CHAPTER 21
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, okay?”
Facing Kaelan’s fiery glare, Canon Borce raised both hands in surrender and offered a half-hearted apology, clearly giving in.
He expected anger—but not this level of intensity.
Inwardly, he thought something completely different, but the dangerous aura Kaelan radiated kept him from voicing it aloud.
Even after the apology, Kaelan said nothing—just stared in silence. Trying to lighten the mood, Canon Borce smiled awkwardly and rose from his chair, approaching Kaelan.
“Kaelan, come on. Calm down and take a seat.”
“Tell me properly. What exactly did you say to that woman?”
“Oh, that? Just that Ithanus has reappeared—wait, Kaelan, you didn’t hear about it from the Duchess yet?”
“Ithanus? That organization resurfaced? Then why the hell did she give me that information?”
“Well… the Duchess is practically obsessed with the Duke’s kids. I figured she’d definitely tell you.”
Kaelan’s brow furrowed at Canon Borce’s explanation.
It had been like that.
Up until recently, anyway.
Ever since the day he visited her, one month after being granted the duke’s authority, something about her had changed.
Before that, she’d been the foolish woman he’d always known—but after that day, she was… different.
“Kaelan~”
Lost in thought, Kaelan ignored Borce’s coaxing tone and continued on with what had been bothering him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it first?”
“I only found out that day myself. His Majesty gave orders, and I barely had time to act on them. It wasn’t the kind of situation where I could leisurely share the info. I really thought I was going to die that day. So when I dropped by the Dylan Duchy, I figured if I told the Duchess, the news would reach you automatically. But now you’re telling me it didn’t…”
Borce dragged out his final words, eyeing Kaelan with teasing curiosity.
Sensing the direction this was heading, Kaelan preemptively cut him off before he could let his imagination run wild.
“From now on, don’t even think of sending information through her. Just stick to what you’ve always done.”
“Wait—why? Did something happen with the Duchess?”
“…”
“Something really did happen, huh? What, did the Duchess finally—”
“Borce.”
Kaelan called his name in a low voice, clearly annoyed, no longer bothering to hide his discomfort at Borce’s excitement.
Canon Borce backed off, pretending to be cowed, but Kaelan knew he’d bounce back quickly. He handed him over to Troxy and slipped away—he hadn’t planned this visit in the first place.
Borce kept his eyes on Kaelan’s retreating back until he disappeared from view. Then, turning to Troxy, who was tidying the room, he finally voiced something he’d been mulling over.
“Hey, Troxy. Don’t you think Kaelan’s changed a bit lately?”
“Kaelan? In what way?”
“His choice of words. Didn’t you notice?”
“Choice of words? Oh!”
Retracing their earlier conversation, Troxy’s eyes lit up with realization as he looked at Borce.
“You called her ‘the Duchess,’ and he didn’t say a word. Just a little while ago, he’d snap at you with that death glare if you so much as mentioned her title.”
“Exactly. I even tested it a few more times just to be sure, and he didn’t react at all. He still calls her ‘that woman,’ though. Something’s definitely changed.”
“Yeah. He’s definitely different lately. Ever since that investigation—mmph!”
Caught up in the flow of conversation, Troxy abruptly slapped a hand over his own mouth.
The obvious attempt to shut up made Borce pounce like a predator catching the scent of prey.
“What was that? Why’d you stop mid-sentence? Come on, Troxy! Spill it. What the hell happened?”
“No.”
“Why not? Come on! I hardly get to come around here anymore. Don’t leave me out of the loop! Just give me a hint, Troxy~”
“Nope. Not happening.”
“Ugh, so stingy. You’re really gonna do me like this?”
“Yup. I really am.”
Despite Borce’s persistent pestering, Troxy turned away completely, not even making eye contact.
Just then, Troxy remembered something—the letter he’d sent earlier to a client, postponing an ongoing job indefinitely.
‘By now, that letter’s probably been delivered. It was a well-paying job too… ugh… they’re definitely going to cancel.’
If only Anakyn brought back something worthwhile…
Please, let it not be empty-handed.
“Your Grace. A letter just arrived from the Blue Raven.”
“Give it here.”
The Archduke tore open the letter that Bron had handed him. After reading it, he crumpled the paper in his fist with a sharp motion, the bubbling frustration clearly reaching its limit.
The crinkling sound echoed like cruel mockery of his own fleeting hope.
“Lost the ring and now the job’s postponed… pathetic.”
“Your Grace…”
“I trusted them, and this is all I get.”
“Should I send a reply? Maybe just acknowledge receipt—”
“Bron. Cancel the job.”
“What? But… yes, Your Grace.”
Bron instantly sensed the Archduke’s mood had soured beyond repair.
Outwardly calm as he seemed, the man had spent years chasing the shadow of a girl—his entire being entangled in the pursuit.
As time passed, his search began to resemble chasing a ghost, but even as he recognized it, he couldn’t stop. Like a man walking endlessly down a road with no destination.
Back when the Archduke was less guarded with his emotions, he’d react—sometimes with frustration, sometimes with visible disappointment—whenever the news came that she still hadn’t been found. But oddly, if there was even a sliver of hope that she might still be alive, it gave him comfort.
On the other hand, if any new information hinted at her death, no matter how vague, he would become visibly unsettled.
Though time had dulled some of that intensity, his reaction now was all too familiar. Bron had plenty to say, but when it came to her, nothing ever reached him. And this letter was far from hopeful, so Bron simply kept silent.
Quietly, he left the room.
The Archduke’s chamber, still dark with no lights lit, was faintly illuminated by sunlight filtering through the window.
In the shadows untouched by that fading light, the Archduke sat alone, slouched deep in his chair, gazing up at the ceiling.
Then, with closed eyes and a heavy heart, he whispered a word soaked in emotion.
“Eight years…”
It had been eight years since he began chasing the silhouette of that girl.
He started the search by denying the report of her death. He never imagined it would go on this long.
She had smiled, lying on the cold sand, red hair splayed out, whispering about wanting to be happy. But to him, her eyes—those amethyst eyes—had looked like they were fighting back tears.
And when he’d asked what she wanted most… with a trembling voice, she had simply said she wanted a hairpin. That was the first time she’d smiled like a real girl her age—genuinely happy.
That smile was worlds away from the expression she wore in the arena, battling for her life in front of a jeering crowd. There, she had fought like a beast, desperate to survive.
As time passed, his fragile hope crumbled like burnt cloth, disintegrating into the wind.
He’d heard of a skilled underground group within the empire and hired them—but only ever received delays.
Another dead end?
The fierce spirit in her small frame, that dazzling vitality—it had been intoxicating.
For someone who had been suffocating in a life of dull compliance, that girl’s burning will to live was like discovering a whole new world.
Just barely opening the tightly locked doors of his heart had let in such heat and light, it nearly consumed him.
Everything about her—her presence, her defiance—had been shocking and utterly captivating to his younger self.
Even now, he still didn’t fully understand why that desperate stranger had shaken him so deeply.
Was she really that important?
Enough to ruin him from the inside out?
“…Ha.”
Slouched in his chair, the Archduke let out a bitter laugh. His sigh, heavy with emotion, faded into the air.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, he reached for the top button of his shirt—it was chokingly tight. But no matter how hard he tugged, it wouldn’t come undone.
Frustrated, he gripped the collar and yanked. The buttons popped off and scattered to the floor.
“Enough.”
Even as he spoke words of resignation, his face twisted in pain.
From where he sat, he watched as the red-tinted sunset light gradually pushed deeper into the room.
He didn’t want to accept it.
He didn’t want to believe the girl who had brought color to his lifeless world had died protecting him.
She’d been bleeding, but she’d smiled.
She even said she’d take the hairpin he promised her.
Now the light touched his feet.
Why is it always at this time?
It’s as if she knows when I’m about to give up—she comes back like a ghost, clutching at me with memories.
Every time the sunset falls like this, she shatters me all over again.
Just like now.
“If you want to hold me here… at least leave behind something real.”
He stared out the window as the sunlight slowly faded from his feet, crawling up his legs before retreating completely.
Once even the last sliver of light vanished, the room was swallowed in darkness.
“Don’t disappear again like this…”
Creak—
Rising from the chair, the Archduke laced his fingers together and pressed them to his forehead, resting his elbows on his knees, his head bowed.
Alone in the complete darkness, his quiet whisper dissolved into the air.
“Please…”
“Your Grace. Another letter from the Blue Raven just arrived.”
And as if that plea had found its way into the world, a new letter—like a miracle—arrived at the Archduke’s estate.
It was filled with traces that might lead him to her.
[The arena connected to the girl was once tied to an illegal auction house.
Several accounts show that when the arena deemed slaves ‘useless,’ they were sold to the auction.
If the girl is alive, she may have ended up there.
The auction house was exposed and shut down by the imperial family 8 years ago. All personnel and auction records were seized and remain sealed.
Attempts to investigate individuals linked to the arena were halted due to a request from a related organization.]
