Chapter 39
Claudio didn’t hesitate—his hand closed around the doorknob, and with a drawn-out creak, the old front door swung open.
And there, early in the morning, standing on Marsha’s doorstep was none other than—
“Good morning, Dio! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Urian greeted him with a bright, easy smile.
Ah.
Relief softened Marsha’s features.
After fearing for a moment that James might show up at her doorstep, this was a welcome sight.
Claudio, however, looked anything but pleased.
“How did you find your way here? You should have been too busy to come if you were handling what I asked of you.”
Arms folding across his chest, Claudio’s smile was cool, edged with frost.
“Of course I handled everything,” Urian replied. “But… there were a few matters I couldn’t quite wrap up on my own.”
Only then did Claudio’s gaze drop to the document case tucked under Urian’s arm.
“I could’ve taken care of it myself when I returned.”
“Well… I thought you might be curious how things turned out—”
Claudio knew perfectly well that it was an excuse.
He just wanted to check on me.
Unnecessary worry. If it were up to Claudio, he’d throw him out right here and now—but considering the effort it must have taken to process that stack of papers…
“Yurian.”
Claudio’s hand came down on his shoulder, and a smile—brilliant, almost blinding—lit his face.
“You work hard, always helping me.”
“Oh, no. I’m only doing what needs to be done.”
“Is that so? Then I suppose I can ask something of you without hesitation.”
“…Sir?”
Urian blinked owlishly, but before he could say more, Claudio turned toward Marsha, who had been watching them like an audience member enjoying a play.
“Should be finished by now, don’t you think?”
“…What is—ah.”
She remembered the clothes she’d had tailored for him and nodded.
Urian’s gaze bounced between them, still baffled.
“Finished? What is—?”
“I didn’t have anything suitable to wear, so she had some made for me,” Claudio explained.
“Oh!”
Of course—his master’s build was far from ordinary.
He couldn’t simply wear just anything off the rack.
“I should have brought the clothes myself,” Urian said.
“How much were they? I’ll pay you immediately—”
“We can settle that later. For now, go fetch them.”
“M-me?”
“Yes.”
“I… don’t even know where they were purchased…”
“Marsha will draw you a map.”
Claudio glanced her way, lips curving upward.
“I can draw it, but… I could just go myself,” Marsha offered.
She’d planned to head to the market today anyway—there was no real need for this errand.
“Clothes can be a bit of a burden to carry. So I’d appreciate it if you could handle it, Urian.”
Beneath Claudio’s gentle tone, there was an unshakeable intent: this task would be Urian’s, no matter what.
Why is he so determined to make Urian do this? Well… it does save me time, I suppose.
With a resigned sigh, Marsha rose from her seat and headed toward her room.
“Just a moment.”
“Take your time.”
The moment her door closed, Claudio drew Urian a little closer by the shoulder.
“Urian.”
“Y-yes?”
“There’s something else I need from you.”
The murmur by his ear made Urian swallow hard.
So that was the reason Marsha had been sent away—to give this order in private.
“Yes, sir. What is it?”
Like any man about to shoulder a heavy command, Urian answered with grave sincerity.
Claudio spoke in a low voice, stringing together a long, quiet explanation.
As he listened, Urian’s eyes grew wider and wider, nearly popping from their sockets.
“…Excuse me?”
“You didn’t mishear me. Don’t ask again.”
With that, Claudio’s hand slipped from his shoulder, his expression light and unbothered, as if all business between them had been settled.
No… I really didn’t mishear him, did I?
His master—the Duke of Gloria himself—had truly given that kind of order?
But… why?
No.
Now wasn’t the time to ask why.
First, he had to figure out how to make it happen.
“My lord, it’s just… the last thing you mentioned, to get it, I’ll have to—”
Claudio listened to his explanation, then gave a brief nod.
Yes—without that, it would be impossible to obtain the other thing.
For a moment, Claudio’s thoughts flicked back to the day before.
***
Desava — the most famous pub in the Sedem Market.
It wasn’t just the biggest establishment in the marketplace; the upper floor doubled as an inn, drawing a steady crowd.
In other words, there was no better place for an information broker to ply their trade.
The broker, halfway through the beer he’d earned as a consultation fee, shrugged lazily.
“An invitation to the duke’s villa? How the hell would I know that?”
Damn.
James glanced nervously at his employer, who was already turning beet red.
“And you call yourself an information broker?”
The broker’s eyes narrowed, scanning the man with faint suspicion.
“You’re not from Strabi, are you?”
The man flinched.
The way we talk is almost the same here as in the Duchy of Domique—how the hell did he pick that up?
Still, it wasn’t exactly a dangerous thing to be found out.
In his agitation, the man fumbled in his pocket.
“So what if I’m not? I’ve got a proper permit! If you want, I can call the guards right now—”
Oh, for crying out loud, why would you say something that stupid?
James stared daggers into the back of his employer’s head, silently willing him to shut up.
The broker took another swig of his beer and waved off the threat.
“Relax. I just meant you act like an outsider, that’s all.”
“What?!”
Glug, glug.
The broker drained the rest of the lukewarm beer, then slammed the heavy mug onto the table with a resounding thud.
Both the employer and James flinched.
“Burp. No one’s ever strolled into the duke’s villa on their own. Only the chosen get to pass those gates.”
He wiped his mouth and gestured for another beer, then fixed the man with a curious look.
“So, what is it you sell?”
The employer cleared his throat and lifted his chin with dignity.
“Special hay from the Duchy of Domique—”
“Pfft—what? Hay?”
The broker burst into laughter, clutching his stomach.
Face flushed with embarrassment and anger, the man shot back, his voice trembling.
“Don’t mock it! The reason Domique’s horses are superior is because of the quality of the hay they’re fed—”
“Oh yeah? Then why don’t you wait and see? Who knows? Maybe the duke will be so impressed with your exceptional hay that he’ll bless you with an invitation.”
The mocking lilt in his voice only fanned the man’s fury.
“You worthless, ignorant beggar—how dare you look down on me?”
“What?”
The broker’s face twisted into something dangerous as his fist slammed the table, rattling mugs and drawing stares from nearby patrons.
Ah, hell.
James tugged his hood low, trying to vanish into the folds of his robe.
“Go on. Say that again.”
The broker ground his teeth, his eyes gleaming with barely leashed violence.
The man’s gaze darted away; fear seemed to smother his anger.
“F-forget it. I’m wasting my time in this dump. James, let’s go—”
He turned to leave, but a thick hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Halting him like a broken clockwork toy.
“W-what?”
The broker pointed at the empty beer mug he’d just finished.
“You’re paying for this, too.”
“What?!”
The man’s blood boiled, but the broker’s hand was far too thick, far too heavy—there was no way he could break free.
Damn it!
Later, fingering his much lighter wallet, the man clicked his tongue.
Damn it all, why did I ever go looking for that bastard?
Was it even possible for an information broker to be that useless?
And the price of the beer!
It had cost more than a decent bottle of fine wine.
Damn it. I barely have enough to cover my living expenses here…
He, of all people, hadn’t even been able to stay at the most expensive hotel—all because he didn’t have the money.
Damn it, damn it, how did I end up like this?
Part of him wanted to get the hell out of this miserable town immediately.
But if he did that…
“Boss!”
James’s sudden voice made the man stop short.
“You crazy idiot! You almost ran right into me!”
“I’ve been calling you for ages!”
Calling me? I didn’t hear a thing.
The man’s upper lip twitched in annoyance.
James glanced up at him cautiously, almost timidly.
“S-so… Where are we going now?”
“I’m going to find another broker. You think he’s the only one in town?”
“T-then… Couldn’t we maybe eat first? Before we—”
“Eat?!”
The man threw his head back, bellowing as though James had just insulted his ancestors.
“All you ever think about is eating! Typical gambler’s habit—doing nothing and stuffing your face all day…”
He jabbed his forefinger repeatedly against James’s forehead.
“If you’ve got time to eat, then go figure out a way to get close to the duke! Got it?”
“…”
“I said, “Got it?!”
He shoved James hard in the shoulder.
“Ow…” James rubbed the aching spot before muttering
“I-I’ll… try my best.”
“Don’t try. Just do it!”
With a furious kick, the man sent a pebble skittering across the dirt road and stomped ahead.
James stared daggers into the back of his employer’s head, grinding his teeth.
Wilford Rosney… You bastard.
Just because you’re a noble, you think you can work people to the bone and spit in their face?
You and I… We’re not so different, you know.
In his mind, James saw himself landing a satisfying smack across the back of Wilford’s head.
One day… I swear I will.
His fists clenched with the silent promise—
“Are you moving or not?!” Wilford’s voice snapped from ahead.
“Y-yes, sir! Right away!”
With a bowed head and a pitiful expression, James hurried to follow.
