When Eric arrived at the coffee house just minutes from Helena’s estate, the trail was already cold—no clues remained.
“There are only two passages leading in and out of the premises,”
reported a black-clad knight stationed nearby. Eric looked around the tiny shop, barely big enough to stretch one’s legs, and muttered under his breath,
“...Vanished into the heavens, have they...?”
His face twisted in frustration.
“Any nearby warehouses? Open fields?”
“We’re checking, sir. But... if I may—what drives you to pursue this family with such intensity?”
Eric halted, his hand resting on the lavatory doorknob inside the shop. His eyes met the knight’s.
A knight asking
why
—questioning an order—wasn’t something expected of a properly trained sword-bearer. It wasn’t the martial code. But—
“The Princess... always told us to think before we obey.”
“That she did.”
Eric nodded slowly.
But the Princess’s ways are unlike any other...
Even before he was officially appointed Captain of the Imperial Knight Order, Eric had already been placed in charge of another corps.
A corps without a name.
Without a name... and without honor. They have no obligations of loyalty. Just coin. Call them mercenaries if you will—but for the sake of appearances, we call them knights.
Pickpockets from the slums. Thugs with criminal records. Commoners rejected from the Royal Knights simply because too few non-nobles were admitted...
The Princess had gathered such individuals and forged them into knights. She tasked Eric with leading them.
At first, it had been disgraceful. He, born and raised as a proper noble, believed it a stain upon his name to command such riffraff.
But the Princess had said:
“Knights? You mean those lowlifes from the old tales who extorted villages for coin in exchange for protection from spirit beasts, only to devour the town’s cows, pigs, and grain—then abandon the villagers when real danger came? Go ask a countryside villager. The moment you say ‘knight,’ they shiver. They’d rather deal with mercenaries. At least mercs are honest—pay them and they do the job. Simple. Equal.”
“There are knights who uphold their honor. I strive to be one of them. I swore an oath of loyalty to you, and keeping that oath
is
my honor.”
“Oh, enough with your honor loop. Fine. Just take command of the corps. That’s an order. Will you disobey it?”
She hadn’t persuaded him. She’d commanded him.
She knew Eric too well. When it came to him, the old-school, rigid methods worked best.
“...As you command.”
He had obeyed. For Eric, loyalty was absolute. A knight’s will had no place in the execution of their master’s orders—once personal judgment entered the mix, the oath lost its meaning.
But the Princess’s other knights were different.
The Nameless Order
—as they called themselves—did not operate on loyalty. They followed coin, and trusted their own judgment over their liege’s will.
Even so, they functioned as a near-perfect unit. It was almost strange.
See? I told you—money wins,
the Princess had once said smugly.
Eric, however, thought differently.
These so-called knights had no names, and in that namelessness, they found freedom. But they knew that freedom only existed within this corps.
If they were truly nothing but self-serving mercenaries, they would’ve sold themselves to the nobles long ago. Yet they’d stayed—shielding the Princess with their lives.
The truth was, the Princess hadn’t given them money.
She’d given them
freedom
.
Still, Eric couldn’t help but feel discomfort at a knight questioning him so directly. He answered the black knight’s query with a grim look.
“I promised to protect Emelline’s family. That was part of our agreement from the very beginning. And a promise—”
He stared into the distance.
“—must be kept.”
“But to go this far...?”
“There’s nothing left to find, is there?”
Eric had intended to say that, but his words were cut off by a sharp voice slicing through the air.
“Don’t you dare contradict the young master.”
Eric turned toward the source. Lily stood there, looking like she’d just returned from the southern front—her appearance was a wreck.
She tapped the side of the black-armored cultivator with the sheath of her sword.
“I thought you lot were at least worth the coin, even if loyalty isn’t your strong suit. The Princess herself gave the order: follow the Commander’s lead for now.”
The black cultivator sneered and shot back lazily.
“Commander? We don’t have a Commander.”
“I wasn’t talking about
your
Commander. I meant
mine
.”
As the air between Lily and the cultivator began to crackle with rising tension, Eric stepped in and sliced through it with his voice.
“Are you going to take this further?”
He looked between the two, his gaze steady and commanding.
“Whatever ways the nameless sect of yours may follow,
this
is my path. I won’t tolerate internal strife. If conflict is unavoidable, resolve it not with words but with your swords. A duel only ends when one draws their last breath. So I’ll ask again.”
Eric’s spiritual pressure pulsed as he cast his gaze upon them both.
“Will you take this further?”
As expected, the black cultivator backed down first.
“I’m no noble. Why should I risk my life for some honorable duel? Count me out.”
He vanished back into the latrine, grumbling something about continuing the search.
Lily clicked her tongue.
“…Even if I’m the Princess’s sword, I wonder if we should really be working with these alley-bred dogs…”
She trailed off and clutched her shoulder, her expression tightening.
Eric, sensing something wrong, peeled away her shoulder guard. Blood was seeping from a tear in the fabric.
“…?”
“It’s nothing. I’ve already been treated. Just a minor clash…”
“A clash? With the Beorod Trading Guild?”
Eric’s brow furrowed.
There should’ve been no reason for a skirmish there…
“The former guildmaster of Beorod—the one they called Bluebeard—he’s alive. Faked his death in the fire and kept the guild running from the shadows. Then some masked cultivators attacked the guild. I intervened when it looked like they were trying to abduct him…”
Her voice faltered, the pain making her waver.
Eric stared at her, stunned.
“…Who did you say is alive?”
The former guildmaster of Beorod.
Emelline’s…
Eric unconsciously loosened his grip on her shoulder.
That man—he was supposed to have been consumed in the blaze. Dead and gone.
But then he recalled what the southern sheriff had told him:
“They said he perished in the fire, but the blaze was so wild they never recovered a body.”
In that moment—
“…Ghk…!”
With Eric’s hand falling away, Lily staggered.
He caught her just in time as she nearly collapsed, her body trembling under the weight of the reopened wound.
“I tore off one of their masks during the fight… it was someone I recognized. The Duke’s personal shadow.”
“…!”
The Duke?
Eric’s eyes narrowed.
And just then, the restroom door creaked open. The black-armored cultivator returned, holding something small.
“This was in the latrine. The crest of the Ducal House. Looks like some of their sword cultivators have passed through here.”
What he held up was a small button—the kind sewn onto the uniforms of the Duke’s elite retinue. "Wh-Where is Lady Emelline right now? D-Don’t tell me she’s with the Duke…!"
Lily asked urgently, her voice trembling as she turned to Eric.
The Duke had dispatched his shadow agents to capture Violod—who was believed to be dead—and sent men to the coffee house where Helena, Philip, and the witch were supposed to meet.
One by one, the pieces in Eric’s mind began to fall into place, like beads sliding onto a thread.
Once Helena and Philip were dead, the lands of Wedgwood would naturally fall to Emelline.
But if Emelline...
were to be accused of attempted murder against her own father and arrested?
Then who would the coastal territory belong to?
Eric could vividly picture Violod giving false testimony before the royal court:
"It was my own daughter who tried to kill me."
And Emelline would be dragged away, unable to resist or speak out. With the accusation of attempted murder hanging over her, her estate would be forfeit—transferred to her husband.
Eric clenched his jaw, hard enough that his teeth ached. But when he spoke, his voice was composed.
“You. Escort Dame Lily to the infirmary. It’s time I head to the Princess’s Palace. Those scouting the area nearby—follow me.”
Before his command even finished echoing, Lily leapt to her feet to protest. But Eric turned calmly to the black knight beside him and added:
“You have permission to knock her out if needed.”
“...Young master!”
Lily’s resistance didn’t last long. With her shoulder already injured, she could hardly put up a proper fight. The black knight, mimicking Lily’s own voice in a mocking tone, replied:
“Didn’t you hear what the Captain said?”
✵
✵
✵
As soon as we arrived at the Princess’s Palace, I feigned a calm smile and said I’d like to stroll through the gardens for a bit before heading inside. The Duke sneered as if my excuse amused him.
“As you wish, Emelline. But I do hope you won’t keep us waiting long.”
With his usual derisive tone, the Duke entered through the grand archway and vanished inside.
“Damn it...”
I stood there in the opulent garden, adorned with glowing orbs and blooming flowers, and swore under my breath.
My eyes followed the path the Duke had taken, even after he disappeared from sight.
The black knights.
They had to be here. Eric had said he'd assigned them to protect me. I couldn’t see them, but I was sure—somewhere nearby, they were watching.
Should I call them?
And say what?
Even if I summoned them now, I had no concrete evidence—just a gut feeling that the Duke had abducted Helena and Philip.
I could wait until Eric returned. I wouldn’t be too late.
Yes... that's true... but...
...Damn it...
I could taste bitterness rising in my mouth again.
Bang!
The vision from my dream floated just behind my eyes like an unwelcome specter. My stomach turned, and I wanted to vomit up every bite of turkey I’d eaten tonight.
I pulled out the folded note I'd hidden in my sleeve earlier.
I lost the ledger. I’ll meet with the witch and try to fix this. Don’t worry—just enjoy your time with Eric.
I looked around.
No one.
We had arrived late to the palace, and by now, most of the nobles had already gone inside.
Alright then...
I reached inside the lining of my dress, retrieving the match I’d secretly tucked away. I struck the match against the brick edge of the garden wall.
Chik—!
The sharp hiss of ignition echoed in the still air.
I held the flame to the edge of the note. The paper flared up instantly, curling and blackening as fire devoured the surface.
I covered my mouth and nose, holding my breath.
“...”
In a breath—no, in less than a single breath—the hidden characters on the back of the slip flared into view.
…150,000 gold
…5,000 gold
…10,000 gold
…90,000 gold
Rows upon rows of numbers, densely inscribed.
I stared coldly at the handwriting.
It was unmistakably the witch’s script.
As if I wouldn’t recognize it? I was the one managing her shadow ledger before I came to the capital—her secret ledger, written in invisible spiritual ink known only to the witch herself.
Ha. So Helena tore a page from the very ledger she claimed to have
lost
… and sent it to me.
Deliberately.
Intentionally.
Why?!
“…You said you lost ittttttttt!”
I screamed to the heavens, trembling with fury.
My mother—Helena—was truly a cultivator of chaos. There was no other explanation!
Chapter 83