# 31
#Chapter Thirty-One
The man walked directly towards me and greeted me with a bow.
“Allow me to introduce myself properly, Duchess. I am Dante Malcons, third son of Baron Malcons.”
“Nice to meet you, Dante Malcons.”
I never imagined that the person I met at the Marquise Mayer's residence would be the grandson of the great Marquis.
'Wait, he's wearing glasses? I don't remember him wearing it before.'
As I watched the large glasses covering half of his face, Dante lightly kissed the back of my hand and flashed a dazzling smile.
His smile was so bright that it felt like the entire room lit up.
If Harold's face was a balanced mixture of handsomeness and beauty, Dante's was pure, easy charm—like a spring breeze incarnate, or a kind-hearted church boy.
If I had not become somewhat accustomed to Harold's striking features, I might have been as confused as the people who caught glances at him.
'However, honestly, Harold's face still looks overwhelming sometimes.'
“Have you two met before?” asked the Marchioness Mayer, looking curiously between us.
Dante replied with a bright smile. “Yes, we met by chance on the day I visited the Marchioness’s headquarters for the first time.”
“Ah, that day...”
The Marchioness nodded slightly as if remembering.
From outside, someone shouted: “Let's move!” indicating that all the supplies had been loaded.
We were heading to one of the poor areas of the empire for the weekly temple relief mission.
Divided into ten teams, each group visits different areas, often in dangerous places, with hired mercenaries for protection.
We traveled by wagon and began unloading supplies upon arrival. People in shabby clothes began to gather.
"Please, line up! You're there! Stop jostling! If you do it again, I'll send you to the back!"
“We have enough for everyone! No need to rush – just line up!”
The team dealt with the crowd with expert efficiency. I joined others in distributing bags full of bread to people waiting in line.
“Thank you, thank you!”
Their faces lit up with joy as they received the bread.
'I understand how they feel.'
When I lived on the streets, the bread distributed by the temple was my lifeline. Even when I was on the verge of collapse, eating that bread gave me hope and I cried of relief.
Suddenly, the children started begging the priests for more bread.
“Please, can we have just a little?”
“Yes, just a little, please!”
“Please, my little brother is sick and couldn’t come!”
The priest sighed deeply as if this was not the first time.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Last time, you said the same thing. And your ‘sick’ brother is standing next to you now! Stop lying and get moving!”
I heard we brought more than enough bread, but making exceptions will encourage others to order more. That's why the priest remained crucified.
“But we can't survive until next time like this!”
“I said no! Stop complaining!”
A brown-haired boy turned to me, his teary eyes pleading.
“Please, just a little.”
...He wasn't wrong. The bread was not enough to last until the next distribution, and children his age starved quickly. Moreover, others may take it from them.
I wanted to give them more. But as the priest said, opening exceptions could cause chaos.
At that moment, Dante stumbled and fell, and the bag of bread he was carrying spilled onto the ground.
"Hello!"
“Quick, pick him up!”
The children picked up bread from the ground and ran away.
Dante dusted himself off, met my gaze and laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.
“Uh… I'm a bit clumsy sometimes.”
"Are you well?" I asked.
“Yes, I'm used to falling without getting hurt. See?” He jumped up and down to prove his point, though it made Mrs. Mayer's face grow pale with worry.
"Okay, okay! I get it, you're okay. Just stop jumping!"
“Okay,” Dante replied sheepishly.
If he fell again, the Marchioness might faint, so I stopped him before that happened. Dante quickly calmed down.
‘His obedience reminds me of a well-trained puppy… but I would never tell him that.’
While I was distributing more bread, I noticed a young woman carrying an infant. She had already received her share but clearly needed more.
'Rules are important, but she has a baby...'
Oh, it doesn't matter.
I motioned for her to come closer with a small smile. When I did, I intentionally dropped a piece of bread. The woman quickly picked it up and ran away.
Satisfied, I turned around to find Dante staring at me with wide eyes.
“Haha… I accidentally dropped it.”
“I see,” he said in an understanding tone. “It happens when you're busy.”
Hah. He didn't seem to see me pointing at the woman. I breathed a soft sigh of relief.
On the way to a village near the empire's borders, Vincent's voice rang out, frustrated.
"You idiots! Can't we take a break now? Can't you hear me?"
The mercenaries dragging him laughed, ignoring his protests.
“Hurry up, you fools! I said, let's get some rest!”
Vincent shouted.
“What is all this nonsense, we are in a hurry!”
“Ah! How dare you treat me like this, I am the only son of Count Garcelle!”
“You are fired, yet you talk too much.”
While the mercenaries laughed, Vincent stared at them angrily.
'These bastards...'
He had never been treated like this in his entire life.
‘Once I return as Viscount, they will pay the price.’
Vincent comforted himself with the idea of revenge. Despite his father's cruelty, he was still his only legitimate son.
Surely, Count Garcelle would invite him to return to the empire after his anger subsided.
As Vincent imagined his triumphant return, he mentally listed the people who had wronged him, one by one, as if writing names in a death notebook.
'The friends who didn't stop me from pawning the inheritance, who subtly encouraged me to keep playing, who didn't help me, and Ella too! And…’
He would never forgive Diana.
'If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have gone to that gambling den in the first place!'
If she had obediently handed me the money, I wouldn't have had to visit the pawn shop.
Vincent clenched his fists as if Diana was standing in front of him, vowing: 'When the Duke dies from his illness, I will make her suffer more than I have suffered.'
Suddenly, a mercenary screamed and fell with an arrow stuck in his chest.
“Who's there?”
The other mercenaries immediately drew their swords, heading towards the direction the arrow came from. But more arrows shot out from behind, hitting several others in an instant.
The mercenary group was annihilated before they could respond.
“W-Who are you...?” Vincent stammered, shuddering as he picked up a fallen sword.
“Are you thieves? If you touch me, you will regret it! I am the sole heir of Count Garcelle—ah!”
Before he could complete his sentence, someone hit him hard on the back of the head. Darkness swallowed him as he lost consciousness.
When Vincent woke up, he found himself tightly tied inside a large bag. He was blindfolded, and had a gag in his mouth that made it impossible to speak.
How many days have passed?
Finally, he was dragged out of the bag, trembling with fear. He had no idea who had kidnapped him or why. He squeezed himself in, trying to hold back his shuddering breaths.
“Oh, the smell! Sir, this man stinks. It seems that nobles stink like everyone else.”
“Well, he's human. He must have relieved himself in the bag. Anyway, remove the blindfold and gag.”
"present."
The blindfold was removed, and Vincent closed his eyes in the dim room around him. He saw a group of people staring at him from above.
“…!”
His eyes widened in shock as he recognized a familiar face. When the gag was removed, his anger exploded.
“You! Aren’t you the owner of the gambling hall?”
“Yes, that's me. Although I'm not here today as the owner of the gambling hall,” the man answered leniently and shrugged his shoulders.
"Release me now! Do you have any idea who you're dealing with? What do you want from me?"
The Guild Master waved his hand in front of his nose, taking a step back.
“Oh, the smell is killing me. Listen, I'm not the one who has business with you.”
He gestured towards a figure sitting on a chair, legs crossed, wearing a white mask.
“Who… who are you?”
Even motionless, the masked man exuded an overwhelming aura. Vincent felt as if he was being crushed under the weight of his gaze, even though they were standing on the same ground.
It was as if this person was born to rule, making Vincent feel small and dry.
'This feeling… I've felt it before.'
The man slowly placed his gloved hand over his mask.
“You've made a big mess of yourself, young Vincent.”
."! No, it can't be..."
As the man slowly removed his mask, Vincent's breath hitched, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“Duke Harold Wesen!”