Chapter 141

All the sounds around him seemed distant, as if he were submerged in deep water.

The noises, broken into clumps of syllables, struck his eardrums in a blurred mass. Most of them vanished at his ears like waves crashing in vain against a ship’s hull, yet at times, as though a droplet had leapt from those waves to wet his cheek, a word or two would emerge distinctly enough to be understood.

In that state, he drifted through the realm of unconsciousness for quite some time. His fading awareness flickered like embers buried in ash, kindling weakly only to die away again. Until his consciousness fully anchored itself, he was aware of everything, yet unable to perceive it precisely.

But as his hazy consciousness slowly coalesced and his mind began to function again, the situation changed. The meaningless noises brushing past his ears began to link together coherently. Eugène started to make sense of the voices nearby, as if listening to a foreign tongue that he was only just beginning to understand.

“*** *******. *** *** *******. If you let him live, you will ******* regret it.”

“I cannot ****. Permission must be ***.”

“** ******. *** *** *****. What if the worst *** ** ** *****?”

“******. I shall **** *** take responsibility.”

“** ** **** ****? …I was mistaken. We should not have brought that man to Your Grace.”

Voices were conversing from across the room. At first, he could not tell who they belonged to, but as he listened more carefully, the tones grew familiar enough for him to distinguish one speaker from another.

The one pressing for a decision spoke in a firm, insistent tone, trying to persuade the other. But the one who refused him stood unyielding, his will unmoved. Unable to reach any compromise, the two continued their dispute. Eugène regained his senses just as their quarrel was drawing to its end.

“Brother.”

The second man called to his counterpart in a gentle, soothing tone. For a moment, silence settled. From across the room came the faint rustle of fabric. He could not be certain without seeing it, but judging by the sound, someone seemed to be shifting their posture.

“I mean not to say I fail to understand your concerns, Brother. Of course, you would worry. These are delicate times, and a single misstep could ruin all we have planned. But, Brother, that man must be kept alive. Even if it means we must bear some degree of risk, we must.”

The second man’s voice was calm, yet firm with conviction. From the other side came the sound of a deep breath, as though one were trying to suppress rising anger. A short silence followed. Only after taking some time to compose his emotions did the man finally speak again.

“Frankly, I fail to understand why Your Grace persists so obstinately. What reason do you have for deliberately keeping alive someone who may sow the seeds of future trouble? He is not someone who can be won over, and even if we spare him, the chances are high that nothing but thorny problems will follow.”

“And yet, he is too big a figure to meddle with rashly. Is that not so? That is why, Brother, you could not bring yourself to decide alone and therefore brought him to me.”

“…Your Grace.”

“oa, HJ wJE EGBI EaQt EaI LbJwV LGN. z hIGw wJE EJ iSGhI NJk. ow EaI vJwEbGbN, NJkb jkHVhIwE LGt tJkwH. sGH NJk HIGSE LQEa G hGw SQBI xGbJw FhQIkg LQEaJkE vJwtkSEGEQJw, EaGE LJkSH aGAI iIIw YGb hJbI EbJkiSItJhI YJb hI. zE LJkSH aGAI iIIw Gw GvvQHIwE wJE Qw EaI rSGw.”

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“However, Brother, you are overlooking the potential contained in the card that is Baron Amieux. He is the Emperor’s plenipotentiary envoy and wields tremendous influence among the Western nobility faction. Above all, while the Emperor lives, one cannot dismiss his value as a hostage.”

Viscount Gagnon tensed without realizing it as he heard those words. The simple conditional clause,‘While the Emperor lives,’felt unbearably heavy; merely hearing it tightened his chest and made his breathing shallow.

“Are you already betting on failure, Your Grace?”

Unable to admit that possibility, Viscount Gagnon spoke brusquely as if to deflect it.

“Does that make any sense? Would I wager the fate of my house and kin on a gamble that I expect to fail? If the plan succeeds, there is nothing to worry about. That would be perfect. But we have no contingency for failure.”

Putting aside the minor issue that he had reached the conclusion before the reasons, Duke La Mer’s point had merit. As long as you have the means, you will find a use someday. Moreover, a card as useful as Baron Amieux could be employed from some corner or other.

Viscount Gagnon was speechless at his firm stance. No matter how persuasive the reasoning, one so firm in conviction would never have changed his mind over a few spoken lines. However, Viscount Gagnon found himself unable to speak.

Just as Duke La Mer had shrewdly pointed out, he had already once deferred the decision regarding Eugène to another. To have it said to his face that he had postponed a decision he could not bear to make, and thereby avoided its consequence, what right had he now to insist upon his opinion?

“…If that is Your Grace’s view, then I have nothing further to say.”

Deprived of both reason and justification, all that remained to him was wounded pride. The affronted Viscount Gagnon spoke curtly and rose from his seat. The Duke of La Mer, sensing his displeasure, let out a quiet sigh, but did not stop him from leaving.

The door closed with a cold thud, and only Duke La Mer and Eugène remained within the room. An uneasy silence descended between them, heavy and unnatural. Duke La Mer made a faint rustling sound, as if searching for something, and soon after fell still.

In that stillness, so deep that even their breathing could be heard, Eugène felt a gaze settle upon him. A silent look that seemed to wait for something. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel it so distinctly that he knew precisely where it was directed.

He had regained consciousness while they were still raising their voices, yet he had kept his eyes shut, examining his own condition as though still unconscious. Pressed at last by that insistent gaze, Eugène slowly opened his eyes. However, Duke La Mer, who had known all along that he was awake, showed no sign of surprise and instead greeted him with composed politeness.

“Are you awake? I was just wondering when you would open your eyes.”

The chill air, no warmer than the night outside, bit coldly against the back of his neck. The area around the wound on the back of his head, where the unexpected blow had landed, burned as if scorched, and his limbs felt so heavy he could scarcely move them.

But what troubled him the most was a stabbing headache. Eugène sat up, aware of the pain radiating from every part of his body.

The place where he awoke was a dilapidated room he had never seen before. The decay of the space suggesting an abandoned house, or perhaps a long-deserted manor in some remote place. The air was thick and stifling, and every window had been shuttered and nailed fast from the outside, leaving him no thought of trying to open them.

The furniture adorning the room was a heavy, rustic style, seemingly popular long ago, and there were only a few of them. The fireplace, seemingly unused for a long time, was covered in a thick layer of white dust instead of holding firewood.

“…You have quite an extraordinary aunt.”

Eugène let out a faint groan as he reached for the back of his head, where the dried blood had crusted. He had thought the heaviness in his limbs was merely the aftereffect of blood loss, but when his wrist brushed against something cold and metallic, he realized that he was bound by iron restraints.

“I must admit, this incident surprised even me. I never imagined that someone as composed as she would cause such a catastrophe.”

Duke La Mer, seeing the dried flakes of blood on Eugène’s fingers, approached and handed him a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Eugène took it and wiped the bloodstains behind his ear and along his neck, but so much time had passed since the bleeding stopped that the marks would not easily come off.

“Is the wound all right?”

“It tore a little, but fortunately, it does not seem to be swelling. I doubt it will worsen.”

A head wound, he knew, was far more dangerous when it swelled than when it tore. Eugène extended it back to Duke La Mer, finding the borrowed handkerchief of little use. However, Duke La Mer refused to accept it.

“Keep it.”

He dragged a nearby chair toward him and sat down casually, his gaze fixed on Eugène. Eugène looked back in mild puzzlement until his eyes fell upon the precise positioning of the chair, and a bemused smile curved his lips.

The Duke of La Mer had seated himself just close enough for them to see each other’s faces, yet just far enough that even with the chains binding him, Eugène could not have reached him, no matter how far he stretched out his arm. It was a position too exact to be a coincidence.

“Tying me up like a galley slave was not reassurance enough, it seems. Your caution borders on excessive.”

Eugène lifted the shackles that clinked heavily with each motion of his arm, his voice edged with dry mockery. However, Duke La Mer merely gave a small, helpless shrug, as if conceding the point.

“Perhaps you have forgotten, but I was there that day when you were attacked in the alley. I witnessed with my own eyes what became of the fools who dared to step within your reach. Such a lesson is not easily forgotten.”

Duke La Mer treated Eugène as though he were a restrained beast. In truth, his assessment was not wrong. In circumstances such as these, setting that man free would have been a disaster akin to releasing a wild wolf into a village of civilians. Eugène listened to his words with a cool, detached smile and agreed with his reasoning.

“Indeed, letting one’s guard down is never a healthy habit, no matter who you may be dealing with. Even if that person were a frail lady, scarcely half one’s size.”

For someone who had been struck from behind and abducted without warning, Eugène’s composure was remarkable. But that did not mean he was incapable of anger and meek by nature. The chill beneath his calm surfaced plainly in the words that followed.

“But surely, Your Grace is not entirely free from that same folly. The sheer audacity of displaying the very symbol of treason in plain view right at the center of the salon, where any passerby could see it… Truly, I can only admire your boldness.”

So he did notice.The Duke of La Mer stifled a heavy sigh, though he dared not let it show. Indeed, had Eugène failed to notice even that much, he would not have been Eugène but a simple fool.

“The symbol of treason, you say? I cannot imagine what you mean, Baron. I have not the faintest idea what you speak of.”

Still, Duke La Mer refused to readily admit the allegations brought right before him. It was only natural. He was no witless giant from some old fable, and in times as precarious as these, he could hardly afford to prattle on about their plans.

The trap they had set for Ebroin V was as delicate and intricate as the workings of a clock, in which a single misaligned cog would bring the whole mechanism to a halt. Duke La Mer would not allow the entire plan to be thrown into disarray by a single slip of the tongue.

“Let us not waste time repeating what is already plainly known to both of us. Do you think I would speak of such matters without any evidence? I am fully aware of everything regarding the Estates-General you intended to hold three years ago.”

“…Did you just say the Estates-General?”

“Are you not aware? I refer to the very meeting that nearly became the Second Estates-General of Vitolen, but was ultimately canceled.”

Eugène asked, his tone tinged with derision. Duke La Mer, who had only expected a dispute over the petition at most, had never anticipated that Eugène had already traced matters this far. He was left momentarily speechless. Eugène met him directly with eyes sharp and cold, like a finely honed dagger.

From the time of the incident on Sailboat Street until now, Eugène had not been solely focused on the Viscountess Gagnon. He had uncovered a series of unexpected clues there, through which he discerned precisely the conspiracy the rebels were plotting, not the decoys like Prince Merrick, but the true malefactors lurking behind them.

However, what he had was only a plausible hypothesis. There was no evidence indicating the extent of the Eastern nobles’ involvement in this rebellion. Externally, Prince Merrick and the Nightwing were the conspicuous figures, and the material evidence secured by Anti-Chevalier offered no clarity either.

What was known so far was little more than the role of mere accomplices or minor supporters. Even if the rebels were eliminated smoothly, there was no way to bring the true ringleaders to proper justice.

But Eugène could not allow them to escape so easily. He needed conclusive proof to tighten the noose around their necks.

“From the very beginning, I found it peculiar. Even the imperial marriage, the last opportunity for reconciliation with the imperial family, was canceled. Though it failed once, I could not understand why the plans already in motion were not pressed forward regardless.”

At that time, the Eastern nobles had been acting with unchecked arrogance and authority. Judging by their actions up to that point, it would not have been surprising at all had they persisted in their schemes, regardless of any obstruction from the imperial family.

“However, even so, I could find no record that the Estates-General was ever pursued again. Why was that? I was puzzled, but mere conjecture could not clarify the situation. That was until I uncovered the unused and discarded drafts among the records kept for compiling the Imperial Chronicles.”

The decisive aid came from a personable librarian working in the archives of the Imperial Library. He was quite career-oriented, loyal to Eugène, so much so that he seemed willing to give him the very shirt off his back. His long experience at the palace had broadened his reach. Acting on Eugène’s special request, he managed to connect him with an elderly clerk who had, thirty years prior, been responsible for compiling the Imperial Chronicles.

The old man, though aged, remained spry and possessed an extraordinarily sharp memory. However, what was most gratifying was discovering that he had a blessedly compulsive penchant for organization.