Rana? That old diplomat who came before? When he saw Aisha Parden, he practically drooled, saying he’d offer us much better terms if we put that girl in his bed. I even had to go looking for a prostitute who resembled her that night…”

“Enough.”

Bang!

Ian kicked the table in front of the Duke. Though the heavy wooden table didn’t tip over, the cigar box and ashtray clattered to the floor.

Ian’s face was terrifying. His expression darkened with such intensity and rage, it looked as though he might strike the Duke down on the spot.

For a moment, fear flickered across the Duke’s face, but he quickly masked it. He dropped his cigar and crushed it underfoot as he spoke.

“You knew I was trying to provoke you, yet you still reacted like this. Must be because you care, huh?”

He wasn’t wrong. Ian knew exactly what the Duke was doing. But even knowing that, he couldn’t control the fury boiling up inside him. His gaze drifted to the ashtray on the floor. Solid and heavy—it would make an excellent weapon in hand.

“Rid yourself of that useless attachment. Keep reminding yourself—she’s the daughter of your enemy.”

The Duke, sensing danger, hastily spat out the word “enemy’s daughter.” But even so, seeing that Ian remained in a threatening state, he gulped and called out loudly.

“Albert!”

His assistant, who had been waiting outside, rushed in. Having already heard the commotion, the man’s eyes scanned the mess with unease.

“Fetch the book from my office desk.”

When the assistant silently asked with his eyes if he should summon a knight, the Duke shook his head and gave the order. Hesitating briefly, the assistant bowed and rushed out.

He left the door wide open behind him. The Duke, seemingly relieved by this, glanced out the door before gesturing for Ian to sit.

“I was going to tell you later… but it’s clear you can’t make a decision on your own. Let me help rid you of that pointless affection.”

Still standing, Ian narrowed his eyes. Whatever the Duke was about to reveal, it was undoubtedly related to his parents.

“Your Grace, here it is.”

The assistant soon returned and handed over the documents while casting wary glances at Ian. The Duke flipped through the first few pages and tossed the file onto the table.

“Found him.”

Ian’s eyes naturally drifted to the top page. The name “Wilkins” was written there. Recognizing it, Ian’s eyes widened. The Duke shrugged, clearly expecting that reaction.

“He was way past the border. All the way in the Kingdom of Baresa, across the sea. No wonder he was so hard to find.”

Wilkins had been the coachman at the time of the fatal carriage accident that killed the late Marquis and Marchioness of Lloyd. He was also the only survivor. But the moment an investigation began, he disappeared without a trace—even though he had been too injured to walk.

His sudden disappearance had stirred up countless rumors. Ian even knew the last place Wilkins had been seen—according to the original investigation report.

With a faintly trembling voice, Ian asked:

“…How is he living?”

“Just as the report says. Very well off. That kind of wealth would be hard to earn as a coachman.”

Ian reached out and picked up the file. As his eyes moved across the pages, the paper grew more crumpled—by the last page, it was nearly unreadable.

The Duke looked from the mangled paper to Ian’s face. A deadly chill emanated from Ian’s glowing blue eyes. But knowing that fury wasn’t directed at him, the Duke merely smiled, pleased.

“Don’t worry. I’ve already sent for him. He should arrive in the Empire within four months at the latest.”

At that whisper, Ian closed his eyes. Four months… Compared to how long he’d already waited, it wasn’t much. But it still didn’t feel short.

He should have felt impatient, yet the thought of Wilkins returning left him uneasy. He opened his eyes and tucked the file deep into his coat.

“…Please proceed in secret. Count Parden must not suspect anything.”

The Duke, unaware of Ian’s inner turmoil, smiled and nodded. Ian’s brows furrowed in displeasure at the sight, and he turned on his heel without another word.