Chapter 72
An air so murderous it was almost suffocating coiled through the spacious room. Among the four men seated there with grave expressions, one finally lost patience and slammed his fist down on the table.
“When the hell is he coming! There’s a limit to how much he can look down on me!”
“Exactly. We went out of our way to spare our precious time and come here, yet no matter how extraordinary he may be, this is Crotia! Shouldn’t basic courtesy be shown to the masters of this place?”
“And what’s more, weren’t we told the duke’s representative was coming? It’s already rude enough that he isn’t coming in person!”
“Now, now. Let’s wait a little longer. He’s come from a distant country, so he must be travel-worn. In that case, he could be late.”
Most of the men flaring up in anger were renowned powers from the organizations that controlled Crotia’s underworld. Unlike them, who came from noble families, Owen, the only commoner among them, calmed his partners.
“If we’re being fair, didn’t we deliberately delay our reply because we were wary of the other side?”
“So? Are you saying this is revenge? How petty!”
“That isn’t what I meant. I’m saying we ought to consider it from their perspective. Now both they and we have suffered discourtesy all the same.”
“Hah!”
As everyone seethed at the unexpected insult, the hour crept toward midnight. No sooner had the cuckoo’s call announced midnight than the men sprang to their feet, about to storm out.
“Gah!”
The door shook violently, and a groan rang out. The voices belonged to the guards standing watch outside. While the sudden commotion froze the room, the door burst open without warning.
“A pleasure to meet you.”
The man who stepped into the room wore his hat pulled low. Removing his bloodstained black leather gloves, he gave a slight nod.
“My greetings are late.”
“W-what is the meaning of this!”
One of the men, frozen by the shocking disturbance, was about to strain his neck shouting when the subordinates who poured in behind the man subdued their guards in an instant and surrounded the room.
The frightened men exchanged glances. In the end, Owen, forced to take the lead, parted his lips.
“What is the meaning of this discourtesy?”
“Discourtesy?”
“Not only are you late to the appointed time, you have struck down our guards and are now threatening us.”
“Discourtesy? Threatening?”
Ha! The man laughed low and strode forward. As the others flinched at his steps, which held not the slightest hesitation, someone who appeared to be an aide pulled the master’s chair back. Before the men standing rigidly, the man sat down at ease and removed his hat. At the same time, everyone drew a sharp breath.
“D-Duke Devonshire?”
“To think you would come in person…”
A tall, striking frame. Jet-black hair and eyes so blue they seemed frozen. Cold eyes and lips pressed firmly together. It was unquestionably Killian Maximilian Devonshire, the Duke of Rockford. Killian swept his gaze over the men gaping at him, then flicked his hand toward Zenok.
“To commemorate my first meeting with you gentlemen, I brought gifts.”
“What…”
What Zenok placed on the table were four boxes. One box was set before each of the men, except Owen.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
“Indeed. Haha.”
Unlike Owen, who remained silent as though he had realized something, the other men quickly relaxed, sitting down one after another with hearty laughs.
“Are they jewels or something of the sort?”
“Gold would be good too. Ethelwood’s gold is of higher purity than ours, isn’t it?”
“I prefer cash. Hahaha.”
“Open them.”
Killian merely smiled faintly at every question and did not answer, instead gesturing to the boxes with his eyes. The men, opening their boxes with anticipation, soon tumbled out of their chairs.
“Aaagh!”
“Hiiik!”
With loud cries, the men collapsed onto the floor, faces ashen, and backed away toward the wall.
“As soon as I got off the ship, the rats clung to me quite fiercely. So I prepared these for you, but it seems they aren’t to your liking?”
What was inside the boxes was none other than human eyeballs. As they found themselves staring into the eyes of the spies they had secretly planted to gather information and movements before the negotiation, terror surged over them like a tide. Looking down at their deathly pale faces, Killian interlaced his fingers and continued in a leisurely tone.
“If you wish, I can prepare other parts. I’ve kept them alive for now, you see. I was late because I was preparing these.”
“…”
“That should be answer enough, I trust?”
The corners of Killian’s mouth stretched as he cast his gaze toward Owen, the only one still seated across from him. The reason Owen had been able to keep his place was that he had not attached a spy to him, and therefore had not received a “gift.”
“…I see.”
A chill ran down his spine. Owen, barely managing a reply, rubbed his sweat-damp palms against his trousers.
The rumor that the duke had become somewhat unsteady after his fiancée was swallowed by the sea was false. It had been a good thing he had not let his guard down, just in case.
While Owen struggled to keep his expression under control, Killian searched his jacket and put a cigarette between his lips. Zenok, standing beside him, quickly lit the end of the filter. After exhaling a long stream of smoke, Killian crushed the cigarette out on the table.
“I do not do business with people who do not trust me. Even if that business concerns a single cigarette.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Zenok placed something else on the table.
“This is!”
The men sprang up almost at the same time and approached the table. It was medicine and textiles so difficult to obtain on the market that even they had to go out of their way to acquire them. The materials and fabric could only be produced under limited conditions, and without skilled craftsmen, processing them was impossible.
“What a pity.”
Before the drooling men, Zenok withdrew the goods and turned his head toward Killian.
“Shall we be going?”
“No! That won’t do!”
The men spoke in haste and looked toward Owen, whom they had inwardly dismissed all this time. At their gazes, which seemed to urge him to take the lead again, Owen sighed inwardly and calmly began.
“Everyone makes mistakes at first, does he not? I am ashamed to say this, but from our position, since Your Grace is a foreigner, we had no choice but to be somewhat wary.”
“You are asking for a chance.”
“…Yes.”
Humiliating though it was, he had no choice but to nod for now. The goods they offered were things that would bring them enormous profit.
“Then I’ll give you one.”
Killian nodded as if it were no great matter and gave Zenok a silent look. What he brought out next was a portrait. It was wrapped meticulously, as though not even a single scratch could be tolerated. As puzzled gazes fixed on the portrait, a servant carefully removed the cloth.
The portrait, which had been tightly concealed, depicted a beautiful woman. While the others stiffened in surprise at her breathtaking beauty, Killian rose from his seat and stated his business before leaving.
“Find her discreetly. The moment anyone finds this woman, contact me. Do not touch so much as a single strand of her hair.”
With those words, the door closed. Looking at the closed door, Owen realized the truth. It was true that Killian Maximilian Devonshire was not entirely sane.
He had not come all this way for the transaction itself. He was consumed with finding one woman. So obsessed it sent chills down one’s spine.
“Then let us adjourn…”
It was advantageous to move first. Casting a sidelong glance at his frozen partners, Owen also hurriedly left his seat.
The other fools might not have noticed, but the woman in the portrait was none other than the fiancée said to have died. It was an absurd thought, but if he had searched all the way to this distant land, was there not a chance, however slim, that she might be alive? And even if she was not…
Owen, desperately turning over possibilities in his head, suddenly had an idea and hurried after Killian. He caught Zenok, who had been about to climb into the carriage after his master.
“See here.”
“What is it?”
“I have a fine idea, so I thought I might offer you an invitation.”
Smiling faintly, Owen glanced sidelong into the carriage, whose interior was obscured in pitch-black darkness.
* * *
Though Rowena had come up to the capital, leaving Damian behind with great difficulty, it became harder and harder for her to see Lauren’s face. As her condition gradually worsened, visits with the patient were permitted for only one hour a day.
In order to obtain medicine, Rowena and Cedric ran day and night, taking turns visiting Lauren. With each passing day, seeing her face grow thinner, Rowena barely managed to hold together her heart, which felt as though it were being torn apart.
“Damian is still sick too. What are you going to do if you keep staying here?”
“It hasn’t even been a week yet. Damian will be much happier if Lauren recovers and comes back down with me.”
Holding Lauren’s weak hand tightly, Rowena spoke softly.
“So you must get better quickly.”
“Yes. I’m sorry for making you worry so much.”
“Please don’t say that.”
Swallowing her tears, Rowena forced a smile. Whenever she saw Lauren’s smiling face, she thought of the mother she had long since forgotten. Her mother had been so busy with work that Rowena had never even been properly held by her, but if her mother were to look at her and smile, Rowena thought it would be exactly this kind of smile. A loving, pitiful, apologetic, and grateful expression.
As the two women exchanged affectionate smiles, visiting time quickly passed.
“I’ll come again.”
“Yes. Hurry back. They said it would rain today.”
Lauren, coughing, nodded and gently pushed Rowena toward the door. As soon as Rowena left the hospital with heavy steps, the carriage waiting outside greeted her.