Even if someone had truly risen from the dead, it would not have caused such shock as this.
"Carlisle... you were *dead!*"
The Emperor caught himself mid-sentence, too late.
The Duke's death was still considered classified under Silica's Law. Although rumors had circulated wildly about what had transpired, discussing it openly—especially at a *reception*—was profoundly imprudent.
But the words had already escaped his lips.
"You died..." he repeated, and only then realized how utterly absurd it sounded.
Yet the Duke of Carlisle did not so much as smile.
He replied with icy calm.
"Your Majesty, if you deem it necessary to punish me for misleading you, I will accept it. But first," he added, his gaze sliding deliberately toward the Marquis of Guinness, "perhaps we should deal with the *real* traitors."
"T-traitors?" The Emperor's eyes darted toward the Marquis, who still stared at Carlisle as though he were a ghost made flesh.
"You are aware, Your Majesty, that counterfeiting currency is tantamount to treason."
"And?"
"Among the goods that nobles have the right to produce and sell without imperial oversight, there is one commodity equivalent to currency itself."
"Magic stones," the Emperor replied, his voice tinged with pride. "Yes, I know."
"Then whoever lied about the discovery of a non-existent magic stone mine in the South—deceiving investors, including the *Imperial Family itself*—" The Duke nodded toward the guards standing at attention. "Shouldn't he be punished for treason?"
"W-wait..." The Emperor blinked, stunned. "You... you mean the Marquis of *Guinness?!*"
"It's a lie! Slander! *Provocation!*" the Marquis screamed, wrenching free from the guards' grasp. "Your Majesty, don't listen to him!"
Carlisle remained cold, unmoved.
"Then we'll send an investigator to the southern territories. Let him verify the truth. May I, Your Majesty?"
"I grant permission! Send an inspector *immediately!*"
Panic erupted throughout the hall.
"What's happening?!"
"The Marquis of Guinness? *Seriously?!*"
Indignation flared like wildfire. Nobles who had invested in the so-called "magic mine"—members of the Imperial Family among them—were livid. The festive atmosphere crumbled into disgrace and fury.
The crowd surged toward the Marquis, shouting accusations.
The Duke of Carlisle, without sparing a single glance at anyone, turned and strode toward the exit.
"Your Grace!" Secretary Elliot caught up with him, breathing hard. "Where is Juliet?"
"Sir Milan and Jude are already en route to retrieve her. They'll escort her from the residence shortly."
"Good."
Elliot stared at the Duke with something between alarm and disbelief. Lennox appeared utterly unperturbed—as though he hadn't just faked his own death, deceived the Emperor, and thrown the entire court into chaos.
"You're both *insane*," the secretary muttered. "She asked you to 'be dead for just one day,' and you *agreed?!*"
His gaze dropped to the small silver amulet in the Duke's hand—a dove, delicate and carefully wrought. The very one Lennox always carried with him.
"I loved you very much once..." Lennox whispered, his thumb brushing gently over the dove's wing.
"And I would die for you again. At least a hundred more times."
*Anyone who heard this would understand: here he is—the very hero from the legend. The king who nearly destroyed his country because of love.*
"I sincerely hope you have a plan this time, Your Grace," Elliot muttered through clenched teeth.
Horsemen appeared in the distance—armed soldiers bearing the colors of the Guinness family. They moved with clear, deliberate intent.
"Duke!"
The Emperor, who had managed to slip from the hall, saw the same sight. His voice trembled.
"What now, Duke?!"
"Take the Empress and retreat inside."
Carlisle drew his sword slowly, as though he were preparing not for battle, but for a leisurely stroll.
He had expected the Marquis to call upon his personal soldiers for reinforcement.
"Perhaps we should take the Marquis hostage?" one of the knights suggested.
"A waste of time. Lock the gates. Reinforcements will arrive shortly."
"Move!"
The Emperor acted with surprising speed for a man his age. Seizing the Empress by the hand, he led her swiftly back toward the castle. The rest of the nobility scrambled after him in a panicked rush.
Guinness's soldiers tried to follow—but were immediately driven back by the Duke's knights.
A dull thud echoed across the courtyard.
In full view of everyone, right at the palace gates, the Marquis of Guinness vaulted onto his horse and vanished into a cloud of dust.
---
## — The Chase —
"Are you unharmed, Marquis?"
His men had arrived just in time to extract him from the trap.
The Marquis hesitated for only a heartbeat. But the moment he had drawn his sword and raised it against the Emperor, he knew—there was no turning back.
If they couldn't kill the Duke of Carlisle today, capturing the Emperor would be meaningless.
And the sight of the Duke striding alone from the palace gates, as though strolling through a garden, was too provocative to be left unanswered.
"Should we pursue him?" one of his subordinates asked.
The Marquis spat a curse through clenched teeth.
"To hell with the Emperor—get the *Duke* first!"
Even the soldiers themselves understood how absurd the word "first" sounded. But they had no choice.
The Duke of Carlisle raced at full speed, cutting through the pursuing ranks with brutal efficiency. He seemed to know exactly where he was going.
"Catch him!"
The chase ended on the outskirts of the capital, near the crumbling ruins of an abandoned temple.
The Duke reined in his horse, rose in his stirrups, and looked back.
The Marquis's soldiers, not daring to approach too closely, halted at a cautious distance.
Their numerical advantage gave them confidence.
"Ha! And *this* is a legendary-ranked swordsman? Pathetic..."
"Has he chosen his grave already? An abandoned temple... how aristocratic. Truly fitting for a duke!"
Carlisle surveyed the area silently.
Finally, he spoke—his voice low, almost a murmur.
"Yes. This will do just fine."
His words carried with eerie clarity, and in the next instant, a sword materialized in the Duke's hand.
He hadn't drawn it from a sheath—there *was* no sheath. The blade simply appeared, as though summoned from shadow itself. It was pitch-black, darker than the night sky, and for a moment even his pursuers recoiled.
The weapon felt like an omen—something too dangerous to touch, too cursed to wield.
Lennox thought, absently, of something strange.
For all those months he had tried—unsuccessfully—to win Juliet's heart. With persuasion. With gifts. Even with false contracts and hollow promises.
He had suddenly realized: her world would never be his.
Neither her tastes nor her sensibilities truly suited him.
But he could still give her something.
*One promise, kept.*
"She asked me not to kill anyone in front of her," he said quietly, tilting his head. "But there's no one here."
The meaning of his words reached the Marquis's soldiers a heartbeat too late.
---
## — Aftermath —
"Sir!"
Lennox wiped his blade clean on the fallen enemy's cloak and slowly looked up.
"Are you unharmed?" A squadron of knights burst into view, led by a dark-skinned man with a determined gaze.
It was **Hadin**, the Duke's closest ally.
"You arrived earlier than expected," Lennox replied coolly.
The situation at the temple had been swiftly brought under control. In truth, the Marquis of Guinness had never been able to muster sufficient forces for a genuine uprising. He should have either immediately removed the Emperor from the palace or eliminated the Duke outright.
Instead, he had hesitated—and lost.
"Thank the gods you're alive..." Hadin exhaled in relief, but his eyes caught the scarlet stain spreading across Lennox's sleeve.
"Have you been to the palace?"
"Yes. The Marquis has been captured. Alive."
While the Marquis's soldiers had raced after the Duke, Hadin had seized the opportunity to storm the palace and arrest Guinness himself. The knights had then evacuated the Emperor and his retinue, securing the grounds before rushing to their master's aid.
That was why Lennox said they were "early"—though in truth, everything had been perfectly timed.
He didn't even chide his subordinates for acting on their own initiative.
"And Juliet?"
"Still at the Duke's residence. Milan and Jude are with her. They'll report in shortly."
"Good..."
Lennox rose to his feet, his expression distant, thoughtful.
"Do you wish to go to her in person?" Hadin asked—and then froze.
He recognized this place.
*It was here, seven years ago, among these very stone ruins, that they had found a woman bleeding in the dirt...*
"I said I'd come back for her," Lennox said calmly, shaking the blood from his fingers.
*It had been a one-sided promise. Juliet might not have even taken it seriously.*
*But he had.*
"I'll take you there."
Hadin nodded and turned toward the horses.
More time had passed than planned, and there had been no word yet from the knights guarding the residence. Unease prickled at the back of Hadin's mind.
***Clang.***
He hadn't taken more than a few steps when he heard the sharp, metallic sound behind him.
Turning, he froze in place.
"*Sir?!*"
The Duke of Carlisle had dropped to one knee, leaning heavily on his sword, which he had driven into the ground for support.
"Damn..."
His ears rang. His vision swam, dissolving into scattered points of light.
Lennox struggled to keep his balance, gripping the hilt with white-knuckled desperation.
And at that moment, a **black panther** emerged silently from the shadows.
*Like a shadow. Like a warning. Or protection.*
"Master!" Hadin's cry tore through the air.
But Lennox could no longer hear him.
---