Chapter 99

The man's brows twisted. His jawline stood out sharply as he clenched his teeth, a look of utter disgust on his face.

He wiped the blood from his lips with a bandage and muttered,

"You're really insane."

No, the one who's insane is you.

After pressing the wound with a cotton ball and wrapping it with a bandage, the man finally got up.

"Be careful when you move."

The human side of that man was more difficult to swallow than his inhuman acts.

There was no need to be careful when turning the pages. She couldn't turn a single page. Grace sat there in a daze, her thoughts racing in a loop.

Why is he like that?

Is it related to the reason he can't kill me? Just as her thoughts reached the day Peter died, an annoyed voice came from above.

"Keep reading."

"...Um, I have a question."

"What is it?"

"Peter also knew the location of the base."

"Peter?"

"The mailman. The one you killed…."

"Oh…."

"If you had found out the location of the base from him, would you have, or did you not?"

She had been curious about this ever since she learned that Peter was a double agent, but she had kept it to herself, thinking she would ask persistently about the location of the base when the time came. Now that they had made a deal, she mustered the courage to ask.

"Oh, right... I forgot to ask."

The woman grumbled from under the desk, as if it were a ridiculous question.

Leon said nothing. He picked up his pen again and started reading through the reports awaiting his signature, but his mind was entirely focused on the woman under the desk.

After about an hour, the chain and paper-turning sounds from below finally stopped.

He looked down. As expected, the woman was sound asleep, her head resting on a cushion. The documents he had given her were scattered on the carpet.

When he touched her face with his knuckles, she neither rejected nor frowned. Confirming that she was deeply asleep, he finally gave an honest answer.

"I didn't find out. You're surprisingly sharp."

For a soldier to let such a golden opportunity to discover the enemy's base slip through his fingers...

This was the result of conflicting personal desires.

He wanted to find the base immediately and destroy it, to dismantle the rebel forces and avenge his father.

As his desire for revenge burned, another desire whispered secretly to him.

Make her hand over her comrades' heads. Then you can have both revenge and the woman.

How could he resist such a sweet offer?

Leon imagined the woman presenting her fiancé to him personally.

"Please, kill this traitor who betrayed me."

An uncontrollable excitement surged through him. What kind of stench would the blood of that arrogant imbecile who dared to take what was his emit? Each time he imagined it, a thrilling pleasure spread through his body.

He breathed hotly as he gently caressed the sleeping woman, just as he had when he first laid her down.

No one will be left for this woman who has betrayed everyone she knows, except for one person.

To achieve this desire, he first needed to shatter the false beliefs that surrounded her like a solid egg.

What if he showed her evidence that she was the product of a dirty scheme and that her comrades never considered her an ally?

It would shatter the egg in one go. But it might also destroy the fragile bird inside.

She might fall into despair and blame herself, even choosing suicide.

Therefore, Leon decided to carefully chip away at the egg over time.

"Wake up."

"Ugh…."

He woke the woman and handed her the report again. She glared at him with sleepy eyes, and he smiled at her.

"I told you to read it, darling."

He slowly planted seeds of doubt. When she eventually discovered the truth, those doubts would bloom into a flower of revenge.

He tapped her forehead, which was as solid and round as an egg, with his fingertips.

The cracks that had been spreading secretly would eventually consume the solid egg, and her world would crumble at the slightest shock.

Thus, she would be reborn as a weak and helpless being in a strange world, just like a chick breaking out of its shell. The newly born woman would imprint on the first and only person who embraced her.

Leon Winston.

* * *

As soon as the Sinclair case was resolved, the suppression began as expected.

A request came from the headquarters of the Royal Army to the Western Command, asking for a lieutenant colonel to be sent as a personal adjutant to a certain general. It wasn't even during the transfer period.

It was no surprise that Leon was the most qualified in terms of ability and experience.

A personal adjutant sounds impressive, but it's essentially a secretary. Following the general around and interacting with high-ranking officials is good for building connections, but it's a position where one can never earn real merit. Moreover, it's rarely taken by nobles.

It was clear that the intention was to demote Leon, who had accumulated numerous merits in the forefront of the rebel suppression, to a mere secretary and give the position of domestic intelligence chief to Lieutenant Collins, who had cooperated in this matter.

While it made sense for the king to do this, it was astonishing that the Duke also approved of it. This was a tactic to tame the disobedient dog, Leon Winston, by tripping him up.

How stupid. A dog that doesn't listen has its reasons.

The Western Commander pretended not to understand the Army Headquarters' overt request and sent Lieutenant Collins to the personal adjutant position. The higher-ups must have been quite flustered.

"There's a limit to pretending to be a clueless old man."

"Indeed."

Leon, sitting in the Commander's office, casually puffed on his cigar. In contrast, the Commander nervously flicked the ash from his cigar into the ashtray repeatedly.

It was understandable.

The king's final trump card was the Commander's daughter.

If Leon refused to comply, the king would threaten to expose his mistress as a rebel. Regardless, Leon no longer cared about his honor as long as the woman was alive and in his hands.

On the other hand, the king would only embarrass himself by exposing the fact that the blood of the rebels mixed with the royal blood when the news broke that Captain Leon Winston had taken the daughter of the woman who killed his father as his mistress.

The one who would suffer the most in this situation would be the Commander, who was nervously flicking his cigar.

"Captain."

"Yes."

"Instead of constantly causing friction, why don't we find a way to reconcile?"

Leon raised an eyebrow at the Commander as if he were a senile old man.

"Reconcile? They want absolute obedience, don't they?"

Reconciliation is only possible when both parties are on equal footing.

"There is a way."

The Commander crushed his cigar and leaned towards Leon.

"Establish an unimpeachable merit. A merit that will satisfy both the people and the royal family."

"You mean the destruction of the base."

Leon, who had initially thought the Commander had a brilliant plan, quickly lost interest. The Commander, sensing this, added hastily.

"I know you're already working on it, but what about this approach?"

The Commander lowered his voice and suggested a method, and Leon's face gradually showed discomfort as he listened.

"I've thought about it."

"Then why don't you use it?"

"Well…."

His relaxed posture changed. The tension in his neck muscles revealed his discomfort.

"Even if it's a well-trained dog…."

He stopped speaking and closed his mouth. The cigar was crushed in the ashtray.

And it wasn't even trained.

A better leash would be needed.

His face hardened as he thought of a way to put the leash on.

'How disgusting.'

He asked himself if this disgusting method was a voice of reason or a savage instinct.

* * *

"Ha, please…."

Grace, who had been lying as if dead, suddenly sat up. Her face, which had turned bright red from the rough treatment, was now tangled with her hair.

This was the time of shame that inevitably followed the madness of the night. Lately, it came every day.

Today, it wasn't just a "time" but a "day." The various disgraceful and foolish acts she had committed last night kept popping into her mind like mushrooms after the rain.

Moreover, she had suffered from a hangover all day.

Lately, Winston's hand, which visited her every night, almost always held a bottle of alcohol. And yesterday, as usual, Grace had drunk herself into a stupor and regretted her actions.

It felt good to drink heavily to forget the bleak reality of being trapped in this narrow underground space.

As her head throbbed again, Grace reached for her feet. She was about to empty the glass of water on the table and lie down again when she heard familiar footsteps from outside the door. But something about them seemed off.